#moth white diamond

[rievynnzan]

Buggies

[yourmomwhitediamond]

Moth White by @rievynnzan MOOOOOOTH ♡〜٩( ╹▿╹ )۶〜♡

[rievynnzan]

Thank you so much!! Mhmmmmmm i love herrr, wanna touch her fur so bad....

Gift for @rievynnzan​

[dietcunt222]

No man could ever give me more butterflies than the moon does

[cryptidblue1]

Now that I've slept on this stupid idea, it branched into two paths in my head. I'm going to call them Balanced and Imbalanced for AU names and I'm just going to word spew for a bit in here.

This is probably going to be long, but maybe someone else will scream with me over these ideas. Thus joining me in this trash can I created and fell into.

So Balanced is basically what would happen if the Higher Beings would actually try and win the "Don't fight one another for territory" challenge. Mainly with Radi and the Void. Because let's be real with the few contextual clues we get in game regarding Radiance and the Abyss, Radi def fought some aspect of the Void when she moved in and took over the Hallownest area before Pale King showed up. Which actually gets into my thoughts on the entire Higher Beings need to balance one another out to keep their kingdoms from dying out like they have been in the canon timeline.

Like we kinda figure the Abyss was there first and had its worshipers and such, but since it's the Void that all will return to, it kinda had no checks or balances to keep it from doing what it naturally does. Add in my thinking that the Void got its Will and Mind from its worshipers at first it means that when they kinda started to die off from Void poisoning or got taken/killed off by those who came with or started to follow the Radiance it lost a lot of its ability to think and reason. Thus why Radiance actually won whatever slap fight they got into when she rolled on up.

Now if we go with the process that each Higher Being needs one to Balance it and they actually knew this on an instinctual level and didn't go "MINE" first when settling into a place I think that the Void and the Radiance are like that two halves of a coin thing. Their difference being Light/Dark and Dreams/End. But I am certain both use some form of a hivemind/togetherness regarding the mortals that follow them and empower them. (Which is a thought that goes into a whole Rant about why I think it's this hivemind aspect that actually explains a lot of why the Vessels behaved the way they did in canon.) That and imagine the kind of religion that would spring up when the followers get like the sweetest of a final dreams from the Radiance before the Void takes them at the end of their lives. Like that kinda sounds pretty comforting knowing that when your time comes that due to your faith you're going to go out dreaming the best dream you ever have before you just become part of the Void.

So with this partnership settling I could see them sorta halving Hallownest in general. Like from where Dirtmouth is down to what would be the City of Tears in game would be more Radiance inclined due to her whole Sun motif and thus her worshipers would want to be closer to the sky. (I'm going on the assumption that Dirtmouth actually can see the sky or is where you can go to get access to the sky.) Then from City of Tears area on down would be more where those that lean more towards Abyssal followings would be. Deepnest, The Hive, Greenpath, and City of Tears Area (Which I just know likely had a different name at some point but I"m too lazy to find/make one up right now.) would be more like neutral areas and not really part of either. Especially when Unn kinda vibed in and both sorta just let em because they weren't harming anyone and their influence actually helped out everyone in the long run with the vegetation and wildlands that were created from them existing there. (Fungal hellscape I'm pretending to not perceive for my own sanity.)

Which then kinda leads into the White Lady showing up from wherever she came from. Because I'm pretty sure she kinda was already there when the Pale King showed up. And White Lady kinda becomes the balance for Unn in that Unn is of the wilds and untamed wilderness and White Lady helps show how to cultivate and nurture wildlife for the benefits of the masses. Aka I'm making White Lady the one people ask for blessings to for agriculture and other horticulture aspects and thus make her whole Queen's Garden less her just yoinking land from Unn but them vibing and sharing a domain due to how similar their aspects are and being a lot more chill since they are a balance of one another. (I still think in canon WL just stole that land without a second thought but that's Thoughts for another time.)

So with all this everything kinda already has a strong foundation and flourishing kingdom set up that in no way needs the Pale King right? Well, not exactly. Because outside of the White Lady, and even then you could argue she also kinda does since Roots and such. All these Higher Beings are kinda a hivemind mentality. Which didn't rock the boat with Deepnest and the Hive since the Hive is all for that and Deepnest pretty much has the whole for the clan mentality alongside their survival of the strongest set up. So individuality isn't really a thing, and that kinda feels like a big part of the Pale King's schtick alongside with intellectual pursuits.

So Pale King is definitely needed to allow for individual growth which is what leads to innovation and growth of a kingdom through advancement. Though it likely was a bit Tense when he showed up, especially as I am 100% certain that wyrm kinda started simping very hard and quickly for White Lady when they first met. Though, I have no idea if there is any canon Higher Being that could balance Pale King in this regard since I think Grimm with how they set up the Nightmare Heart it would be more in the Hivemind aspect then individuality. So probably would just need an OC who is like creative inclined and likes to enhance people's individual artistry and likely drives Pale King up the wall because they are pretty opposite in how they do things/personality wise, but like after they get used to one another they basically do what friends with opposite personalities do. Where the OC would help drag PK out of the lab and get air, actually connect with people, etc. While Pale King would make sure the OC would stay on task and such.

So, yeah Hallownest goes through a really odd sort of growing pains era with all these beings all converging on this area. Which probably means that like there is something Significant with this area for why even in canon everyone keeps trying to own this area. Like a leyline or something that makes Hallownest like spiritual powerful.

The Vessels still happen, but in a more controlled and actually all of them living sort of way. Aka they kinda act as bridges/heirs/etc. for the various higher beings. Like some are full on children of the PK and WL and some are kinda created as a means to show the bugs of the kingdom that all the higher beings are you know working together. So like PV/Hallow would like be PK's heir and eldest and like Ghost is like a knight of the Void and Radiance hence why they have the Dream Nail and have a lot of Void powers. Hornet is still a child of PK and Herrah, more as a political move to tie Deepnest more to the rest of the kingdom when Herrah's husband die. So like various vessels have various abilities due to whichever group of deities helped create them.

So like it's a lot of political drama and small fights between factions as everyone kinda test boundaries and sets up what area of life falls under someone's domain. This kinda makes a pantheon of sorts within Hallownest which probably makes the Godseeker kinda try and roll up in here even more then they did before. Which could be interesting considering like bruh y'all could just join the society without that whole make everyone fight and assimilate thing.

Though, that could be like a cool antagonistic aspect that would cause the vessels to have to go feral on a hivemind. More so Ghost and Hornet would would both kick down the door with a few of their more violent siblings to go "This is the wrong neighborhood" at Godseeker when they all kinda realize what exactly Godseeker is up to in regards to their collective parents.

Also this is getting long and I haven't eaten lunch yet/done my dailies in XIV so I"m going to just leave it here for Balanced and do a different post for the Imbalance AU branch where things follow canon, to a point and it's up to the vessels to basically take over domains and balance Hallownest before it just falls apart.

[rievynnzan]

Star White is just so funny and cute:))

May i request more Star White, she is so pretty and funny, makes me smile every time!

Ofc anon!!! I actually draw her because it makes me smile as well!

A Pun for @rievynnzan Moth White!

I'm very happy that you guys like her, because I love her, a lot

[closet-of-nikki]

Firefly Lights

This is Firefly Lights! Released in February 2024, it's from the Blossom Messenger event, which is a pavillion with three suits that you'll likely finish at the same time. It costs an average of 2200 diamonds to finish the pavilion, and it gives a completion gift of three makeups when you do. All three suits have been tagged #Blossom Messenger event if you'd like to look at them together.

This suit comes with two posed tops and makeup. Individual items below the cut!

And here's the posed items and makeup!

[malerek]

Under Radar YA 2022 #9 | 5 contemporary books to check out 📚

Under Radar YA 2022 #9 | 5 contemporary books to check out 📚 #BookBlogger #BookTwt #BookTwitter #UnderRadarYA

Under the Radar YA is a Sunday feature of little-known YA books turning one year. How does this work? 📚 The books featured on this little-known YA books list have less than 150 reviews on Goodreads and were published one year ago this week.📚 There are no sequels featured, only standalones and first books in a series.📚 The list used for reference is YA Novels of 2022.📚 I’m not recommending any…

[seasprincess]

cowboy!rafe and mayors!daughter

he’s here😋

Warnings:suggestive talk but no actually s3x, author doesn’t know cowboys that well

Being the daughter of mayor meant two things. One everyone knew you. And two, you were off limits unless your father had approved of the guy. And he’s a tough man to please.

Many men have tried. And many men have failed. Your father saying they aren’t rich enough, or smart enough or classy enough. But it wasn’t all down to him. All the bachelors that have come your way have not been what you see fit. Because you may or may not have your eye on a certain scruffy cowboy.

Rafe knows you’re off limits, he knows that there isn’t a world that he could be with you. You’re like a diamond and he’s a measly piece of copper. You’re clean, tidy and proper and he’s a muddy, loud mouthed cowboy who gets in trouble as easy as it is to breathe. You are out of his league in so many ways.

But there was one positive of being a cowboy in this situation. He knows his way around horses. And your family just so happened to be looking for a stable boy as you begged your daddy for a pony. Even though you know nothing about them or how to care for them. Or ride them.

And he was keen to help you out.

Rafe has been working for your father long enough to secure that job working at the stable. He’s perfect for the roll. So of course there was no hesitation when he asked. He got it straight away. Your father was beaming to get you and that damn horse off his hands and onto a trusted person.

This is definitely an upgrade from his usual jobs.

Your cute new ‘cowboy’ boots lead you down to the stables. Wind blowing your white dress a bit The suns out and it’s perfect for a day of riding. Apparently.

As your heels reach the wooden floor of your new stable, the sound makes a certain muscular cowboys head turn around from the hay.

“Howdy.” The word drawls from his lips and you just can’t help immediately getting flustered. God dammit. All he said was hello. Well ‘howdy’. This boy is trouble and you know it. But you just can’t stay away.

A moth to a flame.

“Daddy said you’d help me ride.” Your fingers make their way to your plaits, fiddling with the bands as you look at the cowboy. His hat the very one you bought him for his birthday. He lives in that hat because you brought it for him. Eats, breathes and probably sleeps in it too.

“That’s right darlin’.”

God even his voice just makes you feel a certain way you shouldn’t be feeling. Dad said not to get involved with this type of crowd. But here you are. Getting involved.

“She’s all set up for you. Just need to get on.” Rafe says as he twiddles a toothpick inbetween his teeth, eyes locked onto you and the way that dress is just the right length for him. Perfect for his thoughts later when his hand is wrapped around his shaft, touching himself to the idea of you.

He couldn’t help notice the cut off the top of your dress. The way your perky breasts were on show. God did you want to kill him?

“What if it chucks me off? What if it-”

Rafe cuts off your rambles with his hand as he looks at you. You begged for this horse and now you refused to get on it.

Classic.

“How about you ride with me? She likes me.” Softly Rafe brushed the horse, eyes never leaving yours as he tilts his cattleman hat back. He takes the toothpick out and chucks it on the floor. Rafes been riding horses since he was a young boy, so he could teach her a thing or two about riding.

In more ways than one.

“You sure?” You ask sweetly, actually praying he means his words. That he will ride with you. Because you need him on that horse with you for reassurance. For help. To teach you how to do it properly without dying, or hurting yourself. Which you know would happen. Your clumsy ass would fall off with in a minute of being on her. Her being maple the very horse that’s huffing in front of you.

You called her maple due to the fact earlier in that day that you got her you had spilt maple syrup down your new dress. The marks still there today. It’s a bit of a stupid reason but to you it’s cute. And Rafe just thinks you’re the cutest thing ever so of course he thinks it’s cute too.

“Yeah course doll. Let me help you up.” Rafe hops onto the horse with ease. It’s sort of mesmerising, hypnotic even, that someone can be so effortless at something that takes you a lot of effort.

“Put your left foot in there darlin’.” Rafe points to the stirrups. At least you know one thing. His other hand is out towards you so that your little hand can just slip so perfectly into it. The impure thoughts that flood his head about them are something that would send him to hell. Good thing he doesn’t go to church.

Your boot slips into the stirrups as you pull yourself up. Pulling on his hand as you hoist yourself up. Your legs swing over the horse as you slot in perfectly behind him, gripping in to him like a koala bear.

And Rafe just thinks you’re so cute.

“You ready?” He says as his hands find the reigns, the horse moving slightly as you grip to him tighter. Still worried about this whole situation. But something in you is excited. And enjoying being close to the cowboy.

Those little butterflies that appear in your stomach when you see him chopping wood or when he’s been out all day and is sweaty. The little white shirt highlighting his muscles. Making your panties wet.

Well those butterflies have grown bigger. Finally touching those muscles you’ve been thinking about. Of course you’ve had a few small touches here and there. Doing those things where you pretend to be feeling how strong he is.

You know he’s strong, he knows he’s strong. He’s proud of it. He’s always flexing his biceps in unnecessary times. Just to show off to you.

Cause unknown to you, he sees the way you cross your legs and advert your eyes from him embarrassed. The way you stare at him when you don’t think he’s watching. But he knows. He sees.

Your soft clean hands are wrapped around his waist. Your nails painted a nice pink colour. The difference between yours and Rafes hands is incredible. His are rough, dirt under the nail and cut hands. All that labour he does for your father. Wearing them down over time. And you’ve never worked a single day in your life. Your hands are soft, clean and cared for.

Your chest is pressed against his back, chin on his neck as the horse trots along in the field. The warm beeeze of the afternoon air kissing your face. You’d be lying if you’d say you weren’t scared. You’ve never properly been on a horse before. Thank god for Rafe.

“Calm down darlin’. You’re fine.” He says like he can read your mind. Tilting that god damn hat back again. He can’t leave it alone for five minutes.

“I’m just a bit scared.” You admit. Rafe makes you feel safe, with that southern drawl and sweet words. God is he so sweet. You just can’t help thinking about him late at night when your frilly nightdress is pulled up and finger rubbing that lovely spot in-between your legs. If only you knew what he did too.

“Well bless your heart.” He smiles as he keeps a hold of the reins, guiding the horse on this journey that he is loving. A pretty girls tits pressed against his back as he trots on a horse? He’s in heaven. “‘M gonna give you lessons in riding.”

If only you knew just what that means…

a/n: okay girly pops i’m going to write a part 2 to this maybe. this was a tad bit based of of Hannah Montana icl.

divider- @anitalenia

tags- @littlelamy

[starlight-incarnate]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[rievynnzan]

I love her so much awawawawawawa

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

✨Staticmoth wedding headcanons✨

Because I have a lot of thoughts but can't come up with the plot to turn it into fic

✨ Vox absolutely loses his shit. You would think that Valentino would be a groomzilla material but oh no no, Val just wants sexy dress and enough coke to last three days of partying. Vox needs everything perfect. He has his grand vision and is ready to tear with bare hands everyone who does not deliver. During the preparation time, he murders as many people as Val usually does. Velvette bails on being the wedding planner after just two weeks because it was seriously straining their friendship. But after a month, she's back in the game. Why? Because Vox strangled three other wedding planners in frustration, and things weren't moving forward, so Val was starting to freak out.

✨ The event is held at the Vees' Tower. I reckon they've got a venue suitable for hosting conferences and porn award shows.

✨ It's a grand event. I'm talking Grand™, like the Kim K and Kanye West of Hell kind of grand. But it's also elite, so the guest list isn't that long, around 200 invited people plus 50 ticketed spots for anyone willing to drop 100k hellish bucks to attend. Everything is dripping with gold and diamonds because "quiet luxury" isn't in the Vees' vocabulary. The whole affair reflects Val's aesthetic more, as it's Vox's love letter to him. Vox already had his wedding, and now it's time to fulfill his husband's dreams. So Val makes about 90% of the decisions without shouldering any real responsibilities. Which is fine by everyone because he's annoying as hell when it comes to picking roses, flamingo feathers, and starters. Nobody wants to put him in high-stress situations. Expect lots of red, pink, and gold, with heavy, decadent fabrics and neon lights; it's like an exclusive brothel meets the Las Vegas strip.

✨ When it comes to flowers, they settled on roses because they're Vox's favorites, which naturally made them Val's favorite too, given the sheer number of bouquets he's received. Vox, being the freak he is, counts every single bouquet he's ever given to Val. So, for their wedding, he ensures there are twice as many roses. Yes, he's a pathological overachiever.

✨ As for attractions, there’s a plethora of erotic dancers in cages and mesmerizing drone light shows. Karaoke, slot machines, live cooking stations, and all the drugs you can imagine. And let's not forget a fountain flowing with tequila. It's a true adult wonderland.

✨ Valentino skips the whole white dress thing and rocks a fierce red latex gown that's very Mugler but with a fetishcore twist. Vox keeps it sleek in a sharp black three-piece suit. His shirt's a bold blue, and his tie matches Val's dress. His shoulder pads are pointy, his waist is slutty, his ass looks divine. Oh yeah, about slutty waist - underneath the shirt he is hiding a leather corset, as a treat for the wedding night.

✨ Also none of them really have friends other than Velvette, just associates so there are no groomsmen/maids.

✨ Since there aren't any traditional churches or government officials in Hell (if there's even a government at all), Velvette takes on the role of officiating the wedding. Vox isn't entirely thrilled with this choice because there's always the risk she might crack a joke or publicly rib him, but hey, there's really no one else who could pull it off. I imagine that a wedding in Hell is also some form of magical contract but more about partnership than ownership. They do not exchange rings but blood sksksk also I don’t think that Vox can really wear rings with his claws? And they couldn't quite agree on a design that satisfied both of them. In the end, Val ends up wearing his illegally imported engagement ring from Earth, featuring four pink diamonds shaped like a moth's wings.

✨ Val's vow is, well, atrocious. It's the kind of thing that would definitely land him in one of those TikTok compilations of terrible grooms ruining their weddings. He mentions cream pieing Vox at least once. Vox at first freaks out but seconds later realizes Wow that's the man I'm marrying. I wouldn't want him any other way On the flip side, Vox's vow is immaculate. Crafted with the assistance of Voxtek's CMO and practiced to perfection, it leaves everyone in awe. He has out-of-body experience playing this role of prince charming.

✨ For their first dance, they opt for a steamy tango. Picture this: swirling red smoke on the floor, making it seem like they're dancing on the sky of the pride ring when the sun is setting down. Little do the guests know, the smoke is laced with drugs, sending most of them on a wild trip. The party quickly goes off the rails, but in the best way possible (according to the Vees’ standards).

✨ The cake is a five-tier monstrosity with five different flavors: tres leches and chocolate-cherry chosen by Val, confetti cake and strawberry cheesecake chosen by Vox and Red Velvet for Velvette because she couldn't shut up about it To top it all off, there's a big chocolate figure of Vox and Valentino dancing. Val is later caught drunk, eating it with his bare hands like the filthy animal he is.

✨ Velvette’s wedding gift is a pair of customized matching guns with small engravings that read "Partners in Crime."

✨ Valentino pulls off a surprise special pole dance performance as a wedding gift for his husband. Let's just say it's scorching hot and leaves at least 50 guests with, uh, visible excitement. Later on, things almost escalate to a full-on table bang, but...

✨ Velvette spends the entire evening reminding them that they can't just vanish to consummate their marriage because this whole party took months of preparations, and they need to be present. After all, people paid good money to be around them. The threat of cock cages hangs over their heads, but they promise to behave. However, Val being the horny beast he is, ends up taking Vox to the bathroom for a quickie anyway. Velvette decides to let it slide this time.

✨ At least 20 casualties mark the night. Vox ends up zapping one of the guests who gets a bit too clingy with Val during the dance. Meanwhile, Val gets into a brawl and, well, let's just say it doesn't end well for the other guy. Surprisingly, everyone seems to be having a great time, but hey, these are the Vees' colleagues we're talking about—they thrive on violence and sex.

✨ Yeah, there's no shortage of sex at this party. With a guest list mainly consisting of businesspeople, adult performers, and mobsters, tensions escalate rapidly. By around 3 A.M., half of the party is busy getting down and dirty in every corner imaginable.

✨ When Vox reaches the perfect level of drunkenness, he seizes control of the DJ station. Surprisingly, he's a natural, dropping beats like a pro and having an absolute blast. Val, meanwhile, goes absolutely wild watching him, thrilled to see Vox letting loose and embracing his creative side.

✨ Derek, Vox's assistant, is the odd one out, the only low-status person to snag an invite because Vox felt kinda generous. But truth be told, Derek hates the idea and wasn't keen on attending. However, when Melissa caught wind of his invitation, she practically dragged him there to be his plus one, desperate to get closer to Velvette. Derek's terrified of most of the guests, but Melissa's over the moon. She later fucks him as a reward for being a very brave boy. Angel is not invited because he would ruin mood of both grooms.

✨ Valentino had prepared the filthiest, kinkiest, most elaborate wedding night, but it doesn't go as planned. Surprisingly, things turn out very vanilla for their standards, with a lot of missionary, eye contact, and hand-holding. After 16 hours of non-stop action, they're both too exhausted to even think about getting creative.

Thank you @purrpleowl @watcherofeternalflame @canadianlucifer @aroromantic @malu897 @staticmothed @chaggieslovechild @gumm1defloor @mayflowersfly for your thoughts!

[evvyyypeters-fics]

“You fucked me so good that I almost said, “I love you”

Sugar Daddy!James Patrick March x Coquette!f!reader

Warnings! Smut, p n v, f!ngering, eensy bit of n!pple play/ breast worship, praise, porn w plot, angst bc I can’t help myself

This might be my longest fic yet

Reupload of the request by @jazz-berry

“James!” I squealed, holding the necklace up to my neck, letting the charm rest over my exposed collarbones. The pink diamond in the charm, a Vivienne Westwood staple, matched the off shoulder sweater I was wearing.

My eyes flicked away from the necklace and to the proud, beaming smile on James’s face.

“I’m guessing I did well,” He purrs, biting at the of his cigarette holder between his beaming perfect white smile, flashy against his pale skin and dark slicked hair and light mustache.

“Oh, it’s wonderful. Just perfect.” I sighed in a lovely tone.The sound made him visibly perk up, like he was puffing his chest proudly.

“How did you even get something like this in the hotel?” I asked, baffled. I knew James was a ghost, I knew it from the moment I met him. It wasn’t clairvoyance, there was just something about him that was just strange and different even in the strange and weird Cortez Hotel that made me the least bit surprised when he revealed to me that he was in fact, dead and had been for many decades.

We were drawn to each other, like a moth to flame. Where I was the glowing sun in his dark world, and he was the moth that was drawn to the burn, having never seen the sun for so long that he craved the light and sought it out. And now that he had it, he wouldn’t let it go. Not if he had any say in the matter. Even though my relationship with James was…different, to say the least, it could only seem stranger to anyone looking in as James and I were more professional than the average couple.

A few months earlier…

“If you’re interested in what I have to offer, then all you have to do…” He says in his thick, romantic voice, holding out a small feathered pen to me and tapping his finger on a thin line at the bottom of a document. “..is sign here.” He purrs, sneering cheekily at me.

I blinked a few times at him and then glanced down at his finger on the paper, still in a bit of shock and wonder. I had any natural reaction to what was going on, a ghost had just offered to practically be my sugar daddy. Well, he called it a “mutually beneficial relationship” without the commitment of a relationship. Which would have made us friends with benefits, if it weren’t for the fact that he had a slew of rules and a contract for me to follow, along with the underlying fact that he’d be paying me. Not in a cheap hooker sort of way, but in the very obvious sugar baby sort of way. I guessed calling it a sugar daddy/ baby relationship was too vulgar for him.

“What’s the catch?” I ask, glancing back up from the paper to him, my brow furrowing a bit as I tried to determine his game.

“What do you mean ‘what’s the catch’?” He smiles, practically gritting his teeth as if he’s trying to hide the fact that he was offended by the question.

“I mean, do I have to have sex with you or something?” I ask, my voice pitching inquisitively, almost accusatory.

“I don’t think of you as a hooker, darling.” He purrs, biting the end of his cigarette holder in that charming way he does, and I feel my stomach stir a bit. It was the most bare minimum thing to have ever been said to me, and yet, in the context of my situation and the way his voice trilled, it left me on the brink of floundering.

“Then what do you want from me?” I ask, my accusatory tone silencing as I soften my energy, feeling myself physically relax in my chair a little. I was curious what a man like him would want from a young 24 year old girl like me other than sex, I had my fair share of run-ins with older men, and had never heard of one who didn’t want me just for my body.

“What I want from you, darling, is to keep me company. It’s not just being dead that makes me feel cold.” His tone was unreadable as he paced behind my chair a little as he spoke, taking a quick puff of the cigarette attached to the holder and slowly blowing out the smoke.

He stops pacing and ends up back in the chair turned towards me, he takes another quick drag from the attachment and blows out of the smoke as I bat my eyelashes in awe at him, still feeling slightly overwhelmed by what was happening.

“All I ask of you is your time. Your smile, your face, your presence.” He says it like a poem, a sonnet he created, and only for me. It made my heart swell and I could feel the slight rush as it beats a bit faster for a moment, and I wonder if being dead makes it so that you can hear the heartbeats of others better when you don’t have one yourself. I hoped not, as mine had begun to pick up speed with his words, praying that the rush hadn’t made its way to the apples of my cheeks.

I nodded, not saying anything else in hopes of preventing myself even more shy embarrassment, holding out my palm for him to hand me the feather pen. I quickly squiggle my signature on the contract, and soon as I put the pen back down, he whisks it away faster than I can blink and rolls it into his possession. A giant smile now beams his face as he holds out his hand for me to take, and I hesitantly rest my fingers on his palm as he lifts me up from the chair.

“Wonderful.” He purrs, a pearly smirk on his face as I lift my head to meet his eyes.

Present day…

“I have my ways darling. You’re not the only living person I know.” He says, taking my hands in his as we begin to sway without music, he dances me slowly around the room as we talk. Something he likes to do quite often, so I’ve gotten used to finding a rhythm without music anymore. It was like we were dancing to the beat of my heart, and not the rhythmic tune of a song.

“Besides, I’m not aware if you’ve heard of this thing called the age of the internet..” He whispers in my ear, teasing me with his sarcastic wit. For a man who still dressed like it was the 1920’s, he had quite the wit and information of the modern times outside of him. I assumed that Liz must have been feeding him this information, they spend lots of time at the bar together now.

“Aah, I see.” I nod, unsure how to respond, being tongue-tied by his words.

“You look absolutely ravishing by the way, darling. How ever did a girl like you wind up here of all places?” He purrs as he continues to slowly sway with me, his hand clasped tightly with mine as he leans down and kisses my collarbone and shoulder.

“I find I’ve been asking myself the same question.” I smiled lightly, giggling a little at the feeling of his lips. But truly, I was now numb to the idea of living in the hotel with James and the other ghosts and guests. I had no family outside the hotel, so there was nothing holding me, but I still sometimes wondered what my life would have been like if I hadn’t decided to stay. Probably no better than it is now, out there I wouldn’t have James and the others to take care of me. Specifically, I wouldn’t have James. And after being with him for so long now, I’ve realized that I couldn’t imagine living without him any more.

He pulls back and looks into my eyes with a slightly worried and confused furrow, as if sensing the tension backed in my words.

“Are you unhappy here?” He asks, and for once there was no offense in his voice. It was if he truly feared that I was unhappy with my current situation, and that he was holding me back.

“No, it’s not that. I just…sometimes I just wonder what might have happened if I didn’t decide to stay here. To stay with you.” I stuttered a bit, stumbling over my words as I tried to quickly mend what I had begun to crack before it broke. My eyes darted nervously as I was put on the spot.

He continued to have this saddened furrow on his face that tugged at my heart strings. James promised that we wouldn’t let our feelings get involved in the relationship, as I had asked him I didn’t want there to be any obligation of attachment. And yet here we were, both hanging onto each other like we couldn’t let the other go. We wouldn’t. It seemed my plan to keep myself from falling in love with a ghost had failed, and I lost all hope of escape. In myself, and in this situation. Whatever it was.

“There is nothing out there for you, darling. There wasn’t then and there isn’t now.” He begins, his voice soft and warm, like a soft and comforting blanket. “You’re right where you belong.”

“But if that means you don’t want it to be with me, then so be it. You have every right to remove yourself from this agreement, it’s in the contract you signed.” I looked up at James, feeling the heartbreak squeezing at me. I just wanted to shake him and tell him I love him, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I kept my composure and shook my head.

“James…” I sigh, unsure of what to say. He always found a way to get my thoughts caught up.

“Don’t think that means I won’t put up a fight though…” He mutters against my skin as he begins to place soft kisses against my neck, having stopped our slow dancing and snaked his hands around the small of my back.

“I’ll keep you here as long as I can, no matter the cost…” He begins to get more possessive with his words and actions, nipping at my earlobe and trailing kisses up and down along my collarbone, neck and face. His lips danced over mine and ended up on my cheek, letting them ghost over and leaving a small shiver to run up my spine as I felt the silent brush of him over the plush skin.

I felt a whimper choke silently, getting caught in my throat as his fingers dip under the hem of my baby pink sweater. He continues to place deep and soft kisses along my warm skin, slowly pulling me closer and closer against him as if he was trying to melt our bodies together so I was unable to ever leave his side.

“James..” I whimper softly, the words being pushed from my mouth in a pathetic melody. He finally pulls his lips from my neck and looks into my eyes with those deep, sparkling pits. So empty, yet somehow so full of love and longing. We stare at each other for a moment, still flush against one another as our breathing begins to sync. The air feels tense and palpable as we wait for the other to make the next move. We both knew what was coming, it was just a game of waiting how long it would take for the other to cave.

Little to my surprise, Jame’s hand brushes the side of my face and latches around my ear, combing into my silk hair before he quickly rushes forward and snatches my lips into his, pressing a long and deep kiss into me. My eyes flutter shut and I lean back into him, my hands snaking up his suit-clad arms and around his neck. He hums at the feeling as I pull him in closer with my hands, clutching myself onto him as he swipes his tongue on my bottom lip. Pleading for entrance, and I’m so desperate myself that I let him in, and he instantly wraps his tongue with mine. And so the battle begins, and we both fight for dominance over the other as we slowly walk back to the silk sheeted bed that had been looming behind us, the backs of my knees pressing into the mattress before tripping me over backwards. I land and bounce a bit on my back, gasping into the kiss a bit as his body cages me down onto it, continuing to bite at my lip before licking the roof of my mouth and locking his tongue back with mine.

I raise my legs from the ground and wrap myself around his waist to fold into a more comfortable position, using them to pull him closer into me and finally feeling the tent in his suit as it grinds against my lace panties from underneath the white skirt I was wearing. That was now splayed higher up my waist, pooling at my sides against the mattress. He groans as I push him in, forcing his hips to roll at the growing stain pooling into the pink rose colored fabric. He pulls away from the kiss for a moment to drag me higher onto the bed, climbing up onto it with me before he begins to tug at the edge of the sweater I was wearing, lifting it up to throw it over my head.

I help him pull it off, grabbing the end of the sweater and swiping it effortlessly off my body and onto the floor behind me. He gives me a pleased grin before diving back into the kiss, my torso raised from the bed a bit and I placed my hands at the side of his face, tangling through his slick hair and messing up the classy style. I smile against his lips for a moment and he eagerly tries to push himself back in between my teeth, my smile settling as I let him deepen the kiss. The room begins to be filled with pants, soft moans and the sound of our mouths latching as time goes on. The sweet smell of pre-sex filling the air and mixing with the musty and dingy smell of the hotel that I had luckily grown used to by now.

His lips begin to falter, traveling back down my collarbone as he kisses the middle of my cleavage, his eyes flashing up to meet mine as his fingers hook under the straps of my bra and let them fall, his hands then sneaking behind my back and flicking open the clasp. He moves further away for a moment to take the straps of the bra again and slide them down my arms as I raise them up, throwing it to the side before latching his mouth onto one of the perking rosebud nipples now exposed. Cupping the other breast in his large hand and gently twisting the standing pink bud, my hands comb their way back into his hair, holding his head between them as small moans fell from my lips.

The heat growing in my abdomen and the burn of my core became unbearable at this point. My panties practically leaking onto the bed from my drooling cunt, hungry and greedy for more. A feeling I had never had with anyone else before.

“James…” A new pathetic whine, it was starting to seem like the only word I could say anymore was his name. A mantra. Which I knew would probably make James happy if that were true. He lifts his head a bit, his gaze meeting mine as he curiously listens to what I was trying to say. “Touch me…please.” I beg shyly, my face burned and I was sure it had reached a new shade of pink.

The cheeky bastard detached his lips from my nipple and flashed a devilish grin as he lifts up to meet my face again and presses a tender kiss to my cheek.

“Is my sweet girl feeling impatient?” He purrs in my ear and I struggle to swallow for a moment, the words ringing in my ear. Sweet girl. I shivered. “I suppose I could give you another treat, just because you’ve been such a good girl this week,” He purrs again in my ear, knowing it made me tremble even more. There were those sweet words again: good girl.

Slipping his fingers under the waistband of my panties, he collects the arousal pooling from my cunt, gasping slightly in my ear as he keeps his face close to mine, tenderly pressing occasional kisses against my lips. “Fuck…” He growls under his breath in a deep low tone that surprises me, sending shivers down my back as he pulls his fingers away and shows me the glistening remnants of my arousal webbing on his fingers.

“You are truly divine,” He grins as he gains my reaction to my fluids clinging to his fingers. Something on my pleading face must have struck a chord in him, because he quickly went back to slipping off my panties, collecting more slick on his fingers before dipping in his middle and index. He expertly dragged the pads of his fingers along the top of my gummy walls, picking up a perfect rhythm that sent shivers up my spine in a constant spur. My thighs shook gently as he continued fingering me, being pulled closer and closer over the edge. The pitch of my moans heightened when he pressed the pad of his thumb onto my swollen clit, rubbing in slow and gentle circles that slowly began to speed up. The pressure of his thumb on the bundle of nerves becoming stronger as he continues coaxing an orgasm out of me.

“Oh god..” I shudder breathlessly as I feel the telltale squeeze inside of me, the ecstasy blossoming over and through my body. I can hear a soft deep chuckle in my ear as he feels the clench of my muscles squeeze his thick fingers.

“Go ahead, darling. Let it go..” He purrs in my ear, I can practically feel the grin on his face as I squeal, release washes over me and paints the sheets beneath me. My thighs shake harshly for a moment and he continues pressing into my clit until I whine with overstimulation.

“I am going to absolutely ravage you, darling” He growls lowly. “So that the only thing you can think of is me, how much pleasure only I can give you.”

“Would you like that?” He asks in a pleasant tone.

I quickly nod my head, my mind dizzy from my previous orgasm.

“Use your words dear, I don’t know what you’re saying.” He sneers, clearly taunting me.

“Yes.” My words come out soft, feather-like off my tongue.

“Good…” His words trail pleasantly, a sweet praise. He rises away from me and swiftly unclasps his belt and slides it out from the belt loop of his suit pants in one swoop, like a small crack of a whip. I jump a little and his gaze peers up at me momentarily and he flashes an amused grin at my momentary shock and fear.

He unbuttons his pants and lets them drop, swiftly stepping out and kicking them to the side, adding his suit jacket and unbuttoned shirt to the pile next. His gaze focused on removing the fabric as I lie with labored breathing against the bed, my eyes flicking up and down his figure as I watch him reveal more and more. I watched in awe as he smoothly removed each piece of clothing without struggle, and a fervent desperation to remove them.

“Enjoying the show?” He purrs, his gaze wandering up to me again and noticing the hard stare I bore into his body.

Embarrassed, my eyes dance away from their staring and I feel a hot flush burn through my cheeks harder than before. “No need to be embarrassed, darling.” He adds, finally free of all his clothes, his cock springing free from his boxers and leaking with a drool of precum.

He walks forward, crawling up over me again and grabbing at my thighs with both of his hands. He notices my skirt still bunched at my waist and swiftly slides it off, forcing a small gasp to erupt from my lips. My skin now bare and exposed to the slight chill in the room, I feel the body heat emanating from James. For a ghost he had quite the warm body, his skin smooth and soft, the smell of his cologne strong and invading my senses causing my head to stir. I could feel my body begging and calling for him, even if I didn’t say it myself. And I knew he could hear it screaming from the look on his face and the way he tenderly placed kisses along my shoulders and collarbone. His touch quickly became gentle and careful, slowly lifting my legs over each of his shoulders while placing kisses up to my ankles. I shivered at the soft touch, his hands sliding up and down my legs before settling at the plush of my thighs and squeezing them.

He removes one hand from my thigh and begins to tease my slick folds with the tip of his flushed cock, flicking over my clit a few times before slowly sinking into my hungry entrance. He slowly bottoms himself out, groaning softly at the feeling of my walls entrapping him, my cunt fluttering with neediness and excitement. He takes a few moments for me to adjust to the sheer girth, his length hitting just right nestled against my cervix.

I began to believe him when he said he was going to ravish me, because as soon as he found a comfortable grip on my legs and a steady rhythm, he didn’t hold back from pounding into me like a madman. Erotic squelches of my cunt began to fill the room as the fresh smell of sex began to linger in the air, the sounds of moans, rough pants and groans added to the mixture. I could barely feel my legs from the way his thighs rammed into me, but I could fully feel the hard strokes of pleasure ringing through my entire body as his pelvis occasionally hit just right against my budding clit while kissing deep against my cervix with each thrust. Groans and faltered breaths falling heavy from his lips.

I bit my lip, trying not to make too much noise with the thin walls of the hotel, practically bursting with sweet moans with each ounce of pleasure that began to well up in my throat.

James removes one of his hands from my legs and leans forward a little, folding me over and trapping me down as he continues to pound me, sliding his thumb over my bottom lip and asking for entrance where I graciously let him press his thumb against my tongue. He holds my mouth open, grinning at my obedience and the erotic look on my face.

“Now, darling. There’s no need to be quiet. Let me hear your pretty little sounds.” He purrs, and he chuckles a little as my cunt squeezes tighter against him, my face furrowing with the intense feeling. I try to release the hold I had on my moans, my mouth still forced open as he fondles the inside of my mouth, sliding under my tongue and over the roof of my mouth, occasionally I suck on it and he flashes an amused smile at me. My toes curl from over his shoulders, still trapped in his grip as he drills me into the mattress. My moans begin to erupt louder as I feel the warmth and pressure of an orgasm building inside of me.

“Fh- I’m g’na!” My words struggle as I moan, coming out as pathetic whines interrupted by the sweet sound of pleasure and laboring pants.

I see a new smile paint his face and pulls his thumb away and wraps his arm around my leg and presses the wet thumb against my clit, my back instantly arches and I let out a small scream, my head pressing into the mattress as he changes his speed to long and languid thrusts that slide almost all the way out before slamming back against my cervix causing me to visibly shiver. Each thrust pulled a moan from my throat. He watches my cunt and the way it tries to suck him back in each time he slides away.

His gaze lifts to me again and watches my breasts from my chest arching up from the curve of my spine. My thighs begin to shake as a hot burst erupts and I practically see stars as I orgasm on his cock. I let out a long scream, moaning loudly, which presents a satisfied grin on James’s face. He follows suit after, continuing to fuck into me after my orgasm until he quickly pulls out and pumps himself against my stomach, painting it and my breasts with his cum. I shudder, my eyes rolling back a bit for a moment as my eyelashes flutter, my brain and body feeling practically numb as I felt lightweight and fucked stupid.

James shudders for a second, his breath stuttering as he orgasms, his gaze quickly lifting from my cum painted body to my face where he places a tender hand to my cheek and lowers my legs from his shoulders.

“My darling, you are marvelous.” He sighs heavily as I slowly come back to reality, curling up into his chest. “How did I ever find a woman like you?” A rhetorical question, and one that made my heart squeeze.

I let out a pleased sigh as I wrap my arms around him, our chests flush together. He doesn’t seem to mind the stick of our skin from sweat and our mutual orgasms, and neither do I. Listening closely to each other’s heartbeats and slowing breaths as we lay in the now sex soaked bed together. I feel slightly relaxed from the smell of his cologne and my perfume mingling with that sweet deep smell of sex, the air thick of it now.

“James, can I be honest?” I ask, breaking the silence with my soft, slightly hoarse, voice.

“Always, dear.” His voice humming near my ear as he rests his arm over mine and around my back, encasing me in his grip.

“I don’t want to leave the hotel…I really like it here, with everyone. With you.” I admitted, knowing that after everything the conversation had been settled inside of him, but something in me wanted to explain myself and be open with him.

“I know. I know, princess.” James says comfortingly, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead as I raise my gaze, sliding my head against the covers to look up at him. Staring into those coke zero eyes I love so much.

“I wonder…what does this make us now?” I ask. James and I had never been so intimate in our relationship, everything being boiled up to this moment.

“Whatever you want it to be…” He says in this deep, soft melodic voice that makes my heart flutter and my consciousness feel lightweight. I decided to think about it later, just laying my head closer into his chest, nestling tighter in his arms, my eyes fluttering closed as I fell asleep. Hoping that this time, I might be able to wake up in his arms for once.

Let me love you, don’t mind my desperation,

Let me hold you, not just for a vacation,

But for real and for forever,

Make it real life, let me be a real wife to you,

Girlfriend, lover, mother, friend,

I adore you

-Lana Del Rey

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow

[rievynnzan]

FLUFFY BABYYYYYYY

Moth White by  @rievynnzan​

Could be considered an unintentional Art trade

[jolalibrary]

this year's love.

simon ghost riley x f!reader

wc: 5.5k warnings: angst. fluff. smut. feelings. usual jo things. summary: And then you begin calling him Riley. It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips. an: from the drabble where ghost 'dates' a non-militant he meets in a pub. this is dedicated to @yeyinde for reminding me why British pubs are adorable, and also to @guyfieriii because she hates my angst, but loves my fluff, and makes me want to write better.

simon ghost riley masterlist

He suspects he should stay away. 

As soon as he began to crave the sight of you. Ignoring the fact he’s heard This Year's Love by David Gray three times already—and he has only been here an hour. The condensation beads from his glass pools on the picked-at-bar mat, drenching his fingers and wrist. 

Not that he cares. 

Ghost—

Simon knows it’s all part of the charm. 

It has been since the day he turned eighteen and his boss at the butchers took him for his first pint. 

The place hasn’t changed since. Everything from the same ten to twelve songs which crackle through the worn and tired speakers. The smokey air, and discoloured, yellowing wallpaper. 

Things don’t get replaced either, the chipped glass ashtrays are the same as the ones he remembers. The same chipped mahogany tables with the ill-matching chairs and stools that are wobbly.

The scent in the place is familiar, a mix between festering ale and Mr Sheen, working men and cheap perfume, fust and smoke—both from the crackling winter fire and cigarettes—even if one hasn’t been smoked inside of it for years. 

The place, to outsiders, would look like any stone-walled pub on the corner of two streets they’ll never remember. Then they’ll step in, their eyes glancing over the peeling wallpaper, moth-eaten curtains (that never close) and the once-white nets in the windows, before questioning what they’ve walked into. That’s before they’ve noticed the white ball on the pool table is in fact another black ball and that the dart board triple 20 has been chipped out after Bald-Andy lost his rag. 

The pub has been a real gem to those who know what real diamonds are for as long as Simon can remember. None of the regulars care that the bar stools have burns from cigarettes being stubbed out, they don’t care that the musty smell doesn’t vanish even with Febreze and sheer will. It’s expected, just like how the bar is always sticky and the energy always feels right. 

Here, he can relax. 

When he’s home, he feels purposeless. A man with a map but no direction. But, he can unfurl his shoulders from his ears, even let his hood slide to the back of his neck. 

Because in this place, strangers aren’t welcome. It’s a local pub, for local folk. Those who wander in, thinking the pub on the corner of quaint and quintessential will provide them with a typical British evening, normally leaving before Freddie Mercury has reached the bridge of whatever song is on rotation. 

But, Simon isn’t just here for the bourbon or the ale, he’s not here because the wooden fire licks every wall of the place. He’s not here because it feels more like home than his actual home. 

He’s here because there’s one thing that has changed, and it’s you. 

You with a rosy, sweet laugh that usually accompanies a smile which makes his heart gallop. It calms whatever storm rages inside of him when you look at him—when you bore your pretty, fucking eyes into him before you lean over, hand on the beer pump as you call him Simon. 

Simon. 

His name has never sounded more serene than when it falls from your lips. The way you say it makes it seem less than ordinary, almost unique. Humour sways in your eyes, a glint he knows there’s more too—and wants nothing more than to explore. 

You’re a vibrant surprise in the middle of my mundane, and it took him all of five minutes to discern you’re both difficult and charming all rolled into one. 

And then you begin calling him Riley. 

It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. 

Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips.

Women haven’t tended to last here—except Tracy. Tracy, who like the urinal cakes, has been here since Simon’s first pint. Her lines had deepened in her skin over time, but her hair has remained that putrid blonde she tries to claim is natural. 

You, on the other hand, are far younger—kind, soft, unless someone gets lairy and then there’s a ferociousness to you that’s packed into something so small. He suspects you know what the men at the bar look at when your eyes aren’t looking, and it’s not the way you command the small space stuffed with offerings and glasses. 

He’d paid no mind initially. Tried not to, anyway. He’d decided it would be for the best. Then you’d bite back at Dave that you may be too young to remember a song,  but you could still get down on her knees without them creaking. 

He had smirked at that. 

Deciding his new seat at the bar, on the rickety bar stool was his new favourite seat. 

To this day, you always smell floral, but the accompanying scent with it changes. Sometimes you’re sultry, sometimes you’re just sweet. Each time he is able to return ‘home’ he’s never sure which one he’ll get—but it burns a place in his nose all the same. 

Hard to shift, difficult to smother, not that he wishes to do either. 

Their first exchanges were simple. Contractual. Another? Yes. Your usual? Yes. Then you had placed a deck of cards in front of him, a teasing smile on your face in the quietness of a Wednesday evening. 

Keep me company. 

It was difficult for him to grasp how soft your eyes were, how it made his mind blank and his heart both hammer and stutter all at once. 

Now, it’s normal. 

He’s used to it, fucking welcomes the way they land on him. He thinks about them on the plane ride home, how Alan—the chef who’ll serve anything off-menu for a packet of fags—makes a mean all-day breakfast sandwich. But mostly, it’s you. 

“You back for long, Riley?” 

“No.”

“Never are.” 

“You sound disappointed, sweetheart.” 

You always smile the same when he calls you that. Always half-roll your eyes before shaking your head, as though flirting with you is oh so wrong. 

Especially when you start it first. 

“What would you do if I was?” 

That’s new. 

His fingers pick up a crisp, watching you lean on the pump in front of you. The star earrings hanging from your ears, catch the bar spotlights, making it seem as though you’re literally glowing. 

But then, you are—to him at least. 

Someone calls for you, pint raised in hand—saving him from answering. You wink, and mumble you’ll be right back, the words lingering in the space you once stood. 

You’re too good for him. 

Too normal. Too unscarred and untouched. He suspects a bad thing has never happened to you. You’ve not plunged a knife into someone’s throat, not shot a moving target with a precision that most try to replicate on their controllers and headsets. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, he knows he should stay on this side of the bar. Even when it takes all of his self-restraint to do so. 

It’s hard though. 

More so when you give him that look—that one which makes his cock twitch and his thoughts turn feral. 

Because the nice girl from the pub may have a sweet, soft voice, but fuck he knows you’re anything but. 

You’re all red lips and righteousness, a siren and enchantress who chooses floral perfume to try and disguise the way your eyes undress him. 

Not that he complains. 

He’s done the same. 

Fucked his own fist to the thought of the noises you’d make and how you’d feel enveloped around his cock. 

Tonight he’d likely do the same. 

Winter is in full effect when he next returns. 

Snow was thick on the streets, the roads a horrid mix of ice, slush and asphalt. 

You’re behind the bar, Bald-Andy and his wife in the corner near the fire, and the crackling, gruff voice of Oasis is playing. You look up, lips smirking, eyes glistening. 

“The usual?” 

He considers it. Sweet, caramel and vanilla notes hit his tongue in memory. But he shakes his head, pulling out a stool, and sitting opposite you as your perfume greets him. 

“Surprise me, sweetheart.” 

You stand fully, hair falling around your face, making his heart lurch and his stomach burn. 

“Living dangerously, I see,” you say, turning your back to him as you pull at spirit bottles.

If only you knew. 

He suspects something sweet when you place the glass in front of him. The sound of it meeting the worn wood so loud, not that the other two patrons look over. As though it’s just the two of you. No one else. His eyes lift, hooking themselves into yours—unwilling to let you tear them from him as he tries to bury the aches of war and fighting. 

It’s caramel coloured, darker at the bottom of the glass than the top. Ice. So much ice. 

“Go on, try it, Simon.” 

And he does. 

It’s sweet, and zingy. It’s mellow but spicy, and he tastes the hints of ginger and rum as the cold hits his teeth. 

“What y’made me?” 

“You like it?” 

Yes. 

The tip of your tongue swiping across your bottom lip, watching you lean smugly. “Dark and stormy… the epitome of you.”

A groan leaving his lips, your laugh tasting of sunshine and happier days. 

A long moment stretches between the two of you, one that makes the air thrum and him having to shift his jeans. A continuous voice in his head, telling him no, telling him to put a stop to this now. 

He drinks it. He even orders it again. 

Time ticks fast—too fast. He wants it to slow. Ever since their first flirtation, if you’ve finished when he’s there—he walks you to your car. 

You drive something small, your entire backseat is always covered in coats, shoes and books. Something normal, and so typically you. 

He does the same tonight, hands in his jacket pockets, periodically scanning the area as you lock the big wooden doors of the pub. You shake them, ensuring you have, pocketing the keys before turning to nudge him. 

Simple. Soft. Each gesture in the short walk is always seemingly effortless. You don’t worry he’ll take offence, that he’ll shatter or snap. 

Not that he would. 

His arm lifting, letting your small hand slide around it for stability as the snow falls thick and fast. It paints the streets in a blanket that crunches under their boots. And there’s something about the snow landing in your hair, on the tip of your nose, even on your lower lip. 

He wants to brush it from your mouth, and trace the bow of your upper lip with his thumb. 

Because it’s all a contradiction. Snow makes you look innocent, something close to a character from a movie or a Disney film. And, you’re not any of those things. 

You’re snarky, huffed whispers and quick retorts when drunkards try to hit on you; you’re witty, funny and boldly brilliant.

So much so, he’s never sure why you work there. He knows you’re studying, knows you’re trying to better yourself. You’ve told him as much over a Pepsi Max in your hand and something stronger in his. 

He knows it’s odd to keep staring at you. Your eyes staring up, making your eyes seem wider and bigger than they actually are—pretty sure the flurries of snow, stars and moon are shining in them. But it’s his treat—his reward. The thing he thinks about when he’s knee-deep in mud or covered in blood, sweat and bruises. 

Your feet stop at your car, unlocking it—the beep and flash of your headlights casting light across the car park. 

“You back for long?” 

“No.”

Smiling, you lean against the rear window. “Never are.” 

It’s a pattern, a habit. An exchange that has become the norm for the two of you as much as hello and goodbye. 

Then, you sigh.

Something you rarely do, not to him—not with him. His brows knitting, tightening, heart thundering in his throat as you drag your eyes up his chest, and neck and land on his face. 

“Do you know how perfect it would be, if you grew a pair and kissed me in the snow, Riley?” 

Your hand slides into the handle, opening it as your smirk turns into a grin. One which is brighter than your headlights, the moon—hell, the fucking sun. 

“Guess I’ll have to wait for a shooting star, instead.” 

And, you laugh, leaning your back against the car—expression blended with vulnerability and searing heat that should melt the settling ice on your face. 

“Y’seem like the sorta woman to make me work for it.” 

“Oh yes, because eighteen months of will-they-won’t-they hasn’t been tedious enough.” 

He grabs your elbow, roughly pulling but finds you fall into him with far too much ease. The snow continues to fall, leaving soft cold kisses on his face, but he doesn’t feel cold. 

How could he? You’re staring up at him with the searing heat of the sun. 

“Y’want me to kiss you, Sweetheart?” 

“More than I want to go home and sleep, Riley.” 

His hand cups your cheek, warm meeting cold as he pulls your lips to his. Cold, soft lips slide against his, and he tastes the orange from your cordial swirling with his bourbon-covered tongue. Your car groans when he presses you against it, your hand clutching him with the same desperation as he’s flush with your body. 

Your cheeks are warm against his hands, eyelashes fluttering open as the two of you break apart. 

“You… you want to come back to mine?”

Yes. Fuck yes. 

But—

“Next time.” 

“Yeah?” 

His fingers brush down your cheek, and he nods. 

He got your number. 

For convenience. You tell him he didn’t need to come in and drink one of your piss-poor beer pulls just to get in your knickers. 

So he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t text when he first lands. He gives himself a day—a moment to shed the Ghost and become Simon. When you do you don’t reply with anything witty, just straight-laced—just like he likes it. 

A time. An address. 

He expects you to size him up at your front door, even bracing for a changed mind. You don’t do either. You let the door open, standing two steps inwards dressed in something lace and rippable. 

Fuckin’ fuck. 

It’s the only thought he has before he slams your door behind him, striding towards you and practically throwing you over his shoulder. 

You don’t taste like what he expects—it’s better. 

His tongue flattens against you, two fingers inside your warm cunt as you whimper. You reluctantly still clutching to the promise you’d made earlier. The one where you informed him it’ll take more than a few fingers and a skilled tongue to make you scream. 

So he sucks. Bites. Nips. 

He finds that squishy part, stroking it as your thighs twitch by his ears. 

It’s then he grants himself the chance to look at you, finding your lipstick spread in a way which seems deliberately chaotic—even if he knows it isn’t. Your lashes wet, eyes clamped shut as you try and try not to give in. 

So fuckin’ stubborn. 

Your hands, all smooth and soft, clutching your breasts, the pink of a nipple poking out between your index and thumb as your chest rises and falls as you fight calling out his name. 

He likes that you have convictions—it gives him something to break. 

His tongue swirling, knowing already what he needs to do to undo you. 

And then—

Simon—fuc-k, Simon.

It’s better than classical, better than whatever is number one on the fuckin’ charts. The sound of you coming hard, and fast, trying to bury it in a whisper than the scream you actually want to release. All of it is a better sound than his knife plunging into some unsuspecting op—because he will make you scream. 

He laps up every ounce you give him, your pleading whimpers and nails in his hair making him groan against your cunt until you almost snap his neck—or try to. 

“Take them off. Now.”

He doesn’t like orders.

He fucking detests them. He gives them. Normally loud and booming. But your voice, all sweet and high-pitched, trying to give stern eyes when your lashes are coated in tears he’s caused…

Your eyes widen when he stands naked. And he knows he’s big. 

He’s very fucking aware of it. He’s seen plenty of evidence to support the fact in the wild, surprised eyes of those who he’s dropped his trousers for. 

You now being one of them. 

But fuck, he fits in you perfectly. So much so, he wants to mould your insides to match him, to ruin you for every other person who thinks they stand a chance with you.

Because they don’t. 

But then neither does he. 

Not that he’ll squander a moment to fuck with heaven—to hear the cadence shift when he hooks your leg over his hip as he drives his cock into you all the way to the hilt. 

He coaxes another out of you, your tight cunt like a vice around him as your manicured nails leave scratches on his back. His tongue swipes across your jaw, before haphazardly capturing your mouth. 

You taste like mint polos and sex—a taste he is already sure he’ll crave. 

And he wonders to himself if you know how fucking perfect you are. If you have any idea of how stunning you truly are. 

Especially like this. Your body shimmering with sweat, each thrust making your breasts bounce as your fingers tease his hair at the nape of his neck. 

And then he wonders about something else. 

Something far from coating your walls in his come.

Would you fit in his life? 

Would you fit as well in it, as he does inside your cunt?

And then you’re clenching, hips lazily trying to meet his as you whimper, moan—

And then you scream. 

Not Riley.

But Simon.

Mission accomplished. 

It has become a habit. 

You have become a habit. 

He lands. He waits a day. He fucks you until you are raw, sore and breathless. His lips are on yours, hands still on your hips as he hears how hoarse your voice is. 

“You back for long?”

“No.”

But this no is different.

It’s tinged with half a teaspoon of regret and sadness. 

You hide your face when he answers now. Sometimes by slinging your arm to shield him from your eyes or by turning from him. It’s like you know he likes them. Likes being able to see each infliction of emotion in them—shimmering, dancing, storming across in front of him. 

Somehow, you’ve fit into his life too well—cutting yourself a hole, forcing your way in, and making it seem as though you were always there. 

Simon lets you be, too. 

You have one of his t-shirts, baggy, black and covered in your perfume. He finds he has one of your hair ties around his wrist, not even realising until he slides on a pair of gloves. Flicking it against his wrist as he thinks of you, something he only allows himself to do briefly.

Things have changed. Shifted. 

But the Earth hasn’t fallen off its axis and he’s not fucked up a mission. So he counts his blessings. He doesn’t know if he believes good things can happen to him, but he could be persuaded that he can have nice things. A belief he even starts to accept. A reality he begins to wish for, rather than keep at arm's length. 

You’ve left the pub. You hadn’t been working every night for a while. Your studies had ended—receiving a photo of a cap and gown without your face when he was in the middle of a desert. 

Now you’re working a better job, one you deserve more—it’s creative, more you. You make the world brighter, and better while he’s getting dirty and riding the world of darkness. You text him once, the day you got paid, that you bought him something nice.

Something he ripped with his teeth when he landed—much to your annoyance. 

You’re no longer the girl in the pub. You’re perfectly applied make-up he fucks off your face. You’re high heels and pencil skirts—and sometimes fitted trousers that hug your arse so beautifully, he’s almost a bit jealous. You’re the pink sky at night, laughter that warms his chest, and a smile he thinks about as he falls asleep. 

“What would my alias be?” 

Your hand slides over a plate to him. Cheese on toast. Nothing big, nothing major, but he stares at it all the same. Because you’ve made him something. 

You’ve been doing it for a while, and each time is as perplexing as the last. His brain is unable to figure out how, why and what he’s done to deserve it. Even if it’s toast, a sandwich, or a fucking meal. 

Because it’s something outside of sex. It’s outside of holding the back of your head as he fucks your throat; outside of him pinning you against the dark alleyway of the pub he first saw you in, making you both cold and warm all at once. 

Even if he knows—constantly turns it over and over in his mind—that this isn’t just sex. He’s not entirely sure what this is. Except…nice?

You take a bite of your own, the crunch filling the air, crumbs littering your top—his top. “My call sign.” 

Simon isn’t sure why he told you about what he did. You were in his arms, warm, smelling of sex, flowers and something sharp. And, it fell out of him. Still drunk off your cunt, lost in the tenderness of your fingers on his chest, playing it a pattern with your nails. 

Not everything. Fuck, he couldn’t tell you everything—wouldn’t. But you know enough. 

Enough for him to know you’re not running, that you still want him knocking on your door whenever he lands—whether it's morning, noon or night. 

Now, you’re making him food. Legs long, his black t-shirt skimming your thighs—all his. Looking ever so inviting, making it hard not to push you up on the counter and give your neighbours something to talk about.

“Egg.”

You snort, sharp and light. “Egg?! You’re fuckin’ rude, Riley. Egg? No, that’s shit, give me a better one.” 

“But, true. You’d shatter, you’re more yolk than shell, you.”

“C’mon, be serious.” 

He gives you a look, finding the one you’re giving him sultry, teasing—demanding. 

“Snow.” 

You stare for several seconds before you hum, crunching the corner of your food with your teeth. “Lemme guess because I’m oh-so-delicate?”

No—

It’s because you’re fucking perfect. 

Because you’re his favourite season and favourite moment.

On some deeper level, he suspects it’s because you’re pure. That you’re unruined. Untainted. Your body has no scars—except the one from chicken pox and one on your hand from a glass bottle shattering. But, that’s it. He’s kissed every inch of you to know, to be 100% sure. 

You’re Snow because each time he sees it, he thinks of you. Those red lips, all that fucking audacity and the way you kissed him, tasting as warm as bourbon and as sweet as sugar. 

“Yeh, ‘cause you’re all pure and innocent, Sweetheart.”

You laugh, richly. Head thrown back, perfect thin neck exposed to the air—to him. 

And he wants to kiss you. 

He wants to taste your laugh and smile, let his hands run around the back of your thighs and feel you against every inch of him. 

That’s when your eyes land on him again—all full of questions and spice. Your tongue drags across your plush bottom lip, wiping up the grease from the cheese as he swallows. 

His throat suddenly dry. 

Because the girl he met in the pub—the one standing before him—is standing in his t-shirt. Looking every bit delicious, good enough to eat and never come up for air. 

And he thinks—

Realises, he actually, might—probably—miss you when he goes back to Price. 

It’s stretched on for months. A year. 

He lands, uses the key you gave him and stamps the snow from his boots, half smiling to himself as he does. Whenever he gets here, he doesn’t wait, he finds his way to whatever room you’re in.

Sometimes he doesn’t get far, your body colliding with his. All curves in his hands and arms around his neck, and he’s not sure what the fuck this is, but he likes it. 

Loves it. 

It’s something like a song about falling in love and a peaceful Sunday morning; it’s those moments you see in movies that make your eyes swell with tears as he stares at you, wondering how on earth you’re so goddamn amazing. 

It’s familiar, and yet he has no idea what is happening next or why. 

Mostly, though, Simon knows it’s something because he said your name to Johnny. 

Not because he was dying, not because he was hurt. But in the middle of a normal conversation, one exchanged on some dark rooftop, stars twinkling, and eyes fixated on a building down a scope. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have answered. Would have ignored him. 

If y’could be anywhere, right now, Lt. Where’d y’pick?

He didn’t need to think. 

He didn’t say home. Because home wasn’t his place, the pub or even the fuckin’ city he’s always ever known. It’s wherever you are. It’s where your heart beats and your bed is placed; it’s where your annoying, shitty music taste is blaring and that sleepy smile is when he wakes up next to you. 

So, Simon said your name. 

Simple. Easy. 

Except it wasn’t simple or fucking easy. It was messy, and complicated. Because Johnny tilted his head, in that obnoxious way he does, demanding more information than he is ever prepared to ever share. 

‘Fuck off, Johnny, before I punt y’off the rooftop and tell Price you’d been a cunt.’

Because you are locked away when he’s here. You are chained inside his chest, the deepest fucking secret—one no one will ever fucking take no matter how much they dig, how much they push him too. 

You are his.

Something only he gets to enjoy—gets to see, hear and taste. 

He’s done all of that for the last hour. Getting some sick satisfaction from edging you until you’re pleading with him, begging him with every breath you have to let you come as you wriggle and wiggle, urging him to lift your legs—just like he likes it, how you like it, and make you see fucking stars.

Now, you’re barefoot. 

A different t-shirt of his hiding the welts he’s left, the growing bruises from the way he’d needed to hold you in place. Watching, observing—admiring—the oddness to your steps as you flick on the kettle. He’s always close—looming in the sun’s shadows across the kitchen he knows better than his own. 

He has to be. Wants to be.

You’ve not just carved a place in your life, but in his chest—his heart. You’ve seeped into his skin, into his soul, merging and bringing to life something he thought had wilted and died. He doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable, that he’s not jagged edges and sharp stares. 

“You wanna go out with me? Tonight?” 

You pause, tea bag in hand, looking over your shoulder at him as if he’d asked you to slaughter a pig, a child, a whole bloody family. 

The moment is tender, almost fragile. 

It trembles under the weight of his question and the silence of your thoughts. 

Then it stills—

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that…” 

“What?” 

Dashing the tea bag into the cup, you turn. Hips leaning against the counter, sigh falling from your swollen, pink lips as your arms fold. The air scented with that familiar smell your home always has—jasmine and pineapple, the sun kissing your toes and legs as your face shows thunder and rain. 

The air shifts, changing. It’s speckled in ice with a cold breeze punctuated by you suddenly not able to meet his eyes. 

“Date me. Change… this. I know that you… I know you don’t have time for that.” 

Except he doesn’t hear that, he hears me. 

He suspects you don’t say it to hurt him. 

But it does. 

It wounds—

It fucking burns. It’s on par with a bullet or a rusty knife, twisting and twisting until it’s hitting nerves and making muscles quake. 

It worsens when the kettle clicks, ready—waiting. It blows steam under your cupboards, billowing out around the edges before it rushes to the ceiling. Twisting, turning, desperate to escape the uncomfortable space between the two of you. 

But, he just wants to pull you close—impossibly close. He wants to cradle and fucking hug you, even if he never hugs anyone. Simon wants to tell you that he hasn’t been doing this with anyone else. That it’s been over a year of this, and even he knows it’s something. 

Admittedly, yeah, he didn’t think he’d have fucking time for someone, and then you came in and blew that all to shit. But, on some level inside of him, he knows they aren’t the words he should be saying. So silence fills the space instead. 

Doubling. Tripling. Expanding like foam and smoothing over crevices as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

And he knows he should just ask again. 

Softer. Maybe with a bit more emotion. Counting in his head. One. Two, fucking Three. 

Your body turning, holding out a mug you got him—big, black with tiny ghosts on it. Because you’d pestered and pestered to know what he was called. What his alias is when he shoots people. The mug made you grin when you handed it to him last time—tired of him taking your favourite. The one with a quote from a television show you keep promising to show him. Sarcastic. Almost makes his teeth show when he smiles. He almost does the same when he takes the mug, and you turn away from him. 

Now when he takes it, your eyes drop to the floor. To the space between the two of you.

The one which feels vast, and far larger than the bar ever felt.  

All Simon wonders is why there’s a pit opening inside of him—why it is filling him with a feeling he wants to cut out of himself. It’s not light or nice, it’s dark and twisty. 

Because he’s the same person who goes on stupid solo missions where the percentage of survival is low, and still fucking comes back to base with whatever was asked of him. He’s Ghost—a man who many fear. Who is often coated in more of other people’s blood than he is dirt. 

And yet this—

You.

Terrify the living fuck out of him. Not that he’s showing that. He knows he’s stood with a stiff back, and a face devoid of any emotions. 

“You said it when we first… Just… I know your job is important. I know you can’t commit and I respect—”

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes meet his. Teeth biting your lip, arms crossing over your chest.  

And shit, he hopes to never see this face ever again. This nervous, unsure face that he’s put there. One which complicates everything and pulls on every string inside of him. 

You are an enigma, and he’s not even sure you know it. 

You’re something he never deserves, something he never thought he’d have, get, or keep. 

Yet, here you are. 

Someone who has seen every inch of him. Knows what he does. Where he goes. You even know brief moments of his past, the parts of him that he’d rather take to the grave. 

You are important. You matter. 

He’s falling—free-falling, in fact—and has been for a while, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Pushing it down, letting it sit with all the other things he doesn’t want to deal with. 

“Do’ya wanna go out with me tonight?” 

Each word hits you, strokes you. He watches as each syllable lands, your eyes reading him. 

“You back for long, Simon?”

His lips twitch. “Little bit.”

And then you smile. All devious and cunning, lips twisting as you unfold your arms and adjust your stance. “I think I’d prefer a takeaway. Keep you to myself, while I 'ave you.” 

Standing, crossing the small space of your kitchen as he cages you in. Your hand clutching his cheek, soft, gentle, and more than he fucking deserves. 

His head lowers, lips close to your ear as you curl your body into him as he whispers, all gruff and quiet so only you—and not a fly or spirit could hear—says, “I’ve always been just yours, sweetheart.”

Simon doesn't expect a response. More a kiss. Maybe even a roll of your hips.

It's why he doesn't expect the words, "I'd hoped so", or the way they make him feel like he's walking on air.

[orqheuss]

Insatiable Gravity (Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/F!Reader SMUT)

Summary:

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. “Oh…” There was only one bed. *** When it rains, it pours, and when you and your two Slytherin boys get trapped in a downpour far away from the castle, your only hope at salvation is the little inn down the road. The problem, though? They only have one room available for the night, and the room only has one bed.

Word Count: 8k

Is this a shamelessly self indulgent piece where i let my mind go absolutely feral and write every conceived notion i had about the boys' physical appearance into existence? yes. yes it is. Enjoy.

Rain poured from the sky in thick sheets of water, coating every inch of the small muggle town the trio of students ventured to earlier in the day. The three of you found yourselves stuck under a shop awning, huddled away from the freezing cold droplets, scowls decorating each of your faces like the world had slighted you. The night cast an eerily blue opaqueness on the buildings, the only bits of color spawning from the illuminated windows of the cottages lining the streets. It had been Sebastian’s idea to travel to the muggle village in search for some possible remedies for his sister's curse; he had read something about herbal medicine in one of the many tombs littering the Hogwarts library. In your long search for a cure the sun had quickly set across the horizon, casting a slight glimmer of stars across the sky and bringing forth an onslaught of ink black cumulonimbus clouds and a diamond toned shower. The students knew that they would be stuck there until they were able to apparate away in the morning— it was forbidden to use magic where it could be possibly spotted by one of the muggles milling about. 

You cast your eyes to the boys next to you, taking in their forms against the pounding rain. Sebastian’s hair was slicked back for once, the tresses sopping wet like a sponge and curling slightly at the ends. He had pushed it back once you got out of the downpour, leaving his eyes to be on full display, shining even brighter under the low lamplight. His clothing fared just as well— cloak hanging off his shoulders like a heavily weighted blanket and his white button down near translucent under his green corduroy suit jacket. You felt color creep up your neck and onto your cheeks at the sight of his broad chest peaking through the slits of cloth. It was no secret that the brunette was attractive, many of the girls in your year had made that fact explicitly clear. There was an air about him that drew people in, a moth to a flame in his own way. He was the charismatic, mischievous type that somehow would become your fathers best friend. You can’t help the soft look that takes over your features; a small smile tweaks at the corners of your lips as you admired him in all his glory. His hand was resting on his head, his palm pressed against his hair and pushing back the curls so he could see through the inclement weather. As if feeling your gaze, he turns in your direction and the pools of amber that melt in his irises meet yours for a moment. Caught in the act, you quickly looked away and stared hotly at the stone floor below, your cheeks flowing a startling scarlet out of embarrassment. He snorted at your obvious admiration, turning away to look outwards into the storm once again with a toothy grin pulling at his mouth, his cheeks coloring his own shade of a light rosy hue. 

Risking a glance yet again, you look up through your eyelashes at the second boy, drinking in the form of a disheveled Ominis Gaunt. The normally prim and proper Slytherin looked quite similar to a drowned rat as of late, but much to your chagrin it somehow still suited him. His normally quiffed hair fell across his forehead, significantly longer than you had imagined, and cascaded into his eyes like a blond waterfall. The orange lights that lined the streets glowed in his eyes like brilliant little fires, blazing against his cornflower shaded irises and catching the streaks of lavender lightning that zigzagged in them. Even in the cloudburst that threw itself against the pavement, he still had an air of regality about him— the type of boy your parents hoped you’d marry one day. He oozed old money, from the intricate chained decals that clipped his cloak together to his silver snake cufflinks. The boy may not believe it— he was terribly modest— but he caught the female gaze just as much as the brunette he kept as close company. Your gaze locked on his taut shoulders, trailing from their curvature towards where his collarbones jutted out under his skin and created a lovely shelf atop his chest. The starry birthmarks that lined his body shone through his perfectly pressed shirt, also merely nothing more than a thin sheet thanks to the precipitation, and created a smooth trail down his fair skin from neck to wrist. You were stuck for a particularly long time on his biceps, the muscles that you very rarely saw straining against the satin fabric in a show of wry strength. He had shucked off his robe not long after the rain began, complaining of its weight, leaving him in just his button down and paisley embroidered forest green vest. You gulped deep in your throat, mouth suddenly very dry as you stared for longer than was deemed socially acceptable. The blond did not meet your gaze, unlike his counterpart, but you knew he could feel the heat of your ogling. Looking down once again, you could see a small smile turn the corners of his mouth and tips of his ears blush a soft rosacea out of the corner of your eye. 

You cleared your throat, casting your gaze back to the stout building across from you. The little inn’s windows were frosted over from the cold, the thick water droplets that raced down its panes leaving thin trails of clarity and light. Braziers lined the walls inside, glittering in the autumn night and flinging a radiant apricot-toned light along the puddles lining the streets. You shivered under your layers of drenched clothing, heavy vibrations wracking through your body and drawing the attention of the two boys flanking you once again.

You hesitantly spoke, teeth chattering and voice barely carrying itself into their ears because of the pounding rain. “We should turn in for the night— get out of the rain before we freeze solid. The inn looks like it still has some vacancies.” 

Sebastian made an unsure noise in the back of his throat, mouth stretching into a thin line. “I would prefer we just go back to the castle. It can’t be that far away, we made it by foot earlier.” 

Ominis spoke up from your other side, eyebrows knitted together in annoyance and tone scathing. “Are you the blind one, now? It’s pouring, you dolt. We wouldn’t be able to make it back if we tried, even in the daylight. Not to mention none of us know how to apparate yet, so we’d likely be stuck on bedrest for the next week sick as dogs.” He sighed heavily, milky blue eyes closing as he let his head fall backwards towards the roof. “I think the inn would be our best bet. Let’s just hope they’ll rent to us.” 

The brunette huffed to himself, arms crossing over his chest as he was out voted. The three of you steeled yourself to go back into the downpour, pulling your cloaks tightly around your bodies and hoods over your heads to try and avoid getting more wet. On the count of three, you all sprinted across the large courtyard separating your shelter from the inn. Ominis grabbed tightly onto your sleeve, letting you pull him along since he couldn’t use his location charm. The rain felt like tiny sharp stings against your cheeks; your cloak was unsuccessful keeping out the wet and the chill. 

Sebastian made it to the entrance first, throwing open the door with a loud bang and ushering the both of you indoors. The sudden temperature change once you crossed the threshold sent a shiver down your spine. A large ornate fireplace was tucked against the wall, swirling radiating heat throughout the whole bottom floor of the building and kissing your damp cheeks with a pleasant warmth. You were sure the three of you looked like a right sight— strange clothes hanging from your bones like you were draped in countless, very wet blankets, and dripping onto the wood floor below you. You tried to fix your appearance slightly, pushing your hair out of your eyes and attempting to straighten your top and skirt. The cloth stuck to your skin, making the task near impossible, and eventually you relented in your quest for proper etiquette. You pulled your cloak tighter against your body, shielding your surely see-through shirt from the ravenous eyes of the male hotel patrons. As if sensing your unease, Sebastian leveled his gaze into a glare and took a minute step in front of you, Ominis doing the same but to your rear. Shuffling like a conjoined unit, the three of you approached the front desk with a hope of sanctuary. 

The man in front of you was older, probably about the same age as Professor Weasley, and looked inviting enough to speak to. He smiled hesitantly at your trio, his eyes wracking up and down your sopping wet forms and taking everything you had to offer in. He spoke confidently, but with a question obviously lingering on the tip of his tongue. 

“How can I help you three?” 

Ominis took the lead, subtly shifting into his more prim and proper nature. “We would like to rent two rooms, please. We are traveling through and got caught in the rain; it would be unwise to continue on foot at this time.” 

The innkeep leveled a suspicious stare at the boy, letting his eyes roam from his milky, unseeing eyes to where his shoulder brushed against yours, then across your own form, sticking for a moment where your other shoulder touched Sebastian’s, and then finally up to the brunette’s stoic face. You certainly were an odd bunch. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “How old are you lot?” 

Ominis straightened his shoulders, standing to his full height and twisting his face into one of the most serious expressions you had ever seen cross his visage. “Old enough to rent a room for one night, I would think. Now, are you going to let my wife, her brother, and I rest after a very long day, or shall we turn our business elsewhere?” 

You fought the blush that threatened to creep up your neck. His wife? Oh Merlin, you were in trouble. Of all the lies to tell, why that one? Of all ways to try and make you seem older…

To your left, Sebastian’s face contorted more into a scowl. 

The blond reached into his cloak and pulled out a small satchel, tossing it onto the countertop before the hotel owner. It jingled as it fell— copper money clinking together in a rich little symphony. 

“I assure you, our coin is good.” 

The man looked shocked, eyes now flickering between the tall boy and the bag of riches. You could see the cogs turning in his mind as he thought about the best course of action— he tended to speak more with his eyes, you noted to yourself. The thought of money seemed to outweigh his qualms about renting to three very obvious teenagers as he reached forwards and grabbed the tiny bag. 

“Only got one room available. Take it or leave it.” 

The two boys stiffened at your sides, their minds filling with similar images of the three of you huddled close together for warmth. You could tell Ominis was about to object, and as hesitant as you also were you knew that there wasn’t another inn for miles. You quickly jumped into the conversation, to hell with what was normally deemed proper. 

“We’ll take it, right boys?” 

Quite frankly, you didn’t really care if they didn’t agree with sharing a room with you. The sweet song of a warm bath called to you like a siren, and you wanted nothing more than to dive deep under the water and let it envelop you. 

Grumbling under their breath, they both nodded their heads. You reached your hand out, taking the key from the kind man and followed in his footsteps as he led you to the room. 

After thanking the kind man again, you could barely make it two steps into the cabin before running into the strong backs of Sebastian and Ominis. They both stood stone-still in the entryway, eyes locked on something in front of them like a doe under the watchful eye of a hunter. Your eyes could only just peek over their shoulders, and upon placing your hands on their forearms as you stood on the tips of your toes, you could feel the heated blush creeping up under their clothes. Your eyebrows crested together in confusion. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You could only describe the atmosphere around you as awkward as both boys cleared their throats and began stuttering out various forms of explanations and decisions about…sleeping arrangements? 

“I-it’s nothing! Don’t worry about it, w-we can figure something out—”

“We can sleep on the floor, i-if that would make everyone more comfortable. It’s only proper that the lady g-get the bed—” 

Merlin, you’d never heard them so shaken before.

You tried to shove your way through their body blockade, annoyance seeping into your words. “What is this nonsense all about? No one’s sleeping on the floor, don’t be daft.” 

Seeing that their embarrassed stumblings were getting them nowhere, the Slytherin’s hung their heads and stepped aside so you could get through. Seeing the full extent of the room now, you were able to understand their trepidation. 

“Oh…”

There was only one bed. 

Ominis spoke up from your side, his hand rubbing at the back of his very red neck. “As I said, we can sleep on the floor if that would make you more comfortable…” His sentence trailed off at the end, nervous about your possible reactions. 

Sebastian nodded his head to your left before catching your eye, causing him to turn his face away and admire the painting on the wall like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. You caught sight of the intense rouge on his cheeks before he was able to hide it, though. 

You sighed to yourself, closing your eyes tightly and fighting off the blush that threatened to color you from the top of your chest to the tips of your ears. You willed away the unseemly images that swam in your mind at the thought of the three of you tangled together on the very small bed. It was barely enough room for two people, let alone three— you’d be pressed as close as possible for the whole night, warm bodies linked together like an intricate knot. Heat pooled in your stomach at the thought of being in the middle of both boys, one pressed against your backside and the other against your front like a tantalizing sandwich. 

You cleared your throat, your mouth suddenly incredibly dry as you schooled your expression into one of neutrality, praying that they couldn’t read your ulterior motives on your face. “I-I’m fine with sharing if you both are. We’re friends— friends can share a bed for a night.” 

You didn’t think it was possible for Ominis to get any more red; any darker and he would resemble a fresh tomato. 

Sebastian heaved a shaky sigh, like he was trying to expel all of the uncouth thoughts and sheer nerves from his system, and cleared his throat again, already turning towards the en-suite bathroom down the tightly packed hallway. 

“I’ll follow your lead. Now, I would like to take a bath and get out of these wet clothes if that’s alright with you.” 

Your reply bounced harmlessly against his retreating form. “O-Okay!” 

Mere moments later, the sound of running water reached your ears. 

The remaining two of the trio stood there in a statue-like pause, stewing in their own personal wet dream for a moment with an uneasy, awful silence. You’d given up trying to shut your mind up by this point, instead trying to adopt a laissez faire attitude about the whole thing and ignoring the ache between your legs that screamed to be taken care of. Merlin, you had never been this worked up before, even in the comfort and privacy of your own room. One measly setback and you’d transformed into a prepubescent school boy!

Ominis was the first to break himself out of his stupor, shuffling around on his feet and dropping his jaw open and closed like a dying fish as he searched for the right words to say. He breathed deeply through his nose, steadying himself before gesturing with his hand towards the rest of the room.

“After you.” Always the gentleman, that one. 

You nodded, whispering a quiet thanks before stepping out of the cramped entryway. The room was scarce, just a single full bed and a rug adorning the wood floor. Some paintings were hung on the wall to make it seem more homely, but the effect honestly just made it seem even smaller. You sat on the mattress, testing the feel under you and the softness of the sheets. They were slightly rough against your hands, but nothing that would deter you from sleep for the night. The bed barely gave way to your weight— the thing had to be made of stone with how hard it was. Maybe the floor would actually be better, you mused to yourself. 

The blond cleared his throat for the upteenth time that night, drawing your attention towards where he leaned against the opposite wall. There really wasn’t much room in the space, if you stretched your foot a little bit further you could touch his. He looked away again, feeling your eyes on his skin— the attention from you felt like a million tiny hot pokers. 

“You should get out of those clothes.” Color flooded his face again once he realized what he said. “I-I mean because your clothes are wet! You could catch a cold— oh Merlin, I am so sorry, that came out entirely wrong—” 

His sentence pittered out at the sound of your giggle. The blond let his shoulders relax slightly, grateful you weren’t offended by his blunder. You stood, beginning to peel layers of your clothes from your body and letting them fall to the floor with a wet plop. Sitting back on the bed, now sans your cloak, blazer, vest, tie, and tights, you smiled mischievously in the boy’s direction, lightly teasing him.

“My, Ominis, if you wanted my clothes off all you had to do was ask nicely.” 

The blond laughed heartily, pushing off the wall and striding the small distance towards the bed, sitting down next to you and crossing one of his legs under him. He fell easily back into the playful banter you’d adopted since your first unfortunate meeting outside the Undercroft. 

“You’d like that, you vixen.” 

This time, his teasing had a different effect than normal— the intimacy of the situation not lost on your subconscious in the slightest. The air around you felt fraught with tension; he was suddenly much closer to you than what was normally deemed appropriate. He seemed to sense this as well, and his body tensed under your watchful gaze. You had jokingly flirted before, both with him and with Sebastian, but this was incredibly different. It felt different. Your hands were nearly touching on the bed, your knees brushing against each other from the angle of your bodies. Ever so slightly, you slid your hand along the bedspread, grazing your pinky against his, listening to his breathing hitch at the shock of your cold skin against his. Not a single breath could be heard in the space, all the blood rushing to your head and your pupils dilating at the barely concealed look of what you could only describe as want in Ominis’ eyes. 

Gods, did he want this as much as you did? Need you as much as you needed him? 

His hand inched the rest of the way, sliding over the top of your fingers and gripping them between his much longer ones. Your breaths mingled in the space between you, the warmth brushing across your freezing cheeks and curling around your pounding heart— the organ could rocket out of your chest at any moment, and you honestly couldn’t bring yourself to care; you just didn’t want him to move away. On the contrary, the opposite happened— Ominis began to move closer. His breathing stuttered in his chest, a soft shaky sigh falling from his open mouth when he felt you do the same.

He licked his lips, eyes half lidded in desire. “We shouldn’t… Sebastian is in the bathroom.” 

You shifted closer, resting your other hand on his knee. Your voice was nothing more than a breath in the wind. “Of course…it wouldn’t be right of us.” 

Your faces inched closer and closer together, noses nearly brushing at this point. The pulsing in your ears muted everything else in the room, not alerting you to the sound of water draining out of the bathtub. What was startlingly loud, though, was the creak of the bathroom door slowly swinging open and Sebastian stepping into the room. The both of you jumped apart like the idea of your skin touching burned you. You quickly stood from the bed, ignoring the very confused brunette who was standing there in only his undershirt and boxers, and nearly sprinted to the washroom, mumbling that you would be taking your turn in the hot water now. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, you threw your face into your hands, groaning as quietly as possible. Why did you do that? You’ve been in love with those two idiots for a year at least, and now you choose to do something about it? Good lord, why now, why you, why them? You wanted to kiss Ominis in that moment more than anything else in the world, it was like his lips were calling to you in the sweetest voice you had ever heard before— curse Sebastian and his terrible timing! You wanted to throw something at him— a chair, yourself, you weren’t picky. 

The thought of the other boy sent your heart into even more of a tissy, thinking back to how scantily clad he was when you ran like a bat out of hell past him. Merlin, his shoulders, his arms, his thighs. Don’t even get you started on that slutty little waist of his. You were burning inside with arousal at the mere thought of him leaning over you, his tanned, heavenly freckled arms caging your head in on either side. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You quickly shed the rest of your clothes from your body, taking the time to fold your underwear and slip dress for later and placing them on the sink— everything else you kicked away into a pile next to Sebastian’s things. There was something so…domestic about your clothes mingled together on the floor. Stepping into the scalding hot water sent a lovely shock through your system, heating your freezing skin back to a normal temperature. The moan that left your throat was damn near sinful. You soaked in the water for a good while, letting the stress of the evening shed from you like the droplets of rain smacking against the windowpane. It was complete bliss, being alone with nothing but your thoughts and the sweet smell of the lavender soap that the inn provided. Your thoughts began to wonder again, thinking about what Ominis’ lips would have felt like against yours. They looked so incredibly soft, and you wondered if they would feel like kissing little tiny clouds— if they would be just as pillowy pressed against the rest of your skin. You closed your eyes and let your mind drift, allowing yourself the smallest bit of indulgence in your insatiable appetite. The picture behind your eyes shifted to Sebastian, how the rain ran down his neck, dripping down his pulse and pooling in the tiny dips of his collarbones under the translucent fabric of his collar. You wondered what the water would taste like on his skin. Would it be salty, like sweat? Mild, like rain normally was? Sweet, like the promise of more to come? You bit your lip against the small whine that threatened to leave your mouth, quickly pulling your hand away from where it began to bury in your naked core. No! You couldn’t do that right now, they were just outside the door! 

With the last little bit of self control you had left, you stood from your watery paradise and dried off with the towel hanging on the rack closest to you. You just had to get through this night, then you could go back to the castle and have as much solo fun as you wanted. 

The universe must have truly wanted you to die of embarrassment, because as soon as you left the sanctuary of the bathroom you ran into the scrumptiously sturdy chest of Ominis, causing him to grab you roughly by the hips so you didn’t go tumbling and press his entire body flush with yours. His heavy panting breaths were perfectly level with your ear at that angle, filling your mind once again with the tantalizing thoughts that you fought so hard to keep at bay. Your spine dug harshly into the door jam as you fell back from the velocity of the crash, your heart skipping a beat at the feeling of his fingers tightening against the silk of your shift and the look of intrigued confusion turning down his face at the unfamiliar feeling fabric. Merlin, his face was so close again. His hands glided up your waist, feeling each and every one of your curves like a ship captain charting out the stars, ever so lightly grazing the sides of your breasts before finding purchase on your bare shoulders. Only when his fingers dug deliciously into your skin and you gasped against him did he realize exactly how scantily clad you were. The blond made a noise very similar to a strangled kneazle and lept back, nearly crashing into the other side of the room. If eyes could speak, his would be screaming. Only now with him at arms distance did you notice the absolutely breathtaking pink that took over his entire face and neck, making his beauty marks stand out against his skin like brushstrokes by the finest painter in all the land. You shamelessly trailed your eyes down his chest again, watching it rise and fall from the sheer desperation of his lungs fighting to get air to his brain. Speaking of brains, your eyes made one last jump down to his trousers, finding the fabric pulled taut against his hips and silhouetting a quite lovely shape against his thigh— something you vaguely remember feeling against your own thigh moments ago. You swallowed the moan that threatened to tumble from your throat, your thighs clenching together slightly. You’d drop to your knees and pray at the church of him at that very second if you weren’t so damned shy. 

Ominis scrambled upright fully, dancing from foot to foot out of embarrassment before tripping into the bathroom, only turning slightly in the doorway to throw an apology in your direction. “Oh my— I just— I’m terribly sorry— I’m just going to— oh, Merlin—” 

The door closed with a slam, the lock twisting with a resounding click soon after. 

A dark-colored chuckle from your left drew your attention, twisting your neck towards the waiting Slytherin now man-spreading on the bed, a pillow pressed just so across his lap. The devilish smirk stretched further across Sebastian’s face at the barely concealed arousal that grew in your eyes. Your pupils flickered from his face down to the feather-down cushion, imagining the treasure that you could find underneath the layers of cotton and tuff. 

Somehow you were able to gulp against the Sahara Desert levels of dry that your mouth was at the current moment. 

The brunette patted the bed next to him invitingly, shifting slightly over out of courtesy as you stumbled over, your legs feeling like gelatin from a mix of the lust and exhaustion that mingled in your veins. His eyes never left yours as you sat, feeling him drink in the sight of you in nothing but your underclothes, dangerously dehydrated. 

“How was your bath?” He asked, a smugness you were very familiar with teasing knowingly in his voice. 

You giggled nervously, smoothing your hands down your thighs to wipe the sweat from your palms. “It was nice— very comfortable.” 

Sebastian chuckled again, his face leaning in closer to you like he was whispering a secret. “It certainly sounded like it.” 

It felt like your heart was beating at a mile a minute. Where did this confidence come from all of a sudden? What happened while you were in the bathroom? 

You thought back to the tent in Ominis’ trousers, casting your gaze back down to the pillow adorning Sebastian’s lap. 

There was absolutely no way. Surely not? 

Sebastian answered that question for you when he rested his hand on your thigh, smoothing his fingers up and under the silk fabric slightly and rubbing his thumb against your sweltering skin. “I can say with complete honesty that we also enjoyed your bath.” 

You’d drowned in the bathtub, that had to be the answer for this fever dream— that was the only answer to this sudden shift in personality by your ravenous brunette friend. He looked like he wanted to eat you alive, lick you down to the bone and suck the marrow from inside like a perfectly cooked t-bone steak. You could tell he still had some restraint about him from the way that he fisted the bed sheets he was leaning his other arm on, keeping his body upright and stopping him from all but throwing you onto the mattress and devouring you like his favorite meal. Heat continued to pool more and more in your core, your abdomen tightening against the pleasure pulsing in your lower stomach. 

“S-Sebastian—”

He plowed through your sentence, his niceties and manners giving way to the carnal desire throbbing under his skin. “That being said, I’m sure we could have even more fun out here, couldn’t we?” 

His hot breath fanned across your face like a delectable fire, turning your insides to mush and threatening to do the same with your rational thought. You placed your hand against the center of his very toned chest— Merlin— and pushed him away slightly, inhaling air into your shivering lungs like it was your job. 

“Sebastian, Ominis is right there. We can’t—” 

He scoffed, dragging the hand on your thigh the rest of the way under your slip and wrapping it around your waist, pulling you closer to him harshly, causing you to lose your balance and press as close as possible to him. He leaned his face upwards, something unfamiliar but dangerous glittering in his irises as he whispered in your ear— his sinful smile pinning against the edge of your jaw. 

“I assure you, he liked it too, lovely. I don’t think he’d be opposed to some…” He bit lightly at your earlobe, a soft moan breathing from your lips at his intrusion. “…auditory stimulation.” 

Fuck it. Restraint never did you any favors, anyway. 

He leaned his head downwards towards where your neck met your shoulder, nosing at the soft skin there before letting his teeth run gently against your pulse point. You moaned in earnest this time, not caring one bit if the blond behind the door mere feet away could hear you. 

Good, you thought. Let him hear. 

A loud crash came from the bathroom, startling Sebastian enough that he thrust his head upwards, catching on your chin painfully. You hissed, cradling the bruised bone in your hands as he quickly apologized, turning his full attention to the closed door just beyond. Ominis threw the door open, not even flinching when the door handle violently slammed against the wall, creating a dent in the drywall. 

The blond stood there in all his glory, his chest heaving even harder now and a color closer to a ripe dragonfruit covering every inch of his skin. He had obviously just gotten out of the bath; his hair hung low in his face and dripped water steadily on the shoulder of his white undershirt. He too had taken everything off except his underclothes, his boxers hugging his hips in an absolutely scandalous way that made you want to rip them off then and there and get to the appetizing muscle tenting the fabric— Gods, he can never wear clothes around you ever again. Fighting your eyes to stop ogling the poor man, you cast your gaze to the floor just behind his feet, seeing a long bar of metal still rolling slightly against the tile and the towel that was once wrapped around it. On the wall where there was once a towel rack was now barren, just two holes decorating the space where it once lived. With one final eye flick, you look at Ominis’ hand closest to the scene of the crime, noticing that his fingers were a bright red from all the blood returning to the flesh. The puzzle pieces connected together in your brain after a few sluggish, very horny seconds. 

Oh. Oh my. Ominis heard everything that just happened. Not only did he hear it, he liked it so much he accidentally ripped the towel rack off the wall with his desperation to open the door and hear it without the door muffling your sounds. 

Sebastian must have come to the same conclusion as you, because his grin doubled in size with each passing second as he undressed the flustered blond with his eyes. “Ominis, what’s wrong—” 

The once regal Slytherin crossed the room faster than you had ever seen him move before, quickly feeling his way up the brunette’s arm before grasping at his neck, pulling him closer and crashing their mouths together in a show of more teeth than lips. Sebastian responded eagerly, groaning low in his chest and threading his fingers in the wet tresses of his friend, pulling the blond closer against him in an awkward angle. You stared wide-eyed at the sight before you, watching your two best friends devour each other in a clash of lips and tongue, listening to the unseemly sounds that flowed in the air around them. You couldn’t help the feeble whimper that escaped your parted lips, drawing the attention of the esurient heir of Slytherin. Sebastian whined as Ominis pulled away from the embrace, only to choke on the sound at the sight of the blond surging forwards towards you with just as much ferocity as before and capturing your lips into an equally bruising kiss. His tongue dove into your open mouth, taking your invitation to explore with grandeur and mingling the soft muscle with yours. You fisted at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer and shifting backwards on the bed, pulling him downwards with you until he was laying on top of you. One of your hands reached up and buried itself in the thick blond locks of the one absolutely inhaling the sweet taste of your lips like the boy before did, your other falling to his waist and pushing underneath the hem of his shirt, running your palm across the hot skin of his stomach. All inhibition and propriety was thrown out the window just as fast as the downpour fell from the sky outside. 

A third hand joined the fray— Sebastian’s resuming his original journey up the side of your underclothes and reaching your stomach, pushing the fabric up your supple thighs until it pooled at your waist, leaving your white cotton panties on show for all the world to see. He groaned in pain at the sight of the obvious wet patch right in the center, diving his face towards your open and inviting neck and biting at the skin there. You keened into Ominis’ mouth, arching your back off the bed and pressing the puddle of molten lava that resided between your legs against the blond’s hard length. He moaned heavenly against your lips, kissing his way down your cheek and jaw until he too latched his teeth onto your neck like his Slytherin counterpart. You were in absolute bliss, your brain shutting off and losing itself in the sweet pleasure that coursed through your entire body. This alone was going to kill you, and you would happily die in this battle of tongue and teeth. 

May Odin take you into his waiting arms as you enter through the gates of Valhalla— this was certainly a war worthy for the land of kings and queens. 

Everything was a rush of emotion, all feelings that had been buried deep down in your souls surging to the surface in one grand swoop. Laying there, a tangle of limbs and underclothes and sugar-scented breaths felt like it was exactly where you belonged in the world. With one head on each side of your neck, you could easily reach up and pull them by the hair closer into your orbit— you the sun and them the lowly planets revolving around your devastatingly bright euphoria. 

You’d be perfectly content letting them worship you like this for the rest of time, but Ominis was always a bit more greedy than Sebastian when it came to the desires of the senses. The blond slowly made his way down to your chest, only stopping to pull your clothes from your body before diving right back into your soft, pillowy hereafter. He found your breasts quickly, letting his skilled hands first squeeze the flesh before tweaking your nipples, making them stand to a perfect peak before latching his mouth to the button and sucking. Your back lifted off the bed more, pathetic whines and mewls tumbling from your throat every so often, only to be broken up by whimpers of your companions' names. Sebastian smiled wickedly against your pulse, continuing to bite and nibble at the skin there as the hand not busy wrapped around your throat reached down and pawed at your other, very neglected mound of flesh. He wanted to only hear those sounds from then on out— wanted to hear even more of them.

Ominis pulled off of your peak with an absolutely raunchy pop, pressing one of his arms against your hips when he felt you grind against his throbbing length as your lovers pleased you. He nipped lightly at the skin in between your mountains, nosing gently at your sternum and whispering against your ribs. 

“None of that yet. Let us take care of you, darling.”

Your heart stopped for a full five seconds— goodbye cruel world. Cause of death: horny boy with a penchant for people-pleasing.

You sighed shakily, your words stuttered and soaking in flustered arousal. “O-Okay…”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest and shaking against you. “Good. You sound so beautiful like this. What I would give to see you spread out below us— my hands can only just suffice my craving.” 

A particularly loud sob falls from your lips at the feeling of Sebastian tweaking your nipple with just the right amount of pressure. “Am I dreaming?” 

It was Sebastian’s turn to laugh, his breath warming the skin of your collarbone. “I really hope not, because then all three of us would be dreaming the same thing. We don’t need Professor Onai to see that in our crystal ball, do we?” 

You rolled your eyes with a huff. “You know what I me— oh fuck!” 

In your blissful haze, you didn’t feel Ominis kiss his way down your body and situate himself between your thighs until he licked a long stripe along the dripping crotch of your panties. The brunette teasing you groaned again in agony at the sight of the other Slytherin’s thoroughly mussed up blond quiff poking out from between your inner thighs. 

With a renewed vigor, Sebastian helped the blond pull your panties down your legs, latching back onto your neck like a leech once the offending fabric was far away from where his hands could roam. Ominis kneeled on the bed, face level with your sweltering center and breathing in the sweet, musky scent of your pleasure. Merlin, you were a goddess— your beguiling center the most saccharine ambrosia to him. He was sure if he ate you how he wished he too would become a god. You reached your hand down, fisting his hair between your trembling fingers and tugging lightly at the root, whining for him to move, to do something. You needed him on a biblical level. After centuries of waiting, Ominis repeated his movement from before, diving into your oceanic sea and lapping at your waves like Poseidon himself. 

You’d never known pleasure like this before— never known indulgence like this before. He flicked his tongue against the painfully hard knot at the top of your center, pushing your clit lightly with just enough pressure before taking it into his mouth and suckling lightly. Stars burst behind your eyes, filling your world with supernovas dyed the color of your partners’ eyes. 

Desperate to make them both feel good too, you reached your free hand towards Sebastian, wrapping your fist around his throbbing member that hung so nicely near your face and pulling it out of the strangling fabric of his boxers. He whined at the cool air against his scorching skin. One of your legs was thrown over Ominis’ shoulder, allowing the boy to get a better grip of you as he wolfed you down like a man starved and allowing you the ability to press his hips closer to the bed, grinding his manhood against the knitted blankets. His resulting moan, more of a growl if you had to be specific, sent vibrations right to the knot that was building in your lower stomach, tightening it closer to its inevitable snap. Sebastian’s eyes never left the scene before him as he sat up to his knees, wrapping his hand around yours and showing you how he liked to be touched as you bathed in the throes of rapture. Soon moans came from the both of you as you picked up on the rhythm, your voices harmonizing like a melodic hymn at the pews of gluttonous lust and stalling the gears turning in the brain of the blond between your legs. He began to shamelessly rut against the mattress below his hips, letting your leg press him down closer and providing an otherworldly amount of pressure against his still clothed cock. The friction pushed the band of his underwear down more and more with each thrust until his member was finally free. His bare skin against the vaguely soft blankets the inn provided felt astronomically better than before. 

At the sound of Ominis’ self pleasuring, the cries of the people he loved so shamefully before in just the comfort of his mind becoming so much for him to handle that he couldn’t wait one more moment to feel something against his agonizingly hard cock, you pull Sebastian closer by his member, hoping he got the message you were trying to convey without words. He luckily did, a hungry look taking over his expression as he got off the bed, pulling your body closer to the edge so your mouth was exactly level with him. He groaned when he felt your soft lips close around the pulsating pink tip of his shaft, your tongue flicking against the prominent vein that stretched from the top to the bottom. Ominis moaned again against your clit, hearing what was going on above him and grinding his member against the bed with more vigor than before, causing you to rock your hips harshly against his face and pull more of Sebastian into your throat. The brunette couldn’t hold back his inhibitions anymore; with a firm grip he wrapped his hand around your neck for a second time that night, using the leverage provided to fuck into your mouth slowly. 

No words needed to be said by anyone involved, each of you taken over by pure, wanton frenzy. Being used by Sebastian was a religious experience in itself, and you just a devout follower eager to please— Ominis your angel from above, pouring devotion into his every move, rewarding you for a job well done. 

Your muted hums quickly became louder against Sebastian’s cock when Ominis pressed a digit into your weeping hole, stretching you just right and curling against the spot that made you believe heaven was real. The combination of your throat vibrating against him and your tongue flicking just under the ridge of his head was all it took to do him in indefinitely, his hips stuttering in your velvet mouth and the hand not wrapped around your throat tugging at your hair, trying to pull you off of him. You held on tighter, your free hand gripping his thigh and keeping him right where he was. 

Absolutely not. 

Sebastian’s eyes rolled back into his head when you closed your lips tighter and sucked, sending profanities to pour from his mouth like a broken faucet. 

“Oh fuck— Yes, Merlin, just like that— Shit, I’m gonna cum. Take it all for me— good girl—” 

You caught every drop of his salty release as it slid down your throat, letting your legs squeeze tighter against Ominis’ skull at the sweeter-than-candy whine that released from the brunette above you. 

With one partner spent, you were determined to meet him soon in his little death and take the other Slytherin with you. With the last bit of your strength, you grinded against Ominis’ face, chasing the orgasm that crested just under the surface of your skin. The blond did the same with a muffled growl, pulling you tighter against his frantic mouth and letting you suffocate him in your enticing embrace as he rutted his hips against the mattress to near completion. With one more strong suck on your clit, timed perfectly with a curl of his finger inside of you, you tumbled over the edge of your metaphorical cliff. Sebastian thought through his orgasmic haze that nearly everyone in the inn must have heard your screaming finish. Ominis followed you soon after, his release staining the sheets below him as your thighs tightened impossibly more against his ears as your climax ripped through your system. 

The three of you crumpled together onto the bed, tangled in a messy knot of limbs and desperately needing a second bath as you fought off exhaustion just enough to climb under the covers. Once the blanket covered all of your naked forms, you dozed off into a pleasant slumber, one arm slung over the waist of the brunette cradled in your shoulder and the other hand resting on the crossed forearms of the blond hugged against your back. Conversation could happen tomorrow; for now, the night was growing old and you needed all of your energy for the trek home tomorrow. 

As you were drifting off into dreamland, you thought to yourself that the soft sound of the rain against the shuttered windows of the inn was the most peaceful sound you had ever heard. 

I think I let the religious trauma go a little too wild with this one, whoops.

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