#now I have a strong urge to comb it

[season-77]

Of course, it counts (I have a hunch that in this special interest group, it would count even if there were no mustaches at all)...

Does this count as a ‘stache?

I hadn’t seen these before..

Wreckers I think?

[katsukikitten]

Alpha!Katsuki who is so agitated and aggressive although protective of Omegas even if their scents bother him. Roughly keeping them at arms length and openly snarling or grimacing at their scents as he saves or even just interacts with them.

Then there is you, an Omega who acts like an Alpha. Your scent is as strong as an Alpha, you're just as aggressive and have plenty of scars on your throat to show it. When someone thinks of a "traditional" Omega they think the opposite of you. In fact most people already assume your subgender is Alpha, you never correct them.

But you're not, you're an Omega. One with conflicting feelings of wanting to be soft and cozy but can't bring yourself to be less than combative. One who has several nests around your home in all your most comfy spots piled with blankets and stuffed animals you treat with care. An Omega who's given in and stolen her boss' smokey caramel shirt after a workout despite saying you can't stand his scent. An Omega who can't resist the urge to shove it into the nest on your bed as slick gathers between your thighs, naughty fingers toying with your throbbing clit through the fabric of your underwear until you're cumming so hard and so often you're panting. Borderline throwing yourself into a heat over his stupid sweaty shirt because his scent makes you feel safe, soft.

It's tempting to call out the next day but truly you were his front line, he hired you because of your bad attitude and snapping teeth. Because you could and would stand up to an alpha three times your size that demanded to see Katsuki even when they didn't have an appointment. You could handle yourself and you've proven it. Plus what Katsuki will never admit out loud is that he likes the way you smell, loves it. To him it makes sense he's only ever bedded two people and both were Alphas like he thinks you are.

Yet when you come in reeking of distress, shame, and arousal Katsuki finds his body moving on its own.

Pulling you by your lower back until your pelvis is flush with his before you can protest even as you lean away and accidentally expose your throat to him. His nose goes straight to your scent gland, inhaling to make sure it's you that the distress is coming from. The arousal

"Bakugou." You try to push him away but as the number one pro he's much stronger than you, not to mention his scent gland is right by your nose now. His spiced scent sweetening in an attempt to make you relax, pheromones he doesn't realize he's releasing as you fight your body from going slack in his hold.

On lookers stare and when bromine eyes meet them they flare. Lifting his face so they can see him bare his teeth as he pulls you into his office.

"Ya outta suppressants?" He growls and all his voice and strength do is spur on more and more of that arousal that wafts off of you in waves. Sweet floral spice that makes him dizzy as he tries not to get hard. He should let you go, he should step back, but he can't peel himself from your body. You feel good in his hands. Soft, round.

"I don't take any."

"Ya can't go into a rut in my office." He snarls but his lips are resting against your collar bones, "I've got extra in my desk."

"It won't be a rut." Your skin feels hot, so hot and with Katsuki smothering you it's only worsening the effects, the shame that burns when you admit out loud to your boss that you never corrected on what you are, "It's a heat."

Suddenly his massive body is rigid, you can hear him swallow thickly three times before you feel the hardness of his fat length against your leg

And that's enough to send any Omega nose first into a long overdue heat.

@kweenkatsuki-fics sorry it's so long 😭

[bandgie]

Indica

1.1k words

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, oral(fem!rec), high cunninglingus, dealer!han

notes! sorry the pictures are small but PLEASE READ THE TEXT MESSAGES THEY ARE PART OF THE FIC. I haven't written in a while and I just wanted to post something to remind ya'll I am alive.

It’s so slow. So slow when Jisung laps his tongue up and down. In any other instance, you’d press the back of his head deeper into your cunt, but with the gentle buzz of weed drumming in your veins, you settle further into the couch and let him go at his speed.

You laughed when you first got the message, but you weren’t entirely surprised. Jisung was always hitting on you when you bought from him, but his flirtatious attempts were more cute than hot. His fumbling hands and stuttering lips were so adorable to watch. He must have worked up the courage to send a text like that. Or he had already smoked it up.

Not that you care which it is. You agreed immediately, teased him when he showed up blushing and pink, then plopped on the couch to roll a joint.

Everything feels so sensitive when you’re high. Jisung’s soft tongue feels blissful swirling on your clit. It feels so big, so fat, so warm. You’re thankful he’s too stoned to do more than suck and lick. You’d be drooling on the pillows and creaming on the sofa otherwise.

The tip of his tongue plays with your entrance. He barely dips it inside before gliding it up, smoothing over the place where you really need him.

You sigh with contentment, widening your legs so Jisung can scoot closer on his knees and wrap his lips around your clit.

He combines sucking and licking, giving you the perfect excuse to buck your hips and whine. Jisung follows your movements, not letting a second of your pussy escape his mouth.

And when you fall back onto the couch, you comb your fingers through his dark hair. “So good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

His boba eyes shoot to yours. You swear you can see hearts in his pupils. Carefully, he pulls away, letting his tongue stick out so he can get a swipe to your clit and make you jolt.

“Yeah?” He bites his lower lip almost innocently despite your juices on his chin. “I-I got cotton mouth real bad right now. I feel like I’m moving so slow.”

You giggle, playing with his strands tenderly. “A little, but I like it. Your tongue’s so soft.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop.” You urge him with a soft tug. It doesn’t take much to have him back between your legs, mouth opening with new vigor. His tongue messily plays with your folds, swooping down to collect your arousal and play with it on your clit.

It feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Jisung is determined to make you cum, or maybe he sobered up just enough to eat properly. You almost want to tell him to slow down, but every flick has you reeling. Wet arousal keeps oozing out, sliding down your ass, or getting licked up by Jisung.

You put both your hands in his hair, bringing your knees to your face and looking down to watch him eat.

He looks so good. You can see how his tongue swipes over you, how his lips peck and suck, and the way his cheeks hollow. If you focus enough, you can see the stubble shadow of his mustache.

You clench around nothing. 

“F-fuck.” You whine. “Fuck me, please.”

Jisung looks up but keeps his mouth on your pussy. His eyes are red and big, but there’s determination in them.

He shakes his head and pulls off to spit on your cunt. “Nuh-uh. I’m not done.” His saliva runs down your slit, but he latches his tongue back before it slips down your ass. 

Your eyes roll. Your legs shake in the air, but you keep them spread. “B-but I’mma cum.”

Jisung moans. The vibrations feel so strong, but you know it’s just the weed making it feel like that. His ringed fingers grip the underside of your thighs and it takes a second to feel how wet his right hand is.

Ah, he must have been jerking himself off. 

You want to see it, his aching cock with pre-cum that seeps from the tip. Is he thick? Long? Does he have a smaller dick that you could hump on? Your hazy mind tries desperately to come up with how Jisung looks, but his mouth is glued to your pussy in a way that makes you think he’ll never come off.

“I wan’ taste it. Give it to me please and I’ll fuck you. I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good.” Jisung begs into your pussy. “On my tongue. I wan’ it on my tongue.”

Oh my God. You’ve never met a more pussy-craved man than him. His skilled tongue and eagerness has that warm feeling bubbling in your stomach. His warm breath aids in the pleasure, keeping your cunt hot all the time.

You don’t have to move his head to get him where you want. Despite eating you out for the first time, it’s like he already knows where you like it. Jisung knows when to swirl his tongue, when to suck on your nub, and how to pin your legs so they don’t clamp on his head like you want to.

“Oh my- yes! Yes, fuck! Pleasepleasepleas-”

One of his hands quickly moves to your cunt and you feel two fingers easily slip in. They squelch with the amount of wetness you’re making, but the crude sound has your eyes rolling back.

His tongue doesn’t stop swirling, his lips don’t stop smacking, and his hand fucks you faster than what you were prepared for. The sweet orgasm coils tighter and tighter until you burst, fighting against his grip to squeeze his head between your thighs.

You plant your feet on the edge of the sofa and lift your hips to hump his face, a moan stuck in your throat as you ride out your orgasm.

Jisung puts his hand on your stomach and forces you back down. His fingers have stilled, but you can’t stop clenching on them. And despite your clear orgasm on his fingers and lips, Jisung doesn’t stop.

Finally, the moan you were holding drawls out. 

“Nghhhh! I came. Hannie- Hannie, I came.” 

He whines, moving from your sensitive clit to your stuffed entrance. “B-but I wan’ taste it. Just lemme clean you up and I’ll fuck you, ‘kay? I promise. I promise.” He digs his tongue inside, using his fingers to keep you spread before getting an answer.

But at this point, you don’t care. Your clit’s throbbing and your cunt’s stuffed. With the weed beginning to fade and your mind coming back, you think it’s time for another hit or two.

[nepenthendline]

a/n: todoroki feeling horny for the first time, no smut but can do a pt 2?

Todoroki had been much clingier than usual today, like a cat somehow always slinking his was close to you. Most of your day was spent cuddling on his couch watching documentaries, and his grip on you was tight. Whenever you shuffled or got up to grab a drink or snack, you could see the little pout on his lips as he held his arms out to you and asked where you were going. He was so cute like this, but it was a little different than usual.

"You ok, baby?" You ask, cupping his cheeks in your hands once you settled back into his arms. He pondered for a moment,

'Yes, I think, but I feel a little...off,' his response was quiet, and his fingers continued to brush over your waist. Your head tilted slightly, looking over him for any obvious signs of pain or sickness,

"In what way?" His eyes looked off to the side - you could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he tried to put his feelings into words.

"I feel... warmer than usual, my muscles feel tense, sometimes it feels like I'm struggling to breathe, and there's a...weird feeling in my stomach. Perhaps I'm getting sick," you let put an exaggerated pout as you combed your fingers through his hair before kissing his forehead - he did feel quite warm, but there was no fever.

"My poor baby," you stroked his cheeks in urge to comfort him, however, his face tensed under your touch, and he let out a hum.

"That..." he muttered, more to himself than to you. He brought one hand to his chin in thought, " I thought resting today with you would help my symptoms, but they seem to be getting worse," your brows furrowed at his words, but your urged him to continue. "Well, worse, but also better. The symptoms are stronger, but having you close makes me feel relieved in a way." You couldn't help but smile. Even whilst sick, he was still adorable. What he said next, however, surprised you.

"Feel like...I need you, even though you're already here. Feels like you're not close enough,' he murmured into his hand, still looking away.

Oh-OH. You started giggling in response - the two of you had been together for a few months, but you knew Shoto hadn't had any relationships before you. In fact, he often reminded you that you were the first person to ever make him feel the way he does.

His eyes darted back to you with confusion taking over his face. "Have you felt like this before?" You question with a grin. His eyes wavered, before nodding.

"Yes, although the symptoms weren't as strong as now. Like when you were cooking the other day in those cute pajamas, or on our date last week, and when you kiss me," he was clueless. He thought he was sick and yet every memory included you. Your giggles continued.

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you that you're not sick," his eyes widened slightly, nodding for you to continue, "you're horny, my love." He let out a quiet ah and sat in silence for a moment before speaking up.

"Like Mineta..." his deapan voice made you cackle, even though you knew he was trying to gauge his feelings by comparing them to something else. "Except, I only feel like this with you," your cheeks warmed at his words. He's always been a charmer, mostly by accident. He speaks what is on his mind so bluntly, and yet it never ceases to fluster you. You lean forward and press a soft kiss on his lips.

"I can make you feel better if you'd like?" His eyes burned into yours as he rested his forehead against yours. After a few moments, he spoke,

"Yes, please."

[surielstea]

“I could take you”

Pairing: Acotar men x Fem!Reader (separately)

Summary: Reader teases her mate, saying she could take them in a fight, or in other places.

Warnings: All fluff, suggestive

Rhysand

"I could take you," I surmise aloud. My mate, who was trying to sleep peeked one eye open.

"We just finished, I'm not one to complain but aren't you tired?" He grumbled and I giggled.

"Not sex, I could take you in a fight dummy," I punch his shoulder and his brows rise.

"Oh really?" He drags out, arm wrapping tighter around my torso, pulling me into his chest as darkness swarms the room. "Don't make me mist you," He mumbled tiredly into my neck and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm serious, I could," I urge. "I know just how I'd do it too," I trail my fingertips up his bare chest.

"You think about killing me often?" He presumes and I roll my eyes.

"I'm just saying, it'd be easy," I tease.

"Murder me in your dreams, you fiend," He huffed, stuffing his face into my breasts without thought.

"Only kidding Rhys, I'd never harm you," I reassure. "But I could," I add and he smiles against my chest at the absurdity of this mindless conversation.

Cassian

"I could take you," I cross my arms over my chest, sizing up my mate with narrowed eyes. The shirtless male looked at me with an arched brow while he drank deeply from his water. I had been watching him train for hours now, so long that it felt as if I had every one of his moves and skills memorized.

"You think so?" He challenges and I nod with a beaming grin, taking a step closer and staring up at him entirely innocent.

"I know so," I shrug. His smile only widens.

"I guarantee I could have you on your knees within seconds," He leans dauntingly close but I don't falter, keep my unwavering ground.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart," I rise onto my toes and peck his lips. He seemed entirely thrown off by the mix of my kiss and the nickname, and that fact alone made me one thousand percent sure I could throw him off his rhythm in combat too, he might've called it cheating but I saw it as a strategic advantage of sorts.

“You want to spar or would you prefer to take me in other ways?" He taunted and I'd be lying if I didn't want both, though I decided I wanted one a little more.

"What are you waiting for tough guy?" I backed up towards the mats with a prideful smirk that mirrored his.

Azriel

My mate had his head in my lap while he read some non-fiction I had no interest in, much preferring to run my hands through his curls and watch his tense features morph into those of relaxation. My thoughts wandered in the comfortable silence, it began by thinking of what he was reading about, then the fact that he was smart and strong, and then it spiraled from there.

"I think I could take you in a fight," I mumble and his eyes that had been running across his page froze, then flicked up to mine.

"What was that, my love?" He closed his book, pausing whatever page he was in the middle of in order to give me his full attention.

"I could take you," I repeat and he blinks, then, to my surprise, he nods.

"Probably," He hums, cracking his book back open and offering no explanation as to why he thinks so.

Azriel was a competitive male, even with me. So when he said such a thing I was thrown entirely off my train of thought. "Wait— you're serious?" My hands stop combing through his hair and his bottom lip juts out in the absence of the ministrations, a grown male, pouting.

"When am I not?" He hummed and I rolled my eyes. The answer to that was more often than he'd care to admit.

"Why do you think I can?" I ask.

He shrugs simply before saying, "You'd probably use your witchcraft on me.” His eyes were entirely genuine. I push his head off my lap with a faux look of anger. He came back to me with full force, arms reaching around me and pulling me into him, his head pressing in the junction between my neck and shoulder. "I'm not a witch," I huff and he only smiles against my skin.

"Maybe not, but your seductive powers work too well on me," He explains and I roll my eyes. The powers he was referring to included a lingerie set and a few keywords that had him doing laps.

"It's not hard when I've got you wrapped around my finger," I sing and he sighs contentedly, pulling me closer, seemingly happy with with that statement, like he would never try to change that fact. Even if it meant I could take him down on a sparring mat.

Eris Vanserra

Eris was baking. An odd sight to see for anyone else but for me, it was a simple Sunday morning. I drifted into the kitchen with a drunken smile on my face as I slung my arms around his torso and draped myself over him. "What's that grin for?" He glances over at me before continuing to read whatever recipe he was following.

"Just thinking," I hum with a dazed look. It was no secret that today had been the peak of my ovulation in my cycle, my need for him was all-consuming. Yet here he was, baking my favorite flavor pie. "I wanna take you," I huff into his shoulder and he chuckles.

He makes a real show of ignoring my pleas and instead answers with an amused tone, "In a fight?"

I scowl, my frown deepening as I stare up at him— but then he had me thinking about it. "Why not?" I shrug.

"You sure you can?" He tilts his head down at me demeaningly— gods, he knows this is torture.

"Fine, you're too smart for me to beat in a fight but I could take you to other places," I wrap my arms around his neck and he sloppily smiles. "You're plenty smart, my sweet," His hands come to my hips, and his touch alone relieved sacred parts of me. I shake my head in denial. "C'mon, I've got a few weak spots I’m sure you could figure it out," He reassures, his voice soft. I didn't want to think about fighting him, I never wanted to have to.

"I love you too much to fight with you," I shrug, lifting up and pecking his lips innocently, void of my earlier arousal.

"That," He whispers against my lips. "That was one of my weak spots," He murmurs and I smile.

"Can you fuck me now or is this pie still more important than your very pretty, very needy mate?" I ask impatiently and he shakes his head with a charming expression. "Very needy, indeed."

Lucien Vanserra

“I could take you, and I don’t mean in a fight,” I say, head propped up on my mate's shoulder, peering up at him from inches away while he focused on peeling a tangerine for me. He simply laughs when he notices I’m serious, lips curling into a delighted smile.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” He mumbles and I flip over onto his lap, straddling his hips.

“I’ll let you figure that out,” I mumble with a shrug. He shakes his head, looking down at the fruit in his hand as he peels the rind.

“You’re ridiculous,” He mumbled under his breath and I grinned wildly.

“You love it,” I muse and he looks up to me, handing me the peeled orange, ready to be eaten.

“I do,” He confesses, and that look on his face makes my stomach blossom with warmth, overflowing with admiration and devotion.

I don’t know how to react, or what to do with all the love he gives me, so instead I say the first thing that comes to mind, “I could also take you in a fight, though.”

He leans closer with a teasing grin. “And why’s that sunshine?” He hums as I pop a slice of the tangerine into my mouth, the sweet taste of citrus making me smile.

“You wouldn’t be able to fight back,” I shrug and his brows crease in confusion.

“Cause I’d be too scared?” He presumes and I shake my head, swallowing my fruit.

“Because you love me,” I croon.

“Unfortunately,” He grumbles under his breath and my jaw drops in shock. “Lu!” I exclaim as I push his shoulders and he falls back into the couch.

“I’m only kidding sunshine, you know you’re all I’ve ever wanted,” He reassured with a lilt in his tone, making me roll my eyes.

“I’m seriously debating that fight right now,” I murmur and he smiles, hand coming to my cheek and pulling me into him.

“Such a drama queen,” He mumbles, pressing his mouth to mine before I can retort. I melt into him, hands coming to his cheeks with delicate touches, my thumb tracing the end of his scar. “I love you too much to fight back, too,” I admit, his smile only grows. “I know.”

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[st4rbwrry]

𝓗𝓐𝓤𝓝𝓣𝓔𝓓.   charlie mayhew.

ᰔᩚ warnings . . . 3.0k, fem!reader, lowercase intended, sacrilegious acts/blasphemy, rough sex, unprotected sex, ‘father’ kink, fingering, teasing, praise, oral fixation, infatuation, minors aren’t allowed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. ♡

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ! ꒱ . . . dunno if nicholas is still canceled or not but idc, he’s still hot n i’m feeding my lust w his character from grotesquerie. here's an edit, oop another for visuals. <3

“forgive me father . . for i have sinned.”

father mayhew found himself drawn to your presence beyond the usual pastoral concern. your gentle demeanor, soft-spoken words, and captivating features. from your luscious curls to your plump, inviting lips stirred something deep within him. something sinful. as the weeks passed, his fascination grew. he looked forward to your weekly visits, anticipating the chance to hear your voice, to offer guidance while secretly drinking in the sight of you. he found himself lost in thought about you during sermons, imagining the curves of your body beneath your modest attire, or the perverted delicacy of your moans. he realized his attraction had evolved from mere curiosity to a full-blown obsession. vivid images of you haunted his mind. he replayed the cadence of your voice, the way your hands clasped together in supplication, and the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage when you bent to recite your prayers.

father mayhew had succumbed to his darkest impulses.

driven by a hunger he'd never known, he began to concoct scenarios in which he could be alone with you, away from prying eyes. late nights found him poring over scripture, searching for justification for his forbidden desires. his once pure intentions as a priest had given way to a dark, all-consuming lust.

father mayhew stood before you in his full priestly regalia, the crisp white collar stark against the black fabric of his cassock. the garment fell to just above his ankles, the hem swaying gently as he moved. a wide, white stole draped across his chest, the vibrant red embroidery glinting in the candlelight. his hair is always neatly combed back, revealing the strong contours of his face. dark eyes gazed at you intently, a look of stern authority tempered by the lingering heat of desire. he held a heavy, leather-bound bible in his right hand, the pages well-worn from years of use.

“confess your sins.”

inhaling sharply, you fiddle with the hem of your dress before speaking. anxiously gnawing at the plush of your bottom lip. this felt embarrassing, unsure of how to start, but aware that if you didn’t it, would continue to eat at your soul. if it wasn’t put into the air now, you’ll never let it out.

“i’m not exactly sure how to say it.”

“be as honest with me as you can.”’

gently, you inhale a rigid breath. “lately i’ve been having . . what you call erotic dreams of someone i’m close to. someone whom i deeply admire and respect. i even find myself tending to those urges almost daily since i’ve known him."

his eyes widen briefly at your admission before regaining composure, his voice low and measured. he must ignore the faint burn of jealousy that scorns in his chest. the recent events of infatuation for you turning possessive.

“i appreciate your honesty. it takes tremendous strength to bear one's soul in this way. please know that you are not alone and there is no shame in struggling with temptation.”

“i don’t feel like myself lately. i’ve never felt so consumed by a person. my thoughts are overbearing, it’s nearly driving me off edge. i don’t believe this is of normalcy.”

he nods. “i too have grappled with impure thoughts and desires. as priests, we are human beings first and foremost . . imperfect vessels striving to serve god and his flock. never doubt that your feelings aren’t valid and worthy of compassion.”

you swallow, heart thrumming against your ribcage, slightly turning your body to face the man whose figure you faintly see behind the barricaded gate. you swear you see him tense, eyes drifting to yours before clearing his throat and squeezing at the bible in hand, bowing his head with eyes shut, trying to block off your sweet scent enveloping the small confinement.

“do you wish to speak more?” he asks, voice raspier.

“i-i . . have a more dire truth.”

“which is?”

“those impure thoughts, taunting me day and night. . are of you, father charlie.”

in a normal setting, he’d react with amusement. though this wasn’t the place to express and endure those primal thoughts, he had to remain diligent. the heat emerges within his body in waves, tonguing his cheek hard before fixing his posture and deciding to respond.

“i would be remiss in my duty as both your priest and confidant if i did not offer solace. being said, perhaps we can meet privately. tomorrow night . . so we won’t be disrupted.”

your pulse quickens at the thought of meeting him alone, intimately, without a prying eye to judge. you don’t question how quickly he is to come to that decision, a part of you knowing that he felt the exact same. that only enticed you.

“yes, father. of course."

and on that saturday night, you find yourself making your way to his modest quarters above the rectory, the nervousness coats your entire body, thoughts racing on what could happen tonight. one sticking out in obvious detail. the snow white of your sundress imprinted with tiny flowers is anxiously toyed with at the ends by your french manicured nails. your hair is pulled back from your angelic face, held up by a claw clip. the hallway towards his private bedroom seemed excruciating long, wind from the open windows blowing in warmth, flowing with the white curtains eerily.

knocking on the wooden door, the last thing you expected to see when you arrived was father mayhew greatly exposed, his hair slightly damped, combed back per usual, coils of curls sticking up on the nape of his neck. beauty marks littered along his torso in constellations. he’s fixated, slanted eyes glaring down at you intensely with longing. he hums, scanning you from head to toe. a white towel is the only fabric piece on his body, covering his lower half, vein-covered arm stretching the door further, greeting you with a smile that borders on sinister.

“꒰♡꒱,” he ushers you inside, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy.

a gasp releases softly as you enter, continuing to take in the sight of father mayhew’s toned physique, chiseled features illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the vintage window. you feel a rush of heat coursing through your veins, body responding instinctively to his raw, unbridled desire.

“father . . .” you whisper, voice trembling slightly as you step closer, drawn to the aura of masculinity emanating from him. your eyes roam over his exposed skin, taking in the sight of his defined muscles and the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. the itch to reach out and trace a finger along the edge of his towel strikes you hard, needing to remain somewhat composed.

the silence is deafening, the creak of the door shutting and the broadness of his body hovering over you makes your clit pulse hard. words weren’t necessary to exchange, both of your eyes read what you equally wanted, and needed. he stands before you, placing a hand on the wall behind you, his other reaching out to gently cup your cheek, thumb stroking your soft skin, eyes locked onto yours searching for any sign of hesitation or regret.

“father,” your eyes shyly avoid his stern gaze, the imprint of his dick hard behind it’s towel, close to touching your stomach. “is this okay? i mean . . this is a sin. for the two of us.”

his breath mingles with yours, expression turning solemn as he begins to speak. “what we do remains within these walls. we are all embodiments of a sin. we will give grace, and we will be forgiven.”

savoring the warmth of his touch, you can see the fire burning in his eyes, mirroring your own desire. ample curves mold to his firm contours, his hands taking yours to raise them above your head, pining you still amongst the wall. his breath on your neck makes your skin prickle with heat, squeezing your thighs together when his lips hover by your earlobe.

“lust is a temptation we must all face. it is a primal urge, a craving for physical connection and pleasure that can lead us astray if not kept in check,” he rasps, mouth falling open to kiss and slide his thick tongue against your collarbone, tasting you with a greedy moan.

the act makes you whimper, fingertips reaching for his towel, deliberately tugging to let it fall to the floor and pool at his feet. a low groan escapes his throat, dick hard and slapping on his thick thigh. his mouth trails along the other side of your neck, pushing his hips forward as you moan into his ear, trailing your fingers up to the dark brown tresses of his hair to fist.

“lust is not inherently evil. in its purest form, it is a natural part of the human experience, a drive that propels us toward union and creation,” father mayhew finally captures your lips in a heated kiss, tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger bordering on feral, your throat evoking a deep moan, catching up with his pace.

he breaks the kiss to your displeasure, panting harshly, his eyes glazed with lust. father mayhew keeps your body up against the wall, removing his hands from your wrists, not before sternly saying, “keep them there.”

that voice again, so deep and salacious it goes straight to your clit. the dampness of your arousal seeps through your panties now, physically announcing your desperate need for him. within seconds, he’s crouching below you, pink lips peppering kisses along your navel after lifting your dress up, hot fingers indenting into the flesh of your hips he slicks his tongue on. you can’t help but continue whimpering, shifting your waist as a show of urgency.

“i wonder," he trails off, slender fingers gently sliding off your thong, a string of slick coming along with it. you hastily step out of them, watching him throw your right leg over his shoulder, mouth so close to your pussy. “if the key is to recognize when our desires become excessive when they begin to consume us rather than serve as a healthy expression of our needs.”

“i don't care anymore, father,” you breathe, his lips hovering your mound. “i crave you, i need you. we can repent for our sins later.“

the muscles in his jaw clench, lashes angelically kissing his cheekbones. he wetly gives an open-mouthed kiss to the curve between your hip and thigh, staring at you. “so fuck it.”

“fuck it,” you nod, chest heaving, your pent-up arousal unbelievable.

“i want to lose myself in you, consequences be damned.”

with his jaw slacking, his mouth encapsulates your clit, rough tongue following the lead. a thankful shudder emits from you, keeping your hands molded to the wall like he told you. his eyes never leave your face, the wet interaction sounding the room as he sucks and pulls on your engorged clit with his lips. separating your legs further so he can taste everything that leaks from you.

“mhm, fuck. that's what i needed,” he growls into your pussy, chin getting wet and head moving to slick his face up and down, swallowing and moaning. he begins to delve his tongue into your opening where it only gets wetter, fucking into you with his nose to your clit and your inner thighs trembling.

you can’t take not touching him, going to fist his hair with your eyes scrolling to the back of your head, lips quivering from the ache of finally being given the pleasure you dreamt of.

“put your fingers in me, baby,” you whine, gripping at the nape of his neck to gently pull him back, needing it now.

“let me handle you. don’t speak.”

whining from the harsh hit he gives your outer thigh, you nod your head to his need, gathering more of his hair to tug while he gives your pussy one more big kiss and sucking at his own fingers quickly after. his salvia trickles down to his knuckles as he wets his fingers, sinking his pointer and middle simultaneously into your awaiting pussy.

“fuck,” he curses immediately after, the clench and greedy pull your pussy does around them only makes him spank you again. they’re so thick inside of you, squelching around them along with grinding down pleadingly, and he thinks you look angelic.

“my sweet, sinful girl," father mayhew’s lips continue to curl up wickedly, dropping your leg and standing back to his full height, missing your face in his.

the pads of his fingers roll over your clit, spread open completely for him, his head slightly cocked to watch you, faces inches apart. he studies the way your mouth falters open as he gathers your cum around his fingers after dragging two of them between your folds, slowly sinking them back inside, testing the waters. your toes curl instantly, bucking your hips into his hand as his thumb presses your puffy clit and you finally breathe out a loud moan. he takes his time savoring the way your walls clamp around him, begging without words to pull him deeper.

“there you go," he gasps with you as he fucks into you faster, knuckles deep, palm slick and slapping against your clit. you shudder under his control, gut twisting when he kisses you, tongues swirling together, eyelids droopy as you suck each other's lips, biting him to taste a hint of blood.

“i need to be inside of you,” he heaves, having enough of the foreplay. he’s been thinking about this for far too long. it was painful enough having to restrain himself. “fuck, you’re pretty.”

it ignites something nasty inside of you when father mayhew tucks your body beneath him to align his throbbing dick dripping with delicious precum to your pussy, stuffing and stretching you within the blink of an eye. he cooed after hearing you squeal and whimper, leveling his body to lock his forearms underneath the backs of your knees, hovering you above him and backing away from the wall. he easily balances both of your weights, your arms holding onto the back of his neck with your back arching and stomach pressing hotly to his scorching skin.

“that’s it, take it all,” he grunts, fingers sprawled across your hips and ass to push you down so his dick is engulfed into you. “fuck, you feel real good.”

“fuck me, please. m’begging you,” the tears welling in your eyes activate something inside of him he’s never felt before, heart thrashing in his chest as he grants you a rough kiss on your mouth before drawing his hips back to slam you up and down on his thick dick, the veiny ridges catering to every aching part inside of you.

“o-oh, my g-god,” you whisper in his ear, clawing into his back and burying your face into the crook of his neck, listening to the harshness of your ass clapping down onto his broad thighs the heavier he drops you down. “ngh, s’fuckin’ good.”

“mhm hmm,” is all he can get out, hissing and holding you up so the tip is only kissing your entrance before pounding into you with steady, rough strokes. the burn on his back from your scratches fuels him, grunting in your ear and fucking you deep. so deep you can’t control those filthy sounds he loves too badly.

“call me by my name,” he grits his teeth, your juices dripping down his balls that jump out of reaction from your dulcet voice. “right now, ꒰♡꒱. don’t be scared now.”

“charlie,” you whimper, pulling your face up to stare into his crepuscular eyes, near gone.

“no,” he shakes his head. “how do you address me, ꒰♡꒱.”

lips pouty, you lean in to kiss him, mouths smacking together wetly, his hips hastening, your mouth slacking and cries falling when he begins to hit that good spot, almost losing your mind. “f-fuck, y-yessss! stay there, stay there please, father!”

“god, yes,” the dark bush of his eyebrows furrow on his face as he focuses on the tightness around his cock, sticking his tongue out of his mouth needing you to do the same. your tongue glides along his, father mayhew sucking on yours and thrusting harder. “greedy girl.”

your body begins to convulse, muscles tensing as the coil in your tummy tightens, aiding you to cum hard on his dick. he probed deeper, swiveling his hips and knocking into you rough and your pussy creams on him, tightening and pulsating as you cum and shake almost violently.

“anh—ughhh, b-baby.”

father mayhew watches your voice contort from your pleasure, crying out and sniffling from the feeling in your tummy that wouldn’t stop, looking like you’ll cum again. he can feel it, in fact.

“tell me you want this," he grunts, his voice rough with need. "tell me you crave my dick buried inside you. that it makes you feel so good. that you’re mine every fuckin’ time you come see me. tell me.”

“y-yes, i wan’ it,” your voice quite literally trembles, gasps coming out broken. “i wan’ you, need you. . fuckin’ me.”

“good fuckin’ girl, ꒰♡꒱. g-good fuckin’ girl. god, give me permission to cum.”

your voice gets caught in your throat when he stumbles back towards the wall, hiking you further up and pressing his palms flat to the wall, your ass recoiling and hitting the surface as he fucks you faster, and harder, keeping your knees high up. a death lock he has on you, you can barely move an inch. sinking and pulling out his girth by every filthy pound. your breath on his skin with his on yours. it was the ultimate embodiment of erotica.

“cum in me, cum in meeee!”

guttural moans and heavy panting stir between your neck, father mayhew giving you one final, heavy thrust before he’s cumming inside of you while you orgasm once more. gripping onto his hair tightly with your mouth faltering open, hiccuping and whining loudly. grounding your hips down to squeeze and milk him of everything he had for you. his release is loud, waist shuddering, and primal growls in your face with his forehead pressed to yours, bodies entwined in a sticky mess.

he keeps you stuck in this position for a while, heaving in your face and taking your lips to his again for another kiss, growing high off your shared taste.

“you ignite a fire within me unlike anything else.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[mrsoharaa]

You and Miguel trip over each others feet, drunkenly, landing on the softness of your cozy bed with your back gently bouncing amongst the thick warmth of your blanket and his towering, stocky frame looming over yours protectively...admirably.

His soft hues of hazelnut irises gaze down at you with such tender and allure. Briefly glances down to the plushness of your pretty, fully lips promptly back up to your glimmering, hazy eyes. Contemplation roaming through his foggy mind.

Your gentle and sweet giggles lure him out from his thinking, eyes focusing more intently into your gorgeous eyes. Sinking and basking in the sheer beauty that resonates from your reeling optics. A lazy, half witted smile weaving across his strong cheeks.

"¿Qué es tan gracioso, preciosa?" he chimes with the same smile, watching you softly roam your tinier hands all over his wide, firm chest. Leaving a trail of arising goosebumps beneath the thin layer of his black shirt that snugged ever so nicely around his bulked stature.

"Y-you Miggy...you're so funny" you emit a small hiccup, fingers still grazing over the soft, light fabric that atoned to his fit body ever so perfectly. Your wandering irises stilling into his directly, nipping back your bottom lip as your palms smoothly, gradually glide their way up and around the juncture of his strong jaw to the back of his neck. Easing in the closeness between the two of you.

He raise a thick brow in curiosity and interest, chuckling lightly as he hums to the light invitation your fingers were hinting at, at the back of his head. Twirling and curling ever so delicately and diligently in between the soften locks of deep mahogany.

"Am I now? do share, dulzura" he keeps his adoring, flaunting smile on his beautiful face. Watching you ever so intently and longingly with every motion you'd make, consuming the intoxicating feeling of your welcoming gentle touches.

You giggle once more, another loose hiccup reverberating through your throat. Your hands clasping more securely around his neck and pull him down to meet your warm, tender lips. Hardly ghosting over the shell of his right ear.

"I can s-see you fighting back the u-urge to kiss me Miguel..." you whisper ever so daintly, smoothly deep into the depths of his ringing ears. You feel his muscles tense under your touch, arising a more coy and playful smirk to tug amongst your heated cheeks.

His head tilts lightly, lips skimming over the flush of your flawless skin, suavely rakes both of his large hands up along the strut of your calling body.

"...Would you be against it, mi amor?" his voice tremored with such lowered bass, rasp like as he grazes your cute cheeks with a teasing touch of his warm lips. Grinning oh so cheekily against the supple flesh as he feels you writhe and squirm a bit beneath him.

Your hands weave more profusely into his curly, brunette hair. Fingers curling and combing through each soften strand, as you pull him more closer towards you.

"O-of course not dummy...that's w-what I've wanted all this time" you breathe out faintly, listening to the sudden hitch of his breath settle at the back of his throat. His dilated pupils following over to remeet your coyish, yearning gaze.

It didn't take him much convincing afterwards to have his hungry lips lap over your own with such dire need and desire. A mixture of dizzying passion and aching want, fueling his ignited action against your lips. Devouring every moan, whimper and breathy gasps that slipped off your trembling, candied lips.

Diligently, wallowing in the devoted and amorous kiss.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 5.6k words]

"Just... be careful." He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze. "Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

Harlow prepares to take his revenge. Sebastian has a plan to protect you.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][LAST] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: coarse language, blood/ injury, gendered language, explicit smut MDNI (dom!Seb, dirty talk, wall sex, porn with feelings, public sex, cunnilingus, very slight breeding kink), and one threat of sexual assault (not made by Sebastian or the bar girl). This occurs in Harlow's paragraph of dialogue shortly after he is reintroduced, which you can skip over if you'd prefer. Please take care. <3

6. worth the risk

Sebastian's urges never seem fully satiated, but you're happy to try. Minutes may pass, or hours. You indulge the time making love, passionately, raggedly, between bouts of uncontrollable laughter or breathless, all-consuming kisses. His smell becomes part of the place, part of you. Sometimes you sleep for a little while only to wake and start all over again, with hands that already know the right places to tease.

It must be three o'clock when you next stir. In the indigo bloom of darkness, Sebastian is limned by the hazy moon rays that wander through the curtain parting. Light makes his back muscles cleave sharply down his body, burnished with ink. Even obscured, he is beautiful. You pull up slightly, rousing him – he half-turns, clasping your hairbrush.

"What are you doing with that?"

He puts it down. "Thought I'd comb my hair a little."

"I like it mussed."

"Especially when you muss it?" He lets out a low chuckle. "Sleep, love."

"Only if you join me."

Sebastian doesn't care that your breath smells bad and there's crust in your eyes. He slips in beside you, enveloping you with that broad, strong warmth that draws you into his protection. It's safe here. Nothing can hurt you. He kisses your brow, and it feels like music, heart beating a slow, steady rhythm that lulls you to sleep as easy as the clouds drift lazily across the sky.

"Shall I tell you a secret?" he asks when you're next awake.

You smirk and roll into him. "Go on, then."

"You know Ominis is my best friend? His last name's not actually Gaunt." His eyes twinkle. "It's Weasley."

"That's your secret? That he's married to Garreth's sister?" you scoff. "Bit odd for a man to take his wife's surname, but hardly worth hiding, is it?"

"He's not married to Garreth's sister."

"Oh? He's adopted?"

"Wrong again. Ominis and Garreth, they're..."

"... Work partners."

"No... it's just the two of them living together, so they're..."

"Best friends? And without you. Must be a blow to your ego."

"God, bar girl." He laughs. "They're fucking."

You jerk backwards. "What?"

"More precisely they're married, but I guess that also means they're fucking."

You don't know how to react. "Two men, married?"

"That's a better secret, isn't it?" He winks. "Keep an open mind."

You're not really sure what to do with this information, but the pieces rearrange in your head. That explains their relationship a little better, not of boss and underling, but of lovers hiding beneath a veil of secrets. At least you can relate to that.

"Should I be worried they'll try to poach you from me?"

"Ominis would rather eat rocks," Sebastian says, laughing. "Garreth... wouldn't surprise me if he tried. I'm very desirable, after all."

You snort. "Tell me something about you, then. Something no one else knows."

"Now that's a tougher order." His hands settle in your hair and he plays with it gently, sending sparks down your scalp. "How mysterious do you think I am?"

"If you could bury your secrets at the bottom of the ocean, you would."

"Touché." He draws his fingers up, massaging your head. "All right, I will confess something... I bite my nails."

"That's why they look so bad."

"And I have a terrible addiction to looking at myself in the mirror."

"Sebastian."

"It's painful to be this handsome, bar girl."

"You're certainly a pain." You drag your fingers down his chest, letting each bristle of hair be the spark that keeps you alight. "I'm serious. Or do you really think you're an open book?"

"Not at all." His voice comes out gravelled but meek. "Are my secrets worth knowing?"

"You are worth knowing. Every piece of you."

You snuggle into him to emphasise this truth. I am safe, the motion says. I will guard your heart as you have guarded mine. After a moment, he slowly traces each vertebrae of your spine, one by one by one like a bead of liquid silver trickling down a stairwell. On a cold winter's night, it couldn't be any more comforting a touch. Perfect.

"I regret what I did for the wrong reason."

By the small of your back, he pauses and meets your eye, waiting, urging for a sign to continue. This path is fretful and dangerous, another way it could upend your perception of him. But very little could, and you place a kiss on his chin in solidarity.

"It's the worst part of me." He continues it quietly, like distant rain. "Every day in prison I thought about my uncle. How would I do it differently? How could I help my sister without dooming us all? The truth is... that fifteen year old boy didn't know any better. He didn't have a support network. He didn't feel like he could trust the teachers. His best friends were against his ideas from the start. You know that feeling that makes your entire body recoil? When your disgust is so resonant you feel it in your bones, and you'll do mental somersaults to think of anything else? I thought it was remorse.

"But I realised after confronting it... I didn't regret his death. I regretted what it did to my soul. I regretted the decisions that led me to her death, and drinking. I regretted hurting her and my friends."

"You regret getting caught."

"Yes." He's barely audible now. "It took a long time for Anne to come to terms with not only what I did, but why. I killed him for her."

You cup his cheek, steadying the demons that manifest like embers in ash.

"And look how far you've come since then. You got through prison. You're getting better. You've made new, lasting connections. She's looking down on you with a smile."

Instead he smirks. "Hope not. That means she's seen my dick." But there's sadness there, and worry and hesitation and pleading and all the things that remind you of the man behind the façade. "I felt relief, not regret, that he was dead. That I gave her a chance to live. Does that... am I a selfish monster?"

You wrap your arms around him.

"Selfish, yes, but that doesn't make you a monster, Sebastian," you say, listening to his heartbeat with ease. "That makes you human."

By sunrise he hasn't thought of a plan, but when his cock thrusts into you, and your face thrusts into the pillow, you can't bring yourself to worry. He empties over your bed several times and takes measures to make sure you're equally pleasured too, that by the time you clean yourselves up for the morning you're already tired.

You make it in time to intercept your mother from tottering right over the bannister.

"It's all right," you say to him, when you eventually coax her to the armchair. "If you need to be somewhere else—"

"No," he says, with that half-smile that is yours. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

A natural charmer and entertainer, he helps clean, feed and move your parents to the sun room. By some miracle they actually recognise him too, the man who vanishes in the fireplace – you want to ask more about that but suspect Sebastian will give answers so cryptic they couldn't solve a fiendish crossword – and with his help you finish the morning's work in half the time. Ada arrives to watch them and says nothing of Sebastian's presence, agreeing without words to keep one more secret sealed on her lips.

The pub opens for the breakfast rush without any issue out of the ordinary. You swab countertops. Serve customers. Take coin in your pocket and snags on the chin. Sebastian remains through it all, the fallen guardian angel ever present and watchful, and though he resists as long as he can, it's not even twelve before he's halfway into a stout, foam coating his lips in a golden froth. You're tempted to lick it off.

The day is almost perfectly normal. Almost.

Because there is one thought that keeps you twitchy and addled. One thing that makes your hair stand on end, hyper-vigilant of every noise and new face. Harlow's retaliation may not be immediate. It may not even be next week. But he will come – and you have no idea when.

So each night, Sebastian stays to protect you.

It becomes as easy as breathing to fall asleep in his arms, sometimes after riotous love-making or kisses that leave you breathless, sometimes after enjoying one another's company in the small ways, words as loud as ghosts and touches as searing as the moon in the cloudless sky. You refuse to relax at the start, and try to remember what could happen the moment you let your guard down, but with Sebastian lulling you to sleep with a story, a crooked grin or the simple safety of his embrace, the promise is a difficult one to keep.

It was only a week ago, but Harlow becomes as distant a memory as a decade.

And that comfort is dangerous.

You're in the beer cellar below, hunting for the rye whisky, when Sebastian wanders down to find you. Without the peek of natural sunlight you could fool yourself into thinking it's night, the thicket of kegs set gently aglow by gas lamps on the wall.

"Thought you might want my help." His brow dances. "Or my muscle. Whichever suits."

"I'm just debating whether it's worth bringing up another rye. We're low and Old Dodder could neck it solo." You turn to him fully. "You haven't heard anything?"

"No."

"It's been a week. No one's heard from him even once?" You tap your nails on the keg's rim. "Why? What's he doing?"

"How'd you know there hasn't been hundreds of attacks I've valiantly fought off?" You fix him a look, which only broadens his smile. "We're keeping an eye out, I promise. Don't stress."

"In this line of work that's impossible. There's about ten different things I have to manage, and that's without a criminal gang out for my head."

His smile turns a little smug, and he prowls closer, a distinctive glimmer in his eye. "Then let me help?"

"Oh yeah? Sebastian Sallow, bar boy? I'd fancy watching you hold a tray of beers without spilling a drop. Or taking a cheeky sip."

"I was thinking more the stress, love."

He tucks you between a cluster of kegs and himself. Much taller and broader, Sebastian's scent overwhelms all others, richly dark musk, leather, sweat, oak, stout. His thumbs find the small of your waist, pressing you inwards, trapping you.

"What did you have in mind?" you ask demurely.

His kiss captures you mid-breath, and you sink into him, taken by his strength and dominance. You've kissed him tens, hundreds of times now, and it never feels any less euphoric. He tastes of malt and gold, caramel and power, and with his lips meandering across your cheeks and down your jaw, then enthusiastically across your throat with enough bite to sting pleasantly, it's hard not to demand he fuck you then and there.

"Sebastian—"

"Sssshhh." He caresses your lips. "No more stress."

The kisses set fire to your core as he trails down the front of your apron, down to your tapered waist and the volume of your skirts until he's on his knees before you. Anticipation makes your sex throb, and when his hands slip under the layers, drawing it above his head, you let out a little bleat of surprise.

"T-This is a cellar!"

"Then you'd better keep quiet, love."

Without warning he buries his face between your legs, and you're embarrassed, secretly pleased, to realise how wet the bloomers cling to you with excitement. He tugs on the string holding them in place to reach your entrance, swollen after a pathetically minimal amount of stimulation. Sebastian just has that way – a few words, a touch, a smile, and you unravel. His nose caresses your clit, and you let out a gasp.

"You smell delicious," he murmurs into the folds, flowering open at the vibration. "Spread yourself for me."

A wet, warm tongue slides across you, and you grab the keg to anchor yourself, so turned on you widen your stance and roll your hips forward to give him better access. He chuckles, another vibration, and continues to lick the ache, slow, leisurely, each lap so discreet in reality but loud and slick to you.

"Wider," he demands softly. "Let me taste more of you."

Propriety crumbling, you inch your legs outwards, allowing Sebastian easier access.

"T-This is too risky—"

The trap door flies open, filling the cellar with sunlight. You yank your arms to your sides at once. Sebastian freezes, tongue suspended on your clit – but not retreating.

"There you are!" Bonny heads down a few steps – she tilts her head. "What you doin' in there, miss?"

Thank God there's a bunch of barrels in the way. "S-Stock count."

"Cook did that this morning?"

Shit. "I know, I'm just—"

His tongue grazes deeper over your entrance. You almost moan. Bastard. Instead, you physically wrench your facial muscles back into place.

"Bein' thorough?" offers Bonny.

Another lash of his tongue, this time playing with the rim.

"Very," he whispers.

You knee him gently but he just licks again. Fuck. It's harder and harder to look calm, harder to control the urge to sink your fingers into the curls and ride his fucking face.

"T-Thorough, yes," you manage. "I'll be out in a min."

She makes to step forwards. "Want any help?"

"No! I mean, no, thank you." You can't focus. Bonny's there but in your mind's eye you can only see Sebastian between your legs, working you to climax. "Promise I won't be long."

His pace quickens, sliding back forth back forth. You nudge him again, which only makes his tongue more eager. The world teeters.

"Aw'right, well," says Bonny, "I'll tell the bloke with the walking stick to wait at the bar then? He's looking for your man but I can't seem to find him."

Sebastian coils his arms around your thighs, adjusting the position as his tongue slips easily inside you.

"Yes!" you cry, then cough. "Yes, that would— be— great."

Bonny makes a face but shrugs and swings the door shut behind her, leaving you in dusky silence again.

"You arsehole—"

He doesn't let you finish, using his whole mouth now to stimulate your clit and entrance in tandem. Burying in and out, across and up, kissing and sucking. Your head cranes backwards, your hands fist your skirt to channel the frustration, the desire. Fuck, it feels amazing. A guttural moan escapes your mouth but doesn't even sound like your own, so lost in the thrill – and when Sebastian licks and licks and licks without stopping, you're quickly arcing your back and bucking against his mouth until the release comes swift and fast, pulsing sloppily over his face.

It takes a few seconds to regain some measure of poise. Sebastian drops the skirt and reveals himself grinning widely and sticky with cum.

"You're incorrigible."

"And you're welcome."

"We could've been caught."

He thumbs his face and licks it off, without taking his eyes off you. "You enjoy the risk."

"I'm at risk of being caught and destroying my reputation. You're hiding under my skirts."

He stands and slips your chin into his grasp, tilting it up to ghost his lips.

"Careful, love. I might like to show you how brazen I can be."

One step closer pins you between the wall and him. His breath susurrates as he dips down to your ear.

"I'd fuck you on that counter if you'd let me."

The image of you sprawled out for all to see, naked and begging and at the mercy of his pleasure, sends heat up unspooling through your core again, and a coy glance downwards shows that same desire reflected in his physical form.

"Ominis is waiting for you."

"Hm." He grasps your arse tightly and hoists you to the wall, pressing his bulge between your legs. "Let him wait."

With two firm tugs you undo his breeches, and Sebastian claims your mouth, tongue still salty and sweet with your juices. He roughly grinds forwards, pulsing a new wave of pleasure down your navel, satisfying of the feel of his hard, eager cock. One stroke elicits a mid-kiss groan down your throat, and when you reach to grasp him, please him, the wetness that quickly blooms from the head drives your wants mad.

The nights are tender and loving, but today, with the pub hall only upstairs, Sebastian buries the tip, then the entirety of him, inside you in a quick, flush motion. You feel full yet famished still. Legs curled around him and arms steady, you become a vessel for his pleasure as he ruts into you so hard the floorboards groan. Someone could hear you – you're sure of it. If Bonny or anyone had another question or thought to check on their boss, they would get treated to a sight of Sebastian's cock between your legs, yet you take each thrust willingly and frantically, rocking to his rhythm in desperation to find a new release. He's right, you enjoy the risk. You enjoy him. Clinging to his back, you relish his hard muscles bearing your weight, and dig your nails into his shirt and flesh beneath.

He peels free as he adjusts position, gripping your thighs like vice, and his mouth finds the swell between your neck and collarbone. The sensations tip you closer and closer. Your body doesn't just want to orgasm, it needs to. You have to let go. A rasping moan bleats from your lips, broken by ragged pants.

"Keep quiet, love," he commands. "Only I get to hear you cum."

Your spine hits the wall with each thrust. The fire builds until its pleading, beseeching for release, and with one final desperate movement you clench around his cock and freely orgasm, biting your lip to curb the scream that surges up your throat. Divine pleasure wracks every bone.

"S-Sebastian..."

His name blurted like that makes his grip tighten. He pants raggedly, pumps with no rhythm, eyes fluttering upwards and nails biting, and when he finally pulls out to twist away before his release spurts, his face contorts with pleasure, almost pain, that he can't cum inside you, leave you dripping and marked as his as you work.

Knees too week to stand, you slump to the floor, spent.

"You really... are incorrigible..."

He lets out a low chuckle and runs a hand through his sweaty curls.

"But you love it."

You do.

He leans over and slips a hand around your waist, pulling you up to his chest. For a long moment, as your hearts climb down from the high together, neither of you say anything. Despite his past, his secrets, his vices, Sebastian has become the one place where you can truly be yourself. There are no worries or impossible expectations, no societal burdens, no weight nor responsibility. No stress. He is the safety net, the impenetrable monument, the sun that whispers to the sprout to thrive, and if Heaven exists, it's this beautiful connection, the golden threads that bind you together with something far greater than love.

Adventure, freedom, the new and unexpected but never unwelcome. Sebastian is all those things and more.

"I don't want to see what the brute wants," he murmurs. "I'd rather stay here with you forever."

Your focus tugs back to those brilliant coffee eyes.

"Just for now will be enough."

To divert suspicions, you go back to the main hall first.

Tidying yourself up is harder than it sounds, with the flush of sex fresh on your face. With a final kiss, Sebastian promises to clean up as you head up out the stock room and into the hall. Ominis is distinctive immediately by his unfittingly taut posture, state of overdress and cane slotted tightly into his palm, but he lifts his chin as you approach, like he can scent you coming.

Hopefully not. He might mistake you for his friend.

"Good afternoon, madam," he greets cordially, setting his teacup down. "Sebastian is close by, I presume."

Sebastian saunters out next, and it seems to take all his willpower not to touch you. His easy smile capsizes from post-coital bliss to pre-disaster despair.

"Please tell me you're here to buy me a drink and nothing else?"

"I have news," he says. "On Harlow."

"Then out with it," you demand. "What do you know?"

"It's best I discuss the matter with Sebastian privately."

"Why? They're going to come here, ain't they?"

He makes to retort, but Sebastian cuts in. "She's right, Ominis. Let's both hear it."

Ominis purses his lips in hesitation, but stands. "Very well. I have... informants who have received word that he intends to strike the premises with a dozen of his men tonight."

Your heart leaps into your throat. "What? Tonight? Then why are you here? Go stop him!"

Ominis is unrelentingly stoic. "Intent is not a crime, and unfortunately Harlow has a large enough following that means we must catch him in the act to arrest him. Any premature move could give away the element of surprise. He underestimated you last time, so I imagine he will bring full..." he rolls his lips, "firepower tonight."

"I have a plan, don't worry," Sebastian adds at your horror. "Been cooking it some time."

"And you didn't think to share it with me?" you snap.

"It's no longer safe for you here," Ominis says coolly. "You'll need to make accommodations elsewhere for the time being."

"And what about my pub?"

"Let us handle it."

"I'm hearing a lot of don't worry about it and not enough telling me what you plan to do."

"That's all I can share. Sebastian," he says abruptly, "we'll discuss more later, once I have logistics in place."

He glides away like he hasn't just upended your entire world. It's one thing to target you, another entirely to target this place. You live here, work here, grew up here, met Sebastian here. It can't all end in ruin.

"Just for tonight, lay low at my place." Sebastian fishes in his pocket and places a warm metal key into your palms. "Garreth will be more than happy to watch your parents, he has a spare room, he's very discreet and he adores old people."

You don't even have the brain power to fathom how Sebastian could organise that in one afternoon. "I won't cower."

"Not cowering. All you have to do—"

"No." You thrust the key back into his hand. "This time you tell me what's going on. It's not a pig-headed customer or a carriage to the seaside, Sebastian. This place is my life."

"I know, and I would never do anything to jeopardise it."

"So why can't you tell me your plan?"

"Because I don't want you to worry about me, more than you already will." He steps closer, gets quieter. "Everything will work out, but for that to happen, I need to know you're safe and far away. I can't... I can't risk you getting hurt. I can't work to protect this place knowing you're in danger."

"You're on leave," you whisper. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I won't." He puts the key back and cups your hands over it. "I know it's hard for you, but—"

"Trust you?"

"Now you're getting it." His hands slip away – you miss the warmth keenly. "It'll be over by morning, I promise."

This side of him, confident and self-assured and doubtless everything will be okay, draws you in like seduction. This isn't the first time you've put your faith in his hands, but now it kindles a feeling of helplessness in your belly. He's never let you down before and has no reason to now – but still, you can't help feel pushed over your limit.

There's more at stake this time. Your life and your parents' lives are more important, yes, but it feels... wrong, to abandon your home when it needs you most.

"All right," you back down, uneasy but left without options. "Just... be careful."

He takes your hand, bowing to kiss the fingers like delicate embers in a breeze.

"Now, bar girl," he murmurs, "where's the fun in that?"

The door opens before the third swing of the knocker.

"Brilliant timing!" Garreth greets, ushering you inside. "Just tucked your parents into bed!"

It took a forty minute walk to reach the Weasley townhouse on the west side of the city. You've forgone wondering the hows and whys of Sebastian's machinations, so it doesn't surprise you to find your parents in the spare bedroom, sitting up and nattering about green flames. The place is surprisingly plain, with a sparse number of portrait photographs on an empty oak shelf, a navy armchair that clashes with red wallpaper and a cuckoo clock, except instead of chiming on the hour, it chimes at seven minutes past.

"Cup of tea?" asks Garreth. "It'll be good for the nerves, and not to brag, but I'm very good at hand-brewing."

"No, thank you. Is Mr Gaunt here?"

"Why would he be here?" he blurts. "He doesn't live here, or anything. He's just my colleague. At work. Working. Yeah. He and Sebastian are already on the case."

You stew on it as you ensure your parents are settled and comfortable. It's already past nine and the pub closed early, and if Ominis' intel is correct, Harlow's gang will be storming the place in a few hours. He wouldn't hesitate to deliver a killing blow; Sebastian would, despite his blood-stained past. What if, in granting mercy, he gets badly hurt or killed?

"What about Kath?" you ask, and Garreth stiffens. "Does she know?"

"Errrrr." He laughs nervously. "Don't be mad..."

"What, Garreth?"

"They're not exactly doing this... by the book..." He holds up his hands. "They won't be able to stop Harlow any other way. And trust me, even when Seb's off his tits he's too competent to let shit go awry."

"So it's just him and Ominis? Against Harlow's entire gang?" You glare at him. "What exactly is this plan?"

Garreth goes a little pale. "They're going to use bait to lure him into a trap they've set. That's all."

"Bait?" you snap. "What bait?"

"It'll be fine, I promise! Over by one, Seb told me. He's that confident."

Time seems to distend. Sebastian was right – you are worrying, so much it gnaws your insides. They're outnumbered and outmanned and assuming Harlow will be idiot enough to fall into whatever this trap is they've set, presumably at your pub's expense.

"Where's that handsome, tattooed young man, hmm?"

You spin to your father, wrenched from the conversation. "What?"

"Oh, if I were fifty years younger, sweetheart," your mother chimes, relaxing next to him, "I'd be all over him!"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Of course they remember him, out of everyone they've ever met. "He's busy right now."

"Not without another woman, I hope?"

"No, Mama."

"What a lucky chap he is to have you at his side. Not everyone gets that, you know." Your mother turns to face your father with a smile. "The adventures we had... they were always worth the risk."

Adventure, and freedom, and the new and unexpected but never unwelcome... a painful ache goes through you. Wasn't that something you learnt when you were with Sebastian? Living, rather than surviving? Taking the risk rather than hiding away?

Downstairs, you grab your things as Garreth opens the front door.

"You can stay, if you want," he says, leaning against the doorway. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but I can whip up a bed for you in the living room."

Sleep will be hard enough at Sebastian's place. "Thanks, but I'll be all right. You'll call if there's any issues?"

"Don't worry, I'm used to entertaining old people. If they can't sleep I can show them some magic! Er, by that I mean coin tricks and pulling my thumb off, of course." He laughs awkwardly. "Keep out of trouble tonight?"

You don't make that promise.

It's lonely in Sebastian's place without him.

To busy yourself, you tidy. Charming as the owner is, he's a terrible mess, and his attempts to clean since you were last here only mean the floor is free of empty bottles. You scrub the kitchen countertop, hoping each stain that peels away will relieve the anxiety storming through your gut.

It doesn't.

Even when you wash and dress and climb into his bed, breathing his familiar scent, your feet feel like they're filled with lightning, charged and restless and twitchy and taut. The clock ticks on Sebastian's wall. The pendulum swings. It passes midnight, then one, and you hear no sign, nothing that relieves you of this nightmarish cycle of waiting, hoping, praying, pleading.

Wait. Hope. Pray. Plead.

The later it gets, the worse your thoughts become. Harlow's grin. The place is flames. Sebastian struck down. Sebastian unmoving...

Everything you love is there. The building, the memories... him. If things go wrong, not only will you lose the place, but the person, too. He said to trust him – and you do, so much your soul aches at the thought of lying here, doing nothing, while he risks his life for you.

Maybe it's time to risk your life for him. Just this once. Just for love.

Without another breath, you're out of bed, dressing and snatching your coat and shoving your feet into boots. Fuck it. The most harm you can do is swing a punch with whatever muscle you've developed moving furniture and pouring beer, but if Sebastian's in trouble and there's any way you can help, even if it means acting as bait yourself, you'll seize it.

Outside, it doesn't take long to grasp your bearings, as the river cuts seamlessly through the city centre, but it's a bit of a walk, and the dark is no place for a lone woman. You keep to brightly lit areas and skirt strangers in wide arcs, channelling that fear into a determined pace.

When you near Ye Olde Hen House, a sharpness tickles the air.

It's not strong at first, but as you get closer the smell thickens and dries your tongue. Smoke. It tastes like Guy Fawkes' Night, fireworks and bonfires and effigies charred to cinders. You jog, then sprint, the last two streets until you can see the plume rising from the source.

In another life, the sight would be biblically divine. Devour the old to make way for the new. Sometimes you wished it, when the pipes burst or the carpet wore away or the damp crept through a leak in the ceiling, but watching the old building now, with its windows shattered and the great orange tongues churning through the wood like claws through flesh and bone, shoots an intense pang of grief up your chest. The place may be old, tired and decrepit, but it's yours.

This is dangerous. You shouldn't go further. But the thought of Sebastian burning within compels you to race forwards, faster than your limbs have ever taken you before. There's nothing you can do to save the place now, but if he dies as you stand here and watch, there wouldn't be a lifetime long enough to atone.

"Sebastian!" you screech. "Sebastian!"

Just as you come upon the entrance, the flames recede. You skid to a halt. Someone is inside. Him? Or Harlow? You hit the great double-door, expecting resistance – but the wood is soggy and you burst into the main hall, still aflame and wrecked so completely it's almost unrecognisable.

Harlow has his back to you, and the grief doesn't have time to bloom.

His clothes are singed, he's leaning heavily to one side and thick blood weeps from numerous injuries, including an enormous gash down the length of his back. Trembling and red with rage, he stands opposite a figure too obscured by both cloak and smoke to make out clearly.

"And after you're dead, I'll come for your whore. Tie her up, make her scream. Maybe find out what you find so sweet about her Muggle cunt." He bellows a hysterical laugh and raises something wooden in his hand. "Save a seat in hell for me."

No. You seize the first thing you can find: the cast-iron pan hanging on the rack. The handle makes your skin sizzle, but you clamp down on the agony – and jab the curve right into Harlow's exposed wound.

The screech he lets out could curdle blood, and he drops to his knees. You reel back. He only just turns around – eyes going wide – before you whack it against his head, and his body thumps to the ground, unconscious. Maybe dead. You drop the pan, palms red and raw and quivering with pain, and look over.

The figure steps back – but it's not Sebastian.

You snatch the details between the smoke. Familiarly curved, with fingers that sing of hardship, hair escaping its loose bundle and shoulders like the physical weight of responsibility has sheared them down to a perpetual slant, it's a body you know both intimately and don't understand, and love or despise depending on moods as errant as the wind. The person darts across the floor to the stock room for the back entrance, flicking the barest second of attention your way.

With eyes matching your own.

It's impossible. Impossible. How could someone wear every flaw on your skin, every follicle and pore, every old scar and callous like a garment to be discarded when they saw fit? The lookalike scampers away, and your feet jerk you forwards in chase, through the ruined doorway to the back alley.

You have to know. You have to.

"Wait!" you choke out. "Who are—?"

But when you turn the corner, the doppelgänger is gone.

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[bucketsofmonsters]

Vows - Part 1

cw: consentual blood drinking, cockwarming, accidental voyeurism, polyamory, more tags will be added as the story continues

male vampire x afab reader

Word count: 6k

Vows Masterlist

You kept your back straight, trying to maintain what little dignity you had left standing before the man on the throne in front of you. 

You lost all of that when he looked you up and down and gave you a simple command.

“Kneel.”

You bit your tongue, doing your very best to keep a pleasant look on your face as you got on your knees. He couldn’t know how much you hated him. You wouldn’t blow this. 

Your valiant attempt to hide your disdain didn’t seem to have the effect you’d hoped. He looked down at you, sneering, and said, “I was told you’ve been quite eager to get in here. You don’t look eager.”

“I am not in the practice of fawning over men I’ve just met.”

He cocked his head to the side, eyes roaming over you, trying to get a read on you. 

His hair was dark, touched with hints of gray. His face was pale and smooth but not uncreased, particularly worn crow's feet in the corner of his eyes telling tales of a smile that you saw no signs of right now.

He looked down at you with eyes that looked faded, like a half-decayed corpse, and spoke through his fangs. “Why did you want to come here?”

You couldn’t pretend it was out of desire, he’d clearly seen right through that. So you tried another tactic. 

“I had nowhere else to go,” you admitted, looking up at him with sad eyes. 

His brows furrowed. “If you wanted shelter you could have asked for shelter, we would have given it. You took our vows. Why?”

He was right, you had. You’d signed your soul away. Your body too. For what, the chance to live in the home of a leech? You had no idea how anyone could agree to this, how he could have fooled any of the poor people who lived here, who he saw as dinner and as walking sex toys. It was dehumanizing. 

But it was also the easiest way to get close to him. To learn his secrets. 

His eyes softened as your gaze fell, your combative eye contact turning to something shyer, more nervous. 

“We don’t need to talk about that now. But you don’t need to be embarrassed, not here. And you certainly don’t need to be afraid. Whatever your reason, you’re here now, that won’t change unless you want it to.”

He rose from his throne and moved towards you, holding out his hand. You took it as you rose to your feet, not wanting to insult him any more than you apparently already had. 

“What can I call you?” you asked, still not having so much as a name for the man.

“Sir is fine.”

It took everything you had not to roll your eyes at him. 

“Now,” he said, his hand still wrapped around yours, his grip firm but not strong enough that you couldn’t pull away if you really tried. “I should show you around.”

It wasn’t much of a tour. 

He took you through the halls, up a spiral staircase, and past what felt like dozens of doors without uttering so much as a word to you. 

The monotony of the tour was disrupted when a young man came barreling down the hall. He was dressed in all white, his hair a curly blond. It was a bit too long and he pushed it out of his eyes as he skidded to a halt only for it to fall dutifully back into place. 

“Hey Rook I…” He did a double-take as he saw you. “Oh, hello. Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m new.” Your tone was dry. You could tell from the two marks on his neck that he was one of the vampire’s disciples. You knew it wasn’t his fault he’d been fooled into staying here and fought the urge to resent him, to view anything associated with this monster as bad.

A massive smile took over his face. “Great, it’s always nice to have someone new around! I’m Oliver, by the way.”

“Hello.”

“Listen, I know it can be intimidating here at first but I promise he’s a sweetheart under all the dramatics,” he said, gesturing to the visibly frustrated man standing right next to him.

He didn’t take that well.

“You should run along,” Rook insisted, pressing a quick kiss into Oliver’s forehead and cutting off your conversation. “I think I’m going to have to give some special attention to this one.”

Oliver looked at the vampire with furrowed brows. “Okay. You’re being weird but okay.” He turned to you on his way out. “He’s not usually this weird, I promise. I mean, that’s not actually true, he’s always weird but like… different weird.”

“Oliver!” he hissed, his face twitching into what almost looked like embarrassment. 

“Okay, okay, I’m going. Just try not to scare them off.”

As you both watched them trail down the hallway, you turned to Rook and asked, “What happened to everyone calling you sir?”

“I didn’t say everyone had to call me that, I said you did,” he replied, an unmissable snideness in his tone.

Great, you’d been undercover for less than a day and he already didn’t like you.

You hadn’t had much further to go before your little interruption. Your room seemed to be only a few doors down. 

Rook held the door open for you, beckoning you inside. 

He stood in the doorway looking in at you, not entering the room. “The closet has clothes for you. That’s why we gathered your measurements after you took your vows, everything here should be perfectly fitted to you.”

“Thank you, Rook,” you said with a little curtsy.

“Sir,” he hissed at you, his fangs particularly evident as he spoke. 

“Rook,” you insisted, refusing to back down.

He conceded faster than you would have expected, a soft chuckle escaping him at your persistence. “Fine. Rook. Now get some rest. You can pick more of those fights you’re so desperate to pick with me in the morning.”

You immediately turned defensive, terrified of what he was implying. “No, I’m not… I just…”

“I’m not blind, and you have a worse poker face than you seem to think. I’m not worried, I’ve proved less understanding people than you wrong.”

“I really am sorry. I think I’m just nervous.” That much was true at least. You had a feeling your nerves wouldn’t subside until you left this god-forsaken place behind.

“It’s alright,” he promised. “We’ll work on that.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. What was intended to be reassuring felt threatening instead. Something about the way he spoke to you, all straight faces and hushed words, left everything he said feeling sinister. You decided that even if you didn’t know what he was, they would make you feel uneasy. 

It only left you more convinced he had the people here under some sort of spell. Surely he couldn’t have won them over, there must be something else at play. 

You’d half expected to be forced to stay with him your first night so you let out a sigh of relief as he turned without another word and left you in what appeared to be your own room. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t think he had the space, this place could house hundreds, you just weren’t sure of his morals. Or how impatient he would be to test your loyalty to his vows. 

You patted at your side, ensuring you could still feel the notebook you’d sewn into your skirts before you came. 

It was fairly thin. It needed to be able to let it sit, undetected, in the fabric just below your hip.

You hiked up your skirts, pooling the fabric in one arm as the other reached down and grabbed the silver dagger that lay flush against the inside of your thigh. You hadn’t known where it would be able to lie safe and undetected or how thoroughly you would be checked. 

You opened the wardrobe to try and asses where you could go about hiding your contraband from now on, your prior hiding spacing being spoiled by your new host's insistence upon extravagance. 

You considered hiding it somewhere in your room but quickly dismissed the thought. At least with them on your person you’d know if you were discovered. With them in your room, you could be compromised and in danger and be none the wiser. 

There were more clothes in the wardrobe than you’d owned over the rest of your life combined. There were suits and pants and skirts and dresses of every length, even ones that didn’t quite feel appropriate. 

Your gaze was drawn from those scandalous dresses as you realized that some in this closet, shoved into the corner, were sheer. Those you discarded immediately, you wouldn’t give him the pleasure. 

Despite all the variety in clothing types, it all seemed a bit one note. You were stricken with endless patterns of black and white. There were a few in plain black or plain white that you gravitated towards but the rest were covered in patterns. Diamonds and stripes and checked skirts, it was enough to give you a headache. 

The colors and patterns felt aggressive and gaudy when confronted with a whole closet of them, but you couldn’t help but admit that they were beautifully made. The fabric was the softest you’d ever felt. 

You pulled out a black dress, the one that felt closest to what you were used to, and started to put it on. You’d been searching for places where you could sew in secret folds when your hand went right through the skirt and into a pocket. 

You pulled the skirt upwards to evaluate and noticed that the stitching was far rougher there than any of the other seams, looking not unlike your secret pockets you’d become adept at making lately. 

Their presence couldn’t help but worry you. Who had these belonged to before? Who had felt so unsafe here they’d been set on creating hiding spots close to them. 

Whoever they were, they had more sense than the rest of Rook’s victims. 

Your fingers ran over the handle of the knife as you shoved it into your new pockets instead of reattaching it to your thigh. It was safer there, better hidden, but you wanted it at hand. You’d been reassured you wouldn’t have to use it, not on your first mission, but it was always good to have. 

Just in case. 

Your knife was still stowed away but the notebook remained out. You still had work to do. 

Quickly, afraid someone may walk in on you at any moment, you scribbled out a summary of your first day here. It wasn’t much but you’d been told to take note of everything. Besides, you’d never hunted a vampire before, you didn’t know what details were important yet. 

As you completed and folded up your note, you rushed to the window, unlatching it and looking around quickly for anyone surveilling you.

You noted a distinct lack of onlookers at the same time a pigeon landed on the window frame. 

Your face lit up as you saw him, your dutiful little messenger a welcome familiar face in this horrible place. You cooed at him for a moment, giving him a soft pet down his back.

“You’re so good. Told them you could find your way to me.”

But you didn’t have time to fawn over him, you needed to get this note out of here as quickly as you could. 

You attached the note securely to his leg and sent him on his way, staying at the window and watching him until you could see him no longer. 

With your mission for the night completed and your little friend finally out of sight, you gave yourself permission to rest. 

Taking up most of the room was a massive bed, with black blankets pulled over white sheets and sheer black curtains hanging around it. 

The bed was so nice and perfect you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb it, instead curling up on top of the perfectly made bed in the house you didn’t belong in. 

You woke up with a jolt, already filled with adrenaline. The sun was shining through the window and you felt a pang in your chest at the implications of the fact that you had a window at all. He had to avoid the sun, it caused vampires pain and sapped them of most of their strength. Most avoided houses with windows entirely, wanting a space to hide away from it. 

But no, you’d been given a window. This really was your space, a space that half the time he was likely to avoid. 

You realized you’d slept in much later than you’d intended. So much for getting up early and poking around. 

For most vampires you’d be right where you needed to be, most of them were nocturnal but there were a lot of patterns Rook didn’t follow that most vampires did. 

He seemed to prefer following the sleep patterns of his disciples who lived with him, or at least you thought he did based on the little intel you had. 

It was his house so he didn’t need to be invited in anywhere. Instead, it had wardings that meant only those invited could step inside, hence why you were on your very first mission, all alone. You were the only one who’d never been in the limelight, who vampires wouldn’t know to watch out for so here you stood, invited inside with the rest of his little humans. 

If you couldn’t snoop, you should at the very least try and gather information from him. 

You stormed out of your room, set on gathering intel. 

You needed to have more to report this time. What you were doing wasn’t cutting it. You were supposed to be proving yourself and instead you were what, wandering around a mansion and picking petty fights?

You didn’t really know where he was so you took your best bet and headed down to the throne room. 

He wasn’t a ruler of anything, not really. It felt like it was more for his ego than anything. 

The massive wooden doors that led to it were shut with Oliver sitting on the ground beside them, like the world's least threatening guard. 

Upon closer inspection you realized he was knitting something, the pile of yarn next to him the same black and white as most of the things in this god-forsaken place. It didn’t help him appear more intimidating, that was for sure. 

As you reached for the door handle he made a noise of protest from his seat on the floor.

“I wouldn’t go in there,” he called out. “Rook said not to let anyone in.”

“I don’t care what Rook said,” you insisted. “I need to talk to him.”

“I really wouldn’t if I were you…”

You left his calls of protest behind as you stormed into the room.

Rook was sitting on his throne, but he wasn’t alone. 

There was a girl in his lap. You couldn’t see her face, her back facing you as she straddled him. Her long, red hair hid most of her from your sight but it failed to cover her lower half and your face heated at the sight of her plush, unclothes thighs hugging his midsection, her dress hiked up around her waist. 

He pulled her head to rest on his shoulder and you caught a glimpse of both her face and neck, a trail of blood gently trickling down her side, staining her white dress bright red. From what you saw she looked completely out of it. You weren’t even sure she noticed you coming in. 

“Would you like something,” he prompted, his arm wrapped protectively around the girl on his lap. Something in you churned at the sight and you forced it back down. 

You didn’t say a word, turning on your heels and storming right back out of the room. 

Oliver looked up at you, fighting back a smile as the heavy door fell shut behind you.

“I tried to warn you,” he said, amusement radiating off of him and you wondered if maybe everyone in this god-forsaken place was an asshole. 

You spent the rest of the afternoon seething. You weren’t even entirely sure about what, to be honest, just spending most of your time pacing and feeling generally upset. 

When Rook finally decided to show his face, you let it all out on him. 

The second he entered the room you were chewing him out. “What the fuck was that? Do you have to be getting your dick wet and feeding constantly? I mean, christ, it’s my first day here!”

He countered your aggression with a roll of his eyes. “You’re mad at me? Maybe if you listened to Oliver it wouldn’t have happened.” 

You avoided his gaze sheepishly. He was right, this was your fault. Your anxiety about this whole situation was manifesting as anger and you needed to get it under control. For the sake of the mission. 

“If you want to be rude to me, fine,” he continued, “but do not be rude to these people. They’ve done nothing but welcome you here.”

“It’s alright if I’m rude to you?”

“For now. I foresee that changing in the future but I don’t mind a challenge.”

Is that what he thought you were doing? Playing hard to get? It bought you time so you went along with it, wondering how long it would be before his patience snapped and you no longer had a choice

Your thoughts drifted back to the redheaded girl. His body language had read as protective but she’d been bleeding and she didn’t even seem to react to you coming in. Your mind couldn’t help but drift to the worst-case scenario. 

“How many people live here?” You asked, trying to get him to reveal if she was one of his pet humans or someone disposable, someone you should start quietly mourning.

“Right now? You’re met both of them. Well, met is a strong word, more like rudely stormed in on.”

If she lived here, she was probably alright. You’d do your best to find a way to check in on her, just to be safe.

At the revelation that only two humans lived here, you thought back to the only face you’d expected to see within these walls. “The man who measured me, the one who permitted me inside and made me take my vows. Where is he? Petyr, I think his name was.”

He was an older man, you’d guess late 50’s. He’d been a calming force when you’d met him, making your mission seem less daunting with the power of pleasant conversation, even if you couldn’t admit any of your real intentions to him. 

You would’ve appreciated his presence. Your only hope was that Rook hadn’t already gotten to him.

“He’s traveling,” Rook explained, a faraway look entering his already glassy eyes. “He always wanted to see the world. He’s spent far too many decades trapped in here with me so I sent him off to see it.”

You scoffed. “So that’s it? He got too old and you sent him off? You just discard your little lovers when they’re not young enough for you anymore?”

He looked genuinely hurt by the accusation. “You don’t know anything. I’d give the world for him to be here, for them all to be here. But they have lives to live, certainly more than I do. They’ve more than earned their dreams, I just try to help with the ones I can.”

At the clicking sound of approaching heels, you glanced down the hallway to see a woman with familiar long locks of ginger hair striding towards you. 

“I’m done taking insults from you. Play nice with her,” he hissed.

“Or else?”

He didn’t answer before storming off, leaving you to get acquainted with the redhead you’d already seen far too much of.

You turned back to her and saw her looking longingly after him as if she didn’t want to be left alone with you. Part of you couldn’t help but take offense to that. He was the monster, not you. If anything, you were going to be her savior. 

She let out a nervous giggle as she shifted her gaze from the hallway where your host had disappeared back down to her dress, a new one without blood dripping down it. “I’m sorry about earlier. Not the most dignified meeting we could have had.”

“It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have been in there.” The mark on her neck had already begun to fade, healing much faster than a regular wound. However, you knew it would never fully heal, his mark would be on her skin for the rest of her life, claiming her. 

“Regardless, I'm sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me like that until much later, our third meeting at least.”

She smiled at her own joke and you could help but mirror it. 

“I’m Vivian, by the way. It really is lovely to meet you.” Her smile was so genuine it was hard to not have an immediate fondness for her. 

“It’s good to meet you too. Can I ask, are you alright?” You asked as you stared at the wound on her neck, the blood that had been spilling down her before completely absent except for that small reminder of its presence.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, just a little embarrassed. Rook says I shouldn’t be but you’re the first new person who’s come since I arrived, I wanted to make a good first impression.”

“No, not that. You just seemed out of it in there, he didn’t hurt you did he?”

“What, Rook? No, of course not. He was taking good care of me, I promise. Has he talked to you about when you want him to drink from you yet? It really isn’t scary, I promise. He’s very gentle.”

“People keep saying that to me and yet I haven’t seen any proof. He’s been nothing but an ass to me.”

That threw her off balance. “He has?”

“I think he thinks I’m a bit obstinate,” you said, hoping that was all it was. The alternative was that he’d become suspicious of you and that was something you couldn’t abide by.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “He doesn’t mind a bit of pushback. God knows Oliver can be a handful and I’ve never even seen him get upset.”

“Well, he’s been plenty upset at me.”

“I’m sure you two just got off on the wrong foot,” she insisted. “He’s a little rough around the edges sometimes but hey, who here isn’t, right?”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the comment. 

She picked up on your reaction immediately. “No, I didn’t mean… It’s just, we’re all running from something, right?”

You nodded. You needed to stop being so aggressive, you were standing out far too much. “Yeah, of course, you’re right.”

“It’s alright,” she said, resting a reassuring hand on your arm. “It took me ages to get used to this place too. Try not to worry too much, it’ll feel like home before you know it.”

You doubted that.

Vivian wandered off, saying something about taking a nap and you retreated to your room. 

You were a mess. It felt like every time you tried to do anything here it ended up being a disaster that got you one step closer to being caught. You collapsed backwards on your bed, set on hiding in your room until morning. 

The universe seemed to have other plans.

A knock sounded at your door and you called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Oliver, I’m coming in.”

He opened the door, not even waiting for you to call him in and he stared down at you, collapsed on top of your blankets. 

“Good your still dressed,” he said, extending a hand to help yank you to your feet. “You’re having dinner with Rook at sunset.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought of being alone with him and of what ‘dinner’ could entail for a vampire. 

“No.”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to,” you snapped back.

“Too bad. He said, and this is a direct quote, ‘they wanted to speak to me so fucking badly earlier, let’s give them an opportunity.’”

Oliver’s persistence in inviting you made sense, it didn’t sound like an offer one was allowed to refuse.

“Go hang out with Viv in the meantime or something, it’s awfully lonely in here,” he said, not waiting for a response before setting out on the move again. It was almost like he was allergic to standing still. 

You followed his advice, figuring you wouldn’t be able to relax knowing what was coming anyways. 

Vivian wasn’t hard to find, although you wouldn’t exactly say you found her. One second you were wandering down empty hallways and the next second she was behind you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. 

“Hello,” she said, her persistent warmth immediately setting you at ease, even if her sudden appearance had frightened you. 

Vivian was an easy person to get along with. You spent the next few hours milling about with her, not talking about much of importance but passing the time much easier. 

She seemed determined to make you feel welcome. It was nice, feeling like you have a friend here, even if she could never be an ally. 

Oliver and Rook were entirely absent as you and Vivian wandered about. You made sure not to open any firmly shut doors this time. 

After a few hours, the moment you dreaded arrived. Vivian poked her head out the velvet curtains that were covering the nearest window and grinned at you. 

“Alright, Oliver said to send you down right about now. It’s right down that hallway.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared down the dark hallway. Vivian didn’t seem to quite understand the magnitude of your anxiety, excitedly shooing you down towards the door. 

You entered a room that looked almost exactly like what you’d expect from a dining room in a house this big. The table was massive, spanning the humungous room. 

Something you hadn’t expected to see was the number of chairs. 

The table was completely devoid of them except for one Rook was sitting at right at the head of the table and another right next to him. 

You sat beside him, having no other choice in the matter. 

“This massive house and you can’t afford more chairs?”

“They were removed. It’s hard to talk all the way across the room.”

You resented the fact that he refused to even give you the option. 

The chairs that remained looked heavy and you couldn’t help but imagine Oliver and Rook desperately trying to push them out of the room in order to trap you next to him. Despite the less than optimal outcome, you had to fight back a smile at the mental image. 

“Did you sleep alright?” he asked, cutting through your daydreams of him. 

“Fine,” you responded bluntly. 

“Are you sure? Your bed was still made.”

You were suddenly very glad your knife and notebook were stashed in your pocket. “Why were you in my room? How did you even get in, I left the window wide open.”

“Ah, yes.” He looked embarrassed and you got the sense that he’d be blushing if he had the blood for it instead of being pale and cold. “Well, we don’t exactly have staff here, they’re too scared of me to come. Everyone mostly takes care of their own tidying but I look after the rooms of newcomers. And I just covered up until I could get the drapes closed, it’s not the easiest way to move but I only have to travel the length of a room.”

Your accusation suddenly felt cruel. There was something so earnest about his words, something sheepish at the fact that he was picking up after you. “Oh. Okay. Well, the bed was just so lovely and made so well, it felt rude to mess it up.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m glad you appreciate my bed-making skills but I promise I don’t mind if you sleep under the covers. That is what they’re made for.”

The conversation put you more at ease, feeling less like you’d been brought here to be interrogated and more like this was a ploy from Rook to make you like him. It almost felt worse this way, the way he seemed to be trying to hide his eagerness to make you feel welcomed. 

You looked down at the plate of food in front of you, finally convinced it was probably safe to eat, and noticed that it was the only one on the table. The spot in front of Rook was entirely empty. 

“You’re not going to eat?” you asked as you took a bite of the food. It made you a little angry how good it was and for some undiscernible reason, you hoped Oliver had made it. Like that would make it alright that you’d enjoyed it. 

He shook his head. “Can’t. Solid food are beyond me I’m afraid.”

“Why would you invite me to dinner then,” you asked, baffled by the decision.

“It seemed like a good time to talk. Besides, it’s a good way to make sure you eat. Viv is very concerned about you, says you’re not handling all this very well.”

She might’ve been right to be. With everything going on, eating had been the last thing on your mind. “I’m just nervous,” you justified weakly. 

“So you keep saying.”

He watched you eat, studying you as you made your way through the dish. Finally, you grew tired of his observation and set down the fork. 

“I can’t help but wonder, am I playing right?”

“Playing? This isn’t a game.”

“Yes, it is.” you insisted. “All of this has been, despite the fact that you declined to inform me of it. I think you like when it's a game. So am I playing correctly or have I already lost?”

“You barely know me and yet you pretend to know so much.”

“Am I wrong?”

“About this? No. Might be a first since you entered this place but you are not wrong.”

You scoffed. “What do you want from me?”

“You came here. You act as if I forced you into my home.”

“And you let me in. But you’re not making me give you anything so what do you want, why am I here? Why should I want to win?”

“I want you to trust me. That’s where this has to start.”

“And where does it end?”

“That depends on you. If you keep behaving like this it might end with you never trusting me.”

You worried when that end might be. “So I am losing. Good to know, And of course I don’t trust you, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Alright then,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he could manage to suppress his smile. “Go on.”

“With what?”

“Getting to know me.”

This was your opportunity, he’d just all but given you permission to ask all the questions you wanted. Not wanting to let the chance pass you by, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So you drink blood.”

He smiled, baring his fangs at you as he did. “See, you know some things about me.”

“Are you going to drink from me?” you pressed on, refusing to let him steer you off track. 

“If you want me to.”

“And if I don’t? Isn’t that what you brought us here for?”

He scoffed. “I’m building a community here, not a buffet.” 

You just continued on with your questions. “Do you kill people?” 

“Not unless it’s self-defense, same as most people I’d assume.” He chuckled as he answered but you didn’t find it funny. 

“Let me rephrase then. Have you killed people?”

“Noone who didn’t try and kill me first.” That answer he didn’t chuckle through. 

He looked you right in the eyes as he stated it. It felt like a promise. You just weren’t certain if it was a promise not to hurt you or a promise of what would happen if you tried to hurt him.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” you said. You didn’t have to do much acting to appear nervous around him but you hoped it might help. Maybe if he knew you were afraid of him he’d give you space.

“You should. Vampires can’t lie.”

You perked up at that. “Is that true?” you asked incredulously.

He just raised his eyebrows and gave you a shit-eating grin.

You had half a mind to throw something at him. 

He didn’t apologize for his stupid little joke, which was well enough because you wouldn’t have forgiven him. Instead, his eyes darted down to your half-finished dinner. 

“You going to finish that?”

You crossed your arms. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Don’t be like that, we were having fun! You were playing the game. Well, if you’re really done, come on,” he said, offering you his hand. “I’ll show you the gardens. You’ll like them. Everyone does.”

There were few decisions you could’ve made that felt as deeply ill-advised as going on a walk with him, alone, as the sun had already set. 

You told yourself it was because there wasn’t an easy way out but honestly, you weren’t so sure, and you took his hand. 

He led you outside, the grip on your hand less firm than it had been last time. 

“Where are the flowers,” you asked when confronted with walls of bushes as the two of you stepped outside. 

“There aren’t flowers. It’s a hedge maze.” 

You snorted out a laugh. “Why do you have a hedge maze?”

“Every self-respecting mansion has a hedge maze.”

“That’s absurd,” you insisted.

“Well, maybe I’m absurd. Either way, absurd or not, everyone loves the hedge maze. Want to give it a try.”

The idea of being lost and alone, or worse, lost and with Rook, wasn’t exactly appealing to you. “Not really.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have more questions for you,” you said, figuring you should at least take advantage of this alone time that you’d foolishly agreed to. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead. I hope they’re more fun than your last ones.”

“Can you actually turn into a bat?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Can I see?”

“No. Maybe someday but that’s something I only do with people I trust and as someone very cross with me once said, I can’t trust you, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Okay. Another question then. What’s with all the black and white?”

“Don’t you like it? It feels fitting to me. The light and the dark, the wars that are waged, reflected on everything here.”

Your nose scrunched up as he talked, waxing poetic about two colors that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about. 

As he went on, you began to put some of the pieces together as he spoke. “Your name is Rook too. That wasn’t your given name I assume.”

“My favorite chess piece. Honest, direct, noble.”

“Okay,” you said, cutting him off before he could start rambling again. “Be that as it may, you shouldn’t impose your weird chess thing on us. Some of us like colors.”

“My weird chess thing?” His voice cracked as he questioned you, snorting out a laugh at your comment. “You are so rude, where were you raised?”

You clutched your chest in mock pain. “Sorry, not all of us were raised in a mansion Rook.”

“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize most people went around insulting one another so freely.”

“I think you’d be surprised. If you went out in the world wearing some of those outfits you gave me I think you’d hear some choice words thrown your way.”

The thought inspired yet another question from you. “When you talked about needing a special outfit to close the window, is it like, a big sun hat? A black and white one of course.” 

“More like a sheet ghost.”

You giggled and he laughed along with you, looking down at you fondly and with some undeniable smugness present on his face. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, quickly snuffing out your laughter. 

 “You’re not afraid. It’s the first time since you got here that you weren’t terrified of me.”

You hadn’t even noticed that the bubbling fear that lived in your chest had faded out as the two of you had spoken, “How could you possibly tell?” 

“I can smell it. All those chemicals in your blood.” 

“Stop smelling my blood,” you practically shouted, smacking at him.

He let out an almost boyish laugh as he dodged your attack. “I can’t help it, that’s like asking you to stop smelling the flowers.”

“There are no flowers,” you pointed out.

“Well, in theory. I can’t just turn it off. Trust me, if I could I would.”

After a moment of thought he added, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Not a clue.”

“It means I won. This battle, at least.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

A tempest of competing emotions fought in your chest. You were a fool, you were giving in to him. The hunters didn’t want you here for this exact reason, he must be hypnotizing you or something. 

That felt more believable than you having a pleasant conversation with him. 

With his victims? Maybe. They were people with souls, albeit misguided people. But not with him.

You felt like you were losing control. Of all the things you’d imagined when you got here, this was the furthest thing from your mind and yet you couldn’t deny it, especially after he’d as much as said it.

You’d stopped being afraid of him, for however brief a moment. 

[ventitititi]

Prettiest flower!! I have a request for something fluffy can you believe it or not!!! Let's just say the brain has been very mean to me lately and everyone deserves some loving words of affirmation. (I was gonna request a Honkai character but I can't remember if you've played it)

Dragon Zhongli because yes!! Loving doting dragon man loving his mate, possibly yummy foods and cuddles included?

Enjoy🫶

To be loved

Evenings glow settles into your shared bedroom, softening harsh edges. Buried beneath the duvet, you're warm. Safe, comfortable.

You'd been hidden away all day, despite your lovers insistance on getting up early. He had been draping himself in elegant fabrics and jewels, offering a variety for you to wear too.

You'd waved it off, allowing him to attend his tea party in peace. He'd been visiting the adepti.

Now, much later in the day, you could hear his return. Marked by the creaking of the front door, followed by gentle foot steps and chiming jewels.

"are you still in bed, love?"

You peek up from beneath your tomb of choice, "yes, why?"

Zhongli shakes his head, giving you a concerned look. Walking over he urges you up, easing you into a sitting position.

"can i brush your hair?"

His request is simple, and truly your hair was a mess. So you consent with ease, going to sit by the vanity, "yeah, I'd like that."

He hums in acknowledgement, following behind you. The vanity is littered with trinkets, all shades of gold and lapis, you also see your birthstone littered amongst his jewelry. Likely intended for you to wear.

He picks up traditional comb, carved with lotus flowers and inlaid with mother of pearl. As he begins the first stroke, he murmurs softly, "you are beautiful."

You furrow your brows at him in the mirror, cheeks a little warm from the compliment, but not wanting to offend him if you refuted.

You didn't believe him, but still you said, "thank you..."

As he lifts passes the comb through your hair, each stroke comes with an affirmation.

"you are strong."

"you are kind."

"you are loved."

"you are precious."

By the end you're tearing up, a little overwhelmed by his easy deliverance of such words. The things you'd been doubting, the things you still don't quite believe.

You can see his tail flick a little when he notices, but still he diligently combs your hair and lavishes you with gentle compliments.

Once your hair is tidy, he sets down the comb and gathers you into his arms. Kissing your forehead he murmurs, "I've chosen a exemplary mate, i want to help you really, truly believe that."

You sniffle into his chest, now crying a bit more freely as you admit, "it's been hard, 'li."

"i know love, i know."

He rubs your back soothingly, before gathering you into his arms. Carrying you back towards the lush bed, he murmurs to you, "let me hold you for awhile, we can get your favorite snacks later."

All you can do is nod in agreement, clinging to him as you settle in for a gentle night.

Tags!

@pixieskie @perfectlyrainycherryblossom @ephemeralapotheosis

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 2

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

Previous chapter

Year: 1912

The wind blew in through her hair as her horse galloped along the English countryside. She could’ve sworn the wind was whispering in her ear as her smile beamed at the beautiful world before her. 

“Oy!” She glanced back to see Tommy’s smiling face, “What’s the hurry, love?” She grabbed the reins to her stead, tightening them slightly to slow down to her friend’s speed.

“No hurry at all,” she said behind a grin, “I just thought you were a horse connoisseur.” Tommy raised an eyebrow at that.

“Are you saying I’m all talk?” he said, feigning exasperation.

“I’m saying your riding is shit.” she shot back playfully, letting her grin turn into a cheeky smile. Tommy’s other eyebrow raised to match the first.

“Well,” he said, adjusting himself slightly, “I guess we’ll have to see who the best horseman is.” 

“You mean horsewoman?” She corrected, a lilt in her voice. 

“I didn’t mean-” Before he could finish his thought, Y/N took off. Tommy mumbled a string of expletives before bolting after her. She leaned forward, forcing her horse to maintain the speed she needed. She could hear Tommy hot on her heels as the lake came into view. 

“Come on.” she urged her horse as she began to see the outline of Tommy in her vision. Suddenly, the horse stops at the edge of the lake. Seconds later, Tommy is by her side.

“Well, that was shit sportsmanship.” She shot him a brazen smirk.

“But I still won.” Tommy clicked his tongue.

“I guess you did.” He said, jumping off his stead. She followed his lead, landing beside her companion. 

“Now you have to admit, I am the superior horseman.” She punctuated the sentiment by placing her hands on her hips. She could feel Tommy willing himself not to roll his eyes. She tried to hold back a snicker, failing to notice he began to remove his shoes.

“I will admit that,” He placed his shoes and socks side by side at the edge of the lake. “But I think you may have to face punishment for poor sportsmanship.”

“Poor sportsmanship-” She was cut off as two strong arms wrapped around her waist. A squeak escaped her lips as Tommy lifted her into his arms and a scream erupted as they both plunged into the water. Her arms instinctively wrapped tightly around his neck, and her legs around his waist as they resurfaced.

“That punishment did not fit the crime.” she said, using her palm to rub the lake water from her eyes.

Tommy snorted with laughter as he brushed a strand of wet hair away from her face. “Then I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” She rolled her eyes at the platitude before moving Tommy’s wet hair off his forehead. She couldn’t help but giggle as she pushed the hair straight back. “What’s so funny?” he said. His smile showcased his prominent cheekbones. 

“Nothing,” she said, continuing to smooth his hair, “I just know what you’ll look like when you’re a bald old man.”

“You mean I’ll be dashingly handsome,” he struck a pose for her.

“Something like that she says,” she replied, unable to ignore the tranquility in his eyes as she combed her fingers through his hair. She knew those eyes well—beautiful eyes that could penetrate her soul and unearth every secret. From stealing money from her mother's purse to staying out late with the boy from her English class, those eyes knew everything about her. They had the power to hold her captive for as long as they desired. She almost forgot how entangled in her friend she was until he started to move them out of the water. She let her legs unwrap from around his waist and her arms detach from behind his neck. He pulled himself out of the water, helping her out with him.

Although the lake was not the most exciting place in the countryside of England, it was one of their favorites. They discovered this secret oasis nine years earlier. They had both decided to cut class that day to ride horses. The further they ventured from Small Heath, the fresher the air became, and the distant sounds of the city faded away. That was when they finally found their oasis, their lake. It has become their hideaway from reality. Tommy’s from the growing pressure of the Peaky Blinders and Y/N’s from the monotonousness that was Small Heath. 

She would rest her head on his shoulder as they watched the sun set. She always liked the way the sun streaked across the lake’s surface. 

“The sun’s telling us that we’re in our own personal heaven.” she would say, pointing at how the glittering rays of the sun hitting the lake seemed to be pointed perfectly at them. Tommy would smile and watch the joy in her eyes as she watched the sunset. 

On the oppressively warm days of summer between sessions of secondary school, Tommy and Y/N would sneak off together to the lake. Polly would roll her eyes and smirk as she watched the teens gallop away. 

“Fuck, I’m soaked.” Tommy said, noticing the way his clothes molded to his form. Y/N noticed it too, looking away when Tommy looked over at her. Tommy’s eyes remained on Y/N for another beat, noticing the way her white dress had now become transparent.

“I wonder whose fault is that.” Y/N said. Before Tommy could retort, Y/N pulled her dress over her head. Seeing Y/N in her knickers was a sight Tommy had seen many times, but he still couldn’t help the blush that rose to his cheeks. She kicked off her shoes too before reaching out to Tommy, “Give me your shirt and trousers.” 

He snorted before beginning to unbutton his top, “Usually a lady needs to buy me a drink before we get to this part of the evening.” Y/N rolled her eyes, grabbing Tommy’s clothes and hanging them up in a tree branch to dry. As soon as the clothes were settled in the branch, Y/N took the picnic blanket from her bag and laid it out. 

“After you,” She gestured towards the blanket. Tommy lay on his back, his eyes gazing at the sky. Y/N followed suit, observing whatever the sky decided to reveal to them. The clouds drifted by, and the wind whispered through the grass. Tommy's eyelids grew heavy, and he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

“Look!” His eyes shot open, “A bullfinch!” Y/N pointed up towards a red-breasted bird. Tommy rubbed his eyes letting out a snicker.

“You scared the crap out of me,” He said drowsily, “What’s so great about a goddamn bird?” 

Y/N shrugs and continues to stare at the bird as it lands on a branch.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze fixed on the bird as it took flight. "I don't know, it's rather beautiful, don't you think?" Tommy couldn't help but smile.

“And that, my dear, is why you will be a wonderful teacher.” It was now Y/N’s turn to smile at Tommy. With the summer coming to an end, Y/N’s first year of teaching primary school quickly approached. She felt like a kid herself in the sense that the first day of school jitters were already starting to pulse through her fingers and toes. 

“I hope so,” she said, allowing her arms to rest above her head as her fingers traced the dirt.

“I know so.” he replied, turning to look at her, “I also know that all the little buggers will adore you, especially the little boys.” Y/N playfully slapped Tommy’s arm.

“Very funny Tom,” she rolled her eyes at him, “If anything happens, I’ll make sure to tell James.” 

James. Of course she would tell James. Tommy shifted his gaze, fixing his eyes on the sky once more.

James was Y/N’s most recent boyfriend. He was nice. Very nice. Too nice, Tommy thought as a beat passed between the two of them.

“How is he?” Tommy asked, letting his eyes stay away from Y/N.

“Good,” Y/N replied, “It’s only been a few weeks but, I don’t know, I have a good feeling about him.” 

“I can tell, you two looked awfully chummy at The Garrison the other day.” Y/N’s face turns to Tommy.

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” Y/N teased, “Making sure James is treating me well?” 

“It’s one of the perks of my job.” Now it was Y/N’s turn to look at the sky. 

Tommy had recently begun to become more involved in the Peaky Blinders. Y/N knew this day would come, it was the family business. She just always expected Arthur to take more of a leadership role, but in the back of her mind, she knew this was Tommy’s dream: to protect his family and provide them the life he always wanted. She can’t help but recall the young boy in the oversized clothes finding odd ways to help his family survive the cold winters. With him in charge, they both know the family will never have to worry about that again.

“How’s that going?” she asked, letting her hands rest on her belly button. 

Tommy shrugged, “Fine.” Y/N sat up, looking down at her friend.

“Come on Tom, I need more details than just ‘fine’.” He sighed, slowly sitting up to meet her eyes. 

“It’s definitely going,” He ran a hand through his drying hair, “I’m thinking we should invest in the race track.” She raised an eyebrow.

“You mean you’re going to be a horse gambler now?” 

“What do you want me to say?” he mumbled, “You know my father is gone. Finn is four, Ada just turned fifteen, John is getting fucking married and Arthur is hanging on by a fucking thread. This is the path we have to take.” She understood his predicament, that doesn’t mean she liked it.

“What about Polly? Could she take on more?” She felt as though she was pleading with Tommy. Begging him to sit back and let himself be a young man and do the normal things that young men do. 

“It’s my family, Y/N,” he said firmly, “It’s my job, not Polly’s.” 

“Well,” she looked away from him, “I hope you realize that this is a death sentence.” She knew her words cut him. She could feel all movement from him stop. 

“Why can’t you be happy for me,” his words come out almost as a whisper, “My family is finally making a name for itself. I thought you could at least pretend to be happy.” He was trying his hardest not to yell, but his frustration was getting the better of him. 

She looked back over at him, keeping the harshness in her eyes, “I can’t do that when my best friend is putting himself in danger.” That was when Tommy rose. He grabbed his clothes off the branch and began to dress himself.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, standing to face him.

“Going home,” he replied, beginning to mount his horse.

“Tommy-”

“Goodbye, Y/N.” he said, cutting her off, before riding off. Y/N sighed, taking a seat on the blanket. It wasn't their first fight—this was one of maybe one million. She knew how it would play out. They wouldn't speak for a day or two, and then either she or Tommy would knock on the other's door, ready to apologize. He needed space and she would let him have it. 

She gets home that day, hoping maybe Tommy would be at her door. He wasn’t. She sighed, bringing her horse to the stable before going inside.

That day turned into two, then a week, and eventually a month. Six months passed before she heard from him again.

Next chapter

Taglist:

@mrharringtonsbae

@mysticwitchcraftco

@globetrotter28

[glennjaminhow]

My newest hyperfixation ship finally manifests as a sick fic because of course it does.

~

Beautifully Broken Things

Tim wakes up disoriented.

While that’s not unusual for most, it is unusual for him. He’s alert before he’s even aware of his surroundings. That was drilled into him by the time he was four.

He rubs his eyes and groans as he pulls himself up, out of breath from the simplest task. He blinks through the darkness of his bedroom and sags against the headboard, careful not to get too comfortable. Dizziness brews in his skull, thick and foggy. He feels like he’s on a raft in the middle of the ocean, the waves relentless, violent, treacherous. It’s ridiculous. He’s in his bed, at home in Los Angeles. The idea that he’d be anywhere else is as absurd as it is impossible.

Okay. No big deal. He’s a little out of it, and that’s fine.

Kojo whines at his feet.

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he peels himself off the mattress. A wet cough rattles through his chest, but he ignores it in favor of letting Kojo out. The wooden floor is icy beneath his thermal socks. He usually goes outside with Kojo – sometimes even plays fetch with him depending on how late he got in – but not today. He feels strange… distant. Kind of like he isn’t really here. Instead, he stands at the door and stares out the frosted window, eyes heavy.

He jumps when Kojo barks.

“Sorry, pal,” Tim says as he lets him back inside.

The dog huffs and scampers away. His automatic feeder goes off, and then Kojo’s gone.

Tim should be eating too. He isn’t a big breakfast guy, so he typically just has overnight oats or a smoothie, but the idea of eating right not makes his stomach squirm. He has about half an hour before he has to shower. He could lie down on the couch – or better yet in his bed – and bundle himself in blankets, but the here-but-not-here feeling is so strong he’s afraid he won’t be able to get back up. He resorts to sitting at the kitchen table, too exhausted to make coffee even though maybe it’d help fix whatever is wrong with him.

Time passes in a glazed blur, too fast and too slow all at once. He autopilots his way through his morning routine. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, puts in his contacts, throws on jeans and a hoodie, and is out of the house five minutes ahead of schedule. It doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes, he wakes up wrong, guilty or angry or upset or exhausted, but it never lasts this long. He’s great at snapping out of any funk before he enters the station.

“You okay?” is the first thing he hears when he opens the side door. Chen. Great.

He rolls his eyes. He just wants to get into uniform and on the road. Maybe focusing on the job will help.

“Fine,” he says. He heads to the locker room without looking back, even though the urge to read her facial expression is strong. Lucy always wants to know everything, even if it’s irrelevant things like his favorite ice cream flavor or that he’s allergic to strawberries. She’s like this way with other people too, but it’s more annoying because she was his boot and now she’s his gopher. It’s like he just can’t get away from her.

Tim changes. Grabs his thick police-issued coat. Coughs into his elbow a few times. Stands in front of the mirror to make sure his sure is tucked in properly and his hair is up to standards. Heads to morning roll call.

Lucy stops him before he can head inside. She places her hand on his chest; Tim shrinks back from the touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim nods. “I’m good.”

“You’re wearing your coat,” she points out. “You never wear your coat.”

“It’s December.” His voice is hushed and scratchy. Shit. He clears his throat, but it sounds weird.

Fantastic.

Lucy’s eyebrows furrow. “And?”

“Aaand I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Tim says as he pushes past her. “It’s just a coat.”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything with you,” Lucy mutters as she trails behind him.

Tim ignores her.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever, Tim doesn’t have to say a word during the briefing. Grey does all the talking, even down to announcing their jurisdictions and duties for the day. Tim stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest and giving his best thousand-yard stare. He doesn’t focus on anything because focusing means feeling, and feeling means acknowledging that he’s shivering. Hard. So hard he swears his teeth are chattering.

No one seems to notice. Good.

Grey releases them. They disperse.

By the time he makes it to the shop, Lucy’s in the driver’s seat.

The urge to be in control is strong, but not as strong as the urge to sit down.

He’s thankful the shop is already warm, heat cranked to the max.

Lucy immediately passes him a thermos.

“Tea with honey,” she says.

Tim buckles his seatbelt and nods once. “Thanks.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine,” he tells her again.

Is it really that obvious?

He has to get better at hiding these things.

“Do you want an applesauce pouch? It could help your throat.”

Tim frowns. “Like the things that little kids eat?”

“Adults can eat them too,” Lucy says adamantly. He doesn’t know why he believes her. “I have apple, cinnamon, and peach mango.”

“Pass,” Tim says. “And my throat is fine.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. She hands Tim his sunglasses, which were tucked away in her breast pocket for some reason, and puts the shop in drive.

Tim puts them on without a second thought, pulls the sleeves of his coat over his hands, and crosses his arms. He stares out the window as they drive through the busy streets of LA. The morning is drizzling and overcast, but that doesn’t stop the Christmas festivities. He should be BOLOing and patrolling even from the shop, but the road ahead of him is fuzzy. There’s a tightness in his chest that builds with each passing second. He gulps and shifts in his seat, biting his bottom lip. He should be able to handle this. Whatever it is, whatever is going on with him, isn’t bad enough to cause all this drama.

He can handle it. He can handle it.

And he tries to breathe through it. He really does. But now he’s nauseous, and his mouth is salivating, and each blink hurts. His dad would kill him. His military brothers and leaders would laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up. Because that’s what he should do. That’s what he has to do. He needs to suck it up. He doesn’t know why he can’t. But the fact that he can’t means that he’s out of control and being out of control means chaos and chaos means –

“Tim?”

He swallows thickly.

“Pull over.”

She does, and Tim is barely able to open the door before he spills out onto the concrete below, coughing up nothing but bile. His stomach heaves. Everything is raw and exposed and open, and he doesn’t like this. He shouldn’t behave like this. He should be able to hold it in like he always does. But he doesn’t hold it in. Of course he doesn’t. That would take a level of discipline that he clearly doesn’t possess.

“It’s okay,” he hears. The voice is soft, kind.

Lucy’s hand is on his lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles.

He shakes his head. “’s not okay,” he mumbles, swiping at his messy chin with his hand. He hiccups, and more bile splatters on the ground below.

None of this is okay.

Tim screws his eyes shut when Lucy’s hand leaves his back.

He coughs and hunches in on himself. Maybe if he curls into the smallest, tightest ball imaginable, he can disappear. His heart hammers in his chest, skipping beats and double-timing. The rest of his body feels like it’s been stored away in a deep freezer for months on end. He tries to hide his face in his knees, but moving is a herculean effort. His limbs don’t feel like they belong to him anyway, so it’s pointless.

“Tim, hey,” he hears. The hand on his back returns and then moves to his shoulder and then to palm his forehead.

His instinct is to flinch away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, and then we’re gonna get you home.”

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t know why there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried, but he’s sure it wasn’t because of something as dumb or idiotic as not feeling in control.

Lucy unclenches his hands for him. Cleans them with something cold and wet. Does the same thing to his chin and the front of his coat. Tim shivers. Coughs again. Blinks rapidly. He doesn’t – maybe can’t – fully understand all of what’s happening. Delirium settles in, nestling and burrowing. He just knows one second he’s on the ground and the next he’s sagging against Lucy’s side as she helps him into the shop. She wipes his cheeks with her thumb and buckles him in, safe and sound. Tim leans on the door, pressing his cheek to the cool window, hoping that it’s enough to ground him, to help him stay in reality, to let him get back to himself in one piece.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, but things – everything – just feels wrong.

Tim isn’t sure how or when it happens, but somehow he’s in his bed. His gray comforter is soft against his skin, pulled up over his chin. He tries to roll onto his back, but he can’t seem to muster the strength. Instead, he coughs wetly and attempts to place how he got here. He’s home, so it isn’t anything sinister, and he knows Lucy was with him the whole time. His former boot wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. It’s weird to acknowledge that, to understand that someone has his back, but he knows it’s the truth.

Something wet drips from his forehead and down his cheek.

Tim blinks. His arms feel like they’re glued to his side.

“Any better?” he hears.

Lucy comes into his line of vision, kneeling down in front of him. She replaces the wet thing on his forehead – a washcloth apparently – with an icepack. Tim bites his bottom lip and winces.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But you’re gonna hate this even more.”

Lucy invades his cocoon, exposing him to the air outside. Tim lets out a groan that’s dangerously close to a cry and shrivels in on himself. Lucy places an icepack under each armpit, and this time tears swell in his eyes. The cold is immediate and fucking hurts. Like needles. He hates needles, but she’s right: he hates this even more.

“It’s just for a few minutes. Your fever is through the roof, and you need to cool down before you fry your brain,” Lucy says.

She pulls the comforter back over him. Tim wraps his arms around himself and coughs, body shaking harshly. He chews the inside of his cheek with chattering teeth. His dad would absolutely annihilate him for this… this…

“Tim,” Lucy whispers. She’s still kneeling down in front of him. “You’re okay. This is only temporary.

He gulps. “You sure?” His voice is weak.

Everything about him is weak.

“I’m sure. Just breathe. You’ll get through this.”

Tim nods. He looks at Lucy, whose brown eyes are shining with tears, yet also full of reassurance. She’s trying to make him feel better. He ignores the desperate ache for her to hold him close, to run her fingers through his hair, for her to whisper comforts in his ear.

He breathes. Closes his eyes. Lets sleep tug him under.

[fuwahua]

Day 10: Spider

/ᐢ⑅ᐢ\ ♡ ₊˚ TKTober Day 10: Spider ꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ ♡‧₊˚ ♡ Tags: Implied Arlefuri (Arlecchino/Furina) ./づ~ :¨·.·¨: ₊˚ Arle boss form mention `·..·‘ ₊˚ ♡ , post-AQ, petnames

“What were you thinking this afternoon?”

“Huh? This afternoon?”

Arlecchino’s face remained unchanging, almost bored, as her hands absentmindedly combed through Furina’s hair.

Furina swallowed from her position on those strong thighs, resisting the urge to fidget, as the silence dragged on. Between the two of them, she was always more of the talker and that went for almost everyone and every situation. It was just that she genuinely didn’t know what Arlecchino was talking about.

“Arle?”

“Earlier this afternoon, when the traveler wished to spar with me, you had a… transfixed look on your face,” Arlecchino said. Furina hummed, the recollection coming easily now: Aether had requested Neuvilette’s help for something, and she’d been too curious to not come along. It was amusing to see him amass a team consisting of Arlecchino’s coworker and familiar ginger (who’s enthusiasm for the spar died rather quickly as soon as Aether explained he was merely there to support, not fight), a rather poor, sickly looking doctor from Liyue (who… well… she would never see the Traveler in the same light again after making the poor man run to the point of coughing up a lung), and—

Herself, wielding her new vision.

Neuvilette had carried them through the fight in all honestly, just as Aether predicted. As reassuring as it was to have the Great Ludex watch her back, her heart had thundered when Arlecchino launched backward into the air and unveiled a secondary form with ease. She’d always known the harbinger was powerful, but even so, nothing had prepared her for the way dark energy cut through the grounds just by their team.

“Did I scare you?”

“N-no! No,” Furina gasped, shaking her head. Her reply was too quick, and she hastened to clarify, pulling herself upwards to face Arlecchino. “Honest, no. You’d startled me, yes, but I wasn’t—I wasn’t scared.”

Arlecchino’s head tilted. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Furina affirmed. It had been scary, being in a fight, but she’d known from the moment Arlecchinos’s amused glance met hers that she would walk away unscathed. And she had! Honestly, the main damage taken was by the poor doctor, and that was more due to running around than Arlecchino’s attacks. On her end, there had been little more to do than summon the occasional hydro friend, cheer on Neuvillette, and be transfixed at how smoothly Arlecchino moved in the air.

The expression she’d had staring down at them from the sky, completely at ease in her own power, was beautiful. And then limbs seemed to branch out from her back, and she’d looked straight out of a fairytale.

“Then why stare?”

“Well, that’s—” Furina looks away, suddenly flustered. “It’s pretty silly. Nothing interesting!”

“I’m interested.”

“No, really! It’s just a silly Fontaine children’s story!”

“A children’s story?” Arlecchino echoed, leaning in closer. Furina squeaked as arms closed around her waist, tugging her into Arlecchino’s shadow. “Why wouldn’t a Father be interested in that?”

Blasted, Furina and her lousy choice of words! She swallowed as Arlecchino’s fingers pulled loose her buttons, cold hands meeting her skin. The contrast of temperatures made her shiver, and Arlecchino’s looming overhead expression, just at ease as earlier in the day, left her heart thundering. “A-arlecchino?”

“Mon Cherie, won’t you share with me the story?”

“U-um, I—eehehehehe! Wahahahit, wahahahahahit!”

Furina jolted in Arlecchino’s lap as surprised giggles left her lips, squirming at the sudden attack of tickling fingers along her bare skin. They circled her stomach, eager to map out the sensitive spots Arlecchino no doubt had memorized twice over, and she yelped as they slipped to needle her sides. “A-Arlehehehe! Why?!”

“It’s a children’s story you refuse to share, no? Then I shall deal with you as though a child.”

“B-but! Thihihehes isn’t hohahahaaw you t-treheheat your kids!”

Arlecchino smiled, bemused. “You would much prefer this method than how I tend to pull secrets loose from my children.”

“W-Wehehehhehehell! Lehehet’s tahahahalk about thihehhes!”

That—okay, that was probably true, but still! Furina let loose fresh peals of laughter as Arlecchino moved to dig into her sides, knuckles seemingly intent on rubbing along the curve of her waist in the most maddening way. But she was no match for someone of a Harbinger’s title, and every attempt made to escape was foiled instantly by how quickly she folded to a harsher nudge against her ribs or scratch along her stomach.

“Won’t you share, droplet?”

Furina squawked. Share? What could she even say when she was busy laughing her head off, mind occupied by the sensation of Arlecchino’s hands, now warm after tucking themselves quite comfortably against Furina’s stomach. Her face heated up as Arlecchino leaned over, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the gaze seeking her own. No doubt her cheeks were burning pink, her fair skin making any attempt at hiding her fluster useless. Though even if it weren’t, Arlecchino could probably still tell. “S-Shahahare whahaaht?!”

“Playing dumb? Very well—let me convince you to recall.”

She shook her head as they continued their ascent, giggles morphing into wild cackles as fingers prodded, pinched, tickled every centimeter of her torso before petering back downwards. She squawked in realization, thrashing against Arlecchino as sweat beaded on her forehead.

“N-nahahah! NohaHAHAH! NAHHAat THEREHEHEHE!!”

Furina shrieked as Arlecchino’s nails met her thighs, quick and deadly in how they slipped down to scratch at the sensitive inner area. She threw her head back, eyes popping open at just how that area was, desperation hitching her voice an octave higher. “PLEAHAHAHAHSE!”

“Would you like that? For me to plead you to share?”

Furina kicked her legs out as she begged through her laughter but trust a Harbinger to be anything but unrelenting. Those hands held her down with ease as they spidered along her thighs.

Spider… spider!

“SpiHEHEHEHDEHEHER! It’s spihheheheheder!”

“Hm?”

Arlecchino’s nails dragged along exposed skin as Furina curled up, cackling. “StAHAHAHAP! NAHAHAHA MOREHEHEHEHE! I’LL SHAHAHAHARE!”

“Good girl.”

Archons, her face could only get so red. Furina whined as Arlecchino’s hands shook themselves loose from her legs, fingers intently pricking her as they left; still, it was an act of mercy that Arlecchino leaned back and let her scrub at her burning face in peace. Leftover giggles left her winded, and she winced as she rolled into a sitting posture.

“Are you alright?”

“I-I’m okay. Actually, I’m way better off than that doctor from today.”

Arlecchino chuckled, eyes twinkling in amusement as Furina wheezed in a way not so different than Baizhu. Okay, maybe she needed to exercise more.

She squeaked as fingers met her side, intent. Arlecchino nudged her again. “The story?”

Oh, that. Furina sighed, feeling the redness that’d started to recede from her cheeks bloom once more; it had been a busy passing thought then, and it was even sillier now that she’d had it tickled out of her like an interrogation scene from a B-grade musical.

“Um, there’s a Fontaine children’s rhythm that, actually,” Furina paused, trying to recall it. “It’s about a spider. An itsy-bitsy spider, and it goes… up a well? I think?”

“It rains,” Arlecchino said. “And it washed it down the well.”

“Yes, that one! And—wait, you’re from Fontaine. I forgot! You already knew the story!”

Arlecchino raised a brow. “I did. What I do not know is why you were so distracted by a nursery rhyme.”

Furina coughed, glancing away. “It’s… because of you.”

“Me?”

“Your transformation, today!” She snapped, the exhilaration of the earlier fight welling up in her. “It was—it was unexpected! You just moved your arms and then your body changed, and these extra limbs came out of you and you looked like a spider catching us all in your web. It was so cool! You were so strong, and confident, and I was totally wowed because you were so, so beautiful!”

Arlecchino blinked at her, blank gaze broken as surprise overtook her before fading into a gentle veneer of a smile. Furina’s heart thudded when the smile was transfixed her way, mystique. “Thank you, Mon Cherie.”

“Y-you’re welcome.”

She fidgeted as Arlecchino reclined against the sofa, almost lazily, before patting her lap in clear invitation. Furina smiled as she crawled back, tension leaving her when the same hands that tormented her now combed through her hair in patient adoration, careful to smooth out the curls she’d messed up in her squirming. She closed her eyes, sighing.

“You… really are beautiful, Arle.”

“You as well, Furina.”

“Not Mon Cherie?”

Arlecchino chuckled, pinching Furina’s cheek. “You’re beautiful, Mon Cherie.”

[vlorescent]

𝕸𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖞 // Suguru Geto • Part Two

S m u t, use of the word "mommy", unprotected sex, loss of virginity, Satoru probably heard it all -- maybe, maybe not, smutty mc smutter smut ♡

☄. *. ⋆

Suguru never thought himself to be the type to struggle to keep quiet. After all, he had been reserved a great majority of his life, his manner collected and at ease.

However, at this moment, he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.

"Hush, baby~" You whispered softly against his ear, your gentle touch ghosting his lips as you reasoned with him to keep quiet. An aching whine settled in his throat when your hips rocked against his with a slow intent to make him last.

"M-Mmph, fuck~!" His strong arms wrapped around your waist, sinking you further down onto his weeping cock. You gripped his broad shoulders tightly, suppressing a squeal as you felt your cunt take him further. You felt yourself stretch, a raw sting aching for more. Suguru turned his head slightly, his sex haze meeting your own. "Don't... don't hide those pretty noises from me, mommy..." He groaned, leaning in and stealing a kiss from you.

Your hand snaked itself into his hair, your arms resting on the back of the living room couch as nails combed through, grabbing a fistful of his raven hair and tugging. Suguru's head tilted back with force, your kiss breaking. His lips parted, a needy sigh seeping between his lips like smoke. His neck open and vulnerable to your delight. You let your kisses trail down to the base of his neck. You took notice that Suguru swallowed a cry when you kissed the curve where his neck met his shoulder, his cock twitching inside your silky walls. For a moment, you thought it would be loud enough to wake Satoru from his much needed rest.

"Shh, or else I might have to stop." You teased, teeth ghosting his velvet skin. Suguru's hips rolled upwards, his hardened length feeling every curve of your core. His hands squeezed your waist, dragging down to hold onto your hips as he beckoned you to keep moving.

"Fuck, please don't stop." He pleaded with you, leaning in to kiss you once more but you tugged on his hair again, keeping him from being able to do so. He whimpered, his voice low and desperate to keep quiet, but he whimpered still. "Mommy, please~!"

A deep chuckle, one that Suguru thought impossible, bellowed in your heavy chest. He could feel your cunt constrict around him, sucking him deeper and deeper with aching need. His hold on your hips tightened, holding back the urge to dig his nails into your skin. You were exciting him more than he could handle, cries of desperation leaking out silently.

"Be a good boy for mommy," You peppered kisses on his neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot that you noticed before. "and I'll let you cum inside me. Would you like that, sweetheart~?"

God, you were killing him with your wicked tongue, making such tasty promises. How could you expect him to keep quiet when all he wanted to do was cry out praises that he was indeed, your good boy.

Drunk on the feeling of your words, Suguru's hand slipped from your hip and his fingers began to slid between the folds of your cunt. With little effort, he found your silky pearl, the pad of his middle finger caressing your clit with gentle care. With a jolt, you captured his lips to suppress your own whimper. You could feel Suguru's lip curl into a smile, a sense of pride welming in his heavy chest.

"I'm your good boy, mommy. I swear I am." He let you grind your hips against his fingers, feeling your arousal coat them generously. "That's right, mommy. Fuck my fingers like that." He leaned into your kiss, his hips rolling slowly to meet yours. His fingers danced along your clit, smearing the slick to the base of his cock so that he could move with ease inside of you. "Ah fuck, I can feel you squeezing me, mommy. Wanna feel you milk me more~!"

Now, it seemed it was you who was struggling to keep quiet.

Panting softly, your hips continued to ride both Suguru's cock and his fingers. The couch beneath the two of you creaking slightly. The thoughts of your son sleeping soundly just down the hall fading as you chased your release. It was so close that you could just barely reach it. Suguru could see it in your eyes. You were so, so close.

"There it is, there it fucking is. Ah, fuck~ cum for me. Cum on my cock like a good, fucking mommy~!" He rubbed his fingers a bit faster, just enough to push you over the edge.

Suguru hadn't thought he had ever witnessed something so beautiful before. The way your face expressed such ecstacy, the feeling of your cunt pulsing and squeezing his cock, a need to milk him of all his seed. You went to throw your head back, a guttural cry just barely echoing as Suguru quickly covered your mouth with the hand that had been holding onto your hip.

God forbid Satoru woke up now.

"That's it, mommy. Such a good mommy, cumming all over my fingers. So fucking generous..." He had guessed you were beginning to feel overestimated by the way your hips jolted and backed away from his fingers. Greedily, Suguru brought his fingers to his lips and sucked on them without hesitation. 'So sweet, so fucking sweet', he thought to himself as his tongue lapped at your juices. You watched him, your gaze heavy with a sated look. As Suguru continued to suck on his own fingers, you leaned into him and began to kiss the lobe of his ear.

"You've treated mommy so well, baby. You deserve a treat." You told him, your teeth grazing the softness of his lobe. Indulging himself long enough, Suguru pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a satisfied 'pop'. He looked up at you, awaiting your next wish as he continued to thrust his cock with control. As much as he was ready to let go and stop holding back -- he simply couldn't allow himself to do such a thing without your permission.

He needed Mommy's approval.

"Please." He turned to kiss you, the subtle taste of your arousal lingering on his lips. "Please, please, please say I can cum inside. I've been so good, I need it, Mommy~! Please let me cum--"

"Oh, of course, baby boy." Another chuckle bellowed in your throat, kissing Suguru's lips as your hands ventured his body. You found it so cut how his belly tensed as you brushed your touch against him. You wondered if he was ticklish there. You admired the feel of his body, his thighs shaking slightly as he awaited your command. "Mommy wants nothing more than to feel her good boy filling her to the brim with his cum. So please," You dragged your hips against his once more, your slick smearing and making the feeling of his thrusts all the better. "fuck mommy until you can't take it anymore~!"

And with that, Suguru let go of the reins.

In a swift motion, you were flipped onto your back, the plush cushion of the couch cradling you as Suguru hovered above you. Your legs instantly resting on his shoulders as he began to pound into your sensitive cunt. A cry escaped you before you could cover your mouth, instant regret washing over your features as you covered your face in embarrassment... and perhaps shame.

"F-Fuck it, let him hear us." Suguru groaned out, a hand gripping the back of the couch for support. "God, I don't want you to hide those pretty fucking noises from me." His hips moved at an unforgiving pace, thrusting into you with little care if the sounds of your sex echoed through out the house. "I wanna hear what I do to you, mommy. I wanna hear it all."

If he knew Satoru based on how he slept, the sounds of his best friend ruining his mother's pussy wasn't going to be enough to wake him.

He just hoped he was right.

"S-Shit, Sugu~!" You tried holding back your moans, folding your arm across your face in order to soften them. However, Suguru would have none of that.

"Don't you fucking dare." He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the couch as he drilled himself further into your soppy cunt. "Mmph, fuck, mommy! I'm fucking close. You mean it -- I can really cum inside of you?" His chest heaved, his groans panting as he drove closer and closer to the edge. He could feel it, like a string ready to snap. You began to nod your head feverishly, your legs unhooking his shoulders and wrapping themselves around his hips, locking him in place inside you.

"Give it to me, baby boy. Cum inside mommy~! She wants to feel her baby boy cream." You reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck and began to pull at his hair again. With a final thrust, Suguru felt the string snap.

"Ah fuck~! Ah f-fuck, mommy! Take it, take it! Take my fucking cum~!" With no choice, his head threw back and shot him seed deep inside of you. You felt his body shake, his cock twitching as his muscles spasmed. A long series of whines seeped from him, his hips lightly moving as to keep his load from leaking out of your pussy. His cock continued to pulse, balls aching with each spurt of cum that seeped from him. "M-Mommy, I love you... fuck, I love you, I've always loved you..."

You watched in awe as Suguru slowly began to calm down his high, his body easing as he lowered himself onto you. You instantly wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your breast. You were both panting, a mixture of whimpers and satisfied moans cooing at one another. You brushed back the strand of hair from his face, leaning in and kissing the side of his crown whilst whispering, 'such a good boy for mommy'. Suguru groaned, hiding his face in your breast as the realization of what he had just done crawled up his spine like a shameful sin.

He just fucked his best friend's mom.

He fucked you on the couch of you own home, all while Satoru lay resting in his room not too far away. He knew he should feel sick to his stomach, losing his virginity to the woman who loved and cared for him as if he were her own son. For a moment, he wondered why you would let him do this. And yet, at the same time, he was thankful. You did always insist that if he ever needed you, not to hesitate to come to you. And well, he hoped you still meant it.

Still, he knew one thing for certain.

Satoru was gonna be pissed.

°•°○°•°

[two-white-butterflies]

As Lovers Often Do - c. 1

Description: Alyssa Strong was born to be Aemond's wife. As the dance occurs, certain consequences are levied upon her.

"An eye for an eye. A son for a son."

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"Prince Alyssa and Prince Aemond were taken by the water, but her legacy lives on; in the Martells of Dorne, the Starks in Winterfell, the Arryns in Eyrie and in you, my sweet sister. Name is everything. Legacy is everything. You may think yourself clever in deceiving the King, but a thousand years from now they will still see your children as his and his legacy will live on, while your name fades."

-Tyrion Lannister to Queen Cersie.

Alyssa was the second child of Princess Saera and Ser Harwin. Her mother was always a blunt creature, always making it known that certain responsibilities came with the luxury of being royalty, that she was expected to marry a lord from a good house - she couldn't blame her mother as the same expectations were levied upon her too - and the thousands of ladies that came before her.

Her worth would be measured by the lord that she'd marry. What was a wife but a mere extension of her husband?

"Are you nervous?" Saera opened her mouth, quickly fading into Alyssa's periphery with rehearsed grace. "Must we attend?" Alyssa pouts, unable to tame her silver locks.

"Must we breathe?" her mother returned the question, eventually taking another step towards her - combing through her hair easily. "Tis' only uncle's nameday, and you are not exactly fond of him." she persuaded, earning a small chuckle from her mother.

"Believe me, my dragon - if we had a choice we'd still be in Dragonstone. It is of utmost importance that we attend. Queen Alicent will be expecting us." she gently reminded.

Oh, Queen Alicent would be most offended with their absence - She didn't plan on leaving her daughter with a Queen that hated her. "It will be nothing but eating and watching people dance." she huffed. "You can dance too," Saera insinuated and a groan escapes her daughter's mouth. "I do not wish to dance." "Then don't,"

"- all that's important to me is that you attend, and you pretend to be happy about it." Saera hummed, braiding Alyssa's hair softly - Alyssa's hair was almost white, bleached by the sun as she lounged around the beach with careless action. "You are a cruel mother," Alyssa frowned and her mother laughs in return.

"Of course, I am horrible and I wish death upon you." she humored, pressing a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Behave, Alyssa." she urged and Alyssa nodded her head. "Yes." she sighed.

Alyssa looked around the Great Hall - impressed with the decorations and lavishness that her grandfather provided. Uncle Aegon wasn't exactly his favorite child. "It looks good," Daegon mumbled while pushing his sister towards the Royal Table.

"Do you think that the same effort will be given on our nameday?" Alyssa pondered and her brother shook his head. "Why would they waste the Crown's coffers on us?" he scoffed, sitting down on the chair beside Jacaerys. "Because we're the only ones who look like Targaryens," she mumbled to herself.

"I heard that," Lucerys crossed his arms - angry that his cousin was making such comments about them. "I was joking," Alyssa frowned, taking a seat in between Daegon and Lucerys.

"Happy nameday, my prince." she smiles falsely at her uncle. "Yes, yes." Aegon waves her away - quick to settle his hand on some servant's behind.

Saera rolls her eyes.

"I'm sure that we can afford some decorum, Aegon." she lightly scolded, and Alyssa didn't fail to recognize the sour expression on his face. "I apologize, sister." he could only smile in return - feeling the burning gaze of Prince Daemon.

"I will not have you doing this during celebration, Aegon. Now, why don't you dance with Helaena or Alyssa for the meanwhile." Queen Alicent smiled - but everything she does always has a purpose. She intends for Aegon to marry either Helaena or Alyssa - to keep the 'bloodline' pure (a bloodline that does not belong to her.)

Daegon leaned slowly towards his sister.

"I'm bored," he whispered while fiddling with the tablecloth. "I've been bored three hours ago," she grits her teeth, at some point - she even tried to convince herself to bolt away. "- I want to leave but I don't want to miss the action." he whispered with a childish twinkle in his eyes. He knew something.

"Do you care sharing?" she grumbled, annoyed that he was keeping a vital information from her. "There's one person that refuses to attend this celebration." he smiled and she looks around their table. Right! Uncle Aemond wasn't here. "Aemond." she breathed and he nods.

"Why do you think so?" she gossiped, prepared to share this with her mother the following day. "Now you didn't hear this from me - but apparently during Aemond's nameday a few moons ago, Aegon brought him to a brothel." he continued sharing the story.

"Oh no, he must've thrown a fit - he probably believed that the Seven Hells would eat him whole." Jacaerys joked, earning a light chuckle from Daegon. "Probably, and now he refuses to attend his own brother's celebration." Daegon finished - taking a sip of his wine.

Alyssa takes a bite of her potato.

"I completely understand his reaction! Older siblings should protect their younger siblings." she defended and Jacaerys shoots Daegon a knowing stare. "Older siblings should protect their younger siblings." Jacaerys repeats to his cousin. "Hey! I protect Alyssa, remember that time when Aegon wanted to kill her cat?" he argued and the three of them erupt into bouts of laughter.

She rolled her eyes, turning her gaze towards the other parts of the hall. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, seeing the doors open and Aemond step inside of the room. "Seven hells," she mutters, poking Daegon's ribs and pointing at her grown uncle. "Holy fuck," he sneered, leaning towards Jacaerys' ears to whisper a few insults.

"It's a good thing we didn't leave, no?" he joked once more, Alyssa elbows his ribs - annoyed with his constant jabs at Aemond. "Jacaerys, might be best to keep Lucerys out of his sight." Alyssa humored - the prince beside her slightly pales.

"Happy nameday, Aegon." Aemond halts in front of his brother. The atmosphere between the both of them was evidently tense - they didn't need to speak to each other in order to understand what they were feeling. "Thank you, brother." he answers with a gulp.

Aegon points at the big table; "Our family is right over there, you should greet Saera and Rhaenyra - they traveled all the way from Dragonstone." he switches the topic. Aemond was the tallest of all the Targaryen siblings - his shoulders were wide and menacing, his legs were long - one would even assume that he was the oldest one, if it weren't for his older sisters having children of his age.

"I assume that you've already thanked them for arriving," Aemond breathed through his nose. Aegon never had a knack of diplomacy - all he knows is to waste the people's money on his vices. "I saw no need," he avoided and his younger brother scoffs.

He was the youngest of the two and yet ... he was the only one who cared about civility - the only one who studied history and swordfighting while his brother spent his days around whores and wine. Why was Aegon born before him? When he was most worthy of the title 'first son'.

"Of course you didn't."

"Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Saera, Prince Daemon - thank you for attending our brother's nameday in such short notice." Aemond's lips pressed into a thin line before sitting on the empty spot beside his mother. "We wouldn't miss it for the world, brother." Saera smiles.

"It seems like yesterday when Aegon was yet a babe, small he was - but according to the Queen he came without a fuss." Rhaenyra enunciated the last word, as if it had another meaning.

"A small babe, we thought that he wouldn't make it past the fortnight - but he's grown to be healthy and capable." Alicent responded, her words also with a second meaning. "Capable of being Rhaenyra's hand, I surmise." Saera notes while rubbing circles on her swollen belly. Aemond clenches his fists - Aegon as Rhaenyra's hand? It was almost laughable.

What would the realm turn into, then?

"Words are not done deals," Alicent's eyebrows raised. Aegon needed to be the next king after his father, it was only right. "Indeed," Aemond answered quickly.

He turns his head towards Lady Alyssa, who was sitting parallel to him. "Lady Alyssa," he greets and she smiles - they were the only ones who could understand each other in Kingslanding.

"How old is Aegon? Sixteen - seventeen?" Daemon suddenly opens his mouth after holding it too long. "Seventeen," Aemond responds. "By the grace of the seven gods, at that age I was already married to the Lady Rhea Royce for 2 years." Daemon comments, seemingly pointing out Aegon's lack of maidens.

"Which is why I planned on speaking to Princess Saera. Lady Alyssa is of a comfortable age, mayhaps we could betroth her to Aegon." Alicent recommends and the atmosphere turns cold. Alyssa's eyes quickly turn towards her mother - waiting for her response.

"No." Daemon answers instead.

"I agree with my husband, Queen Alicent. Aegon is far too old for my daughter - not to mention his reputation. And it would not benefit House Strong to marry into House Targaryen once more." Saera reasoned and the Queen smiles bitterly.

"Prince Daemon is much older than you, Princess Saera - and my memory serves me well. Your uncle's reputation was not exactly beautiful." Alicent reminds, not allowing the slander to permeate throughout the mind of her son.

Aemond looks at his niece.

"Princess Alyssa, do you wish to marry my brother?" he stares at her, gawking as he waits for a reply. "It would be an honor, but such decisions should be placed upon the hands of my mother and lord." she smiled, not wanting to make a fuss out of her hand.

"Mother, she does not wish to marry Aegon." Aemond interrupts plainly, and Alicent glares at him - mad at his boldness. "Oh, my sweet boy, if every parent followed the whims of their sons and daughters - half of us in this hall wouldn't exist." she says.

"Enough of this, Alicent. We intend to enjoy our evening." Daemon says rudely and the Queen turns away.

"God, could you even begin to imagine me as your brother's wife." Alyssa chuckled while taking a sip of her ale. "Princess Alyssa Targaryen, fitting but not for the right reasons." Jacaerys agreed while sitting beside Aemond.

She takes a deep breath, after a few more hours of arguing - the children decided to spend their time outside - in the garden but bathed in moonlight. "What do you think, Aemond? Why is Queen Alicent so hellbent on having me married to Aegon? I've heard the rumors, does she really want him as king?" she questioned.

Aemond shook his head; truly unsure.

"I don't know," he responded and Jacaerys turns to look at him. "But you agree and recognize that my mother is the rightful heir." Jacaerys' eyes narrowed - it was his first time breaking bread with his uncle, after years of being trained to think that he was the enemy.

"The rightful heir will still be decided upon, you'll never know if the King changes his mind." Aemond sneered, earning a glare from all three of his nephews/niece. "That's a real class way of saying that you don't believe that Princess Rhaenyra is the rightful heir," Daegon points out - not fully trusting his sister's friend.

Alyssa rolls her eyes; "Everyone knows that Aunt Rhaenyra will be Queen after kepazma. (grandfather)" she says for certain, shooting her uncle a knowing stare. "Then Jacaerys and his children, which he is yet to have." Alyssa mutters while leaning on the wall.

Aemond stares at Alyssa and she already knows what he thinks. He believes that Jacaerys and his siblings are not real Targaryens - sullied by Ser Harwin's blood, but wouldn't that make her tarnished too? Because her father was Ser Harwin Strong.

"You bore yourselves with politics, but do you wish to know what I really think of the situation?" he inquires and the trio nod. "What?" Alyssa's eyes twinkle as she scoots closer towards her uncle. "That Daegon and Jacaerys will be married soon," he begins.

"Who would've thought of that?" Daegon teased and Aemond's eyes narrowed saying; do you want me to continue? "But keep talking," Jacaerys looked at the far distance. He would be a good king - always listening to the advice of others.

"Daegon to some Martell or Stark and Jacaerys to one of the Velaryon twins or a Baratheon." he surmised, gathering all of the information he heard from the servants.

"Whether we like it or not, war is evidently brewing - as long as our King stays lenient to mistakes. Prince Daemon wouldn't allow this of course, he has a mind for war." Aemond compliments with admiration to his own uncle. "You have a twisted liking to our kepus," Daegon humored - allowing the ale to take full control of his brain.

Alyssa chuckles. "Don't let mother hear you, she'll burn all of us alive."

"When you say that war is brewing, do you mean that your faction will start it?" Jacaerys keeps his eyes focused on Aemond's general direction. Instead of replying, Aemond takes a deep breath. "The night has been long - and I must retire." he bid his goodbyes, standing up - and feeling the pairs of eyes glare at him.

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[seelestars]

➴ ✫ * ✧ WITH A FOXIAN READER (HSR characters)

a/n : i tried to make them all relatively the same length, i swear i don’t have favorites !

JING YUAN :

• thinks your tail and ears are very fluffy and soft to the touch, would constantly touch them if you let him

• gets sad sometimes cuz your foxian features remind him of baiheng occasionally ! it’s okay tho he has you by his side to comfort him ♡

• would help you groom + trim your ears and tail if you asked ! very gentle w it, always going “am i being too rough?” he’s so careful to not make u uncomfy :(

• he has groomed + trimmed mimis fur before so he knows what he’s doing btw

• teases you occasionally when he sees your tail wag etc

“i don’t want a kiss at all!” you pout, crossing your arms as you continued to felt jealous after he smiled when a girl flirted with him. deep down, you wanted more of his affection and attention. and unfortunately for you, your tail gave it away when it started wagging uncontrollably at the mention of his touch. “hm, your body betrays you dearest. c’mon now, we know you’re the only one i love.” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace you found yourself inevitably melting into.

LUOCHA :

• would also offer to help you groom your fur etc

• since he’s a merchant, he def has his hands on some the best products for these things out there ! he even got it specifically for you (๑>◡<๑)

• also probs have a rlly nice comb / wtv idk to help you untangle your fur .. it feels so nice against your tail and ears you find yourself dozing off at times

• gets you beautiful accessories to adorn your ears and tail, he thinks since they’re a very special part to you, why not emphasize it with some jewelry ?

• he likes to absentmindedly stroke your fur as you lay on his lap ♡

“mmh.. keep going..” you mumbled softly as he gently brushed your tail with a delicate comb. you found it hard to keep your tail still, the urge to wag it in contentment quite strong, but you wanted to make his task of brushing it easier so you resist. “enjoying it, my love?” he hums with a pretty smile on his face as he continues to brush through the fur, undoing the small tangles. after a few seconds of no response from you, he looked up to take a look at your face, only to (not so surprisingly) find you asleep.

KAFKA :

• probs asks you a lot of questions regarding your foxian features, “do they cause discomfort while sleeping?” “how do they feel?” “are they soft?” “let me touch them, please?~”

• makes you beg a little before pretending to reluctantly agree to helping you groom your tail. she just likes how you sound when you say “please” ♡

• gives you pet names like “my cute little fox”

• also teases you sometimes by blowing onto your ears , catching you off guard ! but she presses a kiss to them afterwards as a slight apology ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

• tugs on your tail / ears gently occasionally to grab your attention, it always works as she intends (with your cheeks heating up and a flustered expression on your face)

after spotting you absorbed in a book, she decides to sneak up behind you. once she was close enough, she lightly blows at your sensitive ears, causing you to jolt and your body to tense up. “..kafka! how many times do i have to tell you to not do that?!” you turn around, glaring at her with a flustered face as you pout. “sorry my cute little fox~ i can’t help it when your reactions are so cute.” she smiles sweetly, pressing a kiss to both of your ears as her way of saying sorry. it always works, as you find yourself forgiving her and even seeking more of her kisses.