#the AU that would ignite my soul

[allegriana]

I know I just reblogged this but I came back to say that in a galaxy chock full of evil corporations and crime syndicates eluding the justice of the Republic, the Jedi needed to do more Heists and Scams. Give me Jedi grifters who use their heightened insight and persuasion to sell a con. Jedi hackers with astoundingly precise control of Force lightning and an entourage of one-of-a-kind helper droids. Jedi hitters who learned every form of lightsaber combat but specialize in nonlethal damage and rendering people unconscious. Jedi thieves who can pick a pocket after they've already walked away from the mark and unlock a safe from across the room. And one Jedi Master(mind) to keep them all working together as a team.

What I'm saying is, the rich and powerful, they take what they want. Jedi steal it back for you. Sometimes bad Jedi make the best good guys. We provide...leverage.

Jedi as serial scammers though. Every mission includes a sidequest to sabacc table for extra cash. Padawans on their first outing be like ‘but I thought the senate was funding this mission’ yes little one but they will ride our arses for every cent so let’s go fleece some rich asshole. He won’t even notice. You know how cops were invented to protect private property? Well jedi are here to protect your everything except your private property. *force tricks an atm into printing free money* that, my very young padawan, is something we call a victimless crime.

[aixeko]

──────<3 MINDFUCK ༺♱༻

WEEK 4 | SINNERS SAVAGERY + APART OF @edgeray EVENT

| Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night.

With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late.

So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.

| Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader

| Setting | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ] SMUT Porn with plot. Long Introduction. Dark romance. Intersex Arlecchino. Manipulation. Body worship. Dacryphilia. Obsessive & sadistic Arle. Cunnilingus. Fingerfucking. Degrading & Praise Kink. Implied cannibalism. Mastrubation. Unreliable character. Female anatomy for reader, pronouns are not mentioned. 

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ TAKE OFF MY CLOTHES, OH, BLESS ME, FATHER.  ⚝ Ended on a cliff hanger lmfao, I will probably expand on it since this is only ⅓ of the ideas I have for Slasher Arle. ⚝ Anyway, thank you so much to Ray for letting me participate in this event <3 Even though it’s quite late but nonetheless thank you for accepting my work as a part of your event…! ⚝ This is how I imagine Slasher Arlecchino to look like or basically arlecchino from commedia dell'arte

[ Word count: 5147 ] | Art credit: Nut_nog on Twitter | Heart divider gif

"In and every heart that is meticulously dissected by my hand has its part in orchestrating the string of fates to bring you closer to me... and further away from life, my greatest tragedy."

Those were the exact words spoken to you during a mysterious call on the very first Halloween Eve when the infamous Mirthless Harlequin made her debut as a renowned and feared killer.

Frightened citizens have declared many titles for the Mirthless Harlequin, such as The Jester who doesn't laugh, The Living Embodiment of Demons, The Surgeon, and The Heart Collector.

Yet all these titles are of little to no comparison to the true identity of the beast that lies dormant behind that twisted, sinister mask.

The muted saturation of the walls is splotched in what is most likely the victim's blood; written on it is the detail of what had transpired before the crime scene occurred, and the freshest blood drips down the wall, spelling the name of the person responsible for the attack as if in pride or apathy toward the fallen soul.

At the centre lies a chair and a small table draped in a deep velvet cloth; an organ rests atop it, the very one that would become a trademark for the killer's distorted way of leaving a mark behind. A heart, perfectly preserved with it carefully wrapped in crimson ribbons, each twist and turn creating intricate patterns that speak volumes about the attempt at humanising the organ.

Around the table, papers of various poems and photographs of the victim's missing parts were scattered across, but even with those morbid aspects, one letter in particular has caught the eyes of the world. A letter in which a cryptic note rests inside, hinting at an obsession, not towards the killing but towards the person who will, no, whom she wants to investigate and find the truth behind the "Mirthless Harlequin."

The second paragraph was quite strange, switching from the gruesome details of the first to quoting a poet and novelist for children and young adults as follows:

Walls have ears. Doors have eyes. Trees have voices. Beasts tell lies. Beware the rain. Beware the snow. Beware the man. You think you may know.

But it wasn't until the very last paragraph that you would finally choose to be the one in charge of leading the case; there your name is written repeatedly, blood surrounds it like the base of a cake, and an unknown white substance decorates it like frosting, a substance you come to identify and regret upon investigation.

A mask which you dreaded oh so much, a mask which you wanted to rip apart, and yet when that day arrived, you prayed to the Lord above to take away the sight of what lies hidden by the mask, a sight of the unmistakable face your body and soul have fallen into the grasp of. 

The aroma of caffeine envelops your senses, overshadowing the aching desire to rest. Although it keeps your consciousness awake, you cannot replicate the same for your body.

Your blinks began to weigh your eyelids heavily with their slow momentum, and at any second now, you feared your body could give out on you and you would fall face-first onto the office coffee machine.

Much anticipated, your body did give out, but the harsh feeling of the appliance never came into contact with your skin; rather, a calloused yet careful hand pressed against your forehead, strong enough to prevent you from falling over.

"It's no wonder you haven't answered my messages or calls," an inviting yet foreboding voice sounds beside you. "Working overtime isn't going to earn you an easy ticket to an ongoing decade-long murder case—"

"I know, I know, you don't have to lecture me like everyone else; I have heard it about a thousand times already," you grumbled, grabbing her wrist and using it to straighten yourself before your eyes made contact with her crimson-crossed ones.

Arlecchino's eyebrows are furrowed, darkening her expression further; her eyes, which are often alluring and enigmatic due to her ability to hide the complexity of human emotions, seem to take on a more dangerous underlining.

Whatever tiredness had anchored you suddenly disappeared as she pulled your hand off hers, switching it so that she would be the one gripping your wrist. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second tightening the tension in the air and reflecting her thinning patience. She leaned down, her head turned to the side to whisper into your ear, but when she parted her lips, no words sounded out—a rare occasion showing the intensity of her frustration.

Her jaw clenches. "But you still refuse to listen; how can they depend on their best investigative psychologist when the one in question has not a single sane cell left to think with?" she asks, a rhetorical question you noted, but her words come out more like a growl demanding an answer.

"I am sane enough to work, and excuse me...! I didn't study my fucking ass off for nothing; I will have you know that just because I let you have your way with me so often doesn't mean I am not independent; for fuck's sake, I graduated with high honors!"

You expected her to fire back a remark rebutting your claims, seeing the twitch of her mouth, but she quickly caught you off guard when she placed her hand on your knee and held you over her shoulder.

You let out a surprised sound, instantly yelling with fisted hands coming into contact with her back in a furious retort, "ARLE! LET ME DOWN."

"Stop acting like a child; this is for your own health."

"I AM PERFECTLY HEALTHY-" Arlecchino interrupted you, her voice booming throughout the entire police department. "Healthy is a word that perfectly describes the OPPOSITE of what you are; you have been skipping your meals and overworking yourself to the point of passing out."

You tried giving your two cents, but sensing your next moves, her voice increased in volume. "I WILL be taking you back home, and you WILL have a warm bath, eat a proper meal, and go to sleep; end of statement."

Like a cowardly dog, when its owner is disappointed in it, you can only soak in annoyed silence and mumble incoherent, derogatory language that Arlecchino chooses to ignore.

Arriving at your car, Arlecchino put you down in the passenger seat, buckling your belt and closing the door for you before going to the driver's seat herself.

You turn to look at her the moment she has settled down, leaning as close to her as possible with the seat belt wrapped around you.

"Peruere-! You don't get it, Halloween Eve is coming up in a few days, which means she will be committing her 13th crime this year! Thirteen victims-!"

Arlecchino slowly turns her head to you, her facial features clearly expressionless to the naked eye, but to you, this is the most enraged you have ever seen her.

"Do you hear how insane you sound right now? You're obsessed. To think a criminal has you acting this way; I would even dare say you sound downright in love with this murderer." Arlecchino leaned in closer, and instinctively you flinched away slightly. "Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married." Although it doesn't sound like a question, it was phrased like one by her tone.

You bite your bottom lip and slump back into your seat with an audible groan; it wasn't because you couldn't answer the question, no, far from it. If it were any normal argument between you two, then you would've easily answered no; you wouldn't choose a killer over her, your lover, but the fact that she would assume such things from you has hit a spot you never knew she could. How can she think so lowly of me to presume the worst betrayal of all, obsessive towards THAT forsaken woman? Can someone not do their job without any intent of malice anymore?! The absurdity of the situation has your head aching, to believe that it all started because you wanted to make sure no one else would die from the 'Mirthless Harlequin' anymore, all because you chose selflessness over selfishness.

The ride back home would be in complete silence as you stubbornly refuse to apologise for your actions, nor would Arlecchino stoop so low as to abandon the facts and satisfy a brat.

"I'm going to prepare your bath; don't do anything unnecessary while I'm gone."

Arlecchino has calmed down from the argument during the quiet ride back home and is rather friendly now; monetarily, she places her hand on top of your head and ruffles it as she makes her way past you.

"I'm not your kid," you groan, running your hands through your hair to fix the mess that she made.

Your lover only glanced over her shoulder with a glare, a silent threat to your words, but nothing you couldn't handle, and thus she left for your shared bedroom to prepare a bath.

You stand in the hallway, confused about what to do next as you're not usually this free; it's not that you overwork often; it's that you're often way too engaged in what you are doing. Admittedly, you couldn't really say that 1 a.m. is early, especially for most people, as they are asleep by and/or before this time. You turn around for a split moment to make sure the door is locked before you take off your shoes and place them in the wooden shoe rack.

"Might as well analyse that data report Navia gave to me earlier."

You stifle a yawn as you walk up the stairs, turning the corner into the hallway that leads to your office and shared bedroom. The quiet of the night surrounds the house with the exception of the light sound of water coming from the bedroom, a perfect blend with the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

You perk up and see the many portraits displayed across the hallway of you and Arlecchino, some of them including your friends and coworkers. For what seems like the first time in a long time, a curve is formed in the corner of your mouth.

You stand in front of your office door, eyes gazing at the portraits beside it featuring Arlecchino and you back when you first started dating one another; you still remember that day vividly. It was 12 years ago, a week before the infamous killer first appeared. Your eyes narrow slightly; what a coincidence, you think; life works in such mysterious ways, but it's still often shocking how different destinies are all tied together in the pathway of fate.

Shrugging it off, you grasp the wooden handle of the dark oak door leading to your workspace, twisting it before cracking it open slightly. Just then, a memory of the earlier argument between Arlecchino surfaces, piercing your thoughts.

"Don't tell me that you would prioritise your parasocial relationship with a killer over the person whom you married."

Now that you think about it, Arlecchino has been acting quite out of character today; when you usually have over time, she isn't as mad as she was today, but then again, you did ignore her messages and calls for almost 24 hours. However, in your utmost defence, you need to have your phone on silent mode so you won't be distracted and procrastinate. Coupled with the recent data, you and the rest of the Harlequin investigation team have been hard at work accumulating it over the last few months.

In one of the meetings discussing the various sources gathered for the infamous killer case, a single piece of evidence caught your attention: "A single white hair strand," you mumbled.

"What are you muttering about?"

A shiver runs down your spine, a moment of fear clouding your mind at the sudden sound of another voice, but you're quick to calm down once you recognize the voice belongs to none other than Arlecchino.

"Peruere..." You turn around and say, "Don't creep up on me like that again; it's scary."

Arlecchino raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and shaking her head in disapproval. "You are standing in front of the door, mumbling incoherent words to yourself in the dark; if it were any other person, wouldn't you be considered the unsettling one?"

Blink, blink, blink. You couldn't even deny it because she's right, and the truth hangs in the air like a balloon waiting to pop.

"Arg... Whatever, forget what you heard and saw; I was thinking about work. By the way, you're done with setting up the bath, right?" You grab her hand, not waiting for a reply to lead her inside and into the bathroom.

"You wanted to bathe together?" Her voice softens, tinged with an unexpected apologetic tone for not considering this turn of events. "I'm afraid I can't; I need to prepare dinner for you since you have been eating only processed food lately, and it's detrimental to your heart."

"Ah..." A wave of embarrassment crashes over you as you realise how swiftly you had dragged her inside and assumed the fact that you would bathe together before even asking for her permission or if she was in the mood to do so in the first place. "I see... It's okay."

Seeing the flustered and disappointed undertone of your words and expression, Arlecchino devises a solution to improve your mood.

"If I am fast enough, I can join you later; is that alright with you?"

Much to your shame, you nodded way too fast for your liking, which in turn resulted in a light smirk from Arlecchino sent your way for the sudden clinginess. Her dark, tattooed hand rises and descends gently, resting on your head as she pats it lightly. The gesture is both comforting and oddly intimate, a soft reminder that you are her lover and the only one capable of seeing this side of her, seeing Peruere.

"Call me if you need anything."

"Mkay, I love you," you whisper, getting closer to the bath as you begin to take off your clothes.

"... Yes, I... love you too."

You didn't question the odd pacing of her words, assuming that she's still not used to saying those words back even after a decade of being together. The door closes with a soft click, and you're fully undressed, a sigh leaving your lips as you step foot inside the hot bath.

You allow your body to relax in the tranquil warmth of the softly cascading water, sinking deeper until only the features above your nose remain above the surface. The gentle flow conceals you whole, creating a cocoon of serenity, an occurrence that is rare for the likes of you. As you close your eyes, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the soothing sounds of the water and the faint echoes of your thoughts. In this moment of peacefulness, you allow yourself to let go of all the things that have weighed you down, allowing comfort to wash them away and ground you in a sense of much-needed peace.

Your thoughts linger on what food Arlecchino will be making for you, how pleasant her skin would feel against yours right now, and the upcoming Halloween Eve.

"A single white hair strand? How do I know this isn’t some sort of ploy she set up?” You question Navia, arms crossed in a vice-like grip, as you analyse the hair under the microscope. “Is it fake hair or from a doll?”

"Haha, it's simple, Dr. Snezhevna, because she herself stated in this letter that the hair strand belongs to her,” Navia replies, her tone steady and amused as she watches your demeanour shift dramatically upon seeing the familiar letter in her hand.

An audible groan escapes your lips as you snatch the letter and another from the pile of letters dedicated to the killer to compare the heart stamp and writing styles. As you read, the distinct vocabulary matches flawlessly, with not a single difference between her signature stamp and her writing style, confirming she deliberately left her own DNA behind.

“This woman genuinely pisses me off... Does she think I’m a fool? Or is she that cocky to be under the impression we aren't capable of matching her information with our extensive network database?”

Navia lets out a light chuckle, leaning back in her chair and looking drastically more relaxed than you do.

“I’ve heard Commander Wriothesley uncovered that the fresh blood she uses to spell out her name contains a secret, obscure code imprinted onto it and that it doesn't belong to the victims, though we don't know exactly who it belongs to as of now.”

“Seriously?! God forbid this damn criminal gives me a break!” you exclaim, frustration bubbling over. “The day I finally catch her, I’m going to give her a piece of my damn mind, alright.”

You open your eyes and rise from the water, leaning back against the bath as you take a deep exhale.

"Who are you, and why am I the one you desire so much...?" You said aloud to yourself, your mind foggy with the jester again, easily shattering the peaceful atmosphere that had settled around you.

"Who am I?" Arlecchino's voice echoes throughout the bathroom, causing you to yelp at the unexpected sound.

"Peruere...! Do you seriously have to always randomly creep up on me?!" You turn to face her, your heart racing as you look up at her with displeasure.

"It is not I who am the problem, but it is you who lack awareness, darling; I called your name countless times, and you keep muttering to yourself as always."

Oh.

"Ah, oh, my apologies... hm, wait, are you already finished with cooking? How long have I been here...?" you ask, looking down at your reflection in the water with much shame before raising your hands from under to see the pruney fingers caused by your prolonged exposure to aqua.

"Less than half an hour, the food has already been brought up; you can go and eat right now if you want."

"But—" you tried protesting since you still wanted to bathe with her, but, as always, she read you so easily and responded before you could even get a sentence out.

"We have an eternity before us; you should eat first lest you want an upset stomach, and you should also begin getting ready for bed."

"Sigh, if you say so," you stand up from the bathtub, the warm water dripping from your skin as you reach for the towel hanging beside the tub, wrapping it around yourself snugly. You glance at Arlecchino with a small smile that then turns into a smirk. "You should keep the door open while you're washing up."

As expected, the teasing remark made little to no effect on her, and you're left with her staring at you, unamused.

"So bland, my love, you could have faked your expression or agreed for my sake."

You leave the room with a laugh, and as you take in the sight before you, you can't help the soft smile that replaces the smug smirk that had once dominated your features moments ago. Clothes carefully selected for your comfort and a perfect amount of portion for you to relish are laid out before you on your shared bed; what a thoughtful soulmate you have, you mentally acknowledge.

You lie contentedly inside the soft blankets, the light of the waning moon illuminating your features through the window, painting your face in its most desired parts. You sink further inside, your body never wanting to leave this paradisiacal space; yet likewise, life often works against you, and a notification causes you to straighten yourself grudgingly.

Who would be texting you this late is your initial thought, but the moment your eyes land on the unknown caller who has sent you a voicemail, you nearly drop your phone. Rapidly, you scan the room for the calendar, completely forgetting the phone in your hand has a built-in one, and your heart nearly drops as you realise it's the 29th. Two days before Halloween Eve and two days before the woman strikes again. Another unfortunate soul is soon to fall victim to a killer whose identity is yet to be known aside from her details as a woman with a jester-like appearance.

Shakily, you search for your earbuds and pair them to your phone upon retrieval before you open voicemail and press on the recently sent one. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of the familiar voice beginning to talk to you.

"In the ticking shadows where time slips away, a hero stands tall yet fears the fray.

With every heartbeat, the clock's cruel hand counts down the moments that they both understand.

Time is a thief, relentless and cold.

As you chase the thrill, the stories unfold.

Yet in this chaos, a bond begins to bloom.

Two souls entwined in the depths of doom.

A hero and a villain, bound by a thread.

In the twilight of choices, where both may tread.

The dawn of your death is arriving, my dearest angel. I await the day we shall personally introduce one another, which happens to be only two days from now."

Tsk. You clutch the phone in your hand, slumping back onto the mattress with a hand over your eyes. How frustrating it is to be haunted by someone who is seemingly untraceable, and now you have suddenly received confirmation on who the next victim will be, which conveniently enough happens to be you. You feel calm; you look relaxed, yet internally, you would be lying to yourself if you said you weren't terrified of what would happen to you on that fateful day.

You didn't realise you had been crying until Arlecchino's gentle hands brushed away the tears that streamed down your cheeks in quietude.

"Peruere..." You murmured, the sudden feeling of everything around you crashing down.

You removed your hands from your vision and wrapped them around her waist, pulling her close as you began to sob uncontrollably; the warmth of her body brought comfort to what was left of you. Your lover didn't say anything, opting to keep silent until moments later when the clock struck two.

"She's going to kill you on Halloween Eve," Arlecchino said eerily and softly.

You froze in place, the tears continuing to fall unchecked, but the moment she uttered those words, something sounded incredibly hard to swallow; you had worn earbuds the entire time to prevent her from hearing the voicemail, and there was not a soul who could have heard the message aside from you and the sender, the killer herself.

"But how did you know...?"

Arlecchino looked at you like you were a lost dog, and without many words, she shook her head in yet more disappointment. "Why else would you be crying? It's an obvious assumption based on how you have been acting as of late, the sudden unease, overworking for the past month, and your muttering about some sort of finding." 

Right, right, of course, that's correct; how foolish and frightful of you to think beyond the possibilities.

"Ahaha... Of course, I'm sorry, Peruere... I just need to relax; I am just... so scared. I have never felt such fear before, you know."

Arlecchino stared down into your glistening eyes in wordless moments, a long and slow pause of lifelong connection and understanding passing within those time frames. Slowly, she leaned down, her movements calculated and gentle, as if afraid to break your already fragile body.

Like second nature, your hands subconsciously trail her barely dry body to the nape of her neck, enveloping it and pulling her cooler frame to your warmer one.

Her gaze remained locked on yours, searching for the discomfort and fear lingering in your soul and how she, as your lover, could dissolve those worries into mindless tranquillity.

"Whatever happens," she whispered, her voice a sultry murmur in your ears, "you're not alone."

Multiple kisses follow those words, a few on the right side of your jawline to the left side, one here and there on your neck, and lastly on your collarbone, where she's blocked by the fabric of your shirt.

Simultaneously, Arlecchino pulls the cover off you and runs a hand through your hair, pushing back the strands that have obscured your beautiful features for her hungry eyes to feast on.

"Let me take care of you, little dove."

At the sound of the slight neediness in her raspy tone and that insatiable stare, you could feel a knot forming in your stomach and an aching feeling below it. You couldn't bring yourself to trust your own words, so, choosing the best possible option, you consented to her request with a nod.

Usually, the woman would say something about the lack of vocalisation, but today the air was of a different flavour because she took no time lifting your shirt just above your breasts.

She peppered kisses on every inch of your perfect imperfection, savouring the delicious taste of your body in her mouth; oh, how she wished she could devour it all.

"Peruere... please," you plead, desperate to cloud your mind with her rather than your impending doom.

"Patience," Arlecchino enunciated, her salivating tongue trailing your body but avoiding the part where you desire her the most.

Your impatience overwhelms you, and your hand goes to grip her wet hair, pulling her upward to your hardened nipples. In a weak attempt for her to fasten her pace, you let out a pathetic, whiny plea.

Through lidded eyes, her pupils direct to your face a prideful, almost invisible smirk that flashes on her lips at the sight of you breaking apart under her feathery touch.

"I have barely touched you, sweetheart, and here you are," Arlecchino pressed her knee directly on your clothed vagina, causing you to shamefully moan, "so eager for me."

Her hot mouth latches onto the right side of your perky nipple, making sure to give the left one the same attention by pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. A gasp is involuntarily ushered out of your lips, followed by more pleas for her to continue her relentless assault.

Pitying you this time, Arlecchino's pull at the hem of your pants causing a short cry of pain to be released from you and an unexpected whimper at the feel of the icy air against your womanhood.

"Naughty girl, such innocent looks but such perverted thoughts; you're already this wet," the tip of Arlecchino's finger touches your clitoral area. "And I haven't even started."

The slow progress of her foreplay obliterated to nothingness as she forcefully thrust two colossal fingers inside your aching cunt. A high-pitched scream pierced the room, but it would not be long until you were silenced by her mouth.

"How... adorable," Arlecchino groaned in between kisses, her eyes wide open to observe every twitch and change in your lascivious expression.

Like a starving animal, Arlecchino wanted more; she needed more, she craved more, and in a split moment of lost control, she decided to satiate her desire for your addictive melodies. Thus, she pulled away from your lips, increasing her speed and slipping in a third finger as your pussy morphed and fit her fingers like a puzzle piece.

You bite your lips, trying to muffle your sound as she plunges faster and deeper into you, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by her because how dare you try to get rid of the sound she's craving so much?

She manoeuvred you into a more advantageous position, pulling your legs over her shoulders, thrusting into the deepest part of your cunt, and rubbing your clitoris furiously with her thumb all the while she got to enjoy your pleasurable sounds up close.

"Good girl, fuck... just like that, sounds so good for me; you're so close, aren't you, doll?"

Arlecchino's hand comes to latch itself onto your hair, pulling it with satisfaction as an ominous grin creeps its way onto her once monotonic features. Her eyes seemingly take on a deeper vermilion hue at your face, filled pathetically with pleasure and fat with tears in those precious, mindless gazes.

"MMPH-AH," pant, pant, pant. "Don't stop! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm so close...! AH! PERUERE—"

Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolling back as you see a distorted reality comparable to that of heaven; so much pleasure and so much energy are used that the next thing you know, you are passed out on the bed while Arlecchino licks your cunt clean.

Arlecchino's thumb swipes over your lip in a tender touch, eyes scanning your serene sleeping form, and contrasting with the loving touch is a sinister grin spread across her features, a mix of admiration for her work of art and something darker that dances in her eyes during the dead of the night.

Her hand trails down to the aching bulge that's imprisoned in her pants as she studies the rise and fall of your chest. She pulls her hardened cock out, rubbing the leaking precum all over the base of her length like it is lubrication.

For a moment, she allows herself to bask in the sight of you all peaceful and unaware, completely vulnerable in your deep slumber. A mix of a moan and a groan sounds from her lips as she moves up and down her enraged member, the corners of her mouth curling higher as she considers the delicate line between protector and predator, each heartbeat echoing the thrill of the beautifully unknown night.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, her words laced with a playful edge that held secrets only the abyssal night could understand. She masturbated faster, her climax coming quicker than she expected, but not one that was unappreciated. She pulled back slightly, that sinister grin never leaving her swollen lips, an unsettling mixture of warmth and foreboding in the stillness of the atmosphere.

She switched the same hand that was used to fuck you senseless to her mouth, and effectively, she came as she tasted your arousing scent and ejaculated all over you soon after.

A satisfied enough sigh emanates from her, opting to settle down on top of your chest after calming down from her high to feel the sound of your heartbeat against her ear. The smile that seemed to stretch endlessly expanded at the thought of your heart in her hand, devouring her mind. Soon enough, the beating of your heart shall be in her hands for her to safeguard until it can no longer pulsate without its host.

"My greatest tragedy."

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 1)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Grinding, Dry-Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Switch!Jayce, Rough Kissing, Biting, Shower Sex, Angst, One Bed

Notes: I love my pathetic son Jayce, so I needed to make him just a bit wetter and sadder for… reasons. This is a two-parter, because it was looking too heavy as a one-shot and the second part still needs a bit more attention. I need to stop having too many multi-chapter projects at the same time before I go insane. Anyway, enjoy ❤️!!

(Chapter 2/End)

You tap your fingers on the wooden countertop, trying to remain calm despite the growing pressure inside your skull.

“And you're sure there's not a single other room left ?” you ask with a tense smile, your teeth grinding against each other almost audibly.

The receptionist gives you yet another blank stare. She's hardly older than seventeen, probably helping out her parent's business, and clearly not paid enough to care about whether or not you stay or go.

“No, ma'am, there are no other rooms available for the duration of your stay,” she repeats robotically. It's as if you've been stuck in the same dialogue tree for half an hour with a badly programmed NPC. “We're a family-owned business, and we only have ten rooms available at once. Your reservation was for a single bedroom, not two.”

The exaggerated sound of her slowly chewing gum is driving you insane. “She's just doing her job���, you have to remind yourself. It's not her fault, you know that; plus, if there's anybody to blame, it's Jayce.

You turn towards the culprit in question, large shoulders slightly slumped and eyes escaping your glare. Pathetic.

“Seriously, Jayce?” you state in disbelief. “I asked you to do one thing for the trip.”

Jayce visibly takes offence to that, raising one stupidly large hand in objection:

“That's not fair, I was also taking care of bringing the prototype!”

“And I signed us up to the conference,” you hiss back. “I prepared our lecture. I got our bus tickets here and back. I made our itinerary for the whole three days. I even wrote down where we could go to bring back souvenirs for Sky and Viktor!”

You point an accusing finger at him, tapping it against his chest:

“The only thing I wanted you to take care of was the fucking motel. And you couldn't even do that right!”

He throws up both hands in exasperation, rolling his eyes. If there wasn't a minor in the same room, you'd have no qualms about punching him.

“Fine, alright, I messed up, what do you want me to say? ‘I'm sorry I'm such an idiot'?”

You exhale in frustration, throwing him one last resentful look before turning back to the receptionist: “Yeah, that would be a good start”, you scoff under your breath.

He makes a dramatic groan of annoyance behind you, like this entire situation isn't his fault.

The Academy barely gives you enough budget to attend two national mechanical engineering conferences a year. You had originally planned to go to this one with Viktor, specifically because of its location: nice and remote, the air fresh and relaxing, the few roads leading to the major cities surrounded by millennial trees and mountain peaks. The perfect place for a spark of romance to ignite between the two of you.

Unfortunately, Viktor had already scheduled a weekend seminar on the exact same date as the conference. Sky, your fourth and youngest lab partner, wasn't equipped enough to help you present all the complex features of the university's mechanical arm project. Only one other person could.

Jayce fucking Talis, and his magical ability to never do anything right.

“We'll just get our money back and find another place to crash,” he argues, walking up next to you to the counter, resting his weight against it; it creaks disapprovingly. “It doesn't have to be a whole thing.”

“I'm sorry sir,” the teen flatly interjects, still smacking the gum between her brace-clad teeth. Squish, squish. “But we require cancellations to be made 24 hours prior to the reservation. We cannot reimburse you as per the politics you have agreed to on our website.”

You'd probably get more interactive answers from a chatbot. Jayce kneads the lines on his forehead, his practiced megawatt smile starting to crack from fatigue. The girl stares at him with neither sympathy nor sadness; she brings her lips together to form a small pink bubble, letting it burst after a few seconds. Pop.

“Okay, you know what,” Jayce sighs in defeat, “I'll pay for our rooms somewhere else. It's on me. As an apology.”

This would be an excellent time to not subtly sneak in a remark on how he's always using his parent's money to get himself out of the messes he's created, but the teen speaks up again before you get a chance to:

“Sir,” she adds with her irritatingly nasal voice. “You should know the only other motel in the area only accepts new reservations until 9 pm.”

She nods pointedly towards an old grandfather clock on the wall, and the two of you look at it in sync: it's 9:06.

Now you're genuinely hesitating between strangling her or Jayce.

“You really know how to make a guy feel better, huh?” Jayce attempts with a weak laugh, the plastic smile crumbling a little further.

She only gives him a vacant gaze.

Your legs are aching from the long ride in the overcrowded bus, and the arduous walk to the motel with half the disassembled prototype on your back. You've been dreaming of laying down on a bed for the last three hours, and even if another inn was open nearby, you doubt you'd have the will to carry everything there.

“I don't care anymore,” you sigh, massaging the side of your temple to relieve some of the built-up tension. “I'm exhausted, and we need to rest if we want to be any good tomorrow morning. We'll just figure it out upstairs.”

Jayce makes a non-committal sound of agreement; if you had more energy, you'd angrily ask him if he has any better ideas he'd like to share. But you don't, so you just focus back on the unexcited receptionist. Ironically enough, the letters on her cropped shirt spell ‘GOOD VIBES ONLY’.

“We'll take the room,” you conclude, worn out.

The teen barely blinks as she inputs something into her old computer, the vintage monitor buzzing unpleasantly before she hands you two scratched keycards mechanically.

“Room 207. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay at Grizzly Country Motel,” she deadpans.

You mumble a thank you, but she either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore it in favour of going back to her cell phone, like your entire interaction had been nothing more than chasing away a couple of flies.

Jayce at least has the decency to grab both your luggage and his before you both head towards the stairs; if he’s got all those muscles, he might as well put them to use. You feel a pang of annoyance at how easily he carries the bags that you struggled to hold the entire day.

“Don't you think it's weird when they say ‘we’?” he mumbles pensively as you go up the stairway. “It's like everyone who works at a hotel is in a hivemind.”

You can't even find the will to look back and glare at him.

“No, Talis, I was actually thinking about how I'd fix all the problems you've created,” you reply drily.

You reach the second floor, knees buckling. Room 201, 202, 203…

“You'll just take half the bed and I'll take the other half,” Jayce pipes up from behind you, grunting as he pulls the last bag up. “We'll put a pillow in the middle. It'll be like nothing even happened.”

Oh, to be in the mind of Jayce Talis, where the universe is so fucking simple and accountability is a myth.

You hate how he always has an answer for everything, like it’s all so easy for him. You've fought hard to reach this point — to earn your place in the Academy, to be seen as a true scientist, breaking through barriers in a field where women remain the minority. It’s taken blood, sweat, and tears, years of effort that people like Viktor and Sky understand and respect.

Room 204, 205, 206…

But for Jayce Talis, it’s all sunshine, rainbows, and candy-colored skies. His family owns one of the largest metallurgy companies in the country, and has stocks invested in some of the biggest steel producers on the globe. He’s never had to work a single day in his life to put himself through school, never had to sacrifice anything for his dreams. You don’t think there’s a single thing he’s ever actually had to put effort in: he barely studies and still aces all his classes, hardly puts any care into his appearance, yet always looks like he’s out of the cover of the Times’ 50 Most Desirable Men. It’s infuriating to an unspeakable degree.

Room 207.

You tap one of the keycards on the handle, letting out a small sigh of relief when the mechanism beeps joyfully. Today hasn't been ideal, but at least, you're only a few feet away from a soft, comfortable bed.

You open the door, walking in with little decorum. It's small and bare, as you expected: a single window dulled by years of exposure, a box TV taken straight from the nineties, a dingy light fixture barely illuminating a greyed-out wallpaper of a forest scene, and…

“Talis,” you pause. He almost bumps into your back, fumbling with the bags in his arms.

“What?” he asks in confusion, peering over your shoulder. “Oh,” he simply says when he sees the issue.

“Talis,” you repeat slowly, trying to maintain your tone even, despite how badly you want to scream. “This is a single bed.”

Indeed, not only is there only one bed, it's evidently sized for a single person. It's ridiculously tiny. It doesn't take a genius to see that with someone of Jayce's stature, you'd have to practically sleep on top of him if you wanted to share the bed.

“Wait, I swear I asked for doubles for both of us-” he protests immediately.

“It's fine,” you cut him off, despite it being the exact opposite. The headache is getting worse, and you don't feel like arguing with him any more than you already have. “I'll take the bed tonight, and you take the floor, and we alternate tomorrow.”

Jayce puts all the bags down on the carpeted floor, visibly dejected.

“Again, I'm really sorry about this,” he mumbles, and even though you can tell it's genuine, it doesn't make you feel any better. Every ambigious prejudice you might have had against him has just confirmed itself: he’s a spoiled mama’s boy, who isn’t able to navigate the real world alone, and who’ll simply cry when he messes up things for everyone else.

“Whatever,” you grumble, sitting tiredly on the edge of the puny bed that groans painfully under your weight; it doesn't even have the decency to be comfortable. “Just means I'll have to take care of everything if we ever do symposium together again.”

He looks like a scolded puppy, unmoving, eyes avoidant, his large frame blocking the doorway. Jayce is extremely talented at making people pity him, with his huge citrine eyes and perfectly rosy cheeks. It almost makes you hesitate before adding the next words, but bitterness takes the upper hand: “This is the kind of mistake Viktor never makes.”

He doesn't reply.

You can tell that hurt him just as much as you intended with the way his body slightly curves inwards, his fits visibly clenching inside his pockets. Well, good. He's old and smart enough to know actions have consequences. He's supposed to be your partner, not a child you're babysitting.

“I'm…gonna go take a shower,” he hesitantly adds after a few tense seconds. “I'm still sweaty from the bus ride. Is that… okay with you?”

You shrug with disinterest; you know you’re just being petty now, but thinking of everything that could have been, had it been Viktor on this trip and not him, is leaving a sour taste in your mouth.

“Fine by me. I'll take mine right after.”

He waits a moment, like he's expecting you to add something else; maybe extend the olive branch. When you don't provide, he sighs, making his way to the bathroom door and closing it behind him.

You let your body fall back on the mattress with a heavy ‘oomph’. It's not as uncomfortable as it first seemed; it's firm, but the covers are soft, and the single pillow feels nicely fluffed. A couple might actually be pretty cozy in this bed, one body on top of the other, their libs entangled lovingly. It could have been you and Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, and his honey-coloured eyes. Viktor, and his teasing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. Viktor, and the way his long fingers twirl in his chestnut hair when he's focused, the way he absentmindedly licks his bottom lip when he's lost in thought. Viktor, and-

“Hey, um,” Jayce's booming voice from the other room interrupts your reverie. “C'mere for a sec?”

You groan loudly, squeezing your eyes shut. Maybe if you pretend he isn't there, he'll disappear all on his own.

“No, seriously,” he insists.

No luck. You get up lethargically, cursing the man under your breath.

“Left side with the red is hot, right side with the blue is cold, Talis,” you ironize. You open the door to the bathroom to see him standing in front of the shower door, thankfully still fully clothed. “Do you need help opening the shampoo bottle, too?”

He glares back at you in annoyance:

“Fuck off. Look.”

He nods towards a paper sign you hadn't noticed tapped on the glass panel, amateurishly plastified with a clear file folder.

[PLEASE DO NOT USE THE SHOWER MORE THAN ONCE A DAY. 10 MINUTES OF HOT WATER PER ROOM]

Well, you were wrong. Jayce Talis isn't just a forgetful idiot with bad luck.

He's a fucking curse.

“The room and the bed, I could forgive,” you start, fuming. But the shower?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” he yells back melodramatically. “You told me to find something cheap to not go over budget!”

You shove him in frustration, only getting more annoyed when it doesn't make his stupidly huge body move a single inch:

“I didn't mean you should book a fucking dumpster!”

A loud, pointed knock echoing from beyond the bathroom wall silences you both.

Delightful. The neighbours can hear everything.

You move a step away from Jayce, the width of the bathroom not allowing much in terms of distancing.

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath. You aren’t, but it's that or getting kicked out of the only open motel in miles for a noise complaint. “Yelling isn't gonna lead us anywhere. You can take five minutes, and I'll take the other five. It's gonna be short, but that's probably the best we can do.”

He at least has the decency to look appreciative, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“I can give you the whole ten minutes, to apologize. This is my fault,” he admits. It’s always like this with him, as if his never-ending self-pity cleanses him of any possible wrongdoing. You despise that.

“And have you stink up the whole place smelling like a football locker room? No way,” you scrunch up your nose. Just by sharing a workspace with him, you know Jayce has the hygiene skills of a teenage boy who thinks Axe body spray and cologne make sweat magically vanish; the sheer power of the unholy combination would keep you awake all night.

“Or…” Jayce trails on for a few uncharacteristically long seconds. He's usually more the type to say things before reflecting on them, but he's pinching his lips tightly, clearly hesitant about what he's going to add next. “…We could share the shower?”

You look at him with an expression frozen between incomprehension and disgust: “What?”

“I mean, it's big enough for two people to stand without touching,” he quickly justifies, raising his hands innocently. “I could take the flexible hose, and you'd just go under the showerhead. That way we'd both get ten minutes!”

He's using the overly excited voice he takes on whenever he's giving someone his sales pitch for a new, stupid idea he's had. It might work wonders on most, but you know better than to fall for it.

“So you're that desperate to see me naked?” you sneer.

“I'm trying to be helpful here!” he complains.

If you're being honest, it's not that bad of an idea. The shower is small in width, but it's quite long, making it a very viable option for two people to use at once. If you manoeuver everything right, it'll almost be like you're taking a long, nice ten-minute shower on your own.

“Fine,” you capitulate, making sure to enunciate the word painfully slowly so he knows you're not doing it out of the kindness of your heart. “But if you tell anyone this happened, especially Viktor, I'm cutting off your balls and using them to-”

“Yeah, got it, wouldn't want Viktor to think you like me,” he taunts mockingly, puckering his lips in a false kiss at the other man's name.

It's the first time you've agreed to an idea from Jayce, and you're already regretting it.

“Just shut up and get in the fucking shower,” you spit out, going back to the main room without sparing him another look. “Face the wall and call me when you're done. There’s no reason for this to be weird.”

—

He’s hard.

Very obviously and undeniably hard.

Jayce has been splashing his face with cold water for the last few minutes, to no avail. He's tried every technique he can possibly think of: running in place, breathing exercises, imagining his abuelita naked, nothing is working.

The only thing he can visualize is your body, completely bare in that shower, only a few inches away from his. The water pouring down from your hair to your shoulders, to your breasts, and then alongside the curves of your thighs, and your ass-

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself in the empty bathroom.

It's not a secret to anyone that Jayce likes you. Neither is it a secret that you're utterly uninterested and only have eyes for Viktor, except perhaps for Viktor himself. It's kind of unfair how two-thirds of Viktor's lab partners are in love with him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get it, and that his eyes never lingered on that little mole above Viktor's lip for longer than they should have. But damn it, he wants you. He wants you to want him. Is that such an unfair thing to ask for?

You've got so much fight, so much fire in you, and he gets dizzy off the smouldering look in your eyes whenever you disagree with him. And disagree, you do: he wants to use lithium batteries, you want to use sodium. He wants to focus on reducing energy intake for the prototype, you want to focus on adding new components to it. He offers to order pizza for the group after a long day of work, you'll hear of nothing but sushi.

It drives him insane, but less in a way that makes him despise you, and more in one that makes him angrily rub his cock raw every night at the thought of that angry pout on your lips.

“-ayce! You alive in there?” comes your voice from the other room. He groans in frustration. This is a spectacular disaster in the making, and he's sitting front and center for it.

He's made his own bed and now he has to lie in it.

“You can come in!” he yells back with a noticeable crack in his voice. Not a great start.

His heart skips a beat when he hears the door creak open and close. The rustling of clothes being taken off one by one, the sound of pants dropping on the tile floor, and the unmistakable click of a bra being unhooked.

The door to the shower slides, and he feels you enter the confined space. It's ridiculous how close you are to him; he can smell the sweat off your skin, the faded scent of your perfume. His cock gives a small twitch and he glares down at it in betrayal. ‘Not now!’

You don't say a word as you turn on the faucet, the old plumbing in the walls hissing slightly before water starts to pour down on the both of you. He's not usually one for the cold, but it's refreshing, washing away the feeling of stickiness on his skin. He hums under his breath in delight; maybe it'll actually just be an awkward but relaxing shower, in the end.

The temperature rises slowly but surely, from cool to tepid, tepid to lukewarm, and then… it stops. He waits a few more seconds, throwing a discreet glance behind him to find you haven't fully turned the faucet on the hot side.

“Could you… put it warmer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“It's plenty warm enough as is,” you reply flatly.

Now you're lying just to go against him; it's barely any warmer than if he was bathing outside in the lake.

“Why would you even fight for the hot water if you're not gonna use it?” he mumbles.

You moan dramatically in complaint: “Fine, princess, I'll bump it up.”

He sees your hand reach for the faucet, grab it… and bring it less than a centimetre closer to the warm side.

“Seriously?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, seriously, now start washing your greasy hair before there's no hot water left at all,” you scold him, like he's nothing more than a snivelling toddler, and not a man twice your size.

Alright, enough is enough.

“What are you-” you protest at his sudden movement, his bicep pressing up against your shoulder.

“I'm turning the hot water on so I don't die in here,” he snaps back, trying to get a feel for the faucet while still looking away from you for the sake of modesty.

“Absolutely not, stay on your side!” you admonish him angrily. You attempt to push him back, pointedly refusing to look in his direction as you blindly slap his arm away. “Wait, Jayce-”

It happens too fast for either of you to figure out what's happening. One minute you're back to back, a respectable distance from one another, and the next you've both slipped, his arms boxing you into the narrow side of the shower with your legs bumping together.

Your eyes are locked into his for a few long, painful seconds. Neither of you are moving. You're trapped in a precarious game of jenga, where you can't even see which parts can safely be removed without you collapsing on each other.

“Whatever you do,” you exhale slowly. “Don't look down.”

You visibly regret your words as soon as you say them; you must have forgotten it’s Jayce you’re talking to.

He immediately looks down.

You put an arm up over your chest with an indignant yelp, and he quickly defends himself:

“Why would you tell me to not look down? That's like saying ‘Don't think of an elephant’!”

You're staying silent, your lips into a tight line, but he's certain you're thinking of an elephant right now. He smiles boastfully and you shoot him a deadly glare, before looking away to the side. It's the first time he's ever seen that awkward little blush on your cheeks without the conversation being about Viktor. That's a win in his book.

“It's fine,” you repeat once more like a broken record, and it’s definitely more meant to reassure yourself than to keep up a pleasant conversation with him. “I'll just… squish back against the wall while you close your eyes, and I'll direct you back to the other side. No problem.”

You sound less convinced than he's ever heard you before. He must have succeeded in turning the faucet to the side during the whole debacle, because the water has grown noticeably warmer, clouds of steam starting to form in the air. The atmosphere inside the shower is shifting ever so slightly.

He doesn't want to move.

He doesn't want to close his eyes.

The colour of your cheeks has grown darker from the heat, your lips slightly parted around every audible respiration.

“Would you wanna stay like this… if it was with Viktor?” he asks breathlessly.

You look back at him with genuine confusion, and he's honestly just as surprised as you are.

“What?”

“I…” It's getting harder to think. All his blood is rushing south, leaving him dangerously light-headed. What is he saying? “I… asked if you'd stay like this if it wasn't me in the shower. If it was Viktor.”

Your frown deepens. Your eyebrows always do this cute little thing where one furrows just slightly more than the other, but he's never gotten to observe it from this close. He lets his thoughts travel into dangerous territory. Do you wear that same expression when you're on your knees, sucking some other guy off? Would you look like that for Viktor?

“I don't see how that's relevant,” you retort harshly, but your gaze is elusive. You can't hide from him, not when his face is merely inches away from yours.

“Humor me,” he requests again.

“Fine, yeah, I would! Are you happy now?” you snap, eyes locking back into his with fiery resentment.

You're embarrassed.

He's never seen you rattled like this before. The energy in the shower is electric, now, coursing through his veins like a drug. ‘There will never be another moment like this’, the voice in the back of his head provides, syrupy sweet. It’s without a doubt the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he can’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I could show you what he's into,” he almost whispers, the deafening sound of water hitting the ceramic flooring almost too loud for him to hear himself.

He knows that you've heard him with the way your eyes widen, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I mean, guys, we talk,” he explains, the words now coming out of him like the rambles of a madman. He’s in too deep to back out: it’s sink or swim. “About the stuff we like, the stuff we dream about. I could tell you what he's told me, and you can practice. On me.”

An eternity passes before you speak again, mouth just barely agape. But you're not yelling at him. You're not slapping him in the face. In fact, you're not even frowning; the expression you’re wearing is oddly vulnerable and open, like you're seeing him in a different light than you ever have before.

“You're fucking gross, Talis,” you breathe out slowly. “You really think I'm that easy?”

This*,* whatever this is, is so fragile he’s scared of shattering it by being too loud. Like he’s talking to a wild animal.

“I don't,” he promises in a low voice. “But I think you're smart, and dedicated, and you wouldn't let an opportunity to know something so personal about Viktor pass you by.”

The steam has fully blurred the glass panels around the both of you, and it feels like you're inside one of those snow globes Jayce's mother used to bring back for him from her travels when he was a kid. It's weirdly ethereal, warm and cold, frozen out of any known space and time. He’s never heard you stay silent this long, and the anticipation makes his throat burn.

“Fine,” you finally say. “But if you tell anyone-”

“Yeah I know, you'll cut my balls off,” he lets out with a small laugh, slightly delirious. He's half convinced he's dreaming. “Are we good?”

You nod without a word, shifting your head to the side slightly to avoid his gaze. He hesitantly brings a hand to your chin, holding it like you're made of glass. You don't recoil at his touch, so he gently presses it upwards, making you look at him again.

“Viktor likes it when people kiss him softly,” he smiles shyly, his heart beating as loudly in his chest as it did for his very first kiss. It’s like he’s watching a movie, like none of it is truly real. He closes the gap between the two of you slowly, waiting for you to pull away; but you don't. Your lips meet his, and it's everything he could have ever wanted.

You taste of rainwater and cherry chapstick. You’re soft in the way described by jazzy love songs, smooth and electric, a puzzle piece that just feels so unbelievably right. He wants to wrap his arms around you, hold you so tight this never has to come to an end, leave marks on your skin no shower could ever get rid of.

But he doesn't. He can't.

This is a fantasy that’s only animated by mutual gain. It’s not the climax of a romance film where the hero finally gets to kiss the heroine under the rain.

But God, does he want to pretend it is.

You pull away first, and he doesn't miss it: the millisecond where your eyes open and you look at him like he's the one you want to be kissing. The almost imperceptible moment where you're still imagining you're kissing Viktor and not him, where your irises shine brightly with so much happiness and love.

But it's already gone, like it never even happened, and you quickly wipe your lips with the back of your hand. You’re not in a beautiful London street amid a gentle downpour with your soulmate: you’re in a cramped shower in a motel, with a guy you don’t even vaguely care for.

“You should shave your stubble. It's annoying,” you mumble.

‘Viktor doesn't have one’, the sentence heavily implies. It stings, but he's not about to back off just from that either. Not when he's been given a chance like this.

“Viktor also likes it when kissing is a bit of a fight,” he adds, sounding much too eager and desperate for his own liking. “Biting, tugging hair, that kind of stuff.”

It's not a lie, per se; he's only ever seen Viktor kiss someone once, when they were undergrads. It was an end-of-semester party, and Viktor had had way too many vodka red bulls for a man of his stature and health. Jayce had found him on a couch, limbs entangled with a stranger who seemed equally as drunk, and absolutely devouring their face off.

Viktor had asked him to never let him near caffeinated cocktails again the next morning.

You look slightly skeptical, analyzing him for any signs of deception; it looks as though you find none, because you're the one who initiates this time, and there you are, the fiery woman he's fallen head over heels for.

You're going to war on him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, savagely shoving your tongue in his mouth, one hand entangled in the hair at the back of his head while the other ferociously holds his throat in place, nails digging into his heartbeat. He responds eagerly, letting you mistreat him, encouraging you with muffled groans.

It hurts, and he wants it to never end. He can taste blood in his mouth, the metallic tinge making him dizzy, and he's so hard he could cum if you just touched his dick with a finger. He whines pathetically when you break the kiss for air, disoriented, a strand of saliva connecting you both still.

“A-aouch,” he can only manage to say jokingly.

You lean back against the tile wall, slightly breathless; you wipe away drops of red on your lip, smudging them down towards your chin, the look of a feral animal in your pupils. He feels his already rock-hard cock twitch. Hot.

“This is about what Viktor likes, not what you like. Toughen up, Talis,” you spit back.

Before he has time to formulate a reply, you're back on him, and now he's incapable of stopping himself from humping your thigh like an animal. You don't refuse him or push him away, even mercifully angelling your hip to the side to give him easier access. There's nothing but you, all over him, inside of him, tearing him apart and putting him back together. It's absolutely pathetic, and he knows it, but he can feel his release arriving in the pit of his stomach. He's wanted this for so long, there's just no way to delay it anymore.

It only takes a few more seconds before his orgasm hits him hard, the wave of pleasure making his whole body still as a plank, while you're still sucking harshly the vein on the side of his neck. He cries out once, broken and wanton, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

He comes down from the high in time to see the last of his cum painting your hip white before it gets washed away with the water. You detach yourself from him unceremoniously, putting some distance between your bodies with a frown.

“Did you just…?”

There's no room for pretending here. He's just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life from nothing but a fucking kiss from you. It's like he's a teenager all over again, face redder than a tomato and eyes escaping yours guiltily.

“You came. You came by just making out with me,” you repeat, visibly caught halfway between incredulity and mockery.

“I just haven't gotten laid in a while, that's it!” he justifies vehemently. He needs to change the topic quickly, or you’ll never let him live this down. “I'm always busy at the lab doing the paperwork you always skip out on!”

That thankfully seems to take your attention away from his premature accident; he's never been so grateful for your short temper.

“Seriously? You’re going to bring that up right now?” you bark, shoving him in the chest angrily.

He can still turn this around. He might not have much control over his first release, today ridiculously so, but he's been blessed with excellent stamina and a very short recovery period. Jayce is good at selling himself with speeches, and even though you're usually immune to anything that comes out of his mouth, he's willing to cheat this once and use the one chink in your armour he knows about.

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed,” he tempts you in a tone of indifference.

Your silence speaks volumes; he's got you again. Yes, it's incredibly manipulative, and when this is over he's going to spend hours turning over in his bed and despising himself. He’s always believed in doing things the fair way, the right way, and that one day he’d manage to lower your defences and etch a place into your heart all of his own merits.

But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

What kind of man does that make him?

That’s a thought he’ll just have to keep for later.

Taglist Darlings: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, @urfavlarry , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth

[arn359]

[Your soul is ignited]

[You are filled with passion]

Today i suddenly got ideas for my Swapfell AU after i decided to change the plot. And new ideas flowing real fast.

After I thought about soul mode like Papyrus"you're blue now" and Muffet purple soul. My brain was like "wait? What's about Orange soul mode?" Then we got Grillby here.

I think his soul mode would affect mentally rather than physically. Maybe it could buff the player? but it just my Swapfell AU and it doesn't really need a game system rn 😂 so forget it

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: possessive & obsessive sukuna, choking, lowkey stalking translations: piccola - little one/baby notes: listen to "salvatore" by lana del rey wc: 1.7k

In the dimly lit underbelly of the city, where shadows whispered secrets and alleys told tales of violence, there existed a figure feared and revered in equal measure: Sukuna Ryomen, the enigmatic leader of the most dangerous gang. His name struck terror into the hearts of those who dared oppose him, while his charisma drew countless souls into his fold.

Sukuna was a man who commanded respect without uttering a word. His mere presence exuded power, his icy gaze capable of silencing even the boldest of adversaries. With a network spanning the city's underworld, he held dominion over illicit trades, clandestine operations, and the very pulse of criminal activity.

Yet, amidst the chaos and the conquests, there was one enigma that eluded Sukuna’s grasp: a woman whose allure ignited a fire within him. You, a mysterious beauty with a spirit as untamed as the flames dancing in the night. You moved with a grace that defied the chaos around you, a silent tempest in the midst of the storm.

From the moment Sukuna laid eyes on you, he knew you were unlike any other. You were not bound by the rules of his world, nor swayed by the promises of power and wealth. Instead, you remained an enigmatic force, unyielding and unattainable.

Driven by an insatiable desire, Sukuna sought to possess you, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded your existence. He offered you riches beyond measure, a throne by his side where you could rule the underworld together. Yet, each offer was met with a gentle refusal, as you remained steadfast in your independence.

Frustration festered within Sukuna's heart, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He was a man accustomed to getting what he desired, yet you remained beyond his reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of his ambitions.

Despite his best efforts to suppress the yearning that gnawed at his soul, Sukuna found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to the flame. He watched from the shadows as you moved through the city, a silent guardian cloaked in mystery.

In the depths of the night, when the city slumbered and dreams took flight, Sukuna found himself haunted by visions of your captivating gaze. You were the one anomaly in his meticulously crafted world, the one puzzle he could not solve.

And so, amidst the chaos and the conquests, Sukuna Ryomen, a formidable leader, found himself ensnared by the one thing he could not possess: the heart of a woman who danced beyond his reach, a forbidden desire that burned brighter than any flame in the darkness.

In the depths of his lavish office, Sukuna sat with unwavering determination, his gaze fixed on the phone before him. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, a molten rage that threatened to erupt at any moment. With a swift motion, he seized the device, his fingers dancing across the screen with a commanding presence.

"Where are you, piccola?" he typed, each word a declaration of his unwavering dominance. "You cannot hide from me forever. I will find you, and when I do, you will answer to me."

There was no room for hesitation in Sukuna's messages, no trace of the desperation that had once plagued him. Instead, his words dripped with authority, each message a demand for her submission.

"Do not test my patience" he continued, his tone brooking no defiance. "You belong to me, and you will come to me willingly. There is no escape from my grasp."

With each message sent, Sukuna's resolve hardened, his determination driving him forward with unrelenting force. He would not be denied what was rightfully his, not by anyone, especially not by a woman who dared to defy him.

"Tell me where you are," he commanded, "I will not ask again."

But still, there was no response, no sign of surrender. Anger flared within Sukuna's chest, a wildfire of fury that threatened to consume him whole.

"If you think you can hide from me, you are sorely mistaken," his words a warning laced with venom. "I will tear this world apart to find you, and when I do, you will regret ever crossing me, piccola."

With a final message sent, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He would not rest until you were in his grasp, until you bowed before him in submission. For in Sukuna Ryomen's world, there was no room for defiance, only dominance and control. And he would have it all, no matter the cost.

As Sukuna's fingers hovered over the screen, poised to send yet another commanding message, the door to his office swung open with a forceful creak. In strode one of his most trusted lieutenants, a figure cloaked in shadows and whispers, bearing news that ignited a spark of hope within Sukuna’s hardened heart.

"Boss," the subordinate – Toji – began, his voice low and deferential, "we've received word. She... she's in Miami."

The words hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of victory amidst the tumultuous storm of Sukuna's emotions. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat, his movements swift and decisive.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "We leave immediately."

There was a sense of urgency in Sukuna’s tone, a hunger that burned brighter with each passing second. Miami beckoned like a siren's call, its neon-lit – ruby, blue and green, neon too – streets promising the chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.

As his subordinates scrambled to fulfill his orders, Sukuna's mind raced with thoughts of the woman who had eluded him for far too long. He could almost taste the sweet victory that lay within his grasp, the moment when you would finally bend to his will.

With a steely resolve and a heart set ablaze with determination, Sukuna embarked on his journey to Miami, a man possessed by a singular purpose: to capture the one who dared to defy him and to assert his dominance once and for all.

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its golden rays upon the pristine sands of the Miami beach. Among the throngs of sun-seekers, Sukuna strode with purpose, his eyes scanning the shoreline with a predatory intensity. And there, amidst the azure waves and the gentle sway of palm trees, he spotted you.

You laid upon the sand, a vision of beauty that stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. Clad in a bikini that left little to the imagination, you exuded an aura of confidence that only served to fuel his desire. Your bronzed skin glowed beneath the sun's warm embrace, your tousled hair cascading like silk upon the sand.

With measured steps, Sukuna approached, his gaze never wavering from the woman who had haunted his every thought. He stood before you now, a towering figure clad in shadows and sinew, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to gaze upon him.

"Piccola," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You cannot hide from me forever."

There was a flicker of defiance in your eyes, a spark that ignited the flames of desire within Sukuna's chest. But he would not be deterred, not by your beauty nor by your resolve. He had come too far, fought too hard, to let you slip through his fingers once again.

"You belong to me," he declared, his words laced with a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "And now, you will come with me."

But you remained unmoved, your gaze steady as you met his with a defiance that stirred something primal within him. You were a challenge, a tantalizing puzzle that begged to be solved, and Sukuna was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

“I was working on my tan, boss.”

"Working on your tan," he repeated, his voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within him. "In Miami, of all places."

There was a subtle tension in the air, a silent battle of wills as you and Sukuna locked gazes. Your defiance sparked a flicker of admiration within him, even as it fueled the flames of his frustration.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone cool and composed. "Is there a problem with that?"

Sukuna's jaw clenched, a silent testament to the storm of emotions swirling beneath his stoic facade. He had come too far, searched too long, to be met with such casual indifference.

"No problem," he finally replied, his voice a low growl. "But I must insist that you accompany me. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Your lips curved into a sardonic smile, a glimmer of amusement dancing in your eyes. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, boss. I have many businesses, all of them quite finished."

Sukuna's patience wore thin, his frustration bubbling to the surface like molten lava. He had pursued you across oceans and continents, faced down countless adversaries in his quest to claim you as his own. And yet, she remained as elusive as ever, a tantalizing enigma that refused to be solved.

"Enough games, piccola," he snapped, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "You cannot hide from me forever. Sooner or later, you will bend to my will."

The tension crackled between you like electricity as Sukuna's hand shot out, seizing you by the throat with a force that bordered on violence. His grip was firm, unyielding, a silent declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still as you stood locked in a primal embrace, your gazes locked in a fierce battle of wills. But beneath the surface, a different kind of energy simmered—a raw, unbridled desire that pulsed between you like a current of electricity.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as Sukuna's grip tightened, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin like branding marks. And yet, there was no fear in your eyes, only a smoldering heat that mirrored his own.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with a tantalizing promise. "You cannot resist me, piccola," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You were made for me, and you know it."

A shudder ran through your body as you felt the heat of Sukunas breath against your skin, your pulse racing with a heady mixture of fear and excitement. You knew that you were as drawn to him as he was to you—a dangerous truth that sent a thrill coursing through your veins.

“You will always belong to me.”

[milkiisss]

Caleb; My Soldier

✧.* Summary Pt. 1 of my Lads Bridgerton Au Series, focusing on Caleb; a man who after many years of close friendship, seemingly disappears without a trace. But just as you've come to accept the ache of his loss, the familiar figure reappears in your life, this time, a stark contrast to the young man you once knew.

✧.* Authors Note As mentioned before, this is only a small Drabble! There are some nsfw insinuations here, but nothing explicit. If these gain enough traction, I plan on writing full "Pt. 2's" for each Li, focusing on the confession of their stories, as well as what happens after ;) Stay tuned!

For as long as you can remember, Caleb and you were inseparable.

You practically grew up together, his familial home a short distance from your own. Many of your summers were painted with the colors of his laughter, the mischievous curve of his smile, and the warmth of his familiar presence.

And although the seasons changed and you both grew older, he remained.

Constant.

Familiar.

Unabashedly him.

But life, as it often does, had other plans.

Because before you could even begin to understand the depths of your feelings for him, he was gone.

Of course, he had promised you he would return, his words earnest and laced with that boyish charm you had known all your life. “I’ll write to you,” he had said, his voice steady, his violet eyes holding your own as he bid you farewell, “Every chance I get.”

And for a while he did. His letters arrived like clockwork, each one filled to the brim with stories of his travels, his humor, and his longing for home, family, and more importantly, you.  And you, ever enamored with his words, eagerly replied, pouring your heart out into every letter you wrote.

But as the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, his letters grew fewer and farther in between, until eventually, one day they stopped.

At first, you told yourself it was the war. He was busy, overwhelmed, and perhaps even unable to find the time or means to write to you. You knew him better than your lingering insecurities, and you knew that he would never hurt you.

But time passed, and it became harder and harder to come up excuses on his behalf, so you didn't. You tried to bury the pain, to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that he didn't matter. After all, he was a soldier and you were just a girl from his childhood.

You told yourself some friendships are meant to fade, repeating it until the words became ingrained in your very soul, allowing you the space and time to fully accept the loss of him from your life.

But here you are now.

Standing amidst the glittering splendor of your first ball since being presented to the queen, your breath catches as your gaze locks onto a figure that is both achingly familiar and yet startlingly different.

Caleb.

But not the Caleb you knew, no. This man was taller, broader, his form filling out the decorated fabrics of his uniform, riddled with medals you could only begin to imagine held great meaning.

And his face, one that was once so carefree and hopeful, now carried the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. His eyes, once bright with joy, now seemed dimmer, and for a second you fear that perhaps that happiness is gone forever.

Yet, when those eyes—the very same piercing violet eyes you once knew—find yours across the candlelit ballroom, they ignite with a spark of recognition, and you swear your whole world stops spinning.

Because that devastating, heart-stopping smile that you swore you would never see again, causes your breath to catch; and in that moment you realize that perhaps the Caleb you once knew is still there.

You try to ignore it, of course. The way your heart picks up whenever he is near, the way your chest buzzes when he guides you through each dizzying dance. It’s nothing more than excitement, you tell yourself, a fleeting feeling, a trick of the mind due to years of missing him.

He is your friend. Your Caleb. And you would rather cling to the safety of that friendship than risk shattering it with the weight of something more. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk him. Not when you’ve just gotten him back.

So you continue that familiar dance that you were used to, laughing with him in the corner of each ballroom, listening to the thousands of stories he tells you, each more riveting than the last.

It's different. You're both older, you a lady ready for marriage, and he a decorated war hero. You've heard the whispers, seen the looks you've gotten from judgmental mamas—yet for some reason—you can't bring yourself to care. You've waited too long to push him away now, even if your relationship is "improper" in the eyes of the ton, and you were never one for trivial gossip in any case.

So why care now?

But what you don’t see, however, is their judgment comes with reason.

Because unbeknownst to you, there is a storm raging within him.

You haunt him. You’ve always haunted him, Invading his thoughts, his dreams, his every waking moment.

And seeing you now, after years of clinging to his memories of you, real, and so ethereally beautiful, he can't help it.

He can't help the way his gaze lingers on you when you’re not looking, tracing the curve of your lips, memorizing the slope of your shoulders.

He can't help the way his fists clench to his sides when you accept yet another dance–nor the way his jaw tightens when he watches you twirl with anyone who isn’t him.

And he notices it immediately as well. The way your own eyes linger on his. The subtle way your breath catches when he leans in to hear you clearer, how your fingers tighten around your glass before you avert your gaze as if straying for a second too long might cause you to burst into flames.

And oh how he wants you too.

He wants you to be selfish. He wants you to claim him. Lean in the rest of the way before he closes that distance between you, stealing each and every sound you make for himself.

He could show you so much. The depths of his desire. The depths of your desire. Claim you in all the possible ways he can. Steal each and every one of your firsts until you've bore yourself completely to him. Make up for the years he wasn't allowed to write to you, for all the years he had loved you.

But he can’t.

Not yet at least.

He is a man of honor. A man who worked his entire life in order to become worthy of you. Years spent facing atrocities in war just so that he could have the rank and means to claim you as his prize—and he would sooner endure the torture of his unspoken longing than risk your trust.

Because Caleb is nothing if not a patient man.

He knows you, just as you do him.

And although you try to deny yourself, he knows, possibly better than anyone else, that your desires always have a way of coming to the surface.

So he waits.

Patient.

Calculated.

After all, he thinks,

it’s only a matter of time.

© milkiisss 2024. Please don’t plagiarize or feed my works into ai. Dividers and headers made by me, please do not use.

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 9 - The Point Of No Return Summary: You choose to spend the night with Arthur, seeking warmth and solace in each other's arms as the storm rages outside. But as the night deepens, so does the pull between you, an unstoppable tide of desire that neither of you can no longer resist. wc: 19.7k (good god) tw: NSFW 18+, minors DNI. More under the cut. There is so many, its diabolical. Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Surprise, I said I would post this tomorrow but I actually finished it early! Oh boy, here we go. I am so out of touch with reality, touching grass is not nearly enough. Cheers!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @misosoup1001 @sarah-heyes @kindadolly @atticssmellgood @bomdada

tw: pwp. monster genitalia. two cocks. oral!both recieving. p in v, no protection. breeding kink. creampies. anal. double penetration. overstimulation. biting. primal mating instincts. dirty talk. slight pain kink. That about covers it!

I was done fighting this—done pretending my body didn’t crave him, that my soul wasn’t drawn to his like the tide to the moon. We were two creatures who should never have found each other, never have touched, never have felt this unbearable pull. 

I am human. Arthur is… not. Half-man, half-siren—a being my people dismissed as myths, whispered as warnings, something both beautiful and terrible, born of the abyss.

But he wasn’t a nightmare to me. He was a promise. One wrapped in the shimmer of a pearl, in the memory of his lips and tongue claiming me as if I already belonged to him.

I was so afraid that if I spoke one more word I’d blurt out that I was in love with him. And that was insane. I wanted to ask—did he feel it too? Could sirens even feel love? Or was this just instinct, some primal need woven into his nature? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I cared. Not when his hand slid lower, heat blooming beneath my skin where his palm lingered, leaving a fire that only he could quench.

Tonight, one way or another, I would give myself to him. I would let him take me, claim me, drown me in the depths of whatever this was. And gods help me, I was ready to beg for it.

I had no idea what it meant to be his mate. Was I about to make a terrible mistake?

Those thoughts shattered the moment his thumb grazed over my hardened nipple, slow and deliberate, as if testing how much I could take. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

With his chest flush against my back, the storm outside raged on, wind howling, rain battering the facility’s walls—but it was nothing compared to the storm unraveling between us. The heat of his body seeped through my clothes, igniting every nerve in my skin. A soft, breathless moan escaped my lips as he rolled the sensitive peak between his fingers, and I felt the warm rush of air from his gills, a shuddering exhale against my shoulder, like he was sighing in bliss.

“You’re sensitive here,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with quiet reverence, as if he was making some careful observation rather than teasing me to the edge of madness.

I nodded, arching ever so slightly, seeking more. “Yes… I am.” The words came out uneven, little more than a whisper, but he hummed in response, a pleased, knowing sound that sent a thrill through my belly.

The barrier of my clothing was unbearable, tormenting, and I silently pleaded for him to tear it away—to rid me of anything that kept his skin from mine. But Arthur, ever patient, took his time. One hand continued its torturous attention to my breasts, rolling and pinching the stiffened peaks, while the other drifted lower, tracing slow, teasing circles over my stomach. Each movement burned, his webbed fingers barely skimming the waistband of my pants, making me tremble with anticipation.

I rocked my hips forward, a silent plea, urging him to touch me where I ached the most. Instead, Arthur leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of my throat, warm breath fanning against my skin before his teeth ghosted over the pulse hammering beneath. The first pass of his tongue sent shivers through me, a slow, sinuous lick that left a trail of heat in its wake. I moaned, tilting my head, offering him more, and he took it—pressing his mouth to the column of my throat, drinking in every quiver, every shudder.

He could taste it, I realized. The need thrumming through me, the way my body betrayed me with every ragged breath, every rapid beat of my heart. Sirens could sense desire—could drown themselves in it. And Arthur… Arthur was reveling in it.

He pinched my nipple again, rougher this time, sending another wave of pleasure spiraling through me. My hips jerked, seeking friction, and before I could stop myself, I reached up. My fingers tangled in the damp hair at the base of his skull, clutching him to me. A deep, rumbling growl of pleasure vibrated against my skin, his grip tightening as his body rocked into mine.

There was no denying it now. The proof of his own need pressed against me, hard and insistent beneath his scales. His breathing had turned heavier, rougher, lips still tracing along my throat, tasting, savoring, claiming.

We were both unraveling, caught in the storm we had no hope of escaping.

Spreading his fingers wide, he finally dipped below my waistband, and my breath stilled, caught somewhere between anticipation and desperation. His touch was torturously slow as he explored lower, gliding through the dark curls before slipping into the slick heat waiting for him. My body welcomed him eagerly, a moan tumbling from my lips, raw and pleading.

Arthur hissed out a long, shuddering breath against my ear, the sound vibrating through me. His fingers flexed, carefully angling to keep his claws from scraping my sensitive skin, moving with a gentleness that made my chest ache. He explored me as if I were something sacred, something fragile despite the hunger in his touch. I arched into him, seeking more, but his palm remained just out of reach. Teasing. Testing. My frustration curled into something hotter, needier.

The webs between his fingers pressed into me, creating delicious ridges that dragged against my throbbing core. Every slow, gliding stroke sent a pulse of heat rolling through my spine. Fuck. It felt so good. So devastatingly good.

“My girl,” he growled, his voice molten, so deep and low that it settled in my bones. “You are wet… and so soft.”

The way he bit out that last word, rough and devout, sent a thrill down my spine. A whimper left my throat before I could stop it.

Arthur pressed his lips against the shell of my ear. “Move your hips for me, pretty girl. I want to watch you ride my hand.”

Something inside me shattered. A new sound spilled from me—a mix between a cry and a whimper, need unraveling into something desperate. Leaning back against him, I let my body move like a wave, rolling into his touch. Each slow, purposeful grind against his fingers had heat licking up my spine, my moans growing softer, breathier. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but fuck—he felt perfect.

I opened my eyes, my vision hazy, only to be met with Arthur’s gaze—those dark, endless pools drinking me in as his hand disappeared between my thighs. His lips curled, tongue darting out as if he could taste every slick, needy sound filling the space between us. His pupils flared, hunger darkening his expression.

Arthur leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. “Close your eyes… just feel.”

A shudder ripped through me at the command, his voice dripping with something possessive, something all-consuming.

My cheeks burned, heat licking up my neck as my breath turned frantic, every exhale breaking into little gasps. I changed my rhythm, rolling my hips faster, pressing harder, chasing that rising heat curling tight in my core. The tension coiled, winding itself into something unbearable—until it snapped.

Pleasure crashed over me like a wave, thighs shaking as I shattered around him. A long, drawn-out moan broke free from my lips, my body trembling, muscles clenching around the fingers still stroking me through it.

Arthur held me close, one hand slipping up to cup my chin, tilting my face toward his. His lips found mine in a kiss that was slow, claiming, fervent.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth. His voice was hoarse, filled with something deeper than lust. “You come so pretty, my girl.”

Drawing his fingers out, I caught the glistening evidence of my desire illuminated in the soft, pulsing glow of his bioluminescence. My breath hitched as I watched, completely entranced, while he brought his fingers to his mouth, those dark lips parting just enough for that inky blue tongue to flick out. He sucked his fingers in slowly, deliberately, his tongue lapping at his palm with a deep, indulgent hum. The ridges along the surface of it caught my attention, my mind spiraling with the thought of how they might feel dragging over my skin, exploring every inch of me.

It must feel incredible.

Arthur's gills flared wide, both at his neck and ribs, revealing the delicate, pink membranes hidden within. A shudder rolled through his body, his exhale coming out as something primal, something utterly unrestrained.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, his voice a low, reverberating thing that seemed to vibrate through my core, settling deep between my legs. “Whatever this is, I wish to coat myself in it.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up my spine, setting my skin ablaze with anticipation. And then, finally, his hands were on me again—frantic, needy—tugging at my clothes as though they were the only thing keeping him from fully devouring me. His fingers trembled slightly as they pulled at the fabric, urgency seeping into every movement.

Like I might vanish with the wind.

He yanked at my top, and I lifted my arms to help him, the garment disappearing in one swift motion. But my pants proved more of an ordeal—my legs shook as I tried to help, my body already weakened from his touch. Arthur let out a soft growl, impatience flashing across his face before he took control. His large hands wrapped around my calf, spinning me effortlessly toward him. My breath left me in a rush as he dragged my pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, the brush of his fingertips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through me.

Then he tossed them aside, forgotten.

For the first time, I stood completely bare before him. The heavy humid air kissed my overheated skin, briefly cooling the sweat that clung to me, but I barely noticed. My entire world had narrowed to the man in front of me, to the way his glowing skin reflected off the curves of my body, making me feel like something otherworldly myself.

Arthur drank me in, his gaze searing and hungry. Barely contained restraint coiled through his muscles, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap.

I should be afraid. A small, distant voice in my head whispered that I should tell him to stop. That I was standing before something not entirely human, something born from myth, from nightmares.

But I wasn’t afraid.

Somewhere deep inside me, I knew he would be gentle. That he would take his time before fully claiming me.

And all at once, I wanted to know him. To explore him. And to be explored. I had a feeling Arthur wanted the same thing. 

"Teach me how humans mate," Arthur spoke, his voice rough, the words clawing up his throat like he was trying—desperately—to hold himself back.

I faced him fully now, shuffling forward on my knees, closing the space between us until my breasts nearly brushed against his chest. His breathing was uneven, ragged, his gills flaring open as though he couldn’t quite get enough air. I tried to keep my focus locked onto his face, not letting my gaze drift too low—to where his human torso met the shimmering scales of his tail. That junction between two worlds, two forms.

Instead, I leaned in, close enough that the delicate fins near where his ear would be quivered from my breath.

"Remember when I said humans like to kiss everywhere?" I asked, voice soft, teasing.

Arthur nodded, the movement stiff, restrained. Something inside me thrilled at the way he held himself so still, at the way his body hummed with tension just beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the moment to strike.

A rush of boldness overtook me, a primal instinct answering his own. Slowly, I lifted one knee over his lap, straddling him fully, my weight settling onto the powerful expanse of his tail. The moment our bodies met, slick against slick, his breath hitched. He was wet—just as wet as I was—and that realization sent a spark of heat raging through me, settling low in my stomach.

I felt my lips brush against the sensitive seam of his mating slit, the place where he was still keeping himself hidden from me. Not yet, his body seemed to say. Not until he was ready. But he felt me there, pressing against that heat, and his whole frame went rigid beneath me.

Like he was unsure what to do next.

I let my full weight sink down on him, savoring the way his hands flexed against me, how his fingers twitched at my waist like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. Reaching for one of those broad, webbed hands, I guided it to my breast, shivering as he cupped me with a gentleness that made my stomach tighten. His fingers squeezed—tentative at first, then firmer as he felt my body respond to his touch.

"Well..." I exhaled, breathless, eyes fluttering shut as a slow, aching warmth spread through my core. "Kiss me wherever you like."

A sharp sound tore from his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, his fingers spasming at my waist. Then he moved—instinct taking over—his head dipping low as he pressed a lazy, weighted lick over the curve of my breast.

Heat flashed through me, my back bowing as a startled hiss escaped my lips. Arthur didn’t stop. His tongue, ridged and hot, dragged over my nipple in a long, sweeping stroke, the sensation nearly overwhelming. The growl that rumbled against my skin only made the coil inside me tighten further.

Gods above.

His mouth—that mouth—latched onto me, his lips sealing over the sensitive bud, sucking, tasting, devouring. His tongue flicked, his sharp teeth grazing my skin without breaking it, just a whisper of danger curling at the edges of pleasure.

I arched against him, hands flying to his head, fingers digging into the thick, damp strands of his hair as I held him there, desperate for more. Arthur made a sound of approval, the vibrations rippling straight through me, and then his other hand traced up my spine, urging me to lean back, offering myself to him.

And I did.

I let him hold me open, let my body stretch and bend for him. And as I shifted, as my hips rolled forward, I felt it—something new.

Instead of the firm, smooth ridges of his finger webs, this time, I met something softer. Something slick and hot and pulsing. My clit rubbed against his, throbbing and oh so sensitive. The folds of his slit pressed against me, and I realized—our bodies were kissing in more ways than one.

But fuck, those ridges.

They were so distracting, so different—so much a reminder that he was not a human man. And yet, that only fueled my hunger, my need to know him, to understand every foreign, exquisite part of him. I wanted to know every difference. Every inch. Every piece that set him apart.

I dragged my nails down the back of his neck, tracing the delicate, bioluminescent patterns there, feeling the warmth of his blood pulsing just beneath the surface. The tremor that coursed through him at my touch. And beneath me—gods—I could feel the steady, pulsing rhythm of his twin heartbeats against my clit, where we met, where our heat mixed and tangled. A rhythm that felt dangerously in sync with my own.

A deep, guttural growl erupted from his chest, vibrating through my skin, making my stomach tighten with longing. The sound was primal, possessive, a predator reveling in his claim.

I wanted him to lose control. Wanted to feel him shatter against me.

Then there was a sharp nip.

Arthurs lips left my breast, only for his sharp teeth to close over my nipple in a teasing bite. I gasped, a quick, startled sound, pleasure tinged with the faintest sting—until his tongue was there, soothing, laving over the mark with slow, languid strokes. My head tipped back, spine curving as I let myself feel it. The wet heat, the soft scrape of ridges. 

Those iridescent threads. His mark.

He pulled back, his eyes locked onto my chest, staring at where his mouth had been. Something primal flashed across his features, a mix of pride and possession.

Following his gaze, I looked down. Beautiful, glimmering strands of his touch radiated from my nipple, delicate yet meticulous. The patterns mirrored those that lined his tail—intricate, artistic, like brushstrokes from a painter’s hand.

I shuddered. He was painting me. Claiming me.

“I like it,” I whispered, voice breathy, tinged with wonder. “I like knowing that you were here.”

And I did. Gods help me, I really did.

The thought of his marks hidden beneath my clothes—just like the ones on my ear, little pinpricks of salt-laced pain—it thrilled me. A reminder that I was taking something ancient, something untamed, to my bed. Arthur wasn’t human, and that truth only made me crave him more. And he would take me exactly how he wanted.

Arthur’s smile stretched across his face, soft at the edges but smoldering in the center. It was slow and devastating. His eyes crinkled as he licked his lips—as if he could still taste me there.

“I lose myself when you touch me, my love.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.”

His hands slid up my thighs, fingers lingering, exploring, memorizing. Then, with effortless strength, he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around my back as he carried me with him into the water.

The coolness rushed over me in a stark contrast to the feverish heat we had built between us, and I gasped as the sensation sent goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"I want to savor you," Arthur murmured, voice like a promise against my lips. "Not rush this."

I shuddered at the promise in his voice. “Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

Leaning up, I let my tongue glide from his lips to his throat and then gills, feeling his skin twitch beneath the touch. The reaction was instant, involuntarily. A shudder wracked through him, his gills flaring wide, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass with a bruising grip.

A pleased growl rumbled from his chest, deep and low. “Gods, you are so fucking perfect.”

And then he sealed his mouth over mine once again. The moment I breathed him in, he pulled me under.

The water enveloped us in a cool, silken embrace, the world above dissolving into muted ripples. My senses sharpened—the strength of his arms around me, the steady thrumming of his twin heartbeats against my chest, the way his body fit against mine as if molded by the sea itself. His lips never left mine, coaxing, devouring, claiming.

Beneath the water, we moved as one, our bodies shifting, adjusting, discovering. Fingers tracing, mouths tasting, breaths mingling in the space between us.

I opened my eyes, finding his already watching me. And in that endless, glowing blue, I saw it—the hunger, the awe, the reverence.

This was no simple act of desire. Arthur wasn’t just taking me. He was drowning in me. 

And gods help me, I wanted to drown with him.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Moving quickly through the tank, I had little time to process exactly where Arthur was taking me. The water, dark and thick, swirled around us, alive with hidden movement. 

I closed my eyes, leaning in closer, tucking my head under Arthur's chin as he guided us effortlessly through the darkness. Trusting him, every inch of me surrendering to the rhythm of his movements. There was a strange peace in that—letting go completely, not needing to know where we were headed.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my mind. Was he taking me back to his underwater cave? That dark, secret place where he'd made a nest for himself? It seemed cozy for someone like him, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I would fit into that picture. It was his world, and the thought of mating there instead of making love like humans did felt strangely daunting. It was as if everything about him was alien, untouchable, even though his touch burned through me with a heat I couldn’t escape.

I tried to push the thought aside. I could breathe through him, of course, but the idea of slipping up—of inhaling a lungful of water—sent a sudden pang of fear through me. The panic threatened to pull me out of the moment, to make me pull away, but then I felt him, strong and sure, guiding us deeper.

The faint sound of a lock clicking, followed by the soft hiss of something sliding open, pulled my attention back. What was that? Had he figured out a way to enter different parts of the tank? My thoughts swirled with curiosity, but before I could process it, he pushed us to the surface.

The cool rush of air met my face, and I inhaled deeply, tasting the fresh sea salt on my tongue. I opened my eyes, blinking to adjust to the change in light. It took me a moment, but then it hit me. I recognized the space around us.

We were in the Atlantic seal exhibit—the one at the back of the facility. It was open-air, but sheltered beneath a massive pavilion. The glass walls that surrounded the pool protected the seals from the elements, and the storm outside was beginning to lose its fury.

The seals had been brought inside for safety, their sleek bodies resting in the shallows. The water here was calm, warm, and much shallower than before, and the edges of the pool curved, inviting the seals to rest on the soft dips. It felt almost tranquil, a contrast to the storm that raged just beyond the walls.

But what truly caught my attention, what held me in place for a moment, was the view beyond the glass.

The open ocean stretched out below us, a wild, dark expanse, and the last remnants of the hurricane were fading away. The clouds were parting slowly, leaving behind a blanket of stars, so sharp and vivid they almost seemed too close. The storm’s thunder had quieted to a low rumble in the distance, almost like the earth itself was sighing in relief.

For a fleeting second, it felt as if the world had slowed, as if I could see everything in the universe, all at once, and still—I only wanted him.

Arthur released me from his embrace, and I slowly stepped away, my feet barely reaching the bottom of the pool as I moved toward the glass. The water lapped softly around me, the ripples glistening in the dim light as I knelt on the dip in the pool, pushing myself out of the water. As I did, gooseflesh prickled across my skin, a divergence from the heat that still lingered on me from his touch. 

The ocean breeze, cool and refreshing, swept through me, kissing my flesh like a lover’s soft caress. I closed my eyes and let it wash over, feeling the weight of the storm outside beginning to recede, and I drank in the sensation. The air felt pure, eclectic, a relief from the suffocating humidity of the facility without its air circulation.

I savored the moment, as if the world had paused just for me to take it in.

I felt him before I heard him. Arthur, swimming up behind me, his presence as natural as the water that flowed around us. He joined my side, his movements fluid and effortless. He pushed himself up onto the lip of the pool, his torso settling comfortably on the edge. His gaze, however, was lost, staring beyond the glass, at the endless stretch of ocean and the crashing waves below. 

There was something about the way he looked out at it, a deep, quiet longing that tugged at something inside me. His muscles rippled slightly, his back arched in a way that made the light catch on his skin, revealing the subtle curve of his powerful form.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, his voice thick and low, full of unspoken emotions, “I’ve been sneakin’ in here after hours to watch the sunrise.”

I glanced up at him, my heart skipping a beat at the way he seemed to blend into the shadows and the soft light, almost as if he were part of the ocean itself. I stood on the dipped edge of the pool, my head barely reaching his chin, and I felt the vulnerability of the moment—the closeness between us, but also the weight of his words.

With gentle hands, I brought his face back to mine, my fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. I tilted his head just enough to look into his eyes, hoping he could see my sincerity, the quiet plea in my gaze.

“You can go wherever you please, Arthur,” I whispered, my voice soft but certain. “This place,” I swept my arm around the pool, motioning to the space around us, “this facility—it’s not a cage. If you wish to leave, I’ll make it happen.” My throat tightened as I searched for the right words. "I never want you to feel like you're..." I trailed off, knowing it wasn’t as simple as that.

Arthur’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, but it was his eyes that spoke louder than any words. They told me something far more complicated than just the idea of freedom. They told me about a man torn between the world he was forced to live in and the world he wanted. 

And as much as I wanted to give him everything, to take him away from all this, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. 

I swallowed, feeling the weight of the truth settle in my chest. No matter how I spun it, the truth was clear—he was trapped here, at least for now. The world outside had hurt him too much. The people who had done this to him needed to be held accountable, and I would make sure they were. Whether it was behind bars, or not breathing at all. But for now, we were stuck in this cage together.

Before I could voice any of those tangled thoughts, Arthur’s deep voice, familiar and reassuring, rumbled through me, “I’m right where I want to be, darlin’.”

And in that moment, with the soft crash of the waves and the quiet hum of the night around us, I realized that maybe he was right.

Leaning down, Arthur captured me in another kiss, his lips devouring mine with an urgency that took my breath away. His hands grasped me tightly, pulling me closer, and as I moved, his tail slid between my legs, the strong muscles and smooth scales gliding against my clit. The heat surged back, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the water, as if it had never truly left. I felt the pulse of his presence in every inch of my skin, the weight of him, the intensity of everything that had brought us here.

In this position, Arthur was above me, his body looming like a protective force, a reminder of that first morning we spent together. That day, when I had explored him with nothing but curiosity and a featherlight touch, unsure of what I would find. Now, it was a different kind of exploration, deeper, more intimate. 

My fingers traced down his neck, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath my touch, and then over the delicate curve of his gills. They fluttered under my fingertips like fragile wings, their texture a world of their own. I marveled at how strong and yet so vulnerable they were, the way they moved with his breath, rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrored the twin heartbeats within his chest.

When my hands reached the larger gills on his side, Arthur froze. I could feel his body tense, every muscle going rigid at the lightest touch. I ghosted my fingers over the delicate filaments, and he shuddered beneath me, his breath hitching.

"S-sweetheart," his voice was shaky, strained, "when you touch me like that, it's..."

A giggle escaped my throat, the sound light but filled with an unmistakable thrill. "Sensitive?" I teased, my grin widening as I felt the power of the moment shift in my favor. 

To tease him, to give him a taste of the same pleasure and torment he brought me—it was intoxicating. I rolled my fingers over the silky membrane of his gills, and he let out a choked groan, the sound so raw and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down my spine.

"F-fuck... ngh—y-yes," Arthur hissed, his voice thick with the tension building in his body. His tail lashed through the water, the movement so powerful that it nearly knocked me off my feet. The sensation of his raw need, the way his body writhed under my touch, was almost more than I could bear.

But as much as I reveled in the sight of him undone, overstimulated by the sensation of my fingers on his gills, it wasn't quite what I had in mind. My hands left the sensitive slits, and I felt the heavy release of his breath, a sigh that seemed to escape from deep within his chest. I trailed my fingers lower, shifting my focus, and I watched him closely, never breaking eye contact as I moved.

Arthur, sensing what I intended, leaned back slightly, resting his head against the glass wall that separated us from the open sea. His eyes, dark pools of sapphire, locked onto mine with a trust so intense it made my heart ache. There was so much unspoken between us, so much he allowed me to see of him. And yet, even in this moment, it was clear that his body—his autonomy—was something he gave me, something he allowed me to touch. 

But still never truly owned in its entirety.

As I traced the edge of his mating slit, I saw the vulnerability in him—raw and exposed, a part of him that he rarely let anyone witness. His trust in me was palpable, and with every touch, every movement, I realized just how much of himself he had granted me. The realization settled deep in my chest, a weight that made the moment feel even more intimate, more meaningful. His longing was written all over him, but this was his body, his choice. 

I was still learning, still understanding how much of him was his own, no matter how familiar our bodies felt together. Arthur was not a human man. 

“Is this okay?” I asked softly, the sincerity in my voice offering him the freedom to refuse if he needed it. But the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know—he wasn’t going to pull away.

Arthur’s grin spread wider, his tongue flicking out in a teasing motion, his impatience barely contained. “You know you don’t have to ask, pretty girl.” The wink he shot my way was playful, yet something about it sent a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, a spark of anticipation racing through me.

It wasn’t the answer I’d expected, but it was more than enough—permission granted, clear and everlasting. 

I took a slow breath, letting my fingers hover over his slit for a heartbeat before I let them dance along its edge. The sensation of his heat under my fingertips was exhilarating, and I let my hand slip lower, gliding over the silky smoothness of his need. I coated my fingers with the same arousal I had given his hand earlier, savoring the feeling of him in my touch. He was so wet, and it was all for me.

Arthur’s breathing deepened, the weight of his gasps reverberating through the space between us. His gills flared wide, the movement so primal it almost felt like he was trying to inhale the very air from my lungs. The tension in him was unmistakable.

“Oh, honey,” I cooed, my voice dropping to a soft, earnest tone, a contrast to the simmering heat between us. “I will always ask you first. It’s important for humans to communicate their needs when they mate.” I brushed my middle and ring fingers over his clit, watching as his muscles tensed in response, his body locking up for a brief moment. "You always have a choice. If something doesn’t feel right—or if you just want me to stop—all you have to do is say the word." 

He hissed out a long breath as my fingers teased the entrance, forcing out the words with a low groan. “D-don’t stop.” 

"Before I touch you, I’ll have your consent first. Every time. With everything I do, I want your hearts in it too. And then… I’ll ask you—do you like that?"

My hand moved with purpose, rolling my wrist in slow, deliberate circles, every motion controlled but full of intention. And oh, he liked it. Fuck, he even whimpered. Arthur’s body writhed beneath me, the strain visible as he fought to keep himself from bucking into my touch, his tail thrashing gently against the water. The rawness of the moment, of how much control he was handing over, gave me a high unlike anything before.

"Even when you can't find the words, I'll still ask—does that feel good, baby?" My voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was filled with conviction. 

I needed him to know that his pleasure, his voice, mattered. It was a quiet promise between us, one that resonated in the very air we shared.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back against the glass wall, and he nodded in a jerky, almost desperate motion. His breath was ragged, blowing out rapidly through his gills as his slick warmth continued to spill over my fingers. It was impossibly wet, dripping down the side of his tail as I quickened my pace, matching his rising need with every stroke.

I grinned, feeling a surge of power as a deep groan rose from his throat. The sound was primal, and his clawed hands gripped the edge of the pool with such intensity that I could feel the muscles in his arms straining beneath the motion. His veins grew and pulsed along the skin of his forearm. My own heat between my legs was building steadily, every inch of my body attuned to him, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinding my hips down against the rigid muscle of his tail. The contact sent jolts of heat through me, intensifying this thick tension between us.

“Sometimes,” I paused, savoring the moment, feeling the raw desire flare in my eyes as I spoke. His brows furrowed in frustration, breath quickening. “I may even ask you to tell me what you need.” My words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise. 

Arthur’s gaze snapped open, locking onto mine with desperate intensity, and I could see it—the hunger. He wanted more. He wanted it all. But I was in control now. And I was savoring every moment of making this massive, powerful creature beg for what he craved.

“Please,” he didn’t need to say a word for me to know exactly what he was thinking, but when he did, it was a low growl that sent a shiver through me. “I need,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

And then, what he did next surprised me, but it only sent a thrill of excitement coursing through my body. Arthur grabbed my wrist with almost brutal urgency, guiding my fingers toward his entrance, his touch insistent. I couldn’t help but gasp softly as his heat surrounded my fingers, slick and welcoming as he pushed them in. 

His hiss echoed in the quiet space, and as the word slipped from his lips, the rawness of it had me aching for him.

“You,” he breathed, eyes locked onto mine with a pleading desperation.

It would be sinful to deny him when he asked so sweetly. As I sank my fingers into his slick heat, I felt the undeniable strength coiled within him—tight, powerful, and yet yielding beneath my touch. His body mirrored my own in ways I understood, yet there was something exquisitely foreign about him, something that made my breath hitch with fascination.

A trembling, melodic moan spilled from his lips as I dragged my fingers out, only to sink them back in, slow and vigilant. The way he clenched around me, the way his body reacted so beautifully, had me utterly entranced.

I let out a slow, measured breath, watching the way his body trembled beneath my touch. His gills flared, his claws flexed, and his tail twitched with restrained urgency. He was holding himself back—barely. 

And gods, did that make me want to give him everything.

I pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, letting my lips linger against the damp heat of his skin. “You’re being so good for me, Arthur,” I murmured, my voice a low hum against his throat. “So strong, so beautiful… and so needy.” 

I dragged my fingers along the sensitive flesh where I knew he was aching for more, teasing, coaxing, making sure he knew that I saw him. That I felt his want, his desperation, and that I wanted it just as badly.

"You've been craving this since the moment we met," I purred, my fingers working deeper, drawing another shudder from him. "Needing someone to touch you like this… to guide you through the season. Help you find release."

I picked up my pace, and the groan that tore from his lips was nothing short of divine. Leaning in, I let my breath ghost over his ear, savoring the way he shuddered.

"Someone like me," I murmured, voice dripping with promise, "someone to take care of you."

A growl rumbled from deep within his chest, but there was no anger in it—just raw, aching need. I smiled against his skin, pressing my body closer, grinding just slightly against the ridges of his tail. My own need was probably burning into his flesh as I spoke.

“I love feeling you like this,” I continued, my fingers pressing just a little deeper, feeling the way he clenched around them. “Letting me touch you. Letting me feel how much you want me.” I curled my fingers, rubbing slow, pressured strokes, and his entire body jerked. 

Bullseye. His cunt had that perfect sweet spot, just like mine—hot, sensitive, and begging for attention. 

The moment I found it, Arthur's whole body tensed, a desperate, shuddering moan spilling from his lips. He was melting beneath me, unraveling with every stroke, every teasing press of my fingers. Completely, utterly mine.

His breath hitched, his tail slashing once through the water before curling tightly around my thigh, as if he couldn’t bear for me to be even a fraction away from him. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart—” His voice broke, a shudder rolling through his massive frame.

I grinned, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, honey,” I cooed, nipping at his skin. “You don’t have to hold back with me. You shouldn’t hold back with me.” I quickened my pace, watching as his grip on the edge of the pool tightened, as his hips rocked helplessly toward my hand, chasing the friction. 

“This pleasure is yours just as much as you are mine.”

His eyes snapped open at that, something wild and vulnerable flashing through them, but I didn’t let up. I wanted him to believe it. To feel it.

I dragged my free hand down his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thrum of his twin heartbeats against my palm. Muscles tensing and rippling with every stroke. “Let me hear you, Arthur,” I whispered, lips ghosting over his ear. “Let me feel you come undone.”

A deep, rolling vibration bloomed beneath my palm, starting in his chest and spreading outward—a purr, low and unrestrained, shaking through his massive frame like a storm barely contained. My breath caught at the sheer feel of it, how it reverberated through me, sank into my bones, made my skin prickle with something warm and electric.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, a blissful moan slipping past my lips as pleasure surged through me. His whole tail vibrated with it, firm and unrelenting against my core, sending shockwaves of heat through my body. I let my fingers dig into him, teasing, savoring. “You purring like that for me?”

Arthur barely managed a grunt in response, too lost to the sensations I was dragging him through. His head lolled back against the glass, his gills flaring wide with each breath, knuckles white as he scraped against the ledge.

As if he were trying to hold himself to this plane of reality and not be swept under completely.

But I wanted him swept under.

I wanted him undone in a way he’d never been before.

As he slicked over my fingers, hot and heady, something inside me ached to know more—to feel more, to taste more of him.

I moved without thinking, shifting down, pressing soft kisses along the length of his torso, trailing lower and lower until I was kneeling in the shallow water before him. My fingers were still buried inside him, still curling and stroking in slow, precise movements, and when I leaned down—when I pressed my mouth to where my fingers disappeared inside him—Arthur’s whole body froze.

“D-darlin’ wha—what’re you—“ 

“Relax,” I cooed. “I’m kissin’ you. Just feel.” Repeating his words from earlier when he shattered my mind with only his hand. 

Sucking on that sensitive nub, in the exact way that would send a woman like me over the edge. A sharp gasp tore from his lips, his tail kicking wildly beneath me, nearly knocking me off balance. His entire body went rigid, his breath stalling for just a second before it hitched and broke into a desperate, strangled sound that sent heat pooling deep in my belly.

“Sweetheart—please…I-I’m mmffuuck—” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his hips rocking instinctively toward my mouth as if he were utterly powerless against the pull of pleasure.

I hummed, taking my time, dragging myself along the delicate, fluttering muscle beneath my lips, tasting the briny sweetness of him. Flicking my tongue and feeling every one of his nerves come to life as it pulsed in rhythm with his glowing lights. 

“You like that huh?” I teased, licking up his slit before pulling him back into my warm mouth. 

He was writhing, his voice barely audible as he choked. “Y-yes I—fuck that feels s-so good.” 

It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, intoxicating and primal, and the way he reacted only made me crave him more.

Arthur was panting now, one hand rested on the back of my head, sharp claws dangerously close to my scalp. The other hand digging into the stone, his twin heartbeats hammering against my palm where I still held him. His purring had turned frantic, uneven, broken by sharp gasps and shuddering moans, his body trembling beneath me as I coaxed him toward the edge.

Dragging my fingers from his warmth, I kept my tongue focused, mapping every inch of his slick heat as I searched for something more—something deeper. My breath hitched when I found it.

At the base of his slit, I felt it—something unmistakably firm, pulsing beneath the surface, pressing against my touch as if drawn to me, as if yearning.

"Arthur," I murmured, my voice low and tantalizing. "I want to see you. All of you."

A shudder ran through him, his body taut with restraint. Even as his chest heaved, even as his hearts pounded wildly, he still held back.

And I knew why.

The memory of our first time crept between us like a shadow. The moment he had bared himself to me in full—vulnerable and aching—my own startled hesitation had fractured his confidence. Not rejection, never that, but enough uncertainty to plant the seed of doubt within him. And now, even with my mouth pressed to his most sensitive places, even with my fingers coaxing him toward release, he hesitated.

I wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sliding my free hand up, I traced along his torso, brushing my fingers over the delicate slits of his gills. Soft. Silken. So devastatingly sensitive. Perhaps I was pushing him too far, I knew that if I touched him here he would be unable to control it. His breath caught, body trembling beneath my touch, stuck in the warring tides of desire and doubt.

"Let go, honey," I whispered, pressing soft, slow circles against the slit between his scales, teasing, soothing, urging. “You don’t need to hide yourself.” 

A strangled whimper escaped him—so raw, so desperate that it sent a thrill straight through me. Desperation aching between my legs as I clenched around nothing, the anticipation was enough to make me dizzy. 

And then it happened.

He gave in.

Complete and utter surrender.

I felt it before I saw it—the way his muscles relaxed, the way his slit parted, and the way something thick and wet unfurled into my waiting hands. Gliding between my fingers. Hot. Slick. Pulsing with an unrelenting need.

A gasp caught in my throat as my fingers traced over his length, marveling at the alien smoothness of it. Unlike a human’s, his skin here was impossibly soft, almost velvety, but firm beneath my touch. Toward the base was thick, swollen, coated with sticky arousal, while the shaft tapered to a rounded point, long and elegant. My fingertips glided along its seamless curve, feeling the subtle ridges, oh yes, he had ridges here too. It twitched and flexed instinctively at my touch.

It was strange and yet, somehow, arousingly perfect. Designed to be felt. To be worshiped.

And oh, I intended to worship it.

"That’s it, baby," I purred against him, wrapping my fingers around his glossy length, stroking slowly, savoring the way he trembled for me. "Let me take care of you. Let me feel you come."

Pressing my lips to his clit, I let my tongue tease and flick, tasting the briny-sweet essence of his arousal as I stroked his cock. Arthur jerked, a broken moan tumbling from his lips, his tail thrashing beneath me as if he couldn’t control it. 

Gods, he was fucking perfect.

A guttural, near-animalistic roar tore from his throat, his entire body seizing, and I barely had time to brace myself before he came undone. His tail thrashed, his muscles locked, and I felt the rush of wet heat against my tongue, the desperate shudders that wracked through him, the sheer, overwhelming force of his climax.

I clung to him, savoring every broken moan, every helpless twitch, every tremor that wracked his body as he came apart for me—completely, unashamedly, beautifully. The realization struck me then, a delicious surprise—his separate sexes could reach their peaks independently. And oh, the possibilities that opened up. So many ways I could unravel him, shatter him over and over again… if he didn’t completely wear me out first.

As he slumped back against the glass, utterly spent and panting like he’d just survived a war, I slowly pulled away, savoring the way his body still shook with aftershocks above me. Pressing one last lingering kiss against his sensitive flesh, I finally let my gaze drop, truly taking in the sight before me.

“Holy shit…” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really do have two.”

I had felt it, but seeing it was something else entirely. It would take some time to wrap my head around the sheer beauty of it—because that’s what it was. Beautiful. I realized I had been stroking the bottom one, my fingers wrapped around its soft heat, while another identical appendage stood erect above it. They were joined together at the base where they had emerged from his slit, a perfect mirror of each other. In the low lighting, their color became more apparent—a lighter, almost iridescent blue, reminiscent of his tongue. And those sinful ridges… they traced all the way from the smooth, tapered heads down the underside, subtle yet pronounced, meant to drive whoever took him to madness.

A shiver of excitement coursed through me.

Arthur was big too, thick and impossibly heavy beneath my fingers, though I had already suspected as much. I could barely wrap my hand around one, let alone both. They weren’t exactly rigid, like humans. But instead, solid yet pliable. A fluid kind of firmness that still allowed the right amount of flexibility. They were supple, almost like... fuck, like a tentacle—perfectly balanced between softness and strength.

Yet in my arousal—my love-drunk haze—I wasn’t concerned with whether he would fit. Because he would. Because I would make him.

His breathless reply finally came, slow and laced with the remnants of his climax.

“Yeah… I really do.”

I looked up to find him watching me, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. His entire body was still trembling with the aftershocks, but there was something else there, something almost spiritual in the way he gazed at me. Like I was unreal. Like I was divine.

Like I had just handed him a new god to worship. And maybe I did. 

Then, a clawed hand slipped around my waist, trailing lower, teasing the curve of my bottom. A devious glint flashed in his eyes, that exhaustion from mere moments ago replaced by something insatiable, something hungry.

“And you’ve got two holes,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky with desire.

A single teasing finger dipped lower, pressing lightly against that forbidden place, and a thrill shot through me. I had never taken a man there before—never even considered it—but the idea of Arthur being my first? That was intoxicating.

Pressing my body flush against him, I let out a soft, pleased hum as he swirled his finger, coaxing a new kind of ache to bloom inside me.

“Mhm,” I purred into his ear, my lips brushing the sensitive fins there. “It’s like I was made just for you.”

Arthur’s grin was slow and wicked, his sharp fangs glinting in the dim light.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice thick like honey. “Just fr’me.”

Then, with effortless strength, he pushed himself off the edge of the pool, taking me with him as he sank our bodies back into the water. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, his cocks pressing against my aching heat, the sensation alone nearly sending me over the edge. The anticipation was maddening—I was ready to beg, to insist that he take me right here, split me open on his thick cock until I couldn’t speak.

But Arthur had other plans.

He crossed the pool, carrying me effortlessly through the water, until he reached the shallower end where the rocky curve sloped up like the natural landscape of a beach. Then, pulling himself from the water, he laid back against the warm, smooth stone, his muscles gleaming under the dim light, his gaze locked onto mine with pure, unrestrained desire.

His hands found my hips, his touch firm and possessive.

“My turn,” he rumbled, patting my bottom with a teasing smack, urging me forward.

I blinked, realization dawning as heat pooled low in my belly.

“Come ride my face, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise. “I wanna drown in that sweet taste of yours.”

Finally. That slick, sinuous, and utterly sinful tongue was mine to claim.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Arthur’s gaze burned with unrelenting hunger as his mate crawled up his torso, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto his with a silent anticipation that sent a primal thrill through him. Something had shifted—his words had unlocked a deep, hidden desire within her, something raw and unrestrained. Tonight, he would have her trembling, breathless, crying out his name until it was the only thing she could remember. He would etch himself into her soul, claim her so thoroughly that no human touch could ever compare. She would yearn for him, crave him, beg for him to take her, to fill her over and over until she was swollen with his child.

The thought sent a possessive heat curling low in his belly, an ache unlike any other. Arthur had spent a lifetime yearning for freedom, dreaming of the ocean’s vast and endless horizon—but beneath it all, there had always been something deeper. A longing for purpose. A need to protect, to nurture. To have a family again. To raise a child in the ways of his people—what little he could still remember—to teach, to provide, to love. And now, the female who had captured his hearts lay above him, offering herself to him so freely, so trustingly.

It drove him absolutely wild with desire.

His twin cocks twitched and pulsed as she straddled his face, thighs spread wide on either side of him. And gods, her scent—it was intoxicating, heady and thick, curling around his senses like a siren’s call. So close to his gills, it was all he could breathe, all he could taste, an irresistible lure that had him parting his lips in anticipation. The moment his tongue tasted the air, he nearly lost himself.

Instincts roared to life, drowning out reason, darkening the edges of his vision with a need so deep it bordered on madness. Breed, they urged. Fill her, claim her, fuck her until every last drop of his seed was buried inside her tight, aching heat. Until she was marked by him in every possible way.

But Arthur had learned patience—decades of solitude had taught him restraint. He knew humans mated differently, savoring the slow burn, the delicate unraveling. And he could see it in her—she was relishing in the exploration of his body just as much as he was hers.

So he would take his time.

Slowly, reverently, he would worship every inch of her, tasting, teasing, until she was trembling, pleading, desperate for more. Until she was ready to take all of him.

Letting out a trembling breath, she eased her hips down, hovering just above his parted lips. The heat of her, the exhilarating scent of her arousal, had Arthur’s gills flaring wide as he let his tongue slip out. Dragging a hot, wet stripe from the base of her entrance to the little pearl hidden beneath.

Gods, it is so much like his own. Her body mirrored his in ways he was only beginning to understand, the similarities both fascinating and maddening.

A breathy moan filled the silence as her hips jerked up in an involuntary response, her thighs quivering above him. Arthur smirked against her slick folds, knowing his ridged tongue must have been rough against her soft, sensitive flesh. A stark contrast to the way her own tongue had felt against him—smooth, impossibly silken—a torturously agile muscle that had him seeing stars, his tail trembling as she wrung him dry.

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t ya?” His voice was thick with desire, dark and teasing. Gripping her bottom, he kneaded the supple flesh, coaxing her to lower those beautiful hips again. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Please, sit on my face.”

She let out the prettiest little sigh as she finally surrendered, sinking down and pressing herself fully against his waiting mouth. Arthur let out a deep hum of satisfaction—this was heaven, it had to be. He had never been a religious man, but between her thighs, he swore he had just met god.

Puckering his lips, he placed a lingering kiss against her clit before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently, teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

Her cry split the air, sharp and breathless, her fingers tangling in his damp hair with a desperate grip. Her thighs quivered against his face, her body tightening and arching like a bowstring. She had ridden his hand earlier like a woman starved, grinding against his calloused palm with reckless abandon—yet now, against the ridges of his tongue, she trembled as though he was unraveling her piece by delicate piece.

“You alright?” Arthur rumbled, recalling her little mating lesson on human communication. Whatever she needed from him, he would give without hesitation.

She nodded quickly, sucking in a shaky breath as his hot exhale ghosted against her core. “Y-yeah… your tongue just feels so good, Arthur.” His name came out in a breathless pant, raw and pleading, like she was coiled tight and ready to shatter.

Fuck.

Hearing her say his name like that sent a rush of blood straight to his cocks, his vision darkening at the edges with something feral, almost possessive. His fingers flexed against her ass, holding her firmly in place as he growled, “Good. Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Her gaze flickered down, brow pinching together in surprise at his sudden command. He met her eyes, unwavering, voice rough with impatience.

“Ride my face.”

A delicious tremor ran through her, and then finally—finally—she rolled her hips, gliding against his mouth just as she had done against his palm. And fuck, she was utterly perfect.

“Atta girl,” he groaned, voice thick with need.

Pushing out his long tongue, he laid it flat against his chin, offering himself up for her pleasure as she ground down onto him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as she moaned, loud and unabashed. Her slick coated his taste buds, warm and succulent, her soft folds silkier than the petals of a water lily as they skated over his mouth.

Arthur breathed her in, pulling her scent deep into his lungs, letting it sink into his very bones. Every nerve in his body burned with the need to memorize her, to commit every note of her arousal to memory, something he could cling to when they were apart.

Closing his lips around that swollen nub, he licked, sucked, and swirled his tongue in gradual circles until her hips bucked wildly against him. Blunt nails scraped against his scalp as she grasped at him, desperate for something to ground her in the storm of pleasure he was dragging her through.

His grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh, claws pressing dangerously close to breaking skin as he nipped at her folds. But he didn’t just lick her—no, Arthur devoured her. He was messy, unrestrained, and loud, filling the space with deep, throaty groans and eager slurps, as if she was the most divine thing he had ever tasted.

Because she was.

She cried his name, a broken, desperate sound, trying to lift her hips and escape the relentless pleasure. But he wasn’t about to let her go. Taking full advantage, he plunged his tongue deep inside, feeling her body clench around him as he claimed every inch of her from the inside out. Every ounce of his attention zeroed in between her thighs, his ridged tongue carving out a space for himself that he knew she would feel everywhere. Those bumps stroked along her soft, velvety walls, dragging over her sensitive clit with each deliberate movement. He licked, sucked, and teased until she was trembling violently in his arms, a heaving, incoherent mess.

A string of curses spilled from her lips, each one stoking the fire inside him, driving him closer to madness. His tail thrashed in the water, desperate to coil around something, desperate to ground himself as his own arousal surged past the point of reason. His cocks were aching, weeping, throbbing with the unbearable need to be inside her—to replace his tongue with something thicker, heavier, to stretch her open and fill her to the brim with his heat.

And then she leaned forward, her body shaking, and began rolling her hips, undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm, fucking his tongue as she chased her release.

Arthur groaned, his entire body shuddering at the sight of her above him, lost in pleasure, lost in him. Gripping one of his cocks, he stroked himself with a rough, desperate hand. Pre-cum slicking his fingers as he imagined her wrapped around him, wet and tight, squeezing him with every rapid heartbeat.

Arousal dripped down his chin, sliding into his gills, and Arthur nearly lost himself. They flared against her thighs, fluttering greedily, as if seeking more—more of her scent, more of her taste, more of her. The urge to flip her over, to pin her down and claim her fully, was almost unbearable.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, eyes dark and heavy as he watched her writhe above him. Her breasts bounced with every movement, her nipples pebbling into tight peaks, a sight so tantalizing it made his mouth water. He licked her lips, gaze locked onto her as she used him, as she took her pleasure from him.

“Ain’tchu a pretty sight,” Arthur cooed between thrusts, his voice thick with hunger, worshipful and wild all at once.

Something behind her must have caught her attention, her gaze drifting over her shoulder as she watched him stroking himself. A soft pout formed on her lips, full and enticing, before she gave a quiet, disapproving hum.

“Stop that,” she murmured.

Arthur’s lips curled against her folds, his breath warm and teasing. “Un-unh,” he rumbled, tongue flicking against her clit. “Don’tchu worry about me now, keep on.”

But she wasn’t having it. In a sudden shift, she pulled her thighs from around his face, and he growled—a low, primal sound of frustration. His instincts screamed at him to seize her hips, to pull her back down, to demand she ride his mouth until she was sobbing his name, her juices slicking his tongue, dripping down his chin, saturating his throat.

But if he’d learned anything from her little lesson, consent was important. No matter how desperately he ached to have her, if she wanted to stop, he would obey.

A breathless giggle escaped her lips as she lifted one thigh, twisting away from him. “Relax, big guy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur blinked, puzzled for a moment as she resettled above him—only this time, her back was facing him.

Then she began to lower herself again, and realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.

“I think you’re going to like this,” she whispered.

Gods above.

She bent forward, offering him a front-row seat to the breathtaking view of her plump ass and the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy. A masterpiece, a canvas begging for him to paint with his tongue. His fingers clenched, nails pressing into his palms as his restraint frayed at the edges.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked with need. “Look at you. I ain’t never seen nothin’ more perfect.”

Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward, dragging his tongue in a slow, reverent stripe from her clit up the base of her spine. The taste of her here sent a thrill throughout his body. She shuddered at the contact, a gasp escaping her lips as her back arched, presenting herself to him in full.

And then—Arthur froze. A ghost of warm breath fanned over the tip of his cock.

Twin hearts stuttered, pounding out of rhythm. His mind, already clouded with lust, struggled to catch up. But before he could even form a thought—before he could even breathe—a wet, sinful heat engulfed the head of his cock.

His whole world shattered.

Vision exploded into stars, white-hot and blinding. Darkness crept at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under. A strangled, animalistic growl tore from his throat as instinct took over. His hips jerked upward, seeking more of that delicious heat, that tight suction wrapping around him like a vice. It felt perfect, she felt like home.

And she took him with ease. Jaw widening to take all of him.

His smooth skin, already dripping with pre-cum, slid effortlessly down her throat, her lips sealing around him in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. The sensation sent lightning down his spine, setting every nerve on fire. 

Then—oh fuck—his second cock.

As the first one disappeared into the warmth of her mouth, the other slid between the pillowy softness of her breasts, nestled in their embrace as she moved. Each subtle shift, each press of her skin against him, stroked him with a maddening friction that made his tail coil, his claws scratch at the ground.

He was losing himself.

Arthur was about to thrust again, to surrender completely, when she suddenly pulled back, lips gliding off his length with a wet pop. His cock twitched at the loss, desperate for more, but before he could even protest, she swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, rubbing over the slit with slow, deliberate strokes.

He choked on his breath, body locking up, teetering on the edge of ruin.

And then he remembered—remembered the treasure that lay before him, glistening, waiting, begging to be worshiped just as she was worshiping him.

With a sharp inhale, Arthur wrenched himself from the haze of pleasure, pulling his mind from the way her mouth sucked and stroked. And with renewed hunger, he buried his face between her thighs, lavishing her with the same fervor she gave him, licking, tasting, devouring her like a starved man at a feast.

This new angle allowed him to thrust his tongue deeper, curling and pressing against the sweet spots that made her cry out, her body trembling with need. Each stroke of his tongue sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her, while she, in turn, learned from him—every shudder, every twitch, every growl he made as she explored his length. Her soft little tongue traced the ridges of his cock, her lips gliding down the shaft with slow strokes, teasing, taunting.

Arthur nearly lost control when she scraped her teeth ever so lightly over the tapered head. His body jerked, his gills flaring wide as a strangled groan ripped from his chest. Gods above—apparently, he loved that. He hadn't even known about it until now.

She was teaching him things about himself, unraveling new depths of his pleasure just as he was discovering hers.

His heavy-lidded gaze locked onto the mesmerizing sight of her back arching, thighs trembling around his face every time his tongue slipped—teasing that forbidden entrance. She clenched instinctively, her muscles fluttering around him in shy resistance. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was hesitation or something deeper, but she seemed unsure, almost bashful about this particular touch.

And that only made him want to worship her more.

With a deep, godly growl, he gripped the plush curves of her ass, kneading the supple flesh in his rough palms. His claws skimmed lightly over her skin, just enough to leave her shivering as he spread her open, exposing every inch of her to his hungry mouth. He returned to her clit first, laving over the swollen bud with slow, languid strokes, coaxing her muscles to relax. Her body softened against him, just enough—just enough for him to press his mouth over her, his tongue prodding over that tight, untouched ring of muscle.

Her reaction was instant.

“Arthur!” she gasped, voice breaking on a sharp cry—somewhere between shock and something else, something breathless and raw.

Arthur stilled, his tongue retreating as he soothed her with a gentle, circling thumb. His heart pounded, worry flickering through the thick haze of his lust. Had he gone too far? Had he overwhelmed her?

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was rough, hoarse with restraint. He needed her, but he’d rather burn alive than push her past her comfort.

A shaky breath left her, but the scent that filled his lungs next stole his own. A fresh wave of arousal coated her sweet pussy, thick and glistening, her body betraying her hesitation.

Did she… like this?

A slow, wicked grin curled at his lips.

Arthur added the slightest pressure, teasing, testing, his thumb circling as his tongue returned to her clit, flicking, licking—doubling the sensation.

She jolted, her hips wriggling against him, pleasure tangling with her uncertainty. “N-no—it doesn’t hurt, I just…” She trailed off, breath hitching as he pressed another teasing lick to her clit. “It—It’s just…”

The words wouldn’t come.

Arthur pulled back just enough to murmur against her flushed skin. “It’s beautiful,” he finished for her, voice thick with reverence. “Just like you.”

A soft, helpless sound slipped from her lips—something blissful, something like surrender.

A shudder rolled through her, and then she was trembling. “Oh, Arthur, I—fuck, I-I’m close…”

He kept up his pace, relentless yet purposeful, his tongue flicking and swirling over her swollen clit, drawing out every ragged breath, every quiver of pleasure that rippled through her. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles around the slick entrance nestled between the soft curve of her ass, teasing, coaxing. Each stroke eased the tight ring of muscle just a little more, and the way her body trembled beneath his touch made his own restraint threadbare.

When her lips wrapped around him again, taking him in with the same achingly slow, worshipful devotion, a deep, guttural groan tore from his throat. The hot, wet pull of her mouth matched the rhythm of his tongue, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. His orgasm loomed, swelling like a rising tide, threatening to crash over him, but he needed her to come first.

Her breath hitched, panting, breaking into frantic little gasps. He could feel it—her body winding tight, on the precipice of release, her movements growing sloppy and desperate. But Arthur didn’t mind, not for a second.

“I need you to come, baby.” His voice was rough, thick with hunger as he murmured against her flushed skin, his lips brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’ve been dying to see you come for me like this.”

He never paused in his ministrations, never relented.

A keening cry ripped from her throat, her body going taut—held in that exquisite, breathless moment before she shattered completely. And then she broke, pleasure surging through her like wildfire, her release spilling over his tongue, soaking him in her essence.

“Good girl,” Arthur coaxed, his voice molten as he lapped up every last drop, drawing out every aftershock, every tremor. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

She shook violently, her body limp and spent as she slumped against his chest, utterly undone. Arthur barely noticed the added weight pressing into him—his mate was falling apart in his arms, and fuck, it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She was perfect.

Her scent, thick with lust, wrapped around him, and when she whispered his name in that wrecked, blissful way, something inside him nearly snapped.

With gentle strength, he lifted her, shifting her trembling body so she could rest against him. He sat up, holding her close, his calloused fingers stroking up and down her spine, grounding her. “I’ve got you,” he soothed, pressing a slow, affectionate kiss to her damp temple.

She blinked up at him, dazed, her pupils blown wide, her cheeks flushed a deep, intoxicating red. Her hair was a tousled mess, her lips swollen and glistening, and fuck—if anyone else saw her like this, they’d think they had already mated.

But the night was just beginning.

Arthur had made her come twice now. He had only unraveled once. And the next time? It would be when he was buried deep inside her, his cock pulsing, filling her with every drop of his release, marking her as his.

The thought sent a violent shudder through him, his tail twitching in anticipation.

Breathing hard, she gazed up at him, her eyes wide with something close to awe. Arthur was certain of it. “Wow,” she whispered, breathy and sweet.

He was panting too, his gills flaring wide, both of his cocks aching with raw need for what he knew was coming next. But still, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear it from her lips, needed the reassurance, the praise.

“That was good?” His voice was low, husky, edged with the remnants of restraint.

Her melodic giggle sent a bolt of heat down his spine, making both of his hearts stutter. “That was perfect.” She traced her gaze down the broad expanse of his chest, her fingers following the rivulets of water gliding over his skin, before dipping lower, toward the thick, twitching appendages at the base of his slit. Her expression shifted, tinged with something shy, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish. It was… a little hard to focus when you were—” She bit her lip, cheeks warming.

Arthur tutted softly, his lips curving in a knowing smirk. “Quit all that.” He leaned down, his breath hot against the shell of her ear before capturing it between his teeth, nibbling just enough to make her whimper. “I’d much rather save it for when I’m inside you.”

She stiffened slightly—not out of fear, no, he would have tasted that. This was something else. Excitement. Anticipation. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, and she melted as he began to ease his massive body over hers, pressing her back against the smooth, warm stone. The gentle ripples of the water lapped at their waists where their bodies met, a teasing caress against overheated skin.

Arthur could have taken her in the water, let it cradle them as he claimed her completely, but not this time. Not for their first time. No—he needed control. He needed his tail to set the rhythm, to keep her breathless but safe, and he intended to have her screaming his name the moment he sank into her tight, welcoming heat.

And then she opened for him, spreading her legs just enough for the thick length of his bottom cock to glide against her slick folds. Arthur’s breath caught. His muscles locked up. Fuck. He almost feared for her heart—it was beating so frantically, fluttering like a caged bird desperate to take flight.

She needed this just as much as he did.

Arthurs fingers gripped her thighs, thumbs stroking along the sensitive flesh as he positioned himself, savoring the way she trembled for him. His voice was dark, rough, almost a growl as he whispered, “I’m going to fill you up, sweet girl. And I won’t be able to stop.”

Her breath hitched, her thighs twitching around him.

Smirking, Arthur lowered his mouth to her ear, letting his voice wrap around her like silk. “I’m going to watch my cum seep out of that pretty little slit of yours… before I mate you again and again—until each of your holes has tasted me.”

Pupils blown wide, her breath stuttered as she stared down at the thick, throbbing lengths pressed against her. The hunger in her eyes was consuming.

“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” His grip tightened, grounding them both in the moment. “All of me.”

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, then nodded. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Arthur.

He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his burning gaze. “I’m asking you,” he rumbled. “Do you need me?”

Her lips parted, breathless, her voice clear and certain. “Yes.”

An invitation. A surrender. A claiming.

Arthur let out a deep, satisfied growl.

And then he feasted.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

That was the hardest I had ever come in my life.

For a moment, my mind felt like it had split in two—fractured beyond recognition. I couldn't think, couldn't speak, hell, I was pretty sure my breathing had stopped entirely. The world ceased to exist, swallowed whole by the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed through me, so powerful, so utterly devastating, I thought I might collapse beneath its weight.

But Arthur caught me.

He held me as if I were something precious, something breakable, his strong arms cradling me against his chest. His hands—so large, so impossibly gentle—stroked slow, soothing circles down my back, his fingers brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to my forehead. He murmured softly, something I couldn't quite process, not yet, I was too lost in the aftershocks of bliss still pulsing through me.

He gave me time—time to breathe, to come back to myself, to let my thundering heart settle. And then, carefully, knowingly, he eased me down onto the stone beneath us.

The second my back met the warm smooth surface, my body seemed to forget everything—the exhaustion, the overstimulation, the way I'd just touched the divine. Because now, all I could think of was him.

Everything I had been waiting for. Everything we had been building toward.

Our heartbeats pounded in sync, a rhythm thrumming between us, tying us together in ways deeper than touch.

I looked up at him, my pupils blown wide, my vision hazy with lingering pleasure, and all I saw was hunger. The last traces of that familiar ocean blue had all but disappeared, swallowed by the endless black of his pupils, stretched so wide they resembled the full moon hanging heavy in the night sky. It paralyzed me.

He looked otherworldly. Primal. The gills along his neck flared, exhaling hard like he'd just swum leagues without stopping. And that sound—that deep, inhuman noise, something between a growl and a purr—it sent a bolt of heat straight to my core. I'd heard it before, in the rare moments when he had surrendered fully to pleasure—when he came undone, or when I took his cock into my mouth and owned his pleasure.

But this? This was different. This wasn’t just need. 

This was instinct.

And gods, did it make me weak.

Heat flushed through me, thighs trembling as I tried to spread them wider, aching to accommodate the sheer size of him. And for the first time, I really saw him.

Arthur loomed over me, his massive shoulders blocking out the ceiling entirely, muscles rippling with every breath. Somehow, being around him so often had numbed me to the stark reality of our size difference. But looking up at him now, with the full weight of his body braced above mine, the reality sank in.

He was big. So much bigger than I had let myself truly process.

And I wanted him.

The craving cut through me like a blade, sharp and merciless, twined with the faintest whisper of fear—not of him, never that. Every instinct in my body told me I could trust Arthur with my life, with my pleasure, that he would never harm me.

No, what scared me was how badly I wanted him. Like my life had only just begun the moment he drifted into my life. 

It was unnerving, this desperate, gnawing hunger coiling in my gut, the way my body ached for him. I wanted this animal, this gorgeous beast, to fuck me until I was seeing stars. Until my legs shook with the memory of where his cocks had driven me mad with euphoria. Marking me in ways that would tie him to me forever.

Did…did that make me fucked up?

I didn’t care. I loved it.

Arthur took my chin between his fingers, his clawed thumb brushing over my swollen lips, tracing the heat he had left there. His touch was firm, possessive, yet reverent. “I’m asking you,” his voice rumbled from deep within his chest, rough and strained, as if he were barely holding himself together. Every fiber of his being was begging him to take me, to claim me—to mate me. But still, he fought against his instincts, grounding himself, waiting.

Waiting for me.

“Do you need me?”

The question was more than a plea. It was a confession—raw, aching, tinged with the kind of desperation that made my chest tighten. He needed to hear it. He needed to be sure. Like some small, fragile part of him feared I would deny him. That I would change my mind.

As if I could.

After everything we’d been through? After the earth-shattering pleasure he had just given me? I was already lost to him, tangled in something deeper than lust. There was no going back.

My breath came fast, my body already writhing with need as I flicked my tongue over the pad of his thumb. A teasing taste. A promise. Arthur mirrored me, his own tongue swiping over his lips, pupils so wide they swallowed the blue whole.

“Yes.”

The second the word left me, Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, his gills flaring as if he could taste my desire in the air. Then came the sound—that deep, primal growl, full of satisfaction and hunger. His thumb left my lips, trailing a slow, tantalizing path down my side, skimming over my ribs before curling around the back of my knee. His grip was firm, his claws grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver as he pushed my legs open. My muscles burned, stretched almost too wide, but I barely felt it.

I was too focused on him.

Arthur watched me, his gaze locked onto my trembling form as he took hold of the cock that had been gliding over my slick folds. The weight of it, the heat, sent another pulse of arousal through me as he positioned the tip at my entrance.

We were half-submerged, our hips still in the water, but it didn’t matter. I was already soaked, and he had never stopped dripping with that intoxicatingly sweet pre-cum.

The moment he pressed the thick head past my entrance, we both froze.

Arthur’s head snapped up, searching my face, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and intense. This was the threshold—the moment of no return. A silent understanding passed between us, a knowing that if we did this, we would be bound to each other in ways that neither of us could ever undo.

I nodded.

Reaching up, I tangled my fingers in the damp strands of hair at the base of his skull, tugging him down into a kiss.

“Yes, Arthur.” Breathing the words against his mouth, reassuring him again for good measure. 

Arthur flexed his hips, sliding in just an inch, and the sensation was like liquid fire pouring through my veins. I gasped into his mouth, my body stretching around him, barely able to take him, and yet desperate for more. He was almost too much—too thick, too long—but the way he filled me was perfect. Devastatingly smooth, gliding deeper without resistance, my body yielding to him like it had been made for this.

Tilting my head back, I groaned as he sank in another inch. Then another. The initial burn melted into something deeper, something hotter, my walls clenching around him, gripping him greedily, urging him to fill the aching emptiness inside me.

Arthur’s tail shifted, and he drew back.

The slow retreat of his cock left a trail of fire in its wake, dragging over every nerve, every oversensitive inch of me. A whimper slipped from my lips at the loss—only for him to roll his hips forward and push deeper.

A choked sound erupted from me, somewhere between a moan and a cry, as Arthur let out a long, guttural groan, his forehead pressing against mine.

Breaking our contact, I looked up at him, drinking in the sight of him above me—his eyes squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched tight in concentration. His gills fluttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control himself, to hold back.

But I didn’t want him to.

His second cock lay heavy against my clit, the ridges pressed flush against my aching bundle of nerves, sending jolts of sensation sparking through me. It would be my undoing.

But only if he moved. And fuck, I needed him to move.

“Arthur,” I whined, the sound pitiful, dripping with need. My voice was raw, breathless, and desperate.

He groaned, his breath ragged, heavy with restraint. “You feel so good. S-so tight.” His words came out in a rasp, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Please…move,” I whispered, arching toward him, my fingers trembling against his skin.

A wicked thought struck me—what if his kind didn’t move like humans? What if they locked together like some species of fish and that was it? No thrusting, no rolling of hips—just static, leaving me hanging in this unbearable tension.

No. I refused to let that be my fate. I would get my dues on this. 

My back arched off the stone, pressing into him as I rolled my hips, pulling back so he nearly slid free from my body. The sensation sent a shudder through me, a teasing promise of loss that had me aching for more.

Arthur hadn’t stopped me. His fingers dug into my hips, claws pressing just enough to sting, but he didn’t resist. The only sound he made was a soft, broken whimper—like he thought I was pulling away. Like he feared I’d changed my mind.

I shattered that fear in an instant.

Slamming my hips back up into his, I pulled him deep, forcing his cock to fill me again as I clutched at his shoulders and back for leverage. The other cock slid with the movement, dragging against my clit in a way that sent a raw, unfiltered pleasure ripping through my body. The weight of it, the ridges pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves—it was perfect. Maddening. Overwhelming.

A breathy, high-pitched cry broke from my lips.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. And I saw the moment it clicked.

A growl curled from his throat, deep and predatory, his lip curling in a snarl as his grip tightened on my waist. A sharp, demanding possessiveness flickered across his face before he slammed into me again. 

And again.

And again.

Each thrust was punishing, relentless—his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm that had me gasping, keening with every inch that he drove into me. Giving me what I had so desperately needed. The sheer girth of him as he bottomed out, the stretch, the way those ridges caught on every nerve—it was too much and yet not enough. 

It was pushing me toward my limit.

My mouth had never fit around all of him. My fingers could only wrap around the head before the thickness at the base swelled too wide. And yet, my body—desperate, greedy, utterly consumed by him—took him. Wanted him.

Arthur’s pace turned brutal, his hips pistoning into mine, the water sloshing violently around us. The wet, obscene sounds filled the air, mingling with his deep, guttural grunts and the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin. The force of it drove my body into the stone beneath me, every impact sending shocks of pleasure and pain colliding in my core. 

I welcomed it.

The ache, the burn—it only made the pleasure sharper, brighter, until I was unraveling around him again, walls clamping down, squeezing, milking him as I screamed. My nails raked down his spine, dragging over the smooth expanse of his skin as he arched over me, driving himself even deeper.

Nothing had ever felt this real. This right.

“Fuuck—” Arthur cursed, voice wrecked, his control hanging by a thread. Then came my name, raw and guttural, torn from his throat in a deep groan that sent a violent shudder through me. “That’s it. Fuck, baby, that’s it. Oh, you’re so good. S-so fucking good.”

His praise shattered me.

A desperate whimper spilled from my lips, my body already spiraling toward the edge again, the pleasure building too fast, too strong. My muscles tightened, every nerve firing, as he drove into me with merciless, ragged thrusts. The wet, slippery sounds filled the space around us, almost drowning out my sharp, gasping cries.

Arthur didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

His movements were relentless, pounding into me so hard my tits bounced, my heels scraping against the roughness of his scales as I clung to him. Oh, I was going to be sore after this.

And gods, the thought only excited me more.

Arthur wasn’t just fucking me—he was claiming me. Breeding me with a desperation so fierce it was as if some unseen force was testing him, whispering that if he didn’t do this right, he was a failure. He poured everything into this, into me—each deep, pounding thrust an unspoken vow, each bruising grip a plea and a promise all at once.

I felt him, all of him.

Raw desire clashed with aching longing, a feverish passion stoking the flames of something far more primal. And beneath it all, there was hunger—a possessive, feral hunger that burned through every stroke, every grind of his hips. His claws dug into my flesh, sharp enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. Leaving behind a delicious ache that had me arching into him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice hoarse with lust. His breath was hot against my lips, his words a branding iron against my skin. “This pussy belongs to me.”

A choked gasp escaped me, my walls clenching around his cock in a desperate, involuntary response. He felt it—knew what his words did to me, and kissed me hard, swallowing every whimper, every ragged moan.

“Always,” I rasped, my voice breaking. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “I’m yours, Arthur. Every inch of me.”

Body and soul. I wanted to add, but his lips sealed over mine again. 

Moans left my lips like prayers, my pulse hammering, my heart racing. I was so close, so devastatingly close. The pleasure coiled tight, white-hot and unbearable, clenching around me like a vice. My breath hitched as the pressure built, built, until darkness crept at the edges of my vision, and stars exploded behind my closed eyelids.

The feeling of being so full, so ruthlessly taken, had me spiraling.

“F-fuck, Arthur, I’m—” My voice broke, trembling, whimpering. Some desperate, self-preserving part of me wanted to hold on, to keep teetering on this exquisite edge forever. I wasn’t ready for this to end.

Arthur knew. With a deep, guttural grunt, he pulled out completely, and my body screamed for him.

But he wasted no time.

Rolling his hips, he pushed back inside in a way that was slower, deeper—grinding against that devastating spot inside me. It sent a fresh wave of pleasure tearing through my body, a sensation so intense it nearly had me convulsing beneath him.

He knew I was holding back. And he wouldn’t let me.

Arthur drove me to my limit, stripping away my restraint, my humanity, until all that remained was pure, primal need. My body was his, and gods above—every instinct inside me demanded he make me take all of him. To fill me so completely that the rest of the world fell away, leaving nothing but this moment, this feeling, just him.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he rasped, dragging his tongue in a slow, searing stripe from the hollow of my throat up to my ear. His voice was velvet and gravel, laced with sin, with command.

“Let me feel that perfect pussy milk my cock.”

His command was enough to tip me over the edge. To shatter me.

The moment I obeyed, it stole the very breath from my lungs, wracking my body with a release so intense it bordered on painful pleasure. My limbs trembled, my fingers clinging helplessly to Arthur’s slick skin as wave after relentless wave crashed through me. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and overwhelming, slipping down my cheeks as I gasped his name like a plea, like a prayer.

I’d never felt anything like this before. And gods help me, I knew I would do anything to feel it again.

Arthur had ruined me. Branded himself into my very bones, carved his name into the deepest parts of me. No other man would ever compare, and I hated him for it—hated myself for craving him with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

A rough, guttural groan tore from his throat, his rhythm faltering as his cock thickened, stretching me in a way that sent fresh, electric pleasure sparking through my veins. He buried himself to the hilt, hitting a place so impossibly deep it turned my mind into nothing but white noise.

And then I was gone.

Screaming, sobbing, breaking apart in his arms as I praised his name like he was something holy.

“Fuck!” Arthur roared.

Burying his face into my chest, his body crashed against mine. Every muscle in his frame tensed as he pressed me into the unyielding stone beneath us. He was heavy, overwhelming, his desperate thrusts turning frantic, erratic. His fingers dug into my flesh, as if he could anchor himself—as if he didn’t want to let go.

Then I felt it.

The hot, liquid pulse of his release spilling inside me, filling me, so much more than any human could give. So much that I could feel it slipping out even before he pulled away, mixing with the water around us in delicate, shimmering tendrils—pale and iridescent, like an otherworldly oil slick. It made my pussy clench around him again. 

The sensation of him coming inside me only sent me spiraling further, prolonging my orgasm until I thought I might pass out.

Darkness fluttered at the edges of my vision, my body completely spent, pulsing with an exhaustion that felt almost euphoric.

Arthur pulled out, and I shivered at the loss, an ache curling in my gut that was almost unbearable. He had left me empty—hollowed out, missing something vital. I fought against the daze threatening to consume me, but I was too far gone, too lost in the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.

Distantly, I heard my name. Arthur’s voice, low and hesitant, cutting through the fog. I tried to respond, but my lips wouldn’t move.

I just needed a moment. Just one.

He sat up, easing his weight off my chest, and I sucked in a deep, trembling breath, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of what we’d just done.

"Shit," Arthur breathed, his voice thick with concern. "D-did I hurt you, sweetheart?"

The sudden panic in his tone snapped me back to reality, cutting through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion. I must have taken too long to respond because his grip on me tightened, lifting me with such careful reverence that it made my heart ache. He cradled me against his chest, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool air around us. The shift in position sent a slow, delicious trickle of heat spilling from between my thighs, a filthy reminder of just how thoroughly he had taken me.

His voice rasped against my ear, desperate and pleading. "Say something, please."

I managed a small, breathless laugh. "I'm okay." And I was. More than okay—I was wrecked in the best possible way. "You could never hurt me, Arthur."

The words came out raw, thick with the depth of my emotions. With a trembling hand, I cupped his cheek, fingers stroking through the damp strands of his beard. His eyes softened, relief crashing over his features like a wave before his lips curled into the most breathtaking smile—sated and beautiful.

“That felt like—” I began. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, our breath mingling as he whispered, "Home."

A shiver danced down my spine.

"You felt like home."

Something in my chest cracked open at those words.

We stayed like that for a moment, lost in each other, letting our aftershocks fade into slow, tender kisses—featherlight, reverent, addictive. Our noses brushed, soft and teasing, like swans in a gentle courtship dance. The intimacy of it made my heart race in a way that sex alone never could.

Arthur had told me once, in that quiet, broken way of his: My hearts will follow you to the end.

Now, with the way he held me, worshiped me, I understood. This was what he meant. This was his love, laid bare.

"You were so beautiful," he murmured, lips tracing over my temple, my cheek, my jaw. "So perfect. You take me so well, my girl."

His words were honey-thick, dripping into my ears and down my spine, making my thighs clench involuntarily.

Then I felt it. Something hot and heavy twitching against my calf where our bodies curled into each other.

My breath hitched.

Arthur's grip on me tightened, his voice dipping lower, heavier, hungrier.

"But I still need you."

Oh, fuck. He really wasn’t lying when he said both of my holes would taste him. 

I barely had time to process before he was moving again, gripping my hips and flipping me onto my belly, easing me down and pulling my ass up as my bare skin pressed against the smooth stone. Encouraging me to settle onto my knees. 

"Ah—Arthur—"

"Shh," he soothed, running a broad hand over my spine, down to my ass, spreading me apart just enough to make me tremble. A teasing finger glided over that forbidden entrance, now coated in arousal. Dragging it down further he brushed over my achingly sore heat. Spreading his seed around my lips and up between my cheeks. Painting myself in his sticky hot spend.

"I have two," he reminded me, voice a dark promise against my skin. Gently, I heard him shift in the water, adjusting himself. Looking back over my shoulder, I watched. He gripped his thick, swollen cock still dripping with cum. And teased my entrance, the head nudging, demanding.

"And so do you."

Heat flooded through me, anticipation winding me so tight I thought I might snap.

Before doubt could creep in, I already had my answer. "Then you shall have me."

Arthur growled, a sound of pure satisfaction, gripping me like he owned me.

"Good," he purred, lining himself up again. Using the tip of his cock to spread his cum over my ass as it seeped out of my slit.

I froze as a new sensation erupted—sharp, foreign, a mix of lingering pleasure and a stinging ache where he had already claimed me. My hips were lifted above the water now, exposed to the cool air, and though his spend made my skin slick, it wasn’t enough. Not for this. A shiver ran down my spine, part anticipation, part apprehension. I had never taken anyone here before, and I knew if he was too quick, too rough, the pain could overwhelm the pleasure.

“W-wait,” I panted, my breath shaky. “Arthur, stop.”

He stilled immediately. A warm, steady hand smoothed down my spine, grounding me as he leaned in, his chest flush against my back.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, earnest, full of concern.

I pushed myself upright, twisting slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s do this in the water,” I murmured. “It’ll be easier, with less gravity and…” I trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. I didn’t want my hesitation to deter him, but I needed him to be gentle.

Arthur’s dark eyes softened with understanding, and he gathered me into his arms without question, guiding us into deeper waters. The moment we sank down far enough that my breasts floated, warmth wrapped around me like a soothing balm, easing the rawness between my thighs.

“And what, my love?” he pressed, his voice a silken promise against my ear. “Tell me what you need.”

His lips found my neck, kissing and nipping gently as his strong hands roamed over my body. His touch was both reverent and possessive, mapping every inch of me as if committing it to memory. I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart against my back, his breaths turning ragged with restraint.

The cool water swirled between my legs, heightening the sensation of where he touched me, dulling the sting and replacing it with something new, something thrilling.

“I need you to go slow,” I whispered, unable to hide the nervous tremor in my voice. “Much slower than before. Is… is that alright with you?”

Arthur exhaled a shuddering breath, his gills fluttering against my ribs. I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement, anticipation, or the sheer effort of holding himself back. His tail coiled around my calf, pulling me closer, holding me steady.

“Yes,” he groaned, the single word dripping with need. “However you wish to have me. I will give it to you.”

His vow sent a molten heat through me, pooling deep in my core. I had imagined this before—anal, double penetration—but I had never trusted someone enough to try it. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen like this.

With him.

Arthur reached between us, his fingers curling around one of his cocks, guiding it between my thighs while the other pressed insistently against my bottom. With slow, deliberate motions, he rocked his hips, letting them glide back and forth—one thick length sliding over my swollen, aching clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, while the other traced the valley between my cheeks, teasing the tight entrance with every pass.

A shudder wracked through me, my body caught between tension and longing. Arthur’s grip on my waist tightened, anchoring me against him as his other hand found my breast. His fingers were both firm and gentle, rolling my nipple between them, kneading my flesh in slow, languid strokes. The contrast of sensations had me trembling in his hold.

“Which one do you want first?” he rumbled against my neck, his breath hot against my damp skin.

My breath hitched as I reached behind me, fingers wrapping around the thick cock nestled against my back. I gave it a teasing squeeze, feeling the way it pulsed against my palm.

“This one,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.

The water rippled around us as a deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled through his chest. “That’s my girl.”

Arthurs grip on me shifted, steady but unrelenting, as he tipped me forward slightly. The water rose up to my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep from sinking beneath the surface. I barely had time to register the change before I felt the blunt tip of him pressing against my entrance, nudging cautiously.

A sharp hiss escaped his gills, a primal sound that sent a delicious shiver through me.

I gasped, letting out a quiet, startled yelp as a new, overwhelming pressure spread through me. I had never been so acutely aware of this part of my body before, of how tight and untouched I was.

A large, webbed hand slipped down my torso, fingers finding my clit and rubbing slow, torturous circles. The pleasure warred with the ache, sending my body into a dizzying spiral of sensation. My muscles instinctively clenched, trying to resist the burn of his thick length pressing deeper, stretching me open with the first inch.

“F-fuck, Arthur,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulder. “I��I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” Arthur growled, his voice dark with restraint. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

He sank another inch, and my breath hitched, my mind going blank with the sheer intensity of it. It was too much, not enough, my body on the verge of being split apart yet craving more.

A shaky whine crawled up my throat as I arched back against him, my body struggling between resistance and surrender.

“Hold onto me,” he murmured against my neck, his voice softer now, coaxing.

I reached up, my arms winding around his neck, clinging to him as if he were my only tether to reality. My eyes squeezed shut, my breath coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

Arthur tutted softly, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Sweetheart, you gotta relax. Take a deep breath for me.”

His tone was impossibly gentle, melting through my tension like warm honey, making my stomach flip. Gone was the primal, possessive animal that had taken me like a man starved—now, in its place, was something just as powerful but infinitely more tender. A gentle beast, guiding me through the motions, patient and careful as if I were something precious to be unraveled slowly.

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, willing my body to obey, to loosen its desperate hold on him. But it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Every fiber of me was wound tight, clenching around him, fighting the stretch, even as I tried to surrender. The slippery feel of his cock, gliding with an otherworldly softness, was a small mercy. I was incredibly grateful in that moment that he was not solid like a human.

“Again,” he coaxed, his fingers stroking soothing circles over my hips. Then, in a teasing lilt, he added, “Unless you need me to breathe for you.”

A shiver ran through me at the idea.

His grip tightened slightly, grounding me. “If I push any harder, I’m gonna hurt ya sweetheart. Try to focus your attention here,” he patted the swell of my ass, his touch firm yet affectionate.

“It’s all I can fucking think about!” The words tumbled out in a breathless flurry, and Arthur let out a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest.

And it—oh fuck—it felt good.

“There you go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise and want. “Fuck, you feel incredible. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He sank another inch, and a shaky gasp left my lips as something in me finally gave way, my muscles easing, accommodating his size. The sharp edge of discomfort dulled into something else—something deeper, heavier.

“D-do that again,” I stammered, breathless.

“Hmm?” He rumbled, his chest still pressed firmly to my back.

“That—that vibration,” I choked out, my head tipping back as he pulled me tighter against him, his cock pressing deeper, rubbing hard against my inner walls.

Arthur’s lips brushed the shell of my ear, his breath warm as he cooed, “Oh, I see.”

Suddenly, his purring flared to life, and I cried out as the vibration sent ripples of pleasure through my body. It wasn’t just in his chest—it was everywhere, resonating through me, inside me, making my nerves light up like fireworks. Somehow, I could feel the pulse deep in my core, as if the sensation traveled through the places where I was stretched around him, amplifying every twitch, every shiver. A strangled moan tore from my lips, my body shuddering against his, and I silently cursed him for not doing this earlier. I had never realized just how closely connected those muscles were, how each vibration sent a shockwave straight through me.

Arthur felt me melt beneath the sensation, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, and he took advantage of it—sinking deeper until he bottomed out against my ass.

A sharp gasp echoed through the room, mingling with the deep, guttural groan that rumbled against my neck. “So fucking tight,” he breathed, his voice thick with restraint, with need.

I had always thought anal could be mildly pleasurable, but this—this was something else entirely. I wasn’t just tolerating it. I was enjoying it. No, I was lost in it. If he kept this up—if he pressed inside my pussy too, stretching me so utterly, so completely. I was sure I would come so hard I might fall apart in his arms.

Then Arthur moved—oh, he moved.

Slow, methodical, controlled. Like he was barely holding himself back, honing in on every subtle cue my body gave him. Testing my limits with precision, ensuring there was no pain—only pleasure. He withdrew slowly, the sensation nearly undoing me as he pulled out until just his tip remained. Then, with a firm grip, he slid his other cock between my thighs, positioning me just right.

And then, finally—he sank me back down.

A keening sound wrenched from my throat as he speared me on both cocks, rolling his hips up at the same time, filling me inch by agonizing inch until he was seated deep inside me. It was a stretch unlike anything I had ever felt before, a blissful, unbearable fullness that sent waves of heat rolling through my limbs. My head tipped back against his shoulder, a deep, shuddering moan rising from somewhere in my chest—a sound I hadn't even known I was capable of making.

I felt him everywhere.

I could taste him on my tongue, could feel the ocean in my veins, the tide of his body racing through me like horses galloping through white-capped waves.

I was still sore, my pussy clenching around him as pleasure and pain tangled together, stars dancing across my vision. I tried to adjust, to find some semblance of control, but anyone who’s ever been fucked hard understands the delicious sting of being stretched too soon, too deep, before you’re quite ready. Well, maybe not everyone—but it was true for me. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that made my toes curl, that had my breath stuttering and my fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

And with the addition of his second cock, this was the fullest I’d ever been in my life.

I could tell by the way Arthur was shaking, his grip bruising on my hips, that he was just as overwhelmed as I was. That my body, clenching tight around him, was driving him to the edge as surely as he was unraveling me.

“Do you trust me?” The words were rough, bitten out through clenched teeth, barely restrained.

A silly question. Of course I did. More than anything.

“Yes,” I whispered, my lips trembling against his jaw. “Always.”

It was a slow glide, so wet and effortless that the friction was almost an afterthought—until he pulled back and slid in again, and I felt every ridge of him, each textured bump dragging against my walls, sending shivers rolling through my spine. I could count them, could map each one with the breathless rhythm of his thrusts. Every slow, deliberate movement stretched me open, coaxing me into surrender until there wasn’t a single trace of discomfort left—only pleasure, slick and consuming.

“Oh, Arthur!” I cried, the sound tumbling from my lips, raw and unfiltered.

There was only pressure now, incredible and unrelenting, filling me so completely that it stole the air from my lungs. From every angle, in every part of me, I felt him—felt the way he claimed me, the way he kissed my soul with every deep, languid stroke.

I wasn’t sure when my head tilted back onto his chest, when my lips parted on a silent moan, but Arthur seized the moment. His mouth was on mine in an instant, devouring, his tongue plunging deep, licking into me with slow, intoxicating strokes. He nipped at my bottom lip, teasing, pulling a whimper from my throat before swallowing it down like he was starved for the taste of me.

“Breathe, my girl,” he commanded, his voice thick with heat. He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“Please,” was all I could manage, a desperate, breathless plea. I needed more. I was teetering on the edge of something earth-shattering, something vast and uncontrollable, and I didn’t know how to fall into it. I only knew that Arthur could take me there.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my back, and then—fuck—he thrust into me harder. Not as rough as before, but there was force now, a controlled hunger, a restraint that made the ache even sweeter.

I made a sound I had never heard before, something deep and unrestrained, as he gripped my hip and drove into me again. His tail coiled around my calf, tightening possessively, anchoring me to him.

Hard. Harder. Deep and devastating as he bottomed out inside me again and again.

Arthur pressed a broad, calloused hand to my belly, his webbed fingers splaying wide as he felt himself move inside me, as if mesmerized by the way my body took him in. His breath came out in ragged, shuddering pants, hot against my neck, before his sharp teeth grazed my skin, nipping, teasing.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard,” he growled, his voice rough, nearly broken. “You’re—fuck, you’re everything to me.”

“I’m s-so close. Please, come with me, Arthur,” I choked out, my fingers digging into his arms, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

A low, pained whimper crawled up his throat as he pressed his forehead to my shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of his restraint. “I know, pretty girl, I know,” he rasped, his voice frayed at the edges. “Just a little more. I—I don’t wanna hurt you. It’s—h-hard not to lose control when you’re squeezin’ me like that.”

I gasped as he rolled his hips again, deeper, slower, torturing us both.

His pace faltered as my body reacted to his words—the sincerity, the raw, aching need woven into every syllable. The guttural rasp of his voice, thick with strain and barely restrained hunger, sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me. It tore through my veins, white-hot and all-consuming, until I shattered around him. My vision blurred, my body trembling as pleasure surged like wildfire, licking at every nerve, setting me ablaze.

Somewhere in the haze, I felt him follow me over the edge.

Arthur let out a broken string of curses, his breath ragged and desperate against my shoulder. His entire body quivered, his muscles rigid as he fought the primal instinct to lose himself completely—to rut into me with reckless abandon, to bury himself as deep as I could take and spill every drop of his pleasure inside me.

“Th-then lose control,” I whispered, my voice trembling, a plea wrapped in a breathy moan. My fingers dug into his arms, nails dragging down the hard lines of his body. “Bite me, Arthur. M-mark me as—as yours.”

His breath hitched. “What?”

“S’okay, honey,” I murmured, my voice dripping with something sweet and sinful. “Just let go. I can take it. Give yourself to me.”

A sharp, tortured cry ripped from Arthur’s throat, his entire body shuddering against mine. And then—I felt it.

His teeth, sinking deep into the muscle of my shoulder, sharp and unyielding, branding me with his need. The sting of pain bled into pleasure so sharp it stole the breath from my lungs. My body clenched around him, gripping him like I never wanted to let go, and the mix of sensations sent me spiraling into oblivion.

The warmth of him filled me, deep and hot, as his release spilled into me, claiming me in every way possible. The sheer force of it ripped another scream from my lips, his name tumbling from my throat until it was raw.

I was drowning in him—his touch, his breath, the way he trembled against me as he came undone. And I had never felt more owned by him than I did at that moment.

My mate. My Arthur.

Arthur soothed the ache with his tongue, spreading that thick, healing mucilage over the wound as he lapped up the blood before it could trail too far down my arm. I sagged against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, my cheek pressed to his warm skin as the last of my tears dried. My body still pulsed with aftershocks, every nerve alight, and I felt the slow retreat of his cocks, softening as they slipped from me. Arthur’s tail trembled against my leg, his muscles taut with the lingering overstimulation, as if the pleasure had unraveled him just as much as it had me.

Turning me in his arms, Arthur held me close. His touch was unbearably soft in the wake of everything we’d just done. His lips followed the damp trail of my tears, kissing them away one by one as if he could erase the overwhelming pleasure, the raw emotion, the sheer intensity of it all with his mouth alone. His hands, rough and warm, cradled my face, fingers stroking over my cheeks with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his southern drawl thick and deep. “You alright?”

I nodded weakly, still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion. My limbs felt boneless, my body buzzing, hypersensitive to every little touch. Arthur hummed in satisfaction, shifting us until I was nestled against him, my legs draped around his torso. His tail curled loosely around my ankle, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Y’were so good for me,” he praised, brushing his lips over my temple. “Took me so damn well. My strong, beautiful girl.”

A small sound caught in my throat, something between a sigh and a whimper. Arthur’s chest rumbled with a deep, satisfied purr, the sound vibrating through me, comforting and grounding. He cupped the back of my head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder as his other hand traced soothing circles along my spine.

“Still with me?” he teased gently, though I could hear the genuine concern laced in his tone.

I gave a breathless laugh, weak but real. “Mmhmm… just—floating.”

Arthur’s smile pressed against my hair. “Yeah? Think you can handle another.” 

The teasing lilt in his voice let me know he wasn't serious. Though I don’t think he could survive another round even if he tried. Laughter bubbled up despite my exhaustion. I shook my head, too content, too warm, too wrapped up in him to move just yet. He seemed to understand, settling us deeper into the nest of his arms, letting me bask in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

For a while, we just stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet. Arthur floated on his back as I rested on his chest. His fingers wove through my hair, his breathing steady, grounding me in a way that nothing else ever had.

Eventually, he broke the silence, voice low and reverent. “Ain’t never had nothin’ like this,” he admitted, almost to himself. “Never wanted someone so bad. Needed someone like—like the world was just beginnin’ to make sense. You know?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, pressing a slow kiss to his collarbone. “I feel the same way, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a shuddering breath, his arms tightening around me. “All mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against my hair.

I smiled against his skin. “All yours.”

As sleep began to pull me under, wrapped in his warmth, I had no regrets. 

I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

AN: Did we survive?! Because there were times I feared that beautiful creature was going to kill us with those cocks, not that I'm complaining. Woof, this chapter was such a horny beast and I don't even feel like I've tamed it. There will be more smut chapters, but nothing this lengthy. This was basically a cluster fuck of exploring kinks. And for whatever reason, I really wanted to put it all in one chapter. I love torturing myself. Anyways, its time to get back to the plot! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and support!!

[maeslastbraincell]

Red and Black translation from the new french Châtelet version of Les Mis

(Combeferre)

Enjolras!

At the pont au change all sections are ready (Au pont au change toutes les sections sont prêtes)

(Feuilly)

We're gathering at the Barrière du Maine (On se rassemble à la Barrière du Maine)

(Courfeyrac)

Sculptors, marble workers burn to walk alongside us (Les sculpteurs, les marbriers, brûlent de marcher avec nous)

And the masons of Montreuil will all be there (Et les maçons de Montreuil seront tous au rendez-vous)

(Enjolras)

Friends, it's time (Amis, c'est l'heure)

So near, the enemy is the one worrying (Si proche que c'est l'ennemi qui s'inquiète)

We shall not let (Ne laissons pas)

The wine go to our heads (Le vin nous monter à la tête)

It is easy to shoot from a cafe's stage (C'est facile de tirer de l'estrade d'un café)

But the national guards have real pistols (Mais les gardes nationaux ont de vrais pistolets)

The furnace heating up our minds (Il faut que la fournaise qui chauffe dans les esprits)

Needs to spread like powder in the streets of Paris (Se répande comme la poudre dans les rues de Paris)

We need a sign (Il faut un signe)

So the people will rise and take arms (Pour que le peuple se lève et qu'il prennent les armes)

And share the flame (Et qu'il partage la flamme) (*See footnote)

Marius, you're late (Marius [tu es] t'es en retard)

(Joly)

What's happening with you? (Qu'est-ce qu'il t'arrive?)

Marius, you look weird (*see footnote) (Marius [tu as] t'as l'air bizarre)

(Grantaire)

You're not saying anything and you smile to angels! (Tu [ne] dis rien et tu souris aux anges!)

(Marius)

An angel maybe, an angel you say (Un ange peut-être, un ange dis-tu)

It was an angel, that is why (C'était un ange voilà pourquoi)

Her light carries my soul to the skies (Sa lumière porte mon âme aux nues)

(Grantaire)

I'm on the arse of my bottle (*see footnote) (Chui [Je suis] sur le cul de ma bouteille)

Marius got a sunburn (Marius a pris un coup de soleil)

He pulls out the violins, oh la la! (Il nous sort les violons, ouh, la la!)

We prepare to fight (Nous on se prépare à l'attaque)

And there comes Don Juan (Et voilà Don Juan qui débarque)

We're better here than at the Opera! (On est mieux ici qu'à l'Opéra!)

(Enjolras)

The Opera is closed, but from the darkness (L'Opéra est fermé, mais venues des ténèbres)

Other voices will sing the song of a country burning up (D'autres voix vont chanter le grand air d'un pays qui s'enfièvre)

Those who aren't ready to pay the price of their lives (Celui qui n'est pas prêt à payer de sa vie)

Can go back to get pampered by their family (Peut retourner se faire choyer dans sa famille)

Friends, the time has come to tale back the Bastille (Amis l'heure a sonné de reprendre la Bastille)

Red, the flame of anger (Rouge, la flamme de la colère)

Black, the night of ignorance (Noire, la nuit de l'ignorance)

Red, a world about to be born (Rouge, un monde en train de naître)

Black, the death of innocence (Noire, la mort de l'innocence)

(Marius)

Ah, if you had seen her, you would know the softness (Ah si vous l'aviez vu, vous sauriez la douceur) (* See footnote)

To be struck to the heart and to bless your wound within the hour (D'être atteint en plein coeur et sur l'heure de chérir sa blessure)

Ah, if you had seen her, when she looked at me (Ah si vous l'aviez vu, quand elle m'a regardé)

You would know that the ember of a lighting of passion (Vous sauriez que la braise d'un éclair de passion)

Can ignite the world like a revolution (Peut enflammer le monde comme une révolution)

(Grantaire)

Red! (Rouge!)

(Marius)

A flame burns in my heart (Une flamme brûle dans mon coeur)

(Grantaire)

Black! (Noir!)

(Marius)

The hell of an hour without her (L'enfer d'une heure sans elle)

(Everyone)

Red! (Rouge!)

(Marius)

A love being born (L'amour en train de naître)

(Everyone)

Black! (Noir!)

(Marius)

The death of a spark (La mort d'une étincelle)

(Enjolras)

Marius, get down from your cloud, put away your gift that fell from the sky (Marius, descends de ton nuage, range ton cadeau tombé du ciel)

Listen to the voice calling us (Écoute la voix qui nous appelle)

Make your little heart wait, it is for a bigger cause that we fight (Fait patienter ton petit coeur, c'est pour une grande cause qu'on se bat)

And our little lives don't count at all (Et nos petites vies ne comptent pas)

(Everyone)

Red, the flame of anger (Rouge, la flamme de la colère)

Black, the night of ignorance (Noire, la nuit de l'ignorance)

Red, a world being born (Rouge, un monde en train de naître)

Black, the death of hope (Noire, la mort de l'espérance)

*I cannot make out clearly what Enjolras is singing here, so I went with the most likely. It is different from the original version, so the lyrics aren't found online. If you know the real lyric, please comment!!

*I am not kidding, this is hilarious

*Who came up with this

*It's unclear here if Marius is talking to all of the students or only to Enjolras but with a polite speech (vous instead of tu)

Any comment/suggestions to improve the translation is very welcome!

[sgtbradfords]

Hello!! I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who helped create something for this amazing fandom event. From fanfics, art edits, gifsets, and fanvids, there was a little something for everyone to enjoy! So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. This event would not have been possible without all of you!

Below, you will find a list broken down by day and type of content. If I missed your creation, and you would like it listed, please send me a message!

I am looking forward to hosting it again in July 2025. Until then! 💙

DAY ONE

FICS:

📖 Reaper - Angst - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 this building's coming down (with all the trouble you ignited) - Angst - T - by @romantashas

📖 Best Laid Plans - Angst - T - by @centralperkchenford

📖 Starting Again - Angst - M - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Scratch That Itch - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - M - by derangedgoats

📖 I wish I could do it all over again - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - G - by lucyyychen

📖 Curveball - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - T - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 When you put your arms around me, you let me know there's nothing in this world I can't do - Favorite S6 Scene - T -by Chenfordlover13

📖 Empty Chair - Empty Heart - Break-Ups & Make-Ups - G - by Raydyan

📖 Whispers in Her Eyes - Angst - G - by kelzspooky

📖 Guilty As Sin - Angst - E- by CSM

📖 You're Losing Me - angst - unrated - by summerwritesstories

GIFSETS:

📺 Favorite S6 Scene - 6x02 by @chenslucy

📺 Favorite S6 Scene - 6x04 by @sgtbradfords

📺 Angst - Season 6 Scenes - by @sisterofficerlucychen

📺 Angst - 6x06 - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 break-ups & make-ups 💘 by @gottalovetherookie

🎨 Favorite S6 Scene - by @theawkwardanglophile

🎨 Favorite S6 Scene - by @ellabea28537

🎨 prompts show (don't tell) & break-ups and make-ups - by @accidental-spice

DAY TWO

FICS:

📖 double take - Outsider POV - T - by @romantashas

📖 If This Is Just the Beginning (My Life Is Gonna Be Beautiful) - personal headcannon - G - by @theawkwardanglophile

📖 In sickness and in health - domestic bliss - G - by lucyyychen

📖 The Not-So-Secret Softie - domestic bliss - G - by kelzspooky

📖 For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul - domestic bliss - G - by Chenfordlover13

📖 For Fiona - CHAPTER 12 ONLY - unknown - T - by @girlintotv

📖 Safe place to land - personal headcannon - G - by @centralperkchenford

📖 Martha’s Musings - outsider POV - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 Our Little Oasis - domestic bliss - G - by derangedgoats

📖 Only Angela Knows - outsider POV - G - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Three's Company - domestic bliss - M - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 For Fiona - CHAPTER 13 ONLY - domestic bliss - T - by @girlintotv

📖 All of the Girls You Loved Before (Tim Bradford Has a Type) - CHAPTER 2 ONLY - domestic bliss, personal headcannon - unrated - by @summerongrand

📖 Growing Pains - domestic bliss - unrated - by @sweetcarolinejane

GIFSETS:

📺 domestic bliss - by @chenslucy

📺 domestic bliss - by @sisterofficerlucychen

📺 domestic bliss - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 domestic bliss 🐾🍪💗 - by @gottalovetherookie

DAY THREE

FICS:

📖 Lotus - new beginnings - T - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 I love you not only for what you are but for what I am when I am with you - Teacher/Cop AU - T - by Chenfordlover13

📖 Sacred New Beginnings - new beginnings, physical touch, and comfort - unrated - by summerwritesstories

📖 a dangerous melody - Singer/Cop AU - T - by @romantashas

📖 I’ll always be your sunshine even in a storm - physical touch, comfort - G - by lucyyychen

📖 A thousand and one times - comfort, new beginnings - M - by @centralperkchenford

📖 A Place For My Head - comfort - T - by Zadien

📖 Corporate Hearts - Secretary/CEO AU - unrated - by derangedgoats

📖 The Doctor - Doctor Who AU - T - by kelzspooky

📖 My Assassin And I - Hitman/Nanny AU - T- by @girlintotv

📖 We're Afire Love - AU, new beginnings - M - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 Wherever you are, I’ll find you. - Fantasy AU - G -by Raydyan

📖 Tough Break - Comfort - T - by Elisa_Beth84

GIFSETS:

📺 physical touch - by @iameks

📺 comfort - by @chenslucy

ART:

🎨 physical touch, AU ✨ - by @gottalovetherookie

🎨 alternate universe - by @gottalovetherookie

DAY FOUR

FICS:

📖 Bridges of Trust - found family, missed moments - G - m by kelzspooky

📖 A perfect match - callbacks - G- by @centralperkchenford

📖 I can't imagine my life without my chosen family by my side - found family - T - by Chenfordlover13

📖 Someone to Stay - unknown - T - by derangedgoats

📖 Déjà Vu - callbacks - by Elisa_Beth84

📖 you and i are meant to be - missed moments - T - by @sgtbradfords

📖 It’s Legendary - missing moments - M - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 I Have *Had* it with these Motherfu**in *Snakes* - callbacks, missed moments - T - by @imperiumwifestrikesagain

📖 With You and Not Without You - callbacks - T - by readerbook1981

📖 It’s Legendary - missing moments - M - by @thesassywitchofthenortheast

📖 Psyched On U - missed moments, found family - unrated - by @summerongrand

📖 Cop Cuties - lyrics - T- by @sweetcarolinejane

GIFSETS:

📺 the chenford playlist - by @chenslucy

📺 fix what you didn't break - by @sgtbradfords

📺 in all the world - by @iameks

ART:

🎨 Missed Moments - by @gottalovetherookie

[mononijikayu]

animals ― ryomen sukuna.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

Genre: Serial Killer AU, No Curse AU;

Warning/s: R-18, Depiction of Murder, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Crime, Sadist Behaviour, Mentions of Graphic Violence, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Explicit Depiction of Harm, Toxic Relationship;

masterlist

listen: animals by maroon 5

note: my friend read the first installment of this, devil by the window, and asked where was the smut. so here it is, ig??? bear with this writer, i haven't written smut in a while. but anyway, enjoy!!!

HE WAS ENJOYING THE NIGHT SO FAR. In the dimly lit room, the air hung heavy with the scent of decay and anticipation. Shadows flickered and swayed, casting sinister shapes upon the peeling wallpaper like ghostly apparitions. In the center of this macabre stage stood Sukuna, his tall, lean frame cloaked in ether of darkness. His eyes, pools of red obsidian, gleamed with a predatory allure as they scanned the room with a chilling intensity.

Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated – the mark of a seasoned predator. And he knew it. He basked in the glory of being that animal. One that was feared by all. One that caused the fabric of human fear to manifest. His steps were silent, his presence like a whisper in the night. Sukuna exuded an aura of danger, a magnetism that drew others to him like moths to a flame.

They never knew what he was going to do next, they never knew what he was going to be next – a raging blood thirsty beast or a monster who devours. No one knew. And he adored it. 

His gaze lingered on the assortment of tools scattered across the room – knives, ropes, and other instruments of death. Each one was meticulously arranged, a testament to Sukuna's meticulous nature. He was a master of his craft, a connoisseur of pain and suffering.

For Sukuna was no ordinary killer – he was a force of nature, a creature of the night who reveled in the art of death, the art of manifesting fear. He was the master of all horrors. He had no limitations. It was not fun that way without it. And as he stood in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of his past conquests, he knew that tonight would be no different. Tonight, he would claim another victim, another soul to add to his ever-growing collection.

As he stood amidst the eerie ambiance, Sukuna's mind buzzed with excitement. Tonight, he would embark on another prey to hunt, another chance to indulge in his darkest desires. His heart quickened with anticipation, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Somehow tonight, it was even more delightful, even more thrilling. Looking at his side, he could see the bubbling excitement in him. It felt like a drug each and every time this happened. 

Each and every night was a time to feel alive. But even more now, as he looked at his partner in crime by his side. He was even more enthusiastic, now that he wasn’t alone doing this. They were oozing with excitement, fidgeting with their fingers. They were itching to hold life and see it gone in an instant. To feel the scarlet river echo at the flesh, to feel the warmth bathe them whole. He could see it so vividly. He could feel it within their grasp.

Beside him stood his unlikely companion, his lover.  They were unlike anyone Sukuna had ever encountered – beautiful, enigmatic, and drawn to the darkness that consumed him. The moment he met them at that horribly dull party, walking into his life— somehow there finally came more in his life. With that dark look on their face, it makes one think that they were born for this life. They were his equal in every way, matching his thirst for thrill and danger. And it riled him up. It made everything about him electric. He could feel the blood boil down south in his member. He feels alive at this moment. But seeing them so vicious, so cruel, so vile. To be a creature of evil. He feels even more alive, knowing he could eat them whole. That he could take them himself, for his pleasure, for his desires, for his wants.

It was as if they were meant for each other, he thinks. They complete each other, make each other completely whole. Sukuna thinks he had been waiting for this his entire life. He has been waiting to feel like he had a pack, that he had a place to belong. He wouldn’t let them go, no. Not even if they wanted to. But he was sure he would not let go of him. They were as lonely as he was. So needy for thrill, for life to begin. He knew they could only find it with him. They would never be without any semblance of life without him. They would never leave him. They needed him. Otherwise, nothing would make sense. 

Together, Sukuna and his lover had embarked on a nightmarish journey, leaving behind a wake of destruction and despair that echoed their twisted desires. In the past few months together, they were hopping town to town, city to city, to commit to drenching the pavements with blood. He and his lover had laughed about the panic they had caused in each and every place they had gotten into turmoil. Each night, the nationwide news reporting on what they had done was the highlight of their dates. They reveled in the chaos, feeding off each other's primal urges with a fervor that bordered on madness.

Tonight was no exception to their macabre routine. They were both aching for more action after moving to another small, obscure town in the middle of nowhere. Sukuna had given his lover the choice of place, of prey, of tactic. He liked seeing his lover happy, after all. And Sukuna too knew that his lover was as a mastermind to crime as he. Everything had been going as planned. That made him howl with vicious laughter, one that even drowned out the screams he so loved to hear. 

As Sukuna wielded his blade with deadly precision, the thrill of violence surged through his veins like a drug. Each cut, each slice, each tear in flesh was a symphony of pain and pleasure, a twisted dance of death that left him intoxicated with power. But amidst the carnage, there was something else – something primal and forbidden that bound them together. It was a connection born of bloodlust and desperation, a bond that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason.

As Sukuna surveyed the aftermath of their rampage, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. His lover stood beside him, their hands stained crimson with the blood of the prey long gone. Their eyes gleamed with a feral hunger, their lips curved into a cruel smile that sent shivers down Sukuna's spine. He enjoyed this feeling, he knew that for certain. He grinned at their lust, boring down at the blood that spilled from their hair little by little.

Each and every time, they reveled in the manifestation of their darkest desires, their lust for blood and violence consuming them like wildfire. It was a sight both beautiful and grotesque, a testament to the depths of their depravity. The whole of it was brutal, a true manifestation of relentless viciousness. Yet it only pleased them. It only made them feel more eager to enjoy more and more of this debauchery. 

And as they stood amidst the carnage, Sukuna knew that he could live forever in this moment – a moment of pure, unadulterated madness that bound them together in a twisted embrace. For Sukuna and his dearest lover there was no turning back – they were monsters, born of darkness and consumed by the flames of their own creation. It was everything. He could feel his manhood harden more than before. He was certain that they were just as excited down south, eager for their foreplay to begin as soon as they finished.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

His lover's fingers tangled in Sukuna's bloody hair, pulling him closer as their lips met in a fierce and desperate kiss. The taste of blood melting on their lips, the taste of the scarlet liquid burning their tongues with its salty, metallic ambiance. It was a collision of passion and violence, a melding of two souls bound together by the darkness that consumed them. 

It was like a burning flame, each and every kiss. It was more painful, more dangerous in each and every turn of their touch. They bit his lip so harshly, the blood poured almost instantaneously. Sukuna did not mind. It excited him even more. They looked at him, as they parted. Taking in the breath, they did not let Sukuna take more air. They leaned forward once more, licking the blood and consuming his lips into their own, gripping his tattooed arms to hold them down.

Their bodies moved as one, a symphony of desire and destruction as they succumbed to the primal urges that drove them. Their bloody clothes started to slowly be discarded with reckless abandon, revealing skin marred by scars and bruises, testament to the violence of their existence. But at this moment, none of it mattered. There was only the heat of their bodies pressed together, the frantic rhythm of their hearts beating in unison as they surrendered to the madness that engulfed them.

Sukuna grabbed his lover by the hair and pulled them towards him, kissing them passionately while pushing their body against each other. His lover moaned into the kiss as Sukuna trailed his lips down their bloody neck, licking the flesh clean with his tongue. He grins as he starts leaving bites and marks along the way, eliciting moan after moan at how harshly he bit one after the other. There was no control for him. No mercy. They loved it that way. He knew that too well.

Sukuna then pushed his beloved onto the bed and climbed on top of them, grinding his hips against theirs. He reached behind himself to unfasten his pants hastily, freeing his long suffering erection to rub against his lover's thigh. It was a melodious thing to hear, all the whimpering and groans and whispers against his skin. The clawing nails at his flesh drawing skin to wounds and blood. It was electrifying to be in their arms, not caring in the world for what monstrosity they had just unleashed , still laying somewhere around the house. Sukuna could only care about the sounds of their heavy breathing filled the room as they continued to make out, their hands roaming over each other's bodies.

As they moved faster and faster, Sukuna felt a surge of pleasure shoot through him at the thought of what he was about to do. With one swift motion, he tore open his partner's shirt and began to lick and bite at their chest, marking it with his teeth like he always did. His partner groaned in pain and pleasure as Sukuna used his tongue to create patterns on their skin. It was all too good, all too cruel. One could never live without this. Sukuna knew he couldn’t.

Finally, Sukuna positioned himself above his beloved, his breath hitching with anticipation as he slowly slid inside them, feeling the warmth of their embrace enveloping him. Their nails dug into his arms, a mixture of pain and pleasure rippling through their body as he entered them with a primal force. Sukuna was certain that the air had been punched from both their lungs at the pace. But he did not care. He just cared for getting off the high, for getting more and more, taking and taking. 

A guttural groan escaped Sukuna's lips, the culmination of hours spent holding back his primal urges, his hardened member now fully immersed in the depths of their being. He couldn't help but surrender to the sensation, lost in the intoxicating pleasure of being one with them. He was always a beast, an animal, a monster and they reveled to be in his arms, to take him and be hurt, to accept the darkness for what it was. It only made him feel so big inside of them,  thinking of how they could only love only him. 

Their eyes locked for a brief, intense moment, a silent exchange of raw desire and primal need passing between them before they both closed their eyes, succumbing to the overwhelming ecstasy of their union. As they moved together in a frenzied rhythm, their bodies entwined in a savage dance of passion and carnal desire, Sukuna couldn't shake the feeling that this was where he truly belonged – in the arms of someone who shared his darkest desires, someone who embraced the darkness within him without hesitation.

With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, He and his lover were so easily becoming one, their souls intertwining in a twisted symphony of lust and madness. The room reverberated with the sound of their bodies colliding in a primal dance of desire, the intensity building with each passing moment. Blood from her scratches marking the drying blood against his tattoos. 

Sukuna's movements became more primal, more aggressive, as he surrendered to the primal urges coursing through his veins. His thrusts grew harsher, more relentless, fueled by the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain that enveloped them both. His lover's cries filled the air, a symphony of ecstasy and agony as they surrendered to the savage pleasure of their union. They egged him on, urging him to go faster, to go harder, to make them his prey in this twisted game of lust and desire.

There was no room for remorse or guilt between them – only the intoxicating rush of ecstasy as they surrendered to their darkest impulses, lost in the savage embrace of their love. In this moment, they were untamed beasts, consumed by the fire of their passion, oblivious to the world outside their twisted sanctuary. Nothing was ever so sacred to the two of them than being animals together, in each other’s arms. 

As they reached the peak of their ecstasy, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of desire, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment unlike anything he had ever experienced. They shook so violently in his arms, electric and high from the pleasure. When he came inside of them, he was so certain that he had blacked out for a moment. When he returned, he felt air punch out of his lips. He groaned and groaned, thrusting one after another, forcing more and more of himself each and every time—no matter how weary. 

Sukuna pressed kisses against their glistening skin, whispering sweet nothings, horrible sins to be born inside of their horrifying mind. He knew how corrupt they were. But it egged him to desire to know that he bore new festering sickness in a head already defiled by cruelty. They quivered against each word, reciprocating in kind. He envelopes his weight upon their own, certain that he would crush them. They wrapped their arms around him, taking in the scent of sex, carnage, blood and death. And somehow, they would fall asleep, happily at the life of an animal with him. He smiled down at them, watching them rest in the semblance of his chest.

In the arms of his beloved, he had found his truest self.

He knew he was a creature of darkness and desire.

That he was a hungry predator bound to hunt his prey. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was certain that neither would they. 

[rainforestakiie]

hello everyone, i am back with my new omegaverse au.

i can't wait for you all to read. if you remember my full moon prompt from harvest, this is heavily based on it. i am writing this for @inubaki i saw your new request and it inspired me to write this new au.

i hope you enjoy part 01. i can't wait to post part 02. this will be an omegaxomega story again because it's my favorite~ with possessive and dark lucifer, naive and confused adam.

it's not really a swap au, so adam won't fall with lucifer this time. i'm sorry, everyone. it's going to follow my full moon mini story, so that will be rewritten and added to this au. anyway! i hope you all will enjoy and let me know what you think~

Full Moon

Part 01 - Part 02 - Part 03

Mini AU

At the dawn of existence, before the world had found its rhythm, chaos gave birth to a single, luminous creation: a moon. But this was no ordinary moon, no pale orb hanging in the skies of mortal lands. No, this moon was a celestial marvel, vast and wondrous, its radiance a gentle blue that shimmered like liquid silver. It pulsed with an unearthly glow, its surface rippling as though formed of water from some forgotten, enchanted realm. Thousands of starry fragments seemed trapped within it, glimmering and sparkling, each twinkle whispering secrets of the infinite. This moon was not merely a light in the void; it was life itself, the very cradle of creation. The mortals would come to know it as the Heart of Life.

It was beneath this cosmic beacon that Lucifer came into being. He remembered nothing before that moment—no echoes of thought, no whispers of time. One instant, there was nothing; in the next, he simply was. His first sensation was sharp and jarring: an icy cold that stabbed at his newly formed skin, igniting an instinctual flare of terror in his core. His pale, fragile form trembled and twisted, spilling forth onto the shimmering, reflective platform beneath the moon, a surface as smooth and enigmatic as the moon itself.

Then it happened. The moon’s ethereal light caressed him, and his fragile back split open with a searing, almost beautiful pain. From the rupture emerged six towering wings, their edges dripping with stardust, each feather gleaming as though crafted from the night sky itself. They unfolded in a slow, trembling arc, spilling radiance into the void.

In those first fragile moments, Lucifer was overwhelmed—terrified, confused, and trembling beneath the enormity of existence. But then, as his gaze lifted, his wide, unseeing eyes caught the moon's reflection. Its silvery glow filled his vision, granting him sight, and with it, understanding. The fear melted away, replaced by a warmth so profound it wrapped around his very soul. In that instant, he no longer felt lost. The moon’s light cradled him, whispered to him, and he felt safe. He felt whole.

And for the first time, Lucifer smiled, his heart quietly aglow with a happiness that was ancient and eternal.

Lucifer stood tall, a quiet confidence radiating from his pale, stardust-kissed form. His bare feet hovered just above the shimmering expanse of the moon’s surface, his toes brushing its soft, silvery glow as if testing its touch. He stretched his wings wide, the six magnificent appendages arching outward, their feathers dripping with glimmers of light that seemed alive. Tilting his head back, he basked in the moon's radiant embrace, the soft glow washing over him like a tender lover’s caress. For a moment, the void felt full, brimming with the moon’s quiet adoration.

Then he heard it.

A voice, gentle as a sigh, rippled through the silence, weaving its way into his very soul. It was not male nor female but something far beyond, a melody of existence itself. The moon was speaking to him.

"My Morningstar," it whispered, its tone carrying an ancient tenderness, "you have awakened."

The words curled around him, soft as silk, yet heavy with purpose. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he lowered his gaze to the moon’s surface, his reflection gazing back at him with those glowing, celestial eyes that mirrored the moon’s very essence.

"You are the first, my Morningstar," the moon continued, its voice brimming with a quiet pride. "The first archangel born of my light, and the only one who will ever bear the title of Omega. You are unique. Precious. From this moment, you will carry a duty unlike any other."

Lucifer stood silent, his pale lips slightly parted as he listened, confusion and unease prickling at the edges of his thoughts. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they searched the endless abyss surrounding him. Far in the distance, a flicker caught his attention—a faint flame, no larger than the tip of a pin, burning in defiance of the darkness.

"That," the moon’s voice said softly, "is the Sun of Passion, where your brothers will rise. They are the Alphas, born from fire, brimming with light and recklessness. They are every bit the sun’s reflection—burning brightly, passionately, and fiercely."

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the distant flame, his celestial eyes squinting as though it would reveal more if he stared long enough. He turned back toward the moon, confusion evident on his delicate features.

"And you," the moon’s voice murmured, "are their balance. Your purpose, my Morningstar, is to unite with an Alpha. To create. To bring forth a new wave of angels into the universe."

The words struck him like a blow, heavy and unwelcome. Lucifer’s expression twisted, his lips pulling downward into a frown. The idea of submission, of yielding to this so-called Alpha, made something churn deep within him. He pressed his hand to his stomach, as if trying to suppress the sickness threatening to rise.

"I don’t want that," he whispered sharply, his voice trembling like a fragile thread about to snap. "I don’t want to submit to them."

The moon’s light dimmed ever so slightly, as though it had heard him but chose not to answer. The silence that followed felt vast, echoing his discontent, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Lucifer turned back to the tiny flicker of the sun, its distant flame pulsing with an intensity that made his stomach tighten. Slowly, he sank to his knees, his form folding into the moon’s shimmering waters. The silvery surface lapped at him, cool and comforting, but it could not soothe the storm raging within. His wings drooped, their radiant light dimming as he buried his face in his hands.

His moonlit eyes lifted once more, scanning the endless plane of the moon’s surface. He knew no Alpha could touch this sacred place. He was safe here, for now. Yet the thought of what awaited—of mating with something born of fire, something created to command—made his chest ache with defiance.

"I don’t want that," he whispered again, the words sharper this time, almost cutting against the silence.

The moon did not reply. Its voice, once so gentle and constant, had withdrawn, leaving Lucifer alone with his rebellion, his fears, and his refusal to accept the fate laid before him.

The first time Lucifer encountered an Alpha, it had been nothing short of unpleasant. Their presence was overwhelming, their arrogance suffocating, and their belief in their own superiority over Omegas left an ache in Lucifer’s chest that refused to fade. To them, Omegas were meant to be beneath them—submissive, pliable, obedient. The very thought turned his stomach. He had avoided them ever since, choosing solitude over their oppressive aura.

Lucifer, almost bare save for the moonlit feathers that adorned his pale form, moved with quiet grace. The soft plumage grew like a second skin, shielding his most intimate places and draping him in a natural elegance. Moon-white and shimmering blue, the feathers lined his arms and legs, caressed his collarbone, and framed his wrists and ankles like celestial jewelry. Two small, delicate wings sprouted from the sides of his head, their soft flutter stirring faint sparkles across his cheeks. He looked like something born of dreams, fragile and yet impossibly radiant.

Stretching his larger wings, he gently combed his fingers through their soft feathers, removing the stardust that clung to them from his exploration of the new stars that had begun to dot the cosmos. The moon had urged him to leave its comforting waters, to see the wonders beyond its light. At first, Lucifer had resisted, reluctant to leave the only place that truly felt like home. But curiosity had won out.

He had landed on a newborn star, his bare feet sinking slightly into its gleaming surface, the golden light beneath his touch warm and alive. His delicate hands traced its smooth expanse, and for the first time, Lucifer felt the pulse of new light—untamed, unshaped, beautiful. His moonlit blue eyes reflected the star's brilliance, shifting to a luminous gold as he smiled softly.

"Ah… you will be the Morningstar," he murmured, his voice tender, almost reverent. A chuckle escaped his lips, light and airy, as he settled back on the balls of his feet. "Like me."

He sighed, his wings twitching as he pulled them closer, beginning to preen the feathers with his fingertips. A few of the plumes shimmered faintly with the golden light of the star, and Lucifer’s gaze lingered on them in quiet awe.

"Oh," he whispered, lowering his gaze to the star beneath him. "You’re amazing."

As if responding to his words, the star quivered beneath his touch, its light gathering and forming into a tiny orb of pure golden brilliance. The orb floated upward, shimmering and sparkling, a miniature star cradled within its fragile glow. Lucifer gasped softly, cupping his stardust-covered hands beneath it, holding it close to his face.

"You’re beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

The star twinkled in reply, and Lucifer’s heart stirred—a quiet, strange rhythm that was new and unfamiliar. Time slipped away as he sat there, the golden orb held tenderly in his hands. When his legs began to weaken, trembling beneath him, he didn’t notice. He only had eyes for the star. Slowly, almost instinctively, he tilted his face forward, his long, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. He pressed his lips to the orb in a soft, delicate kiss.

It shone brighter, pulsing in response to his touch, and Lucifer couldn’t help but grin.

"I’m Lucifer," he said softly, his voice a gentle hum. "The Morningstar Archangel."

The star flickered, its golden light shimmering as if in reply.

"I’m… an Omega, apparently," he added, a slight laugh escaping his lips. His gaze softened as he watched the orb sparkle. "The only Omega archangel. There are many Alpha archangels, though."

Lucifer sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the words settled over him.

"Alphas are supposed to dominate Omegas," he murmured, his voice quieter now, tinged with melancholy. "It means I’m supposed to… submit. To them. And…"

He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line before he shook his head. "I don’t like that."

The star flickered softly, as if listening to him, its golden glow pulsing gently against his hands.

"I don’t want to submit. I don’t want to mate with an Alpha," he continued, his words spilling out like confessions to the tiny star. "I don’t want to create a new wave of angels. I don’t want to… surrender myself to someone who thinks they’re better than me. That’s what they think, you know. The Alphas. They think I’m beneath them. That I’m supposed to bow."

His fingers tightened slightly around the orb, though he was careful not to harm it.

"But I’m not," he said, his voice firmer now, though still soft. "I’m not beneath them. And I don’t want to be bound to this fate."

The star shone brighter, as though in agreement, and Lucifer laughed softly, a bittersweet sound.

"You understand, don’t you?" he whispered, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You’re new, just like me. You don’t want someone telling you what you’re meant to be, either."

The orb twinkled, its light dancing across Lucifer’s moonlit skin, and for a moment, he felt understood, comforted. He leaned closer to it, his wings curling protectively around him as he whispered his thoughts into the golden glow.

Lucifer cradled the golden orb in his stardust-streaked hands, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against its warm, delicate surface. He wasn’t sure if it truly understood him, if it could feel the ache that bled through every whispered word. Yet the way it sparkled, the way it twinkled as though it were smiling at him, made his chest tighten with a flicker of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, it did.

Bringing it closer, Lucifer pressed another gentle kiss to the center of the orb, his lips lingering against its radiant warmth. A sigh escaped him, soft and yearning, as he rested his cheek against its golden glow.

"Can’t I be yours instead?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He nuzzled his face into the star, his pale lashes fluttering shut. "Can’t you be mine? Can’t we be together instead?"

The orb shivered faintly in his hands, its light pulsing in soft, rhythmic waves. But no voice came, no answer, only the steady sparkle of its golden glow. Lucifer sighed again, his heart heavy.

"I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his breath warming the surface of the orb.

From that moment on, Lucifer refused to let the Morningstar orb drift away from him. It became his constant companion, a small light in the vast abyss that felt too cold and empty without it. He carried it wherever he went, held it close to his chest as though it might dissolve into nothingness if he let go.

When he rested, he would lay upon the silken surface of the moonlit waters, the orb cradled against him like a precious jewel. His wings, vast and soft, curled around them both, their feathery tips brushing lightly against the orb’s surface. Sometimes, he would stroke the golden light with his fingertips, his touch delicate, reverent.

"You’re all I need," he would whisper, his voice trembling with quiet desperation. "You’re enough for me. I don’t need anyone else."

The star would shimmer in response, twinkling like a thousand tiny suns trapped within its core. Lucifer would smile faintly, pressing his lips to it again and again, soft kisses that spoke of longing, of love, of a silent plea to never be left alone again.

His wings became an extension of his affection, their feathery edges tickling the orb, coaxing it to twinkle brighter. The golden light flickered playfully, as if responding to his gentle teasing, and Lucifer would laugh—a soft, airy sound that carried both joy and sorrow.

"Do you like that?" he would ask, brushing his feathers across the orb with deliberate care. "Does it feel nice? I hope it does. I hope… I hope you’re happy with me."

When the star’s light grew brighter in response, Lucifer’s heart swelled. It didn’t matter if it couldn’t speak, if it couldn’t truly understand. The way it glowed, the way it pulsed so gently against his touch, made him feel just a little less lonely in the infinite expanse of the void.

He wouldn’t let it drift away—not for a moment. If it tried to float from his hands, he would unfurl his wings and curl them around it, guiding it back to his embrace. He would press it close, his cheek resting against its warmth, his lashes brushing its glowing surface as he whispered to it.

"Stay with me," he would plead, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t leave me. Please. I… I don’t think I could bear it if you did."

The star never answered, but it didn’t need to. Its soft light, its playful flickers, were enough to soothe the ache in Lucifer’s chest. And so, he kept it close, holding it tighter with every passing moment, as though the very act of letting go would shatter him into pieces.

He spent his days and nights with the Morningstar orb, caressing it, kissing it, and speaking to it as though it were his closest confidant. He poured his heart into that tiny, golden light, hoping that somehow, it could feel the depth of his affection.

"You’re mine," he would whisper as he held it against his chest, his wings folding protectively around them both. "And I’m yours. That’s enough for me."

The orb twinkled softly in reply, and for the first time in his existence, Lucifer felt something close to peace.

Lucifer first met Michael on the edge of the void, where the faint golden shimmer of the Morningstar reflected against the inky blackness. Michael descended in a slow, graceful arc, his six brilliant wings radiating a warmth that reminded Lucifer of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His face was calm, kind even, his golden eyes steady as they met Lucifer’s moonlit gaze.

"Lucifer," Michael greeted, his voice low and measured, like a river flowing steadily. "I’ve been looking forward to meeting you."

Lucifer didn’t respond. He stood still, his wings slightly unfurled, his hands resting protectively over his golden orb. He was cautious, suspicious, even though Michael’s demeanor lacked the aggressive arrogance he had come to expect from the Alphas.

Michael tilted his head slightly, his expression gentle. "I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not here to demand anything of you. I only wish to know you better, as your brother."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, the soft glow of his pale skin reflecting the faint light of the Morningstar beneath him. He didn’t reply, his silence hanging between them like an unspoken warning. He had no intention of submitting to Michael—or any Alpha.

Soon after, the others began to arrive. Gabriel was the next, his steps light and his smile bright, his honeyed words flowing as he tried to charm Lucifer. But Lucifer could hear the possessiveness beneath the surface of his flattery, the way his gaze lingered too long, assessing and covetous.

Raphael followed, more direct in his approach. His voice was firm and steady, but his eyes betrayed the same undercurrent of desire to claim what he thought was his by right. Uriel was quieter, but his penetrating gaze made Lucifer uneasy, as though the Alpha was already imagining ways to exert control over him.

Lucifer distanced himself from them, keeping his words to a minimum and his movements guarded. He tolerated their presence only because the moon had urged him to be patient. But the moment they drew too close to his Morningstar, everything changed.

It happened when Raphael’s wings cast a shadow over the golden light of the orb. Lucifer’s body tensed, his feathers ruffling as his pale lips parted in a sharp warning.

"Don’t," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Don’t step any closer."

The Alphas froze, their gazes snapping to Lucifer in surprise. They had not expected the quiet, ethereal Omega to bare his teeth, to draw himself up with such palpable defiance.

Raphael’s lips curled into a sneer, his own wings flaring wide as he took an intimidating step forward.

"You dare to order me?" he growled, his voice heavy with authority. "You forget your place, Omega."

Lucifer didn’t flinch. His moonlit eyes burned with cold fire, his wings spreading wide to shield the Morningstar beneath him. "I said, don’t land on my star."

Raphael snarled, taking another step forward as if to challenge him, but Michael quickly intervened, stepping between them. His voice was calm, yet firm as steel.

"Enough, Raphael," Michael said, placing a hand on the other Alpha’s chest. "We’re not here to quarrel."

Raphael growled low in his throat but stepped back, his glare still fixed on Lucifer.

Michael turned to Lucifer, his expression apologetic.

"I promise," he said softly, "We will not set foot on your star. You have my word."

Lucifer gave a sharp nod, but the distrust in his glare didn’t fade. He stayed on edge, his wings curling protectively around the Morningstar as he watched the Alphas with a wary intensity.

For a time, Lucifer managed to keep the Morningstar orb hidden from the others, cradling it in the safety of his wings whenever they were near. But one fateful day, he slipped.

Raphael caught sight of the golden orb, its soft glow cradled delicately in Lucifer’s hands. The Alpha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and before Lucifer could react, Raphael stepped forward, his movements swift and decisive.

"What is this?" Raphael asked, snatching the orb from Lucifer’s grasp.

Lucifer gasped, panic flashing across his face as he lunged forward.

"Give it back!" he cried, his voice trembling with desperation.

Raphael held the orb up, his expression sceptical as he turned it over in his hands.

"This? You’re clinging to this?" he asked, shaking the orb lightly.

"Stop!" Lucifer pleaded, his wings flaring as he tried to reach for the orb. "You’re hurting them!"

Raphael let out a scoff, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Hurting it? It’s just a star, Lucifer. It has no feelings. No life."

Lucifer’s eyes widened, tears welling up as he made another desperate grab for the orb.

"Give them back!" he begged, his voice breaking. "Please, Raphael, don’t—!"

But Raphael’s grip tightened, his fingers curling around the orb. The golden light flickered, dimming as he began to squeeze.

"Enough of this nonsense," Raphael muttered. "You’re acting ridiculous—"

The orb shattered in his hands, its light bursting into a spray of golden dust that scattered into the air.

Lucifer froze, his breath hitching as he stared at the glittering remnants of his beloved Morningstar.

"No…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his trembling hands reaching for the golden dust as if he could gather it back together.

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he tried in vain to scoop up the fragments.

"W-What did you do?" he choked out, his voice shaking with anguish.

Raphael frowned, his expression hardening as he crossed his arms.

"Are you seriously crying over a star?" he said, his tone laced with disdain.

Lucifer didn’t answer. His trembling hands clutched at the golden dust, his tears falling freely as the weight of the loss crushed him. For the first time, the light in his eyes dimmed, leaving only a hollow, aching sorrow in their place.

The golden remnants of the Morningstar orb sparkled faintly on Lucifer’s trembling hands, but the light was fading fast, dissipating into the void like a dying breath. Lucifer’s shoulders quaked as the ache in his chest grew unbearable, the raw grief twisting into something darker.

He looked up, his white eyes blazing with fury, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. His voice erupted like thunder, raw and jagged: “How dare you!”

Raphael blinked, taken aback by the sheer force of Lucifer’s scream. He waved a dismissive hand, as though swatting away a trivial concern.

“Calm yourself, Lucifer. It’s just a star orb. Not even a real star. Do you know how many of those things are scattered across the abyss? If it means so much to you, I’ll fetch you another one.”

Lucifer’s wings flared wide, their iridescent feathers shimmering with a furious glow as his voice cracked through the air. “Another one?! That was mine! You had no right to touch it, let alone destroy it!”

Raphael’s jaw tightened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He squared his shoulders, stepping forward. “You’re overreacting. It was nothing but a bauble—an insignificant flicker of light. You’re acting like a spoiled hatchling.”

Lucifer’s fury only grew, his voice rising to a sharp screech. “That ‘bauble’ was mine! It was alive—it was my Morningstar! You don’t get to decide what it was worth! You had no right!”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, the faint golden glow of his form intensifying as his own temper frayed.

“Watch your tone, Omega,” he snapped, his voice deep and commanding. “You forget your place! You shouldn’t be raising your voice to me—you should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness!”

Lucifer recoiled, his lip curling in disgust. His wings bristled, his glowing gaze burning with contempt.

“I will never submit to someone like you!” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you’re entitled to obedience just because you’re an Alpha? You’re nothing but a bully—a cruel, arrogant brute!”

Raphael’s fury ignited fully, his wings flaring wide as he stepped closer. “I’m an Alpha, Lucifer! That means you will obey me! You were made to submit, no matter how high you think you stand!”

The air between them crackled with tension, their opposing energies swirling like colliding storms. Raphael’s fists clenched, his wings tensing as he prepared to strike. Lucifer braced himself, his feathers shimmering like a thousand stars ready to defend their light.

Before either could make a move, a sudden gust of power tore through the space, forcing them apart. Michael landed between them, his golden wings blazing with authority as he thrust his hands outward, halting their fight.

“Enough!” Michael’s voice boomed, echoing through the void. The sheer weight of his command sent both Raphael and Lucifer stumbling back.

Raphael huffed, crossing his arms as he straightened.

“Lucifer’s being sensitive,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as though brushing off the tension. “It was just a star orb—”

Lucifer’s voice cracked with anguish as he interrupted, his tears glistening like liquid stardust. “He killed it! My Morningstar!”

He held up his trembling, dust-covered hands as his voice broke. “It wasn’t just a star—it was mine. It was alive, and he crushed it like it was nothing!”

Michael’s sharp eyes flicked between them, his brow furrowing as he caught sight of the faint golden dust shimmering across the ground and staining Lucifer’s pale hands. His gaze softened as it returned to Lucifer, the younger angel’s grief palpable in every trembling breath.

“Lucifer…” Michael said gently, his tone calmer now. “Explain.”

Lucifer choked on a sob, clutching the remnants of the Morningstar orb to his chest. His wings sagged, curling protectively around him like a cocoon.

“It wasn’t just a star,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It was… it was mine. It understood me. It made me feel… less alone. And now it’s gone. He destroyed it like it meant nothing.”

Michael’s expression darkened as he glanced back at Raphael. “You did this?”

Raphael’s wings shifted, and he raised his chin defiantly. “It was just a star. He’s being dramatic.”

Lucifer’s anguish flared into a biting anger again as he pointed a shaking finger at Raphael. “You crushed it! You—!”

His voice broke, and he crumpled, tears falling freely.

Michael knelt beside him, his golden light dimming to a softer glow as he placed a steadying hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. His voice was quiet but firm as he said, “Lucifer, I see your pain. I understand.”

He turned his head, fixing Raphael with a sharp glare. “And you—do you understand what you’ve done?”

Raphael opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but something in Michael’s gaze stopped him. For a moment, the proud Alpha hesitated, his feathers ruffling uneasily.

Lucifer stayed curled in on himself, his heart shattered along with his Morningstar. He didn’t care if Raphael was chastised or punished. Nothing could bring back what he had lost. Nothing could fill the hollow ache inside him.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his chest heaving as Michael’s hand rested on his shoulder, attempting to steady him. But the touch only fuelled the fire burning inside him. With a guttural growl, deep and feral, Lucifer shoved Michael’s hand away. His teeth bared; his glowing eyes sharp as shards of glass.

“Don’t touch me!” he hissed, his voice cracking with raw emotion. His trembling hands clenched into fists, and with a powerful burst of stardust, he launched himself to his feet. His six magnificent wings flared out, spanning wide like a storm unravelling across the abyss.

“I hate you!” he screamed, his voice reverberating in the space between them. His lips curled in pure disdain as he glared at Raphael, then Michael, then the dark expanse beyond them, as though condemning every Alpha in existence.

“I hate all you stuck-up Alphas! I will never—never—mate with any of you!”

Lucifer’s wings quivered with the force of his fury, his entire being trembling under the weight of his grief and rage.

“I will never submit to you! Not to any of you!” His voice broke on the last word, but he refused to let it soften him.

Before anyone could respond—before Michael could reach for him again or Raphael could utter another cold retort—Lucifer turned sharply. With a surge of his wings, he launched himself into the abyss, his flight desperate, frantic. The space around him blurred as he fled, leaving the stunned Alphas behind.

Lucifer’s heart thundered in his chest as he reached the familiar glow of his moon. He collapsed onto the cool surface of the moon waters, his legs folding beneath him. His hands pressed against his chest, trembling violently as sobs tore from his throat. The pale glow of the moon bathed his fragile form, soft and tender, like a mother cradling her wounded child.

“What is this feeling?” Lucifer whispered, his voice shaking as he stared up at the luminous orb. Tears streamed down his face, falling like molten stardust into the waters beneath him. His wings drooped, curling protectively around his form as though shielding him from the world.

The moon’s light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. Its soothing voice whispered to him, soft as a breeze across still waters. “Calm yourself, my Morningstar. The Alpha does not mean to harm you.”

But the words only ignited his fury once more. Lucifer sat up, his fingers curling against the shimmering waters.

“Alphas are horrible!” he snarled, his voice cutting through the moonlight. “They’re terrible! Arrogant! Cruel!”

He slammed his fist into the water, sending ripples dancing across its surface. “I don’t want to mate with any of them! I don’t want them near me!”

The moon’s voice hummed with sadness, its glow dimming slightly. “Forgive the Alpha for his reckless actions. He is passionate but thoughtless, like the fire of his sun.”

Lucifer shook his head violently, his tears falling faster now.

“I can’t!” he sobbed, his voice raw with anguish. “I will never forgive them! I will never trust them!”

His fingers clawed at the waters beneath him, trying to grasp the reflection of the moon but finding only emptiness.

His voice softened, cracking under the weight of his grief. “I’ve lost my Morningstar… My only true lover. My only friend. The only thing I had…”

 His voice faltered, barely audible now. “And now I have no one.”

Lucifer curled into himself, his wings folding tightly around his body as though trying to shield him from the overwhelming emptiness that stretched endlessly in his heart. The moonlight continued to caress him gently, but its warmth could no longer reach the cold, hollow ache within him. The void inside him deepened, and for the first time since his creation, Lucifer felt utterly, irrevocably alone.

From that moment on, Lucifer’s heart hardened against the other archangels. His trust, fragile as glass, was shattered beyond repair. He hated them—their arrogance, their recklessness, the way they carried themselves as though the universe belonged to them. When their paths crossed, his words were sharp and curt, a glacial coldness emanating from his every glance. He kept his distance, avoiding them whenever he could. The only times he allowed their presence were the moments when duty demanded it—when he was needed to assist in the expansion of the universe, weaving the fabric of creation with his reluctant hands.

It was during one of these duties, beneath a newly formed nebula, that Lucifer felt it—a new presence, unfamiliar and strange, yet oddly soothing. His moonlit eyes drifted toward the heart of the radiant swirl, where the birth of a new archangel was taking place. Her emergence was unlike anything he had seen before, her form shimmering into being with a quiet grace that felt more like the soft hum of stars rather than the blaze of fire the Alphas carried.

Her name was Sera, and she was not like the others.

Sera was a constellation come to life, her hair cascading in waves of shimmering purple, flecked with the silver glimmer of distant stars. Her skin glowed faintly, like the quiet, ever-present light of the cosmos. And what struck Lucifer most of all—what drew him toward her like a moth to flame—was the absence of the suffocating, burning scent that clung to the Alphas. With her, there was only calm, a silence that felt like peace.

Lucifer’s curiosity bloomed, hesitant at first, but undeniable. Slowly, cautiously, he drifted closer to her. Sera noticed him, her luminous eyes warm, offering a gentle smile that lacked the sharp edge of dominance he had grown so used to. She didn’t press, didn’t demand; she merely existed, radiating a quiet kindness that soothed the raw edges of his mistrust.

For the first time in what felt like eons, Lucifer didn’t feel the need to guard himself.

As the days passed, he found himself seeking her out more and more. He watched her as she walked among the stars, her touch delicate as she caressed their light, her laughter soft and musical as she spoke to the newborn celestial bodies. She was beautiful, Lucifer realized, with a sharp pang in his chest. Not in the fiery, overwhelming way of the Alphas, but in a way that felt like home. While he reflected the moon with his ethereal glow, Sera was the embodiment of the stars themselves—twinkling, boundless, eternal.

It wasn’t long before their bond began to deepen. Sera, with her patience and calm, never pushed him, never tried to assert herself over him. Instead, she listened, her gaze steady and filled with understanding as Lucifer began to open, little by little. They spent countless hours together, drifting among the stars, their conversations weaving a tapestry of trust and friendship.

But one day, as they sat together on the edge of a glittering comet, Lucifer’s curiosity overcame him. He turned to her, his expression uncertain but earnest.

“What are you?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with awe. “You’re not an Alpha. You don’t smell like them, and you don’t live with them. But you don’t live under the moon with me, either.”

Sera tilted her head, her smile faint but amused.

“I’m something new,” she explained, her voice like the gentle rustle of starlight. “I am neither Alpha nor Omega. I am a Beta.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his fascination immediate. “A Beta?” he echoed, leaning closer.

“What does that mean? What is it like to be a Beta?” His questions spilled out in a torrent; his excitement clear.

Sera chuckled softly, her laughter like the soft tinkling of wind chimes. She answered his questions with patience, her tone kind and unhurried. Lucifer couldn’t help but be enchanted by her. Her presence felt like a balm to the loneliness that had long since taken root in his soul.

But even as their bond deepened, there were moments that stirred the bitterness within him. Sera, ever kind and open, spent time with the Alphas too. Lucifer had seen her with them, laughing at Michael’s stories, her smile radiant as she listened intently. It made something inside him twist uncomfortably—a pang of jealousy he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He grew colder, more distant whenever the Alphas were near, his gaze sharp and guarded. Sera noticed, her expression puzzled as she watched his demeanour shift, but she never pressed him for answers. She returned to his side whenever the Alphas left, her presence steady and warm, and for a time, Lucifer allowed himself to forget the rest of the universe.

Still, the sight of her with them lingered in his mind, a reminder of the divide that seemed impossible to bridge. And though he cherished their bond, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if even Sera, with her gentle light, could truly understand the shadows that clouded his heart.

Lucifer sat cross-legged on a platform of crystallized moonlight, his hands resting delicately on his knees as the faint glow of golden magic shimmered at his fingertips. The light was fragile, flickering like a candle threatened by a gust of wind. Across from him, Sera knelt gracefully, her twinkling lavender hair cascading over her shoulders as her gentle voice guided him.

“Focus, Lucifer,” she murmured, her tone as soothing as the starlight that danced across her skin. “The magic is an extension of your will. You don’t have to force it—just let it flow. Like water.”

Lucifer furrowed his brow, the faint light trembling in his palms. He exhaled slowly, doing his best to follow her advice. The golden glow stabilized, spreading softly across his hands. For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“There you go,” Sera said with a smile of her own, leaning closer. Her presence was steady, a comforting weight that kept him grounded. “You’re doing beautifully.”

But the moment of peace shattered when she spoke again, her tone light, almost teasing. “So,” she began, tilting her head curiously, “why haven’t you picked an Alpha yet?”

The question hit Lucifer like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of tension through his body. The glow in his hands flickered violently before extinguishing altogether. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, wide with disbelief. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Sera hummed, entirely unbothered by his reaction. “You know,” she said casually, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “As an Omega, it’s your duty to choose an Alpha. To mate. That’s what you were made for, after all.”

Lucifer felt as though the air had been knocked out of his lungs. His wings stiffened, their edges trembling with suppressed emotion. “My duty?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous.

Sera nodded, entirely unperturbed by the storm brewing within him. “Of course,” she said, her tone slipping into something almost patronizing. “It’s natural for an Omega to fulfill their role. The Alphas are waiting for you to make your decision.”

“My role?” Lucifer’s voice was louder now, incredulous and tinged with anger. “You’re saying my only purpose is to… submit? To breed?”

Sera sighed, her expression soft but exasperated, as though she were speaking to a stubborn child. “Lucifer, it’s not something to be upset about. It’s just the way things are. You’re an Omega. This is what you were created for.”

Lucifer recoiled as though struck, his stardust hands clenching into fists.

“I hate the Alphas,” he hissed, his wings flaring behind him. “I will never mate with one of them.”

Her sigh deepened, the sound heavy with disappointment.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, though her tone carried an edge of impatience. “You’re being emotional. It’s not about what you want—it’s about fulfilling your purpose. You have to understand that.”

The betrayal sank into Lucifer’s chest like an icy blade. He stared at her, his voice shaking.

“You sound just like them,” he spat. “You’re no different.”

Sera hesitated, her starlit gaze flickering with something unreadable.

“Lucifer, we thought…” She trailed off, then sighed again, her voice quiet. “We thought you’d listen to me. That since you’ve grown comfortable with me, I’d be the best one to help you see reason.”

Lucifer froze. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of her words hit him.

“‘We?’” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s ‘we?’”

Sera flinched, but only slightly. “The Alphas,” she admitted, her tone hesitant. “They thought I could… encourage you to fulfil your role.”

The room felt as though it had tilted on its axis. Lucifer’s chest tightened, and his voice cracked with disbelief. “So you really think I should submit? That I should bow to them?”

Sera’s gaze softened, her expression one of pity. “Lucifer,” she said gently, “it’s not about bowing. It’s about balance. About doing what’s right for creation.”

His stomach churned. He staggered to his feet, his wings trembling with fury and hurt.

“You were never my friend,” he said, his voice breaking. “You were just another one of them. Trying to control me. To dictate who I am.”

Sera stood as well, her expression turning solemn.

“I care about you, Lucifer,” she said softly. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“No,” Lucifer snapped, his voice filled with venom. “You only want what’s best for them.”

Without another word, he turned and fled, his wings propelling him back to the safety of the moon waters. Tears blurred his vision as he landed beneath the moon’s gentle glow, collapsing onto the stardust ground.

He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling with anger and heartbreak.

“I thought she was different,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I finally had someone I could trust.”

The moon’s soft light caressed him, attempting to soothe his storm of emotions. But Lucifer shook his head, the betrayal too raw to be comforted.

“I have no one,” he whispered to himself. “Not anymore.”

Eons passed in an endless, aching rhythm, time stretching like threads of starlight unraveling across the universe. Lucifer drifted further and further into solitude, his once-vivid radiance dimming to a guarded glow. He kept his distance from his brothers, his silence heavier than any spoken word. Every smile, every gesture from them felt like a calculated move, a hidden agenda. He could not—would not—forgive them. Each one, in their own way, had betrayed him, seeking to control, to manipulate, to twist him into something he refused to be. So, he turned away, withdrawing into himself, and only emerged when duty called him to help sculpt the fabric of creation.

But even creation could not heal the scars etched across his heart.

Lucifer spent most of his days curled upon his Morningstar, a golden sanctuary floating in the vast expanse of the universe. It shimmered faintly beneath him, though its once-blazing light had begun to fade. Centuries ago, its brilliance had rivalled the heavens themselves, but now its glow was dimming, as though its essence was bleeding into the void.

He ran his hands over its gilded surface, his touch tender and trembling.

"Don’t leave me," he whispered, his voice breaking. Tears welled in his moonlit eyes, threatening to spill. "Don’t disappear like my precious orb. You’re all I have left."

But the Morningstar gave no answer, save for the faintest hum of its magic, and even that seemed weaker with each passing century. Curling up against its heart, Lucifer buried his face into the warmth of its light. His wings folded around him protectively as he gazed up at the thousands of stars that adorned the abyss above him. Each one had been hung with care by the archangels—a painstaking labour of love.

Lucifer hated them. Yet, he adored their handiwork.

No Alpha or Beta dared approach the Morningstar anymore. They had learned, at last, to leave it to him. Whether out of respect or fear, Lucifer neither knew nor cared. They had also stayed away from the Moon of Life, but that was by divine decree. The Morningstar? That was Lucifer's by his own command.

Still, he didn’t acknowledge their quiet surrender. He hated them all—Michael, Raphael, Sera. Especially Sera.

Until one day, something changed.

Lucifer woke to a sensation that stirred his very soul. The air shimmered with an energy he hadn’t felt in eons. His skin sparkled, his feathers quivered, and the Morningstar beneath him pulsed faintly, as if sharing in the excitement. Around him, the Moon, the Sun, and the stars shimmered in harmony, their light brighter than he’d ever seen before.

At first, Lucifer remained where he was, his curiosity tempered by caution. He let out a soft hum, tilting his head as the stardust on his arms—the remnants of his lost lover—began to shine in response to the universe’s call. Slowly, he rose from the Morningstar, his wings stretching wide as he ascended.

Out in the boundless expanse, something magnificent was forming.

A sphere of blue and green spun into existence, its colours swirling as if locked in a gentle dance. The sight stole Lucifer’s breath. He hovered, mesmerized, as the sphere took shape, its magic radiating outwards like ripples across a celestial sea.

But then, from the edges of his vision, he saw them—his brothers and sisters, drawn to the new creation like moths to a flame.

Lucifer hesitated, his gut twisting with reluctance. He didn’t want to join them. But something about the sphere called to him, pulling him closer. Against his better judgment, he drifted toward the gathered archangels, keeping a deliberate inch of space between himself and the others.

“Sera,” he murmured, his voice low and uncertain. “What’s happening?”

Sera folded her hands over her chest, her face alight with wonder.

“Something new,” she whispered. “Something far greater than us.”

Lucifer frowned, confusion flickering in his starlit eyes. He turned his gaze upward and froze.

Above the forming sphere stood a being unlike any he had ever seen. She was vast and radiant, her six wings shimmering with the light of every star in the cosmos. Her body seemed woven from the very fabric of existence—feathers, stardust, and wisps of cosmic energy flowing together in perfect harmony.

Lucifer’s breath hitched as he stared at her.

“My name is Metatron,” she announced, her voice resounding like a symphony across the heavens. “I am the Scribe of God.”

Michael stepped forward, his expression casual but curious. “God?”

Metatron smiled, a mysterious glint in her otherworldly gaze. “Yes. God. Our Father and Mother. The Sun and the Moon. The stars and the Milky Way. All in one.”

Her wings unfolded, their light washing over them all as she turned her attention to the sphere below.

“And this…” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “This is Father’s greatest creation. This is Earth, the home of the humans.”

Lucifer blinked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

“Humans?” he asked softly.

Metatron’s gaze flicked to him, her eyes glimmering with an unfathomable wisdom. “Yes. Humans. They will come in the centuries to follow, but for now, Father is shaping the first of their kind. A single human, crafted with the utmost care and love.”

Sera stepped closer; awe written across her face.

“Where is this human?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“In Eden,” Metatron raised her hand, her fingertips glowing like the first dawn. “Father’s garden. The human will awaken in the next century, and one of you will be tasked with guiding them.”

Lucifer’s wings twitched, his mind racing. He didn’t know whether to feel excitement or dread. A new creation, more delicate than the stars and more alive than the angels. And he would have a part to play in their story.

For the first time in centuries, he allowed himself a fragile flicker of hope. But even that, he knew, was dangerous.

Lucifer had no intention of ever seeing Eden, nor this first human that Metatron spoke of. And, to be honest, he didn’t care. He felt the excitement in the others, felt the eagerness in their movements and voices as they buzzed around the new creation, but he refused to let himself feel anything. He refused to hope. No one had ever truly been on his side, and he had learned that hope only led to disappointment, to betrayal. So, he kept to himself—isolated, withdrawn, like the distant star he had always been.

The Moon of Life became his refuge, the one part of God that still felt like his, as though it were a fragment of himself. At times, he would drift back to the Morningstar, the orb that had once shone so brightly, so full of life and magic. But each time, the fear within him grew. The orb that had once been so golden now seemed dull, losing its light, its spark, and so too did his own soul. The stardust that had once graced his hands and arms now glimmered brighter than the Morningstar itself, but even that felt like a cruel mockery of what had been.

Lucifer sank to his knees, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His wings, those silken moonlit feathers, hung limply at his sides. The golden feathers—gifts from his precious orb—had long since fallen out, each one crumbling away within his hands, no matter how carefully he tried to preserve them. They slipped through his fingers, just as everything else had. His heart ached, his chest burned with the familiar pain of loneliness.

"Please. Please, don't leave me alone," he whispered to the fading glow of the Morningstar. "Please don't die. I need you... you're all I have."

But as always, the Morningstar offered no response. It couldn’t speak, couldn’t offer comfort. Yet, it would shine, it would twinkle in reply. Now, there was only silence. The golden light beneath him flickered, dying in the same way his hopes had. Lucifer’s breath hitched as tears began to fall, slipping down his cheeks and mixing with the soft, dull glow of the Morningstar.

"I'm all alone. You're all I have," he whispered again, as if repeating it would make it less true.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the weight of his sorrow.

"Hello, Lucifer."

Lucifer stiffened, eyes wide with surprise. His heart skipped a beat, and he inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. His gaze flicked up, but only for a moment—just enough to catch a glimpse of her. Metatron. The tallest, the most magnificent of angels, standing before him like a vision made of starlight and dreams. Her form shimmered with an ethereal radiance that made everything else in the universe seem dull in comparison.

She was... beyond words. No one could describe her—she was everything and nothing, all at once. The Scribe of God. The essence of the universe itself, woven into one being. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat, but he quickly lowered his gaze, overwhelmed by her presence. He dared not look her directly in the eye; to do so would feel like an unforgivable transgression.

"Metatron," he whispered softly, almost reverently.

He couldn’t bring himself to be bold, to demand she leave his precious Morningstar. No one, not even the other archangels, dared to tread on his star. But Metatron? She was different. She was above them all. Connected to the divine in ways the others could not even begin to comprehend.

Metatron smiled, her voice soft and mysterious. "Lucifer, I have been meaning to speak with you. I owe you an apology."

Lucifer blinked, confused by her words. He barely managed a quiet murmur of understanding.

"It’s... it’s alright," he said, though a part of him felt something stir deep within him at her apology.

She chuckled gently, the sound like the soft rustle of leaves. "It is true. I have been occupied with the formation of Earth."

 Her gaze shifted, becoming more focused. "But Eden... Eden is for the archangels. And, Lucifer... I noticed something."

Lucifer hesitated, his lips parted as he looked away, staring at the surface of the Morningstar as though it might give him some solace.

"I don’t want to work with them," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Metatron’s gaze softened, her tone still gentle and filled with curiosity.

"And why is that?" she asked, her voice carrying an unspoken understanding, as though she already knew the answer.

Lucifer struggled to find the words, his heart pounding in his chest. "Because... because they don’t care about me.”

“They never did." His voice cracked, but he bit back the tears that threatened to rise once again.

Metatron’s smile didn’t falter. "Lucifer, you are different. You are special. As an Omega, it is important that your magic is woven through Eden, as your siblings’ magic is. It is vital for the human, for all those that will follow." Her voice was firm, yet tender, like a soft lullaby carried on the wind.

Lucifer blinked, his eyes wide, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Special?" he repeated, almost breathless.

"I’m important?" The words felt foreign on his lips, as if he didn’t deserve them.

Metatron chuckled again, a warm, knowing laugh. "Of course, Lucifer. You are the beginning, the very first step in mankind’s story. Don’t you see?"

Lucifer frowned, his chest tightening. "But I’m just an Omega. I don’t... I don’t know how to help the humans or Eden."

Metatron's gaze softened, her voice tender and reassuring. "You already are helping, Lucifer. Just by being who you are."

Lucifer looked at her, feeling a fragile hope stir in the deepest corners of his soul. But it was fleeting, too delicate to hold on to. Still, her words echoed in his mind, and for the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be a part of something larger than the endless void of his own loneliness.

Lucifer's gaze remained fixed on Metatron, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, even as a flicker of hope tugged at the corners of his heart. His wings twitched nervously, the soft moonlight glistening off their delicate feathers. He couldn’t help himself—he needed to ask the question that had been gnawing at him since the moment Metatron had appeared.

"Are you planning to... force me to mate with one of the alphas?" His voice was low, laced with wariness, the old fear resurfacing in the pit of his stomach.

Metatron’s expression softened immediately, a serene smile gracing her lips, as though the question itself was too simple, too human for her.

"No, Lucifer," she said, her voice calm, reassuring. "I have no intention of forcing you to do anything, least of all something so personal. You are your own being, and I would never take that away from you."

Lucifer’s breath caught in his chest. Relief washed over him like a sudden storm breaking through the clouds, the tension in his body loosening. His wings fluttered once more, as if stretching in gratitude for the freedom he had just been granted. He let out a quiet sigh, feeling lighter than he had in what felt like forever.

"Then... then you won’t make me choose?" His voice cracked slightly, unsure of his own emotions. His heart ached with the smallest ember of hope.

Metatron’s smile remained unchanged, though her gaze softened, and there was a warmth in it that Lucifer had not expected. "I will not force you to do anything you do not wish to do.”

“But there will come a time, Lucifer, when you will need to choose. A time when you will have to decide for yourself who you wish to bond with, if you wish to bond with anyone at all." Her voice was gentle, but the weight of her words settled heavily on his chest.

Lucifer blinked, his wings flaring out slightly as he absorbed her words.

"Choose?" he repeated, the word feeling foreign, distant. His mind raced, but he couldn’t quite wrap his thoughts around it.

"What... what do you want me to do?" His voice was softer now, almost pleading, as though he were asking for a lifeline in an ocean of uncertainty.

Metatron’s eyes sparkled with a tenderness he had never seen before, and her voice became almost a whisper, like a secret meant only for him.

"I would like you to see Eden, Lucifer." She spoke slowly, each word wrapped in care, as if trying to convince him without pushing too hard. "You will understand why, once you are there."

Lucifer frowned, uncertainty creeping back into his heart. "Why? What’s in Eden that I need to see?"

 His voice was thick with doubt, though he found himself already itching with curiosity despite his reservations.

Metatron's smile remained soft, patient, almost knowing. "You will see, in time, what you need to. Eden has a way of showing things—of revealing what lies hidden in the heart. It is a place of beginnings, Lucifer. Perhaps, it will help you understand yourself better. And maybe, just maybe, it will help you see the future you have yet to choose."

Lucifer hesitated, his thoughts in turmoil. He longed to stay hidden, to keep his distance from the other archangels, from the world they had created. But something about Metatron’s words, about her unwavering certainty, made him feel that perhaps it was time to step forward—into the unknown, into the world that had been crafted without his consent, without his touch.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze still fixed on her, conflicted. The weight of her words settled over him like the quiet before a storm. Could he truly bring himself to take that step, to see what awaited him in Eden?

Finally, with a soft sigh, Lucifer stood straighter, his wings folding in tightly against his back.

"Alright," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "I’ll go."

Metatron’s smile deepened, and for the first time, Lucifer saw a glimmer of something softer in her eyes—a flicker of pride, perhaps.

"Good," she murmured. "Trust in yourself, Lucifer. You are more capable than you know."

He nodded slowly, though the unease in his heart remained. Whatever Eden held for him, he couldn’t hide from it forever. It was time to face it, even if he didn’t yet understand why.

Leaving the warmth of the Morningstar was a difficult task for Lucifer. Its familiar golden glow had always been his only solace, the one thing that never wavered, never abandoned him—until now. But Metatron had asked, and despite the unease twisting in his chest, Lucifer couldn't bring himself to refuse her. There was something about her presence that both calmed and stirred him, a quiet pull that he couldn't explain. So, with a reluctant sigh, he spread his wings wide and flew toward the heart of the universe, where Earth was still being formed under Metatron’s careful hands.

It was forbidden, of course. No archangel was allowed to set foot upon Earth just yet—Metatron herself had deemed it too unstable, too fragile. But even so, Lucifer couldn't tear his gaze away. Raphael had called it ugly, Uriel had said it was unpleasant, and Sera had described it as merely a "work in progress." But Lucifer, in his quiet way, thought it was breathtaking.

The rawness of it, the life brewing in the core of its chaos—it was nothing like anything he had ever witnessed. Metatron’s magic swirled around it, delicate and intricate, weaving through the stars in a dance that was both beautiful and unearthly. Lucifer could feel it deep within his bones, a soft hum that resonated with his very being. His skin shimmered, stardust rippling across his form as if the magic itself had awakened something dormant within him.

The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was new. It was alive. It was wonder itself. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Lucifer felt something akin to peace wash over him. His anxiety about the others, the fear that had plagued him for so long, faded into the background, replaced by a strange sense of belonging.

 Maybe... maybe this isn’t so bad, he thought, his heart fluttering just a little as the stars continued to dance in the distance.

"Lucifer!" The voice that pierced the serenity of the moment was cheerful, almost childlike, and it made Lucifer’s wings jerk instinctively.

He turned, his gaze falling on the smallest of the alphas—Gabriel. Lucifer had never really spoken with Gabriel; most of his encounters were dominated by Michael’s commands or Raphael’s biting words. Gabriel, however, had always kept to the sidelines with Uriel, his presence less imposing, more... withdrawn.

Lucifer tilted his head curiously as he approached the smaller archangel.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice soft and awkward, the tension from earlier still lingering in the air.

Gabriel grinned brightly, his eyes sparkling with something almost contagious. "Metatron said you’d be coming to Eden with me! I didn’t actually think you would!"

His voice was full of excitement, his eagerness clear.

Lucifer blinked, confused by Gabriel’s sudden burst of energy. Metatron wants me to work with an alpha?

The thought settled uneasily in his mind, but he didn't have the chance to dwell on it for long. Gabriel was already speaking again.

"Well, I’m here," Lucifer replied coolly, though his heart was still racing slightly. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this new development.

"But listen—" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a firmer tone, "I’ll work with you. But don’t think for a second that means you can dominate me. I won’t submit to you."

Gabriel flinched, visibly shrinking back from the sharpness in Lucifer’s tone. His hands twisted nervously in front of him, and his lips tugged into an uncomfortable smile.

"I don’t want to dominate you," he stammered, his voice uncertain. "I just... want to go down to Eden."

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, his wings fluttering nervously as he studied the smaller archangel. Do I believe him?

His instincts told him to be cautious, to hold his ground, but something in Gabriel’s demeanour made Lucifer question his initial reaction. Perhaps, just perhaps, this one was different.

With a sharp nod, Lucifer sighed in resignation. "Where is Eden, then? If it’s not on Earth?"

Gabriel’s face immediately brightened, the tension evaporating from his form like a cloud dispersing in the wind. He spun around in a delighted whirl, his wings spreading wide as he pointed toward a distant light in the darkness.

"This way!" he exclaimed, his voice full of enthusiasm.

Lucifer followed Gabriel, his mind still swirling with doubt, but the strange, magnetic pull of Metatron’s magic urged him forward.

den was not on Earth. No, it existed on a small star-rock, one that seemed to swell with life with every passing heartbeat of the universe. Lucifer hovered behind Gabriel, his moonlit eyes glimmering with curiosity as he gazed down at the strange orb beneath them. The surface was unlike anything he had ever touched before—warm, soft, and curiously alive.

The texture of the rock was wet, almost sticky, and it clung to his feet like the wet embrace of a forgotten dream. He grimaced slightly as he lifted one foot, examining the brown specks that clung to the soles.

“That's mud, or dirt,” Gabriel explained eagerly, his voice bright, almost infectious. He was positively bouncing with excitement, his wings fluttering around him like a giddy child. “Metatron said the basics of Eden will form from her magic, but we’re meant to create things that will benefit the human once they awaken. Oh! And—Metatron also said the human will be tasked with naming the things we create!”

Lucifer barely heard the latter part, his attention focused on the strange bumps rising from the dirt. They were like the star-rocks, yet not. Their colour was pale, powdery, like the dust of forgotten stars, and their surfaces glistened with an iridescent sheen. Lucifer’s brows furrowed, his fingers tracing the odd texture. He had never encountered anything like this before. It was new. The mystery of it tugged at something deep within him, a feeling he couldn't quite name, but that danced on the edge of his thoughts like a forbidden dream.

Metatron also said we're to develop Eden together!" Gabriel continued, his voice full of eager warmth. "Until it’s a reasonable size for the first human. Then... only one of us will be allowed to live in Eden with them."

Lucifer’s head snapped up at that, his wings twitching slightly as he gazed at Gabriel, who paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Something about too many of us will overwhelm the human, but one of us will help the human build a connection, help them bond..." Gabriel’s voice trailed off, and he looked away, as though the weight of this responsibility was just beginning to settle upon him.

Lucifer looked down at the star-rock again, trying to keep the unease from his voice. "Would the human be an alpha... or an omega?"

Gabriel froze, his eyes widening slightly, his fingers fumbling nervously with each other. For a moment, he said nothing, and when he spoke, his words were hesitant, awkward. “Um… Metatron said humans wouldn’t be like us."

Lucifer’s heart sank, a bitter chill creeping through him. His moonlit gaze darkened. “So they’ll be free from either?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, though it cracked at the edges with something unspoken. A deep, aching sense of longing gnawed at him.

 Lucky them, he thought bitterly.

Gabriel glanced at him with a sheepish smile, his wings twitching nervously as he looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yeah... lucky them...” he murmured, but there was no joy in his voice, only a quiet, unspoken understanding that the weight of what they had all been made to be was more than just their nature—it was a prison.

Lucifer stood in silence for a moment, his eyes lingering on the small, strange world they were helping to shape. A place so new, so full of potential... yet so far removed from anything he had ever known. His heart was a vast emptiness, and it was starting to feel like there would never be a way out.

Lucifer's feet moved on their own, no longer tethered to Gabriel's eager chatter. The pulse in the air, a soft thrum that seemed to hum with the essence of the world itself, drew him deeper into the heart of the star-rock. It was subtle, like the quiet echo of a forgotten song, but it reverberated through the ground beneath him, vibrating through the dirt, up through his bare feet, and winding its way up his legs until it settled in his chest. It was a feeling he couldn’t name, but it was all-consuming, like the faint brush of a long-lost memory.

His wings unfurled, stretching out wide, as though they too were responding to this pulse, this call that seemed to beckon from within the very stone beneath him. The six wings of the moon beat gently in the air as he moved forward, his thoughts scattering like dust, his focus narrowing as he neared the centre of the rock. There, at the heart of the strange world, he lowered himself to his knees. The pulse was louder here, clearer, almost as if the rock itself was breathing.

Lucifer lowered his hands to the mud, feeling the soft, cool earth against his fingertips. His breath deepened, the golden glow of his magic slowly unfurling around him, shimmering with an energy that felt as old as the stars themselves. He closed his eyes, allowing the pulse to envelop him, to guide him. His golden magic swirled from his hands, spilling out into the earth below him, spreading like a warm river into the dirt.

And then, something began to shift. The dirt trembled, a small movement, like a heartbeat, and then… a sprout. Green tendrils broke through the soil, reaching upward as if drawn by an invisible force. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his fingers twitching as he felt the life forming beneath him. The earth responded, swelling and softening in the wake of his magic.

Gabriel, who had been standing a few paces behind, gasped in wonder as the first blades of grass sprouted around Lucifer’s hands.

 "What did you do?" Gabriel asked, his voice breathless, wide-eyed with shock and awe.

Lucifer shrugged, his voice low and distant, almost in a trance.

“I just... listened to what Eden wanted,” he murmured, his eyes still closed, as if the very air around him had become a song he was hearing for the first time. There was a peace in the earth beneath his hands, a resonance in the pulse that made him feel as if he were not creating but joining something far greater than himself.

The dirt seemed to respond to him, shaping itself into life with each breath he took. His magic, once cold and distant, was now blending with the very essence of this place, intertwining with the pulse of Eden itself. Lucifer’s heart stilled, his thoughts fading away. In this moment, it was as though he had found a place where he didn’t have to fight, a place where he could simply be.

The grass continued to grow around him, reaching up towards the sky, its green blades bending gently with the breeze. Each blade was different, each one unique, but all of them were born from the same seed, nurtured by the pulse beneath his fingertips. The land itself was waking, responding to his touch.

Lucifer sat back on his heels, his wings folding gently behind him as he surveyed the scene. It was simple, but it was beautiful. There was no need for grand designs or creations, no need for a master plan. The earth was alive with possibilities, and for the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt the smallest flutter of hope.

Gabriel stared at him in disbelief, the excitement in his eyes growing.

"That… that was incredible," he said quietly, stepping forward, as if unsure of how to approach what he had just witnessed.

Lucifer’s gaze softened, his wings twitching as he finally looked at Gabriel, who stood there, wide-eyed, in awe of the simple beauty of what had just been created.

"Eden speaks to us all, Gabriel," Lucifer said softly, almost to himself. "It’s not about forcing things to grow. It’s about listening. About being a part of it."

Gabriel blinked at him, his confusion evident, but the sincerity in Lucifer’s voice seemed to ease his discomfort. For a brief moment, Lucifer allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was something here for him after all.

Time had no meaning here. The universe flowed like a river of stardust, and everything around him seemed to exist in a haze of soft glows and shifting light. Lucifer sat upon his fading Morningstar, a silent observer, his gaze fixed on the endless drift of glowing stones that glided past him in a slow, languid dance. Each one shone with its own unique hue, casting delicate ripples of colour across the dark expanse of the cosmos. He watched them pass, his thoughts as fleeting as the stars themselves.

The golden dust that clung to his arms caught the starlight, shimmering with a soft, mournful gleam. Lucifer ran his fingers over the sparkling remnants, the dust falling in delicate trails, only to rise and scatter again. His wings, pale and delicate as moonlight, flickered softly in the dark, their faint glow a contrast to the overwhelming silence that hung in the air. He held a small clump of mud from Eden in his hands, idly squeezing it, watching as it crumbled and reformed, falling apart only to return to its shape. It was a small, quiet act, a distraction from the loneliness that wrapped around him like a shroud.

The other archangels were hard at work on Eden, their devotion to the creation of this new world tireless and obsessive. But Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to care as deeply as they did. He helped, yes, in his own way, but there was no yearning in his heart, no pull toward the star rock that had captivated the others. The magic of it, the excitement of building something so new, felt foreign to him. It wasn’t the same. Nothing felt the same.

Lucifer lifted the clump of mud to his face, the cool weight of it oddly grounding. His moonlit eyes flickered softly, not quite focusing as his magic pooled in his chest. He exhaled, breathing warmth into the mud, and slowly, something stirred within. A tiny green sprout pushed its way through the soil, delicate and fresh. Lucifer’s breath caught in his throat as he released a soft hum, watching with wonder as the small leaf unfurled beneath his fingertips. The feeling was gentle, like something tender, fragile, and new.

He had never truly understood why the others poured themselves into Eden with such fervor. What was it about this world that called to them so strongly? But as he traced his fingers over the new life he had created with nothing but his touch, something stirred within him. The leaf was a part of him, somehow. He had made it grow. There was magic in this world, in this place—and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as foreign to him as he had once thought.

Lucifer slowly laid the clump of mud back down, his hands lingering for a moment before he lifted his gaze to the distant glow of Eden. His fingers drummed absently against the golden surface of the Morningstar, the sound soft and distant. He hadn’t visited Eden in a while, he realized. There had been no urge, no pull to return. But now, something tugged at him, a quiet whisper at the edge of his mind.

A soft sound escaped his throat, a murmur that spoke of something deeper—of longing, or maybe just an aching emptiness. He wasn't sure. He was only certain that, for the first time in ages, the thought of returning to Eden didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a possibility.

Lucifer descended toward Eden, his six wings cutting through the soft, shimmering atmosphere that surrounded the star rock. But this time, as he neared, it wasn’t the muddy, barren surface he remembered. Eden had transformed. It had grown, flourished. The star rock pulsed with life, glowing in shades of green and white. Lucifer’s feet touched the surface gently, but instead of mud, he found himself standing on something soft, cool, and vibrant. Grass. He knelt slowly, running his fingers over the delicate blades, their texture a wonder beneath his touch. The green seemed to glow faintly, alive with something more than just sunlight—it carried magic, a presence.

Rising, Lucifer began to wander through Eden, his steps slow and deliberate as he took in the changes. There were trees now, their canopies arching high above, leaves shimmering faintly as if kissed by stars. Flowers dotted the grass, their petals opening lazily to bask in an unseen glow. The air was richer, heavier, filled with a warmth Lucifer had never felt before—a warmth that seemed to seep into his skin, curling around his heart in a way that both soothed and unnerved him. Eden was alive in a way that felt almost sentient, as if it breathed alongside him, its heartbeat faintly echoing through the ground beneath his feet.

The pulse of Eden grew stronger as he wandered further, guiding him until he came upon the heart of this burgeoning paradise. There, in the centre of it all, was Metatron. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, her eyes shut, her hands resting lightly on the grass. Her wings, immense and radiant, were puffed out around her like a cocoon of shimmering light. But it was her magic that captured Lucifer’s attention. It poured from her in gentle waves, slipping into the soil, the grass, the trees, weaving itself into the very fabric of Eden. As it did, the world around her seemed to shift, brighten, grow. The trees reached higher, the flowers bloomed fuller, the grass thickened into a lush carpet. Even the air seemed to hum with life, a warm, golden energy that Lucifer had never experienced before.

He stood still, watching her in silence. He didn’t dare disturb her, but neither could he leave. There was something mesmerizing about her, about the way her magic worked so seamlessly with Eden. Her presence was calm and steady, yet impossibly powerful. It made him feel small but not insignificant, like he was part of something far greater than himself.

At last, Metatron raised her hands from the ground, the glow around her dimming slightly as she opened her eyes. Her gaze met Lucifer’s, and he immediately looked down, caught like a child sneaking a forbidden glance.

“Lucifer,” she greeted, her voice soft but radiant with warmth. A gentle smile spread across her lips as she rose to her feet, her movements graceful, almost otherworldly. “It has been far too long.”

Lucifer shuffled awkwardly, his wings folding tightly against his back. He didn’t respond, but Metatron didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she turned, her hand gesturing for him to follow.

“Would you like to see something, Lucifer? Something special?” Her voice carried a note of mystery, and despite himself, Lucifer’s curiosity stirred.

“Something the others haven’t seen yet?” he asked, his lips twitching upward in the faintest hint of a smug smile. He didn’t like admitting it, but the thought of being the first to see whatever Metatron had in mind filled him with a quiet thrill.

“Come,” Metatron said simply, leading the way.

Lucifer followed, his eyes wide as he took in just how much Eden had grown. The landscape stretched farther than he remembered, and above them, the sky itself had changed. It wasn’t the dark, star-speckled void he was used to. It was pinkish, warm, like a sunrise frozen in time. The light bathed Eden in soft hues, adding to the surreal beauty of the place.

As they neared the centre, something unusual came into view. A bed of flowers spread out like a woven tapestry, but at its heart was something far larger—a single, enormous bud. Its petals were tightly closed, a deep, velvety red threaded with faint golden veins that seemed to pulse with life. Small, glowing buds framed it, like sentinels guarding a treasure.

Metatron stepped closer, her hands beginning to sparkle faintly as she reached toward the flower.

“This is special,” she said, her voice almost reverent. She turned to look at Lucifer, her smile inviting. “Come closer, Lucifer. I would like you to rest your hand upon it.”

Lucifer frowned, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

“Why?” he asked, his voice cautious.

“Because you are important,” she replied simply, her tone gentle but firm.

Hesitant, Lucifer stepped closer. As he neared the flower, he began to notice the golden veins more clearly. They pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, their glow strangely familiar. His breath caught as realization stirred within him. The colour, the magic—it reminded him of his own. He raised a hand slowly, his fingers trembling as he pressed them against the petal. It was soft, impossibly so, and warm in a way that sent a shiver through him. The moment he touched it, a fantastical heat rushed through his body, buzzing under his skin and pulling him closer.

“What... what is this?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his other hand against the petal.

The heartbeat within the flower grew stronger, echoing through his chest, tugging at something deep within him. Before he realized it, he was leaning forward, his cheek resting against the petal, his body melting into its warmth.

A lump formed in his throat as a strange ache spread through his chest. His eyes burned, and for a moment, he thought he might cry. This feeling—it was familiar, hauntingly so. But no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t place it. All he knew was that it filled the hollow spaces inside him, even as it left him trembling with longing.

 Lucifer’s breath hitched as his eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. He couldn’t stop the ache in his chest, nor the overwhelming urge to press himself further into the flower bud. Its warmth wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, filling every crack in his soul he hadn’t realized was there. He wanted to stay—no, needed to stay. He wanted to press closer, to hold the petals as if they might slip away, to cling to this strange, inexplicable connection and never let go.

But he couldn’t. With a sharp inhale, Lucifer forced himself to pull back, peeling his hands and cheek away from the soft, trembling petals. The loss was immediate, like stepping out of sunlight into icy shadows. He stumbled a step backward, rubbing at his damp eyes with his palms, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths. The ache didn’t leave—it lingered, raw and pulling, but he ignored it as best he could. His moonlit eyes turned toward Metatron, who stood quietly, watching him with that same enigmatic calm.

“What are you?” Lucifer asked, his voice strained, nearly breaking. He sniffled, embarrassed by the question and how desperate it sounded.

Metatron tilted her head slightly, her expression as serene as ever.

“I am the Scribe of God,” she answered simply, though there was a weight to her voice that suggested layers beneath the words.

Lucifer frowned, shaking his head in frustration. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

His voice carried a sharpness, but beneath it was a plea, fragile and uncertain.

Metatron hummed softly, stepping closer to the flower bud with a measured grace. Lucifer felt his wings twitch, a primal urge rising within him to flare them out and block her path. He didn’t want her to touch the flower—his flower. But he clenched his jaw and kept still. He had no right to claim it, no matter how deeply it called to him. The flower belonged to Metatron. It always had.

“I am neither an Alpha nor an Omega,” Metatron said, her voice soft, as if speaking to the flower itself. “I am both. I am nothing like them, and yet, I am them.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his golden hair.

“You make no sense,” he muttered, his frustration mixing with the lingering ache in his chest.

Metatron laughed—a quiet, melodic sound that only seemed to deepen the mystery around her. Lucifer’s gaze shifted back to the massive flower bud, his expression softening into wonder. It loomed before him like a secret waiting to be unravelled, its petals pulsing faintly with life, its golden veins glimmering in rhythm with some heartbeat he couldn’t quite name.

“What does it conceal?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s inside it?”

His voice carried an edge of longing, the curiosity and yearning intertwining so tightly it made his chest tighten.

Metatron said nothing, merely smiling before turning and walking away, her presence fading into the vibrant Eden around them. But Lucifer couldn’t follow her. His feet remained rooted near the flower, his gaze locked onto its mysterious beauty. The tug in his chest grew stronger, and it made him whimper softly. He couldn’t stay away. He didn’t want to. Every time he tried to stray too far from the flower, the pull brought him back, an invisible tether he couldn’t escape.

He found himself returning to the flower bud time and time again, unable to resist its silent call. When no one else was around—not even Metatron—Lucifer would kneel beside it, his golden Morningstar dusting shimmering faintly as he pressed himself against the petals. He hugged it like a lifeline, his cheek resting against its warmth. And in those moments, he felt peace—fleeting but real, like nothing else in the universe could touch him.

Sometimes, when he was sure he was entirely alone, he would press soft kisses to the petals. They trembled beneath his touch, and he beamed, a rare, unguarded smile spreading across his face. The flower responded to him—it felt him. That knowledge filled him with a quiet, almost childlike joy.

Lucifer caressed the petals gently, his fingers tracing the golden veins as if committing them to memory. He whispered to the flower in a voice too low for anyone else to hear, words that made no sense even to himself. They weren’t prayers, weren’t confessions—they were just fragments of feelings, thoughts, and dreams he couldn’t fully name. And yet, saying them made him happy. The flower felt alive beneath his touch, as though it listened, as though it understood.

Lucifer sighed softly, his forehead resting against the flower.

“What are you?” he whispered again, this time to the flower itself.

But unlike with Metatron, he didn’t need an answer. The flower’s presence, its warmth, was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Lucifer didn’t feel alone.

~#~

The Morningstar dimmed, its radiant gold fading into muted embers. Lucifer stood helplessly at its edge, his hands trembling as he poured his magic into its dying light. He whispered pleas under his breath, his voice cracking as he begged it to hold on. The dusting of gold that had once danced along his arms now dulled, flickering weakly in response to the fading star. His wings shivered, casting faint reflections in the diminishing glow. No matter what he did—no matter how much of himself he gave—it wasn’t enough. The Morningstar was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save it.

“Please…” Lucifer whispered, his voice hoarse. His moonlit eyes glistened, itchy and aching, but he refused to let the tears fall. “Don’t leave me too.”

And then it was gone. The Morningstar’s brilliance vanished, leaving behind a cold, empty shadow where warmth and light had once been. For a moment, Lucifer couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The silence was deafening, wrapping around him like chains. His chest tightened painfully, and he clutched at his heart as if to stop it from shattering.

“Lucifer…” Michael’s voice broke through the stillness. It was soft at first, cautious, but even that grated against Lucifer’s raw nerves. Michael stepped closer, reaching out a hand to his trembling brother. “It’s just a star. You’ll—”

“Just a star?!” Lucifer’s voice exploded, sharp and cutting as he turned on Michael, his golden eyes blazing with fury. He shoved Michael back, his hands trembling. “Of course, you’d say that! Of course, you’d think it’s just a star, because nothing I care about ever matters to you!”

Michael’s face tightened in confusion, then frustration. “That’s not fair, Lucifer—”

“Fair?” Lucifer’s laugh was bitter, jagged. “That’s so like you, Michael. So alpha of you! You think you know better, you think everything you touch is more important than anything I’ll ever love!”

His wings flared wide, his voice breaking under the weight of his grief and anger.

“Lucifer, stop—” Michael stepped forward again, his tone firmer now, but it only ignited something deeper in Lucifer.

With a guttural cry, Lucifer unleashed a beam of golden magic, so powerful it sent Michael staggering backward, forcing him to retreat. The energy crackled and surged, a raw outpouring of emotion that left the air heavy and charged. When the light faded, Lucifer stood alone, his chest heaving, his hands trembling at his sides.

Without waiting, without thinking, Lucifer fled. His wings carried him blindly into the vast emptiness, golden tears streaking down his face as he flew. He didn’t notice the meteor shower until it was too late. A blazing rock slammed into him, then another, each collision searing through his body like fire. He spiralled downward, his wings failing him as he plummeted through the skies, crashing into Eden with a thunderous impact.

The ground was softer than he expected, but it did little to ease the pain. Groaning, Lucifer pushed himself up, dirt smearing his golden hair and pale skin. He winced as he straightened, clutching his ribs. Around him, Eden stretched out in a way he didn’t recognize. The skies above were a rich blue, streaked with soft, white clouds. The air was warm, alive with the gentle hum of unseen life. The forest around him was lush, vibrant with trees that reached toward the heavens and flowers that swayed in a gentle breeze.

Lucifer sniffled, his tears threatening to spill over again as he dragged himself to his feet. He cradled his arms around himself, his wings drooping behind him as he stumbled forward. Each step felt heavier than the last. The Morningstar was gone. The last piece of light that had felt like home—like his—was gone. He was alone now. Truly, heartbreakingly alone. No one understood him. Not Michael, not Raphael, not Gabriel. They didn’t see him, didn’t care to see him. They only saw an Omega. Something lesser.

Lucifer sniffled, a soft hiccup breaking past his lips as the tears finally began to fall, carving silent trails down his face. His chest heaved with the weight of it all. Why was he the only Omega? Why was he cursed to walk this path alone?

His feet led him instinctively toward the flower bud, the one place he had found comfort. But as the familiar clearing came into view, he froze. His breath hitched, and his heart sank.

The flower bud had bloomed.

Its petals were wide open now, no longer glimmering with the golden veins he had once traced with wonder. They sagged slightly, their vibrant glow dimmed to a pale, lifeless hue. Lucifer stumbled forward, his legs barely holding him as he fell to his knees before it. His trembling hands reached out, brushing against the petals with a soft, desperate touch. But there was no warmth. No pulse. No heartbeat.

“No…” The word slipped out in a choked whisper as Lucifer’s composure crumbled.

He pressed his forehead against the flower, his hands clutching at the limp petals as sobs tore through him. His chest twisted painfully, his wings flaring out behind him as if to shield the flower from the cruel world around them.

“Why?” he cried, his voice breaking into the silence of Eden. “Why is this my fate? Why am I the only one?”

He sobbed harder, his golden tears dripping onto the petals as he pressed soft, trembling kisses to them, willing them to come back to life.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “It’s not fair…”

Lucifer clung to the flower as though it could anchor him, but the ache in his chest only deepened. He was alone. The Morningstar was gone, and now the flower—the one thing that had brought him solace—was lifeless too. Eden was beautiful, alive, but it felt hollow without the warmth that once filled it.

He buried his face into the petals, his shoulders shaking with the force of his cries. And for the first time in his existence, Lucifer truly felt the weight of what it meant to be alone.

Lucifer's sobs tore through him like jagged shards of glass, his cries raw and unrelenting as his insides seemed to splinter apart. His chest heaved, his fingers clutching at the limp petals of the flower bud as if holding on tightly enough might bring it back to life. His tears fell hot and unbidden, streaking down his cheeks and pooling against the ground of Eden. But then, something cracked behind him—soft, faint, but sharp enough to cut through the haze of his grief.

He froze mid-sob, his breath hitching sharply as his wings stiffened. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. His eyes, rimmed with redness and shimmering with unshed tears, grew wide and sharp with suspicion. Who would follow me here? The thought slithered through his mind, tinged with confusion and anger. The only ones who might dare were—

Lucifer’s jaw tightened as his veins flooded with fury, molten and unrelenting. His wings flared out violently, sending golden flecks scattering through the air like burning embers.

"Those stupid alphas," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with venom. "They can never just leave me alone!"

The rage coiled tighter, sharper. "All they do is take! Take and take!"

His wings shuddered, their feathers bristling like a storm about to break. He unleashed a powerful gust of wind in the direction of the sound, his magic crackling through the air.

“Go away!” he roared, his voice raw with pain and wrath. “Leave me alone!”

Scrambling to his feet, he bared his teeth, golden light flickering faintly in his moon-bright eyes. His body trembled as fury overtook him, and his voice lowered into a growl, ready to strike—but then he stopped. He froze mid-motion, his wings stilling, his snarl faltering.

It wasn’t an angel.

Before him stood someone—or something—unlike anything he’d ever seen. They didn’t look celestial, no feathers, no glow of heaven’s light. Yet they radiated a presence, soft but breathtakingly new. Their form was bare, unmarked by the hallmarks of an angel, but it was striking. Ethereal. Whole. The figure’s skin shimmered faintly under Eden’s light, a soft luminescence that captivated him.

Lucifer blinked, his lips parting as he whispered in disbelief, “Who… who are you?”

The anger in his chest faded, replaced by something far more profound—a deep tug, familiar yet achingly foreign. He inched forward instinctively, drawn closer by some invisible thread. The closer he got, the clearer the details became: the gentle curve of the figure’s face, the delicate glow of their skin, the way their golden eyes mirrored something that felt painfully, heartbreakingly like his Morningstar.

"Can't you talk?" Lucifer asked softly, tilting his head, his moonlit eyes wide with curiosity. His voice trembled as he reached out, his hands hesitant but unable to stop themselves. His fingers brushed against the figure’s cheek.

The figure gasped audibly, their golden eyes widening with alarm as they tried to pull away. But Lucifer held on, his grip gentle but firm. A strange sense of possession surged through him, anchoring him to this stranger.

"Oh…" Lucifer murmured, his voice breathless, reverent. "Your eyes."

His wings gave an involuntary flutter, and he leaned in, his voice softening into a whisper. "They're like my Morningstar…”

The stranger’s mouth opened, a sound escaping that was barely a word, and then they stumbled backward, tripping over their own feet. They tumbled to the ground in a flurry of limbs, and Lucifer blinked in surprise, his anger melting into something softer. Something he couldn’t name. He laughed—a true, unrestrained sound that bubbled up from deep within him, foreign and strange to his ears. It startled him, this laugh, but it felt… good. It felt like a reprieve.

The figure tried to scramble away, but Lucifer followed, crawling forward on his hands and knees as if tethered to them. His golden dust glimmered brighter the closer he got, trailing like starlight in his wake. The stranger backed against a tree, their knees pulled up defensively, but Lucifer didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His chest felt as if it might collapse from the need to be closer.

“Lucifer.” A calm, steady voice broke the moment, and he froze, glancing up with a pout. His eyes narrowed.

“Metatron.”

The towering archangel descended gracefully, her wings shimmering in Eden’s sun as she landed before him. Her gaze shifted from Lucifer to the stranger pressed against the tree.

“I see,” she murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips. “So it has been decided.”

Lucifer blinked, tilting his head. “Decided?”

But even as he asked, he was already stepping around Metatron, trying to get closer to the figure again. His hands itched to touch, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t yet form.

“Metatron, move. I want to see them.”

Metatron sighed, spreading her wings wider to block his path. “Lucifer, please. You’ll frighten him.”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed, his wings bristling in frustration. “I won’t frighten him!”

His voice cracked slightly, the desperation in his chest bubbling to the surface. “I… I need to… I need to touch him. I need to see him, feel him, I need to be close to him!”

Metatron’s eyebrows rose briefly, but she composed herself quickly, folding her hands as she glanced back at the stranger. “It seems God has chosen you, just as I expected.”

Lucifer paused mid-step, his curiosity flickering into confusion. He tilted his head like a curious bird.

“Chosen me?” he asked, his voice quieter, laced with wonder. “Chosen me for what?”

Metatron turned, her gaze softening as she looked at the trembling figure against the tree.

“Lucifer,” she said gently, “This is Adam. The first human. God has decided that you will be his guardian archangel.”

Lucifer’s wings stilled, his golden magic dimming slightly as the weight of her words sank in. He glanced at Adam—at the way his golden eyes reflected something achingly familiar yet entirely new—and his breath caught. His fingers, trembling and hesitant, hovered inches from Adam’s face again.

“Guardian archangel…” Lucifer repeated, his voice filled with awe and something deeper, something fragile.

Metatron smiled, stepping back to give them space. "You will guide him, Lucifer. Protect him. Teach him."

Lucifer crouched fully before Adam once more, his eyes locking onto the human's. For a moment, the grief over his Morningstar faded, replaced by a quiet sense of wonder.

"Adam," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with something he hadn’t felt in a long time—purpose.

“Hello, my Adam, I am Lucifer. The only person you will ever need.”

[veri-luv]

Dr Ratio : Headcanons 🡢 Harry Potter AU

repost from old (deleted post)

Reasoning / Explanation (skip if too wordy)

First of all, he is NOT a ravenclaw and let me make my damn case. He's not even an erudition character fighting-wise (his path in the game is the hunt + imaginary).

Sure he does follow the erudition and he's very very smart but like WHY does he follow erudition? What does he want? Screwllum said that he was more like a medical doctor. He wants to cure ignorance in everyone. So for that reason I'm going to have to put him in Hufflepuff.

I honestly hate hufflepuff in the book. It has been critiqued for being where the extras / folks that don't fit in the other 3 get sorted into. My "hufflepuff but better" isn't even called hufflepuff, it should be something wind related (my idea is Zephyrith).

Hufflepuffs should get cool traits too like being righteous and almost saintlike. Fairness, kindness, they have their rules and they uphold it. Hard working and loyal. They keep their word. Very selfess motivations. See how much cooler it sounds?

Instead of that fuckass badger it should be related to a bird too or at least something with wings (idea: give that badger wings 💥). And the yellow color should lean more towards gold. Give the dorm and overall aesthetic a holy golden vibe to suit the traits of selflessness and justice.

VEEEEEEERY long post ahead & much yapping you've been warned.

Pre-Hogwarts

His dad was definitely a "muggle" and his mom was the one who did and taught him magic. His mom was a ravenclaw and a really good guider too and probably the first one to ignite that magic-loving spark in him.

His father on the other hand was big into anything engineering and philosophy related. He probably got interested in ancient Greek and Roman stuff from how much his father quoted Plato and Socrates and other famous Greek philosophers.

He found the quotes a little excessive at first... before hearing a really good quote and having to look it up.

"Look it up" ended up being: reading all of "On The Soul - Aristotle".

His mother, though being a ravenclaw, wasn't as hardcore about knowledge as Ratio would grow up to be. She was definitely passionate though. When he first showed signs of being more smarter (than what's expected of someone his age), she had to admit that it made her feel very proud and hopeful.

That is until he started being a brat about it.

"Amore, he's asleep now but during bath time he was going on about Pythagoreanism again..."

"You think he'll turn out to be like your uhh, snotty blue raventoe friends?" (he knows it's ravenclaw he's just messing with her)

"Ravenclaw, and if he does it'd ...definitely cause him some trouble."

"It'd cause us, some trouble."

idk how to write dialogue

Hogwarts

He was in fact, not a Ravenclaw.

Which sounded just as ridiculous to him, and just as frustrating. He thought he'd at least make it into the same house and dorm the genius society members graced (mysterious group of witches and wizards) ... but to not even make it to Ravenclaw himself?

His face paled in front of the crowd as he heard the Hufflepuff table cheer. His facial expressions remained practically the same with his stupid little cold RBF.

He barely knew any people in Hogwarts but every time someone met him they'd assume he was a Ravenclaw and it'd make him internally flinch a bit. You'd think that's where it would end but with his witty remarks and tendency to not hold back or sugarcoat facts, lets just say he quickly gained a bit of a (negative) reputation (at least in the first few weeks of school).

Enough about houses let's get to the actual classes.

NO MORE BOLD AND ITALICS I'M TOO TIRED Y'ALL JUST GONNA HAVE TO READ THE REST OF THE essay PARAGRAPHS 😭!!!

It wouldn't be surprising to realize he's one of the few people who are actually chill in Snape's potions class. It wasn't even one of his all-time favorites (though it was certainly up there), he just found it really simple actually. He was honestly baffled as to how anyone could fail? It was no rocket science, the instructions were as precise as it could get.

At the start he really got into Astronomy (of course) and later Herbology.

His truly favorite subjects were Arithmancy (and later Advanced Arithmancy).

On his third year however, he decided to apply to every single elective (and later advanced) class, and somehow passed so well he became extremely popular for it. Suddenly people wouldn't mind his personality if it meant getting help from him.

I think Art class as his extracurricular was when he started getting into making statues. Statues that moved, even. Charms and Transfiguration really helped in making these magic statues. He probably used transfiguration on his plaster head to make it look normal when wearing it (since that's the only way I can imagine it fitting on him like it's his own head).

One of the best model students. It was a close call but in the end he instantly became Head Boy. It was obvious it'd be him. He shattered the expectations and stereotypes of what it was to be a Hufflepuff. He was the pride of Hufflepuff. He gave the house a bit of respect among the school and thank God he did.

Such a model student that he was almost perfect to others. A 'deity among men' even. By the end he had what one could call a 'fanbase'.

Though he was a model student, it's not like he didn't break any rules. A bit of trespassing here and there, but mostly to watch other rule breaking students from a distance, trailing closely behind and watching to see what happens.

Of course his magical pet of choice would be an owl. A fluffy cute one that balanced out his own personality. It had a name that was a mouthful, Dicaeosyne, to make it get taken a bit more seriously. In his first few years, if there was any reason for error, it was always that damned owl's fault. But after a while they grew close (Got him saying corny shit like "Birds of a feather flock together" 💀).

Both his parents send him tons of letters from time to time including little gifts. His favorite and oddly sentimental gift being old candles that got remade from his childhood, and least favorite being confetti and glitter in an envelope (sent because he passed a very difficult test, even for him). (by the same company)

Loves loves loooves gossip actually. He gossips all the time, just with his close friends ahem a certain Slytherin part of a certain gemstone-themed clique. Nobody even expects it because he kind of just stands there, with his dumb plaster head. He says he uses it to isolate his senses, and it's true , but sometimes he just has it on and listens in. He just wants to know. when he cast a spell on it to do so

Stickers on his telescope. This was more noticeable in his 5th year. Once people figured out he put stickers on his telescope, everyone started sending him stickers, and very few ended up on there.

I know we moved on from people assuming he's a ravenclaw, but the one thing that really throws people off is his self-absorption. Like he really thinks he's THAT guy (and he is tbh). After a while people just kind of accepted it.

hope this doesn't flop like last time

[wheredafandomat]

In my Solitude

Thor x Reader x Loki - Asgard AU

18+ | contains smutty themes + adult themes etc. angst

Chapter 2 | prev | next

“And you’re sure?” You questioned cautiously, looking up at the nurse.

“Positive my lady” she nodded.

“No one can know, you mustn’t tell a soul” you threatened.

“Of course my lady” she nodded again as you began to stand, feeling a little lightheaded.

“Tell me about Midgard” you requested, your head against Loki’s arm as you looked up at the stars from your perch on one of the balconies. Taking the almost empty bottle of mead from your hand, Loki took a swig before he spoke.

“Well, I suppose it’s like here but with fewer stars” he answered.

“Really?” You asked, awestruck.

“Well there’s a few differences like they don’t have any magic there they have something else called technology and the music y/n, the music is dulcet. The harmonious melodies they have there are the real magic.”

“Really?” You gasped.

“Really” he smiled, glancing down at you before looking at the sky again “and they’ve got different countries with different rules and different rulers” he continued.

“I bet you would be the best ruler, you could rule them all” you giggled.

“I agree,” he nodded, “although I don’t think they’ll take kindly to that.”

“You’re wasted here” you murmured, looking up at him.

“How so?” Loki questioned, looking down at you.

“Here you’re cast to the shadows, always following in his footsteps but elsewhere you’d be able to shine, you’d be a king Loki” you grinned.

Loki let the words linger for a moment before he spoke.

“A king needs a queen,” he stated.

“We get along, I could be your queen” you suggested playfully.

“Yeah?” Loki smiled.

“Yes” you nodded, your gaze dipping to Loki’s lips as his lowered to yours. The tense seconds that passed between you both felt like hours as you ripped your stares apart, Loki clearing his throat.

“But alas, you’re promised to someone else” he continued the conversation.

“Well I’ll run away if you will,” you laughed.

“Yeah, we’ll meet at the palace gates and run off into the sunset together” Loki chuckled.

“Stranger things have happened my friend, stranger things” you smiled before a comfortable silence settled between you both.

“Will you take me one day, Loki, to Midgard?” You requested.

“I’d do anything you ask” he answered quickly, too quickly.

Eventually, the two of you decided to head back to your chambers, Loki helping you to yours as you stumbled over your own feet, giggling with each step. Allowing you to lean on him, Loki guided you towards your bed before you inelegantly threw yourself into it, rushing underneath the duvet. You looked up at him as he looked down at you, knowing you wanted to say something.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“I want to hear more about Midgard,” you asked.

“Of course you do,” he smiled, noticing your shiver before he clicked his fingers, igniting the fireplace as you moved across the bed to the other side, gesturing for him to lay down. Without pulling the duvet back, Loki laid down and began to speak as your eyes fell closed.

“And that’s not even the half of it” he finished, placing a kiss against your cheek as he heard your breathing even out. Standing to his feet, he looked at you for a moment, the rise and fall of your chest before he silently bid you goodnight and left your chambers.

Waking up the following morning, you cursed Thor’s mead as your head throbbed. Like most mornings, your chambermaids bathed you, clothed you and fed you before reading your daily schedule. Today you had meetings with your ladies in waiting, meetings that mostly consisted of you sitting bored as you sipped tea. As you left your chambesr to attend the first meeting of the day, you spotted Loki heading towards one of the training rooms. Dismissing your escort, you followed Loki, slipping in behind him before the door closed. You watched him, intrigued as he began laying out various weapons from the weapons vault, his back to you as you slowly stepped towards him.

“You know it isn’t polite to stare”

You gasped, your breath escaping you as Loki spoke in your ear. Spinning around, you were met by Loki who was smiling coyly at you. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the other Loki practically disappear.

“A clone” you figured.

“You shouldn’t be in here” he smirked “this is my domain”

“Is that a threat?” You stood your ground as Loki began to circle you.

“Merely a statement, a fact if you will,” he shrugged.

“There isn’t anywhere in the palace I don’t have access to, this room, your domain included” you smiled smugly.

“I don’t doubt that,” he agreed. “However there are certain places that have certain rules, rules that must be abided by, even by you” he spoke.

“Such as?” You ventured.

“No one enters this room and leaves without a fight” he informed you.

“Am I supposed to be scared?” You smiled.

“Very” he answered in a tone that could have been mistaken for sultrily, a tone that made you falter for a moment before composing yourself again. “I promise, I’ll go easy on you” he assured.

“Oh Loki, the last thing I want is for you to go easy on me” you dared.

“So you want it hard then?” He smirked.

“I was trained as a Valkyrie Loki, do you want it hard?” You rebutted.

“Very well” he began, taking a dagger from his ankle holster and handing it to you “are you sure you’re dressed appropriately?” He asked, eyeing the dress draped over your body, touching the floor. Using the dagger, you tore the bottom of the dress off to allow your feet to move more freely before nodding.

“Give me your best shot” you spoke before you and Loki began to fight. Your blades clashed against one another as you dodged eachothers attacks. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face at the feeling of a sharp dagger in your hand again, the feeling of fighting again; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this alive. You could tell Loki was holding back. He was one of the most skilled fighters in the nine realms and yet you had managed to nick at his skin a couple of times.

“Stop holding back” you shouted over the clanging of metal and your heavy breathing paired with his.

“I’m not, maybe you’re just that good,” Loki answered.

“Nonsense” you huffed, holding the dagger against his throat.

“Fine” he caved in, wrapping his arm around your back as he pulled you against him “if you step backward, this dagger plunges into your back.”

“And if you step forward, this dagger slices your throat” you shot back, your eyes boring into one another’s.

“So, we find ourselves in quite the predicament” he voiced.

“Although I’m at an advantage” you spoke, causing Loki’s smile to fall as you stepped back a little, freeing yourself from his grip as his dagger pierced through your dress, penetrating your skin a little.

“Y/n!” Loki gasped, dropping his dagger as he spun you around.

“It’s fine, just a little scratch, these dresses have such thick corsets attached” you dismissed.

“I could have seriously hurt you” Loki reprimanded you, untying the strings of your corset “let me heal you” he offered, removing your corset and placing his hand over the graze. The area felt cool for a moment before Loki let go. Unlike the last time in your chambers, you were wearing undergarments so your body wasn’t completely unclad, not that you would have minded with the way Loki was looking at you, forcing himself to focus on your eyes, hungry as you turned to face him.

“So, I win?”

“Get out y/n” Loki spoke, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“Sorry I—” you began.

“Go, now!” He raised his voice a little, catching you off guard as you quickly spun around and headed for the door.

Bit of an abrupt ending 🤣

Next

Tags 🖤

@lokisgoodgirl @thenotoriouserg @chantsdemarins @donaweasley @xorpsbane @mcufan72 @loz-3 @sailorholly @lovingchoices14 @lokiedokiee @noideakitten @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokiprompts @lulubelle814 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @gigglingtiggerv2 @tmilover1993 @lyds247 @dustychinchilla74 @lokis-dark-queen @november-rayne @12-pm-510 @newtomofgods @eyesbluelikethetitanic @lokiestorch @beautyb1ade @angelilacsworld @lokidokieokie @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @asgards-princess-of-mischief @anundyingfidelity

[fanaticsnail]

i love your sapsorrow series — even more when i read that Shanks snippet where he thought he was safe OH GOD AHAHAHA please!!!

Ah, you see. They all think they're safe from the clutches of the foul curse of Sapsorrow. Their knees shall bend, their backs shall break and their hearts will perish before her mighty claim - should they ever fail in their task to woo their intended.

(Image Source)

Sands of Time

Themes: Sir Crocodile x f!reader, reluctant bride, enemies to lovers, kidnapping trope, rake!crocodile x royal!reader, forced proximity, longing from afar, injured x caretaker, time limit to love, haunting spectre, Sapsorrow fairytale au, suggestive themes, forced/arranged marriage.

Mihawk Sapsorrow masterlist here, Shanks Sapsorrow here, Masterlist here

Sir Crocodile's intentions below the cut.

.

“What is this? A fitting gift for an apprehensive bride. I shall gift this to my intended before we wed on the morrow. Perhaps it will be near enough for her to open her legs and share her bed tonight.”

Hunched over the writing desk, half-moon glasses drawn down the bridge of his nose, sat the hulking sir crocodile. He shook his head, unsure of what commotion was going on behind the door of his darkened office. A wedding? Unlikely. 

Managing inventory, arranging wage statements and smirking at his half-composed letter to the lord of Kuraigana regarding his collection of debt; his ears pricked at a whisper of motion within the room.

“It has been found, reptile,” the echoing voice sinisterly whispered. A rumbled roar began erupting within the chasms of his chest as he released fragments of sand out to grasp the ghostly form of the witch to encase her spirit in a layer of dust. 

“I was rid of you, witch. You have no claim over me nor my soul,” he growled, prompting the spectre to unleash a wave of echoed maniacal laughter. Her voice was haunting, her tone was low and deliberate as she taunted further. 

“I was lost to you, but now found and will be placed on the finger of a bride within the hour,” she taunted, slowly raking her undead soul towards him. Strands of her hair began moving as if beneath the crashing waves of water, her sinister smile and unblinking eyes bore into the hulking man in front of her.

“What conditions have been laid to have you curse me, witch?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and removing his glasses, “I had your band stolen from me by the Don of Dressrosa, thus casting your curse onto him, not me.” He chipped the end of a thick cigar, drew it to his lips and ignited the tip with the flick of his flint. 

“To answer first: she has laid no such conditions as yet,” the spirit confessed as nonchalant as a spirit could ever be, “And to answer second,” her spectral essence passed through the desk and stood still, towering over the form of the crocodile, “My curse cannot be given twice to the same individual.”

Sir Crocodile held his breath. His usually bored and slackened jaw was now clenched firm atop his cigar. 

“What must I do, witch?” He spat, staring up into the cement eyes of the ghost of Sapsorrow as she smeared her sharpened canines down at him. As Sapsorrow began to bare another thought down onto the crocodilian man in front of her, an echoed voice rang throughout the room.

“I am not cattle to be bought with such an item, nor am I simply a broodmare to bear your spawn within my belly. You think this enough for me to share my bed on the eve of our wedding? I would never.” 

Sir Crocodile bore his eyes into the ever rising smirk of the Sapsorrow Queen in front of him, listening to the echoing words ricocheting from the chasms of his mind and reverberating in his soul.

“If you desire me to be your bride, you will have me love you with all that I am. You will earn my affection, you will slave for my adoration - but my love will be only passed onto you when I truly think you love me completely in return.”

The malicious laughter echoed throughout the room, the sands currently revealing the Sapsorrow spectre falling atop the desk, littering the papers and ornaments scattered below. 

“Make haste, Sir Crocodile,” she taunted him once more, “She is set to marry him on the morrow. That should put a damper on things, do you not you agree?”

Sir Crocodile began to shake, his shoulders stumbling below his aggression. He violently thrust his forearms down atop the desk, his balled fist of his remaining hand indenting beneath his powerful thrust, the tip of his golden hook sunk into the mahogany and encaptured it within his circlet. 

“H-How,” he began, his voice staggering as his mind caught up with the conditions laying claim to his soul, “How could someone measure that? How could someone ever dream of proving that level of blind devotion?”

“Therein lies the rub, reptile,” Sapsorrow’s echo felt further from him now, flittering up towards the ceiling akin to the smoke from his sour cigars, “You may never truly earn it, and I may yet collect the debt of your soul.” 

“You have a year,” her voice began to crack as it faded up further, “Until the sands of time pass the last grain to conclude its final hour, your form shall crack like glass and your soul will belong to me.”

-----------

Notes: I will be working on Shanks, Buggy and Sir Crocodile spinoffs once the Sapsorrow Au fic is concluded for Mihawk. If there is a gentleman you would like to see flung into this particular fairytale curse, let me know and I will aim to create it! I only have 10 rings to work with!

There are other fairytale au's in the making, if you enjoy an interpretation with your beloved characters:

@gingernut1314 is doing "The Luck Child" for Buggy

@writingmysanity is doing a "Hans My Hedgehog" interpretation for Corazon.

@sordidmusings is doing a "Three Ravens" interpretation for Sanji.

@cinnbar-bun has many a thought about the Crocodile, and I am looking forward to see what she comes up with.

Allow me to take the opportunity to thank @since-im-already-here, the "smol snail, fanatic in the making," for making me do this one. I love writing for it, and it's amazing to see how many there are of you that enjoys being whisked away with my words.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @feral-artistry @i-am-vita

[galway-girlatwork]

Smells Like…

Fandom: The Mentalist-AU

Rating: Mature. Angst. Smut. Angst. Mush. Angst.

Central Characters: Marcus P. and Female Reader

Central Relationship: Marcus P. and Female Reader

Word Count: 2,668

AO3

This was written for Jana and Daphne’s Writing Through The Season’s challenge. I got Marcus Pike in Winter and the prompt was “Smells Like Jealousy.” So, grab whatever tickles your tongue and enjoy. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by.

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the moodboard. It was a gift. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. If you wanna read, grab whatever tickles your tongue and enjoy.

Music Inspiration:

Fallout-Mariana’s Trench

Can’t Forget You- My Darkest Days 

Lips of Angel-Hinder

Summary:

Marcus had always told himself he wasn’t the jealous type until her. He told himself she was gone for good, that she had moved on. But when he sees her at an art exhibit a year later, with another man, something inside him snaps. The jealousy, the longing, the love he never let go of all crashes down on him.

One heated confrontation later and the past proves impossible to ignore. The chemistry is still electric, the connection undeniable. But Marcus isn’t willing to let her slip away this time. As passion ignites and old wounds resurface, he makes one thing clear—he wants her back.

But is Marcus willing to risk his heart one more time to find out?

Marcus had never been the jealous type. Or at least, that’s what he’d always told himself. He was calm, rational, someone who took heartbreak like a man and moved on. Maybe that was a slight over exaggeration, when in reality he always felt like someone who’d been kicked to many time in the ribs, protecting that heart that beat furious in his chest. Until he met her. Someone who’d truly stolen his heart, his soul, like a thief before disappearing with both.

They’d been together for two years before he ended it, thinking it was what she wanted, the demands of his job finally getting to her. He knew it was a fear, not an irrational one, that she had. That one day someone would show up at the front door and tell her the unimaginable. What he didn’t expect was for her to take that out and go radio silent for a year. He’d given her time, space, hoping she’d come back. He had buried himself in work, pretended he didn’t check his phone late at night, hoping for a text that never came. He had told himself she was probably out there, happy, moving on—just like he should be.

But here he was, a year later, at some stupid art exhibit that the higher ups wanted him at. How it would look good to see the Feds there, making sure they were all safe while they drank watered down champagne, mingled and stared at God awful art.

The place was packed, air thick with conversation and the scent of expensive perfume, the kind that induced migraines, not caring if the pain crippled you or not. It’s why he was at the corner of the bar, water in hand, praying the six Advil he took would put him in a better mood.

But then he saw her.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a second, his pulse pounded so hard he could hear it. She looked beautiful, radiant in a navy dress that hugged her curves, curves he used to trace with his hands. That familiar way she tilted her head, the way she smiled—God, he had missed that smile.

But she wasn’t alone.

His stomach turned to stone as he watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at something the man beside her had said. Tall. Polished. Probably some lawyer or broker, someone with soft hands and an easy life. Someone who hadn’t spent years chasing criminals across the world.

He hadn’t expected jealousy to burn through him so hard and fast that it stole his breath. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to look away but he knew it was useless. It was like watching a car accident, one you couldn’t look away from, one that caused back-ups on the highways. Fuck, he thought, it had been a year and he had no right to feel this way. No right to feel the sudden, savage possessiveness clawing its way through his chest.

And yet, when she turned and met his eyes, her smile faltering for a second and he knew. Knew that he wasn’t the only one still haunted by the past.

He didn’t think, didn’t give himself a chance to reconsider. He was walking toward her before he even realized what he was doing.

“Marcus.”

His name had never sounded like a warning before.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, keeping his tone even, careful. He didn’t acknowledge the man beside her, didn’t even bother looking at him.

Her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. That hesitation was all he needed.

“You look good,” Marcus murmured, stepping closer.

She swallowed, her gaze flickering over his face like she was trying to gauge his mood. “So do you.”

“Really?” His voice dipped, rougher than he meant it to be. “Because I feel like hell.”

She blinked. “Marcus—”

“No.” He exhaled sharply

He took another step, closing what little distance remained between them, voice dropping lower, just for her. “You really think I stopped loving you?” he whispered.

Her eyes shone, and for the first time in a year, Marcus felt like he could breathe again.

Her date extended a hand. “Hey, I’m—”

Marcus didn’t so much as glance at him. He couldn’t. He wasn’t interested in this man’s name; in whatever role he played in her life.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

Marcus’s lips curled. “What?”

“You’re glaring,” she said, arching a brow. “And it smells like jealousy in here.”

Marcus stepped closer, so close that if she just leaned in, her body would be pressed against his.

“It should,” he murmured. “Because I’m drowning in it.”

Her breath caught as silence stretched between them, heavy, suffocating, before she looked away, biting her lip. That damn lip. How many times had he kissed it, traced his thumb over it, stolen her breath just by looking at her?

Marcus saw the way her fingers twitched at her side, how she swallowed hard like she was trying to keep her composure but she couldn’t hide from him. Not after everything they had been. Not after the way he used to know every inch of her.

Before she could recover, Marcus leaned in, his lips barely ghosting over the shell of her ear.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dark, possessive. “Does he touch you the way I did?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Marcus—”

“Does he know,” Marcus pressed, his fingers grazing down the inside of her wrist, sending a shiver through her body, “that you like to be kissed right—here?”

He brushed his lips just below her ear, and she let out the softest, most infuriatingly beautiful gasp.

It nearly broke him.

Her date cleared his throat awkwardly. “I think maybe I should—”

Marcus turned his head, gaze cold, sharp. “Yeah. You should.”

The man hesitated for a moment before putting his hand up in surrender, stepping back, muttering something under his breath, neither one of them acknowledging his exit. They were too busy staring at each other. Too busy feeling the weight of what still lingered between them.

Her hand found Marcus’s wrist before he could say anything else. “Not here,” she whispered.

Something in her eyes sent a jolt of hope through him. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she wasn’t as over him as she wanted to be, the air between them still suffocatingly thick, heavy with things left unsaid.

Reaching for her hand, his grip firm, unyielding. “Come with me.”

Her breath was unsteady. “Marcus—”

“Now.”

She could have refused but she didn’t. She let him lead her outside, down the quiet side street, away from prying eyes and unwanted interruptions.

And when he turned, pressing her against the cool brick wall, his hands braced on either side of her, she didn’t push him away. She should have but she didn’t.

Instead, she lifted her chin, her breath shaky but defiant. “You don’t get to do this,” she whispered. “You don’t get to walk in here after a year and act like you still own me.”

“You don’t get to pretend,” Marcus interrupted, his voice rough with need. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I don’t still own every inch of you.” He watched, smirking, as she swallowed hard, fingers trailing up her arm, slow and deliberate. “Tell me to stop.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting over hers. “Say it,” feeling her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

Silence, eyes flashing with something desperate and raw. She was shaking.

“Tell me he touches you better.” His voice a challenge, his hands tightening on her hips. “Tell me he fucks you better.”

A broken noise slipped from her lips, and Marcus nearly lost his damn mind as her hands fisted his shirt, yanking him closer. “I hate you for this,” she whispered.

He smiled darkly. “No, you don’t.” Before he heard her whisper, “I never stopped wanting you.”

His lips crushed against hers, swallowing whatever words might have come next, feeling her melt against him, completely, utterly, like she had been waiting for this, starving for it. Hands slid up his chest, threading through his hair, pulling him deeper.

Like something dangerous, something forbidden, like something she still wanted.

That spark still lingered, a flame that had never fully extinguished.

“Come home.” Was all he whispered against her lips.

As soon as they were inside, he turned to her, pulling her close, hands cupping her face gently as he leaned in close, lips brushing against hers softly, like no time had passed at all.

Tongues tangled in a familiar dance as they continued to kiss deeply, room spinning around them as passion ignited like wildfire as they stumbled backward until they reached the bedroom. He pushed her onto the bed, body following hers, chests heaving with desire, eyes locked on each other. Deft fingers curled into the fabric of the dress, peeling it from her shoulders, baring breasts hidden beneath black lace, knowing the panties would match, since the set was a gift from him.

Fingers grazed against sensitive areas he knew would make her shiver, feeling her arch into him as he pulled the lace down, nipple already puckered, demanding attention. Lips wrapped around it, mouth pulling it deep into his mouth, knowing what it did to her. Clothes were pulled off so fast, buttons flew across the room, pinging as they hit the wood floor.

The need to possess her, filled every cell within his body, pushing what control he had out the window, each second that passed was fucking torture, wanting to remind her of where she belonged, with him, in his life. Reaching out, a finger traced her sternum, trailing down her stomach before slipping inside her body, feeling her clench around it, before adding a second digit, curling them up, finding that spot just behind her pelvic bone, just as his mouth latched on to the other nipple, his name falling from her lips like a chant. He could feel her hands in his hair, holding him to her, as her hips jerked against his hand, body begging for release.

So, in tune with her body, he knew she was on the edge, but he wanted to push her to her limits, hear her scream his name and beg for more. Was it his way of punishing her for the last year of hell he’d lived in? Possibly but it could be the way he loved watching her, bucking against his hand, breaths labored and quick, that bottom lip tucked between her teeth. It could be that he had fallen so deeply in love with her. Was he an idiot? Probably.

Moving off of her, hearing whimpers of protest, he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down on her. “Hands and knees. Now.” Her eyelids grew heavy as she turned over on her stomach, loving how she gave up control so easily to him, that slight edge of darkness and possessiveness surged through him.  

Hands grasped her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he positioned himself behind her. God how he loved when her back arched, head bowed almost to the bed, before one of his hands released its grip on her hip, sliding up her back, his fingers intertwining in her hair, giving her hair a gentle tug, pulling her head back slightly. “God you are so fucking beautiful.”

His other hand remained on her hip, thumb tracing the curve of her lower back before suddenly, his palm came down on her ass with a sharp slap, the sound echoing through the room, he heard her gasp, feeling her body tensing for a moment before she relaxed into the sensation.

With a swift motion, he drove himself into her, body merging with hers as he began to move in a rhythmic cadence. His hands returned to her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deeper, the air filling with the sound of labored breathing, of skin slapping skin as they moved together.

Continued thrusts into her, bodies began to tense, movements becoming more frantic and urgent. Her hands clenched into fists, arms trembling as she supported her weight, while his grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging deep into her skin that he knew would be bruised come morning. He could feel her shuddering, feel her cunt contracting around him as she came, his name screamed into the air before low, keening cries escaped her lips before her head dropped to the bed, voice now muffled by the bedding as her body continued to convulse.

His thrusts became shorter and more intense as he felt himself building towards his own release, arm wrapping around her waist, fingers finding her clit, the pad of his middle finger, gently rubbing against it, knowing how sensitive she was. With one final, powerful thrust of his hips, they both fell off the edge, sweat soaked bodies shaking with the intensity of what just happened. As the last waves of their orgasms faded, his body collapsed on top of hers, pressing her into the bed, as he held her close, lips trailing across her shoulders, as they slowly relaxed, trying to catch their breath. He could feel her beneath him, trying to adjust to the weight of his body, his arms loosening as he rolled to the side, but still holding her against him.

Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting silver streaks across the sheets tangled between them, skin still warm from where they'd been pressed together, Marcus now lay on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching her in the dim glow. She was quiet, staring at the ceiling like she was already thinking of slipping away before dawn.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice low but firm.

She turned towards him, brows lifting slightly. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t run.” He traced a slow path down her arm, fingers brushing the familiar curve of her wrist.

A flicker of hesitation in her eyes betraying her, before she lowered her head. “Marcus…”

“I mean it.” He shifted closer, his fingers curling under her chin, making her look at him. “I let you go once. I told myself it was for the best, because you were afraid, you didn’t want to know what could happen if you got that visit. But that was a lie. I never stopped wanting you. And I think—no, I know—you never stopped wanting me either.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Marcus, this isn’t that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” he countered, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “You belong with me. You always have and you know it.”

Closing her eyes, breath shuddering slightly. He could almost feel the war inside her, the push and pull between instincts and heart. When she opened them again, something softer lurked there beneath the guarded exterior. Something that looked dangerously close to hope.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t love me, and I’ll let you go.” Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

But she didn’t say it. She couldn’t say it. She loved him. More than her life. A life that would be a shell if something ever happened to him.

Instead, her lips parted, voice barely above a whisper. “I fucking hate you for knowing me this well.”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “No, you don’t.”

Sighing, she leaned in, pressing her forehead against his. “I can’t say those things Marcus because they would be lies and you know it. It’s never been about loving you, belonging to you…It’s always been about the what if.”

“I know baby. I love you. Come home and we’ll figure it out. Promise.”

He watched as she moved over him, lips brushing against his, whispers between them of yes’s and love you’s before they showed each other that there never really be a good-bye between them.

@guiltyasdave @sizzlingcloudmentality @jessthebaker @tinyglamdramaqueen @almostfoxglove @pedgito @whocaresstillthelouvre @iamasaddie @burntheedges @ease-out-the-clutch @beefrobeefcal @toomanystoriessolittletime @pearlessance @littlemisspascal @goodwithcheese @burntheedges @jolapeno @604to647 @missladym1981 @kittyfox1107 @secretelephanttattoo

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[pengujoon]

WITH ALL OF ME

cont. gojo x reader, fluff. use of my love, just reader being so in love with him. of course they kiss, this is a very soft fic, established relationship!au, intentional lowercase.

a/n. can you tell that im so lovesick for his man. 

song. john legend - all of me

the room was cast in a warm, inviting glow, the soft light of a dozen candles flickering like stars in the night sky. you and satoru had carved out this moment, a space for just the two of you, where the world outside was a distant memory. in this intimate haven, love hung heavy in the air, and your heart swelled with every beat in perfect harmony with his.

satoru sat beside you, his presence filling the room with a magnetic energy that drew you in like a moth to a flame. as you gazed at him, your heart couldn't help but swell with a deep, profound affection. his eyes held the universe within them, a cosmos of secrets and emotions that were yours to explore.

his smile, that mischievous, yet tender smile, was your favourite work of art. it had the power to chase away your worries, to melt your heart, and to ignite a fire of passion within you. when he laughed, it was as if a symphony of joy filled the room, and you couldn't help but be swept away by the melody.

you watched as he reached out, his fingers tracing an invisible path in the air. his voice, soft and filled with warmth, filled the room like a sweet serenade. it was a voice that could lull you to sleep or awaken the deepest desires within your heart.

every line of his face, every curve of his lips, and every spark in his eyes held a story, a story that you cherished, for you were the author of this chapter of his life. his vulnerabilities, his strengths, and his quirks were all part of the tapestry of your love.

satoru's hand found yours, fingers interlacing with a familiarity that sent shivers down your spine. the touch was electric, a connection that transcended words. in that moment, you felt like you were part of something greater, like you were two souls that had found their forever home in each other's arms.

the tenderness in his gaze was enough to make your heart skip a beat. his fingers traced delicate patterns on your hand, a silent language of affection that spoke volumes. every touch was a declaration of love, every caress an affirmation of your bond.

as you leaned in, your lips met his in a kiss that tasted like eternity. it was a kiss that spoke of a love deeper than words, a love that knew no bounds. in that kiss, you poured all your affection, all your desire, and all your dreams.

and as you pulled away, breathless and content, you whispered the words that your heart had been singing since the moment you met him. “i love you, satoru, with all of me.”

“my love.” he looked at you, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment, you knew that his love mirrored your very own. with a smile that held the promise of forever, he replied, “and i love you, with all of me too.”

no other words were needed, for your hearts spoke a language of love that transcended any language of the world. you closed your eyes and leaned in for another kiss, a sweet, tender affirmation of your love.

in the warmth of his embrace, surrounded by the warm, gentle light of the candles, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be, living your own love song, a melody that would play in your hearts for all eternity.

the chokehold this man has on me