#the TRUST they have in each other. it is so unthinking.

[mononijikayu]

when the dawn breaks — li zayne.

when the dawn broke, a cool hush swept across the narrow balcony where li zayne sat, his boots unlaced, shirt wrinkled from sleep he hadn’t planned to have. blood all over his body, dried as the ink etched on the olden pages scattered on his table.

he liked to think that the taste of strawberry macarons still lingered faintly on his lips. it was sweet, artificial, out of place at this hour. he didn’t even like macarons. but you had laughed and insisted.

“just one more, zaynie!” you’d said, pressing the pastel pink thing into his palm like it was a gift that meant something. "it's so good!"

he hadn't expected it. not the laughter. not the dream. not the way it clung to him, even as the light stretched long across the wooden floorboards and birds stirred in the trees beyond the terrace rail.

dawnbreaker had fallen asleep for the first time in what felt like years. truly asleep. not just the empty, guarded resting his body endured. this was different.

this had bright color and warmth and the terrible, aching clarity of something too kind to be real. everything about this was too good. and that's why it was a dream. he knew it was. it was too good for him to ever deserve.

in the dream, you’d held his hand. not in the way people usually did, out of formality or pity or fleeting affection. you held it like it mattered. like you knew what it had done.

and still....still, you wanted to hold it. you wanted to hold him. his bloody hands. his dirty hands. he could feel himself swallowing the bile down back his throat. you smiled at him.

he remembered the weight of your head resting against his shoulder, the way your smile pressed into the edge of his jaw, soft and full of quiet trust. he remembered your arms wrapping around him. it was not hesitant, not fragile, but whole. fierce, even.

there was nothing strange about the man in the dream. nothing exaggerated or off. he looked like himself. worn around the edges, a little older, quieter than he used to be. just... softer, in ways he didn't know he could be.

but he knew, even while dreaming, that it wasn’t him.

and it never will be him. at least, not really.

that's just how it was, in this bitter world.

the man you held belonged in a world where his hands hadn't torn down cities. where his name wasn’t carved into stone as a warning. the man you loved in that dream didn’t flinch at softness. he didn't forget how to sleep.

dawnbreaker, no....his name is zayne.

zayne breathed in sharply. the air was sharp with morning and the vague, floral scent of the tea you left behind. the dream had been hopeful. deceptive.

he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, tasting sugar, faint and fading. he didn’t know what stung more that it hadn’t been real. or that a part of him wished it had been. in the dream, in this dream, he was not in his body. not at first.

he stood at a distance, behind the columns of a sunlit veranda that never existed in waking life, watching two figures seated in a garden below.

the air shimmered faintly, golden with afternoon light. everything was too soft, too tender around the edges. it was like memory, or illusion. he knew even then: this was not the world he lived in.

you were there, barefoot on the grass, your skirt trailing like smoke behind you. you looked up at him. no, not him, the other him, the version untouched by fire and ruin and guilt and you smiled like nothing in the world had ever hurt you.

dawnbreaker watched the man in the garden, his mirror, his ghost. this other self sat beside you, knee to knee, his hand resting lightly over yours in a gesture so natural, so unthinking, it made the real him ache.

they were talking. not about anything grand, dawnbreaker observes. it was just small, sacred nothings. the kind of talk that comes when two people already know each other by heart.

you were saying something about strawberries, about how they always reminded you of spring, of the little roadside market your aunt used to take you to as a child.

you laughed, embarrassed, when you admitted you'd once believed they only grew in glass bowls, already sugared. he remembered this. from all his dreams, though you'd never told him. he knew it like a secret passed from one world to another.

and the other him.....gods, the peace in his eyes. it was a sight for sore eyes. a feeling for heartbreak. a grief for the living. a memorial for a life he could never live. everything about it all, about his other self. about you, overwhelms him.

he leaned in and murmured something that made you laugh so freely, you reached up without thinking and touched his cheek. his hand came up to hold yours there. it wasn't the touch that undid him. it was the look.

the unguarded, soft-lit gaze of a man who had never learned to fear love. at least not in dawnbreaker's eyes. his other self, the man he is, is someone who had not flinched from it. who had not buried it beneath blood and silence. someone who is not the god of death. of your death.

dawnbreaker felt something stir in his chest. it was pain, perhaps, or longing. something like grief, but slower, gentler. the dream didn't force him to join them. it let him watch. that was its cruelty. that was its gift.

he watched as the other him whispered something else, something only you could hear. you shook your head fondly, leaned against his shoulder. the sound of your breath, steady and safe, reached him like a lullaby sung through water.

the moment stretched on, slow and golden, suspended in the air. and then you turned, as though you'd sensed him there all along. your gaze met his. not the him in the garden. him. dawnbreaker.

you didn’t speak. you didn’t have to. your eyes said it all: you could be him. if you wanted. if you weren’t so afraid to stay. he woke to morning light slanting across the floor, to the lingering taste of strawberry on his lips, to silence.

the dream was over. but its echo remained, quiet and bright behind his rib. dawnbreaker could feel his lips brutishly bllow in a flat line. he could feel it all inside of it. all that warmth. all that hope. all that cruel kind of hope.

"why aren't you real?" he whispers under his breath, grievous. "why couldn't you be mine?"

[theonlyqualitytrash]

Intimacy through breath

You close your eyes, and the world falls quiet.

You don’t remember when you got this close. Fyodor doesn’t let people get close. But you’re thankful. Because it’s in moments like this that the enigmatic man reveals a side of himself he seldom lets surface.

Your forehead rests against his. The space between you narrows until there is no space at all—just warmth, breath, and the tentative, shared rhythm of two heartbeats gradually finding each other. His breath brushes yours in soft intervals, unsteady but present. Yours slows to meet it, like a hand reaching out in the dark.

You're both suspended in a half embrace. One hand cradles his cheek, thumb resting just beneath the ridge of his eye, while his fingers remain folded gently around your other. You feel him—not just in the warmth of his palm or the still air; but in the way he allows himself to soften, just a little.

Then, you move.

Not away. Not toward.

Just... close.

A subtle tilt of your head, so small it barely registers, and your nose grazes his. A quiet nudge. A soft affection. Up. Down. Side to side. The movement is gentle, slow, repeating with no urgency. Again and again. It's nothing and everything.

There was no pretense here, no performance. Just a slowness so profound it seems to still time itself. It was not even meant to mean anything in the way words mean things.

It simply was.

A gesture older than language. Older than understanding. The kind of touch animals share in quiet corners of the world, when they know each other—truly know each other. The kind that says: I’m here. I’m not a threat. I see you. You’re mine, and I am yours, in this shared breath moment.

This isn’t human affection—not really. It’s not polished or practiced. It’s something sacred in its unthinking purity, like your body remembers how to love this way even when your mind forgets. Not out of longing or need, but trust. Trust so deep it no longer needs to be named.

And Fyodor, he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense.

He lets it happen.

It’s a small thing. That soft nuzzle of bone against bone, skin against skin, repeating in a rhythm that defies time. But between you, it feels holy.

And Fyodor breathes.

A soundless exhale, felt more than heard. His features soften beneath your touch. For once, there’s no barrier—no strategy, no calculation, not even the veil of holy detachment he wears like a second skin. Just him.

He doesn’t lean in. He just... meets you there. Willingly. And you can feel the faint tremble in his fingers. But still, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes drift shut—lashes brushing the curve of your cheek.

Brow to brow. Nose to nose. The silence stretches—sacred.

Each brush of your nose against his, each breath you share, forms a steady pulse outside your bodies. Your thumb keeps moving on his cheek, and Fyodor feels it like a prayer. Not a plea. Not a confession. Just: stay.

And he does.

His body stays—now yielding. He surrenders; not in defeat, nor submission, but in something far rarer: trust. Trust in you. It was a currency he's hardly known how to earn, let alone spend freely. It's foreign to him, like holding light in his hands without pulling back. Like believing it won’t burn. Like believing you won’t.

Then... you kiss his cheek. So close to the corner of his mouth that your lips catch the shadow of it. He still doesn’t flinch. He exhales—a long, shaky breath—as though something inside him has finally been given permission to unfurl.

Your kiss lands so soft, weightless. Like a memory he can’t believe is true. Safety. Sanctuary.

You’re not just touching him. You’re teaching him. That he can receive without earning it. That affection doesn’t have to be transactional. That softness can be strength.

You could stay like this forever. You might.

Your forehead slips to the curve of his cheek. Your nose nestles beneath his jaw, where his pulse beats—strong but uneven. Your thumb keeps moving, not out of comfort now, but instinct. You're not lingering because you’re afraid to move. You’re resting. Trusting the quiet. Trusting him back.

And that trust undoes him more than anything else could.

He doesn’t know how to breathe in a silence that doesn’t punish. But he’s trying.

Your hand drifts from his cheek to the space between his shoulder blades; that quiet valley where wings might’ve grown, had he ever allowed himself to fly for something other than retribution. You rest your palm there, holding the shape of him.

For a moment, he stiffens. His hand tightening around yours.

It’s the kind of tension that blooms when you’re held too gently—when your body doesn’t know how to receive something it was never taught to expect: kindness.

Then, he exhales.

Long. Deep. As if for the first time, his lungs are no longer trying to protect him from the air.

He shifts so slowly you almost miss it. His lips part near your temple, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. Then, his free hand inches to your waist, just to remain.

Because he knows what you’re giving him is delicate. Holy.

You've become the stillness now.

And in this quiet—cradled between each other’s arms—you hold him in your presence, and he holds you in his. Not with demand. Not with expectation. But with listening. With acceptance.

Fyodor has known empathy as a weapon. Silence as judgment, or as isolation cloaked in piety. But this, this is silence as grace.

Your fingers flex, just slightly, at his back. He doesn’t move away. If anything—he leans into it now.

And that’s what breaks you open in return.

Because he chose this. Not just to be touched. But to be seen. To let himself be witnessed where he is most human. Vulnerable. Easy to wound.

And you don’t ask anything of him.

So, he breathes.

And for a long while, that’s all he does. Breathes like he’s learning how again. Like he’s being born into softness for the first time.

His weight shifts, minutely, but it’s enough. Setting into your embrace like he was meant to be there.

Then—

“I don’t want to be anything more than this right now,” he whispers. The words fall close, low and raw. It’s the closest he’s come to saying he loves you.

No mask. No sermon. Just a man—your man—letting himself be held.

A beat.

Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips brush your hairline.

Not quite a kiss. But not quite not.

Thank you, it says. Not in language—but in reverence.

You feel his breath again. Still uneven. Still learning.

But it’s yours now. Shared.

His cheek presses more firmly to yours. His hand at your waist settles without urgency.

And you know, without him saying it...

He’s here.

Completely.

With you.

Dividers: saradika-graphics

A/N: For everyone who read 'Gramen ante falcem' and was emotionally eviscerated… consider this piece my official apology.

Therapy is expensive. Writing this was free.

[goathouseofficial]

imagine how much you'd have to trust someone, to not only let them possess you, but to welcome it

imagine how much you'd have to trust someone to possess them. all that you are, under someone else's hands, in someone else's shape. every lie wiped away. every skill at their disposal.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham Headcanons (Poly!Romantic)

❝ 🍽 — lady l: I finally managed to post this!! I really liked the result and I hope you like it :) forgive me for any mistakes and good reading. 💙🤎

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, death and mention of suicide and violence, toxic relationships.

❝🔪pairing: yandere!hannibal lecter x gender neutral!reader x yandere!will graham.

The idea of ​​someone else coming into their relationship wasn't something they planned or thought about. They were still getting used to the new dynamics of their relationship, so actually adding a third person wasn't in the cards. But when Hannibal and Will met you, that thought took root in their minds.

You were like a breath of fresh air to them. Something new, exciting, and something they could keep to themselves, as a new addition to their new lives. And they were eager to make you fit into your new life with them.

Initially, Hannibal and Will watched you from a distance, exchanging conspiratorial glances and smiles, as if sharing a silent secret. Every interaction with you only reinforced the idea that you were the missing piece to the puzzle they were putting together. They had no doubt that you would be theirs eventually, whether you wanted it or not.

Hannibal, with his calculating nature and magnetic charm, began to engage you with his intellectual conversations and sophisticated dinners, demonstrating an almost mesmerizing hospitality. He knew exactly how to capture your attention and make you feel special, he knew how to make you feel indispensable.

Will, on the other hand, with his sensitivity and keen perception, found subtle ways to connect with you. He understood you in a way few could, offering a shoulder to lean on and a deep understanding of your emotions and thoughts. His sincere vulnerability was a perfect contrast to Hannibal's confident assurance.

You found yourself torn between these two poles of attraction, each complementing the other in a way that seemed almost orchestrated. Hannibal and Will became more and more indispensable, each encounters deepening your connection and making the idea of ​​leaving their circle more and more unthinkable.

Finally, a dinner at Hannibal's house that felt more like a secret celebration than a simple meal. The tension in the air was palpable, filled with unspoken promises and unspoken desires. Hannibal and Will, with complicit looks, began to close the distance between the three of you, breaking down the last remaining barriers. They didn't hide their intentions anymore, nor what they were. There was no more secret.

They knew perfectly well how to manipulate you, how to make you trust them completely. Every interaction, every gesture, was carefully calculated to deepen their dependence and trust. Hannibal, with his ability to read people and understand their weaknesses, knew exactly what to say to make you feel valued and special. His words were like a balm, soothing any doubts you might have had.

Will, in turn, used his innate empathy to connect with you on a deep emotional level. He knew how to make you feel understood and accepted, creating an intimacy that seemed almost magical. His eyes reflected a sincerity that was difficult to question, and his presence offered a comfort that became addictive.

They were both good to you, in their own way. Hannibal would always cook you your favorite meals, and treat you to anything you want. Do you want to go on a ridiculously expensive trip? No problem. He will give you all the best and the best, bathing you in luxury. Will is more simplistic in this situation, he prefers to show his love for you through touches, like kisses and hugs, but he also gives you gifts when you want something.

Will is the more affectionate of the two, at least physically. He likes to hug you constantly, bury his head in your neck or steal kisses from you. Hannibal is already more subtle in his touches, he prefers to place a hand on your shoulder, lift your chin so that you look him in the eyes and kiss your forehead gently.

They are extremely possessive and overprotective and this is nothing new. Hannibal will kill and cook anyone who gives you the wrong look or displays inappropriate behavior around you. To him, you are a treasure that must be protected at all costs, and he will not hesitate to use his macabre skills to ensure your safety. Any perceived threat is quickly eliminated and transformed into a feast only you can enjoy.

Will, on the other hand, has a different but equally intense approach. He is more than willing to beat anyone to death if he thinks they are trying to steal you from them. His anger is raw and direct, driven by an intense passion and a desperate need to protect those he loves and he loves you, even if it's in a twisted way. For Will, you are the anchor that maintains his sanity, and he will do anything to maintain that stability, even if it means committing extreme acts of violence.

Hannibal and Will are an amazing duo when they work together and if they want you, they will get you. While Will may have reservations about kidnapping you and forcing you into a relationship with them, Hannibal already thinks otherwise. You are theirs and there is nothing wrong with taking what is yours, is there?

There is no escaping them. You can try as much as you want, but they will always find you. They are great at hunting together and they would hunt you all over the world if necessary. You won't leave them, they will be sure of that.

In the end, you become part of their world, accepting that, although complex and sometimes terrifying, it is the only place you truly belong. They own you, and you, in some way, also own them, creating an indissoluble bond that redefines the concept of relationship. The sooner you accept that this is your new reality and accept them as your partners, everything will be fine. But if not, Hannibal will have no problem teaching you manners and Will are going to be there to help heal your wounds and silence your cries.

[loveesiren]

What about jj saving rafes gf instead of Sarah when she falls off the boat? Even though jj and Rafe hate each other

of course babes! sorry this took a while, i hope you enjoy! :)

𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕓𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕

warnings: not proofread, language, slight angst

wc: 2.4k+

Before you were Rafe Cameron’s girl, you were a Pogue through and through. You grew up with JJ and John B, learning to boat, fish, and work hard for the things you wanted. Life was simple but full, with endless summer days spent on the water and nights filled with laughter. When Pope and Kiara joined your crew, it felt like your family was complete—especially since having Kiara around meant you finally had someone who understood what it was like to be a girl surrounded by all that chaotic, masculine energy.

But things changed when you caught the attention of Rafe Cameron. At first, it seemed impossible. A Kook and a Pogue? The idea alone was laughable. Yet, against all odds, there was something magnetic about Rafe—a spark you couldn’t ignore. And to your surprise, he felt it too. It wasn’t long before stolen glances turned into secret meetings, and those meetings turned into something deeper. But every step closer to Rafe felt like a step away from your childhood friends.

Sure, it was fine when John B started dating Sarah Cameron. But when you got with the older Cameron sibling, it was a problem. Rafe’s constant harassment didn’t help your case. Sarah was much kinder than her brother, and the Pogues saw her as someone who genuinely cared for John B. Rafe, on the other hand, had a reputation that preceded him—a volatile temper and a knack for trouble that made him nearly impossible to trust. Except when it came to you. Your presence seemed to calm the storm in his mind.

Choosing Rafe wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that you stopped caring for the Pogues. In fact, you still loved them fiercely, even if your paths had diverged. Being with Rafe meant walking a tightrope. While he harbored a burning hatred for your old crew, he knew better than to act on it—because hurting them meant risking you. And losing you was unthinkable for Rafe, who had grown to see you as the one thing anchoring him in his stormy world. But even his restraint couldn’t erase the tension. The Pogues saw your relationship as a betrayal, and you feared they’d never forgive you. 

Now, you sat alone on the edge of a boat, staring out at the vast expanse of the Atlantic as it stretched endlessly before you. The journey to Morocco wasn’t one you’d ever imagined taking. But here you were, caught between two worlds, trying desperately to keep the peace. It was your idea to bring Rafe and the Pogues together for this mission. You’d convinced Rafe to help them track down Groff, who had made off with his money, knowing it could also give JJ and Pope a chance to evade capture. Even if you weren’t close anymore, you couldn’t bear to see the people you once called family thrown behind bars.

But, as expected, not everything had gone to plan.

The Pogues didn’t trust Rafe—and for good reason. His track record spoke for itself. As soon as they got him on the boat, they tied him up in the tiny bathroom, keeping him under lock and key. You understood their logic, but that didn’t make it any easier to see your boyfriend treated like a prisoner. Worse still, they’d forbidden you from seeing him until you reached Morocco. You didn’t fight them on it. Confrontation had never been your strong suit, and besides, you knew better than to argue with JJ when his mind was made up.

So, you sat in silence, listening to the rhythmic crash of waves against the hull, the salty breeze brushing against your face. The solitude of the sea was both comforting and suffocating. It gave you time to think—about the choices you’d made, the people you’d hurt, and the fragile balance you were struggling to maintain. You wanted to believe this trip could be a turning point, a chance to bridge the gap between Rafe and the Pogues. But deep down, you knew the odds were slim. Trust was hard to rebuild, and the wounds on both sides ran deep.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you let out a weary sigh. All you could do now was wait—for land, for answers, for the moment when everything would inevitably come to a head. Until then, the sea was your only companion, its endless expanse reflecting the tangled mess of your heart.

-

Sarah was kind. She always had been. Even after all her brother had put her through, she still cared for him enough to make sure he was fed and hydrated. She did the same for you.

“Brought you some dinner,” she said, plopping down beside you.

“Thanks,” you responded softly. You took a few bites of the sandwich she brought you before putting it aside. Your appetite had been wearing thin the entire trip.

“I think it’s stupid too,” she said, looking out at the horizon while the late sun cast bright ripples on the calm water.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The whole Kook versus Pogue thing. Rafe’s done his fair share of bad shit, but haven’t we all? I really think he wants to help this time.”

“He does,” you said. “All he wants is to get his money back from Groff. He doesn’t care about the crown. Honest.”

“I know,” she said, offering you a soft smile. “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest.”

You pondered her words as she walked off. You weren’t overly close with Sarah. It was almost as if you and she had swapped lives. You started seeing Rafe around the same time Sarah and John B got together, and for the last three years, she’d been getting a taste of life’s adventures while you enjoyed the finer things. You loved Rafe. You were in love with him. You couldn’t imagine being without him. But you often found yourself missing the life you once lived with the Pogues.

You cringed as you swallowed one final shot of whiskey, a vice that did close to nothing to take the stress away. You tossed the bottle to the side and rolled over, closing your eyes and trying your best to relax to the soothing sounds of the ocean. Eventually, you were lulled to sleep, dreaming of Rafe. He smiled as he took you into his large arms, and you felt secure in his warm embrace.

The dream was short-lived, though, as you were thrown roughly against the hard wall of the boat. Disoriented, you struggled to find something to grip. Rain lashed against your face as the boat pitched violently from side to side.

You made your way to your feet and took in your surroundings. The storm had hit fast. You could see movement inside the helm as the Pogues scrambled to navigate the chaos and secure the boat.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your breath hitching. “Rafe!” your voice rose into a frantic scream as you stumbled toward the helm. You knew you had to find him—if he was left unsecured, he’d drown.

“Y/N, get inside!” JJ’s voice cut through the storm. You turned to see him and John B holding the door open, JJ’s hand extended toward you. You reached for him, but another violent wave threw you to the deck.

“Where’s Rafe?!” you yelled, coughing as salty seawater stung your throat.

“Kiara’s getting him!” John B shouted back.

Moments later, Rafe appeared in the doorway, drenched but alive. “Y/N!”

Relief flooded through you at the sight of him, but your joy was short-lived. A massive wave loomed on the horizon, crashing into the boat with terrifying force. You screamed as the water dragged you off the stern, the world disappearing into a churning abyss.

“Y/N!” JJ and Rafe shouted in unison.

“Rafe!” you screamed, fighting to keep your head above water. The sea clawed at you, threatening to pull you under. “Rafe! Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” JJ’s voice rang out as he dove into the water after you.

“JJ, what are you doing?!” John B yelled, trying to hold Rafe back from following. “JJ, no, no, no!”

But it was too late. JJ had already disappeared beneath the waves.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s scream was raw with desperation, tears streaming down his face. John B had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by fear.

John B pressed his hand firmly against Rafe’s chest, forcing him back inside. “Come on, man! We can’t help them if we drown too!” he yelled over the howling wind. He shoved Rafe into the cabin and slammed the door shut.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Rafe sobbed, pounding his fists against the wall. “I have to go help her! I have to find her, man!”

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cut through the chaos as she wrapped her arms around him. “Rafe, it’s okay! Let’s just get to land. I’m sure they’ll find their way back!” She rubbed his back as he crumpled, his sobs echoing through the small cabin.

-

The water finally calmed as you and JJ struggled onto the sand, every muscle in your body screaming with exhaustion. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the relief of solid ground beneath you was overwhelming. Collapsing onto the beach, you coughed violently, lungs burning as you fought to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his voice ragged between gasps for air.

You nodded weakly, words feeling like too much effort. After a moment, you managed to rasp, “A-Are you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minutes passed as you both sat in silence, trying to steady your breathing. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and infinite, illuminated only by a pale sliver of moonlight. A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts turned to Rafe—his face, his voice, and the uncertainty of whether you’d ever see him again.

“They’ll be okay, Y/N,” JJ said softly, his tone more reassuring than he probably felt. “At first light, we’ll head down the beach. We’ll find them.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of emotion. “Hey, Jayj?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, gratitude lacing every syllable.

He turned to you with a tired but genuine smile. “Can’t kill a Pogue, right?”

The next thing you knew, the sun was warming your skin, its gentle rays coaxing you back to consciousness. The once-violent sea was calm now, its rhythmic waves bringing an unexpected peace. You stretched, muscles stiff and aching, before glancing toward the shore.

JJ was standing near the water, absentmindedly dragging his foot through the sand. You rose to your feet, brushing off grains of sand stuck to your damp clothes, and made your way over to him.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

He turned, offering you a small smile. “Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Guess so,” you chuckled. “Didn’t even realize I passed out.”

“Not surprising,” JJ said with a shrug. “You were pretty wrecked.” His tone was light, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I was thinking we head up the beach toward where the boat was headed. If they made it to land, that’s where we’ll find them.”

You winced at the word if, the uncertainty slicing through your chest like a blade. “Okay,” you replied firmly. “Let’s go.”

For the next 45 minutes, the two of you trudged along the beach in silence, your shared determination a quiet bond. Every step brought a mix of hope and dread as you scanned the horizon for any sign of your loved ones.

“You know,” JJ said suddenly, breaking the silence, “they’re probably feeling the same as us—like they might never see us again.”

You shook your head, gripping tightly onto hope. “We’ll find them, Jayj. We have to.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “We will.”

A few more minutes passed before you gathered the courage to speak again. “JJ?”

He glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do… Do you hate me?” The question felt heavy on your tongue, dredging up years of unspoken tension.

JJ’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He sighed, raking a hand through his damp hair. “No, Y/N. I don’t hate you. I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.”

His words caught you off guard, and you looked down, fiddling with your hands. “It just… it felt like you did.”

JJ’s voice softened as he continued. “I was hurt. You were my best friend, and when you and Rafe got together, it felt like he stole you away. From me. From all of us.”

A tear slid down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry, Jayj. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said firmly. “All you’ve ever done was try to keep the peace. I should’ve seen that sooner. And last night, when you fell off the boat…” His voice wavered, and he looked away. “All I could think about was how I couldn’t let you die thinking I hated you. You’re my sister, Y/N. You always will be.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. JJ hugged you back tightly, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you, Jayj. I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered.

He pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it. I’ll even make an effort with Rafe if it means getting you back.”

An hour later, the sun was high in the sky when you spotted movement in the distance.

“J, is that them?” you asked breathlessly, shielding your eyes with your hand.

JJ squinted at the figures. “Let’s find out,” he said, quickening his pace.

As you got closer, the shapes grew clearer: Sarah’s golden hair, Kiara’s familiar stance, and Rafe’s unmistakable silhouette towering above the group.

“Rafe!” you cried, breaking into a run.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his eyes widening before he sprinted toward you. The moment he reached you, his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck. “I thought I lost you. I thought I’d never see you again!” He cried.

“I’m here,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m safe. JJ saved me.”

When Rafe finally pulled back, his gaze shifted to JJ, who stood a few feet away, watching the reunion. Without hesitation, Rafe approached him and pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, clapping Rafe on the back. “Yeah, well… couldn’t let her die on my watch,” he said with a crooked smile.

As you stood there, watching the two men who meant so much to you, hope swelled in your chest. For the first time in years, you felt like things might finally be okay.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

Tags: @torturedtypewritersdept @bigenergy777 @outerbankspov @purplerose291 @shayofandoms @mirellef2001 @seojunandsoju @niktwazny303 @jjmaybankmylovee @simp4f1 @faephoria @toftomgmf @bunnykoo901 @adarkskinarchives @millietozier @babybreadamericano @hwaaholic @dilfluvr4evr @wtfdudesblog @harrys-housewife @sereneera @lizziesangel @akobx @kieeslove @serrendiipty @esquivelbianca @agnxstic

[another-lost-mc]

Soo like would the demon brothers including the other demon characters kill for mc? 👻

It's not a question of will they kill for you, but rather, who do they have to kill? Because of course they would.

If it's some nobody lesser demon, chances are they can do the deed and get away with it without anyone knowing (or caring) about it after. Higher-ranking demons within the nobility are more of a challenge - the social and personal consequences are much higher, assuming the original offense is a minor infraction and not something that would warrant a formal punishment of the court. If it's something serious, it's better to let Diavolo take care of it (and trust when he says that he will).

Angels are tricky to deal with. Outright killing one would probably anger Diavolo too much, let alone what Michael's reaction would be. Punishments for Celestial Realm denizens who offend or hurt you (and by extension, the demons that care for you) are non-lethal and have to be carried out with some level of care and subtlety. They can't arouse too much suspicion or anger from the other realms. Fortunately, angels aren't likely to do anything too grievous towards you anyway. (The angels that know you best have their own methods of dealing with their angelic brothers or sisters that need a little enlightenment when it comes to your happiness and well-being.)

When it comes to deadly retribution, humans are probably the easiest for your demon companions to dispose of. With their frail bodies and fondness for sin and reckless behaviour, humans die unexpectedly all the time. So long as they're careful not to leave any evidence of their involvement behind, some poor human's unexpected demise is coincidental at best. Your pet demon isn't likely to be held accountable for it either - assuming Solomon hasn't taken care of the miscreant first, that is.

Of course, killing is such a vague concept, and each of your demonic friends has their own preferences when it comes to getting their hands a little bloody for you.

(warnings: mentions of violence/murder/torture, unhinged behaviour, demons being demons, etc.)

RECKLESS AND IMPULSIVE: It might surprise you how quick they respond to aggression or insults towards you and the level of violence they're capable of. Their love for you is so strong, they can't help it. Perhaps it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, because they know you're too kind for your own good. Letting some no-good demon get away with hurting you, even the tiniest bit, is unthinkable. It doesn't really matter what you say, because once the switch flips, it's too late to stop them. The demon is already dead at their feet before anyone else nearby even realizes what happened.

— Mammon, Satan, Beelzebub

CAREFUL AND CALCULATED: A bitter insult, some derogatory comments on Devilgram, obnoxious criticisms heard amongst the chatter of RAD's busy hallways - it doesn't take much to anger them when it comes to defending you. You're so precious, their uniquely imperfect little human master, and you deserve better than that. They'll take their time, they'll make their plans, they'll consider their options carefully. When the deed is done, they'll make sure every last trace of blood is gone from their hands and their teeth before they see you again. It would be a shame to tarnish you with the filth of the unworthy.

— Leviathan, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Mephistopheles

MERCILESS AND UNTOUCHABLE: There's nothing that matters more than your safety and happiness. They're the ones you can turn to when you feel like you can't turn to anyone else. You can confide in them because they're strong. Their power and influence is unmatched, and no matter what troubles you, they'll see that it's taken care of. They used to scare you before, but now there's comfort in the firm hand clasping your shoulder when they lead you to your door, or the warm cup of tea they press into your hands, or the princely smile that promises you never have to worry so long as they're close. You can rest easy at night knowing whatever threatens your well-being is taken care of, even if you don't realize it. The dungeons beneath the Demon Lord's Castle that house the wicked, and the dark deeds carried out against them in your name, are burdens they gladly bear.

— Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos

[hy6erion]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞-𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧, 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭.

<𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭>

Viktor had faced many challenges in his life.

Illness had eaten away at his body since childhood, each year bringing new limits he was forced to acknowledge. Poverty had made survival a cruel game of endurance, one he had barely won. And even now, in the supposed security of Piltover’s upper echelon, he spent his days locked in a ceaseless battle with science itself, clawing for discovery with every ounce of strength he had.

But none of that—none of it—had prepared him for this.

For the quiet torment of sharing a bed with you.

Not because you were difficult, or because you stole the blankets, or even because you had a habit of rolling over in your sleep. No, those would have been manageable problems, ones he could have tolerated with a few careful adjustments.

The real problem—the unbearable, sanity-eroding, utterly unfair problem—was that you were warm.

And soft.

And dangerously close.

And Viktor was losing his mind.

The First Night

It had started simply enough.

The two of you had settled into bed with all the grace of strangers forced into a truce, moving stiffly, as if acknowledging the situation too directly would make it worse. There had been a carefully maintained distance between you, an unspoken agreement that neither of you would cross the invisible boundary in the sheets.

“Goodnight” you had murmured, voice soft in the dark.

“Goodnight“ he had echoed, keeping his tone deliberately neutral.

And for a time, there had been peace.

Then you started moving.

Viktor wasn’t sure when it happened—whether it was minutes later or hours—but at some point, your body shifted, the smallest unconscious adjustment in sleep. A moment later, your arm brushed against his.

A fleeting, accidental touch. Nothing more.

But Viktor went rigid, heart hammering violently against his ribs as if he’d been struck.

It was such a small thing. A meaningless point of contact, barely worth noticing. But Viktor had never been touched absentmindedly before.

Every interaction he’d had in his life—every handshake, every pat on the shoulder—had been measured and intentional, something others had consciously given him. But this?

This was different.

This was instinctual. Unthinking. A product of comfort, of trust, of an absence of fear.

And that made it dangerous.

So Viktor did nothing. He forced himself to remain still, to ignore the warmth of your skin, to pretend he wasn’t hyper-aware of the way your breathing evened out as you drifted deeper into sleep.

He barely slept at all.

The Second Night

The second night was worse.

Because now, Viktor knew.

He knew the weight of your presence beside him, the sound of your soft murmurs in sleep, the way you moved toward him without hesitation.

And worse than that—you were getting comfortable.

The stiffness of the first night had faded. There was no hesitation when you climbed beneath the blankets, no lingering awkwardness in the way you settled in. The distance between you was still there—for now—but it was no longer something you enforced. It simply existed, fragile and temporary.

And Viktor was failing.

Each night became a battle, a war between rationality and something far more dangerous.

And he was losing.

The Problem of Proximity

It was inevitable.

The space between you began to shrink—not all at once, but in small, gradual betrayals of caution. A tiny shift. A slight lean. A slow erosion of boundaries that neither of you acknowledged.

Until one night, the distance disappeared entirely.

Viktor had barely begun his nightly ritual of staring at the ceiling, not thinking about the way you made his pulse stutter, when you shifted again—rolling toward him in sleep, arms tucking close.

And then— Your hand settled lightly on his chest.

Viktor stopped breathing.

Your face was turned into his shoulder, your body curled instinctively against his side as if you had always belonged there. And worst of all, you were completely unaware—completely at ease, trusting him with your unconscious presence.

For the first time in his life, Viktor resented his own mind. He resented the way it cataloged everything—the warmth of your breath near his throat, the faint weight of your fingers, the way your hair brushed against his skin. He resented that he was analyzing the moment like a scientist when all he wanted was to feel it.

He forced himself to stay still, muscles locking into place.

He could not—would not—let this become something it wasn’t.

Even as his heart ached, desperate for something he could never allow himself to have.

A Study in Distraction

Viktor prided himself on his focus.

He had spent years training his mind to drown out distractions, to dedicate himself wholly to the pursuit of knowledge.

But now?

Now, you were the distraction.

He found himself losing track of his own thoughts in the lab, his work interrupted by memories of warmth against his side, the ghost of a touch lingering long after you had pulled away. Even Jayce noticed.

“You look awful” he said bluntly one morning, watching as Viktor rubbed his eyes.

“I sleep fine” Viktor lied, flipping a page in his notes.

Jayce squinted at him. “Liar. You’re practically a zombie.”

Viktor said nothing.

This was untenable. He needed distance. He needed control.

He needed to stop falling in love with you.

Failure

One night, when you inevitably rolled close again, Viktor made a mistake.

He tried to move you.

Carefully—so carefully—he attempted to ease you away, just enough to regain some semblance of sanity.

It backfired spectacularly.

Instead of rolling away, you chased after the warmth.

Viktor froze.

Your fingers fisted lightly in his shirt, pulling him closer in sleep. Your face tucked against his chest, breath soft against his collarbone. And then—

A quiet, sleepy murmur escaped your lips, a content sigh of absolute trust.

Viktor went still, staring at the ceiling in helpless agony.

This was not good.

This was not sustainable.

This was—

His arm moved before he could stop himself, settling lightly against your back. Just barely. Just enough to let himself pretend—for a moment—that he was allowed to have this.

The Breaking Point

He should have stopped this sooner.

He should have drawn a line, established rules, set boundaries that neither of you would cross.

But Viktor had never been good at resisting you.

And one night, when you curled into him again, when your head found its place against his shoulder, when your hand rested lightly over his heart—Viktor let himself hold you back.

The moment you noticed, he felt it. A soft inhale. A brief stillness.

And then—so carefully, so subtly—you settled completely against him.

Viktor closed his eyes.

He was lost.

[yujateaandpi]

Malevolent Intermezzo Spoilers!

John: Our friendship is the most important thing that has and will ever happen to me. You are precious. I’ve watched you suffer through so much pain that to watch you experience more, let alone by my hand, is unthinkable. Every action I take is to get us closer to a life where we can live in peace and where we’ll be on equal standing with each other. If you knew the things I’ve had to do to get us there, and if you loved me less because of it, I’d die. 

What he says: Do it. 

Arthur: You have transformed from a thing I fear to a thing I trust. The pain it took to earn that trust makes it all the more excruciating when it is broken. You are still learning gentleness and selflessness and compromise. I am aware of how hard it is to learn these things for the first time. I am a father. But as hardened as I am, I am human and fragile and you cannot keeps depending on my capacity for forgiveness to get what you want. 

What he says: You fucking villain

[temporalhiccup]

There are many different reasons to play ttrpgs, and sometimes creative catharsis is one of them.

Certainly it's a reason's Bluebeard's Bride is one of my favorite games, or why it's fun for me to play emotionally vulnerable characters in Bite Marks and Apocalypse Keys.

A couple of months ago I started playing DIE with some close friends, and a couple of new players I haven't had a chance to play with much. But it's a group that's played with each other often, and DIE has a really emotionally rich and complex premise we were excited for: "In DIE, you play a group of authentically flawed and desperate real-world people (Personas) who are sucked into a cursed roleplaying game and take on the form of heroes, villains and power players (Paragons)."

So I made a conscious decision to create a transmasc character and delve consciously and deeply into the act of catharsis. I have played trans characters before, (arguably ttrpgs are one of the ways I explored if I was trans but that's another story), but this was the first time I wanted to pull at the threads of my own confusion and sadness, trauma and regret. To work through my grief.

In real life, it's difficult to put into words the grief I am going through with my parents. It's a complex issue, but one of them is that my parents have always seen as me as their daughter, and all three of us cannot imagine me being anything else to them. My father has always pointedly interacted with my brother as a son, and has always faltered when I failed to act like the daughter.

It's hard to grieve because there are thousands of subtle nuances—their love for me, borne from endless sacrifice and hope, also places chains on me. To break those chains is to break them, to keep those chains on is to break me. I have broken myself over the decades, again and again, and there is never a shape that will please us three.

So for DIE I created a more intense caricature of fatherly trauma. Almost cartoonish in his abuse, with no room for nuance. Somehow in describing the black and white nature of this fictional father, and how it shaped my character, it's easier for me to see the shades of grey that my real father is. It's easier to find the shadows of me there too.

I realized today that in DIE, this traumatizing figure also contains the fear I had. Conditioned to be a woman, where my very existence can trigger violence from men. There are many reasons it took me so long to know I was trans, but one of those reasons was that I could not imagine taking on the shape of an oppressor.

It didn't matter that I knew many men who were gentle, loving, and kind. It didn't matter that what men are does not have to be defined by the patriarchy. Men were dangerous until I knew better. Men could betray my trust and become dangerous once they got to know me. Why would I want to take on the shape of something dangerous and harmful?

Today I explored a part of that. As an Emotion Knight my character draws upon the emotion of loathing—what better way to draw upon an aspect of gender dysphoria? To become strong, to fight, I had to give in just enough to my father's voice, its whispers from the war hammer in my hand. I had to take on his cruelty, the loathing I had for him and myself. I described the danger of falling into unthinking violence, to protect what matters to me. I was standing on the precipice, knowing I was a breath away from going too far.

All of this made it easier to see my real father, standing at the end of a corridor I will never reach. It feels like if I walk towards him, the corridor will stretch on and on, made of all the doors of all the daughters I could have been for him. One of them, any of them, would be better than what I am now.

That moment of catharsis felt breathless. I could feel myself falling towards the doors. Then I looked at the other players, and I could see all of them feeling for my character. Feeling for his pain, for his hope. Watching him stumble towards the edge. I could feel their hearts surrounding mine.

I don't remember what I said to Sherri, in character. I know I wanted her to pull my character back into this fictional moment. I know I wanted Sherri to pull me back into this reality, with her. Away from the corridor. It was enough that I saw the corridor for what it is, that I knew all its doors. That I knew they could never be opened.

This dance of catharsis feels safe. It's hard to describe how it's still fun, and wonderful, to connect to my friends' characters. To check-in and feel out if we were still having fun, trusting in the play, trusting in each other.

The game session ended hours ago, and we'll play again next week. But the corridor is still with me, and I feel it stretching behind me. I feel all its doors. When I close my eyes, I see my father's back, walking away from me.

Maybe next week I'll try walking down that corridor. Maybe I'll call out to my father, knowing he won't turn around. Maybe I'll leave it behind. Maybe I won't do anything for now, because grief takes time. I don't know.

I just know that I'm very grateful to be here, to be loved, to play. I'm grateful for the stories we tell together, and how it can help us retell our own stories about ourselves.

This story of grief is hard, but I'm grateful. It means I chose to survive, to live, to be me.

It hurts to choose myself over my parents love for me, but I'm glad I'm doing it. I'm choosing all the people who love me, who see me when I cannot yet clearly see myself.

[ramp-it-up]

Peach VII

Peach VI | Peach 7.5 | Ties That Bind

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Do you leave there single or a married woman?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I have all of the words and none of the confidence. Oh I hope you like it. It may not be everyone's cup of tea. This is part one of the Valentine's weekend bundle. I hope you like it. Let me know my LOVEs! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach VI. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve Rogers is rich, bitches!, the big one bling, the event! stripping, pole dancing, lap dancing, sloppy blow job, is this Subby!Steve? woman on top, nipple play (m receiving), size kink, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, a lil bit of cum play. Family feeeelings, Bucky being Bucky, Steve being a simp, jealous bitches, almost catching a case at a gala.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

“Is that what you want?” Steve said as his hands gripped your waist.

You couldn't look away from his eyes which were deeply searching yours.

When you moved your hand to his chest, his heart thudded through the muscle and the bone to your fingertips.

You nodded and marveled at how far you both had come in such a short amount of time.

You were sure.

“I’m not going back on what I said, Steve. If you ask me, I’m ready.”

Steve couldn’t believe his luck.

“How much is that promise worth to you, Peach? Because when I make a promise, I keep it.”

His beautiful deep velvet voice had you swooning in his arms. 

“Everything. It’s worth everything, Steve.”

It was unthinkable what you were feeling. But it was oh so right.

Steve’s look was so serious for a moment and then he kissed you again. He flipped you over, torso pinning yours down, abs between your legs. You whined with need as he kissed you, tenderly, his fingers tracing your face.

Then he pulled away.

“Get dressed, Peach.”

“What?

“Get dressed. Pack up. You’re checking out of the hotel.'

You looked at him and cocked your eyebrow.

“Oh. Am I?”

Steve chuckled at your sass. It was so cute. Then he pulled you close and whispered in your ear.

“Yes. You are. Remember I said that I was going to give you what you need, when you need it?”

You shivered at the way Steve handled you.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

“Well, I need you to trust me. And I need to ask you a question."

“Understood.”

Steve kneeled at the side of the bed, those eyes focused on you. He looked like a little boy.

And then he asked you a very grown up question.

Insert Peach 7.5 Here

The elevator doors slid open to reveal the corridor to Steve’s penthouse at the top of the Rebirth building. There were two doors on the entire hallway, both mirroring each other. 

Steve walked beside you to one of the entrances, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back, a touch both casual and possessive. 

Your mouth dropped open when the door opened on floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Manhattan skyline. 

The view went on forever.

"Jesus, Steve. This is… Beautiful!"

Your eyes shone as you turned in a circle to take in the room.

"Wait until you see the rest."

You were wandering now, your fingertips trailing over the sleek countertops, the rich leather of his couch, and the curated artwork lining the walls. Everything about the space was sophisticated, masculine, Steve.

You wondered how you could lend your touch.

Steve had gone into another room, his bedroom, you imagined, to put your things down. He came up behind you as you stared out of the window, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He kissed your neck as you leaned your head back on his chest.

“This place is… it’s amazing, Steve. I can’t believe we just did that.”

“More amazing now that you’re here. And you better believe it.”

“I have something for you…a wedding gift”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, bringing it in front of you. 

The diamonds on your hand glittered and caught your eye as you reached to touch what was inside. It was a necklace with double diamond solitaires, one cushion cut and one pear shaped, nestled side by side on a thin, gleaming chain.

A moi et toi design.

To match your ring.

You blinked up at him, craning your neck to look him in the eye. He pecked you on the lips.

“Steve…”

He reached out, and plucked the necklace from the box. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck as he draped it around you.

“Moi et toi,” he murmured near your ear. “Me and you.”

You swallowed, your fingers rising to touch the stones on your skin as you gazed out on the city. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“Two stones side by side; one strengthens the other.” 

His thumb brushed over your collarbone, tracing the edge of the necklace. 

“That’s what we are. It’s what you do for me. Make me want to be a better man.”

You exhaled, your lips parting slightly as you turned around in his arms.

“Steve. You are a good man. You’re just doing things in a slightly unconventional way. You’re talking to the queen of unconventional. Remember where we met?”

There you were, being adorable again. The way you’d fought him up until this week made Steve stand in disbelief at how accepting you were of him. And how easily you’d run off with him to Connecticut tonight to become his wife. 

It was crazy, but it was so right.

“I do. I seem to recall meeting you in heaven, because all I remember thinking is ‘who is this angel?’”  

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“You’ve been hanging around Bucky too long.”

Steve chuckled, tilting your chin up with a knuckle. He was happy.

“You’re right. But anyway, the necklace is for tomorrow, I mean the Gala tonight. Something to remind you that no matter who else is in the room... you’re my wife."

You swallowed at the octave drop in Steve’s voice and he traced your throat with his thumb as you did it. Steve gathered you to him, pressing his lips to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered into your ear.

“Come with me, there’s something else I want to show you. " 

He grabbed your hand and led you down a hallway. 

You followed until he stopped and turned to you with a mischievous grin. Then, he opened the door behind his back and backed in so he could watch your face.

Curious, you followed him inside. 

Then you froze. 

It was a good sized space. Mirrors lined one entire wall, reflecting the soft glow of LED track lighting. You stepped out on the wood floor and realized that it was made from premium materials.

But what really caught your attention was the sleek, stainless-steel pole standing tall in the center of the room. You turned slowly, meeting Steve's expectant gaze.��

"You have a dance studio?" 

"You have a dance studio," he corrected. 

"I arranged for it to be started while we were in Hilton Head and it was just finished yesterday. I wanted you to have a place to move. To feel free while you’re in Brooklyn."

You went to the pole and grabbed it and leaned out, checking it. It was sturdy and conditioned. You twirled a little and came to rest, the pole between the ass cheeks of your leggings. 

Steve’s look became hungry, and his cock jumped in his sweats. If he was thinking of sleep earlier, he was wide awake now. 

And some parts of him were more awake than others. 

“So… you had a dance studio built, for me, while we were in Hilton Head? Me, a woman who was threatening your life?”

The way you smiled at him made Steve’s heart flutter. He nodded and came close and tried to kiss you, but you twirled away from him to the other side of the pole. He flashed you a smile and your butterflies started up again.

“It was right after you threatened to shoot my balls off. I knew you had it bad.”

Steve sighed as if he was nostalgic for your death threats. You laughed as Steve grabbed for you again.

You scooted away from him.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Rogers,” you admonished as your finger wagged in front of those lips. 

Then you pointed, and Steve followed your hand as if mesmerized. He was the one who had it bad.

“Why don’t you sit down so I can test this thing out? Haven’t had a proper dance workout all week.”

Steve nodded and went to sit down on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room.

You stepped forward, and your pulse quickened as you held Steve’s gaze. He leaned back against the back of the chaise, arms crossed over his broad chest, and his t-shirt straining across his shoulders, biceps, and chest.

His blue eyes were focused with an intensity that sent a shiver through your body.

"Music?" you prompted. 

Steve smirked and tapped his phone. A pulsating beat filled the room, the bass vibrating beneath your feet, and causing your hips to sway. You didn’t have your heels and you were in loungewear, but one of those things was to your advantage.

You grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt, teasing a glimpse of your skin as you swayed to the music.

Steve’s eyes darkened and his breath visibly slowed.

You took your time, dragging the cotton up your body as you shimmied, baring the skin of your stomach, then your bra, then your collarbones as your head was hidden for half a second.

You winked when you emerged and you moved closer as you leaned over him and placed your garment on the lounge next to him.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But his jaw clenched, and you didn’t miss the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Then, you turned around, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your leggings and looked over your shoulder to find him staring at your ass and licking his lips. Steve looked up at you, his blue eyes burning now as you smirked at him and peeled the black material down to reveal your flesh, in black lace, bent fully at the waist. 

Steve’s hands twitched for want of reaching out. He exhaled sharply, restraint hanging by a thread.

You straightened up slowly, twerking and slapping your own ass, holding a cheek so that he could see the lace-clothed split of you. You shot him a saucy wink as you stepped out of your clothing, pushing it aside with the tip of your toe before slowly running your hands down your body. 

You brought your hands up to your face, sliding them down your neck to your chest, then your sides, letting your fingers skim over your ribs, down your stomach, then back up, skirting along your bra and pulling your nipples through the fabric. 

Steve made a low sound in his throat, his control cracking.

It was just as he decided to reach out to touch you that you walked toward the pole on tip toes, the only way you knew how to do it. 

“No touching unless I give permission. That’s the rule in Peach’s Parlor.”

Steve cocked his head, grinning now.

“Peach’s Parlor? So you like it? You taking ownership of the place?”

He was proud that you seemed pleased. You smiled back at him in response, exhaling and letting the rhythm take you.

You started with a slow walk around the pole, each step deliberate, your hips swaying just enough to raise the temperature of his blood degree by degree. 

His smile dropped and his jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, his restraint evident in every rigid line of his body as his eyes followed your every move

You reached up, gripping the pole above your head, then lifted yourself effortlessly, letting momentum carry you into a slow spin. The world blurred for a moment, the mirrors reflecting your every movement as you let your legs extend, toes pointed, body fluid. 

The way you moved was unhurried, deliberate, and so alluring. Steve sighed and bent his head to the side, taking you in. Then he bit his lip, remembering how you felt earlier. You felt so fucking good, your sweet, hot pussy pulsing around him.

He was putting the cart before the horse, but he wanted to be your baby daddy so bad. He head was in the clouds as you hooked one leg around the pole, arching your back as you slid downward in a controlled descent, your body moving with the music, sensual and confident. 

The way your muscles flexed and relaxed, the roll of your hips was mesmerizingly beautiful. You were performing your art for Steve, moving for his pleasure. 

But you were in control. 

And it made Steve remember that this is what it was that made him fall for you in the first place. Damn, he wanted you, and even though you were only steps away, it was driving him crazy. 

When you reached the floor, you dropped to your knees, your thighs spread, fingers skimming down your skin as you stared at him.

Steve rubbed his hands on his pants to ease the itch of his fingers wanting to grasp you.

You stood and grabbed the pole once more, swinging around in another smooth, effortless climb. You wrapped your legs around the metal, suspended for a moment, before twisting into an elegant descent, your body brushing against the pole in a way that made Steve’s balls ache.

When you landed, you moved toward him on tiptoe again, all legs and glistening body, hips swaying, eyes locked onto his.

Steve only moved to put his hands on the back of the lounge, but other than that he was still.

In a graceful move, you straddled him carefully, knees on either side of his slim hips. You were close enough for him to feel your warmth, but were barely touching him. The heat coming from your core made him feral and his eyes were drawn downward to the source.

You felt a tremendous power, so you reached for his chin and tilted it up so he could look into your eyes. 

Steve almost got lost there, but when you whispered, “Good boy,” he forgot how to breathe.

He didn't know he liked that, but the fact that you'd guessed it made you even more perfect for him. 

He covered a whimper by clearing his throat, causing a secret smile to grace your lips as you slowly rolled your hips and arched your back, your tits barely grazing his chest. 

Steve's eyes were everywhere, watching everything, especially your nipples, which were so hard and beautiful through the lace.

He felt like if he could just to suck them for a minute, everything in the world would be alright.

A minute each. 

Maybe an hour.

Steve's breath was hot against your skin, but he still hadn’t touched you. His grip on the chaise tightened, his control hanging by a thread.

You ran your fingers down your body before leaning backward and grazing his thighs and it was just enough to plan out the pattern of his skeet along your skin.

He was sure, with practice, that he could spell out his name.

In one fluid movement, you turned around, pressing your back to his chest, and, lightly, so lightly, too lightly, ground against his rigid cock with slow, deliberate precision.

Steve felt delirious and close to expiring.

“Fuck, Peach… You trying to kill me?” Steve murmured, his voice low and rough. “We just got married.”

Married!

You looked over your shoulder at him and moved your lips close to his, smiling as you saw the muscles in his corded neck tense.  You leaned in, your lips hovering near his ear.

“You're so good for me Stevie… Such a good... big... boy.”

You twerked the last three words in his lap, causing him to exhale sharply and his hands to twitch. You arched, rolling your body against his again. 

And then.

Finally, finally, you let yourself sink into his lap, pressing fully against his cock. He could feel your moist pussy lips through layers of fabric.

And that’s when Steve’s restraint snapped.

His hands shot to your waist, gripping hard, his fingers digging into your skin. You leaned back and his lips found your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You smirked and turned around, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer beneath your touch.

Steve crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your laughter in a kiss that was deep and desperate. His hands roamed your body, tracing lace, his need evident in every touch.

“My sweet Peach. Mrs. Rogers,” he growled against your skin, voice thick with hunger.

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make his head tilt back.

“Yesss. Say Heyyyy, Mrs. Rogers…,” you teased.

One hand clasped his throat, squeezing his Adam's apple lightly as his blue eyes shone from his slitted lids. Steve's cock pulsed in his pants, then he took a ragged breath before he spoke.

“Heyyyyyy. Mrs. Rogers...”

You rolled your hips against his impressive bulge as Steve’s baritone rumbled in your ear. As you reached for the hem of his shirt, he kissed you, grabbing the collar to take it off.

You looked at Steve appreciatively as you bent and licked one erect nipple, then wrapped your lips around the tiny button, pulling it into your mouth and eliciting a small groan from him.

You took your time, enjoying his sounds which got louder and louder.

"Such a good boy making those pretty sounds for me, Stevie."

You licked, sucked and savored him as you alternated from one pec to the other.

“Wanna always be good for you, Peach...” 

Steve gritted it out as you grabbed him by the hair, pulling him into a filthy, long, deep kiss. He grabbed for you and held on as your mouth plundered his.

Then you pulled away.

“I have a question, Mr. Rogers,” you unclasped your bra, then leaned forward and stuffed your nipple into his mouth, moaning as he looked up at you with those clear blue eyes and sucked enthusiastically.

“How is it you married me, and I hadn’t even sucked your cock yet?”

Steve pulled off your tight, wet nipple with a plop and chuckled. Then he got serious.

“Must be true love.”

You felt his cock pound between your legs and knew what had to happen. His fingernails scratched your thighs trying to hold on to you as you moved back to stand.

When he saw that you were going to kneel, he quickly moved a pillow from the chaise for you to settle in front of him. He then lifted his hips from the couch and pulled down his sweats and boxers in one move.

His erection sprung out and you licked your lips, ready to finally feel the smooth skin in your mouth.

"Touch yourself for me, Stevie."

Steve took himself in hand and started stroking from base to head, thumb swiping the drops of precum in passing. His burning gaze was on you but your eyes were glued to what was in his fist. 

“Fuck that’s hot… Wan’ taste you,” you were whining now, feeling deprived. 

“Whatever you want,” Steve whispered in a strained voice after looking into those big, beautiful eyes.  

You ran your fingers over his thick dick all the way down to the heavy, tight balls. 

“So pretty…” 

You kept eye contact as you leaned in and gave him a long, wet lick from balls to head. Your tongue rolled over the soft skin of the large mushroom cap, taking in the dewey drops leaking from it.

You licked down the hard shaft, until you reached the base and ran your tongue over his large sac.

You began sucking on his tip, tonguing underneath, and humming around his head, causing Steve to murmur, “Fffeels so fucking good, Peach.”

He was carding his fingers through your hair as he said it.

Inspired, you took him as far as you could, until your lips were stretched to the limit and tears coursed down your face. You inhaled the musky scent of him in the hair at the base of his cock and looked back up to watch his contracting abs and heaving chest, his open mouth and those mesmerizing eyes. 

This was a fucking beautiful man.

Steve’s big hands gathered your hair and held it, just tight enough to send a zing to your clit. 

“Peachhhhh, that mouth is so fucking good.”

Steve was in love with how you sucked him off. He rolled his hips and found out just how snug your throat really was. When you pulled off, tears were rolling down your face.

He wiped your tears away with his thumb. 

"Y' look so fucking pretty like this, Peach.”

The way you took him all when you deep throated him again sent the cum crawling up his balls. 

“Fuckfuckfuck. Shit.”

You pulled off and released him with a filthy plop, watching as he desperately squeezed his cock at the base, trying to stop the impending explosion.

He reached out for you with his other hand and you climbed up onto his lap as he marveled at your messy hair, your bouncing tits, and fucked out expression.

“You’re a fucking goddess. Wanna cum down your throat, Peach, but don’t swallow our kids. Need ‘em inside you.”

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance, and you reached down and grabbed it, perfecting its position as you sank down on it loving the feeling as he stretched you out again.

You both watched in fascination as your pussy engulfed him preceded by the juices from your wet pussy. Steve’s hands grabbed onto your hips, and you wanted him to bruise you, to have a mark on you from this for days. 

Your head lolled back as you glided down on your husband’s thick cock. He lifted you by your waist and alternated fucking you up and down his dick and thrusting into you, hitting angles he hadn't before.

His grunts and your moans were beautiful music.

“Please look at me, Peach.”

His tone was reverent and you couldn't help but obey. The sounds you two were making sent you right to the edge of a precipice.

“Oh… right…there… right fucking there!”

You keened as you scratched the skin on his shoulders and biceps. 

“Fucking me so good, Stevie…So righttt. N-need you to keep hitting it like that…give it to me just like that. All your cum. Inside me.”

He was hitting those bundles of nerves just right.

“You need it like that hunh? I'll give it to you until it drips out of you... Need it dripping down my gotdamn balls....”

And he proceeded to fuck up into you perfectly. Your hands moved from his shoulders to his hair and you leaned in for a filthy kiss.

He gripped your throat and carefully squeezed to control your airflow. Your eyes began to roll and your cunt clenched down on him. Hard.

"Ffuckk, " He had to grit his teeth to keep from cumming. "Need you to fucking cum, Peach....."

“I- I’m close Stevieeee. Ahhh. Give it. Gonna have all your babies….”

Your pussy started clenching around him.

“Holy FUCK!”

Steve picked you up and placed you on the chaise, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he drilled into you. He slid a hand between you and rubbed your clit in soul-destroying circles.

“Drain these fucking balls...shhhhhitttttt!"

You clutched him close as you felt his cock start and continue to spurt hot cum inside you. As he softened, he sat back on his heels and spread your legs to watch his cum drip out of you. He trailed two fingertips down your sensitive slit and pushed it back inside you, all the while a sly grin on his face.

He caught your eye. 

“Can’t waste a drop.”

“You are filthy slut, Mr. Rogers.”

He laughed. 

“Only for you, Mrs. Rogers.” 

Steve grabbed his t-shirt to clean you both up a bit. Next thing you knew, you were being carried out of the studio and through to his master bedroom 

It was daylight when you were lightly snoring in his arms and Steve was grinning wide, his wife in his arms.

—

The next afternoon, you sat in front of the vanity in Bucky’s penthouse as the hired glam team worked around you and your cousin. The stylist meticulously worked with your hair while the makeup artist added the final sweep of highlighter across her cheekbones.

The two of you had been getting ready together for years, first as teenagers sneaking into her mother’s closet, and now as women preparing for an extravagant event in a high-rise overlooking Manhattan. But this afternoon was different.

Her eyes met yours in the mirror. You had just her the rundown of the day before, complete with the news that you and Steve were married. She’d been quiet for a while, but now it seemed she was ready to talk again.

“You’re really happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but certain.

You blinked, then exhaled.

“Yes I am.”

“You and Steve are perfect for each other. "

She leaned over and grabbed your hand, grinning at you.

"This isn’t a race. I’m never gonna be jealous of you, girl.”

You grinned back.

“I’m pissed that I wasn’t able to be there, though.”

You sighed. Your one regret.

“I know. But it was perfect. Just the two of us. We’ll have a party later on, though. And tonight, we’ll celebrate.”

You turned thoughtful.

“The way Steve loves me should terrify me. But it doesn’t.”

She studied you for a moment. 

“Because?”

“Because when I’m with him, it makes sense. The way he looks at me, the way he is with me—it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Your cousin smiled, tilting her head as the hairstylist and makeup artist switched and her hair was being fussed over. 

“I know you think that I feel some kind of way, but I know you girl. I was shocked, but not surprised..”

She laughed and you shook your head.

“Running off and getting married is so you. It’s so Steve too when you think about it.”

You took a sip of the mimosa that Bucky had brought in earlier. You thought what was about to happen for your cousin.

“Real talk. Bucky adores you, Cousin. And I know you. And I’m getting to know Bucky. This engagement and wedding are going to be events. Events, I say. You wouldn’t have it any other way. .You’re about to get some bling to match that jewelry you got on tonight in Vermont next week.” 

You two laughed together, the mood lighter now. 

“You’re right,” she replied. I’m secure. It will happen. And just at the right time for us. And no matter what, Peach. You are never gonna lose me as your biggest fan, no matter what.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, cousin.”

You hugged each other so hard, the stylists had to touch you back up.

As you finished up, the sound of deep voices and approaching footsteps echoed from the hallway. The door opened, and Bucky stepped in first, his navy tuxedo perfectly tailored, his gaze immediately softening when he saw your cousin. 

“Damn Frumoasă,” he murmured, taking her in with slow appreciation. 

“You’re making it real hard for me to let you out of this apartment tonight.”

She shot him a look.

“Smooth, Barnes,” she smirked at him. “Nice suit.”

“What? This old thing?”

Bucky smirked back as he took her hand and led her out of the room.

You rolled your eyes at them because you had the feeling they were being freaky, you just couldn’t prove it.

Steve walked in, ensconced in an impressively tailored dark tux, his presence commanding as always, but the moment his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted. 

You were wearing a short gold sequined gown that showcased your legs, and you felt like a princess. 

Like a wife.

His usual air of control wavered for a fraction of a second, his gaze dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

You arched that adorable brow at him, tilting your head. 

“No comment?”

Steve exhaled, stepping closer, his voice rough around the edges. 

“You already know, Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky chuckled, clapping Steve on the shoulder. 

“Think you broke him, Peach. Congratulations, Mrs. Rogers.”

You grinned, gave Bucky a hug and reached for your clutch. 

Steve reached out, his fingers grazing your wrist as he murmured, “Hold on.”

You frowned slightly, watching as Bucky guided your cousin toward the door, leaving just the two of you in the room. Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out another small black velvet box.

Your breath caught, your heart skipping for just a second.

He popped the top, revealing a pair of dazzling double diamond drop earrings, the perfect complement to the moi et toi necklace resting against your collarbone and the ring on your finger. All you could do was look at them and then blink up at him.

“Steve…”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. 

“Thought you should match.”

You shook your head and laughed.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Steve lifted an earring, stepping close to help fasten it in place and his touch lingered.

“You say that now,” he murmured and then moved to the other side, his lips just a breath away from your skin.

“But you love it.”

You turned into his arms and looked into his eyes.

“You know if you keep giving me gifts like this, you’re going to spoil me.”

His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on your hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. 

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, voice low, “Mrs. Rogers.”

Bucky cleared his throat from the doorway, breaking the moment. He was leaning against the frame, smirking. 

“Hate to interrupt, but Nico’s waiting. Unless you two want to skip the gala entirely.”

You rolled your eyes at the dark headed man and flipped him off.

"You're going to get enough of watching us like a drama."

"Never. You two are my favorite romcom."

Steve exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he kissed your neck, producing a shiver. Then, lacing his fingers with yours, he led you toward the door.

—

The way the night was going seemed like a dream, arriving on Steve’s arm and watching the reactions. Some were surprised, but most just commented that you were such a handsome couple and gave congratulations.

Sharon was clearly not happy, but fuck that bitch.

Steve hadn’t given her, or anyone else that matter, a second glance.

When the music started, Steve danced with you to all the tempos, even the Salsa when that genre was played. You had a time, and then you two went to the bar to get refreshments.

Sharon chose that moment to show her ass. You barely had a sip of your amaretto sour before she started on her bullshit.

“Steve,” she purred, looking up at him under her lashes and placing her hand on his forearm. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Steve tactfully removed his arm from her grasp while the fingers on his other hand reached for you and rested low on your back, his thumb stroking a slow, deliberate circle against the sequined fabric of your gown.

“It’s been two days, Sharon,” he replied, his tone clipped. And annoyed.

Your cousin and Bucky moved closer, probably because she clocked what was going on.

Sharon ignored Steve’s tone and turned to you. 

“And you must be the entertainment. Nice dress. Is it easy to take off?”

The words sounded sweet as honey, but you heard the venom underneath. 

“I guess congratulations are in order? I hear you two ran off and got married. I guess that's a choice. It’s probably refreshing, going from someone like Peggy to someone like…Peaches..”

“It’s Peach,” you replied. 

The bitch was silent.

Sharon’s gaze flicked to your ring, then your jewelry, then down the length of your gown. 

“Although you do wear luxury well. Tell me, how does it feel knowing it’s all borrowed? That he’s probably going to dump you tomorrow. Get an annulment and leave your ass in the gutter strip club where he found you.”

You could feel the heat of Steve’s fury at your side, his body tensing like he was about to snap.

Your mouth opened to reply, but your cousin stepped up, anger rolling off of her body.

“You know what’s really refreshing, Sharon? Watching a woman who wants to fuck around with me and my family and find out.”

She lowered her voice.

“And like a cable, we jump hoes.”

The air around you shifted, and a few party-goers slowed their conversations to listen.

Bucky stepped forward as Sharon’s jaw twitched into a twisted smile. Bucky whispered in your cousin's ear. She glared at him and started taking off her jewelry, handing her earrings to him. Bucky shook his head and pulled her to the side while she gave him the business.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.” Sharon simpered. “It’s just the truth.”

Sharon looked between you and Steve.

“You are nothing but negative. You don’t have to worry about my marriage. Or your endowment anymore, Sharon.”

Steve spoke to her, his eyes blazing blue.

You smiled at your man, then took a slow step forward, closing the space between you, lowering your voice just enough that only Sharon, and Steve, could hear.

“Do you think calling me a stripper is an insult?” 

Your voice was strong and steady.

“I own what I do. I’m damn good at what I do. And you?” 

You looked her up and down, eyebrow deadly.

“You’re standing here, burning because even with your family ties, and your desperate little designer dress, the only woman Steve wants is me. He married me.”

You leaned in even closer.

“The difference between us? I don’t have to chase him. I just have to walk into a room.” 

You smiled at her sweetly.

“And he follows.”

The moment the words left your lips, Steve did exactly that. 

As he left her in her feelings,  Steve tossed a comment over his shoulder.

“You just got your ass handed to you in front of half the room,” he mused. 

“I’d cut my losses and walk away.”

One of the staffers turned up at that moment. 

“This way, Ms. Carter. I’ll be escorting you out.”

The four of you watched as she turned red and huffed and puffed on her way out of the door. After everyone around you went back to minding their own business, your cousin hugged you hard.

“I love you. That was perfection.”

You hugged her back. 

“Thank you, Boo.”

You released her as Bucky handed her earrings back and Steve looked at you with admiration in his eyes. 

“You handled that well.”

You smirked. “I know.”

Steve pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, not bothering to lower his voice when he said, “I’ll remind you how much I love that later.”

Your cousin groaned dramatically.

 “You two are disgustingly perfect for each other.”

Bucky grabbed a bottle of Moet from the table display.

“A toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Steve Rogers!”

Your husband looked at you with a smile. You don’t know what was coming your way as Steve's wife, but you knew it wouldn’t be boring.

Read Ties that Bind

[underdark-dreams]

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now. 

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.��

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other. 

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—” 

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical. 

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly. 

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like. 

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist— 

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days. 

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate. 

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist. 

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.  

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection. 

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase. 

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around? 

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room. 

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?” 

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying. 

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours. 

“If I do, will you leave?” 

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.” 

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side. 

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room. 

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—” 

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.” 

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned. 

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on. 

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck. 

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh. 

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck. 

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest. 

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste. 

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look. 

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him. 

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed. 

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her. 

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words. 

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center. 

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!” 

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—” 

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress. 

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him. 

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies. 

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.

[ichigo-plasma]

Let Me Us Help You

Milgram ❤︎ Haruka Sakurai x Reader x Mikoto Kayano

Synopsis: Haruka has had a crush on you ever since he met you in Milgram but he never had an example of a healthy relationship growing up so he isn’t sure how to confess. He gets the help of one of the few adults he trusts, Mikoto. But after watching Haruka stumble over his words humiliating himself while he confessed to you, Orekoto/John decides the blue hair boy needs a push.~

On the menu: yandere, smut, multiple personalities (John referred to as Orekoto but I might change that), non-con~❤︎, one swear word (Orekoto is angyyy), kinda-poly if you squint (but Orekoto and Haruka don’t get each other off…), uhhhh manhandling, double penetration?, just yummy smut~~~, Orekoto is freaky af (but it’s hot so he is forgiven), Haruka lied about his age, he is actually an adult, uhh Orekoto is also toxic and rude, reader is referred to with fem pronouns

Guide: Smut only starts after the pink hearts ❤︎❤︎❤︎ you can stop there to skip smut.

A/N: I added a BONUS next day AFTERMATH! Where Mikoto comes back and doesn’t remember anything his other personality did!

Amongst the prisoners in Milgram, you were different. You were the first to notice Haruka. First to talk to him. Asked him simple things—Did you eat today? Do you need help with that?—things no one else bothered to ask.

The attention was addicting.

The way your voice softened when you spoke to him. The way you didn’t laugh when he fumbled with tying his shoes or struggled with writing his name. The way you always waited for him. The way you forgave his crimes, seeing his regret…

You weren’t just nice.

You were perfect.

Soon, Haruka found himself watching you more than he should. Memorizing your schedule around the prison. Finding excuses to be near you. Walking the same prison hallways you did, sitting at tables where he knew you’d pass by. Even when you weren’t looking, he was always there—lurking in the background, watching from the corner of his eye, his heart skipping a beat whenever you smiled.

You were perfect for him. Even if you thought your we’re doing nothing more than showing simple kindness due to the scary circumstances in Milgram, he saw it as way more.

He needed to make you his but he had no idea how to confess. He never saw his parents get along well in a loving relationship so he had no example of how it worked. So he went to one of the adults in Milgram he thought might know how to help.

“Just t-tell her…?” Haruka’s face burned as he fidgeted with the hem of his oversized prison uniform sleeves, avoiding Mikoto’s amused gaze.

The older guy leaned against the wall of the prison common area, arms crossed, watching Haruka with a smile. “Yeah, Haru-kun. You like her, don’t you? Then tell her.”

Haruka squirmed. “B-But what if she s-says no?”

Mikoto chuckled. “Then you have to accept that. I’m sure you two can still be friends!”

Haruka paled like the idea was unthinkable. “B-But I—”

Mikoto sighed, ruffling Haruka’s hair like an older brother. “Listen, Haru-kun. Confessing isn’t about making her say yes. It’s about being honest. If she doesn’t feel the same, then that’s how it is.”

Haruka bit his lip, eyes darting away. That’s NOT an option. You had to feel the same. You had to.

Still, he nodded, pretending to take Mikoto’s advice to heart. “O-Okay… I’ll try it.”

Mikoto grinned. “Atta boy.”

It was supposed to be romantic…

Haruka had practiced in front of his rabbit plush a hundred times in his cell—how he’d stand tall, how he’d look you in the eyes, how he’d say your name in a deep, confident voice.

None of that happened.

Instead, he was a stuttering, shaky mess.

“I-I—I w-wanted to s-say—”

You blinked at him, tilting your head in confusion. “Haruka? Are you okay?”

Oh god. You looked worried. Not flustered. Not excited. Worried.

Haruka’s breath hitched. This wasn’t going right. This wasn’t going right at all.

From around the corner, Mikoto crouched and watched, his expression twitching with secondhand embarrassment. “Oh, my—!” His fingers scratching through his scalp in stress. “Haru-kun, you’re killing me here…”

Suddenly a flicker of something dark passed over Mikoto’s face.

Then he stilled and closed his eyes.

When his eyes opened again, they weren’t the same, the previous gleam lower in his pupil.

A smirk curled at his lips, his posture shifting into something far more domineering. “Tch. You really can’t do anything right, huh, Haru-kun? That’s ok, I’ll help you out.”

This wasn’t going to be just Mikoto helping anymore.

Before you could process what was happening, a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you flush against a broad chest. The scent of Mikoto’s usual cologne was still there—but something in his demeanor was off.

It was oddly aggressive compared to the Mikoto you’d known. And it was terrifyingly forceful.

Your breath hitched. “Mikoto—?”

“Tch-” Orekoto mouthed in annoyance. His arm around you tightened, his smirk widening as he turned to Haruka, who was staring in shock and embarrassment. “You were taking too long, so I decided to help out Haru-kun.”

Haruka’s lips trembled. “B-But—”

Orekoto rolled his eyes. “What? You wanted her, didn’t you?” His fingers trailed along your shoulder, making you shiver. “Then take her.”

You tensed, trying to figure out if this was some prank the two men were playing on you. “W-Wait—”

Orekoto ignored you, his grip on your wrist tightening as he started walking. “Come on. We need somewhere private for you two, come one Haru-kun.”

Haruka hesitated for half a second before following, his heart hammering in his chest. His confession hadn’t gone the way he planned.

But maybe… maybe this was better. He couldn’t help the shy grin he had as he followed behind Orekoto and your smaller body being pulled along.

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

With a sudden, forceful motion, Orekoto grabbed your wrist and dragged you towards Haruka’s prison cell. He threw open the door and shoved you inside, causing you to stumble and fall backwards onto the narrow prison mattress.

"Mikoto, what are you- ah!" Your protest turned into a gasp as he crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Be quiet!" he said, his voice a low, dominant growl. One of his hands released your wrist to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Right now, I'm going to help Haruka claim what's his. I'm going to teach that fucking virgin exactly how to make a girl feel good."

Haruka stood nervously at the foot of the mattress, his cheeks flushed a deep, mortified red as he watched Orekoto manhandle you. His hands fidgeted and twisted on hem of his uniform, unsure of what to do with himself.

"M-Mikoto, is this okay?" Haruka asked, his voice small and hesitant. "Aren't you being a little too rough with Y/N?"

Orekoto shot Haruka an exasperated glare over his shoulder. "Rough?! Haruka! Do you want her or not?!?! Earlier you were a blabbering mess and she couldn’t take you seriously. You need to assert yourself, show her that she belongs to you."

Turning his attention back to you, Orekoto gripped the bottom of your top and yanked it up and off in one swift motion, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the Milgram prison cell. His calloused hands skimmed over your flesh, leaving tingles in their wake.

"First things first," he purred, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. "Get her worked up. Touch her like she's the only thing that matters. Like she's your whole world."

Haruka took a small step closer to the mattress, his eyes wide and uncertain as he reached out a shaking hand to cup your breast. He squeezed softly, marveling at the supple weight of it in his palm.

"L-Like this? Mikoto? Is this right?" Haruka asked, his voice pitching higher with nervousness. His thumb brushed over your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

Orekoto smirked as he watched Haruka's hand explore you. "Not bad Haruka. Now, don't be shy. Really touch her," he growled, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "I want to see you slide your fingers inside her tight little cunt. Get her dripping wet and desperate for your cock."

Haruka's breath hitched at the crude words, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. With a shakey nod, he trailed his hand down your stomach, his fingertips dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your panties. He could feel the heat from your core showing how ready you were.

"I-I'm going to put my fingers inside now, Y/N... Okay?" Haruka said, his voice barely audible. He hooked his fingers into the side of your panties and tugged them down your legs, baring your glistening sex to his hungry gaze.

Orekoto grunted in annoyance. "Stop asking for permission, Haruka. Take what you want. Claim her."

With a deep breath, Haruka pressed a finger against your slick folds, feeling your wetness coat his digit. He slowly pushed forward, watching in awe as your tight walls stretched to accommodate him. He couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the incredible feeling of your silky heat enveloping his finger.

"Y-Y/N... you're so tight," Haruka gasped, slowly pumping his finger in and out of your clenching sex. He added a second finger, then a third, stretching you open as he curled them inside you, stroking along your inner walls.

Your back arched off the mattress, a loud moan escaping your lips as Haruka's fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

"That's it, Y/N. Take his fingers like the needy little slut you are," Orekoto taunted, his voice a dark, dominant growl. He could see how close you were to the edge, could tell your body was tensing and quivering with impending release. "But don't you dare come. Not yet."

Haruka looked at you with wide, worried eyes, his fingers stilling inside you.

Orekoto's eyes flashed with dark intent as he watched you teetering on the brink of climax, your velvety walls clenching desperately around Haruka's buried fingers. He could see the needy, almost painful desire etched into every line of your body, and it only fueled his own growing arousal.

“Stop," he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative bark. Haruka froze, his fingers still knuckle-deep inside your fluttering sex. "Don't let her come, Haruka. Not yet. You need to mark her first, claim her as yours properly."

Haruka whimpered, he felt his dick twitching in his pants, holding back his own desperate need. With shaking hands, he withdrew his fingers from your dripping core, ignoring your whines. He fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, his cock already straining against the confines, eager for freedom.

"I-I need to...I need to put it in, Y/N?" Haruka asked, his voice high with nerves and anticipation. His cock sprang free as soon as he tugged down his pants and underwear, slapping against his stomach. It was flushed a deep, angry red, the tip super leaky with need.

Orekoto smirked at the virgin Haruka struggling to hold back his desperation. "Yes, Haruka. Claim her cunt. Bury yourself inside her and don't stop until she's overflowing with your seed. Until everyone knows she belongs to you."

Haruka nodded, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, slipping through your slick folds to catch on your opening. He looked down at you, his eyes wide and pleading. Though he kept hesitating… afraid to hurt you…

"I-I'm going to...AH!" Haruka gasped.

Growing impatient with Haruka's hesitant pace, Orekoto had moved over to behind Haruka and placed his hands on the small of Haruka's back, pushing the nervous boy forward so he smashed into you. The force of Orekoto's actions drove Haruka's cock deep into your tight channel, forcing you to stretch to take in his girth.

"A-Aah! W-Wait..." Haruka gasped, his eyes widening at the sudden tightness of your walls.

“Shut up and fuck her already," Orekoto growled, his hands gripping Haruka's hips tightly as he helped to drive the boy's movements.

Once he started to get a pace going for himself and Orekoto slowly backed away. Haruka could feel the way your velvety walls gripped and fluttered while his cock split you open.

"Don't hold back. Ravage her cunt until she can't walk straight. Until she's dripping with your cum and everyone knows she belongs to you." Orekoto instructed.

Orekoto's dominant words spurred Haruka on, and he began to move with more urgency, his hips slapping against yours as he drove his cock in and out of your dripping sex. The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small Milgram prison cell, mingling with your needy moans and Haruka's increasingly desperate panting. Thankfully everyone else was enjoying their food in the dining area and had no idea what was happening in prisoner 001’s cell.

To keep you from trying to get away, Orekoto reached out and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with a grip that was just shy of painful. He leaned down, his lips curling into a smirk, his breath hot against your skin. "That's it, take Haruka’s cock like a good little slut. Don't you dare try to run away from Haruka's dick."

Haruka moved his hips slamming against yours with increasing force. The head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful thrust.

Watching the erotic scene unfold before him, Orekoto couldn't help but grow harder by the second. The sight of your restrained form writhing on the prison mattress, impaled on Haruka's desperate cock, was almost too much to bear. He could see the tears of pleasure streaking down your face, hear your needy moans and cries as Haruka pistoned in and out of your soaked cunt.

With a low, almost feral growl, Orekoto reached down and freed his own aching erection from the confines of his pants. It sprang out, long, hard, and already leaking with need. He grasped your chin with his free hand, turning your head to face him as he tapped the leaking crown of his cock against your tear-stained cheek.

"Open your mouth, slut," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Put that pretty little mouth to work."

As if in a trance from the undeniable pleasure, you parted your lips, allowing Orekoto to slip his thick length into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the salty essence leaking from the tip. Orekoto groaned at the sensation, his fingers tightening in your hair as he began to slowly thrust his hips, fucking your face with shallow pumps of his cock.

The lewd slurping sounds of the blowjob seemed to drive Haruka wild, spurring him to pick up the pace of his own thrusts. He pounded into you with renewed vigor, the force of his movements causing your body to slide up the mattress with every snap of his hips. The new angle allowed him to drive his cock even deeper, the thick length kissing your womb with every pass.

Haruka's breathing grew ragged and shallow, his rhythm faltering as he rapidly approached his peak. With a strangled cry, he slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt as he found his release. Thick, hot ropes of his seed painted your insides, filling you with his essence as he shook and shuddered above you.

“Y/N! I love you so much! You always gave me attention and I haven’t been able to get out you out of my mind. I won’t let you leave me or deny me ever. I only need you and you only need me!” Haruka whined as he came.

The feeling of Haruka's cock pulsing and throbbing inside you, pumping you full of his cum, was enough to push you over the edge as well. Your inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, milking every last drop of his release as your own intense orgasm crashed upon you and you passed out.

Orekoto groaned low in his throat, the erotic sight of you and Haruka lost in passion pushing him over the edge of his own release. He yanked his throbbing cock from your slack mouth, aiming it at your face as thick, hot ropes of his seed erupted from the tip. Pearly strands of cum painted your unconscious cheek, marking you as a possession, a toy of their shared use.

With a satisfied grunt, Orekoto wiped the last drops of his essence from his softening cock, smearing the excess over the swell of your breast. He tucked himself back into his pants with a smirk, the evidence of his debauchery written all over your peaceful, sleeping face.

Turning to Haruka, who was still buried to the hilt inside your limp form, Orekoto patted his shoulder. "You did well, Haru-kun. I'm happy you were able to confess your feelings to Y/N. If you ever need any more…’help’…with your relationship in the future, don't hesitate to come to me. I’m sure I will gladly be able to help you again."

Haruka looked up at Orekoto, his face flushed and glowing with happiness. He couldn't stop smiling, reveling in the knowledge that you were finally, truly his. "Thank you Mikoto" he said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

With a satisfied nod, Orekoto turned and walked out of Haruka’s cell, leaving you and Haruka alone together in the aftermath of your shared arousal. As the door swung shut behind him, Haruka curled his body around yours protectively, holding you close as you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

BONUS Next Day!:

The next day, Mikoto woke up in his own cell as he blinked awake with a soft yawn, his mind foggy and confused like he had forgotten something... He could feel a strange, unfamiliar dampness in his pants, and he wiggled uncomfortably on the mattress in his cell.

Rising from his mattress, Mikoto stretched and got himself out of bed. He went to brush his teeth and got on a fresh pair of pants and underwear deciding to discard the previous wet ones embarrassed that Es or Jackolope might comment if they saw the obvious wet patch during an interrogation.

Mikoto decided to head to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat. He made his way out of his cell and towards the communal dining area.

As Mikoto entered the dining area, he spotted Haruka sitting alone at a table, snacking on a fluffy mound of cotton candy.

"Hey there, Haru-kun! Mind if I join you?" Mikoto asked in his usual cheerful tone as he approached the table where Haruka sat, completely oblivious to what his other personality had done the previous night. He pulled out a chair setting down his tray and sat down across from Haruka.

Haruka's head shot up at the sound of Mikoto's voice, his eyes wide and anxious. He seemed to tremble slightly, a flicker of uncertainty and guilt in his expression. It was clear that he was wondering whether Mikoto remembered the details of their shared encounter with you the previous night.

"U-Um, h-hello Mikoto..." Haruka stammered nervously. "You... you want to sit with me?"

Mikoto tilted his head in confusion at his nervous voice. "Huh? Of course, Haruka. Why wouldn't I want to sit with you?" he asked with a soft chuckle. "We're friends, aren't we? By the way how did your confession with Y/N go yesterday?"

Haruka told him it went fine and you accepted thanks to his… advice. And Mikoto hummed satisfied with himself, having no clue of what Orekoto had forced upon you, or the role he had played in your defilement…

Now your sleeping body is hidden, tucked under the blankets of the mattress in Haruka’s cell hugging his rabbit plush, for him to now be able to enjoy all of your attention.

A/N: YANDERE HARUKA SAKURAI. KINDA POLY MIKOTO KAYANO. OREKOTO IS FREAKY. MORE MILGRAM SMUT SINCE NO ONE WANTS TO WRITE IT. Like serrrrrriously we have a series about criminalsssss and noooo one wants to write dark content? Fine. I will make it.

[aphroditelovesu]

Awake

❝commission: a oneshot that explores the relationship between y/n and some of the generals and or soldiers. I'm personally torn between a 'Cleitus wakes up' fic. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I can't tell if I find this cute or distressing, maybe both? I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 🩶

❝tw: slight angst.

❝word count: 1,670.

It was noisy outside. The soldiers’ voices mingled in a hubbub of conversation, loud laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses; the celebration seemed to grow longer with each passing second, like a wave of rising energy. The tumult could be heard for miles around, for this was a night of celebration — a rare occasion in wartime when everyone had a common reason to celebrate.

Cleitus was alive. Against all odds, even after Alexander's merciless attack, the man had held on. Wounded and exhausted, he now lay in the shadows of the medical tent, the smell of medicinal herbs and aged fabrics permeating the heavy air. It was there, under the care of the King’s own trusted physician, under your care, that he was recovering, his body still vulnerable but his spirit preserved — and, even though unconscious, life pulsed faintly but presently through his veins.

And it was all thanks to you. No one understood exactly how it had happened; how, amidst the chaos and bloodshed, you had managed to save Cleitus. Murmurs of your daring and skill circulated among the soldiers and servants, shrouded in awe and distrust. But the fact was undeniable: he was alive, despite the dire predictions. Although he had not yet regained consciousness, the mere fact that he was breathing was cause enough for celebration.

But while the others celebrated, you remained motionless, sitting in the shadows of the tent, facing the cot where Cleitus rested. The darkness seemed to taper around you, filled only by the regular, fragile sound of his breathing. It was as if a current of anguish was rising through your body, slow and relentless, squeezing your heart with invisible fingers.

He was safe, yes. You had saved him and you knew it. But then, why was there that weight on your conscience, that nagging feeling that something terrible had been done? The memories of history hammered at your mind, insistent. From what you knew, Cleitus should have died at the hands of Alexander. His fate was death that night, a tragic and inevitable part of history. But now everything was changed. You had interfered, diverted the course of time — the natural balance of things had been disrupted.

And it wasn’t just any life you had spared. It was Cleitus, a man who, despite his outward toughness, carried an immense loyalty to the king and, in a way, to you as well. He had stood up for you, protecting you in a situation that would undoubtedly cost you dearly. For that reason, you simply couldn’t allow them to let him die. He was more than just a historical figure to you; he was someone you had learned to respect and consider a friend.

The dilemma seemed to pierce your soul. How could you allow history to take its course, letting someone who was important to you be killed in such a brutal and cruel way?

You couldn't.

It was strange to think about it: history itself had already begun to distort itself before you saved Cleitus, before each of your interventions. Alexander shouldn't have cared about you, much less "proposed" a union that would seal your presence with him forever. It was an unthinkable, dangerous idea that was already altering the course of things.

So where was the real weight of your guilt? Was there any point in questioning your interference now, when that whole era was far from how you knew it from the books? Perhaps Cleitus's destiny had already been changed from the first moment you arrived, from the first look Alexander had given you with an indomitable gleam in his eyes. Perhaps he was saved not only by your hands, but by a new destiny that both of you were creating every day.

Or perhaps it was the work of some sadistic god.

It was no secret that there were rumors in the camp. Whispers ran through the hallways of the tents, escaped from the campfires, were whispered among the soldiers, servants, and slaves. They admired what you had done. In their eyes, you were no longer a foreigner, a barbarian, who had appeared out of nowhere; you were the woman who had faced your own fate to save Cleitus. A feat worthy of honor, worthy of respect.

These men, so accustomed to the brutality of battle, who saw death as an inevitable companion, now looked at you with a mixture of awe and reverence. It was as if, in a single action, you had earned everyone's respect, an almost heroic figure to those who, not long ago, didn't even know your name.

But this admiration only deepened the knot in your chest. What they saw as heroism, you saw as a mistake, a misstep that could trigger unimaginable consequences.

"(Y/N)?" The hoarse, slurred voice cut through the silence, bringing you back to the present like a blow of reality. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes widened as they fixed on Cleitus's figure.

He was awake.

Still pale and visibly weak, Cleitus half-opened his eyes with effort, blinking a few times as if trying to adjust to the soft light that filtered through the sides of the tent. There was a vague confusion in his gaze, a mixture of pain and astonishment. It was clear that he was still recovering, the features of his face carrying the exhaustion of someone who had fought between life and death.

For a moment, you stood paralyzed, unable to find words, while he tried to focus his vision on you. Each second seemed like an entire universe, filled with emotions that you could barely name.

"I..." Your mouth went dry and you shook your head. You didn’t know what to say, what to feel.

Cleitus, his expression grim, tried to stand up, but the movement made his entire body protest. A low groan escaped his lips, his face contorting as he pressed a hand to the wound. Still closed and bandaged, but far from healed, the pain was still a vivid reminder of the attack by the man he admired.

"Don't strain yourself, Cleitus." You murmured, almost without realizing it, instinctively reaching out to grab his shoulder and stop him from moving any further. Your touch seemed to calm him, and he relaxed back against the cot, the muscles in his face softening slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Cleitus's dark eyes locked with yours, a silent, contemplative weight in his gaze. He sighed, a long, weary sound, as the fragments of the past rearranged themselves in his mind, forming the painful mosaic of that fateful night. The banquet, the laughter, the lively conversations, the rich and fragrant food, the unexpected announcement of the wedding... And then, the chaos. The violent attack, the betrayal that had almost cost him his life.

Cleitus frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of sincere concern as he studied your face. "Are you okay?" His voice, still weak, carried a concern that made him ignore his own pain for a moment. Even after everything he had suffered, there he was, worrying about you.

The question took you by surprise. He, who had almost lost his life, was there asking if you were okay. For a moment, you wanted to laugh, perhaps to ease the weight of the situation, but the sound got stuck in your throat.

"I..." You hesitated, trying to find an answer that didn’t sound absurd. It was a simple question, but it seemed to carry all the weight of the guilt and doubts that hammered in your mind. You had defied fate, broken the lines of what was supposed to happen and, in a way, you were feeling lost amidst the whirlwind of consequences. And now, with Cleitus looking directly into your eyes, this barrier of defense seemed increasingly fragile.

"I... Just wanted to make sure you were okay." You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you for a few more moments, absorbing your words, and then nodded slightly, as if he understood something that not even you had fully understood.

Cleitus took your hand in his and squeezed it lightly, your fingers gently touching. Cleitus touch was warm and firm, despite the evident weakness. He wrapped his hand around yours, his fingers squeezing yours gently, almost reverently. The warmth that radiated from his touch seemed to dissolve, even if only for a brief moment, all the tension you had been carrying since that chaotic night.

Cleitus smiled, a genuine smile full of gratitude, which lit up your tired face, softening the lines of pain and fatigue. It was a smile that spoke more than any words could. He didn't need to know everything that moved you to thank him — all the fears, the doubts, and the guilt you still carried for having interfered.

"Thank you." He said, and that was enough.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you smiled back at him, feeling the tension slowly dissolve from your body. For the first time in so long, you felt light, a sense of peace and happiness nestling in your chest. Amidst the chaos, the battles, and the uncertainties of being lost in a time that wasn't yours, there was finally a safe haven.

"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" You murmured, your smile widening. The word seemed to vibrate with a special meaning, something rare and precious in that place. Friends.

Amidst a time full of uncertainty, distrust, and danger, you had found something as simple and profound as friendship. He smiled in response, and in that moment, all the confusion, the weight of decisions, and the uncertainties about the future seemed to disappear. Cleitus was more than a warrior or a character from a distant story; he was your friend, someone who cared, who had risked everything for you.

And now, in the midst of all this madness, you had done the same for him. And, you knew now, you would do it all again.

[variety-fangirl]

Thinking about bodyguard!tsf141 x rich daughter reader. I'm imagining that Taskforce 141 has come back from their missions and decided to retire early after having many conversations about being done and just wanting to relax. They've done their fair share of time and sacrificed so much that, let's be honest, they fucking deserve it. Eventually, they leave and settle down in a nice home built to house the four behemoth sized men, out in the middle of nowhere and away from society. They have trucks to go grocery shopping when needed and use their spare time to pick up a hobby of interest to them each. But let's face it, they would all go stir crazy after so many years of being in wars and doing the unthinkable. Quiet is not something their used to.

So, they decided to pick up a job suited to them all that wouldn't get boring. They decide on being bodyguards, special trained bodyguards for the elites, and rich snobs. Do they like the rich? No, no, they do not. But, it's a familiar ground of some kind, and they'll feel most comfortable in familiarity. Hey, at least the pay will be good. Not that they need it, but every little helps.

So, they get everything set up and make a name for themselves. A big name at that. Where the top dogs notice and they become popular and sought after in the field. I mean, it really didn't take long or a lot of hard work. Their good at what they do, and they know it, too. So good, in fact, that one of the richest men in the country hears word of them and requests a meeting. After all, being as rich as he is, you make enemies. Powerful enemies that are not afraid to go to the extreme to get what they want, your empire that you've built on drugs, money, and the blood of said enemies and others.

They were, of course, expecting the security detail to be for himself, but when they turn up at said meeting, the guy is surrounded by guards. Big ones at that. Not as big as them but close. He's secured to the nine, as is his home. So naturally their confused. If its not for him, then for whom?

That's when your father explains about you. The prize of his life, his beautiful and single (unprotected as he put it), daughter. One who is headstrong, stubborn, and stands her ground. Only agreeing to have a security detail if you get to choose them. Naturally, when your father had shown you lists upon lists of potential bodyguards, you snided at them all. None of them had the experience you were looking for, ones that you could genuinely trust with your life. And wouldn't try to control you like your fathers choices had or reported your every little move to him. So when you stumbled upon their profiles, you immediately knew they were the right choice.

Upon hearing your name called by your father, you entered the room. You were pleasantly surprised by the sheer size of them all, overpowering and swallowing the expensive sofa they sat upon. You didn't try to hide your smile. Instead, you kept your eyes on them and studied their every move. You were entranced by them. Their big, burly, and rough exteriors of pure muscles and scars. Men who'd been through and seen things that people should not, their eyes haunted by the ghosts of those they had killed or had been killed from their mistakes. They were everything you wanted and didn't know you needed.

And they were not expecting you to walk into the room. You whose face was like a beautiful angel, soft and gentle, and a presence that commanded the room, but eyes that held such horrors. Eyes of a soul who had suffered and witnessed things you should not have. Someone who, from the moment they set their sights upon you, gave them an overwhelming rush and need to protect you.

"We'll take the job."

[ramlightly]

Does Soots get along with Fig. Do they get along with Malady. The public needs answers

Not Fig oh my God that's Lapis. This is the second time I've switched Lapis' names for something else entirely. He'd scam me so easily like this

Yeah, Lapis would definitely scam the shit out of you outta spite for that lol. But I understand, he and Fig have a lot of similaries (might also be time to update Lapis' outfit maybe lol)

Either way, Malady and Lapis get along very well with Soots for different reasons. See, Soot is a familar, created from nature and a bit of Cinder's soul to make a new being. Because he's silent, it's easy to assume that he's just an unthinking tool for Cinder's magic, but that's very much not the case. Where he begins and Cinder ends is not always clear, but he clearly has his own thoughts and personality.

Despite their bickering, Lapis and Cinder are friends, or at least trust each other, thus Soots is pretty chill with Lapis. He even likes lounging on him, though Lapis suspects it's more about him being attracted to other magical beings rather than purely affection.

Meanwhile Malady (on Lapis' advice) shamelessly bribes Soots with food, so Soot gets very excited with Malady lol. One of Soot's favorite food is burnt ham. He wiggles when he's happy.

[bellaveux]

kiss of a vampire | w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: injured and alone, wanda finds herself out in the middle of the night, searching for the one person she can trust to help her. on that night, you find out what she truly is.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni. vampire!wanda, human!reader, victorian era, blood, very tiny mentions of homophobia, loss of virginity (?), smut! making out, biting, marking?, soft sex, fingering and oral (r receiving), praising

wc: 3.9k

note: surprise this is my singular contribution for kinktober hehe, happy halloween everyone!

Fall of 1863 in New York was more or less an uneventful time of the year for you. Your mother insists you read as many books as you can find in the manor’s library, and your father insists you go out and attend all those fancy balls and infernal tea parties—all in an effort to make you more presentable for any of your future suitors. It made sense for them to do so. Your mother was a respectable woman in the town, and she married your father, a man of riches, all thanks to that company he founded many years ago. You could honestly care less, not really having to do anything but read your books all day. Occasionally, in the evening when the sun has already set and you got too fed up with turning pages, you went out for a walk down that nice, pebbled trail through the woods, leading you down to that stone bridge over the river.

That’s where you met her. Wanda.

The moon was out. The sun was gone. She didn’t wear a fancy dress like you did the first time you saw her. She wore an unbuttoned vest over her white, well-made dress shirt, black pants, and riding boots to match. Her hair was red, and for a moment, you thought her eyes were the same color. It went away when you blinked, and suddenly, her eyes were green. You had never seen a woman like her before, much less someone similar in town. All the ladies and their voluminous skirts really only had boys, and gossip filled their daily conversations. It was tiring to be around them, but being with Wanda was relieving.

She told stories. Of adventures. Of distant lands you could barely imagine. She’d tell you about the sea, the moon, and the world beyond this little town you lived in. You found solace during your time with her, and you began to look forward to your walks through the woods every evening you could. She’s always there. Like she knows everything… She was your friend. And each time you met her, your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit, and your stomach fluttered whenever you thought about her. You always wondered, does she feel the same? You supposed you’d never find out, because who in their right mind would confess to having feelings for another woman?

Forbidden. Unthinkable. Criminal. That’s what they would say about you. So, you stayed quiet.

During the latest hours of the night, sometimes you’d see the glow of torches outside your window. You hear the noises first. A woman screaming. Pitchforks and shovels thrown up in the air, metal and iron clinking against each other. The sounds of arrows cracking through wood. Monsters, your father would say. They lurk out in the night, waiting and waiting until they come up to their prey and kill… You’ve heard the stories of those vampires, wolves, demons or whatever it is they are. You found it hard to believe. Even more so that so many people are afraid of what they probably haven’t even seen.

But then you see Wanda again. Not on your walk through the woods. Not on the bridge. A quiet knock is what you hear first. You look up from your book in surprise, then see her outside your window, clutching her shoulder in pain. She’s seated on the edge of your window on the other side of the glass, giving you a weak smile despite seeing how confused and worried you were. You rushed over and opened the window immediately, telling her to get in—of course, after you yelled—or whispered, really—at her for showing up at this ungodly hour.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” You exclaimed as you pulled her into your room.

But the moment she winced in pain, you immediately pulled your hands back, afraid that you might have hurt her. You watch her move to lean against the wall underneath the window. She sighs in relief, still clutching her shoulder. Your gaze falls to her hand, right where you see the stains of red seeping through her dress shirt.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding…” You think out loud, carefully watching her as you hold your breath.

The faint glow of torches outside your window shows up in the corner of your eye—people bustling loudly in your street. You could see Wanda duck even further beneath your window, staring up at the ceiling as you began to put two and two together.

“No…” You shake your head and take a few steps back. “You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

Wanda’s gaze softened as she turned to you. Her mouth opened for a moment to say something, but she sighed and laughed sheepishly to herself as she shook her head. Then, you see it in her smile.

She looked up at you again, with those kind and caring eyes you’ve seen on her from the moment you met her, “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”

“Your teeth…”

“I know,” she nodded. “But, I need your help. Please. I’m begging you.”

You didn’t know what to do. “Wanda.”

“They’ll come after me if you tell me to leave, (Y/n),” she reasoned, leaning up to show you she was telling the truth.

“Did you… Have you killed someone?” You could barely get it out.

“No!” She said, “I-I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise you! I-It’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him. He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Wanda sighs and turns away from you in shame. “He’s hungry. We… We haven’t eaten in weeks. He’s got a bigger appetite than I do… I-It’s harder to control him. I think he might’ve hurt someone tonight.”

You stare at her. Her eyes were red now. Her breathing was heavy. Her fangs darted out slightly past her parted lips. You take a second to process what she had just told you. And in truth, you should’ve been scared. You should have been throwing her out of the manor, calling for your father to deal with such a monster.

But to you, she was still… just Wanda. If she wanted to kill you, you’d imagine she’d already done it by now.

You left for a moment to head into your washroom in the corner your room where you tried to find all of the medical supplies you currently had. It wasn’t much—a wet rag, a few bandage wraps, and a kit for stitches. You returned with all the items in your arms, and Wanda looked up at you with a thankful smile.

You sat on the floor with her, your white nightgown bunching up against the wooden paneling. “I… I have bandages—”

Wanda shook her head, looking down to avoid your eyes. “Thank you… But, that won’t help.”

“What will?”

Her eyes bore into yours, but her mouth doesn’t move. She has that look on her face that tells you she's too embarrassed to say or ask for it. Her hands squeezed her shoulder in pain, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Tell me, Wanda.” You say firmly, your gaze unwavering, and for a second, you thought she was intimidated by you. She was, in truth, because of her feelings for you.

“Blood.”

You pause. Then, she repeats it again.

“Blood will… replenish my energy. I haven’t eaten, so I’m weak. On a good day, this wound would not even phase me.”

“My blood?”

Wanda nods. Your prolonged silence tells her that there is no way in hell you’d allow her. Her love for you has her hoping for the best outcome—that you’d have mercy on her and help her relieve the pain. But then again, you don’t owe her anything, and this was a lot to ask. The idea of asking felt impossible even though Wanda had already mentioned it, worried that you might refuse or be horrified by the notion.

“Okay.”

She blinks at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. As long as you don’t turn me into a vampire or anything. I don’t mean it to offend you, but it would... complicate things.”

She nods once again, more eagerly this time. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s, um… That’s a completely different process.”

“Okay,” you repeat, scooting closer to her, looking down at your dress and your hands as you begin to wonder if you should get a knife. “I-I’m not sure how to… do this.”

“Your neck.” She tells you. Of course.

You don’t ignore the way her red eyes darken and the way her ears perk up in excitement as you move your hair carefully to one side.

“Is it going to hurt?”

Wanda’s gaze softened at your words, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She watches you nod and holds her breath as she inches closer to you. Your sweet scent fills her nose with a much stronger fragrance than ever before. She has always loved the way you smelled. It soothed her in ways many other things couldn’t. It was divine, enveloping her senses each time she was near you, and she found herself utterly addicted. She had never been this close before tonight, her breath tickling the side of your neck. She could hear your heart beating fast as she moved closer.

You braced yourself, your heart pounding in anticipation for the expected pain of a vampire’s hungry bite. But it didn’t come. Instead, you felt Wanda’s soft, warm lips meet your skin, kissing it so gently in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel her other hand, resting itself on the curve of your waist. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted slightly as Wanda continued to press her mouth to your skin, littering your neck with the softest kisses she could possibly give you. You couldn’t help but notice the frailty and gentleness of her touches and her kisses, as if they were delicate and almost fragile.

Wanda was lost in the feeling of your skin. Every kiss left her craving for more, and she found herself losing control of the overwhelming desire she had been suppressing for so long.

You were so distracted by the soft kisses she left on you that you barely noticed the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of Wanda’s fangs piercing your skin. She was so gentle, and you expected much less when she had promised, but this… It felt too good. A moan slips past your lips as Wanda bites into you. Her first taste of your blood was nothing short of divine. So sweet. So warm. The most delicious thing she had ever put her mouth on. The flavor of you was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Wanda’s body. Every second that passed as she drank from you, Wanda began to feel her weakened body begin to mend itself. It was as if your blood had breathed life back into her. Wanda’s senses sharpened, and she felt a profound sense of rejuvenation. The pain in her shoulder began to fade away.

Wanda pulled away from your neck, running her tongue softly against the bite, before turning to look at you. The prettiest thing she ever laid her eyes on.

And Wanda couldn’t resist. She pressed her lips gently against yours and sighed against you. You gasp at the feeling as she places her hands over your waist, then down to your hips, pulling you closer against her. A soft moan falls from your mouth and into hers, and Wanda can’t help but groan. She swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, and naturally, you opened up for her, letting her in to explore the expanse of your mouth, the slight taste of iron on her tongue.

Your lips were parted slightly, and your eyelids felt heavy. But you started to feel weak and lightheaded. You found yourself leaning towards Wanda’s touch, unable to hold yourself up without tipping over, and the next thing you knew, she gently scooped you up and carried you to her bed with her mouth still pressed against yours. Kissing you became the next addicting thing for her. Wanda hovered over you as she laid you down on your back.

She pulled away from the kiss and smiled softly, “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips traveled down to your neck once more, kissing your skin softly as she felt your arms wrap around her neck. This time, you feel it when she bites you again, unable to stop the moan that escapes your mouth. Wanda smiled as she continued to drink softly from you, her hand reaching up behind your dress to pull at the string that was holding your nightgown together as you arch your back and pressed your front against her. Your dress comes loose with a simple tug, and your cheeks flush, a deep shade of red donning your face as you feel Wanda’s hand cupping and groping your breast over the fabric.

After she pulls away, Wanda kisses your skin again, her lips traveling further south and her face coming up in between your plush breasts. She moans against you, your scent filling her nose in the most addicting way. She could smell you. How aroused you were. How wet you were. And tonight, despite all that you’ve given her, she was feeling a little greedy.

“I want you. I want to make you feel good,” she tells you, her voice all breathy against your skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Please,” you begged her, running your hands in her hair as she began to pull the dress off of you, agonizingly slowly.

When your body comes into full view, Wanda can’t help but stare. She mutters a curse under her breath before letting her fingertips run along your stomach, your nipples, your hips, and your thighs, and Wanda feels like she’s in heaven.

“Stop staring,” you say, pouting shyly as the vampire continues to ogle you.

She only smiles, fangs darting past her lips, “I can’t, angel. You look so pretty like this.”

Wanda leans down to litter your skin with wet kisses and small bruises. She eventually makes her way down to your legs, holding your plush thighs in her hands, and she kisses you, running her tongue over each part that she kisses. You allowed her to spread your knees apart, exposing your glistening sex to her shyly as she leans over, her kisses traveling closer and closer to your wet core.

“Spread your legs wider,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of you.

You do as she says, your hands now gripping your bedsheets slightly. Her fingers make their way in between your folds, softly touching your opening. She lets them move up and down, collecting your slick and spreading it all over, down in between and up to your clit, where she presses slightly harder against your bundle of nerves. She sees you when you bite your lip to stop a moan from falling past your lips. Wanda smiled at the sight. Her love bites are littered all over your skin; the bite on your neck looked more delicious than ever, and your pretty face looked up at her like she was the only one who could ever make you feel like this. Hell, it drives her crazy.

With a new sense of determination, Wanda finally slips her cold finger into you, your tight and warm walls wrapping around her digit. She sighs and leans forward to lay her head against your tummy, watching closely as she pushes her finger in, then pulling out with a squelch.

“You’re so wet for me,” she thinks aloud.

She groans, listening to the delicious sounds of your softest whimpers as she fingers you. Another finger slips inside of you, pulling them in and out of your pussy at a faster pace. Your breathing got heavy. You could feel your stomach getting tighter, but before you could come undone, Wanda pressed her thumb to your clit, working you up to your orgasm. Her fingers are long, and she can’t help but add another one into your tight, dripping sex. Her other hand holds your quivering thigh down as you tremble against her.

“W-Wanda, I’m—”

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled up with her fingers. She’s much faster now, curling her fingers into your walls sloppily as she continues to press your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your high. And then, it comes. Wanda travels up and kisses you, swallowing your moans as you fall apart on her fingers, cumming all over her hand. Your back arched and your legs jerked closed as she pushed your legs back open.

Wanda carefully pulls her fingers out of you, but she doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, making you shiver against her. She rubs it in tight circles as her kisses travel back down to your neck, where she takes another greedy bite into your skin, welcoming the taste of your divine blood into her mouth once again. She groans when you pull her hair slightly, getting drunk off of your essence and the way your hands feel on her head.

When she pulls away, she kisses you again. And when she pulls away for a third time, she makes her way down your body, traveling through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, and then her destination—back in between your legs. Her nose nuzzles against your clit, your scent filling her senses all over again.

“W-Wait, Wanda this is…”

You had never done this before. And now that Wanda was face to face with your glistening pussy, you got shy. Wanda only looks up at you and smiles, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thigh.

“I want you,” she reminds you, pulling you closer to her face. “I want to be the first one that makes you feel good. I want it to be me. Only me. Inside of you. I want to see how pretty you’ll look when I have my mouth on you.”

She says it so absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy as she spreads your lips apart with her thumbs. You couldn’t help but blush at her words, your face getting hotter each time you felt her breath on your pussy. You felt like time was ticking so slowly, with Wanda staring at you for what felt like hours. You grew tense with anticipation, waiting and waiting for her to do something. And when she finally does, your jaw drops, and a silent moan falls from your mouth. Wanda memorizes every little noise you make, the way you arch your back, or the twitch of your thigh.

She was in heaven. Your inner thighs glistened with arousal as she held you down against your bed, noting the way your hands made their way back to her red hair. Your body was a hot, trembling mess right underneath her as she devoured you, licking every space she could reach with her tongue.

When Wanda looks up and sees your mouth wide open in silent screams, arching your back off of the mattress, your soft hand tugging at her locks in a pitiful attempt to slow her down, she knows you’re close. She grew desperate. She keeps licking you, eager to get you closer and closer to your climax. You’re chanting her name as quietly as you can, eyes closed shut as the pleasure keeps building and building inside of you.

“Wanda, I-I’m about to—”

You whimpered, your legs closing around Wanda’s head. She hummed into your pussy and continued to eat you out right as you came into her mouth. She ran her tongue through your folds and over your clit softly, easing you through your orgasm with a satisfied moan. Wanda practically forced herself away from your sex, wishing for nothing but more time with you. She pulled back and sat on her legs to stare at the beauty right in front of her. She rubbed your soft thighs in soothing circles with her hands as she smiled down at you. You trembled slightly, still shaking from the orgasm she had given you.

You reached out to her, your weak arms lifting from the bed, wanting to be in her embrace again. She obliged happily, leaning down to hover over you once again. Wanda kissed you up your neck, to your jaw, and, lastly, to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue. She moaned against you and smiled into the kiss when she felt your hands slide from her neck to cup her face.

Then, you remembered.

You pushed her away softly, just so you could look at the blood stain on her shirt, where an arrow had struck her earlier tonight.

“I’m okay, now,” you heard her say.

Running a slow and gentle hand over her shoulder, you took a peek, pulling the fabric down a little bit to see her wound, but nothing was there.

“It’s gone,” you said in awe.

Wanda smiled softly at you as you continued to inspect her shoulder. You looked so beautiful. So unafraid of her. And it made her the happiest woman on Earth. She sighs and leans down to pepper a few kisses on your cheek, still surprised by her healing abilities. But you got distracted again, feeling her soft lips against your skin. The light of a candle on your night table danced across the room as she kissed you. Wanda was so gentle. Like she promised.

After a moment, Wanda turned to look out your bedroom window, where she had come in. Her senses immediately took notice of how quiet it was and how dark it was outside. The night embraced the world outside of your bedroom, blackness stretching as far as her eye could see. It was different from the warmth she felt in this sim room—a room with you, her love. It reminded her of the world and now, the secrets you both carried together.

Your voice pulled her out of your thoughts. “You have to go, don’t you?”

Wanda smiled, knowing you already knew the answer to your own question. “Your mother would throw a fit if they found me here.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the thought, smiling sadly as you begin to play with the fabric of her shirt.

“I’ll come see you again, angel. I promise you.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

Wanda turned her attention back to you, and her heart skipped a beat. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed you once more.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

With one final, lingering kiss on your lips, Wanda whispered three little words. Then, with a graceful and silent movement, she made her way over to the window through which she had entered. Wanda disappeared into the night, leaving the room she made love to you in. You lay in bed, contentment washing over you as a soft smile played on your lips. She was different from the stories you’d hear about vampires. People called them monsters, and even though you only knew Wanda, she was miles and miles away from being one.

You missed her already.

But just as she promised, you saw her again the next day. This time, with more kisses and closer encounters.

— navigation!