#the pure chaos would overwhelm it

[hoverboards-and-dragons]

Just imagine a family dinner with both sides of lucifers' family it would be so awkward.😂

ACTUALLY, Thank God(literally) that Lilith has no family Lucifer bringing in more than enough in law drama for the both of them, why is he so damn adoptable

I think Charlie would single handedly hold that entire table together and by extension the entire realm because a fight between the seven princes and queen of hell and the seven princes and king of heaven, even a tiny little spat, would rip whatever realm is was in to pieces

I'm trying to imagine where they would host, probably not heaven but would it be funnier in hell or on earth?

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[daisyblog]

Personal Bodyguard

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN gets hurts by paparazzi and Harry becomes protective.

warning: mentions of blood, YN gets hurt, angst

based on this request.

One Direction were currently touring America as part of their Take Me Home tour. They had become familiar with fans and paparazzi waiting for any sign of one them the boys leaving the hotel or arena, which meant it was routine how they, and their crew left the buildings.

The five boys would be escorted by their security to the car, and majority of the time the fans and paparazzi would slowly lose interest once the band had disappeared behind the car doors.

But on this occasion, the paparazzi were willing to go the extra step and begin to question anyone associated with the band. Being Lou’s assistant on the tour, Louis’ sister and Harry’s girlfriend meant YN was their target.

YN watched as the boys were escorted by their security to the several cars that waited outside their hotel to drive them to thr venue. The order remained the same, Zayn, Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry. The crew were quick to follow, but today YN was overwhelmed by the questions being fired at her.

“YN, is it true you’re pregnant?”

“Is Harry paying you to be on tour?”

“YN! YN! YN!”

The questions being shouted behind them caused Harry and Louis to quickly glance behind them. But they were hurried along to get to the cars faster.

“YN, what do you think about people saying you’re using Harry?”

YN walked behind Lou, reminding herself that they wanted a reaction and the quicker she walked the sooner she would be away from the pushing and cameras being in her face.

Just as the boys reached their car, Zayn, Niall and Liam were comfortable in their seats, they heard the hectic commotion.

The hard cover of the camera lens was quick to meet the skin on YN’s forehead. “OW!”. Quickly her hand whipped up to be met with the warm liquid.

Lou turned quickly behind her at the sound of pain coming from YN. She could see her holding a hand to her head and her fingers covered in red. Lou tried to push people away from YN. “Step away from her!”. But it was no use, cameras were still flashing and bodies were pushing and shoving.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”. Harry’s voice appeared in front of them. His hands reaching for YN and pulling her body into his chest and holding her tight against him. “You’re okay babe, you’re safe…I’m here”. He gently spoke into YN’s ear as he tried to guide them to the car.

“Harry! Harry! Harry!”.

A camera appeared in Harry’s vision, but as quickly as it snapped a photo it was shoved away by Harry’s large hand. “CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S HURT YOU FUCKING IDIOT!”. He could feel the anger build inside him. “JUST FUCK OFF OUT OF OUR WAY!”.

Paul intervened quickly, knowing Harry was one step away from causing more problems. He along with the other security made a path for the couple to walk through.

YN felt so much relief when she entered the van, finding herself in the seat next to her brother and Harry hot on her heels sitting in the chair next to her.

“Hey Kiddo…you alright?”. Louis’ voice was filled with concern as he saw his sister’s head full of read and Harry’s face filled with pure anger.

“STUPID FUCKING PAPS!”. Harry held a spare shirt he had in his bag to YN’s head, hoping it would help with the bleeding.

“Harry I’m alright…just stay calm”. YN pleaded knowing how angry he felt right now, she could see the pure hatred in his eyes.

Louis wrapped a protective arm around his sister’s shoulder. “They’re arseholes I know and they’re lucky it was you out there because I would have punched them square in the face…but YN’s right Harry…just stay calm…she’s safe here with us now”.

“You’re walking with us next time…I’m not having you get hurt again”.

---

Things had calmed down behind the scenes after the chaos that had been caused earlier on in the day. The boys had some free time backstage as they waited for the show to start.

Harry’s eyes hadn’t moved from YN, where she was peacefully sleeping on the sofa in the dressing room, her head now wearing a small plaster that the medic team had given her.

As much as Harry tried to forget about what had happened, he couldn’t and he blamed himself for not being by YN’s side the entire time.

“You better not be blaming yourself Harold”. Louis interrupted Harry’s inter battle he was having with himself.

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he muttered his reply with no tone. “Of course I am”.

Louis took a seat opposite where Harry was sitting, his eyes finding his sister tucked up unaware of their conversation. “I just wanted to say thank you”. Harry frowned in confusing at his words. “Thank you for protecting her…I used to worry about her on this tour, I still will, but…but watching you protect her like that today…I could see how much you care about her”.

“I’ll always protect her Lou…you haven’t got to worry about that”. Harry reinforced his promise as he quickly glanced back at YN.

As much as his words caused a stir in Louis heart at how in love the boy was with his sister, he quickly hid is teary eyes with a tad of teasing.

“You better had or you’ll have me to answer to”. Louis sent him a smirk as he left the room.

Tag List:

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @harrys-flower @platinumbarbie143 @frickin-bats@harrysbbyh0ney @chronicallybubbly @goldensunflowe-r  @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@kaverichauhan @peterholland04 @panicattheuc @or-was-it-just-a-dream @hittiesontour@bunnyharold @fanfictioncafe @lilfreakjez @iamahallucinationnn @theekyliepage @indierockgirrl@buckybarnessimpp @ashleighsss @jerseygirlinca @fake-coolbeans @itsmytimetoodream@treehouse-mouse @mrs-anna-styles211994 @macy-tpwk @mrs-anna-styles211994

[mythicalmaven]

Extraordinary - Oscar Piastri (ONE SHOT)

masterlist

Here is a little extra upload to celebrate Oscar's second F1 Grand Prix win! :) So enjoy is a post Azerbaijan GP celebration smut! Let me know what you think of it & let me know if you want a sequel to this!

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader ↳word count: 3K ↳warnings: smut, 18+ content (MDNI!), handjob (m! eceiving), oral sex (m!receiving), feelings, kissing, praising, explicit sexual content, childhood best friends to lovers, making out, first kiss,

↳summary: Oscar just won the Azerbaijan GP. You, his childhood best friend & the one he secretly has been in love with for years, have always been by his side. Every race you attended ended with the same ritual; hugging, talking, and sharing the post-race high in a purely platonic way, both trying to ignore your feelings. But today felt different. His win stirred something in you, the urge to make him feel good overwhelmed you, your feelings too strong to contain any longer.

Credits for the gif to: @princemick

Oscar had just won his second Formula 1 race, and the energy in the paddock was electric. The cheers, the celebration, and the pride that radiated from his team made everything feel larger than life. But all of that faded the moment he stepped into his driver's room and saw you.

Like always, you were there waiting for him, the one constant in all the chaos. It had become something of a ritual between the two of you when you attended his races—a hug, a shared conversation, and time spent basking in the post-race high. But today felt different. The intensity in the air between you was thick, palpable in a way it hadn't been before.

As soon as he stepped into the room, his eyes found yours, and you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked — flushed with adrenaline, glowing from his second win in Formula 1. He was more than just your best friend at that moment; he was a man who had just conquered the track, and the sight of him like this stirred something deep within you.

He came to you for that familiar embrace, but when his arms wrapped around you, something shifted. There was a heat in his touch that you hadn't noticed before, or perhaps, had refused to acknowledge. The feel of his racing suit, tied loosely around his hips, the way his body pressed against yours—it was all too much. And when you pulled back, your hand didn't leave his abdomen. Instead, it hovered just above the waistband of his fireproofs, your fingers playing with the fabric. A gesture that felt as natural as it was intimate.

"Oscar Piastri," you purred, unable to help the words that spilled from your lips, "two-time F1 winner. Look at you, all grown up..."

He smirked, his eyes twinkling with pride and something else—something that made your heart skip. "You sound surprised" he teased, though his voice was a little rougher than usual, the hint of nerves and excitement betraying him. “Didn’t think I had it in me?”

You let your fingers trail along his abdomen, just brushing the hem of his fireproofs. “Oh, I knew you had it in you,” you said, your voice lowering as you allowed yourself to finally cross that invisible line. “I just didn’t realize how… hot it would look on you.”

His breath hitched at your words, and he pulled back just enough to look down at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You… you think I look hot?” he asked, his voice ragged, almost disbelieving, the hint of nerves and excitement betraying him.

You felt emboldened by his response, your pulse quickening with adrenaline. As you nodded at him, your fingers slipped under the hem of his fireproofs, teasing his skin, noticing the way his breath hitched, his body reacting instinctively to your touch. Slowly, you began to peel up his fireproofs, revealing more of his skin inch by inch, savoring the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers.

“You deserve a reward,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “For being such a champion.”

Oscar’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a ragged breath, the weight of your words sinking in. “A reward?” he asked, his voice strained as he tried to keep his composure, though you could tell he was unraveling beneath your touch.

You nodded, gently crowding him back against the door, your body pressing closer to his. His breath came in shallow gasps, and you could see the conflict in his eyes—excitement and nerves coalescing into something overwhelming.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, his voice shaking, though his hands didn’t move from your waist.

“Rewarding you, like I said,” you replied, your voice sultry and full of promise.

Your fingers continued to explore, tracing the muscles of his abs under the fabric of his fireproofs. Oscar’s breath became uneven, his body responding to each touch, every soft graze of your fingertips. The heat between you was palpable as your hand slowly moved lower, teasing at the waistband of his race suit, brushing over his skin.

You carefully made your way to the sleeves that tied his race suit loosely around his hips. You untied the knot of his race suit, taking your time, savoring each second of anticipation. His eyes were locked on yours, the tension building as your hand slipped inside his now open suit, palm pressing against him through the fabric of his boxers. Oscar’s breath caught in his throat, a soft groan escaping him as you began to palm him gently, feeling him harden beneath your touch.

“Tell me if you want me to stop” you whispered softly.

His body reacted instinctively, his hips shifting slightly toward you, but he was still, letting you set the pace. Your hand slid further inside his race suit, fingers caressing him through the fabric of his boxers. His breath hitched again, and his grip on your waist tightened, the tension in his body unmistakable.

“God… you have no idea how good this feels,” he whispered, voice shaky as you continued teasing him through the material. His eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure already overtaking him as you finally slipped your hand inside his boxers, your fingers wrapping around him. His entire body tensed, and a low groan escaped his lips again as you stroked him gently, savoring every response, every tremble that coursed through him.

His hand found your hair, his grip tightening slightly as he struggled to hold himself together. “Fuck… you’re so good,” he moaned, his voice barely more than a whisper, his head tilting back, eyes closed in pure bliss. “So fucking good.”

You smiled up at him, continuing your slow, deliberate movements, relishing the way his body responded to your touch. After a few moments of building that delicious tension, you paused, your voice soft and sultry as you asked, “Can I take this off?”

Oscar’s eyes snapped open, and he looked down at you, his expression filled with desperate need. “God, yes,” he rasped, almost a plea.

With a soft smile, you began to sink to your knees, pressing gentle kisses down his abdomen as you slid his race suit and boxers down to his ankles. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as you kissed your way lower, teasing him with your lips and tongue.

Oscar’s breath became shallow, his body trembling with anticipation. His hands found their way into your hair again, his fingers tangling as you knelt in front of him.

You smiled up at him, your fingers wrapping around him again, moving in slow, teasing strokes as you watched him fall apart. His reaction fueled your own desire, and you couldn’t help but admire how beautiful he looked like this — vulnerable and completely overwhelmed by you.

“You have no idea how often I’ve thought about this,” he whispered, his voice raw and full of need. “How many times I’ve imagined you… like this.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his skin, testing his responsiveness as you trailed soft kisses around thighs and hips, purposefully avoiding his dick to make him want you even more. Each kiss sending a shiver through him, his body responding to every touch. 

“You’ve always been my champion,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his hipbone. “It’s time I show you just how much I’ve been rooting for you.”

His breath hitched when you gently licked a stripe up his shaft, your movements slow and teasing. Oscar’s reaction was immediate—his body jerked, and he let out a loud, desperate moan, his voice filled with disbelief. “Oh God… I didn’t think…” He struggled to form words, caught completely off-guard by the intensity of it all.

You smirked, Oscar’s erection still hot against your lips as continued to tease him, your lips brushing against him, your tongue trailing along his length with agonizing slowness. Every movement made him tremble, his hips bucking slightly as you finally took him into your mouth. The moment you did, his entire body tensed, and he let out a whimpering moan, his voice shaky and full of need.

“God, you’re… f-fuck,” he stammered, barely able to form the words as his head tilted back against the door, eyes closed in pure bliss. “You’re… you’re incredible.”

You could feel the tension building in him, his muscles clenching as he tried to hold on. His hands tightened in your hair, as if to stop you from pushing him over the edge too soon. He was fighting himself, every part of him desperate for release, but struggling to prolong the pleasure.

“Fuck… I can’t… you’re driving me insane,” he moaned, his voice barely coherent. “I… I can’t hold back.”

You hummed around him, your tongue teasing and swirling as you took him deeper, savoring the way he reacted to every movement. His hands tightened in your hair, his hips bucking slightly as you set a slow, torturous rhythm.

“Y-you’re gonna make me—” Oscar’s voice was strained, his words interrupted by a broken moan as he tried to hold himself back. “I-I don’t want this to end… not yet.”

You paused, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. His chest was heaving, and his eyes were glazed with pleasure, but you could see the way he was holding on by a thread.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whispered, your voice soothing. “But I can go slow… take my time with you.”

Oscar nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to catch his breath. “P-please,” he whispered, his voice almost a plea. “I… I want this… I need this.”

You smiled up at him, your lips still teasing him, your hand continuing to stroke him gently, while your mouth was taking a break to give him some time to recover.

Oscar smiled back at you and you took that as a sign to continue. This time, you moved slower, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, teasing him, building him up again as his body trembled beneath you.

Every sound he made, every gasp and moan, sent a thrill through you. You loved seeing him like this, completely undone by your touch, and you couldn’t resist the urge to push him further, to make him feel every bit of the pleasure he deserved.

You paused for just a second, looking up at him briefly “You’re doing so well, Oscar,” you whispered, your voice filled with praise. “You’ve worked so hard for this… you’ve earned it.” 

Oscar’s eyes widened in surprise, his breath catching in his throat as he was caught off guard by your words. The intensity of his arousal spiked even higher, his body reacting instinctively. He had to clench every muscle in his body to not cum right then and there “God, no,” he moaned, his voice strained and urgent. “You can’t say things like that. It makes it so much harder to hold back. It’s making it worse...”

“Maybe that’s the point” you sassed, a smug, satisfied grin tugging at your lips as you continued to tease him. Your tongue flicked over him with purpose, taking pleasure in watching him lose control. Every gasp and moan he made sent a thrill through you, fueling your desire as you reveled in the way he was unraveling under your touch.

Oscar’s breath hitched again, his hands trembling as they gripped your hair tighter. “Fuck, I-I… you’re driving me crazy,” he moaned, his voice barely coherent. “Y-you’re… amazing.”

As you continued to pleasure him, you felt him getting closer, his body tensing as he neared the edge. His hips bucked against you, and his moans grew louder, more desperate.

“I can’t… I-I can’t hold on much longer,” he gasped, his voice breaking with need. “I’m… f-fuck, I’m so close…”

"Then don't hold back, Osc." you whispered, looking up at him "Let go for me"

You increased the pressure, taking him deeper, your mouth and hand working in perfect unison as you pushed him closer to his release. Oscar’s entire body shook, and with a final, shuddering breath, he came undone, his moans loud and raw as pleasure surged through him.

You kept going, guiding him through his climax, savoring every second of his release until he finally collapsed back against the door, completely spent. His chest was heaving, and his eyes fluttered open, still glazed with satisfaction and awe.

“God… that was…” he breathed, his voice ragged as he looked down at you with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. “You’re… you’re incredible.”

You smiled up at him, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction wash over you. “You deserved every second of that,” you whispered, your voice soft and filled with affection. “You’re a winner, Oscar. And winners deserve rewards.”

When Oscar seemed to have come down from his high, you gently pulled up his boxers, carefully tucking him back inside. You then followed with his race suit, using the sleeves to tie it around his hips. While you were busy tying the knot, you looked up at him “I figured, since I was the one who undressed you, I might as well help you get dressed again" you chuckled at him "I know you'll take them off again when you go shower, but I assumed the walk towards the bathroom would be a little less complicated when you don't have your suit pooling around his ankles" 

Oscar let out a breathless laugh, still trying to catch his breath. “You just sucked my dick less than a minute ago and we're already back on the witty remarks" God, I love you, he thought

You laughed at him, still on your knees, smacking him softly against his now clothes thigh “Oi, don't act like you don't love it” you grinned. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, his hands gently brushing through your hair. “But I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

Before you could even react, Oscar pulled you up to your feet, his movements fluid and confident. In a heartbeat, he had flipped your positions, pressing your back against the door with a soft, welcoming thud. His hand rested possessively on your waist, the warmth of his touch radiating through you, while his other hand gently cupped your jaw. His thumb traced tender circles over your cheek, a silent promise of the passion yet to come. His gaze, intense and hungry, searched yours, as if looking for confirmation before closing the distance between you.

You subconsciously leaned into Oscar, his breath mingling with yours, warm and inviting, heightening the anticipation between you. You could feel the heat of his anticipation, the unspoken yearning that had built up over the years.

"I should have done this a long time ago" he whispered before finally closing the remaining distance between the two of you. 

When his lips finally met yours, you felt a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. It was a feather-light touch that seemed to savor the moment, the initial contact was so soft and exploratory, a gentle caress that spoke of the affection and longing you both had kept hidden. His lips moved with a slow, deliberate tenderness, each kiss a silent confession of his desire.

Oscar’s hand on your waist slid up slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, while his other hand, still cradling your jaw, moved with equal care. He gently caressed the side of your neck with his thumb, his touch tender and reverent. The intimacy of his touch made your breath hitch, the anticipation building as his lips pressed more firmly against yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepened, and you felt the shift in intensity. He began to explore your lips with more purpose, his movements gentle yet insistent. A soft, teasing lick against your lower lip was his way of asking for entrance, a delicate and almost shy request that spoke volumes. The sensation of his warm, wet tongue against your skin made you shiver, heightening the tension between you.

When his tongue finally ventured into the kiss, it was a revelation. The initial touch was delicate, a tentative exploration that soon turned into a deeper, more passionate rhythm. His tongue slid against yours with a slow, deliberate grace, teasing and tracing patterns that spoke of the years of unspoken desire. Each movement was filled with intent, each caress a testament to the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface. The kiss became an intricate dance of sensation, blending the softness of his lips with the boldness of his tongue, creating a connection that was as emotionally charged as it was physically intense.

Oscar’s fingers trailed their way up from your back, towards your shoulder, eventually tangling in your hair, his touch both possessive and tender. His hand that was on your jaw now slid gently to your neck, his fingers tracing a path of fire against your skin. The sensation was electrifying, a delicate contrast to the fervor of his kiss. His thumb rested on your cheek, brushing softly as if to reassure himself that this moment was real.

Oscar’s other hand drifted down from your hair to your neck, his touch as light as a whisper but filled with an undeniable intensity. He traced delicate patterns on your skin, his fingers lingering on the curve of your collarbone before sliding back up to gently cradle the nape of your neck. The sensation of his touch, combined with the softness of his lips, created a symphony of sensations that left you breathless.

Oscar pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing, barely-there caress. His eyes, dark with passion, searched yours for a moment before resting his forehead against yours. The both of you completely out of breath. 

"Wow" you puffed out, still trying to catch your breath "T-That.. -That was extraordinary"

Oscar chuckles at you, a smile covering his face. The relief and happiness in his face evident. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and says "You are extraordinary"

[thedevilrisen]

Cradle Me

Father!Quinn x Son & Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,1k Authorial Note: My next voted WIP! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did while writing it! Don’t know if it’s my best piece then. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of birth.

Elliot Samuel Hughes came screaming into the world at 4:12 p.m., Quinn only knew his son for a matter of awed, breathless moments before the world sharpened—and chaos erupted.

Nurses swarmed you, dabbing and cleaning with sodden warm towels. A warm, slimy bundle of swaddle-blanket and baby reached your chest as the obstetrician stepped back from your glistening body. Quinn's reddened hand slipped from your grip, instinctively cradling the baby to your chest. His other hand, shaking slightly, gripped the bed's plastic rail. Leaning forward, he rested his right arm limply across your shoulder, his forehead gently touching yours as the two of you gazed down at your son.

"How’re you doing, Dad?" the obstetrician asked from the sink as he scrubbed his hands clean.

Quinn blinked, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I feel sick... but in a good way." He laughed softly, joy plastered permanently on his face. "We created a human... that's fucking scary but awesome at the same time."

Even in your post-birth haze, a smile graced your lips. It was an awesome thing indeed. This was your person now, a culmination of Quinn and your love. Despite this baby being considered a gift, he clearly was sent to test you and Quinn’s love for each other. No parenting class could have prepared you for the unfolding chaos that was leaving the hospital and heading home. The first day at the hospital was incredible, the nurses gently guided you and Quinn in the ways of parenting. But once you left and arrived home, the learning curve turned into an aggressive crash course.

Emotions ran high for every family member. Every nap missed, messy feed, spit-up, or nappy mess that needed cleaning up frayed the string further. Quinn and you had been remarkably naïve to think that this journey would be easy, even though you’d been dreaming collectively of this moment for years.

Quinn, along with self-proclaimed uncles Elias, Brock, and JT, spent hours working on the perfect nursery for baby boy Hughes. From wall decorations to the crib and changing table—which you insisted had to be powder blue with clouds and a grassy field with cows in it—the boys poured their hearts into it. Once they had finished assembling the room and you'd let it air out due to your hatred of the smell of fresh paint, you added the final details: books, blankets, nappies, and wipes, along with baby clothes hanging neatly on tiny coat hangers.

The first night home from the hospital was powered purely by adrenaline. You and Quinn took shifts with baby boy—changing, feeding, and sometimes just comforting him to sleep. By the second and third nights, the exhaustion set in. Leaving the warmth of the bed became a Herculean effort, especially for you. The physical toll of birth weighed heavily on your body, and sustaining new life felt overwhelming.

Quinn tried his hardest to take the load off, seeing how hard you were working to make the transition smooth, though it felt futile. His patience held up remarkably well for the first four days, but by the fourth night, tension crept in. Snappish words replaced your usual playful banter, and the distance between you felt like a growing chasm. Quinn’s touch, once so comforting, now felt foreign. Exhaustion tangled both your nerves, and intimacy between the two of you became a distant memory.

That night, an abrupt “goodnight” was shared, accompanied by a peck on the cheek. You both lay there in the dark, separated by a wall of fatigue, each praying for sleep that never came, as baby boy woke again at distasteful hours of the night.

Night five was the killer. Some ungodly hour like 1:03 a.m. glared back at you from the microwave as you ambled around the kitchen for the second time that night. You’d fed him twice now, but much of the milk had come back up in spit-up. Quinn had changed baby once and had checked on him again 45 minutes earlier.

There was one distinct problem: the baby only slept when he was held. You could do as many laps around the kitchen as you wanted, Quinn could rock him for hours, but as soon as baby landed on the bassinet’s mattress, it was like laying him on lava.

"Still no luck, darlin’?" Quinn’s voice came quietly from the doorway, his tired form silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. He met you halfway, his brow furrowed with concern.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Every time I put him down, he cries," you whispered, blinking back tears. "I’m so tired, Quinn."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "C’mon, let’s go back to bed," he murmured, leading you gently up the stairs. Exhaustion had blurred the edges of your world, and you forced a tired smile as he kissed your hand again.

"He’s just going to cry when I put him down, Quinn," you stated tiredly as he threw back the covers for you. The softness of the bed felt like heaven against your aching body, and you settled in without a second thought.

Quinn, now shirtless, pulled baby from your arms and nestled him gently on his chest, holding him snugly as he propped himself up with pillows. He tucked you in under his arm, pulling the blankets over both of you.

"Sleep now, darlin’," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Baby wriggled slightly in his swaddle but quickly relaxed against Quinn's warmth. "If this is how we have to do it from now on, fine."

Quinn sighed, his grip tightening around both of you. "At least we have good chiros at the rink."

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: The Harbingers With an Naive S/O

Pierro

As the leader of the Harbingers, Pierro takes his role seriously, and when he realizes how naive you are, his protective instincts kick in. He often shields you from the darker side of Fatui affairs, keeping you in the dark about the more ruthless aspects of their operations. He wants to preserve your innocence as much as possible, which is a rare sentiment from someone as cold and calculated as Pierro.

While Pierro is usually stern and emotionless, your purity softens him. He finds solace in your presence and enjoys your simple outlook on life. It reminds him of a time before he became the harbinger of destruction and chaos.

Pierro knows that you're easy to mislead, so he's always careful with his words. He makes sure to explain things in a way that won’t overwhelm you, but also so you don’t ask too many dangerous questions. You remain blissfully unaware of just how much blood is on his hands, and Pierro likes it that way.

Pierro would never admit it, but he goes out of his way to ensure you’re kept far from harm, even if you’re unaware of it. He’s constantly working behind the scenes to remove threats before they even come close to you. His protectiveness is subtle, often disguised as him merely sending you off on errands or encouraging you to remain in safer areas.

Your innocence reminds Pierro of a time long ago when he might have been less cynical, less ruthless. Though he’s a deeply strategic man, your presence softens his edges, even if only in private moments. Your belief in the good of the world makes him occasionally question if he could have chosen a different path.

Capitano

Capitano, a figure known for his strength and valor, finds your innocence strangely calming. His life is filled with battle and bloodshed, so your pure and untainted perspective offers him a rare moment of tranquility. When he’s with you, he can leave behind his role as a warrior and simply enjoy a more peaceful existence.

Capitano doesn’t need to say much to keep you safe. His mere presence is enough to intimidate anyone who might seek to harm or take advantage of you. He’s always watching over you, even when you think you’re alone. You might not understand why people give you a wide berth when Capitano is around, but that’s exactly how he prefers it.

Despite his intimidating appearance and harsh exterior, Capitano is surprisingly gentle with you. He’ll place a hand on your shoulder or give you a small nod of approval, small gestures that show he cares without overwhelming you. He knows you’re fragile in comparison to the life he leads, so he treats you like something precious and irreplaceable.

Capitano sees you as something pure that he must protect at all costs. Though he’s known for his unwavering dedication to his duties, your presence gives him a deeper sense of purpose. He fights not just for the Fatui but to create a world where someone like you can remain safe and untouched by cruelty.

Anyone who dares try to manipulate or harm you faces Capitano’s full wrath. He is known for his brutal efficiency in battle, but when it comes to you, that intensity amplifies tenfold. He won’t let anyone or anything threaten your safety or corrupt your innocence. You’re like a rare treasure in his life, one he will guard until his last breath.

Dottore

Dottore is utterly fascinated by your innocence, finding it almost incomprehensible. He often prods you with curious questions, eager to see how your mind works compared to his twisted genius. To him, you’re an anomaly—someone who hasn’t yet been tainted by the world.

Though Dottore cares for you in his own twisted way, he can’t help but toy with your naivety. He might tell you wild, untrue stories just to see your reactions, reveling in how easily you believe him. Despite this, he’s careful not to push you too far; he enjoys having you around too much to truly break your spirit.

While Dottore is amused by your innocence, he’s also fiercely possessive. He doesn’t want anyone else corrupting you, so he’ll make sure you’re always by his side or at least under his watchful eye. If another Harbinger tries to take advantage of your naivety, Dottore’s wrath is swift and brutal.

Dottore, being a man of science and curiosity, is constantly intrigued by your innocence. He wonders how someone like you could exist in such a ruthless world, and sometimes he treats your naivety like an experiment—observing how you react to various stimuli and situations. Though his fascination might be clinical, there’s an underlying protectiveness as well.

Despite his twisted nature, Dottore secretly cares about you. He might create devices or gadgets designed to keep you safe or unaware of the more gruesome aspects of his work. You might think his inventions are just fun toys or tools to make your life easier, but in reality, they’re carefully crafted to protect you from the darker side of his experiments.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche is initially confused by your innocence. Part of him finds it frustrating—he’s used to manipulation and cruelty, so your pure-hearted nature baffles him. However, over time, he begins to appreciate it. You represent something he can never have: a sense of untainted goodness.

Scaramouche, who is typically sharp-tongued and cynical, finds your naivety both amusing and endearing. He’s quick to mock you playfully, throwing sarcastic remarks your way when you fail to notice something obvious or overlook the harshness of reality. Yet, despite his teasing, he never crosses a line. There’s a strange softness in the way he treats you compared to others, even if he tries to hide it.

Despite his cruel nature, Scaramouche becomes fiercely protective of your innocence. He views it as something precious—something no one has the right to taint. While he may mock your naivety, he won’t let anyone else take advantage of it. If someone attempts to manipulate or hurt you, Scaramouche’s wrath is quick and brutal, leaving no doubt that you are under his protection.

Your innocence frustrates Scaramouche at times because it represents everything he’s lost—trust, hope, and belief in others. Yet, that same purity draws him in, creating a tension within himself. He doesn’t want you to lose your naive worldview, but at the same time, he’s terrified that one day, the cruel world will break you as it did him.

Scaramouche isn’t someone who shows open affection, especially not in front of others. However, when you’re alone, he’ll allow himself small gestures—a hand placed gently on your head or a brief moment where he’ll sit close to you in silence. It’s his way of saying that he cares, even if he’ll never say it outright.

Pantalone

Pantalone adores your naive nature, finding it endearing in a world where everyone else is driven by greed and ambition. He uses his vast wealth to spoil you, gifting you extravagant things just to see the look of pure joy on your face. He never lets you worry about the cost or where the money comes from—it’s all part of his plan to keep you blissfully unaware.

While Pantalone manipulates nearly everyone around him, he goes out of his way to shield you from the corruption that runs deep in the Fatui. He sees you as something too delicate for the brutal world he operates in and prefers to keep you in a bubble of luxury and comfort, far from the cutthroat politics of the Harbingers.

Pantalone ensures that no harm comes to you by leveraging his financial influence. If anyone dares to target you or tries to take advantage of your innocence, they quickly find themselves on the wrong side of his wealth and power. He’ll ruin them financially and ensure that their downfall is swift and complete.

Pantalone is a master manipulator, but when it comes to you, he keeps his darker dealings carefully hidden. He never wants you to see the ruthless side of his business, believing you’re better off living in blissful ignorance. He’ll go to great lengths to ensure you remain unaware of the moral gray areas he operates in.

Pantalone takes great joy in watching you light up when he surprises you with something extravagant, whether it’s a beautiful piece of jewelry or a rare collectible. He views your happiness as a reflection of his success, and he goes out of his way to provide for you in every possible way. Your innocent joy is one of the few things that can genuinely warm his cold heart.

Childe

Childe finds your naivety absolutely adorable. He loves to tease you, often making exaggerated claims or telling you about his exploits in a way that makes you blush or gasp in surprise. However, underneath all that playfulness, Childe is fiercely protective of you. He won’t let anyone else toy with your innocence.

Childe thrives on showing off in front of you, especially when he knows you’re easily impressed. Whether it’s through his combat prowess or his adventurous stories, he loves the way your eyes widen in awe. Your naive admiration boosts his ego, and he’s more than happy to be your hero.

Despite his love for battle, Childe would never want to expose you to the darker aspects of his life. He’ll always keep you far from the frontlines, ensuring you only see the more exciting, less dangerous parts of his adventures. In his eyes, you’re someone worth protecting at all costs, and he won’t let anything or anyone change that.

Childe finds it endlessly amusing when you ask innocent, naive questions about his work or the Fatui’s operations. He’ll often give you simplified answers, sometimes throwing in a bit of embellishment to make himself seem even more impressive. Your wide-eyed belief in his stories makes him feel like the most important person in the world.

While Childe’s real work is far too dangerous for you, he often takes you on smaller, safer "adventures." These outings are carefully curated so you never see the true violence of his life, but they’re thrilling enough to keep you entertained. Whether it’s exploring a quiet forest or pretending to train with him, Childe enjoys showing off his skills in a way that keeps you feeling safe and awed by him.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Kinktober №2 | Look At Us

summary: you think vampires are sexy, and harry cant keep his eyes off of you or his hands to himself.

or you and harry fuck in the bathroom of a halloween party.

word count: 2.6k

read time: 11 min

content warning ⚠️: nonfamous!harry, boyfriend!harry, vampire!harry (kinda), dom!harry, roleplay, costumes, D/s dynamics, mirror sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, praise kink, degradation, humiliation (if you squint), primal kink, (fake) blood kink, monster fucking (i guess?), pet names (baby, babe, little lamb, pet, honey), fingering, penetration (p in v), cream pie, unprotected sex

a/n: this one might be my favorite of the series i was going to save it for tomorrow but i cant keep sitting on this one lol. enjoy!

👻Kinktober 2024 Masterlist👻

You and Harry were known amongst your friend group for your Halloween looks. The two of you would show out with not one, but several Halloween couples costumes a year, depending on how many parties you had on your calendar. Harry contributed equally to the concepts, but he always gave you the full credit, claiming you were the creative heart of your relationship. Your first costume, for the first party of the weekend was your idea. 

A vampire, and his sexy victim. 

The idea came purely from you rediscovering your love of Twilight, and admiration of  the vampire genre as a whole. Something about it drew you in. To you it was just inherently sexy, so when it came for Halloween, you jumped at the opportunity to dress Harry up as your personal vampire boyfriend fantasy. 

You went all out, buying him hyper-realistic fangs, and giving him a dark vampire look with some makeup magic. You on the other hand had gone with a very glamorous look, complete with a vampire red lip and lashes, with a dribble of  fake flood down your neck, to your cleavage. You had even gone as far as to bejewel a corset adding a blood stained design with rhinestones, and paired it with a flowy skirt with a long slit up the side exposing your thigh. 

You looked hot as hell together, and have been getting compliments all night. And Harry couldn’t keep his eyes, or hands off of you the entire party. 

After having had enough small talk with your girlfriends, doing his best to pay attention to the conversation, nodding and smiling in the right places, he cracks. With a slight lull in the conversation, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side.

“Excuse us.” Harry smiles sharply, clearing his throat.  He takes your hand, pulling you away from the small group, slowly weaving the both of you through the crowded house. 

“Where are we going exactly?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Just follow me.” He says escorting you through the ocean of people that crowded the small house, until he reaches a half bathroom at the back of the house. He quickly ushers you inside before closing and locking the door behind him. 

“Harry?” you ask, brows knitted together, “You okay?” 

He remains silent, placing his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the mirror. You lean back against him as he lowers his face into your neck, planting a quick there. 

“Just needed a second away.” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist. You smile at him in the mirror, lacing your fingers in his hair at the base of his neck, for comfort. 

It’s not unusual for him to pull you away at parties. Harry sometimes gets overwhelmed being around your friends. You loved them, but they were a lot of energy sometimes, especially when it was all of them together. So, sometimes he just wanted to decompress with you, for a moment before going back into the chaos. You’d even come up with a code word for when it happens, and he needs a moment. 

But he hadn’t used it, just now. You were worried that something was actually wrong, until you began to feel him go from leaving light pecks on your neck, to sucking on the sensitive skin, pressing you up against him. It was then that you realized it wasn’t anxiety that had him all worked up and needing time away. 

It was you. 

“You look so beautiful tonight baby.” he mumbles into your neck, pressing his hips into your ass.

“Thank you.” you smile, “You look very handsome, too.” 

“I like these costumes,” he whispers, teeth nibbling your earlobe, “I really,” he kisses your jaw, “really,” and again, another kiss to your neck, “like them.” 

“Yeah?” you sigh, body suddenly heating up.

“Mmhm..” he says. His hands begin roaming up your body, from where they sat at your hips, up to your tits, cupping and groping them in his large hands. You toss your head back, eyes closed, as he brings a hand up further, wrapping it around your throat. He lightly presses down, making you look in the mirror. 

“Look at us.” he rasps, “Look how fucking good we look, baby.” 

He dips his head down into your neck, with a devilish smirk, kissing and sucking up your neck. When he allows the faux fangs to graze your neck, you let out a moan, he's quick to quiet with his hand over your mouth. 

“Shhh, shhh ....little lamb,” he smirks, playing into his vampire role, “Don’t want anyone to hear you, do we? Not while I take what’s mine.” 

You whine, biting the inside of your cheek as you shake your head. You make an attempt to turn in his arms, instead he turns your face to the side, capturing your lips with his, swallowing your little whimpers. You savor the feeling of his lips on yours, and the occasional nip from his ‘fangs’, as a hand rests on your throat while the other gropes your chest. 

Soon, too soon, he’s pulling away, turning your head forward to look at the mirror, again. He lightly tightens his grip around your throat for a moment. “Keep your eyes here,” he demands. He tilts your head to the side slightly, further exposing your neck and begins to suck, teeth and fangs grazing your skin. He brings a hand down, gripping the flesh of your hip, as he swivels his hips into your ass. You groan at the feeling of how hard he was getting for you, just from kissing you. Just from having you close. 

You did as you were told, keeping your eyes forward watching every move Harry made, and watching just how hot the two of you looked together. The fake blood dripping down your chest, Harry kissing and nibbling on your neck, marking you up, groping you. Something about it was so…primal. And it was hot as fuck. 

When Harry feels you begin to swivel your hips back into him, begging him for some friction, he finally, though much too slowly for your liking, begins to drag the flowy material of your skirt up your thighs, bunching it at your hips, revealing your bare ass.  

Harry brings a hand down to your ass, giving your right cheek a squeeze, “No panties baby?” 

“The skirt slit is too high,” you whine, moving against his hand as he grips your other cheek in his palm, gently massaging it. 

“You want to know what I think?” You moan as his hand moves to your front cupping your pussy in his large hand. “I think you did this on purpose. I think you knew what this was going to do to me.” He catches your eye in the mirror. “You knew this was going to happen. Didn’t you baby?” 

“I hoped,” you smirked, which quickly melted into a moan, as you felt Harry begin to run his fingers through your folds. 

He chuckles, eyes full of lust looking at you through the mirror. “Well, I’ll give you what you want but I have one rule.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll fuck you. But if  you look elsewhere, or get too loud…I stop. Got it?”

“Yes.” you gasp, as two fingers breach your folds, slowly stretching you.

“Good pet.” He coos. He slowly works his fingers in and out of you, stretching you open with his digits. He’s always been so good with his fingers, always stroking you perfectly, and always bringing you to the edge in minutes.  “That good baby?” he asks, into your neck, you nod frantically, biting your bottom lip trying your best to stay quiet. “Remember to breathe, baby. Breathe through it.” he whispers into your ear. You let out a gasp, feeling your stomach flip, as you inched closer to the edge. 

“Oh god.” you whisper, gripping onto his forearm.

“Good girl.” he praises, “Just give me one, and then I’ll give you my cock. Promise.” After a  few more strokes to your g-spot, you came in a bright white light, biting down on your lips to keep from yelling out. You lean back against Harry, as your legs begin to shake under you. He holds you close, moaning into your temple as he feels you pulse around his fingers. 

 “There you go.” Harry groans, turning your face to kiss you, allowing you to let out some moans into his mouth, “Good girl, baby.” He fucks you through it, pumping his fingers slowly,  eventually coming to a stop. He withdraws them from your pussy, turning your head back to the mirror, forcing you to look at yourselves. He brings his come covered fingers to your lips, eyes glued to yours. You whine, rolling your hips into his begging him for more. 

“Shh…Open.” he demands. 

You do as you're told, offering Harry your tongue, welcoming the weight of his fingers on your tongue. You wrap your lips around them, sucking off your juices, and moaning at the taste.

“Look at you.” Harry says proudly. You whimper around his fingers, pushing back against Harry’s hardening cock, while admiring how fucked out you looked, and how in control Harry looked. In addition to the costumes, your head was spinning.

“Look at us, baby.” he repeats, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth. “Fuck.” he growls, “Look how pretty you look all needy.” 

“Harry.” you pout, impatiently. “You promised.” You reach behind you, gripping onto the bulge that’s been pressed against your ass. He groans into your ear, body tensing around you, before pulling your hand away and holding it down by your side. 

“No. No touching.” he coos, biting your earlobe. “And stay quiet. I’m not going to warn  you again.” He growls, leaning more and more into his role. “Understood?”  You nod your head slowly, biting your lip.  

He rolls his hips into your ass roughly, reveling in watching you struggle to stay quiet. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he teases. 

You nod your head feverishly, chest heaving. He lowers his pants just enough to free himself. He removes his hand from your neck briefly, to guide the head of his cock through your folds. You moan slightly before covering your mouth quickly with your hand. 

“Shhh….” he coos into your ear, before a moan rips through his own throat as the head of his cock, hits your clit. “You’re so wet, honey. My god.” 

He teases your entrance with his cock, eyes glued to yours, “Look at me.” he demands, hand back on your neck, as he whispers in your ear.

You let out a little whimper as you feel the head of his cock push past your entrance. No matter how long you’ve been together or how many times you’ve been in this exact position, there was always a stretch with Harry. A good stretch but a stretch nonetheless, and it always took your breath away.  

“Shhh....I'll go slow.” he whispers. “Just breathe.” 

You let out little huffs through your nose. Trying to breath through the stretch as your stomach flipped with each shallow thrust, as he slowly worked himself into you. 

When he's fully sheathed inside of you, he stays still for a moment, letting out a deep sigh as he kisses the side temple. He was just as wrapped up in the feeling of you wrapped around him, as you were at the feeling of the tip of his cock, kissing your cervix. If you weren’t in the middle of a Halloween party, you’d be more than okay staying as you were, reveling in the stretch and fullness of Harry. 

Slowly, he begins to draw his hips back before diving back into you deeply, forcing your jaw to go slack. “There you go. See, you can take it.” he praises, as he continues his achingly slow pace, “Look at you. Fuck. Look at you being a good girl for me.” he kisses the side of your face messily, “So fucking pretty.” 

He keeps his pace slow for a bit, fantasizing that you had all the time in the world. Trying to savor the feeling of your wet pussy, tightly gripping him. When he does begin to speed up, he adds a roll of his hips as well. Fucking you hard, and deep. He groaned into your neck, as he pounded into you. You watch him in the mirror, and are beyond turned on at the sight of Harry. He was so wrapped up in you, so focused on your pleasure, on making it difficult for you to stay quiet, you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to take it. You were so sensitive, everything just felt so good. Harry sees it when he looks up at you in the mirror. How cock drunk you were, how hard you were trying to stay quiet, and it ignited something primal in him. 

“Look at you baby. See how fucked out you look, hmm?” you nod, and he smiles, “You a little cock drunk, baby?” he teases as you struggle to maintain eye contact with him in the mirror. Your eyes roll back for a moment before they are able to refocus on your reflection in the mirror.  

“I know, it’s so much isn't it.” he coos, “But you wanted it, so you can take it. And you’re going to.” He huffs. “Fuck you’re so tight baby.” He brings a hand down your front to where you two connect, fingers going straight to your clit. Harry coos at you kissing the side of your head, fingers tapping at your clit. 

You let out the tiniest whimper, and as if it were a reflex Harry's hand went from framing your neck to covering your mouth. The swift simple move only had you moaning into his hand even more. “Shh….quiet baby.” he groans into your ear.

You feel your legs grow weaker and weaker as he continues to pound into you. You lean forward, against the countertop, as Harry brings the hand on your hip, around your waist, allowing him to hold most of your weight up. He leans forward, kissing the back of your shoulder, your neck anywhere he could reach. The tenderness of his kisses mixed with the fierceness of his strokes had your head swimming, and he could feel you start to tighten around him. 

“That’s it, baby just relax. Let go baby.” 

You feel yourself tightening even more around his cock, squeezing him with a vice grip. You moan into his hand, as you feel your orgasm approaching. “There you go. Come on. I feel you right there.” he praises, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Cum with me, honey. Come on.” 

Your hand flies down, hitting the sink, as you feel your legs completely give out, coming hard around Harry’s cock. 

“Thata girl. Fuck! Come just like that.” he encourages, kissing at your neck and face. 

He fucks you through it, only for moments later for his own orgasm to follow, painting your walls and throbbing inside of you.

He removes his hand from your mouth, but turns your face to kiss him. You moan into the sloppy kiss, trying your best to catch your breath. Harry turns you around, lifting you up to sit on the counter. He opens your thighs sliding between them wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck. 

“Wow.” you sigh. 

“You okay?” he asks softly, kissing along your hairline. You chuckle, nodding into his hold. “I wasn’t too rough?” 

You pull away, caressing his face, “No.” you smile lazily, “Not at all. What got into you?” 

“I don’t know…these costumes.” He said looking down at your tits that had been on display all night. “Something about them.” He chuckles.

“Well if it's costumes you like…I have plenty of ideas.” you giggle leaning forward kissing him. 

“I’m all ears.” Harry smirks. 

✨masterlist✨ ∣ ✨yap & req✨

[nottsbitch]

The Alchemy - T.N.

Based on the Taylor Swift song

✩✩✩✩

To say that you were stressed was an understatement. You were currently in your seat at the Quidditch World Cup, where your boyfriend, Theo, was about to begin playing the biggest game of his career.

“Calm down, would you?” came from Draco on your left. Next to him was Daphne, and on the other side of you were Blaise and Pansy.

You glanced around at your friends, their presence offering a mix of comfort and distraction. Draco, with his usual air of nonchalance, was trying to ease your nerves, while Daphne’s calm smile was a soothing contrast to the chaotic energy of the stadium. Blaise and Pansy were on the other side of you, their faces set with a mix of anticipation and support.

“I’m trying,” you said, gripping the edge of your seat. “But it’s easier said than done.”

Pansy leaned in, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You know, I’ve seen Theo practice, and he’s exceptional. If anyone can handle this pressure, it’s him.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “Pansy’s right. Theo’s worked incredibly hard to get here. Just focus on the game. He’ll give it his all.”

Draco gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Remember, it’s just a game. It’s important, yes, but it’s not the end of the world. He’s already made a huge achievement by getting this far.”

Daphne’s voice was steady and calming. “And no matter what happens, you’re all here to support him. That’s what matters most.”

As the announcer’s voice boomed, signaling the start of the match, the stadium’s roar grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. The players took their positions, and you watched, heart racing, as the game began.

Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy cheered enthusiastically as the teams flew across the pitch. The intensity of the game was reflected in their faces—Draco’s eyes were sharp and focused, Daphne’s were filled with quiet confidence, Blaise was almost vibrating with energy, and Pansy was practically bouncing in her seat.

The match was competitive, with both teams demonstrating incredible skill. Theo’s team was holding their own, but it was clear the game was going to be a nail-biter. Every goal, every maneuver, every close call had you on edge.

At one particularly tense moment, Draco turned to you with a grin. “Remember how you said you didn’t want to be here for this? You’re doing great.”

You managed a shaky laugh. “I think I’m the only one who’s more nervous than he is.”

Blaise chimed in, “That’s probably because you care so much. It’s a good thing. Theo's lucky.”

The game continued with relentless energy. The Seeker from Theo’s team was weaving through players, searching for the elusive Golden Snitch. The tension was palpable as the Seeker and the Snitch seemed to be locked in an almost eternal dance.

Then, in a flash of gold and green, the Seeker’s hand closed around the Snitch. The whistle blew, and the crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer. The match was over, and Theo’s team had won.

You jumped up, your emotions spilling over as you celebrated with Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy. The sense of shared joy and relief was overwhelming. Theo’s victory was not just his; it was a testament to the support and belief of everyone who had been with him on this journey.

In that instant of triumph, the world seemed to narrow down to one person—Theo. The moment he saw the Snitch in the Seeker’s hand, his eyes locked on yours, cutting through the chaos and noise of the celebration.

With his heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through him, Theo pushed through the crowd of players and supporters. Every step was a surge of pure focus as he sought you out. His face was a picture of exhilaration and relief, his eyes scanning the stands until they found you.

Ignoring everything else, Theo sprinted towards you, his gaze never wavering. As he reached you, he threw his arms around you, pulling you into him. Before you could say anything his hands were on your face pulling you in for a long-awaited kiss. When you pulled away his breath was heavy and quick, his voice trembling with emotion.

“I did it! We did it!” he shouted, his voice choked with tears of happiness.

You hugged him tightly, tears streaming down your face. “You were incredible! I knew you could do it!”

Theo held you close, his eyes shining with the intensity of the moment. “I couldn’t have done this without you. This trophy is ours.”

Draco, Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy joined you, their cheers blending with everyone else's in the stadium. “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Daphne said warmly.

Pansy nodded, her eyes sparkling. “You were amazing out there. This is a dream come true!”

Blaise clapped Theo on the back, grinning broadly. “You’ve earned this moment. Enjoy every second!”

As the celebration continued around you, the sense of joy and accomplishment was overwhelming. But you couldn't focus on anything beside the man next to you and the smile on his face.

✩✩✩✩

[03jyh23]

— starlight, guide light, and everything in between || jeong yunho

In the quiet moments of parenthood, amidst the tears and the laughter, we find strength in each other's arms, and love that knows no bounds.

first-time dad!yunho x first-time mom!reader

genre: angst, fluff

trigger warnings: infant distress/crying; illegitimate child; parental anxiety/panic; emotional distress; breastfeeding; postpartum experiences

words: 3.8 k

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! the time has finally come, and im publishing my first Yunho fic 🥹 lately, some kind of maternal instinct seems to have awakened in me, and i had to get it out somehow 😭😭 i guess im getting old. just to clarify, i haven't given birth myself or have kids, so this fic is solely written based on my imagination of what it might feel like postpartum.

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i'd be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

You were dozing off wrapped in Yunho’s arms, your head in the crook of his neck, his smell calming your tired body. Your eyes were heavy, and it was getting harder to fight sleep. His hand was creasing your sides softly, lulling you to sleep. Being curled up on top of your boyfriend was your favorite place on earth. There was something incredibly comforting about being wrapped up in Yunho’s arms, feeling his warmth and steady heartbeat. It's like your own little sanctuary, a safe place where you can let go of all your worries and just be present in the moment. And falling asleep like that, with the gentle rhythm of Yunho's breathing and the soft touch of his hand, felt like drifting off into a dreamland.

It was a little over a month since your life was turned upside down when your little daughter was born. In that short period, every aspect of your world had shifted, reshaped by the arrival of this tiny, precious bundle of joy. The days had blurred together in a whirlwind of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. Yet amidst the chaos, there were moments of pure magic—how your daughter's eyes would light up with wonder at the world around her, the soft coos and gurgles that melted your heart, and the overwhelming sense of love that filled every corner of your home. But alongside the joy, there were also moments of doubt and uncertainty. Yunho, however, was deeply scared and anxious about becoming a father to a daughter. The mere thought of holding the fragile little being, feeding her, or changing her, filled him with a sense of fear and hesitation. It almost seemed like he was unable, or unwilling, to form an emotional bond with the newborn. This emotional disconnect was not just limited to the baby. Ever since you gave birth, a sense of apprehension and fear had gripped him. It was as if he was afraid to hold you, to touch you, and to confront the changes that your body had undergone postpartum.

The vulnerability that came with postpartum recovery was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Your body felt foreign, every movement was accompanied by a dull ache, a reminder of the physical toll that bringing your daughter into the world had exacted. But it wasn't just the physical changes that left you feeling vulnerable—it was the emotional upheaval as well. The hormonal fluctuations, the sleep deprivation, the overwhelming responsibility of caring for a newborn—all of it combined to create a perfect storm of doubt and insecurity. In those moments of vulnerability, you had expected Yunho to be your rock, your unwavering source of support and comfort. Yet, his actions—or rather, his lack of them—left you feeling more alone than ever. His hesitation to hold your daughter, and his reluctance to look at your postpartum body, all served as a painful reminder of your perceived shortcomings as a mother and a partner. You couldn't help but wonder if Yunho found you unlovable now if the changes wrought by childbirth had somehow diminished your worth in his eyes. It was a cruel thought, born out of fear and insecurity, but it lingered nonetheless, festering like an open wound in your heart. You couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over you. The distance between you and your boyfriend felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole.

That's why today's little nap meant everything to you. For the first time since the birth of Yunmi, Yunho was holding you like this, providing you with the comfort and warmth you longed for.

"Wait, did you hear that?" Yunho’s soft voice disrupted your nap. Not in your right state of mind yet, you just hummed against his neck, your eyes not opening even for a second. With a gentle hand, Yunho shifted you slightly, allowing himself to slip out from beneath your embrace. As he rose from the bed, you blinked groggily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep that clung to your senses.

"What is it?" you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. Yunho's expression was one of quiet concern as he motioned towards the crib.

"I think she's awake," he whispered, his tone barely audible in the dimly lit room. Your exhaustion weighed heavily on every limb, making even the simplest tasks seem daunting. With a weariness that seemed to seep into your bones, you clung to the pillows, seeking refuge in their soft embrace.

"Could you get her?" you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse murmur, as you heard the soft cry emanating from the crib. You mustered all your strength to sit up and shake off the tiredness as you looked at Yunho standing still next to the crib, almost as if he was unable to move any closer. Each cry felt like a dagger to your heart, a reminder of your inability to provide the comfort that your daughter so desperately needed.

"I think it's better if you take her," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, his gaze fixed on the wall as if unwilling to meet your eyes. The words struck you like a slap in the face, igniting a firestorm of indignation deep within your chest. Yunho's refusal to take Yunmi stirred a storm of emotions within you. Anger, frustration, hurt—all of it boiled beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. How could he still refuse to take responsibility for his own daughter? How could he stand there, staring blankly ahead, while you bore the brunt of exhaustion and fatigue?

"Yunho, how can you—" you began as you stood up from the bed, your voice trembling with emotion, but the words caught in your throat, choked off by the weight of your anger and hurt. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, as you struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. As you approached the crib, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought to maintain control. You leaned over the crib to take Yunmi into your arms and care for her. With a shaky breath, you turned away from Yunho, cradling your daughter close to your chest as you retreated to the living room. You weren't surprised that Yunho stayed behind in the bedroom, his presence a silent reminder of the distance that had grown between you. With a heavy heart, you settled onto the couch, cradling Yunmi in your arms as you prepared to breastfeed her. Your daughter's eyelids drooped as she nursed, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to her. With each gentle suckle, she grew more and more drowsy, her tiny fingers curling against your skin in a gesture of contentment. As you watched her drift off to sleep, a pang of guilt tugged at your heart. You had expected Yunho to be there for you, to support you through the challenges of motherhood, yet time and time again, he had fallen short of your expectations. Yunmi finally drifted off to sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. With a weary sigh, you leaned back against the pillows, holding your daughter close as you closed your eyes, allowing the exhaustion of the day to finally claim you.

You opened your eyes to see Yunho carefully lifting your daughter from your arms, his movements a mix of awkwardness and tenderness. Despite his initial hesitance, there was a determination in the way he cradled her against his chest as if he wanted to make up for any shortcomings. As he tiptoed back into the bedroom, you couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in your heart. Despite the challenges you faced, seeing Yunho taking care of your daughter for what you believed was the first time, filled you with hope for the future. You listened as Yunho gently placed your daughter in her crib, his voice humming a soft lullaby as he tucked her in. Drifting back to sleep, you were roused once more by Yunho's quiet voice emanating from the bedroom.

"I have so much I want to say to you," he whispered, his voice barely above a hushed murmur. Yunho gazed down at Yunmi, her small form tucked snugly into her crib, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. ''I'm so sorry for letting you, and your mommy down since day one...'' A sense of awe washed over him as he watched his daughter, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "You're my little starlight, and I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. Yunmi is Daddy's precious, shining light in the darkness." He reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light against her soft skin. "Daddy is really so sorry," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Sorry for all the times I've been afraid, for all the moments I've missed. I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world, and I'll do whatever it takes to be the father you deserve." As he spoke, he felt a surge of love and determination welling up inside him, a newfound sense of purpose ignited by the presence of his daughter. In her innocent slumber, he saw the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities, a future that he vowed to protect and nurture with all his heart. "I may not have all the answers, and I will make mistakes along the way," he whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. "But I promise to always be here for you, to love you unconditionally, and to cherish every moment we share." With a tender smile, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin for a moment longer. "I love you and Mommy so much. Sleep well, my little starlight," he whispered his voice a soft lullaby that filled the bedroom with warmth and love. "And know that Daddy will always be here, watching over you, every step of the way. From now on Daddy will do his best." As Yunho's words echoed in the quiet of the apartment, you felt a mix of emotions welling up inside you, threatening to overflow. Tears streamed down your face, unnoticed in the darkness, as a tumultuous storm of feelings raged within your heart. Anger simmered beneath the surface, directed not at Yunho, but at yourself. How could you have been so blind to his struggles, so oblivious to the pain he had been carrying? You berated yourself for not recognizing the signs sooner, for not being there for him when he needed you most. But amidst the anger, there was also a profound sense of relief—a weight lifting from your shoulders as you finally understood the depth of Yunho's feelings. For the first time since your daughter was born, you felt truly connected to him, bound together by the shared experience of parenthood and the raw vulnerability of exposing one's innermost fears. And beneath it all, there was love—a love that transcended words and actions, a love that bound you together despite the challenges you faced. Despite the tears and the turmoil, there was a sense of gratitude in knowing that you were not alone—that together, you could weather any storm that came your way.

A little while later, you heard Yunho returning to the living room, his footsteps soft against the floor. A pang of guilt tugged at your heart as you pretended to be asleep, not wanting him to know that you had overheard his heartfelt words to your daughter. You quickly wiped your tears, and kept your breathing slow and steady, willing yourself to remain still as Yunho approached the couch. Soon, his arms enveloped you in a gentle embrace, lifting you bridal-style and carrying you back to your shared bedroom. Settling you onto the bed, he tucked you in with care, ensuring you were comfortable before gently placing the duvet over you. His touch was tender, his actions speaking volumes of his love and devotion. Yunho pressed down a warm kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment against your skin.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion against your forehead. "I'm just so scared to be a father," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. "Scared to hurt her, to make mistakes that she'll never forgive." You felt the weight of his fear pressing down on you, his vulnerability laying bare the depths of his insecurities. With each word, it was as if a window had been opened to his soul, revealing the raw, unfiltered truth of his innermost thoughts and feelings. "I want to be the best father I can be, but... but what if I'm not enough?" His voice cracked with the weight of his uncertainty, his words echoing in the stillness of the room. And then, you felt it—a single tear falling onto your temple, a silent testament to the depth of his pain and fear. In that moment, your heart broke for him, for the struggles he faced and the burdens he carried. "And you," Yunho continued, his voice trembling with emotion, "you've been amazing since day one. I've watched you, seen the way you care for her with such love and devotion. It's like you were born to be a mother, and... and I can't help but feel like I'm falling short." Yunho longed to be the pillar of support you needed, the rock upon which your family could lean in times of trouble. But with each passing day, the weight of his insecurities grew heavier, threatening to crush him beneath their burden. "I'm still so afraid," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now. "Afraid of letting you down, of letting Yunmi down. But I promise, I'll keep trying. I'll do whatever it takes to be the father she deserves, even if... even if it scares me to my core." In the darkness of the bedroom, his words hung heavy in the air. "I love you so much, Y/N, and I will do better, I will be the support you need." Yunho's voice broke through the silence once again, his words filled with sincerity and remorse.

"And I love you," you finally whispered, your voice filled with tenderness and affection. With a gentle touch, you reached out to wipe away the tears that streaked Yunho's cheeks, your fingers tracing the contours of his face with utmost care.

"You've been awake the entire time?" Yunho's voice broke the silence, his words carrying a mixture of surprise and relief. A shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of uncertainty in his gaze as he met your eyes. You returned his smile, the warmth of his presence washing over you like a gentle breeze.

"Yes," you admitted softly, your voice filled with understanding. "I heard everything." There was no judgment in your words, no recrimination for his vulnerability. Instead, there was only acceptance—a shared acknowledgment of the complexities of love and the struggles that came with it. Yunho's smile widened, a sense of gratitude shining in his eyes.

"Thank you for listening," he whispered, his lips placing yet another kiss on your forehead. "And for being here with me." You reached out to him, your hand finding his in the darkness, a silent reassurance of your love and support.

"Always," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering devotion. "I'll always be here for you, Yunho. Through thick and thin." Yunho creased your cheek gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "And now get under the covers with me," you giggled mischievously, reaching out to pull Yunho close by his neck. With a playful tug, you caught him off guard, pulling him towards you until he landed on top of you with a soft thud. Yunho's eyes widened in surprise, a startled laugh escaping his lips as he found himself sprawled across the bed, his gaze locked with yours.

"You little trickster," he chuckled, his voice filled with amusement as he shifted to settle beside you under the covers. With a grin, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close until your bodies were pressed together in a warm embrace. The feel of his warmth against your skin sent a shiver of delight down your spine, a feeling of contentment settling over you like a soft blanket. "I haven't kissed you in forever," Yunho murmured, his voice laced with longing as he gazed into your eyes with a mixture of affection and desire. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your heart fluttering at the thought of his lips against yours.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you teased as you leaned in closer to him. With a tender touch, Yunho cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he drew you closer to him. And then, with a gentle tilt of his head, his lips met yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. At that moment, as you melted into each other's embrace, time seemed to stand still. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the warmth and intimacy of the moment. As you pulled away, breathless and flushed with emotion, you felt a sense of completeness wash over you—a reminder that no matter how long it had been since your last kiss, the love you shared was as strong and passionate as ever. A playful sparkle danced in your eyes as you posed the question, your curiosity piqued by Yunho's endearing nickname for your daughter.

"If she's your starlight, then what does it make me?" you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice as you awaited his response. Yunho's gaze softened as he looked at you, a tender smile gracing his lips.

"You," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection, "you're my guiding light. The one that leads me home, no matter how lost I may feel." Your boyfriend's words washed over you like a gentle caress, filling you with a sense of warmth and love. With a smile of your own, you leaned in closer to him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

"And you," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "you're my everything." And as you melted into each other's embrace, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of the night, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way.

The sound of Yunmi's cries pierced through the tranquility of the night, pulling you from the depths of sleep with a jolt. You moved to rise from the bed, instinctively driven to tend to your daughter's needs. But before you could fully untangle yourself from the sheets, Yunho's firm grip on your arm halted your movements.

"I'll get her," he murmured, his voice filled with determination as he gently pulled you back towards the bed. You hesitated for a moment, torn between the instinctual urge to rush to Yunmi's side and the desire to trust Yunho to handle the situation. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a steely resolve there—a determination to prove himself as a capable dad, despite his fears and insecurities. With a silent nod, you allowed yourself to sink back onto the bed, the warmth of Yunho's presence comforting you as you watched him rise to tend to your daughter. As he crossed the room to Yunmi's crib, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride welling up within you—a recognition of the strength and courage it took for him to step up and take on the role of caregiver. Yunho took her in his arms, gently and tenderly, almost as if he were afraid that his touch alone might hurt her. He held Yunmi close to his chest, rocking gently from side to side, he tried to calm his daughter, yet Yunho's panic escalated as Yunmi's cries persisted, his worry evident in the trembling of his hands and the furrow of his brow.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety.

"She's probably just hungry," you reassured him gently as you stood up for the bed, understanding the depth of his concern. But before you could offer to nurse her yourself, Yunho's response caught you off guard.

"Oh..." he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I can't breastfeed her," he murmured, the realization dawning on him as he grappled with the limitations of his role as a father. You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"It's okay, baby," you assured him softly. "There are other ways you can help soothe her. We can prepare a bottle together, or you can hold her close while I feed her. What's important is that we're both here for her." Yunho nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you," Yunho whispered, his voice filled with emotion as he passed Yunmi gently into your arms, his eyes still big with worry. "Should I prepare a bottle for her?" You smiled softly at his eagerness to help, appreciating his willingness to step up despite his initial panic.

"I think I'll just breastfeed her for now," you replied, your voice gentle and reassuring. "But thank you for offering." Yunho nodded, a sense of relief washing over him as he watched you cradle Yunmi close, the familiarity of the bond between mother and daughter bringing him a sense of comfort. As you settled into the comfortable position, you nursed Yunmi, Yunho remained by your side, offering silent support and encouragement. As you nursed Yunmi, the gentle rhythm of her feeding lulled both her and Yunho into a peaceful slumber. The soft sounds of her contented suckling mixed with the steady beat of their breathing, creating a tranquil symphony that filled the room. With Yunmi cradled in your arms and Yunho nestled close beside you, you felt a profound sense of contentment wash over you. The warmth of their bodies against yours, the softness of their breath against your skin—it was a moment of pure serenity, a snapshot of the quiet joy that parenthood brought. You allowed yourself to bask in the tranquility of the moment, relishing the feeling of being surrounded by the ones you loved most in the world. In the soft glow of the morning light, you watched over them with a heart full of love, knowing that in this simple embrace, you had everything you ever needed.

"Be patient with him. He's trying," you whispered to your daughter, the words soft and tender as you gazed down at her sleeping form.

[elikajinnie]

The Last Breath - S.J

P: Demigod!Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, Violence, Confessions, basically right person, not enough time.

Synopsis: On the battleground, you lie on the edge of death, knowing there’s nothing left to do but let go. But then you see Jake, the one you’ve loved for so long, fighting. With a final surge of adrenaline, you muster the strength to confess your feelings, hoping to hear him say it back. But by the time he does, it’s too late. Two people in love cannot survive when one of them is gone, and as you slip away, so does the light of the world for Jake.

a/n: this is kinda short, but angsty :) so enjoy!

now playing: i love you by billie eilish

percy jackson au!masterlist

--

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be in this battle—not today, not like this. But the gods, your so-called parents, had once again decided to throw you and the other half-bloods into the fray, using you like pawns on a celestial chessboard. It wasn’t fair, and some of you had dared to say so, but really, who could stand up to Zeus? Who would risk it, knowing the cost?

The fight had started off manageable—a few monsters, nothing you and your friends couldn’t handle. You’d thought maybe, just maybe, this would be one of the easier ones. But that hope shattered when the Minotaurs appeared, chaos erupted, and before you knew it, the battlefield had turned into a gruesome field of broken bodies and spilled blood. Friends, strangers, creatures—dead or dying everywhere you turned.

You should’ve been stronger. As the daughter of one of the more prominent Greek gods, you were supposed to rise above, to lead, to fight. But even godly lineage has its limits. You were cornered before you could react, outnumbered and outmatched. Their strikes were brutal, unrelenting, and though you fought back with everything you had, it wasn’t enough.

Now, here you are, crumpled on the ground, blood soaking through your torn armor and pooling around you. Every breath burns, every movement feels like a thousand daggers stabbing into your flesh. You can hear the shouts of your friends somewhere in the distance, but their voices are drowned out by the pounding in your ears.

You can’t die here. You won’t die here. But as the darkness creeps in, swallowing the edges of your sight, you can’t help but wonder if this time, the gods have pushed you too far.

You looked down at your wounds, at the crimson streaks running down your arms and hands. Your fingers were stained red, trembling as you struggled to make sense of the pain. It was everywhere—your chest, your legs, your ribs. Every breath you took felt like fire, every movement sent waves of agony through your body. You’d never been to Tartarus, but you swore this was what it must feel like. This was suffering, pure and unrelenting, and you didn’t know how much more you could take.

For a moment, the thought crossed your mind: you could just close your eyes. Let the pain take over. Give up and let the darkness swallow you whole. But before you could give in, something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. Him.

Sim Jake.

Son of Ares.

Even now, bruised and bloodied, barely holding himself upright, he kept fighting. He refused to back down, even when it looked like his body might give out at any second.

And he was your crush.

From the moment you arrived at Camp Half-Blood, clueless and scared, he had been there. You’d met him on your first day, wandering aimlessly, overwhelmed by the realization that you were a demigod. He had found you and, without hesitation, taken you under his wing. He’d taught you the ropes—how to hold a sword, how to defend yourself, how to survive. He showed you kindness when you needed it most, and slowly, over time, you’d fallen for him.

How could you not? There was so much to love about Jake. His soft curls that always seemed to fall perfectly into place. His warm, puppy-like eyes that somehow made you feel safe. His confidence, his humor, the way he smiled like he had the entire world in his hands. He was fierce and brave, yet gentle in a way you hadn’t expected from someone like him, someone whose father was the God of war.

Jake was... Jake.

And to you, he was everything.

But what were you to him? A friend? A sister figure? A pupil he’d taken under his wing out of pity? You didn’t know, but the idea of confessing your feelings only to be rejected kept you silent. Why would someone like him ever like someone like you? Jake deserved someone strong, someone who could stand by his side in battle without faltering. Not you, bleeding out on the ground, helpless and weak.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered. You didn’t deserve him. That much, you were sure of. And yet, even as you tried to convince yourself to let go of the hopeless dream, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

You loved him. So, so much. Even when you didn’t want to. Even when you tried to tell yourself it was foolish, that it would never work. But no matter how hard you fought it, your heart always betrayed you. And somehow, that hurt so much more than any of the physical pain you were feeling. The ache in your chest burned hotter than the cuts on your skin, sharper than the bruises blooming across your body.

You told yourself you’d had enough—enough fighting, enough struggling, enough everything. So, you stayed where you were, content to just watch him in your final moment.

But then you saw it.

A creature.

It was creeping toward Jake’s blind spot, its movements silent. He was too busy fighting off another monster to notice.

He didn’t see it.

He didn’t see it.

Your body moved before your mind could process what was happening. You didn’t know where the sudden rush of adrenaline came from, but it didn’t matter. Pain surged through you as you forced yourself to your feet, the wounds screaming in protest, but you ignored it. Your hand found your sword, then your shield, both slick with blood as you grabbed them from the ground.

You staggered forward, limping and breathless, but your focus never left him. The creature was getting closer. Too close. Panic clawed at your chest as you tried to move faster, your battered legs trembling beneath you. Every step felt impossible, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Jake!” you screamed, your voice hoarse but desperate enough to make him turn. His wide eyes found you, shock flashing across his face as you barreled toward him, pushing yourself past the limits of what you thought you could endure.

Before he could say a word, before he could ask what you were doing, you threw yourself against his back. The impact sent a fresh wave of agony through your body, but you bit down the cry threatening to escape. You raised your shield just as the creature lunged, its attack colliding with the metal in a sickening crash.

The force of the blow rattled your bones, nearly knocking you over, but it didn’t hit Jake. It didn’t hurt him. You held firm, your shield braced as you stood between him and the creature, refusing to let it lay a single claw on him.

For a moment, everything else faded—the chaos, the deaths, the battlefield, the blood. All that mattered was that Jake was safe.

And you wanted to make sure he stayed safe. That was all that mattered. With a shout that burned your throat, you pushed the creature back with all the strength you had left, raising your sword and slashing it across the neck. The monster let out a guttural cry before falling, its body crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

You stood there for a moment, panting, trembling, and turned to Jake. He had just bested the last of his opponents, his blade still in hand, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The relief that flooded you was overwhelming. He was okay. Jake was okay. That was all you needed to know.

But your body had reached its limit. The adrenaline that had kept you standing drained away in an instant, leaving only the crushing weight of your injuries behind. Your legs buckled beneath you, and you fell. Your sword and shield slipped from your hands, clattering to the ground with a dull metallic crash.

You barely registered the sting of the impact as your body hit the ground, too numb, too tired to care. The edges of your vision blurred, darkened, but you could still see Jake turning toward you, his eyes wide with alarm.

“No!” His voice was panicked, cutting through the haze that threatened to pull you under. You wanted to respond, to tell him you were fine—or at least lie and say you were—but the words wouldn’t come. Your body felt heavy, your limbs like lead.

You tried to lift your head, but the effort was too much. All you could do was watch as Jake dropped his weapon, and rushed toward you. You wanted to smile at him, to reassure him, but the darkness was too strong.

You felt so numb, so cold… like the warmth was slowly draining from your body. The pain that had consumed you earlier was gone now, replaced by an eerie emptiness. But then, you felt it—Jake’s arms around you, pulling you close. His warmth pressed against your chilled skin, his frantic movements jolting your mind just enough to keep the darkness at bay. His voice was desperate, trembling as he spoke, though his words were distant, muffled by the haze clouding your mind.

You blinked sluggishly, trying to focus, trying to understand, and that’s when you felt something wet against your face. It wasn’t blood—it was warm, and it fell in soft drops that rolled down your cheeks. It took you longer than it should have to realize they weren’t your tears.

Jake was crying.

Your Jake. The brave, unshakable son of Ares. The boy who faced monsters and gods without flinching, who always smiled even when the odds were stacked against him. His face was twisted in anguish, his tears falling freely as he cradled you like you were the most fragile thing in the world. His voice broke as he spoke your name over and over, his hands shaking as he tried to keep pressure on your wounds.

Why was he crying?

Your mind felt too foggy, too far gone to make sense of it. You wanted to ask him, to tell him you were fine—even if it was a lie—but your lips wouldn’t move. Instead, you stared up at him, your heavy eyelids threatening to close, wondering why he looked so heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m so sorry. Please… please stay with me. I can’t—” His words choked off into a sob, and his grip on you tightened, as if holding you closer could somehow keep you here.

Sorry? What was he sorry for? You didn’t understand. Your chest ached, not from pain, but from the look on his face—the fear and desperation in his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before, and it hurt more than any wound ever could.

“Jake…” you finally managed to whisper, though your voice was barely audible. It took every ounce of strength you had left, and even then, it felt like the effort might break you. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his tear-streaked face hovering above yours.

“Yes! Yes,” he said quickly, his tone a mix of relief and panic. “I’m here. I’m right here. Don’t—don’t you dare close your eyes. Stay with me. Please.”

You wanted to obey, to stay awake like he begged, but the numbness was spreading, the world around you blurring again. Still, you fought to keep your gaze locked on him, his familiar face the only anchor you had left. You wanted to tell him everything—to tell him you loved him, that he was the reason you kept fighting, that he was your everything. But all that came out was a weak, trembling whisper.

“Why… are you crying?”

Jake’s face crumpled again, and a fresh wave of tears spilled from his eyes. He shook his head, brushing your hair back gently as if trying to soothe you. “Because I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking with every word. “I can’t. I—” He swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he forced the words out. “Because I can’t lose you,” he choked out, his voice trembling like it was on the verge of shattering. He looked so lost, so helpless, his usual confidence stripped away.

“I can’t lose you, not you,” he rambled, his words tumbling out like a dam had broken. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you. You’re—you’re everything, and I should’ve told you that. I should’ve stayed with you during the battle, I should’ve protected you better—” His voice broke again, a sob catching in his throat. “But I wasn’t strong enough, and now… now you’re—” He cut himself off, shaking his head furiously, as though refusing to even acknowledge the possibility.

His hands trembled as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away blood and dirt like he could somehow make everything better by sheer force of will. “You can’t leave me. You can’t,” he said, his voice rising in desperation. “I can’t live without you. I don’t want to. Do you hear me? I need you. I need you.”

Tears streaked down his face, landing on your cheeks and mingling with the blood there. You stared up at him, your body too weak to move, too drained to respond. But your mind… your mind raced. His words, his confession—it didn’t feel real. Jake, your Jake, was falling apart in front of you, his heart laid bare, and you didn’t know how to process it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with guilt. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. If I had just stayed with you, if I’d just—” He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening as though trying to hold back the anger at himself. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been by your side, protecting you. That’s all I ever wanted—to keep you safe. And I failed.”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done more for you than anyone ever had. But the words wouldn’t come, your body too weak to obey. All you could do was stare at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding despite your exhaustion.

Jake’s gaze searched yours, his desperation deepening when he noticed your silence. “Please, say something,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Yell at me, tell me I’m an idiot, anything. Just… don’t leave me. Please..” His forehead pressed against yours again, his warm breath mixing with your shallow, ragged gasps.

The world around you felt distant, muted, but Jake… Jake was so close, his presence so overwhelming that it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And even through the haze, you could feel your heart breaking at the sight of him. You’d never seen him like this—never seen him so completely shattered.

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you weren’t giving up. But all you could do was keep staring, stunned by his confession. The boy you thought could never love you the way you loved him was here, holding you like you were his entire world, begging you to stay, telling you he needed you.

You didn’t know how this would end, whether you’d survive the injuries tearing you apart, but in that moment, you found the strength to part your lips, even if only slightly.

“Jake…” you whispered, barely audible, but it was enough to make his head snap up, his tear-streaked face inches from yours. You saw the hope flicker in his eyes, the way he clung to the sound of your voice like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I…” Your voice faltered, the effort too much, but you managed a small, trembling smile. You needed him to know, no matter what happened next. “You’re wrong. You… you didn’t fail me.”

“No,” Jake said sharply, his voice trembling with barely-contained emotion. “I did fail you.” His hands pressed harder against your wounds, though you both knew it wasn’t helping. He looked at you like he was trying to will you back to life with sheer determination, his tears falling faster now. “If I was just a little stronger, just a little faster… you’d be standing with me right now. Victorious. Unharmed. Unscathed.”

His voice cracked, and he shook his head, his lips pulling into a thin, anguished line. “You wouldn’t be here, bleeding out in my arms. You wouldn’t—” His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes for a moment, his shoulders trembling. “You wouldn’t be dying.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that none of this was his fault. But you couldn’t. Not because you agreed with him, but because you already knew the truth. He wasn’t wrong about one thing—you were dying. The warmth in your body was all but gone, replaced by a chilling numbness that crept deeper with every passing second. You could feel it now, the faint pull. You wouldn’t survive this. No godly intervention, no miracle could save you.

So what was the point in denying it? If this was the end, you knew there was something you had to do. You’d carried the weight of your feelings for too long, burying them out of fear of rejection, of heartbreak. But now… now you didn’t have to be afraid. If he rejected you, it wouldn’t matter. You’d be gone, and there’d be no heartbreak to endure.

What better time to confess than when you had nothing left to lose?

Your lips trembled as you summoned the last of your strength, your voice a mere whisper. “Jake…”

His eyes snapped back to yours, the desperation in them piercing through the haze clouding your mind. “What is it? Don’t try to talk—just hold on, okay? You’ll be fine. I’ll get you out of here, I swear.”

You wanted to smile at his stubborn hope, but your body was too weak. Instead, you forced out the words you’d never had the courage to say before. “I… I need to tell you something.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, his panic deepening. “No, you don’t. You can tell me later, okay? When you’re better—”

“Jake,” you interrupted, your tone firmer this time despite the weakness in your voice. He froze, his lips parting slightly as he stared at you. You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down as you looked into his eyes, memorizing every detail of his face.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words leaving your lips so softly they almost got lost in the chaos around you. But Jake heard them. You saw the way his expression shifted, the way his eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “I’ve loved you for so long. And I… I’m sorry I never told you before, but I couldn’t. I was scared.”

His mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out. You pushed forward, desperate to get it all out. “I didn’t think you’d feel the same. But I—I needed to tell you. Just once.” A weak, bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Even if you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. I just… I needed you to know.”

Jake’s face crumpled again, his tears falling faster now as he shook his head. “No,” he said, his voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say that and then—” He stopped himself, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I feel the same... I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Your heart ached at his words, both with joy and sorrow. You wanted to hold onto that moment forever, but you could feel yourself slipping away, your vision blurring at the edges. “Jake…” you whispered, his name a soft breath on your lips.

“No, don’t you dare,” he said, his voice rising in panic as he shook you gently. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. You’re staying with me, do you hear me? I love you, and you’re staying with me. Please.”

But his voice was growing fainter, the world around you dimming as the darkness closed in. All you could see was him, his tear-streaked face and trembling hands, his love for you written in every broken word he spoke.

And as the last of your strength faded, you managed one final smile, your fingers brushing weakly against his hand. “I love you too,” you whispered, and then everything went still.

You wouldn’t know that Jake’s screams echoed across the battlefield, piercing through the chaos like a dagger to the heart of everyone who heard it. His cries were filled with so much anguish that even the monsters seemed to hesitate, their bloodlust momentarily stalled by the sheer force of his grief.

He clutched your lifeless body to his chest, his arms trembling as he held you as tightly as he could, as though refusing to let you slip away completely. His tears soaked into your bloodied clothes, his face buried in your hair as he sobbed. “No, no, no,” he chanted over and over, his voice cracking with every word. “Please… not you. Anyone but you.”

Jake felt like his entire world had collapsed. His heart was shattered, broken beyond repair, leaving nothing but a hollow void in its place.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible now. “I can’t… I can’t do this without you. You promised me. You said you’d stay.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, smearing the blood there as if trying to bring color back to your pale skin. But it was futile. He knew that. Deep down, he knew.

Yet he couldn’t let go.

His body shook as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears falling like rain onto your face. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking again. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve protected you.”

But no matter how many times he apologized, no matter how many tears he shed, it wouldn’t bring you back. And that thought… that reality… was unbearable.

Jake felt his breathing grow ragged, his chest tightening painfully as the weight of your absence threatened to crush him completely. He couldn’t imagine a world without you. A world where your laughter didn’t fill the air, where your smile didn’t light up his days. A world where he didn’t get to tell you how much he loved you every single day.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Not without you. I can’t.” His hands shook as they clung to you, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. He didn’t care about the battle raging around him. He didn’t care about the blood still staining his hands. All he cared about was you. And you were gone.

He pressed a soft, trembling kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as his tears continued to fall. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind. “I always have. I always will.”

But the pain didn’t go away. It only grew, consuming him like fire, burning through his resolve and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. He didn’t know how to go on. He didn’t know if he could.

Because a world without you wasn’t a world worth living in.

Jake’s trembling hands slowly reached for the pendant around your neck—the one he’d given you months ago, after you’d bested him in a sparring match. It was simple, unassuming, but it had meant the world to him when you’d accepted it. Now, it was all he had left of you. He unclasped it with shaking fingers, clutching it tightly in his palm as if it were the only thing tethering him to what little sanity he had left.

“I’ll see you again,” he whispered, his voice so broken it was barely audible. “I promise. I’ll come to you. Just… wait for me.”

As the battle raged on, Jake didn’t care about the outcome anymore. He didn’t care about the gods or their games, or the war that had taken everything from him. All he cared about was the promise he’d just made. To you. To the only person who had ever truly mattered.

a/n: oooooooooookay! so this marks the last fic of 2024 :) wooow... what a year. Thanks for all the birthday wishes <33 Love all of youu! Now time to get drunk, ugh i need it after this year. Reblogs and commentary are welcomed <3

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[ponderingmoonlight]

gojo x wife! y/n where megumi slips up and calls y/n mom since she helped raise him and gojo starts thinking about how they would be as parents?

Got ya! Love this request, hope you enjoy <3

Megumi accidentally calling Satoru's wife "mum"

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Synopsis: basically the request above lol

Warnings: this is pure fluff so enjoy, wrote this on my way to Disneyland so look over any spelling mistakes lol

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul

Megumi always admired your tenderness. Since the day he met you when he was just a kid, you have grown on him like no one else. It seemed like you genuinely cared about him and his sister throughout this entire time, standing up for him when needed while leaving him for rest when he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Despite being the longtime girlfriend and now wife of a chaotic person like Gojo Satoru, you never lost your spark, your cool temper, your striking beauty. You are simply always the (y/n) he knows and secretly admires from head to toe. He never truly admitted it, but to him, you are like a mother, one of the most important people in his life, the pivotal point of his decisions.

It shouldn’t have been such a big surprise then when he accidentally called you mom in front of basically everyone.

A brief moment of thoughtlessness in the middle of pure chaos. He didn’t put much thought into his words until they eventually slipped off his tongue with no turning back.

“Can we talk about this later mom?”

Gojo stand right by your side, hand casually placed around your hip like usual when his eyes dart towards Megumi immediately. Did he hear that correctly? Did Megumi-chan just call you “mom”?

“What did you just say, Megumi-chan?”

Fuck fuck fuck. A wave of embarrassment rolls over Megumi immediately, gaze fixed to the ground. He just called you mom. Fuck, he just called you mom! Not only in front of Gojo, but Yuji, Nanami and Nobara. This is bad. Very very bad.

“Megumi…”, you breathe out, tears stinging in your eyes immediately.

While you were always keen to give Megumi the best life possible in this cruel world, you never imagined that he’d see you as someone this important in his life. You it’s not always easy, living with Satoru and you. After all, he is the most chaotic person you know while you are the complete opposite of him. It never seemed as if Megumi enjoyed your company this much. While staying with you more than with Satoru, nothing like that ever slipped off his tongue.

But right now, he called you mom. He really called you mom.

“Sorry”, he mumbles, turning away from your widen eyes.

Fuck, how embarrassing. You must think he’s a total freak for saying something like that. Especially given the fact that you and Satoru don’t have any kids yet. Was has gotten into him?

Nanami’s eyes are darted towards him in silence, Nobara and Yuji giggling to themselves while all Megumi is able to do is hiding his blushing face in his uniform. He needs to get away from here. Fast.

Faster than any of you are able to react, he storms out of the room, leaving especially Satoru and you in pure shock.

“I think he really called you mom, darling”, Satoru breathes out.

You wipe your eyes, tears threatening to fall down your eyes.

“I never thought he’d see me like this. It might seem a little stupid, but…Megumi is like a son to me. To know that he feels the same about me is just…so overwhelming…”

Satoru can’t help but admire you. That little blush that creeps up your face, how you smile into yourself like a little child. All these nights you spent by Megumi’s side, caring for him and his sister when sick, having serious conversations with him when he caused trouble.

It dawns to him. You’d be such a good mom. In fact, this is what you already are to Megumi. All this time, Satoru never thought about having his own kids. Still being young, putting you and potential kids in the risk of this cruel world. But seeing you like this, all flustered by Megumi’s innocent words, totally amazed by the word “mum”. Maybe, just maybe…The thought of a baby in your arms crosses his mind, how you hold its tiny hands while humming it to sleep.

“I will look after him”, you announce, fumbling with your hands nervously while everyone around you just stands there bamboozled.

“Hey”, you greet him gently, sitting down beside him on the bench that overlooks the whole area.

His head rests in his hands, gaze fixed on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to say that”, he begins rapidly.

You bring your legs up, hugging them tightly while smiling down at him.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all. It’s just that…I never thought you’d see me as something other than Satoru Gojo’s wife. But I don’t want to interpret too much into it. After all, it was just a slip of your tongue, right? Just wanted to make sure you don’t feel bad or something. Don’t worry about it.”

With one gentle rub of his back you get back up, ready to leave when he suddenly grabs your hand.

“This wasn’t an accident. I never got to know my biological mum. And since the day I’ve met Satoru and you, you were always something like a mother to me. I really admire and appreciate you, (y/n).”

Oh. Your eyes begin to water all over again, you can’t help but swallow him with your arms.

“I feel the same, ‘Gumi”, you matter against the crook of his neck, careful not to touch his hair.

“Now now, what’s going on here? Are you stealing my girlfriend, Megumi-chan?” Satoru’s voice suddenly questions from behind, making Megumi jump out of your grasp in an instant.

“You know you have a real talent for ruining someone’s moment, right?”, you comment dryly.

“See you, Megumi.”

With Satoru’s hand holding onto yours tightly, you wander down the way to Jujutsu High. What a precious boy he is. You couldn’t be prouder of Megumi. And knowing that you had such an effect on him…You feel like crying all over again.

“I hope you told them not to make fun of Megumi for saying that”, you break the silence, earning a little chuckle from Satoru.

“Nanami did that for me, don’t worry. What did you talk about earlier?”

“Just wanted to make sure he isn’t embarrassed and that I know it was just a slip of the tongue. Nothing to put too much thought in. But it seems like he really sees me as something like a…mother figure, I guess.”

“Doesn’t surprise me the slightest.”

Huh? Your eyes dart towards him, feet stopping right in their tracks.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, when he had to draw something, it was always the dogs, you and him. You holding his hand, you cooking, you kicking someone’s ass. Don’t you remember how everyone always thought you are his mother? All those years he looked up to you. It doesn’t surprise me that he sees you as his mum. But I should have seen it sooner, what a great mother you’d be.”

His explanation makes your heart skip a beat. Over the last years, you never lost a word over something like kids or being parents. After all, your situation was clear: you live in a world full of danger and death. No child should have to deal with this right from the start. But the way he looks at you with a warm smile, hand holding onto yours tightly. Does he mean…?

“I don’t know, Megumi’s words made me think about having our own kids.”

“Our own kids?”

You can’t believe your ears. Even though you never admitted it towards Satoru, the thought of having children definitely fills your heart with nothing but joy. And especially his kids…

“You already have been and would be such a great mother. What do you say, (y/n)? Mind if we try it?”

You aren’t able to answer. Instead, you let yourself fall into his already opened arms, giggling like an idiot. A child with Satoru Gojo, the love of your life. Yeah, this doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, this sounds like heaven itself.

“I take this as a yes.”

“I’d love that”, you breathe out, pressing your lips against his longingly.

“You’d be such a great dad. I just know it”, you huff against his mouth, heart jumping up and down in joy.

“Even though I told Nobara and Yuji to make at least a little fun of Megumi-chan?”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

[blackenedsnow]

SHADOW X MOBIAN!READER REQUEST PLEASE

Here’s a funny fanfic idea, Shadow finds out his gf is an active 4chan member so he looks into 4chan to y’know bond with each other more but he finds the interesting content on the sites like When 4chan sent Taylor swift to a deaf kid school, when 4chan tried to send Justin biber to North Korea,Mlp rainbow dash jar,the time they hacked a website so the founder of 4chan would be the number 1 of time 100 etc etc

dark corners

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: LMAO. This was such a fun idea to write! Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY: Shadow, in an attempt to bond with you, stumbles across 4chan.... He just wanted to understand his girlfriend more.

"What is this?" Shadow muttered, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the glowing screen in front of him.

He had never considered himself a tech-savvy hedgehog, but recently, he had become curious about something you had mentioned in passing—your involvement in 4chan. At first, it seemed harmless enough, just another strange part of the world he didn't quite understand. But after hearing you talk about it with a strange mix of excitement and amusement, he figured he'd give it a shot.

"I’m sure it’s just a place for people to talk and share ideas," he'd told himself confidently. "It’ll be easy to understand. I’ll know more about her. We’ll bond."

The moment he typed “4chan” into the search bar, he realized that things weren’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped. The first thing he clicked on was a post about Taylor Swift almost being sent to a deaf school. He blinked, rereading it. Did they really do that?

Curiosity gnawed at him. He clicked deeper.

Then there was the one about Justin Bieber almost being sent to North Korea. Shadow's face twisted into a scowl. "What is wrong with these people?"

And then there were the pictures. The ones with Rainbow Dash. In a jar. Shadow leaned forward, squinting at the screen as his mind struggled to process what he was looking at.

His thoughts grew more complicated as he kept scrolling, he found posts about hacking, pranks, and more absurdities. The chaos of it all was overwhelming. He was beginning to feel like he had made a grave mistake, thinking he could understand the appeal of this “4chan.”

"How does this have anything to do with her?" he muttered to himself, trying to make sense of it. "This is pure madness."

Later that evening, you walked into the room, your eyes lighting up when you saw Shadow at the desk.

“Hey, Shadow! What’s up?” you asked, casually flopping onto the couch.

Shadow looked at you, a little uncomfortable. “I… I did what you said. I looked at 4chan. I thought I might understand you better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And?”

Shadow hesitated, trying to collect his thoughts. “I… I don’t think I understand anything anymore.” He ran a hand through his quills in frustration. “Why would people… Why do they even do these things?”

You blinked, your lips twitching into a smile as you tried to hold back laughter. “Oh, you found that stuff, huh?”

“Found it? I was bombarded by it.” Shadow slumped into the chair, exasperated. “How can you enjoy a place like this?"

You chuckled, sitting up and giving him a playful look. “Yeah, it’s definitely weird. But that’s kind of the fun of it. It’s like... the internet's version of a circus. Weird stuff happens, and we just roll with it.”

Shadow sighed, rubbing his temples. “I feel like I’ve entered an alternate dimension. How is this supposed to help me understand you more?”

You smiled warmly, moving over to sit beside him. "Psh, who cares! Just appreciate it."

Shadow raised an eyebrow. “Appreciating chaos…” He took another look at the screen. “I suppose I did learn that I can’t understand a single thing that happens here. But... I’m still willing to try.”

Your grin softened, and you gently took his hand. "Hey, if you find yourself getting lost, at least you know now why I laugh so hard at this stuff.”

Shadow sighed, looking at the screen again. “If I must… But if I see one more pony....jar.... I swear I’ll…” He trailed off, trying to think of a fitting threat. But he couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. Maybe this was something they could bond over.

[rafestify]

if you’re taking requests maybe tough rafe with anxious/shy reader and he’s only soft with her <3

By My Side — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Rafe's supportive presence helps Shy!Reader feels safe and less anxious in busy situations

Rafe Cameron x Shy!Reader

Warning : none, just pure fluff (english is not my first language)

A/N : this one's pretty short, just around 930 words :D

Rafe was acutely aware of my aversion to crowds, always picking up on the subtle shifts in my demeanor that betrayed my discomfort. In those bustling environments, the vibrant, bubbly girl he adored would vanish, replaced by a quieter version of myself—a shy girl who trailed behind him like a lost puppy searching for comfort and familiarity. As laughter and chatter swirled around us, I felt the weight of the crowd pressing in, each unfamiliar face amplifying my unease. Rafe, ever observant, would often glance back at me with a reassuring smile, a silent promise that I wasn’t alone in this sea of strangers. His presence became my anchor, grounding me as I navigated the chaos, reminding me that even in the most crowded places, I could still find solace in him.

At that moment, I felt like I was trailing after Rafe at my family’s business event, anxiety washing over me like a cold wave. “Do I really have to do this?” I asked, glancing up at him, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping he might offer an escape.

“Well, your dad’s counting on you,” he replied, his tone gentle yet encouraging, paired with a smile that lifted the heaviness in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the speech my father had insisted I deliver, my fingers fidgeting nervously in my lap. Rafe caught my gaze and, sensing my apprehension, said with a soft chuckle,

“Stop that,” He warned, as he held my hand to stop the fidgeting, and the warmth of his grip on my hand was instantly calming. “You've got this, baby,” he added, his confidence in me a steady anchor as I prepared to face the crowd.

Finally, the moment had arrived for me to deliver my speech. As I stepped forward to face the guests, my heart raced and my palms grew clammy. I took a deep breath, introducing myself with a shaky voice, clearing my throat in an attempt to steady my nerves. The sea of expectant faces blurred together, their expressions a mix of curiosity and encouragement, but the absence of notes made my anxiety spike. I felt exposed, as if standing on a tightrope without a safety net. As I began to speak, my mind raced through the words I had practiced, but doubt crept in, threatening to derail me. I focused on a few friendly faces in the crowd, reminding myself that I wasn’t alone. With Rafe’s reassuring presence lingering in my mind, I gathered my thoughts and pressed on, determined to make my voice heard despite the overwhelming tide of nerves threatening to pull me under.

Surprisingly, it all unfolded so quickly that before I knew it, I was wrapping up my speech, my heart racing with a mix of relief and exhilaration. As I stepped down from the makeshift stage, I spotted Rafe standing there, his warm smile instantly calming my frayed nerves. I let out a deep sigh of relief.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, pride radiating from his expression as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed a gentle kiss on my cheek.

“You were amazing,” he added, his words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

“Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over,” I admitted, still catching my breath.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N”

A blush crept up my cheeks at his praise, and we began to weave our way back through the crowd, the noise and chatter fading into the background. “Thank you, Rafe,” I said, leaning into him a little more as we navigated the throngs of people. He glanced down at me, his expression softening. “No need to thank me, baby. I’ll always have your back.”

As we reached a quieter corner of the venue, I could finally breathe easier, the pressure of the spotlight lifting. “How about we celebrate with a drink? A champagne sounds perfect,” he suggested, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Absolutely,” I replied, feeling a sense of lightness wash over me.

As we approached the bar, I felt the tension of the evening dissipate. The clinking of glasses and soft music created a cozy atmosphere. Rafe leaned in closer, his voice playful. “You know, I might just have to get you a champagne every time you face a crowd. It seems to bring out the best in you.”

“Maybe it will become my secret weapon,” I joked, smiling at the thought.

When we reached the bar, Rafe ordered our drinks, and I took a moment to soak in the ambiance—the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses—a far cry from the anxiety that had gripped me just moments before. As the bartender prepared our drinks, I turned to Rafe, my heart swelling with gratitude. “I really couldn’t have done it without you. You always know how to make me feel safe.”

He grinned, handing me my drink as the bartender set down two perfectly chilled champagnes. “To you,” he said, raising his glass. “And to facing fears.”

I clinked my glass against his, the sound a tiny but significant celebration of the night. With the first sip of the smooth champagne, I felt a wave of relaxation wash over me. “I think I could get used to this.” I remarked, savoring the moment.

The night was still young, and I realized that if I could face the crowd and deliver that speech, I could take on anything. With Rafe by my side, I felt ready to embrace whatever came next.

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🐇🪷

[mysteria157]

Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader

Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!

Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.

But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.

You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.

Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!

Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network

JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.

You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.

You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.

The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.

Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.

Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.

Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.

Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.

You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.

The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.

Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.

“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”

Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.

You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.

Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.

An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.

Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.

You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.

Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.

The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.

Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.

Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.

Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—

Hemlock

A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.

You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.

With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.

While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.

You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.

The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.

You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.

On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.

It is a book.

A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.

Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.

You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.

Do not open it.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

Do not look inside.

These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…

Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.

Do not look at it for longer than necessary.

You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.

It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.

It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.

But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.

Do not open it.

You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.

But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.

In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.

“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”

But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.

Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.

You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—

“What do we have here?”

The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.

You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.

But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.

When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.

He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.

He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.

The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.

He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.

He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.

And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.

Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?

Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.

But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?

You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.

“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”

The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.

“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.

He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.

He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.

This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.

Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.

But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.

“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”

You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.

“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.

A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.

“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.

The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.

“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.

His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.

“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”

Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.

“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”

“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.

“I would not steal.”

“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”

You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.

“I was invited.”

You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.

“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.

“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.

The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”

You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.

You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—

The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.

“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.

The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—

The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.

“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.

“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”

Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.

“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”

“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”

The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.

“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”

Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.

“Lies.”

Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”

“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”

“No.”

“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.

“Give it—”

“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”

“To you…”

“An offering, little angel.”

The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.

“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”

The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.

The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.

“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”

But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.

“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?

You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.

“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”

“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.

You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.

Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?

“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”

You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?

“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”

The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.

“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”

You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”

The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”

You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”

“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”

You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.

“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.

“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”

The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.

“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”

He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.

“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”

A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.

“Even so…I cannot leave?”

He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.

“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”

Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.

“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.

The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.

“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”

You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.

You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.

“Anything?”

He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.

“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.

The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”

You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.

“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.

When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.

From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.

“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”

Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.

Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.

He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.

“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”

You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.

“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”

“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”

The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”

Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.

“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.

“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”

Power.

A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.

The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.

“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.

Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.

“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.

“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”

You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.

“Freedom to roam where you wish.”

Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.

His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.

Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.

He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.

“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”

His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.

“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”

His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.

“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”

“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.

“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”

His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”

You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”

“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”

The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.

All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.

Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.

For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…

“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.

His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”

Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”

You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.

The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.

He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.

What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.

Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.

He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.

A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.

His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.

“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”

He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.

He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.

You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.

You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.

“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.

You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.

With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.

“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.

His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.

Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.

He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.

“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”

All of you?

You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.

He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.

He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.

He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.

You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.

As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.

“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.���

The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.

The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.

He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.

The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.

One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.

“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.

You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.

The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.

The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.

“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.

You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.

“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”

“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—

The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.

He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.

He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.

What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.

The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.

You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.

“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”

“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”

His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”

You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.

“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”

You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.

“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”

Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.

The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.

Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.

“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”

“Please what?” he groans.

“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.

“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”

You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.

“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”

His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.

The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.

“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”

His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.

“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.

All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.

You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.

You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.

Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.

“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”

“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”

Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.

“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.

His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.

He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.

He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.

He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.

You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.

He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.

Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.

He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.

The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.

Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.

He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.

Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.

With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.

Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.

The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.

As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.

It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.

Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!

[maybankswhore]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏.

summary: rafe can’t seem to let you go and his mind oftens wonders what it would be like , if you had been the one.

lyrics: “ but we were something , don’t you think so? roaring 20’s tossin’ pennies in the pool. . . and if my wishes came true , it would’ve been you. ” & “ you know the greatest loves of all time are over now. ”

folklore masterlist. . .

Rafe knew that this would be the outcome. God , did he know.

He wasn’t going to be the one. The one that you chose to love. Choose to marry , to have children with , to grow old with. He knew that and still— still , he couldn’t help but think that if everything was different ; if this situation wasn’t what it was and it was just you and him , that he would’ve been.

If one thing had been different , would everything be different today?

He wanted to believe it would be.

Rafe couldn’t quite understand what had made him love you the way he did. It wasn’t a gradual love. It wasn’t the type of love that took weeks to fester up and build until it boiled over. He didn’t have to know you to know that he loved you because even thinking back to that first night on the beach— he felt it.

He felt that overwhelming feeling of pure happiness. You made him feel seen , understood. There was this warmth about you that invited him in and helped him feel safe. You were comforting. You were everything Rafe missed out on in life.

You opened up a whole new set of emotions for him. A new way of thinking , a different perspective. Suddenly the world wasn’t black and white anymore , you had colored it in the most beautiful shades of blue and orange. He could look at the sunset and be in awe like he was watching it for the very first time. He could look out into the water and appreciate how the sky reflected off the currents and twinkled from the sun.

Everything about you had consumed it and it changed him. Truly. Loving you had changed his entire life and he wanted to experience this new life , this new perspective , with you.

But he couldn’t. And he had to learn to be okay with that and Rafe just didn’t know how to handle it. As beautiful as life seemed with you , it hurt to want to enjoy this newfound freedom of it all without you because you were the one who brought him there.

For years , he had always known himself to not be the person who got swept away with things like this. But somehow , Rafe did. He did the one thing he always told himself he wouldn’t. And then it all slipped through his fingers like the sand that they used to sit on.

To him , she was the one. The one who had came crashing into his life without any warning , so much force— like a hurricane , obliterating everything in his path. A hurricane of emotion , pulling him in and leaving him breathless.

Rafe didn’t realize it until it was all over of how much of himself he had given to you , how much of the chaos redefined the calm. And when it ended , Rafe told himself over and over he would be fine. He lived in this delusional world where he could forget all about it. That none of it would matter.

But he was sorely mistaken.

It ripped him apart. Tore him open. Left him aching and sore.

Rafe understood. He did. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. It hadn’t stopped him from remembering every moment they had together. He could still feel your tenderness , he could still picture your smile. Thinking about it , Rafe knew why JJ loved you so much because who wouldn’t? Rafe was sure that anyone that every gotten the chance , the blessing , of coming across you in their life , would fall in love with you too.

Rafe often times thought of the last time he saw you. Thunder cracking behind you as you walked up , giving him that feeling of impending doom. He watched as you walked with droplets of rain pitter pattering against your skin— a solemn expression on your face as you did so.

“JJ’s back.”

You said it so quietly , he almost missed it. You refused to look at him and Rafe couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His chest ached and his stomach was sick. In that moment he wondered if he hated you. . . then he realized he never could.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

The question hung over them , suffocating you. You winced at that.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

You. . . You never meant to hurt him yet here he was with all this unimaginable hurt. Pain overcame him and Rafe knew that you didn’t mean to but that fact didn’t erase it or make it any better.

“I just. . . I love him , Rafe.”

Rafe pursed his lips. “So what about me then? Did I mean anything to you? Did this summer mean anything?”

The silence between them was deafening. All the facts laid out on the table caused it shake , threatening to collapse. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Rafe didn’t know if it was because you felt guilt or shame. In the same breath , as he looked at you , his eyes held a mixture of devastation and understanding.

“This isn’t about us. Or what we had. It’s about me. What I was losing and what I was searching for.” You tried to make sense of it all or justify it but you knew that you couldn’t. Rafe did mean something to you. You loved him.

But you loved JJ more.

“And this is what you want?” Rafe sniffed. Stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring off into the ocean as if they could reach him , take him away and drown him from this nightmare. “You’re sure of it?”

“I’m sorry , Rafe.” Was all you could say. And he knew what it meant.

Taking in a deep breath , he took a step towards you. His hand slid around your jaw , helping you look up at him. Rafe looked at you. Studying your face so he’d never forget it. A sad smile on his face as he did so. “I’ll always love you. You know that right?”

You fluttered your eyes closed. Tears prickled the corner of your eyes at his words. “I wish you wouldn’t.” You whispered , and Rafe’s chest squeezed tightly.

Half smile and eyes hazy , Rafe leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He squeezed his eyelids shut , forcing himself to swallow the grief that threatened to consume him and breathed you in one last time before he turned away , and walked in the opposite direction of you.

He couldn’t help but wish he would’ve been the one.

TAGLIST . . . @redhead1180 @eddsthemunson @riaras-everthroner @valuunit @a-lovers-card @shayofandoms @thoughtfulbouquetalpaca @auroramadelyn @itwas-maroon16 @lilahrosee @

[its-avalon-08]

Hiiiii!! Can I request a daniel ricciardo x driver! reader? Like a grumpy! reader x sunshine! danny? with a hint of friends to lovers but the grid doesn’t know?

I was so excited to see someone open their request and can’t wait to read everythinggggg! Super grateful for the opportunity🫶 may you have a great time writing<3

Ps. It’s totally okay if this doesn’t get a response, I still look forward reading your other works ❤️

she's my grump

the monaco grand prix was always a whirlwind. the air crackled with champagne and exhaust fumes, celebrities swarmed the paddock, and for danny ricciardo, it was pure electric. but amidst the chaos, his gaze always landed on you, his secret weapon – literally and figuratively.

you, (y/n) (l/n), were the engineer who made his car a sleek, purring beast. you were also the complete opposite of him. where danny was sunshine personified, you were a sly smile and a dry wit, a black cat in a room full of golden retrievers. being slightly reserved whilst dating the man with the biggest smile would seem odd to others, but danny loved you in all your light.

"alright team!" danny boomed, his energy radiating as he clapped his hands. "let's make monaco ours!"

you, in redbull uniform, raised an eyebrow. "more coffee, sunshine?" you deadpanned, handing him a steaming mug.

he grinned, taking a swig. "thanks, (y/n). you're a lifesaver." he winked, then lowered his voice conspiratorially, "just remember, if we win, that victory shoey is all yours."

you snorted, a small sound that always tickled danny's heart. "just don't splash champagne on me and make sure you don't scratch the car."

he chuckled, leaning closer. "don't worry, love. i wouldn't dream of it." the last word was barely a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. you were dating for a few months now, a secret you both fiercely guarded. it wasn't because you were ashamed, rather it was to protect both of your personal lives. you had been friends for seven years and dating for one year. all the other drivers loved you and saw you as a little sister. being the polar opposite of daniel, everyone thought you were a match made in heaven.

flashback

the cityscape of singapore twinkled below, a kaleidoscope of neon against the inky night. danny, relaxed after a podium finish, leaned against the balcony railing, a beer balanced precariously in his hand. you perched on a nearby chair, fiddling with a stray napkin. six years of friendship, countless late-night talks, and a simmering desire that threatened to boil over. tonight, you were determined to make a move.

"crazy race, right?" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. you hated how nervous you felt around him, a stark contrast to your usual sharp wit.

danny chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "yeah, those final laps were a heart-stopper. but hey, at least i didn't get sandwiched between bottas and verstappen this time."

you managed a smile. "true. though, witnessing your car-handling skills under pressure is always a treat for the eyes." a teasing lilt crept into your voice, the one that usually made him laugh. but tonight, he just raised an eyebrow, his gaze holding yours.

"so," you continued, feeling a familiar heat creep up your cheeks, "about that victory dinner tomorrow night..."

"yeah?" he prompted, taking a swig of his beer.

"well, i was thinking, maybe we could..." you trailed off, the carefully rehearsed words dissolving on your tongue. frustration bubbled within you. why was this so hard?

"maybe we could what?" danny asked gently, his voice laced with a hint of concern.

you squeezed the napkin in your hand, the flimsy paper threatening to tear. "forget it. it's stupid."

"hey," danny said, setting his beer down and turning to face you fully. his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now soft and serious. "nothing you say is stupid, (y/n)."

you looked away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. "except maybe what i was about to say."

a beat of silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. you felt a tear prick your eye, the frustration morphing into a strange mix of despair and defiance.

"look, danny," you blurted out, your voice shaky, "we've been friends for, what, six years now? we practically share a brain when it comes to the car. but lately... lately, things feel different."

he stepped closer, his presence a tangible warmth in the cool night air. "different how?"

you took a shaky breath. "i don't know how to say this. it's stupid, really. but..." you met his gaze, your voice barely audible, "i think i might be falling for you."

the words hung heavy in the air. a flicker of surprise crossed danny's face, then a slow smile spread across his lips. it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

"you think?" he said, his voice a husky whisper. he cupped your face in his hand, his thumb gently brushing away the stray tear that escaped your eye.

"maybe," you mumbled, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

before you could say anything else, danny closed the gap between you. his kiss was soft, tentative at first, then deepened with a newfound urgency. it was a kiss filled with unspoken desires, a culmination of years of unspoken feelings. you melted into him, the familiar warmth of his friendship now tinged with a passionate intensity that left you breathless.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, you could hear the ragged rhythm of his breath.

"i think i might be falling for you too, (y/n)," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "a lot more than maybe."

a laugh, shaky but genuine, escaped your lips. relief washed over you, mingled with a newfound sense of joy. in the neon glow of singapore night, under the watchful gaze of a million twinkling stars, you knew this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

end of flashback

the qualifying session was a nail-biter. you watched from the pit wall, your fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm against the table. danny caught your eye, flashed a reassuring smile, and then was off, a blur of blue and red. when he secured pole position, the team erupted.

in the celebratory chaos, danny spotted you amidst the throng, a lone island of calm amidst the cheering. he weaved his way through the crowd, his eyes fixed on you. reaching you, he bent down slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

"ready to celebrate, ms. genius ?" he asked, extending his hand.

you smirked, a playful jab back. "only if it involves avoiding exuberant displays of footwear."

he laughed, a sound that always warmed your heart. "no promises, love," he winked, then surprised you. his hand, instead of taking yours, brushed yours lightly, his pinky extending out and interlocking with yours.

you knew what it meant. a silent exchange in your secret language. a small gesture, easily missed by others, but to you, it was a secret handshake, a whispered affirmation in the middle of the storm. your own pinky curled around his, a silent promise. being a black cat dating the biggest golden retriever

the race was a heart-stopper. strategy calls crackled through your earpiece, fueling your anxiety. finally, the checkered flag fell, and danny emerged victorious. the roar of the crowd was deafening.

as danny jumped out of the car, his helmet still on, he scanned the crowd. his eyes met yours, and a wide grin split his face. he sprinted towards you, the cameras flashing around you. but he ignored them all, reaching you and scooping you into a tight hug.

"we did it, (y/n)!" he shouted, his voice muffled by your silky hair.

you hugged him back tightly, a surge of relief and pride washing over you. in that moment, under the watchful eyes of the oblivious crowd, you knew your secret weapon wasn't just the science behind the car. it was the sunshine-haired driver with whom you shared a silent language, a pinky promise, and a love that thrived even in the whirlwind of monaco.

the other drivers, who had long suspected something between you two, exchanged knowing glances. lewis hamilton raised a knowing eyebrow at max verstappen. "looks like ricciardo found his lucky charm," he remarked.

max just grinned. "more like his secret weapon."

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i hope you enjoyed! happy reading <3 do send in more requests! as for pre existing requests- im working on it! lots of love ava

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