#those parts use the same colors as their skin… why | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 4 months ago

Text

ménage à trois.

pairing ; lestat de lioncourt x vampire!gn!reader x louis de pointe du lac

synopsis ; “you turned him,” you said to lestat with a disapproving frown. louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “you were always the selfish one, weren’t you? i could never have anything for myself.”

words ; 3.8k

themes ; angst, a bit of fluff, vampires, polyamory

warnings / includes ; super toxic throuple dynamics, blood/murder, covers the first two episodes of iwtv, reader is a writer, louis is infatuated <3 and lestat is well... lestat...

there will be a second part (claudia incoming)!

You met Lestat de Lioncourt in 1780—six years after he was turned, and three years after you. It was a wild and tumultuous affair the two of you shared. You and Lestat clashed just as much as you molded together. While he was possessive and greedy, you longed for freedom and space. Eventually, after many bloody rows, the two of you parted ways with reluctant, half-sincere promises of a distant reunion.

Louis de Pointe du Lac was yours before he was Lestat’s, as he oft forgot. By 1908, you were a regular patron of his establishment in New Orleans—though less for the sex and more for the stories. The women there were immeasurably fascinating. With enough liquor and sweet talking, they would answer each and every burning question you had. When Louis caught wind of one of his customers bringing pencils and parchment of all things to the bedrooms, he’d confronted you about it, curious as to what you were doing to the working girls—especially when they always came out flush-faced and giggling.

“I’m a writer,” you told him with a sweet smile. Close-lipped, hiding your fangs. “I hope you don’t mind. The women here have lovely tales to tell.”

Louis returned the grin after a second to overcome his surprise. “I’m sure they do. Why here, though?”

“Your establishment has the highest rates of colored women. Not many are willing to listen to what they have to say.” You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket, and tipped your head down into a nod. “I’d best be leaving. The night is late, and the sun will greet us soon.”

“Not a morning person?” Louis asked, falling into step with you as you made your way to your convertible.

A huff of a laugh fell past your lips. “You could say that, yes.”

From then on, Louis went out of his way to greet you like clockwork. Every Wednesday and Saturday you came, bright-eyed and pencil ready. Those days, Louis watched you come by nightfall and leave before morning dawned, always making sure to exchange pleasantries. One of the nights, you asked if he had any stories to tell you—though there was little talking or writing that night. It was hard to jot down what he was telling you with his head between your thighs.

You were, by no means, a possessive vampire. You liked to keep your options open and drift from place to place. But around a year and a half later, you heard of Lestat landing in New Orleans, sucking the furniture stores and libraries dry—and setting his eyes on Louis. Your Louis.

You and Louis were not lovers, and the same would apply to your and Lestat’s relationship. You would say you were far closer to being friends with the two than lovers. Though… the prospect of love was not a far away concept to you. Not when it came to Lestat and Louis.

“You turned him,” you said to Lestat with a disapproving frown. Louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. Lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that Louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “You were always the selfish one, weren’t you? I could never have anything for myself.”

“I’m sorry, did I spoil your little toy?” Lestat said, leering over you with a grin.

“He wasn’t a toy. He’s a friend.”

The blonde vampire’s hands reached out to caress over your face, soft and cold. “A friend that you fucked.”

“On occasion.” Your nose wrinkled. “You fucked him, too.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. It would have surprised you if Lestat hadn’t fucked Louis.

“Don’t be jealous, my darling,” he said, eyes glinting dangerously. “I’ll fuck you, as well. You need only ask. It has been a long while, no?”

He kissed you then, tasting of sweet blood and sharp wine. As angry as you were with him, you didn’t push him away. With Lestat, it was hard to say no. That morning, you fell asleep in his coffin, limbs woven together. Come sunset, you were already gone.

It took you a few days to get around to forgiving Lestat. Louis made you softer—his inexperience to vampire life was ever so endearing to you. When you explained to Louis that you were also a vampire—one with a deep history with his maker, he stared at you with widened eyes.

“It’s no wonder I never saw you during the day,” he said, Lestat’s arm slung around his shoulder. “But why didn’t you kill any of my girls? How could you resist it?”

“Older vampires find it easier to resist temptation,” you told him with a dangerous, fanged smile. “Besides—I wanted their stories more than I wanted their blood. I can find food… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Louis glanced between you and Lestat, the first thought vanishing from his mind just as quickly as it came. “Wait, were you two—did you… did he turn you, too?”

A bark of a laugh fell from your lips. “Oh, Louis, my dear, no. Lestat may have left hundreds and thousands of fledglings in his bloody wake but I am not one of them. My turning will be a story for another time,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Louis smiled and nodded as if he was in a daze. To his side, Lestat looked visibly annoyed. Whether he was jealous of you or Louis, you couldn’t tell.

Sharing is caring, you greedy whore, you said to him without moving your lips. Lestat only stared at you with those icy blue eyes and huffed out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, since the fledgling has already taken a liking to you, would you like to stay?” Lestat gestured around his decorated halls. “There is more than enough room here for three coffins.”

As always, saying no to Lestat was usually not an option.

“You could just say you’d like me here. Don’t have to be dragging Louis into it,” you told him, patting his chest with a mocking simper.

“Yes, yes, fine—I’d like you to stay, as well. I’ve missed you terribly.” Lestat moved closer to you as if he was going to kiss you, but you leaned away at the last moment and grinned at Louis.

“Louis, hon, how about we get a nice fire started and you tell me all about what mean ol’ Lestat did to you the first few hours of your turning? I love hearing about new vampire experiences. It’s been so long I can hardly remember mine.” You offered Louis your arm and gestured to the living room. The man looked to Lestat, almost as if asking for permission, but turned away just as quickly to take your arm.

Louis, in his hunger and youth, had impulsively killed an important man in town. Lestat had already angrily berated him enough whilst tossing the body into the cremator. You were more gentle with your approach, taking Louis’ hands and goading him to wash the blood off and change into a new set of clothes that weren’t soaked with his kill.

The amusing thought that you and Lestat were raising a child and parenting together briefly crossed your mind. But then again, the two of you had both fucked Louis before and were most definitely going to again in the future, so perhaps it wasn’t the best analogy.

“Here, put this on.” you handed Louis, stripped naked and scrubbed of the blood, a fresh button-down whilst Lestat was off cleaning up the mess Louis had made. “That was real dangerous what you did back there, you know. You’ll get detectives sniffing around and swarming you like ants to a honey pot. They don’t take kindly to black folk, neither.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging on the shirt. “I was hungry.”

“I know,” you parroted, though your tone was considerably softer. You placed your cold palm against Louis’ face and he leaned into it for a few silent moments. “Just be more careful next time, alright? Lestat and I have centuries of experience between us—you can trust us.”

Louis’ face contorted at the realization. “Sometimes I forget that this is gon’ be forever. That I won’t just wake up and you two will be gone. That I’ll be human again and my brother will still be around and my ma would still be asking me to come over to her house for dinner every Sunday.”

“Forever isn’t always a bad thing,” you said, voice soft and soothing. “It is daunting, yes, but you still live from day to day just as the mortals do. You’ll grow more comfortable in your skin with time, I promise.” You hesitated to say the next few sentences. “Lestat, as much as you admire his strength, is just as afraid as you sometimes. He’s afraid of being lonely. I confess, I have been afraid to be lonely more than once myself, but I have made peace with the fact that I will be alone sometimes. Immortal life makes it inevitable. My point is, though… you aren’t alone. Lestat is not as godly as you think he is.”

“And are you?” Louis asked.

“Do you think of me as godly?”

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Most of the time.”

“I’m still a person,” you reassured him. “Lost to time, perhaps, but a person nonetheless. And you are, too.”

Your words seemed to placate Louis, though only momentarily. He parted his mouth open to say more, but Lestat dramatically stormed in the room, expression still creased with anger. After decades upon decades of knowing him, you knew by now that he would get over it eventually—it wasn’t really that big of a deal. But Louis, quite shaken up by the kill and his maker furious with him, couldn’t shrug it off as easily as you. The two of them went to their respective coffins angrily.

Hours later, whilst you were writing up drafts of your most recent discussions with a few townspeople, you heard the two of them quietly exchange words of apology and plans for the future from their coffins. You smiled down to yourself. The romance between them was strong, you knew. You wondered if you ever had the same connection with Lestat. Or even Louis. You were growing quite fond of him. And you’d always been fond of Lestat, even though he irritated you to no end.

When Louis bought the most expensive, the biggest, and the brightest club in the district, he made sure to pay all the working girls and musicians twice what they earned before. The doors were now open to anyone, not just folks with light skin. And he even had a room especially booked for you—always decked with the finest pencils and pens and papers and books and the most heavenly chairs imaginable—Louis was a man who thought out your every need. It startled you to think that your fondness for him may be far greater than just fondness. How would Lestat feel about you falling in love with his fledgling? Louis was yours first. And before that, you and Lestat were also each other’s for a time.

With Louis still at the club entertaining guests, Lestat heard your thoughts as soon as you returned from your work—you didn’t bother hiding your mind from him, because he had ways of getting information out of you regardless.

“I don’t mind,” he said, greeting you as you changed out of your attire into more comfortable clothes for home. He hung by the doorway for a moment before slinking closer to you, running his hands up and down your bare skin. “We can share, my love. I don’t mind—not with you. And I’m sure Louis wouldn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Rather presumptuous of you,” you replied.

“Not presumptuous if you’re thinking it,” Lestat said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then several more up your neck. “Don’t resist us. It can be the three of us together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“There’s a reason I left you in the first place,” you whispered. “You are possessive and mean when you want to be.”

Lestat tilted your face so his lips hovered just an inch over yours. “That may be true… but you’ll stay for Louis.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you better than anyone undead or alive.

“I will.”

“Good,” he said, and then kissed you as if he was going to devour you whole.

Many moons later, you walked into one of the house’s many bedrooms, about to enquire if either of the vampires had seen your notebook lying around anywhere, when you saw Louis lying on the bed, tears of red slipping down his face. Lestat dabbed the blood away with a napkin.

“What’s going on?” you asked with a concerned tone, sitting down next to him on the mattress opposite Lestat.

“My nephew,” Louis practically spat out the words as if they had scorched his tongue. “I was so afraid I would… I could hear his heart—his tiny little heart—and I wanted to rip it out and eat it. I’m a monster.”

There was a moment of silence as you studied the young fledgling.

“If you’re a monster, what does that make me?” you whispered, leaning down to press your nose to the back of his ear. “You didn’t kill him, Louis.”

“No, but I could have.” Another bloody tear slipped down his eye and slotted against his nose bridge.

Whilst Lestat wiped his face again, he said, “You have to stop seeing them, Louis. They’ll grow fearful of you if they haven’t already.”

“No,” said Louis, voice hoarse and quiet. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s a rite of passage for all of us,” Lestat went on. “If you love your family, as I know you do, spare them all the pain that you are causing them.” Knowing Lestat’s relationship with his mother, you found his words quite ironic. Louis didn’t need to know about that right now, though.

“My siblings spent many decades looking for me once I ‘disappeared’,” you told Louis. “It hurt to distance myself from them, but I was protecting them.”

Louis glanced up at you. Sitting with your back to the lit fireplace, there seemed to be an angelic glow framing you. “I didn’t know you have siblings.”

“Had,” you corrected. “They are long gone now, though many of their children’s children and further generations remain. They lived long and happy lives even after I left.”

“I ain’t never gonna have a family of my own, am I?” Louis lamented. “No sons, no daughters.”

It was silent for a moment when you and Lestat locked eyes. The blonde looked back down at his fledgling. “We’re your family, Louis.”

“You should just throw me in the incinerator,” said Louis. “Make another one.”

“What a waste that would be,” Lestat remarked.

You nodded. “And if he did, I would rip him apart limb from limb. You are not replaceable, Louis.”

“The both of us have been on this Earth for around two centuries and we can confidently report that you have no twin,” said Lestat. “No one as angry, as stubborn, as unaccommodating, as maddening—”

Louis frowned. “Sound like trash to me—”

“—as loving, as dedicated, as thoughtful, as imperfectly perfect as you’ve become. You’re a challenge every sunset, Saint Louis. We’d have it no other way.” Lestat waited a second before nudging you to agree with him.

“Yes,” you jumped to say, perhaps a second late. “Louis, hon, I don’t want to force you not to see your family. You’re free to tell them the truth if you’d like. Let them see you as a monster, as a murderer—because they certainly won’t see you in the same way we do. I’m just saying… letting them go may be the less painful option.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Though he said nothing, you knew that he knew you were right.

“Here’s an idea… let’s take a holiday,” ventured Lestat. “What about Rome?”

“Rome sounds lovely,” you said with an excited grin. It had been a handful of decades since you last stepped in Europe. Most of your recent years had you traveling much of North and South America.

“Rome? Rome, like, Italy?” Louis said, cracking an eye open to scrutinize his lovers.

“Would you prefer Rome, Wisconsin?” Lestat fired back, which made Louis sit up on the bed and shake his head.

“I can’t just pick up and go to Rome. I got a business to run!”

You snaked your arms around Louis from behind and pressed your nose into his neck. You could hear his thoughts of how nice you smelled and smiled against his skin. “I’m sure you have many trusted work buddies that can manage the Azalea for a few days.”

Louis and Lestat bickered some more about transporting the coffins after that, as if they were an old married couple. You only listened in amusement and kissed down Louis' jaw.

Finally, Lestat relented his plans of Rome and instead brandished tickets to another opera.

“I can spend a few days apart from the two of you to go to Rome myself,” you said, arching your back as if you were a cat and sprawling down on the mattress to watch Louis and Lestat upside down. “I can bring back souvenirs. The Italians have the most divine oil paints—”

“Don’t go,” Louis blurted, interrupting you. “Don’t—not yet.”

For a moment, you studied him with curious eyes. His thoughts were telling you he wasn’t sure if he could handle being left on his own with Lestat without you. Codependency was a common trait amongst vampire couples, you knew this, but that didn’t mean it was at all healthy. Nonetheless, you reluctantly nodded. “Alright. I won’t leave. But we do have to get out of the country at some point—it’s important to see more than America, Louis.”

“With that, I concur,” Lestat chimed his agreement. Then, he seized both of your arms and began to drag you off the mattress until you laughed and twisted up to get onto your feet yourself. “Come, my darlings, I’ve had suits made for us.”

There was a methodology to going to the opera to keep eyes off of you. You would go in first, alone. Then Lestat, with Louis walking a pace behind him, masquerading as his valet. It was degrading, all three of you knew. But it was the early 1900s, and there was little more you could do without drawing attention from passersby.

Though the opera was a cheap affair, you were considerably entertained until the tenor entered the stage and began to sing all the wrong notes. To your ears, which were sharp, but not suited to the intricacies of musical notes, his singing was strangely off but still fine. To Lestat, however, he was not at all amused. His jaw muscles clenched and his fingers curled and uncurled over the sheet music he had brought. One glance his way and you already knew he had made his mind on who would be that evening’s supper.

Hours later, when Lestat had taken the young singer to your hotel room, you wondered if he was planning on simply fucking some sense into him before biting into his throat. Instead, Lestat sat down by the piano and played the notes, forcing the singer to sing. He pointed out each and every flaw, tone growing harsher with each mistake.

Louis watched the two with a nauseous stomach and an uneasy mind. You tried to pull him away to another room, tried to kiss him until he forgot about Lestat and his fixation on the poor man, but Louis’ mind was adrift.

“Louis, this is meant to be a vacation,” you reminded him, massaging your fingers over his tense shoulders.

“How can it be a vacation when he’s in the other room about to murder some guy for a note he sang offkey?” Louis asked, a tad too loudly for your preference.

“Lestat gets this way sometimes. You know this by now. He gets angry, he gets sucked in, he gets tunnel vision until something is done exactly how he wants it to be done. It doesn’t affect us, though, not really. Dinner is dinner, Louis.”

Louis crossed his arms. “You have animals for dinner most of the time. And you kill people who deserve it. Lestat, he just—that man could have a family, a whole life ahead of him!”

“The same could be said for the people I’ve killed,” you replied easily.

“No, no, it’s different!” he vehemently said. “You killed the rapists, the child-fiddlers, and even the slave-owners back when they were still around! Lestat, he—”

“I know,” you said, tone firm. “Louis, I know.”

“Do you, though?” Louis shook his head in incredulity at your nonchalance and walked back into the main room where Lestat had just struck the young tenor across his vocal cords, destroying them beyond repair. “Why do you do this, Lestat?”

The blonde licked the blood off his fingers. “Well, I like to do it. I enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Louis. “You don’t have to humiliate him like that.”

In a burst of outrage, Lestat yelled, “Well, I don’t say that you have to enjoy it! Kill them swiftly if you have to, but do it! Embrace what you are! You are a killer, Louis!”

You walked into the room at that, brows furrowed. “Will you two stop it? All this yelling and drama—this was meant to be a vacation!”

“How can it be a vacation when we haven’t even left this damned country?” Lestat bitterly replied. “I should have gone to Italy with you and left Louis here to scavenge through corpses until he rotted away.”

“You don’t mean that,” you angrily said, volume rising. “You’ve had decades to temper your anger issues, and yet you haven’t changed a single bit!”

Lestat raised his nose in defiance, picked up the tenor (who had crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap), and swiftly carried him to the couch where he would slowly drain him of his blood. Louis took to sitting and watching the dying man’s last thoughts. A part of you wondered why, if he was so horrified by Lestat's cruelty, did he bother to stay and watch—though you didn’t stick around to ask. Instead, you retired to the bedchambers without saying goodbye to either of them. Lestat left you a chalice of the singer’s blood by your coffin as an apology of sorts, but it was left untouched.

#lestat de lioncourt x reader #louis de pointe du lac x reader #interview with the vampire fanfiction #iwtv fanfiction #lestat x louis #loustat x reader #louis dpdl x reader #lestat x reader x louis #interview with the vampire #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt fanfiction #louis de pointe du lac fanfiction #lestat de lioncourt #louis dpdl fanfiction #louis dpdl #louis de pointe du lac

1K notes · View notes

loveshotzz · 2 years ago

Text

bartender!eddie x fem!reader Eddie’s night.

🎵my man gives real love that’s why I call him killer, he’s not a ‘wham! bam! thank you ma’am!’ he’s a thriller.🎵

summary: After being stood up on a blind date, the cute bartender you’ve been ‘trying’ not to flirt with keeps you company.

word count: 12.6k

warnings: 90’s AU / 18 + no minors! /eddie is in his early 30’s, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi public smut (p in v), cream pie, dirty talk.

authors note: my love letter to the 90’s 💕after one month of brain storming and three weeks of writing here’s part one of Whatta Man! Eddie’s night. (This is a singular one shot. Steve’s night is part two, can you find the easter eggs for his night 😉)Thank you to my very talented friends who always brain storm with me and share ideas. This fun lil AU wouldn’t have happened with you. ily 💗 edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

You didn’t want to go on this date. Not when your roommate set you up, and you certainly didn’t want to go when he picked The Foxy Lounge. But when Weather Man Mike predicted the first warm day after three months of bitter winter you’d take any excuse to wear your favorite dress.

You’d been here before, always stumbling in after a night out with friends because they were the only 4am place in town. Those late nights turned to early mornings were more of a thing of the past now so when you got to the familiar chipped red door you didn’t recognize the bouncer standing outside. He has a head of honey colored hair that’s just long enough to run his fingers through. His toned frame sits pretty wrapped in a tight black tee and long legs covered in dark wash jeans tight enough for you to really have to focus on keeping your eyes on his face. A freckle covered neck leads to a strong jaw and a chiseled nose. Leaning against the brick wall with his boots crossed at the ankles a toothpick twirls between his straight teeth.

The platform of your sneakers hitting the pavement as you come to a stop and the jingle of your power beads alerts him of your presence, hazel eyes going round like the moon in the sky. Straightening his posture he snatches the tooth pick out of his mouth, stuffing it in his back pocket. You swear you see a Tamagotchi tucked away as he clears his throat with a puff of his chest.

“I.D.?”

Your lips twitch, the forced deep baritone in his voice isn’t fooling you, and you wonder if it fooled anyone when the signature beep of a Tomogatchi pet needing to be fed goes off in his back pocket. He coughs to try to cover the noise while you quickly pull what he needs out of your cross body. Holding it out for him to examine you look up with a glossed smile matching the one in the picture. Narrowing his eyes, you catch a glimmer of playfulness when he clicks on his flashlight.

Examining it like it could be a fake, you bite back a giggle while he turns it around giving it one more once over before handing it back to you with a soft chuckle.

“Funny, we have the same birthday.” His voice comes out normal this time, soft and friendly just like you thought.

“Twins!”

A genuine smile lights up his face like the sign above your head, his boyish features coming out despite the stubble on his chin.

“Might as well call us the Olsen’s.” Throwing you a wink he pulls the gold handle to open the door for you. The sounds of Return of the Mack break through the hums of the street behind you. “Have fun tonight honey, be safe. If anyone bothers you, just come grab me okay? I’m steve.”

Your cheeks heat up at the endearment and you have to remind yourself that you’re here for a date. You catch a hint of his cologne when your shoulder brushes against his chest on your way in, the expensive scent making you dizzy when it hits your senses.

“I will, thanks Steve,”your words are shy when they come out, making his lips twitch in response. Nodding his head, you catch the tinge of pink on his skin before he closes the door with a small wave.

It's even louder inside with the drunk conversations battling for dominance against the music. Tugging nervously at the bottom of your dress you look around the bar for the vague description of this guy Craig your friend gave you.

You scan the crowd a few times before your eyes catch the big brown ones of the bartender. The stool in front of him freeing itself at the same time your eyes connect, the corners of his plush lips pull up as he beckons you over with two heavily ringed fingers. The unruly dark auburn curls that hit just below his shoulders catch the low light behind the bar, the yellow glow softening up all his edges.

Rocking back on your heels you pull the strap of your cross body closer, doing your best to collect yourself before you push through the crowd accepting his invitation. His smile widens, pulling up his stubble covered cheeks to reveal a set of perfect white teeth to you. The one you give him in return comes out a little shy as you plop down on the ripped vinyl that matches the red of the door.

Ink litters his arms disappearing under the frayed ends of his sleeves letting you know there was more under the tight fit of his worn faded black Metallica shirt. The two rips near the collar give you a glimpse of the chain wrapped around his neck. The scruff lining his jaw adds a few years from afar but from this close he looks your age. The silver hoop in his nose catches against the bright lighting under the bar like the rings adoring his fingers. Pulling out two empty shot glasses with a twirl he quickly fills them up with Jameson.

“This one’s on the house sweetheat, it’ll help make your date cuter.” He winks with a sly grin, your stomach flutters with his full attention on you like this.

The glass is heavy in your grasp as you stare at the dark liquid with a faint grimace. His low chuckle catches your attention before the pop and hiss of the soda fills your ears. As if reading your mind he slides over a coke, letting you keep your pride by not having to ask for a chaser.

“How do you know I’m here for a date?” Raising a questioning brow, the sides of your lips twitch as you struggle to hold a straight face. “A girl can’t come to the bar alone on a Friday night?”

The chocolate in his eyes lights up at your playful banter, slinging a white towel over his shoulder he leans in, forearms pressing hard against the counter as he invades your space. The spice of his cologne and the burn of cigarette smoke joins with him and you find yourself sucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Are you telling me you’re available then?” Dropping his voice low enough to feel between your legs, you wished more than anything you had a different answer to give him.

The heaviness of his gaze has your cheeks warming, the intensity of the eye contact forcing your gaze away for a second as you clear your throat. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear you muster enough courage to meet his eyes again.

“N-no unfortunately, you were right.” Exaggerating a heavy sigh, his confident demeanor never wavers despite his confirmed suspicions.

“Unfortunately is right, huh?” Winking, he pushes back leaving only the lingering scent of his cologne raising his shot in an offering of cheers. “To what could have been, baby.”

A giggle bubbles past your lips when his fingers brush against yours meeting in the middle with a clink. Downing his shot like a professional, he’s left to watch the way you struggle with yours. Amusement is evident on his face while he watches the way your throat stays unwilling to open. Holding the alcohol in your mouth longer than anyone would want, it finally gives in letting the bitter liquid go down with a bite. Pushing the can of coke towards you with his knuckles, his laugh booms loud from his chest as you search for reprieve in the sweetness with desperation.

Chugging with abandon, you forget your surroundings for a second before your eyes meet his over the rim of the can and it’s almost enough to have you snort the rest of it all over yourself.

Coming up for air you grumble a half assed “shut up” doing your best to try and fight the smile begging to spread across your lips as you wipe them with the back of your hand.

“Not a whiskey girl I take it?” Punctuating the ‘t’ harder than normal, his teasing falls on deaf ears when you get distracted at the way his thick fingers wrap around the shot glasses.

“Not a shot girl in general, I’d rather not taste the alcohol if I can help it.” Shrugging, you trace invisible patterns on the sticky quartz of the bar top with french tipped nails silently reminding yourself for the second time tonight you’re here for a date.

“So how’d you two meet?” He raises his voice so it comes out sickly sweet while a shaker and a lemon appears in his hands. Setting them down on top of the worn jagermeister logo that covers the drink mat he starts rolling the fruit against his palm.

“We haven’t met yet actually, a friend set us up.”

Eddie’s movements freeze for a second, eyebrows furrowing together in a look of confusion as if that was the craziest thing that anyone had ever told him. He grabs the bottle of simple syrup adding more to what looked like it was going to be a sweet drink before he answers.

“Someone like you shouldn’t need to be set up, sweetheart.” He looks up at you from under the hood of his lashes quickly picking up on the effect he has on you.

He twirls another empty glass onto the counter top before he smashes the lid of the shaker on, not giving you a chance to respond he starts shaking it louder than you know is necessary. The bats tattooed on his arm dance across the muscles with the flex of every flick of his wrist.

“Really? Laying it on thick, huh?” Raising your voice enough to know he could hear you, he taunts you by cupping his free hand over his ear to make a show of pretending he can’t, mouthing a ‘sorry’ with a smirk. The laugh he earns from when he finally relents is the prettiest sound he thinks he’s ever heard.

“Well I hope this ‘friend’ has a good vetting process. No less than three interviews or no dice.” He pours your drink with panache, like he’s putting on a show for you, like you’re sure he does with all the other girls.

Grabbing a straw he plugs one end with his index finger before he dips it into the slightly lighter liquid. The heat between your legs becomes almost unbearable when his lips wrap around the end tasting his creation with a low groan, his pink tongue pokes out to collect the sweetness left behind.

“I think, I think you’re gonna like this one. It’s an Eddie Munson original, I’m calling it "Wasting Love.” The roll of your eyes makes him bark out another laugh. The signs of the smoke you smell on him are more noticeable in this one’s rumble.

“I wonder what could have inspired it?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you knew you shouldn’t be flirting with him while you waited for Craig, but you can’t help yourself. Besides, he was already ten minutes late.

“I think you know what inspired it sweetheart, I can tell you’re not just some pretty face.” Dimples poking through his cheeks, he finally takes notice of the glares from the customers filling up the bar. Everyone’s patience starting to wear thin while they waited for whatever this was to be over.

“I gotta stop ignoring all the other people in here real quick, but I’ll be back for your review.” He throws you another wink and it has you shifting in your seat as he starts to walk away.

“Wait! I never opened a tab!” Calling after him as you reach for your purse, he tuts loudly, turning around to face you, continuing his path walking backwards.

“You shouldn’t be paying for a thing tonight, gorgeous.” He waves his hand dismissively before his back is to you again giving his undivided attention to the bearded man who looked ready to murder the carefree metal head if he didn’t get his Bud Light in the next five seconds.

Trying not to get too caught up in someone that wasn’t your date you timidly bring the straw to your lips. Humming appreciatively when the sweetness hits your tastebuds you’re pleasantly surprised at how much you actually like it. Feeling bold enough to take a bigger gulp, you look around for Craig again. So lost in the little bubble you had been in with Eddie you didn’t realize how much more the bar had filled up since you arrived. A new kind of rowdy energy in the air — the low murmurs of conversation get loud enough to drown out Semi- Charmed Kinda Life.

Glancing down at your pink swatch watch, your date was now twenty minutes late. Turning around to check and make sure the lavender cross body you told him to look for was visible, you crane your neck around looking one last time. It’s easy to shrug off the sinking feeling of rejection when you turn back around to watch Eddie in his natural habitat.

He moves behind the bar like he’s been doing it his whole life, like everything was muscle memory. As if he could feel you staring he catches your gaze throwing you a smirk before he tosses a bottle of tequila in the air catching it with ease. Pouring it into four lined up shot glasses, the group of girls in front of him celebrating what looked like a bachelorette party with all their multi-colored hats and boas squealed with drunk delight. Your eyes hit the back of your skull in a hard roll when one of them bats their eyelashes at him with a hand on his arm.

Sucking down the rest of your drink, the slurping once you hit the ice is loud enough to annoy the guy next to you who shoots you a warning look over his shoulder. Mouthing an apology you push your empty glass away looking around the bar one more time. The guilt of flirting with Eddie starts to disappear when you look at your watch again and start coming to terms you were actually being stood up. Searching for his doe eyes again, your heart sinks when you find him this time.

Dimples in his cheeks again, he’s practically beaming at her. Their body language telling you this isn’t their first time meeting and how animated he is when he talks to her is like he’s known her for years. Gesturing wildly with his hands while she nods enthusiastically, something he says has her throwing her head back with a laugh loud enough you can hear it over the music. You huff through your nose, the sting of rejection sneaking its way back in. The reminder that he was just doing his job and you were here for a date, one that never showed up, slaps you right in the face.

Averting your gaze to spare whatever confidence you have left, your eyes find the bouncer at the front door. Inside the bar now with a hard glare set on his handsome face. His arms sit folded across his broad chest while his jaw clenches at the same time as the muscles in his shoulders flex. Steve looks pissed.

Interest piqued, you follow his line of sight despite it going in the direction of the bar you were trying to avoid. Somehow not surprised when your eyes land on her again, you notice Eddie has already busied himself with someone else. With his back towards both of you he fills two pints with Blue Moon, the uncomfortable look on her face couldn’t be missed. The greasy blonde hair on the man that was clearly invading her personal space told you he’d been drinking all day. The grimace on her pretty face says she could smell it on his breath too.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you see him grab onto her arm while trying to whisper in her ear. You feel yourself ready to stand up and help when she pushes him away, with the way the veins in her neck were flexing whatever she was saying to him wasn't nice. Shoving her hand in his face she storms towards the front door where Steve is waiting, looking seconds away from killing the man who followed her path out of the bar with a leer.

The scowl on her face softens instantly when she’s met with Steve opening the door, the glare on his face being replaced with a deep flush when you catch a “Thanks, Stevie” fall appreciatively from her lips.

SMACK

Jumping at the sound of metal hitting wood, Eddie’s dimples show themselves only this time they are for you as he leans forward on his arms again, eyes flicking towards the spot next to you. He pulls himself even closer when he notices no one new occupying the stool, making you search for friction with the fat of your thighs.

“Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” Flashing you his perfect teeth for the second time tonight the bruise to your ego already starts to disappear.

“I drank it without gagging, didn’t I?” Crossing your arms on top of the bar it's your turn to lean into his space and you swear you hear his breath hitch at your new boldness.

Licking his lips, your eyes greedily follow the path of his tongue. His smile stretches across his face even more when he notices, making no effort to move- unwilling to back down from the silent standoff you’ve challenged him too.

“‘I’ll have you know I take that as a very high compliment coming from you.” His breath fans across your cheeks from this close, mint and whiskey hitting your nose when he huffs a laugh. “Where’s Prince Charming?”

“Turns out there was no Prince, just an ugly old toad.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him through half lidded eyes, “Good thing I didn’t kiss him, huh?”

A low rumble shakes in his chest as he dares to lean in even closer, the tips of your noses almost brushing while the bubble you’d lost yourselves in reappears.

“Yeah baby, you can’t give those out to just anybody, they gotta be for someone special.” His voice is low, dripping with the kind of want you’d never had directed at you before. His eyes take in every inch of your face from this close while you try to keep up with his smooth tongue.

“Got anyone in mind, Eddie?” Doing your best to match his tone, his brows pinch together at the way his name sounds coming out of your mouth taking one last look at your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Yeah, I know a guy actually. He’s a bartender with a great head of hair.” Wiggling his eyebrows when you snort, the front door swings open, breaking you two apart as the girl from before commands the room like a record scratch, silencing the bar for the first time all night.

“Eddie! It’s bad, Steve needs you!” The sheer panic in her voice is enough for the jealous monster inside you to stay at bay as Eddie pushes back on his heels.

An irritated sigh escapes him while he mutters ‘not a-fucking-gain’ under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before his eyes find yours. You jump a little when he grabs your hands, the warmth of his palms enveloping yours while he gives you a pleading look.

“Don’t - I mean, please don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back, I need to go save my buddy’s ass again. But I promise I’ll be right back, this conversation is too important to leave unfinished.” He flashes you that million dollar smile like chaos isn’t ensuing outside and all you can do is nod, signaling that you’ll stay put.

Hopping over the bar his loose fitting combat boots squeak over the counter top, the black jeans that were hidden from your sight somehow fit him even better than his shirt. Your gaze is shamelessly hungry as it follows him until he’s out the door. The scuffle outside leaking through the music with a blur of bodies outside.

Too focused on the glimpse of Eddie’s towering frame stepping between the two guys to break up the fight, you don’t notice the person who walks through the unattended door until it shuts behind him with a thud. Ready to glare at whoever it is your eyes widen when you meet the ones belonging to who you can only assume is Craig. The burnt auburn hair he sports and the way he zero’s in on your purse confirms your suspicions. This was Craig, you're incredibly late and not even remotely as attractive as the bartender, date.

“Shit, shit, shit.” No matter how quickly you averted your stare, you knew it was too late, he saw you. Panic sets in while your brain goes a mile a minute trying to think a way out of this.

Looking around the bar for some sort of escape, the thought of ducking into the bathroom sounds like a winner but then the image of Eddie coming back and seeing you gone seeps into the forefront of your mind making you quickly toss that idea out the window. Turning to the people on either side of you who are too lost in their own conversations to notice your dilemma, you try to decide which one you could interrupt the most naturally.

The couple on your right looks like they’re on a date going really well and the one on your left seems like two friends catching up. The tap on your shoulder is enough for you to make a split second decision, clearing your throat you spare the newly blossoming romance next you from your desperate antics, choosing to interrupt the friends who are reconnecting with a loud fake laugh.

“That’s when she told me- um excuse me do I know you?” Gruff and confused, the man closest to you looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads. First your loud slurping and now this? This plan was never going to work from the get-go.

Another persistent tap on your shoulder has you grasping for straws. You open your mouth to try to sell whatever this was one last time.

“Umm excuse me?” Craig’s voice comes out loud enough to cut you off and for the poor guy next to you to give you the final cold shoulder. Unable to ignore him any longer, you force yourself to turn around and face him head on. Kind of.

Channeling your inner Alicia Silverstone you try to give him the best Clueless look you can muster and he returns it with an even more confused expression, clearing his throat.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I’m Craig, Ariana’s friend. I think I’m supposed to be meeting you?” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his tan slacks, the maroon sweater he wears fits loosely over his thin frame, dirty black chucks on his feet, his look screams ‘I listen to Nirvana’.

“Umm, I think you have the wrong person? I wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone here tonight.” It’s not believable in the slightest when the words leave your mouth, your less than confident delivery giving you away. The look on his face lets you know you’ve definitely been made

“Are you sure? I was told to look for the girl with a lavender purse.” As if to prove his point he points to the exact one he’s talking about slung across your shoulder. He scoffs when you keep up with your charade, “I know I’m late but this is ridiculous.”

“A lot of girls have purple bags, Craig.” His name comes out dripping in venom, the need to get rid of him before Eddie’s return throwing any logic out the window. You needed to believe your own lie.

The sudden harshness has him raising his hands in defense, backing down a little under the daggers of your glare.

“Whoa, chill out, my bad. You just match the exact description I was given, that's all.”

Clenching your jaw in frustration because he just won’t give up, you try to hold your composure while your eyes flick towards the door in anticipation for his return.

“Well you’ve told me you were late twice already so she probably just left. Rude of you to keep her waiting honestly.” Narrowing your eyes at him, you know that he’s aware of exactly what you are doing but you don’t care anymore.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened, and not her being bitter I’m one measly hour late.” The way his words clip signal the rejection sinking in, a glare setting firm on his face.

It’s the stare down of the century before Eddie comes barging through the entrance with a loud huff and a clap of his hands. Cheeks red from yelling and hair slightly more wild than before. He checks to make sure you’re still exactly where he left you before he glances over to Craig for a split second not registering who he is. Hopping over the bar with another skid of his boots, he still manages to give you a lopsided grin when he gets to the other side. Hitting the top of the bar in a series of beats - he’s a ball of energy.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart, Steve’s lucky the girl he took a knuckle sandwich for has a first aid kit. Rick keeps saying he’s gonna get one but I have yet to see it. Want another cocktail?” Talking a mile a minute with the leftover adrenaline from the fight, he still doesn’t notice the way Craig watches the two of you until he catches how awkward you’re being. Eddie’s face hardens, the softness he was giving you disappearing. “Something I can help you with buddy?”

You don’t even have to look at Craig to know he’s puffing out his chest with a point of his chin addressing Eddie.

“Actually pal, maybe you can.” His tone makes Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, a tested smile spreading over his lips while he lets Craig continue. “I was supposed to meet someone here for a blind date, I was told to look for a girl with a lavender purse exactly like this one. You haven't seen another girl with this exact same bag have you?”

Eddie’s wide eyes meet yours, amusement filling the specks of golden brown as he picks up on exactly what’s happening. The corners of his lips twitch before he nods his head licking his bottom lip holding your gaze long enough to make you squirm before bringing his attention back to Craig with a low whistle.

“Oh yeah, I remember that hottie, man. It’s a shame you were late, she took off with this dude she met waiting for you. She didn’t stand a chance, though, honestly. I know the guy, he’s too smooth for his own good. Pretty good looking too. Can’t be leaving your girl unattended around him. Probably wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.” Eddie catches the roll of your eyes at his self indulgent story as you cover your mouth with the palm of your hand to hide your face splitting grin.

“Why don’t you walk away with some dignity. What’s that saying? There’s always more fish in the sea or some shit.” Eddie adds more salt to the wound, finally breaking Craig enough to give up.

“Whatever you say man, this bar is fuckin’ lame anyway. Who wants to drink to Third Eye Blind.” Grumbling his insults as he slinks away, he takes one last look at you and Eddie before his final exit with a flip of his middle finger.

Eddie’s stare is hot on your face, while you bashfully avoid his gaze keeping your eyes lingering on the door. When you finally dare to meet his eyes the shit eating grin on his face makes you groan, the buzz of your drink pulling a giggle out of you.

“Eddie, don’t —“

“Well, well, aren’t you just a little heartbreaker, huh?” His teasing only makes your cheeks grow hotter as you try to hide your face from his view.

“Don’t you need to go attend to all the customers you left?” Your words come out muffled from behind your hands as you slowly pull them down just enough to uncover the fake glare you were sending his way.

“I’ve got my favorite one right here.” Voice dropping low with a smirk, he was right, you didn’t stand a chance.

“I haven’t paid for a single thing, you refused my money if you remember.” Bringing your hands down to fully come out of hiding, he bites his bottom lip when he can take in your features again.

“It’s no good here, baby, I could actually get arrested if I take it and then how would I be able to take you out to get pancakes after my shift if I’m behind bars?” Bringing his hands together in mock shackles and a pout, the chain wrapped around his wrist catches your eyes for the first time.

“You’re takin’ me to get pancakes?” Flirting like a love sick teenager, you even start to kick your feet under the bar.

“It’s the least I can do since you’re my fill in bouncer for the rest of the night.” Smirking, he nods his head to the man at the opposite end of the bar flagging him down with a twenty dollar bill. His eyes sparkling with something new now that he had you.

“Me? A Bouncer? I’m not intimidating in the slightest!” Your cheeks hurt from how hard you smile at his retreating form, the game of ‘playing hard to get’ becoming a thing of the past now.

“Sorry, you owe me, heartbreaker.” He shrugs like it’s out of his control before flashing you the same lopsided grin leaving you a mess of nerves from getting to spend the night with him.

The hours till close go by faster than you anticipate with Eddie topping off your drink any time you ask, the buzz from the alcohol is just enough to handle the growing intensity of his flirting. Now that the only obstacle in the way of each other was time, he was relentless.

Enjoying the game of chicken the two of you had started unconsciously playing, you stop noticing the clock. Every six customers earns you five —sometimes ten minutes of his time and he makes sure to use every second of those breaks as an excuse to lean in close, whispering in your ear, holding your face close every time you talk. He was getting off on the way he could make you shift in your seat and hide your bottom lip between your teeth when he got close enough for his lips to brush against your ear. Your fingers find excuses to wrap around his wrist when he invades your space, playing with his chain, you keep him close making sure to tilt your head just enough for him to catch a glimpse down your neck into the low cut of your dress.

The small hand on the clock above the door hits the three and it’s not until his breaks start getting longer and your touches are able to get a little bolder that you notice the murmur of voices over the music disappears. The few stranglers left sipping their last drinks of the evening are paying the two of you no mind despite the way he’s tucking your hair out of his way to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his nose.

The realization that you’re finally about to be alone with him brings your nerves to a head and the need to check yourself over in the bathroom mirror becomes urgent. The flick of his tongue along your earlobe distracts you for a second as your head nudges against his when it tickles making a giggle slip past your lips.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, Eddie.” You inhale the scent of pine lingering in his shampoo, giving him one last nudge with your nose before hopping off the stool. He gives you his best puppy eyes as you get up to leave, pushing out his bottom lip when you tug your dress down.

“Please, I’ll be like three minutes.” You roll your eyes at him but the smile that lights up your face tells him you’re eating it up.

“I’ll be counting every second you're gone, baby.” Holding his hands over his heart for dramatic effect the man at the end of the bar snorts loudly ruining the moment. He earns an annoyed glare from the bartender, “Better hurry up and finish that shit old man, it’s closing time.”

You hear him grunt in response to Eddie’s rude reminder before disappearing into the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. Stickers and writing with permanent marker cover every inch of the dark crimson walls. The doors of the black stalls barely hang from their hinges, dents from many reckless drunk nights at The Foxy Lounge punch random spots into the metal. The bottom of your sneakers stick to the floor with every step to the mirror where more stickers and black scribbles line the surface including a girl named Leigh’s phone number with the note ‘for a good time call’ attached at the end leaving just enough room to see your face.

The space buns on top of your head are messy from Eddie nuzzling his beard into your hair all night. You try to salvage what was left of them by tightening the knots a little more before deciding it's a lost cause. He was probably just going to mess them up more anyway. The thought of Eddie’s hands being free to touch you in every way you’ve wanted all night has you taking a deep breath while you hold your own eyes in the mirror.

“It’s happening, you’re gonna have sex with him. You’re gonna fuck the super hot bartender who flirts like it’s his second language tonight and you’re gonna be confident about it okay? You hear me?” Pointing to yourself in the mirror, the determination in your stare is enough for your tipsy pep talk to work its magic.

Taking one last look at yourself with a nod of your head you pull open the bathroom door ready to take on the rest of the night. Only to stop in your tracks when you notice the stool that was occupied is now empty and every inch of Eddie is also in full view from where he stands in front of the jukebox. Your eyes are insatiable taking in his tall frame like this for the first time all night.

You notice the giant chain that hangs from his belt loop this time, and there’s even more rips in his jeans than before giving you a peek at the pale skin hidden underneath. His shoulder blades move under the thin fabric of his shirt when he clicks his choice on the machine. Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer spills out from the speakers of the bar as he turns on his heels, the smirk that plays on his lips dares you to catch the hint with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Very subtle.” Crossing your arms as if to act immune to his charms, you know he sees right through your facade but he plays along anyway raising his big hands up in the air in mock surrender.

“It’s just one of my favorite songs, I don’t know what kinda ideas you got going on in that pretty little head of yours.” He takes a few more steps towards you slowly closing the gap, daring to be closer to you than he had been all night without a wooden bar separating you.

“Interesting, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Sixpence fan.” Raising your eyebrow, you have to look up at him when he finally takes the last few steps to stand in front of you.

“Why? Cause I’m such a tough guy?” His grin grows wider when he looks down at you catching the roll of your eyes while you uncross your arms opening your body up to him with a laugh.

“I can’t stand you.” Your swat is flirtatious with your palm hitting his chest. He’s quick to catch it, using your hand as leverage to pull you closer, biting back his groan when a breathy gasp slips past your lips when he tucks you into chest. First your giggle and now this? He just knew you were going to sound so pretty falling apart for him.

“I think Craig would call that bluff sweetheart.” He gives you a minute to let his words sink in, throwing his head back with a loud laugh when you huff at him embarrassed. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. He needed to be dumped, a girl like you deserves someone that's gonna show up when they’re supposed to.”

The sweetness of his words has you melt against him, the playful pull from before surrendering to his touch and you swear there’s hearts in your eyes from the way he looks down at you after saying something like that.

“Thanks for tonight Eddie,” your voice is small when it comes out laced with adoration, and it’s his turn to get bashful making your favorite dimples come out again.

“No problem sweetheart, honestly it’s my fuckin’ lucky night.” Pulling your knuckles to his lips, he places a gentle kiss to the skin stretched over them before letting your hand drop, noting the disappointment on your face that you’re quick to cover up.

“Wanna get some fresh air while I smoke before I close this place down?”

——

Eddie somehow looks even better under the twinkling stars and pink fluorescent lights of The Foxy Lounge sign. The low hum of the electricity filling your ears as you lean against the brick of the building. His eyes are brighter out here, catching them with your own when he looks at you over the end of his cigarette.

He winks when you meet his pointed gaze, the flame of his lighter casting shadows that dance across the strong lines of his jaw, the orange glow highlighting the stubble that covers it. Batting your lashes at him, you push your hips off the wall playfully while he keeps his eyes on you through his entire first drag, only breaking contact for the split second he needs to blow the smoke he inhaled away from you.

“Don’t look at me like that.” His words come out like a warning before he takes another hit.

“How am I looking at you Eddie?” Biting your lip to hide your smile, you make sure to say his name extra sweet just how you figured out he likes. He shakes his head with a low chuckle blowing more smoke into the clear night sky.

Despite only taking two drags, he flicks the barely smoked cigarette to the side before closing the distance with a few steps leaving him crowding you against the building. Your chest brushes against his with every shallow breath. Getting lost in the darkening amber inside his eyes, the calloused tips of his fingers catch against the soft skin of your chin. The pad of his thumb pulling the velvet of your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Like you want me to kiss you.”

Ducking his head down he nudges your nose with his, the heat of his breath fanning against your open mouth. His eyes go from yours back down to your glossed lips silently begging for your permission.

“I think it was you that was hinting at kissing me earlier.” Pushing up on your tiptoes, you smile against him when your lips just barely touch.

“Oh? You think that’s what I was doing hmm?” Asking the question he already knows the answer to, his tongue licks against your top lip as your hands find the material of his shirt, fisting as much of it as you can before yanking him down to collect his lips with an eager mouth, giving up winning whatever game this was.

You swallow his moan when your tongues meet in the middle battling for dominance, teeth scraping, you taste the few puffs of tobacco still lingering on his taste buds as his muscle massages against yours. Sliding his knee between your thighs, he smiles smug into the kiss when your hips search for friction against the denim.

He breaks away from your mouth long enough to start trailing wet kisses down your jaw, the rough hair on his chin rubbing your skin raw as he starts nipping and sucking bruises along your neck. Biting hard enough at your pulse point to have to soothe it with his tongue after the mewls he pulls from you are enough to drive him insane.

Your fingers tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck, giving his roots a pull while you turn your head, opening more of yourself to him. Taking your silent invitation he nips at the dip of your collar bone before lifting his head to press his forehead to yours.

“I gotta close up baby, but then…”rubbing his hands up your curves with a low groan he squeezes at the plush of your hips before finishing his sentence, “I think I promised you pancakes.”

Nodding your head because words are stuck at the tip of your tongue, he grabs your cheeks with a strong grip, smushing your lips together before stealing one last kiss.

——-

Eddie doesn’t give you the attention you’ve grown accustomed to all night when he starts the process of actually cleaning the bar. Your body still buzzes like a live wire from the drinks and the kiss outside. He’d been counting his tips with his back to you for the last ten minutes and you were growing impatient for more of him. You needed it.

Counting the last bill he finally turns around and your thighs press together when you get to see his face again. Shifting in your seat when his eyes barely meet yours, he makes his way to the other end of the bar. Pushing yourself up to lean forward with puckered lips, he ignores your advances passing by without so much as a glance in your direction. Huffing when you plop back in your seat, he flips the knob starting to wash his hands in the mini sink with his back to you again. Your foot taps against the metal of the stool as you watch him grab the scratched up red bucket hanging below and a fresh rag quickly replacing his hands with it to fill up.

You wonder if he can feel your stare when he adds the soap, taking his time while he spins the rag in the steaming water, he starts ringing it out. Arms flexing and suds spilling over his knuckles, you were gonna lose your mind if you didn’t get your hands on him soon.

He makes big swipes as he starts working his way towards you, keeping his eyes so focused on his task you’d think you were invisible if it wasn’t for the smirk that was getting impossible for him to hide. It only grows bigger when he stops in front of you, adding a low hum to his charade purposely wiping around the outline of your hands that were splayed out on the counter ready to push yourself up again.

“Eddie - c’mon!”

You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the laugh that falls easy from his chest when he finally looks at you. His face softens and his eyes darken when he catches your angry pout, your fingers are quick to find his free ones making him tsk at you but he doesn’t pull away.

“My hands are wet baby.” He knew you didn’t care and the teeth showing in his wide grin told you he didn’t either.

Giving into your persistence like it hasn’t been a fight to keep his hands to himself this whole time, he leans forward brushing his nose with yours before nudging it against your cheek so your lips just barely touch. When you go to close the space he pulls back just enough to tease, a small whine escaping you at his games.

“What’s got you so needy, huh?” His words are whispered as he presses with the slightest pressure before pulling back again. “I didn’t kiss you good enough outside, you need more?”

“Please.” Your cheeks burn when you hear how your voice sounds, but his grip on your fingers tighten and a low moan breaks through his front at how desperate you sound just for a kiss.

“Gotta give my girl what she needs.” Your brain gets stuck on the words ‘my girl’ taking you a minute to realize he was finally giving you what you want.

It’s slower than outside, he’s taking his time with you this time. Untangling his fingers from yours, his hand comes up to wrap around the side of your neck. The water feels good on your skin as the pad of his thumb starts rubbing soft lines under your jaw while his tongue swipes at your bottom lip looking for more. You don’t give into his advances on purpose, keeping your mouth closed to get him back for all his teasing you feel his smile grow against your own.

Expecting him to stop and surrender, he only doubles down. Catching your top lip with his bottom, he pulls away just enough for you to open your eyes. God, you wished you kept them closed. The brightness from outside had turned them into nothing but black leaving no trace of the specks of brown from before. The knowledge that he was just as affected by all of this as you sends you reeling. Toes curling inside your sneakers.

“Whining over here for me to give you what you want, and here I am baby, and you’re playing hard to get.” Nipping at your bottom lip he meets your heavy lidded gaze again, “Gonna let me give you what you want?”

He barely lets you finish nodding before he’s on you, the hunger from outside coming back as he leans over the bar to deepen the kiss like you’d been begging him for. Opening your mouth for him without hesitation when he asks for permission again your tongues meet lazily, exploring each other like you didn’t get a chance to before. Pushing up again eager to get more of him he pulls back leaving you breathless with spit slick lips.

Despite the way his chest heaves trying to catch his breath, he does his best to play it cool, smirking when you have no shame chasing for more.

“I gotta finish closing up.” He gives you one more chaste kiss before he starts wiping the rest of the counter down.

Jutting out your bottom lip into a pout, he laughs, throwing out a ‘you’ll survive five minutes baby.’

You leave him alone doing your best not to distract him, despite how much your fingers itch to have him close again. Grabbing the money from the register and the receipts for the night he disappears back into what you could only assume was Rick’s office. When he pops back out he looks a little more relaxed.

“Just gotta wipe the bottles down and then I’m getting the prettiest girl the best pancakes in town.” Clapping his hands together with a rub of his palms, he grabs another rag.

You were starting to hate pancakes. Not that you didn’t want them, you just wanted him more.

“Hey Eddie?” Trying to hide your ulterior motives in the sweetness of your voice, his eyes meet yours almost instantly and they narrow just as quick.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Setting the rag down he leans forward with his palms on the bar he gives you his undivided attention. An intimidation tactic. Unable to help yourself, your eyes trace up the ink covering his arms.

“Teach me how to make that drink?” Looking up at him from under your lashes, you see something flash across his face, fingertips digging into the countertop after the question leaves your mouth.

“Wasting Love?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t call it that now, would you?” Laying it on thick, a slow smile spreads across his face. He saw what you were doing and he was going to fall into your trap willingly.

“Why don’t you come back here then, we’ll make our own.” His voice comes out low, his pupils taking over all the brown, pretty white teeth baring themselves at you.

His gaze is predatory when he watches you jump from the stool, the exaggerated sway of your hips keeps his eyes trained on the curve of your waist as you make your way into his space for the first time all night. Leaning against the back counter, his legs are spread wide leaving little to the imagination on how worked up you had him. His eyebrows raise when he sees the automatic press of your thighs at the sight. It wasn’t fair, you were trying to seduce him, not the other way around. He wasn’t even trying.

As if on cue the jukebox that had been left to play all night clicks, Ginuwine’s Pony pouring out of the speakers as he licks his lips unashamed at the way he’s drinking all of you in like this.

“Gonna teach me how to make something sweet, Eddie?” Trailing a finger along the bar while you close the distance, you drag out the ‘e’ at the end of his name just enough to get him to groan.

His hands grab your waist squeezing just hard enough to feel his strength before using it to pull you flush against him. The material of your dress doing nothing to hide how hard he is pressed into your ass. His lips trace the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath tickling your neck as you push back into him searching for more. The stubble on his face rubs rough against the soft skin of your cheek as he punctuates each word with a roll of his hips.

“The sweetest, baby.”

You bite back your moan when his nose trails up your neck, his lips just barely grazing the warmth of your flesh before they settle back against your ear. You hold onto the wood of the bar in front of you when he hums low, feeling it deep in your core. His calloused fingers start a path up the bare skin of your thigh hiking up your dress when they catch the hem.

“Tell me,” your eyes close when his nose is pressed to your temple as he speaks, “Do you like cherries, baby?” His tongue catches your earlobe sucking it into his mouth, grazing it between his teeth when he lets it back out.

Your knees almost buckle at how good everything feels, the slow rock of his hips never stopping as he plucks at the lace trim of your underwear.

“Y- yeah, I love cherries,” you whimper when his palms lay flat on the outside of your thighs, the cool metal of his rings biting into your skin when he squeezes at the fat working his way back up.

“Of course you do, pretty.” His thumbs hook the sides of your underwear, “You’re just so sweet all the time, huh?” Despite the need for friction, you spread your legs for him wondering if he can hear the way your lips pull apart sticky, arousal coating the inside of your thighs.

He chuckles soft in your ear praising you with a ‘so sweet’ before giving them a tug, letting the red lace fall to the floor. Keeping his hands on your hips, he presses himself against you hard enough to have the heels of your sneakers pick up off the ground. A low ‘fuck’ slipping out from under his breath when you whine a little.

“Red lace? Was Kurt gonna get lucky or was this just a ploy to get me all along, sweetheart?” Your cheeks burn at his question, his low chuckle tickling your ear when he hears you huff out an annoyed breath. “‘Cause if that’s the case all you would’ve had to do is walk through that door on any given night.”

He grinds himself against you one more time, but you can really feel him this time and it makes your legs shake.

“Are we gonna make this drink or do you wanna keep talking about Craig?” The shake of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed despite trying to be sharp with him but the grip on your waist still tightens at the mention of the other man’s name

“Sure we can, if that’s really what you wanna do.” His words taunt you but with one hand holding you against him the other flips a clean cocktail glass onto the bar top with ease, like he wasn’t rock hard digging into your back.

Reaching around, his hand trails up the front of your thigh sending goosebumps across your heated skin. A shiver runs down your spine when he dares to dip between your legs inching his way towards where you want him most.

“We better not mix liquors so why don’t you be a good girl and grab the whiskey for me.” His lips brush against your ear with every word, his hand never faltering on their path even when his fingertips meet your slick folds. Feather light, he traces along your slit, not daring to break the barrier yet. Brain hazy with want you don’t even comprehend what bottle you reach for, blindly grabbing for whatever was in front of you.

“That is tequila, sweetheart. Tsk, tsk, tsk are you even listening to what I’m saying? Or are you too…” Before he finishes his sentence he pushes his index finger past your entrance, your warm walls wrapping tight around his digit, “…distracted?”

Your head lulls back against his chest, your eyes closing when he pushes two knuckles deeper. Your needy whimper makes him kick up again making you grind your ass against him in response. Licking your lips, you try to collect yourself only chasing for more of his finger once.

“N-no, I can do it.” Determined to prove him wrong, you focus just long enough to grab the Jameson bottle, “What’s next?”

He hums in approval while his smile grows against your skin. Deciding to indulge in your stubborn game still, he curves his finger enough just to make you gasp his name.

“Are we keeping this simple, or do you want something a little more—” Adding a second finger, you stretch easily for him now, dripping down his hand, “Complicated?”

You shudder, a moan slipping past your lips while your grip on the bottle tightens so much you're scared it’ll shatter. Fuck, you gotta keep it …

“S- simple - oh.” His thumb finds your clit applying just enough pressure to have your mouth fall open and your brows to knit together, and just as quick as he’s there, he’s gone.

Pulling himself free, he tries his best to ignore the way your pussy tries to suck him back in, your body begging him for more. You whimper at the loss, your eyes opening to remind you where you are.

“I’m gonna need both hands to do this, baby.” His fingers shine with your slick when he wiggles them for show, stepping back just enough for you to see the grin on his face but not enough to get out of your personal space.

Grabbing his wrist, his eyes go dark when he realizes what you’re about to do. Gaze turning half lidded when your mouth opens, huffing out a deep breath when your tongue flattens against the pads of the two fingers that were just buried inside of you. Wrapping your lips around them, your arousal is tangy sweet hitting your taste buds.

Hollowing your cheeks as you suck them clean, you watch the confidence drain from his face, eyes rolling in the back of his head at the sight. The blunt ends of his nails dig through the soft material of your dress and he starts rutting into you with a little more force when you slide your tongue between each knuckle.

“Jesus christ,” his voice is strangled, words coming out through gritted teeth when you let him go with a loud pop.

“Now you can use both hands,” you say innocently, like you didn’t just suck them clean. You let his fingers tug at your bottom lip before dropping his wrist.

He fists a handful of your dress, a low growl rumbling from his chest getting a taste of his own medicine. Licking his lips, his eyes narrow at you before his teeth start to show, mischievous in the low light.

“Well if we want this drink cold, we need to fill this shaker with ice.” Just like the glass, he flips it on the counter one hand never leaving your waist despite his claim.

Pressing his lips to your ear again, he makes sure to let his breath linger a little before he talks, enjoying the goosebumps that appear from such a simple touch.

“Fill it up for me, baby?” Your thighs clench at the deep rasp in his voice, both of his hands finding a home spread out on your thighs.

Nodding your head you slide open the silver metal door of the ice chest below you, bending over more than you needed to to scoop it up into the shaker. He groans loud when you press into him like this, his fingers making quick work to flip the back of your dress up.

“Look at you, so fucking messy for me and I’ve barely touched you.” Grabbing a handful of your ass, he ruts into you, the rough denim hitting your clit in a way that has you moaning his name.

He laughs quietly at your neediness flipping your dress back down when you straighten out. Chests heaving in time with the other, neither one of you was ready to back down. Not yet.

“Might need to unzip those pants.” Looking over your shoulder at him you fake a pout, “Feeling a little strained back there handsome.”

Smugness dripping from the smile on your face, he raises his eyebrows at you in a challenge.

“Since you wanted something simple sweetheart, we just need two more things.” One hand snakes its way back between your legs, squeezing at the inside of your thigh before he lets you go for the first time since you set foot behind the bar.

Craning your neck so you could follow him, you find him bent down grabbing lemon juice from the mini fridge under the shorter back counter. Shutting the door with his foot when he stands up, he throws a wink your way when he grabs the simple syrup.

Setting the bottles in front of you he steals a quick kiss that leaves you wanting more before he grabs the small tub of cherries from the fridge he forgot his first go around.

“Okay, so you’re gonna grab the Jameson, and I want you to pour it out to the count of three for me then cut it off.” He returns to his place behind you, his large hand swallowing yours when it shadows your movements.

Your pour is shaky when he counts low in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair calling you a good girl after each successful addition to the simple concoction.

“Alright, now you’re gonna shake it as hard as you can angel.” His hands squeeze your hips for encouragement.

Doing as he says he pulls you against him even harder when your arms start to go wild. Your chest bounces with each movement making you giggle and you almost don’t hear the hitch in his breath at the sight.

He helps you by putting the strainer over the rim of the glass when you’re ready to pour. Mumbling soft words of praise while he nibbles at your ear lobe. The drink is much lighter than the one you had all night, the dark orange turning lemon as the white foam fizzed on top.

“I think I could take your job.” You smirk reaching for the cherries to top it all off.

“You think you could take my job?” He snorts incredulous, watching you unwrap the plastic wrap from the small tub dropping three cherries into the already very sweet cocktail.

“Absolutely.” Grinning while ignoring his stare you reach for another cherry, “No doubt in my mind.” You grab the fruit between your teeth, finally meeting his eyes as you pull the stem, relishing in the burst of sugar and grenadine that erupts against your tongue.

“Tough luck princess, unless you know how to tie that cherry stem in a knot with your teeth, no bar in this town is gonna touch you.” Grabbing his own cherry, he dangles it in front of your frowning mouth for you to bite. Obliging him with it bumps your bottom lip you tug gently, taking the fruit before chewing slowly while he sucks the stem once before it disappears in his mouth.

“I’m calling your bluff now. No one knows how to actually do that.” Daring him to prove you wrong he mutters a ‘watch me’ between his working teeth.

You don’t lose focus on the way his hand on your waist starts to wander, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the fat of your thigh while his tongue ties the stem like it’s easy. Jaw flexing with each twist of his tongue before he pushes it out to show you, a pleased look on his face when the small knot in the middle comes out perfectly placed.

Swiping it off his tongue with the fingers that were inside you minutes ago, you wonder if he can still taste you when he sets it next to your drink satisfied by the way your jaw drops.

“How do you think I got this job? I’m more than just a cute face.” The touch of his hands grows bolder when they start working their way up your dress, a thickness in the air that wasn’t there before filling your lungs.

“That’s quite the skill set you have there Mr. Munson,” your giggle is breathless, your eyes going from his down to his lips as you try to play it off.

“I can do more than that with my tongue sweetheart, if you wanna find out.” His nose nudges against yours, the smirk on his face making you sweat when his fingers trace up your wet folds again.

Surrendering instantly, you forget all about the drink the two of you made nodding without hesitation the desperation for him all night finally taking over.

“Yeah?” His voice breaks when his thick fingers push into your entrance again feeling just how worked up all his teasing had you.

“Please - Eddie,” the pad of his thumb finds your clit again making you beg, “Fuck.”

“Asking me so sweet, how could I say no to you?” Murmuring against your lips, he finally gives in and kisses you. Wet and sloppy he only does it long enough to take your breath away before dropping to his knees.

His big hands on your hips angle you to face forward, flipping your dress up over your ass again. The air of the bar is still hot against your folds, arousal dripping down your thighs, you’re fully exposed to him now. You hear him suck the skin of his teeth at the sight, a ringed hand coming down just hard enough on your right cheek to make it jiggle before both hands palm the fat.

“I can’t believe you were gonna let anybody else but me have this pussy. Should be a punishable offense.” Pulling your cheeks apart to expose more of you to his hungry eyes, he pushes at the small of your back signaling for you to bend over more for him.

He moans loud enough to make you jump when you listen to his command, even you can hear the sound of your lips pulling apart for him.

“All this for me, baby, fuck, you spoil me.” He wastes no time burying his face between your folds, his talented tongue collecting your juices before finding your clit. The rough hair on his chin rubbing your sensitive skin raw as he shakes his head from side to side.

Squeezing your ass to pull you closer to his face when you try to run away, he sucks your bundle of nerves harder when he gets you back to where he wants you, dipping his nose into your entrance every time.

He does the motions he would do when he ties the cherry stem into a knot against your clit, a strangled moan ripping from your throat when he does it again.

Your hands find purchase on the top of the bar, eyes closed tight while you see white behind your lids. Your nails dig into the wood when his tongue flattens, the lewd squelching of your arousal filling your ears when he pushes his face so deep between your legs you aren’t sure if he can even breathe. The moan that rumbles through his chest and vibrates to your core tells you he doesn’t care. Wrapping his lips tight around your clit he sucks even harder, not caring when your legs start to shake from overstimulation.

“Eddie, Eddie, I’m gonna - fuck!” His name comes out long and drawn out when you fall apart on his tongue. Relentless, his teasing never stops, his hands holding you up while your body starts to shake. Humming low in satisfaction against your cunt.

“I n- need, I need…” willing your eyes to open, your vision’s blurry from how hard he made you cum. Pulling away with a loud smack of his lips, he palms your ass cheeks before craning his neck to try and get a good look at you.

“What do you need, baby?” He nips at the curve of your right cheek before pressing his face to it, dazed from getting what he’s wanted all night completely content.

“I just, I just need you to fuck me,” you don’t recognize the choke in your voice when you whine for him. Whine for more.

“Jesus christ.” His words tickle against your skin when he groans, kneading the soft flesh of your ass one more time before standing up.

His hands are on your hips before you can fully register the change in position, spinning you around and lifting you up he sets you on top of the counter behind the bar. The one where drinks aren’t served and the one that’s low enough for Eddie to slot himself perfectly between your legs.

Eyes blown black while his beard and nose ring shine with your slick, his lips part - swollen and pink from pulling your first orgasm out of you. Bangs clinging to his forehead, his hair is a wild mess on top of his head from your hands. The confident air about him is gone, replaced with nothing but the need to have you. Snapping out of your daze, you’re quick to find the metal of his belt buckle.

His forehead presses to yours, while he watches the way your dainty fingers work the leather out through the loop. The white tips of your nails catch his eye when you undo the button of his jeans and his cock twitches at the thought of them pumping him for all he’s worth.

He hisses when you push the denim down his hips, his hard dick springing out to smack against his shirt that you immediately wish wasn’t there. Precum leaks from the angry looking pink tip while your hands fist the hem of the worn cotton, silently begging him to get rid of it. The big vein that follows the curve of his length makes your mouth water as he obliges your pleas, ripping his shirt off and throwing it somewhere you’d have to find later.

You’re able to really take all of him in like this, his chest is heaving covered with just as many tattoos as the rest of him, the silver chain you’d peeped earlier hanging right in the dip between his pecs. Your eyes follow the dark patch of hair that leads to his cock, long with the kind of girth that you know is going to be a stretch, a strangled whine bubbles out of you at the sight while your thighs spread begging for him.

“God, I want you so bad,” you whine wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him even closer giving into your animalistic instincts.

“I know baby, me fuckin’ too.” He pumps his cock a few times groaning loud, squeezing hard at the base before pressing the head between your dripping lips. Mesmerized at how they wrap around his tip, his precum mixes messy with your arousal making lewd noises as he sweeps it through your folds.

Body shaking every time he hits your clit, you finally hook your ankles growing impatient when he teases your entrance.

“Fuck. Me.” You get out through gritted teeth, the lopsided grin he’d been giving you all night turns cocky when he pushes the tip in, your head lulls back at the invasion, the silk of your walls desperate to start sucking him deeper.

“Not so sweet now are you, huh?” Pushing himself all the way in, his rough thatch of pubic hair hits your clit when he bottoms out. His confidence falters for a second when a deep moan rips through his chest at the feeling. “So fuckin’ tight baby - shit.”

Your nails dig half crescent moons into his inked skin while you adjust to his size, his nose skimming against your cheek while he whispers how good you take him when your walls start to milk him, your body letting him know it was okay to finally move.

“Feel so good, Eddie, fuck - so good.” Your hips start a slow rock, feeling every ridge and curve of him. Your dress sits rucked up at your waist giving a perfect view of the way you take him, and it’s even better than what his imagination had come up with all night.

He lets you use him for a minute, big hands resting on your waist — content with just watching the way you coat his cock with everything you have left over for him from the first time he made you cum.

“That feels good, huh?” Cooing at the way your brows knit together and your mouth falls open, he picks up the pace, taking control.

Pulling you all the way to the edge, his strokes get deeper, the tip of him hitting the spot that you know Craig would have never found. He pulls his cock out half way, relishing how your velvet walls try to keep him in place, he holds his composure before pushing back in, filling you to the brim. Addicted to the way it makes you gasp his name and arch your back, your body asks him for more when you’re too cock drunk to get the words out.

The straps of your dress start slipping down your shoulders with every thrust, your breasts bouncing just begging for his attention. His cock twitches inside you, it's almost too much. Greedy for more despite fighting the urge to cum, he tugs the front of your dress down to reveal a matching bra to the panties on the floor. Hips stuttering for a moment he growls at the reminder of your date before tugging the lace down, your nipple pebbling instantly for him before he takes it in the heat of his mouth.

Pushing yourself closer, needing more, your hands find their way to bury themselves in his curls, holding him close. You needed him close. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bud and it makes you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Your hips finding a way to match his strokes, reigniting the flames deep in your gut. God, he was gonna make you cum again.

He grunts around your breast, spit dripping down your soft skin from his ministrations while the snap of his hips start to get harsher and you know he’s nearing his end. He lets your nipple go with a loud pop before his hand comes up to grip your chin, his lips finding yours in a frantic mess of teeth and battling tongues.

The wood creaks underneath you from the force of his thrusts and the bounce of your ass to meet them. Mouths tangled, you swallow each other's ragged breaths, both of you desperately searching for your end when his fingers find your clit. Rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have your body start to shake against his, he nips at your bottom lip grunting when he feels the way it makes you flutter around him.

“Come on baby, give me another one. Be my sweet girl again and tell me how good I make you cum.” His fingers slip against your clit, fingers wet from how worked up he had you but his words are enough to have your world stop for a second.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Ed-“ Going blind behind your closed eyes he coaxes your second orgasm out of you with a silent scream falling onto his turned up lips. Proud of his work, his hips start picking up their pace inching closer to his own release he’d been fighting off since going down on you.

“God, - fuck I’m close - where d-do you-?” Sweat drips down his forehead while he struggles to find his words, his impending orgasm making him short circuit.

“Inside, shit - please, I need it, Eddie.” Still needy and barely coming down, your legs around his waist tighten their hold, locking him in place while you use the last of your strength to help get him there.

“Whatever you’re doing - holy shit , Jesus - I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” His hips press hard against yours when his cock twitches, spilling warm inside your greedy walls that don’t stop asking him for more. His face hides in your neck, the heat of his breath fanning against your sweat kissed skin while his body shakes with his release.

The roll of your hips never stops, just slowing enough to make him shiver after he starts softening, spent inside of you. You know there’s a mess starting to drip but neither one of you has the energy to move just yet. His lips start leaving small kisses along your neck, nose nudging against the space behind your ear and you can feel his smile against your cheek before he finally lifts his head up. The brown in his eyes return to a warm auburn like before when they meet yours.

“Rick is gonna fucking kill me if he ever finds out what happened on this counter tonight.” Rolling your eyes, you snort at his joke before shoving against his chest.

“You’re telling me you don’t fuck all your cute customers behind the bar, Eddie?” Batting your lashes at him, he squeezes your hips with a smirk.

“Only, the really, really cute ones. I take them to get pancakes at IHOP around the corner, too.” Something shifts in his eyes and you think for a second you might see self doubt in them for the first time all night, “That is, if they still want to.”

“Well lucky for you, I only let bartender’s from The Foxy Lounge take me out.” Nudging your nose against his, your smile touches his lips.

“Sweetheart, you know I’m the only bartender here right?” Grinning like someone who just won the lottery, he quickly gets rid of the space between you, kissing you like it too.

---

----

-----

------

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #whatta man #my writing

6K notes · View notes

moonsaver · 4 months ago

Text

Warning; yandere, entirely ooc because idk anything ab moze other than the fact he might be an assassin.. whatever.

Moze likes watching you.

It's more curiosity than infatuation, at least at first.

Why do you like that perfume? Why do you like those colors? Why do you like certain foods and patterns? It's new to him, the way he seems to cling to your information.

He's not unfamiliar per se, but the implication is clear – he hasn't felt this sense of curiosity about anyone before. A few meager, short lines are enough before he sweeps up another mission. But he doubts he'll be satiated with even the pages worth of information he knows about you.

He ghosts you, sometimes. It's slightly.. endearing, the way you almost jump out of your skin from a small tickle or a whisper. The way your sleeping body unconsciously shivers when his rough hand trails up your bare back, goosebumps rising at the graze of his calluses on your skin, the way you stiffen when you feel someone breathe down your neck only to turn around and see no one there. The way your fingers twitch when his hand ghosts them. The slight flicker in your eyes when you think someone's whispered your name in a crowd. He sees it all.

He just needs a sure-fire way to get rid of.. obstacles. Rudimentary personalities that fill the gap between you and him. And considering his skills, it'll be no time until you're left vulnerable and grasping for any company. Perhaps he'll make sure to visit the marketplace where you'll inevitably be, succumbing to routine despite your mournful state.

He visits you, of course he does. But the risk of being discovered by you instills many feelings in him, contrasting to the indifference when his target spots him. He doesn't like the risk of being discovered – not when his diligent hands scan through your room, nor when he stalks you constantly anywhere, or when he maps out the measurements of your body. But another part of him, finds a sort of perverse pleasure in trying to imagine how you might react.. although distasteful, the idea of that burden of having to hide away his.. hobby, finally lifting from his shoulders is something he'd perhaps like. And perhaps he'd like to put his knowledge about you to good use.

Unconsciously, he even holds himself in pride when it comes to how much he knows about you. You avoid wearing that sweater because it's too stuffy, or maybe he notices the stitches of your garments come loose from how often you fidget. Maybe he sees the way you always order the same food when you have a crappy day. Maybe he notices who's been responsible for all your crappy days.

Maybe, just maybe, he notices the quirk in your step when they stop.

And he understands – slowly but surely, he's becoming a part of you in more ways than one.

450 notes · View notes

hellsslibrary · 3 months ago

Note

IMMA BE HONEST (and if possible, could this be a request?),, the first time i saw Vil when he kept checking his makeup and talking to Cater in the beginning of the game I just KNEW I had to have him whining with mascara colored tears running down his cheeks and his body being flushed red all over while making him face a mirror and telling him how pretty (or even how much of a slut)he’s looking like…

"In the garden of my heart, your love is the most beautiful and enduring flower, blooming every day."

#a.n. : SAME! And... Yay, I've got my earliest requests underway... Maybe I'll post a couple more today, I guess. This was a pleasure to write, by the way. I love this stuff.

MASTERLIST is here.

!!Warnings: top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Vil, mirror sex, praise kink (borders on worship), just romantic and fairly vanilla sex, but for those who like more intense sex I added some light dacryphilia, use of the word "slut", and spanking (literally once), make-up traces, light marking.

"You're so perfect, see? Every curve, literally every part of your skin is so emphasized... I never thought that even now, when I can barely see you, I would still see you so well," escapes your lips, causing Vil's fingers to clench on the smooth surface of the mirror, making a not very pleasant sound, but what does it matter?

How did you even end up here? You were just looking at Vil combing his hair before going to bed. This beautiful strawberry blonde hair with a slight lilac tint... You could admire it forever. And him even more so.

You yourself did not understand at what moment your arms wrapped around his waist, whispering random tenderness in his ear, making him smile faintly. And the next second, he moaned quietly and looked at you over his shoulder with a stern look when your palm was clearly too close to his ass. "What are you doing, hm? We were both sleepy a few minutes ago, if I remember correctly."

And yeah, he's right. You thought you'd pass out the moment you had this physical manifestation of Aphrodite in your arms, but now that he's actually in your arms... How can you resist being a little selfish and taking away his beauty sleep, right?

And here we go again...

"Why do we even need candles? We could do this without any light at all..." You hum in displeasure at that, spreading Vil's cheeks slightly and watching your cock disappear inside him. It was barely visible, but you could visualize it with ease from how many times you've seen it.

"Without light? No. I need to see every part of you... Just look at yourself," your fingers pull his head down from your shoulder, forcing him to look at his reflection.

It was a coincidence that he hadn't had time to wash off his makeup today, and that only played into your hands. It was a huge rarity, those moments when he let you fuck him while his face was still covered in makeup... He didn't like to look sloppy, but who else says he looks sloppy?

His neck is framed with light, rare hickeys that he allowed you. And even a small bite on the back of his head! Usually he only lets you mark his thighs, since no one else except the two of you can see that part. But today he was either generous or tired.

Purple eyes closed convulsively when your cock entered at an angle that was too pleasant. A quiet cry escapes his lips when you give him a light slap on his thigh, and he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to look at his reflection.

A couple of candles lit in the room were indeed on your side. They hid you behind Vil's back, but they showed him completely. He whimpers from his own reflection, a thought flashing through his head about understanding what you can see in him even in this form. "Look at yourself, okay? If you can keep your eyes on me until you cum, then... I'll give you a massage afterwards, okay?" he nods immediately, not even thinking about what you said, just hearing that something good is waiting for him.

His body twitches every time your shaft penetrates as deep as this position allows. It was surprisingly good, even too good. The blond can't remember when your intimacy brought him to this state. It was overwhelmingly good. His brain was boiling, literally turning into mush. Deprived of the last thoughts that flew away like water lilies on the surface of water bodies.

"Bend over for me, please? It will be a little more comfortable, my queen," tenderly escapes from your lips, he instinctively arches, although Vil clearly does not even realize what you are asking for.

His hand slides down, his slender fingers digging into your thigh, his forehead resting on his hand, still on the mirror. Sobs escape his lips as his eyes glaze over. The only thing he knows is that he's crying from pleasure. Pleasure that's too overwhelming.

"Is it okay, Vil? Should I slow down?"

Your question makes him break the vacuum of the pleasure haze he's trapped in, just a little. He shakes his head slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, though knowing that you won't be satisfied, he mumbles,

"Okay... I'm o-okay. It just, agh, feels s-so good."

"Wonderful. I'm glad you like it so much... After all, your beauty is meant to be admired in any state," your loving whisper makes him chuckle, mixed with a whine, as one of your hands reaches just past his hip and wraps around his engorged cock. "So beautiful and graceful, like the paintings of the best masters... Such an incredibly beautiful voice that you want to hear nothing but it. Such a beautiful figure that you want to memorize every curve and every part, to know where it pleases you the most."

His cock involuntarily twitches a couple of times while you whisper your praises breathlessly. He feels such a painful, yet so desirable knot in his stomach, you both feel that he is almost at the limit.

"So what? Are you ready to cum for me, pretty boy? To cum on my cock, like the good slut you are?"

The world seems to stop as soon as it leaves your lips. You call him that without realizing it... He's never heard you say such vulgar things to him before and it's... Surprisingly pleasant, especially mixed with your praise bordering on worship.

His cock twitches in your hand and he cums with a too loud, surprisingly high-pitched moan; his head falls back on your shoulder and his eyes squeeze convulsively, a couple of transparent but black tears fall on your shoulder and white liquid paints the mirror in front of you.

You gently push his head back forward, kissing the back of his head while he lets you make a few more thrusts before you cum inside... Normally he would object, but you're going to shower now anyway, and you'll have to wash him too, so he won't say a word now.

"You... It w-was something. You never... Oh, never ca-called me that," he mumbles barely audibly, sobbing from the remains of tears and only now you realize what you called him and your brain instantly sobers up.

"I didn't m-mean it, I didn't mean it... I'm sorry, I said it unconsciously, I was just too deep in—," he puts a slightly trembling finger on your lips, smiling lightly and moving between your legs.

"I didn't say that I didn't like it, it was just surprising to hear it from you like that," Vil chuckles, turning to you completely and kissing your cheek, and then hugs you around the neck and sighs contentedly when your hands took him under his hips, slowly standing up on legs slightly trembling from a recent orgasm. Oh... Right now you want nothing more than to fall asleep, but the handsome man in your arms will kill you if you don't wash him... Not that you mind that outcome either, hehe.

#seme male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #a!writes.#sub character #twisted wonderland x male reader #sub twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader #sub vil #vil x male reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x male reader #vil smut #vil schoenheit smut #twst x reader #twst x male reader #sub twst #twst smut

629 notes · View notes

malereadermaniac · 5 months ago

Text

Someone Older ~ Sukuna x Male Reader

Meeting a sexy, tatted up, older guy at a bar DISCLAIMER: I haven't watched JJK! I've written Sukuna using context clues I've gotten from reading other fics! I've written him as: cocky, mean, dominant, and not all lovey-dovey for the reader word count: 2.4k Top!Sukuna x Bottom!Reader Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

Your local club was your second home. You had gone to it many, many times with your friends, even though you weren't that much of a drinker; the atmosphere was just fun, it relaxed you after a week of college. Plus, the club was the perfect place to get the dick that you had been craving and thinking about since the last time you had been blessed with it's presence - that dick belonging to a certain pink-headed man.

You had first encountered Sukuna at the very same club you were in right now. You really fucking hated him to begin with, your first encounter being the muscular man literally shoving you out of his way to get past you; his massive hand jarring you as he grabbed your shoulder. After that, every time you caught the giant man in the corner of your eye, you would give him the smallest glare. What accelerated your 'relationship' was pure coincidence - the two of you ending up out-front of the club at the same time, alone. You innitially ignored him, breathing in the fresh air you came out for and taking a few hits on your vape, but a small scoff and deep chuckle from the pink-haired figure beside you caught your attention.

"What?" You say, looking up at the taller, clearly older man with small squint of your eye and raise of your eyebrow - you were quite ready to sass him if he made any out of pocket comments

"I just don't get why people your age insist on using those colorful, sweet sticks ha... Just smoke a cig ya pussies" The large man commented, barely even sparing you a side-glance

" 'cause they're better for you than whatever the fuck you're rolling right now" you respond, turning your body to face the dickhead which was now rolling his second cigarette

"oh yeah? ya' shure 'bout that?" Sukuna volleyed back, his speech ever so slightly muffled from holding a filter in his mouth

"Yeah.. um... studies have- oh fuck off" you mumble back, your body growing hot. For some reason, you could now understand the sex appeal of the man in front of you: the way his hair slightly fell on his forehead as he looked down to roll his cigarette, and fucking hell the way that Sukuna glanced up into your eyes as you talked, a small, smug smirk on his lips as the white filter parted them slightly. This man was sex on legs.

After that first night actually talking to the muscular dickhead, you didn't give him much thought. That was until the following weekend, when you bumped into him again, at the same club. He initially only acknowledged you briefly with a chuckle and a mumble of 'you stalking me or somethin'?', however as the night progressed and the alcohol hit you both a little more (you more so), Sukuna and yourself ended up alone once again. In a more quite area of the club, ordering yourself another drink, you recognised the veiny, tattooed arm on the bar next to you, and a sexy voice you could briefly recount ordering some sort of spirit or beer. You roll your eyes and chuckle to yourself when your eyes make contact with his, which resulted in the pink-haired man sitting down next to you; he was already drunk, pretty horny, and he couldn't deny that you piqued his interest just the smallest bit.

"So what's ya name, pretty boy" The older man asks after downing the shot he had just been handed

"As if I'd tell you" you say with a roll of your neck towards the taller man, your eyes looking up into his as Sukuna clearly checks you out with half-lidded eyes; darting between your exposed skin, back to your eyes, your curves, then back to your eyes again.

"Hah... You know you want to" The giant man chuckles out, briefly rubbing his neck and showing off his ginormous biceps and triceps, his arm covered in line-like tattoos

"(Y/n)... What about you, handsome?" you say with a small, horny smile; stretching in a nonchalant way, which showed off your body just perfectly in the club lighting

That's all you really remember about your first actual conversation with Sukuna, things got a bit blurry after that. Oh, and how at some point after that conversation, the two of you hastily made your way to the men's bathroom and started desperately making out. With you shoved against the bathroom wall, Sukuna's massive arms holding your waist and cheek as he dominated your mouth with his tongue and rubbed his knee against your crotch in a teasing manner. Briefly, the taller, stronger man breaks the kiss and sports a smug, horny smirk on his chiseled face; his hand still holding your cheek to look up at him as Sukuna lets out a small, breathy chuckle at your panting form.

"Y'know... you don't wanna get involved with me, squeak" Sukuna says in a playful tone, looking down at you and the way that your body looked so fucking sexy against his

"Oh yeah? And why's that, tough guy?" You volley back at teasing nickname, pressing a finger against his muscular chest, his shirt already pretty much unbuttoned

"Hah... 'Cause I've got tattoos older than you" The pink-haired man mumbles in your ear, alcohol and expensive cologne flooding your nose as well as heat pooling into your face and dick. Sukuna moved away from your ear and let go of your face, positioning his arm above you and not only showing off his buldging muscles, but also emphisising the very tattoos he was referencing; FOR FUCKS SAKE HE WAS SO HOT.

So... Against your better judgment, that night you decided to live a little. In the very same bathroom, after making out for another solid ten minuets, allowing the man you had only just learnt the name of to ravage your mouth and roam his hands around your body, you dragged the hunk into a stall. Luckily for you, this club was very well known for being a little more tolerant to people enjoying themselves in the bathroom, ergo you were on your knees in front of Sukuna within seconds; drunkenly roaming your hands across his thick thighs and rubbing your head against his inner thigh and crotch - your hands landing on the sexy man's zipper and belt buckle very quickly. From what you remember, and from what the smug man had recounted to you the morning after, you gave that man the sloppiest head in the world in that stall, his hands gripping your hair and forcing you to deepthroat kinda head; and you ended your night in his apartment, having fucked at least twice judging by the bite marks and hickeys on your body and Sukuna's. Having woke up in a strange apartment didn't faze you as much as it should have, what really shocked you was the amount of scratch marks you somehow left on the muscular man's enormous, muscular back! But anyway, you went on your merry way home after not being able to deal with the pink-headed man's cocky attitude about you putting out; but damn, this time, you really couldn't stop thinking about him!

Which takes us back to the present moment. Loud white-girl music was currently blasting through your eardrums, and after singing along and dancing with your friends, you found yourself trying to spot a certain someone; a tatted-up, muscular, older someone. With whatever substance was in your system at the moment, you make your way to the bar and order another drink, just waiting for Sukuna to turn up like he always did; the man could deny taking a liking to you all he wanted, but he was always the one who approached you on nights like this. Your plan goes accordingly, the muscular man had sneaked an arm around your waist and whispered some dirty talk in your ear already, and after some boring chat and minute flirting you both started to get riled up. After some dancing and making out on the dancefloor, Sukuna called you both a cab. You said 'bye' to your friends and made your way over to the pretty damn fancy car which the older man had called, and after a short journey to his apartment complex (which you two spent sloppily and desperately making out in the backseat) you both made your way inside.

The horny man immediately took control of the situation, Sukuna's muscular arms either wrapping around your body and holding you against the tall man, or roaming your hot, sexy body; it was no secret that the pink-haired man was a big fan of the way you looked, he'd never say it out-loud though, unless his walls had crumbled due to an oncoming orgasm. Dominating your mouth and body, the older man holds you in his arms, your legs around his sluttily small yet muscular waist and your arms around his thick, veiny neck. Eventually, the two of you end up on Sukuna's king-sized bed, the muscular man above you, showing off his ripped body, his sexy scars and tattoos; god damn he was so hot, just oozing confidence and dominance wordlessly. By the time you were both naked, Sukuna's thick, masculine fingers were already inside of you; spreading you out and curling into your prostate as the man hovers above you and watches you wiggle around and let out the smallest of grunts in pleasure. Sukuna fucking loves to finger you, watch and listen to you as your pleasure is fully in his control, his dick gets so hard at your actions; hell, Sukuna sometimes even gives your twitching, hard dick a couple of licks just to push you closer and closer to ecstasy. But of course, as cliche as one can be, Sukuna rarely lets you cum from his fingers and tongue alone, removing his fingers instantly if he catches you arch your back; something he's learned indicates your orgasm approaching quickly.

Without easing in at all, Sukuna likes to wrap his hands around your waist and shove his massive dick inside of you; bottoming out straight away, 'cause why would he need to be gentle after prepping you for so long? Such a cunt. The sigh which follows is always one that the two of you like to remember, just raw lust and desperation as the two of you fuck like rabbits; Sukuna thrusting his hips violently against your ass, ramming his dick against your gummy walls and prostate. The sounds which circle the older man's apartment are nothing less than erotic and vulgar - your whines and moans along with breathy gasps of Sukuna's name, skin slapping and panting, and Sukuna's rough grunts as he puts in all of his effort to fuck you ruthlessly; the man getting off on the way you look and sound from his rough pace. The muscular man fucking you can also last a solid while, which luckily for you means you get to experience plenty of different positions - yayyyy.... your poor fucking ass. From doggy, to missionary, to a full fucking nelson, Sukuna loves either to get his dick deeper inside of your tight, warm hole, or to be able to see you at different angles, struggling to keep up with the tattooed man. And by the time Sukuna is finally on the brink of shooting his thick cum inside of you, you've already came twice; your body twitching from every thrust of Sukuna's, and your eyes dripping tears down your cheeks and rolling back, which just turns the man on even further.

Just as he is normally, Sukuna is rough as fuck when he cums. His hands gripping your body tighter or his arms holdings you closer to his muscular body as the man moans your name ruggedly, biting and marking your body as his hips stutter as he keeps thrusting into you - coating your ass with his warm spunk. It's only during his orgasm or during the afterglow when Sukuna finally lets a few nice words slip past his lips, compliments of your body or face, or endearing nicknames contrasting his dirty talk from before - i.e. calling you a fucking slut and grunting in your ear how your body is begging for his huge dick. And it's as Sukuna recovers from the aftershocks of his violent orgasm that he admires you, kneeling on the bed above you and between your legs, his massive build on full display as the man pants and sweats just, simply, looking at you. His hands rub up and down your body, massaging your aching muscles as you lay on the soiled sheets, your body still twitching and your eyes still clearly hazy with lust. Your body covered in his cum and yours, Sukuna's cum leaking out of your asshole as you pant in a moanish tone, your body limp and sweaty; cockdrunk was the perfect word to describe you in this moment. The sight is enough to get Sukuna to crave a second round, but he holds back, for once thinking about you - however the small signs of empathy displayed by Sukuna couldn't hold back his sharp tongue no matter what.

"Looks like you got a thing for older guys or somethin', darl'"

You giggle, unable to respond from the pleasure still assaulting your body, but the cocky and smug comment from the man who just rearranged your guts was somewhat sweet in the moment. And that's why you keep coming back. Sure, the sex is killer and you don't stop thinking about Sukuna's dick. But you also enjoy the moments after, from the moment the man stops shooting his load, to the moment you have to leave the morning after - you feel comfortable, somehow. And on the flip-side, Sukuna can't deny that he's for some reason taken a liking to you. He is the one that keeps coming over to you in the club and the one that calls the cab, so he must like you a little, right? The man can't say that he doesn't enjoy waking up next to you in the morning, your body perfectly against his, your sharp wit when you two banter, and the sex is so fucking good! Guess you two will be stuck in a game of cat n mouse for a while, cause neither of you is leaving any time soon; it's up to one of you to take the next step for the other and at the very least put a label on the two of you, whether that be 'weirdly close friends with benefits' or 'lovers'

1K notes · View notes

suguru-getos · 1 year ago

Text

just some over-affectionate yan!sato blabbering

yandere satoru hasn't really snapped at you, he just doesn't. always playful, always an embodiment. waking you up with peppers of kisses, making sure you have your favorite breakfast, making sure you relax around him. he even indulges in your silly little hobbies, all for the sake of making his baby comfortable. if you like painting, he is going to buy you all the colors there are, premium quality canvas boards and everything you'd ever need to bring your imaginations into reality. digital art? then you have an ipad with procreate and a pencil, anything and everything you need.

he doesn't say it but he is extremely observant, he even notices things like your skincare before you were kidnapped, and goes out of his way to upgrade it if needed. he can be a little pesky at times. what if his baby is using the wrong skin-care? probably going to fly you to the skin and beauty land 'korea' to have your skin checked, and then buy you the 'recommended' skincare.

same with aesthetics, you like wearing a certain type of fits, you have them littered in your closet room. he prefers changing styles and wouldn't mind upgrading/donating your wardrobe when you're also bored with the same ol' things.

your room is a mixture of everything you are, and trinkets of satoru in it. you are really not allowed to sleep in your room though. it's your space, just your happy corner. it doesn't have a bed. it has plush couches that are better than most beds, neon-light which speaks of your name and scented candles, perfect desks with the perfect desk mats. you just need to sleep with satoru.

he gets specifically testy when you really don't want to give him company at times. why? hasn't he done enough? most people would kill to be in your place. that's when you can see the cracks in his carefully calibrated persona he harbors for you.

he is usually very mellow, clingy and would be so playful you often forget how strong he is. "baby- but i want cuddles!" satoru whined, pulling you close to him while you squirmed when you weren't in the mood. satoru hasn't really pushed himself sexually, but he treats you like a pet in other stances. meaning - if not huggable why so cute? so you can't really escape from him during those times.

if you really, really try hard. his laughter, soft eyes, all of it drops. the usual high-pitched excitement too... "i will count to three. if you don't really come to me, there would be consequences." you haven't really checked on what the consequences are because that sets you straight instantly.

satoru HATES when you fear him, some part of him snaps so hard at that he ends up scaring you more. this happens when he's pissed about something and you flinch/wince at his tone. he hasn't done anything to make you scared... yet? though sometimes the way he comes home... reeking of dead curses, reeking of torment and torture. you automatically end up fearing him.

there was one time you took things too far, taking his leniency too far and going out without asking him. he hasn't locked the doors like a barbarian and you're making him question if he should... that's when he took you to one of his missions. shaking, quivering as you cling to him while the curse in front of you begged for death, for being exorcised while satoru made sure it healed and then continued his torture. blaming it on you as you sobbed, anxiety and palpitations all over you. "see, this is what i do... when you don't behave. you cause pain from me to others." he just wants you to know he is/can be fucked up.

would eventually feel extremely bad when you throw up from the gore and anxiety and finish the job, bringing you home and forcing you in his arms, crying with you at how bad it makes him feel to see you like this. how he would kill himself than making you cry, though a part of him is grateful that you wouldn't really go against him for a long, long while.

whenever any action done by him fucks you up, satoru takes responsibility of undoing it. even if sometimes he needs to make sure you stay with him, no matter the consequences... he would try his best to make up for it. always pestering, always kissing you, praising you for being so good to him even if you're not, behaving like an ideal boyfriend to the point where even you start suspecting if the problem is you.

he loves so sickeningly hard you end up deluded enough to consider yourself the 'toxic' one. :3

#gojo satoru #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo imagines #gojo hcs #jjk imagines #jjk hcs #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

2K notes · View notes

bluetooththereptile · 1 year ago

Text

Unwelcomed embrace (part two)

Yandere super family x neglected reader

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

Note: this one shot is continuation of this one.

Tw: mentions of violence

"Why don't you have one of those small micro earphones that you attach to the collar of the clothing?" You groaned as you tried to find a good position to rest your hand on under the weight of the mic in your hand, you sighed as you looked at its round head, you didn't like it that much, it felt uneasy in your palm. The chair was too rigid for you to sit comfortably on it, creaking under your weight. You looked down at the mic that had a sock on as a muffler, smiling at the inventiveness of the reporter. "I presume your budget is not that much huh?" The reporter nodded with a sheepish smile as he tried to put on some powder to conceal some of the scar marks on your face, well, as much as your skin color let him do so. "Yeah..." he sighed "the budget is low."

You looked at him, focused on his task, young and ambitious, just like you, you felt like he had the same recklessness as well, why would a sane person come and meet a dangerous anti-hero over a post on Twitter? "Ready?" He asked as he adjusted his camera, you shifted on your seat once more, checking the dark background of the warehouse you were in, and then looked back at the shiny lens of the camera. You paused, still, your hand didn't have a good place to rest its elbow on, huffing in irritation, you rolled your eyes, you had to do something about it, if it kept irritating you, you'd end up messing everything up. So you focused on the cemented floor below, making a thick-bodied plant sprout out of the harsh floor and bend towards you, its leaves forming a cocoon, you smirked and put the mic on the head of the plant and used it as a stand, chuckling at the amazement of the reporter "Now I'm ready!"

"1...2...3..." the reporter spoke softly before the camera started filming and the red light on its front started blinking. "Alright, please introduce yourself..." he spoke to you behind the camera, tapping his pen nervously, you hummed to yourself and tapped your chin as you crossed your legs, trying to find a point to start from "I feel like a Podcaster now..." you joked, before clearing your throat as you started "Well, I'm what media used to call the "Green super" You used quotation marks in the air, your voice showing hints of your initial irritation to the name, which had associated you with superman since your powers were nearly the same. "But now I go with the Green Death, pretty cheesy, but I like it" you chuckled and continued "Well the name is not that far off from my personality either, I am green, my skin is that color."

"So, Green Death, your name has been on the news as the sole force that has kept the Armageddon from happening, twice, already, and now you, all of a sudden, while you had ignored the chance of interviewing with huge media broadcasters, have decided to have an interview now, here in the middle of nowhere, why is that?" You rubbed your chin as you thought about a response, your lips tilting upwards in a smirk "Well, now I have enough evidence to finally show the world who the heroes truly are." You paused, taking it the confused expression of the reporter, adding quickly "Make no mistake, I'm not going to expose their identities, that would make hell break loose, I just simply want to shed a much more different light on them and their actions. As you may know, I was a part of the young Justice League and then Justice League itself for a few years, and I'm the result of a 'heroic affair' myself, so I'd have a very different insight on them..."

"Why though? I mean we pretty much know about the heroes..." You let out a soft chuckle, leaning back in your seat "Well, that is sort of true, but tell me, do you know of the assaults and different crimes that have happened by their hands? For example, do you know Batman has kidnapped nearly three people and has erased their documents out of the system, making them vanish into thin air, never to be seen?" The reporter's eyes widened at that, your smirk turned into a wide smile as you continued "I have both the video footage and documents of it happening..."

"B-but why do you want to expose them for their deeds, knowing well you are fully aware of what they can do, surely they don't want anyone to know that... " "I have exposed the bad guys of the story already, my mother is after me because of that, so I don't think exposing the heroes would be any different...the world has to know who they truly are!"

You were hellbent on tarnishing the images of the heroes once and for all.

Since the time you had left the Justice League, your life had changed a lot, just within two years, you had gone from being a hero to a villain and then to an anti-hero, a cruel topsy turvey irony. It all had started with your mother finally owning up to her parenting role and had found you in your most vulnerable state when you were struggling to pass your days in your trailer. She took you in and tried in her twisted way to help you, for a short period you felt like you had a family, she seemed genuinely nice. But a few months later, you ended up joining the dark force, how? You still were not sure, all you could remember was your mother's voice echoing in your mind as she puffed a shiny dust in your face, and you shaking hands with the Darkseid himself as he had that disgusting grin on his face. It was after that night that you found out that bitch had manipulated you into joining the bad guys, well who wouldn't want to have a version of Superman in their league that wasn't vulnerable to kryptonite? At first, you tried to pretend that you did want to hurt people just for the fun of it, in your mind, you were taking revenge on your father, who looked devastated whenever you had joint missions with your new teammates.

Well, you couldn't deny that the sheer rush of dopamine you felt was great, no rules were there to hold you back, just destroy and enjoy, the loot was lucrative as well. But, still, something in the back of your mind nagged and you couldn't overlook that you hated hurting vulnerable people and you couldn't do it anymore, so at a very crucial mission, you ended up killing all of your teammates before fleeing. You gave your mother a good beating up before you dropped her on the Arkham's doors and then vanished into an abandoned base until things became normal. After that your way of life became of an anti-hero, you didn't want to admit it but annoying the heroes was fun, at least you weren't killing vulnerable people. You did what they couldn't do, you fought without rules and the results were more drastic.

But you wanted to roast your father more, you wanted to make him burn, and what was better than exposing him? "As for Superman, he at least has killed more than 100 people in his missions, the government has already covered that up but I have the proof...flash has caused a climate change that ended up ruining agriculture of the whole world for a year, resulting in famines, Aquaman has sunk a few ships, that were NOT of military-related, killing civilians, also, Wonder woman has kidnapped a few people...and so on and so forth." You started warming up, mentioning more and more of what you knew.

The reporter took note as you spoke, and you were liking the role of the one exposing the hidden secrets of the heroes. You were actually enjoying it too much, so much in fact that your super-human sense didn't detect the flight of Superman and Superboy coming to your location at a bullet-like speed. And within seconds they both crashed into the warehouse Kool-Aid style, making a huge impact.

You were quick to react, using your laser eyes to attack Super Boy, but Conner was quick to dodge, Clark quickly pulled the reporter out of the range of the fight and out of sight, he let Bruc take care of the reporter and his evidence later, now he had you, his troubling child that was now entering dangerous waters. Conner and you fought, trashing the warehouse even further, you didn't know why but Conner's grin was getting on your nerves already.

The two supers had a plan of taking you down, and it was going pretty smoothly, going just as planned, you grew to angry and Conner used it to his advantage, pinning you down by a broken pillar, giving Clark enough time so he could throw the pollen towards you, damn it! How the hell they had gotten their hands on the special pollen that your mother had created just for controlling you?! You tried to not breathe, but the bitter taste of it already had formed in your mouth, making your mind go foggy. Damn it! Damn it!!!!!!

"We need to talk..." Clark's voice echoed in your mind, your vision was so distorted that you could only see the silhouette of your father approaching you "And we need to talk properly!" His voice made your heart skip...uh oh...Clark was serious.

#yandere #yandere batman #yandere dc #yandere x reader #yandere super family #yandere super boy #yandere superboy #yandere superman #yandere clark kent #yandere conner kent #yandere supergirl #yandere superfam #yandere superfam x reader #yandere x neglected reader

1K notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 5 months ago

Text

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

488 notes · View notes

idyllcy · 7 months ago

Text

every time i look at you, i keep turning red

word count: 7.0k || inspo: The Dismemberment of Zagreus

warnings: nsfw, smut

summary: shade or not shade? minor goddess or goddess?

Past the gates of Hades and the river Styx, Elysium sits. An endless paradise of homes and greenery in a seemingly desolate land. It was always Zagreus' third stop. He hadn't paid much attention there, Asphodel previously wearing him out. Zagreus wonders not much about the land itself. The prince needed to get past it, avoiding traps he's lived through too many times to count and fighting past foes. He stops occasionally at safe spaces of people he's talked to and always leaves nectar behind as he knows he's going to return. He never makes it that far into the temple. It takes trials through hell and back to escape. It takes time, he finds. So sometimes, he rests in the fields, in a place he knows is far away from whatever traps of death within the realm of Hades himself may await him. A place where no dirt can cut into his skin and damage it.

It was a strange place. The shades wound him, though they didn't pierce the skin of the shades. Skin? The body. The souls, perhaps. The realm of Elysium was never meant to reside in as a godling for long. Though, he had seen multiple souls retain their human form here. It was amusing to him. It had been the closest he had ever been to talking to living people. He wonders if there are any new ones. It was weary, meeting the same people over and over again in the realm. He seldom sees people end up here anymore.

A sigh slips past his lips as he lays down in the green.

He resides in a paradise built for only the best of the best; people whom the gods favored heavily. Since the first three times he had visited his mother, he hadn't stopped to breathe in order to get back up. He fought, raced, and hurled in order to get to where he needed to be. He had to see his mother once more. She hadn't returned with him, and he had unanswered questions he needed answers to. Yet, as he finished with Asphodel, he supposes a quick rest in the grass could not kill him. Well, he wasn't exactly alive either. And, if failed, he would simply return to where he started. It was a cycle he had grown used to, though he fought tooth and nail to make it upward each time.

Zagreus is not expecting to meet someone new on the fourth.

He spots you in the distance, white chiton draping over your shoulders, wrapping snugly around your figure.

A young maiden. You looked no older than him.

He wonders by whom you were favored, but he pauses at the sight of the familiar color. It seemed you had received a blessing in the form of your hair. The streaks of color remind him of his own mother, and he wonders just what you've done to please the Queen of the Underworld so much. You don't notice his stare, but you notice the sword stuck to the dirt, reaching to pull one out of the ground. He wonders if you'll get cut by one. His eyes trail over your hands, and he takes note of how rough your hands seemed to be. They resemble those of his mother's. Perhaps you had been a farmer who worshipped his mother especially much.

The blade doesn't cut you, but you fail to pull it out. He watches newfound determination paint over your features, and his lips part at the sight. You pull the weapon out in two tugs, falling onto the ground as you do. The red on the surface of the blade cracks into green as you pry the sword out with your bare hands. Zagreus can only observe in a mixture of fear and awe. You, a dainty maiden, had pried a weapon out of the sod as though it were a pomegranate. You sat there, staring at the craftsmanship, enthralled by its beauty as he were enthralled with yours. You hear him shuffle, and he leans back into the grass.

Zagreus doesn't understand why you don't approach him nor run away, but he takes it as a greeting. He might see you more often. Perhaps he'll see you on his next quest upward. When he hears you shuffle out of range, he stands up, the wounds on his body healed to some extent. His exhaustion is rested, and he sets off to meet his mother again. Perhaps he'd ask her about you. It was strange to see hair that reminded him so much of his own mother. He wondered if the color had the same texture as his mother's. Ah, but it wouldn't be so kind to compare you to his mother, now would it? Perhaps he missed his mother. That's why he had stayed a little longer to pay attention to you. It would leave him with his next death. There was no other reason.

When Zagreus reaches the surface, his mother shakes her head at his questions. She had no favored child. There must've been something wrong. Perhaps he had seen things while hurt from battle. As Zagreus falls back into the Styx, he wonders if you really had been a desperate hallucination. It had been years since his father had ruled anyone into Elysium. If not blessed, then what was it? Perhaps you had done something during the time that you were alive.

You were a mortal goddess. One of healing, he supposes. He closes his eyes and hears someone shuffle toward him, pressing cold hands onto his skin, and a cooling sensation flowing through his body. When he opens his eyes again, the figure is gone, the wounds on his body mended. There's no ache in his body, and he notices the ambrosia left next to him. It was strange. Had you really been a goddess, you wouldn't be able to die. Perhaps you had fallen out of worship and grown forgotten by the people who once served you.

Zagreus keeps the ambrosia in his pockets. Maybe he'll give you one once he returns.

The fifth time he lies in the field, he doesn't have as many wounds, but he closes his eyes anyways. Perhaps he could catch you. When he feels as though he's waiting an eternity, he hears the grass rustle. Once the footsteps stop next to him, he grabs the hand that's pressed to his back. "Got you," He smiles. You struggle in his grip, and he can feel you grow warmer. "I won't hurt you," He sits up, keeping your wrist in his hand, taking note of how dainty you were compared to him. Your wrist seems small in comparison to his hand.

You blink at him owlishly, fear visible in your eyes. "Prince. M-my apologies. I didn't want to wake you, though I was worried the wounds would cause problems if left alone. Please don't send me to Tartarus..."

Zagreus sputters. "I assure you, fair maiden, that is not the case. I simply wanted to meet my savior. Perhaps you are a godling as I?"

You shake your head. "I am not. The blessing of Apollo's healing was simply placed on me. I am but a minor deity compared to the Olympians."

"So you fell out of worship?" Zagreus loosens his grip on your wrist. You don't seem like you'll leave if he does.

"No," You shake your head. "My mortal body was destroyed in a fit of rage from my father... My prince, how is it that you're able to touch me? I thought shades could not be touched."

"Elysium is a little different from such rules," He mumbles. "Thank you, for the ambrosia, fair maiden."

"It was but something expected," You mumble, standing back up. "My apologies for holding you back, my prince. I heard you are on your way to Olympus."

"That's not entirely correct," He stands up with you, towering over you almost. "But thank you for your healing, fair goddess."

"The Olympians wouldn't be happy with that title you call me," You mumble shyly as he presses a kiss to your hand. "Go on, my prince. May you continue on your journey with the blessing of a minor deity such as I."

Zagreus smiles gently. "I thank you for the blessing, little goddess."

Zagreus climbs back to the overworld for the fifth time.

On the sixth, he has no injury. He's growing better at climbing, yet he still stops by the meadow where you reside. He wants to see you again. Of the few shades that could touch him, he seemed to like you the best. Your fingers were cool against his skin, and he liked the way you warmed when he complimented you. He likes the way you turn dark from his touch. You were tiny compared to him. He was already short compared to both his parents, but you were even smaller. It seemed you were an even lesser goddess compared to him. He liked the feeling of your hand in his. Ah. He'd have to ask mother what that feeling was. His chest was warmer than the gates of the underworld.

"Lovely maiden," Zagreus presses your hand to his cheek, relishing in the cold of your fingers. You feel divine on his skin. As though Nyx herself had blessed you, your skin was cold as his foster mother's. He liked the feeling of your skin on his.

"My prince," you mumble. "What time is this? I feel as though you've climbed for centuries by now."

"Maiden," He whispers. "That is simply because there is no morning here."

"Ah," you mumble. "The days feel long, even in a paradise such as Elysium."

"I can see that," Zagreus smiles. "Well, I shall be on my way now."

"Yes, my prince," You bow. "Please stay safe. May the blessings of a minor deity as I assist you along the way."

"Thank you, little goddess," He presses your fingers to his lips. "I shall see you in my next run."

Zagreus finds himself heavily wounded on his seventh run. His mother had told him to consider talking to his father properly, and he had fallen dead to the overworld again. Ah, he had forgotten to inquire about the warmth from you. He recalls the words of his mentor, though, wondering if that was how his father felt around his mother. Would he have to move you forcibly to his room? No. That would make him the same as his father. He wouldn't like it.

Neither of you speak while he's injured, and you press your palm to his skin. The cold that spreads through his abdomen stings, though it brings him comfort as well. He has grown used to the cold from your hands, and he wonders if you could press it to his hands to heal them as well. Calluses and rough patches of skin from handling weapons have long plagued his fingers and palms. It was a strange feeling, though it has grown to be welcomed. There is something about your touch specifically. His hand reaches for your face as you start pulling away.

"Goddess," He mumbles, pressing his fingers to your cheek.

"Tis your seventh run, yes?" You mumble, leaning into his touch.

"Yes," He breathes, his breath catching in his throat.

"How many more, my prince?"

"I don't know," he presses his thumb on your bottom lip, swiping across it. Your lip seems small compared to his thumb, he can only imagine how small you would be compared to his hands once he lifts you. Ah. No. He couldn't afford such thoughts. He had barely known you, yet he held such affection for you. Perhaps you had treated him just as you treated everyone else. He didn't know a dead heart could race so fast. "Until my mother returns." He purses his lips. "Though it will only be temporary rest. I don't feel as though I belong here, you see."

"Mm," you hum gently, lashes fluttering to get a better look at the prince. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my prince."

"I do," He smiles. "And I get to see you, my fair goddess, each time."

"How flirtatious of you, prince," You mumble, skin warm again.

"Only with you, my fair goddess," He smiles. "This is for you to take," He places a bottle of ambrosia in your hands. "Until I meet you next time, goddess."

Your skin warms from his ministrations. "May the blessings of a minor goddess as myself keep you safe on your journey."

"A kiss, perhaps?" He smiles, cocking his head to the side gently. "If you don't desire it, then it is fine."

"If the prince desires it," you mumble, using his shoulder as leverage to pull yourself to his cheek. You press your lips to his neck for a moment, and Zagreus finds his skin growing red. He turns to stare at you, the blush visible on his skin. You stare up at him, doe-eyed and smiling. "Then I shall fulfill it."

Zagreus wants to defile you.

The thought comes up suddenly as he stares down at you, and his heart shakes erratically in his chest. Maybe it wasn't a heart. Perhaps it was the blood rushing to his head. Yet, as he watches you fulfill whatever he desired, he couldn't help but wonder if you'd give yourself to him. His hand reaches for your lip again, brushing the bottom lip. You stare at him, staring quietly. Ah. He's been staring for too long. Hopefully, you don't mind it.

"My apologies, little goddess," Zagreus lets go of your face gently. "I shall be on my way."

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I protect you along the way," You bow, and Zagreus heads out to his mother again.

Zagreus pauses while in the colosseum, a recurring thought plaguing his mind. It would be nice to find you after the fights, though he would have to return again. He wonders how far your healing properties can go. Perhaps he could find you once he climbs the next time. He still needed to convince his mother to return to the underworld with him. Once he does such, he'd be able to leave much easier. His father being distracted would also permit him to spend more time with you while he climbed to the surface. Perhaps he could somehow convince his mother to let you roam around the underworld with him while he traveled upward. A companion along his way would be nice. You could heal him when he needed it as well. He'll talk with mother on the matter.

While on the surface, his mother follows him with more questions. Zagreus wonders if it would be possible to remain on the surface for longer. Perhaps he'd build up an immunity to the sun, and he'd be able to stay out for longer. He should bring you up sometime. Though, it seems you didn't exactly die, so you'd undoubtedly be capable of escaping from the underworld. His father would be greatly angered at such a thought. Letting a goddess that fell out of worship escape the underworld? How foolish of a thought.

"My prince," You stare at him as he steps toward you.

"Goddess," He smiles. "I've come to seek advice, since you seem to have seen more than I."

"A lie," You hum. "But let us see if I shall be of assistance to you."

"My father's chambers," Zagreus swallows, and he pauses. Should he be telling you of such a vulnerable room? No. Even if he were to keep it a secret, he wouldn't know the answer until his mother responded to him. "Do you know of the former queen? My mother?"

"The goddess Persephone?" You tilt your head. "It had been a legend, as many of the people believed you were the son of Nyx, but I suppose you wouldn't be escaping to leave if your mother were here."

"So you do know," He mumbles. "My father has a portrait of my mother hung up in his room, still. After so many years."

You tilt your head to hear more.

"I do not understand why."

"It is love," You smile. "For one does not go so far or so to keep a fragment of someone unless they are in love."

"Is that so," Zagreus mumbles. "Would you like to meet mother?"

"My body is supposedly bound to Elysian," You smile. "Unless the prince was considering abducting me?"

"I do not see why not," He shrugs. "Tis tradition in this house." He smiles cheekily. "As my father had abducted my mother."

"But you do not love me," You watch him as he presses the back of your hand to your lips. "As your father loves your mother."

"I would move you to the office of Hades myself if I could," Zagreus nods, and you press two fingers to his head.

"May the blessings of a minor goddess as I keep you safe on your journey once more," You bow as he steps off.

"Ah," He turns around. "Before I forget." He steps over to you, handing you a bottle of ambrosia. "Would you be willing to move to my chambers if I could move you?"

"We shall talk about that once the chance of such an event occurs," You smile, and Zagreus watches the faux wind brush your hair.

"Of course. Thank you, little goddess," He returns to the arena once more.

In such a way, he supposes Asterius and Theseus have grown tired of his attempts at escaping, though they go no easier on him than they always have. The metal of his weapons clashes against theirs, and he does wonder if his proposal to you could ever go beyond a fleeting thought. Though, as he defeats the heroes once more, he stands and stares at the drops. Perhaps he could bring that up once his mother returns. His father's mood might soften if that were to occur. But alas, pointless thoughts are worth nothing until they follow through.

Zagreus talks to his mother, questioning as to why his father would even begin to keep a portrait of his mother with him. His mother's response is the same as yours, and he pauses at the realization. His mother seems to catch on, and he curses himself as he falls to the river Styx again. He's wasting his time thinking about you while on the surface. His mother is considering it, sure, but gods, he's about ready to steal you for himself. He's sure you'd look much prettier under the sun. He's nearly jealous of your worshippers. Though, he wonders how a foolish thought as such could even plague his mind.

"I have been told," You start, fiddling with your fingers. "That this is not your ninth run, but perhaps your hundredth, my prince."

"That is an overstatement," He hums. "I have lost count as death is not new to me."

"It would seem so," You mumble. "For death is foreign to me."

"You had not passed?"

"The sleep reincarnate had quite the time trying to find my name," You smile. "Hades himself had to welcome me into Elysium since he could not send me back to the overworld."

"Would you like to join me?" He traces circles on your hand. "Since you are not bound there."

"I will be of no help in the arena with Asterius and Theseus. I shall simply wait for your next climb." You shake your head.

"No warrior experience?" He finds it almost baffling. "None?"

"I have fought," You swallow. "But I do not enjoy it, my prince."

"I see," He mumbles, staring at your robes. "Then I shall come find you in my next run."

"I see," You smile. "Please convey my words to your mother. I feel as though the underworld misses their queen, my prince."

"I see," He nods.

"May the blessing of a minor goddess as I," You grab his hand, pressing your lips to his knuckles. "keep you safe on your journey once more, my prince."

Persephone entertains the idea of possibly returning to the underworld. The last words she leaves Zagreus with make his heart flutter at the possibility of his mother returning home with him. He's elated. Once he does, he's sure he'll be able to have her meet you and possibly move you around with him. The idea brings a smile to his face as he talks to Hypnos. The sleep incarnate grimaces and sends him on his way, napping once more as a result. Zagreus doesn't understand why his heart races as he opens his arms for you.

You crash into his chest gently, sighing gently at the feeling of his arms around you. Zagreus thinks you're a little cold, but it's a welcome contrast to his warm skin. His fingers press against your back, and you smile softly. It doesn't reach your eyes, but your body relaxes in his touch, and Zagreus can't help but wonder if something had occurred for you to touch him so willingly. He lets you rest on his chest, and he presses his fingers to the back of your neck. You squirm at the sensation, and he smiles. "Did you miss me, little goddess?"

"Yes," You mumble. "You took time this run, you see, my prince."

"My apologies," He presses a kiss to your hair, and you giggle.

"How was seeing your mother?" You peel yourself from him, lashes fluttering up at him.

"It was nice," He hums, letting go of you. "Are you still willing to reside with me in the main castle?"

"Perhaps once you accomplish your goal on the surface of the earth," You tap his chest mindlessly. "Will the queen return?"

"Perhaps," He closes his eyes, pulling your palm to his cheek. "Will you meet her with me this time?"

"Perhaps," You mumble. "Though, I can not return to the surface with you. It will be of no help."

"I do not mind bringing luggage with me," He lifts you from the ground, grinning as you yelp. You sit on his right shoulder as he rushes to the arena. "If you do not wish to fight, then there is no need for you to."

"I can fight," You swallow, the blade on your thigh.

"But you do not like it," He hums, pulling you to the side. "Just watch me and heal from the sidelines. Please, little goddess." He brushes your hair to the side, and your breath catches in your throat.

"If that is what you will, my prince." You mumble as he carries you off to the arena. A part of you were terrified of Hades's booming voice as the first time, yet Zagreus' arms keep you secure. He couldn't pass with you around. You hadn't passed away, and the healing you provided raised his defenses. You prayed that he would survive with you as luggage. The mere thought of having to battle on your own terrified you. The sight of blood was already a tightrope to walk on.

Your prince fights valiantly, the battle long engrained into his muscles, and he finishes his job with precision. The blood on his skin does not belong to him, but rather his opponents, and the good shade cheers. Your fingers drum against your skin nervously as the gate to the Temple of the Styx opens. The prince offers you his hand, and you follow him. You fear for your life. There were rumors that the gate to the surface was guarded by Lord Hades himself, and you did not wish to meet the god again.

Zagreus passes with you on his shoulder, and he finds that you are much lighter than he thinks. It was as though your bones could break at any moment. He didn't like it, though he was glad you hadn't complained about how quickly he was rushing through. He wanted to meet his mother. Perhaps he'd get his father's blessing along the way, though, he would most likely attempt to send you back to Elysium. He wouldn't let him. It wasn't any more of an act of defiance compared to escaping to meet his mother.

Zagreus reaches the gates to the surface with you still on his shoulder, and his father pauses at the sight. His son has a shade on his shoulder, and he contemplates letting his son out even at all. Though, he recognized the shade. It wasn't a shade, it had been a goddess who had just floated down the River Styx. He supposes letting him go would not hurt, though it would definitely cause a hit to the reputation of the underworld.

"Zagreus," Hades' voice bellows. "What is with the shade?"

"She is not a shade," Zagreus swallows, and he presses his hand to your trembling thigh. "She is a goddess."

"Goddess or not," The king of the underworld roars. "I can not let her escape."

"I am taking her to meet mother," Zagreus grumbles. "If you do not let me pass, we will fight as we always have."

You avert your eyes from the King, and Zagreus' grip on you assures you of your safety. You had not thought he would be so honest with his words. The heat creeps up your cheeks, and you attempt to tune out the King and Prince's conversation. You can feel the heat from frustration radiating off of his body, and you press your palm to the back of the prince's neck. You hope that'll calm him down to some extent. It works, and the prince starts negotiating. The heat at the gate lowers, and you whimper as Zagreus finally rushes out with you.

The overworld is much colder than the underworld. You had forgotten it was near winter, and you tap the prince for him to let you down.

"I promised father to bring you back," He mumbles, holding onto your hand instead. "So you must stay attached to me."

"Of course, my prince," You mumble, stepping onto the grass. "How long do you have?"

"Until I pass," He smiles. "You must return from the styx with me, though."

"I can return through the gates," You follow him as he rushes through the hill to his mother's abode. The snow crunches under your feet, and you glance at the burnt grass from Zagreus' feet. You hadn't paid much attention to the prince, yet it came as a surprise that his feet left ashes in the green. Perhaps his mother had cast a spell in her garden? You try not to think much as the prince leads you to his mother's home. You were undeniably a little worried for meeting the queen of the underworld.

"Mother," Zagreus lets go of your hand, and you stand there, glancing around the garden.

You space out for much of the conversation, rocking on your heels, staring around at the overworld. It has not changed much. You wonder how your people are doing, though they are far from the gates of the underworld. Your eyes linger at the edge of the cliff, and Zagreus' voice cuts you out of your trance. "Mother, this is a minor goddess that ended up in the river Styx," Zagreus pulls you to his mother, warm hands on your shoulder as you smile awkwardly.

"It's... a pleasure to meet you, goddess," You bow.

"Well, there are no need for formalities as such," The goddess smiles. "I remember you. I had visited your temple once."

"I am honored, your highness," You bow in embarrassment. "That you had received the help of a minor goddess as I."

"There is no minor nor major," The queen helps you up, and she smiles. "For we all take care of people."

You flush with embarrassment. "Thank you, my queen."

Your skin warms as the two of them help you onto Charon's boat, and you listen curiously to the sounds of Orpheus and Euridice. The boat rocks rhythmically as you stare at the passing scenery. The green of Elysium is familiar to you, though the lands of Asphodel and Tartarus are foreign to your eyes. You note the screams, and you stare almost longingly at the ever-fading sunlight. Zagreus takes note of it, though he wonders if there were ever a chance you could remain in the overworld. Both of you know that is just foolish wishing.

As the boat stops at the gates of Hell itself, you pause to stare at the gates. They're a terrifying height to you, and as the queen of the underworld herself bellows for the opening of the gates. Zagreus squeezes your shoulder assuringly as he presses his palm to your back. You trail through the gates, next to the prince, swallowing unconsciously as Hades greets his wife and son. You reach for Zagreus' hand instinctually, shaking slightly as his hand clasps you. He rubs gentle circles on the back of your hand as you space out, thinking about your home in Elysium. Though, it seems as though Zagreus does not wish for you to return. Even as you return to the main hall with him, Zagreus does not let go of your hand.

"Goddess," He mumbles. "We shall be throwing a banquet for the olympians. Would you like to join?"

"There is no need," You mumble. "When shall I be returning to Elysium?"

"Do you wish to return to early?" The prince whispers sadly, and you whimper.

"I am worried that Lord Hades will grow angry," You try and explain yourself.

"If he does not, will you stay with me?"

"If it is my prince's will," You avert your eyes, and the prince smiles.

"Then by royal order, you are to stay next to me at all times."

"Even while my prince escapes?" You fiddle with your fingers, letting go of his hand.

"Even while I escape," He presses his hand to your hair and runs it down your back. "You are to stay with me."

"Yes, my prince," You don't know how to feel about it. Though, it seems to be an issue that only you worry about. The preparations for the party are done by Lady Persephone and you, adjusting the tablecloth and food. You help pick the wines, the queen herself growing the grapes, and the underworld quickly hurries to vitalize. It feels very alive, a place that seemed to be no more than death itself. You had never seen Hades work so much on things other than dealing with shades. You're almost impressed.

Zagreus helps his mother adjust the tables in the dining room, and the amount of preparation that goes into the welcoming of the Olympians is baffling. You help around when you can, organizing plates and tasting the food. Zagreus stops you from having a sip of ambrosia while preparing. You bat your lashes at him, and he shakes his head. "There is alcohol mixed into it, fair goddess." You listen, setting it onto the table as he rushes off to help his mother. You smile at the two; after all, he was a mother's boy. You wonder if you had parents of your own, but you brush the thought off. It did not matter.

Once the party ends, you don't complain as you clean up with the other servants, and you don't complain as you wash dishes in River Styx. You find it amusing that you were washing dishes in the river of the dead. The boon of Lady Persephone herself keeps you from decaying, and Zagreus helps you out, drying tableware as you finish the last of the mess. The rest of the castle is restored, and you collapse onto Zagreus' recliner, exhaustion worming through your body. You curl in the cushions, the exhaustion knocking you out. You could worry about other things later once you wake up.

The prince of the underworld steps back into his room, frowning when he couldn't find you after you rushed off to the kitchen. He wonders if you had been sent back to Elysium or attempted to flee. After all, you had looked sad when you boarded the boat to return. He's glad that isn't the case when he finds you on his bed. Your chest rises and falls, the fabric of your chiton barely doing anything to cover your body. It slides down your shoulder, and Zagreus bites his tongue as he shifts it back up your shoulder, covering you. He lifts you from the recliner, placing you in bed gently, as if scared you would break from his touch. Your skin is cool against his as he wraps his arms around you hesitantly, and he closes his eyes. It had been a while since he had fallen asleep.

You wake to warmth pressed against your back and a sweaty body. You don't recall Zagreus' room being so hot. Was Tartarus burning all of a sudden? Perhaps Asphodel had overflowed once more. Yet, as your eyes open and you stretch your arms, you find that you're in the arms of the prince, his head pressed into your shoulder. You pause mid-stretch, and you lower your arms, shuffling to face him. The sheets rustle as you press your ear to his chest, eyes closing again at the sound of his heart. Huh. You didn't know dead people had heartbeats in the underworld.

Zagreus wakes again, sighing at the coolness of your skin. He glances at your new position, and he lies there, staring up at the ceiling. His mind wanders as you lie on him, and he brushes your hair to the side. You look pretty in his arms, and you were all his. You stir in your rest, and you blink drowsily at the male. "Zag?"

"Good morning, goddess," He smiles. "Did you rest well?"

"Very much so," You mumble, tapping his chest gently. His eyes meet yours, and his lips pull into a grin. You look dazzling. He moves his hand to your cheek, tracing the bags of your eyes. Your lips part, leaning into his touch. You contemplate your words for a moment, the prince hanging on the apprehension. Your next words cause his smile to broaden."May... I have a kiss?"

"Yes, goddess," He whispers, lowering himself to press one to your lips lovingly. You wrap your arms around his neck, whimpering at the heat from his hands. His eyes stay half-lidded, and his tongue swipes your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting him press his tongue to yours, sticking closer to him. Zagreus leans further into you, heart ringing in his ears. He whimpers as you move your hands to press to his chest, and he pulls away, the coolness of your skin burning his. He pants, staring at you through his lashes. "What's wrong?"

"I want more," You whimper, squirming as he presses his hands to your waist. Zagreus' face lights up. You seldom asked for more. You must be tired, his pretty goddess. He'll take care of you properly. Anything for you, after all. He pulls the blanket from your shoulders and lifts you into his lap.

"On top or on the bottom, darling," He mumbles, and you reach for his wrist.

"Bottom, please, Zag."

The prince spreads you on the bed, pulling your thighs apart as you ease into the pillows. You chew your bottom lip nervously as he presses his fingers into your legs. You grow embarrassed from his actions, skin flushing.

"Don't do that," You whisper.

"What's wrong?"

"It's embarrassing," You hide your face, and the prince smiles.

"There is no embarrassment," He pulls you to his face by the thigh, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your leg. "You are the lover of the prince of the underworld. There is no shame in a place as this." He lifts the cloth from your legs, scrunching it up. "I'll make sure that you are aware of this, goddess." His fingers trace the outer lip of your labia, thumb meeting your clit to get you wet. You grip the sheets, desperate to cum not squirm. Zagreus is making it increasingly hard for you, your breath quickening as he slides a finger into you. Your thighs squirm to close, and he uses his arms to keep you open. Your struggling falls on deaf ears. He stares in curiosity at the way you coat his fingers. "You're gorgeous, darling." He mumbles, kissing your clit gently. You flush with embarrassment.

"That's embarrassing," You whine again.

"I told you, darling," Zagreus presses his lips to your pussy, pulling his fingers out to keep your legs apart forcibly. "There is no embarrassment to being my lover." He can't see you, but he drinks in the sounds you make as he goes down on you. The room fills up with your gasps, and he moans lightly as your fingers thread through his hair. He presses his tongue flat again, and you whimper as he bites on your clit. You're not sure what happens next, but as the prince goes back down on you in a blur, your legs are tightening around his head, your orgasm crashing down on you. Your lips part, a silent sob slipping past your lips as Zagreus pulls from you. He swipes his fingers across his chin, collecting the slick from your cunt.

"Still embarrassed?," His face drops, and he leans into your face.

You whimper. "N-no."

"Do you want to go all the way?" He stares at the mess on the sheets, and you whimper.

"Yes," You whisper. "I... feel as though I've made you wait long enough."

"Do not think that you are required to satisfy me," He whispers, staring into your eyes. "Never. This is about your comfort."

"I am sure, my prince," You mumble, fingers pressing onto his chest again.

Zagreus pulls his robes to the side, and he gives you one last stare, only pulling you to him as you nod. You're nervous, understandably so, and the prince eases into you, lashes fluttering to stare at you while you stare at where he was sliding into you. He's glad you're wet enough, and he pauses once he's inside of you, rubbing comforting circles onto your waist as you reach for his hand. He entwines his fingers with yours, letting you play with his fingers as you adjust to his size.

You're full. You feel yourself filled to the brim, stretched beyond how you've ever felt with your fingers alone. You fiddle with the prince's hand, the heat from his body warming yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to feel closer to him, and he leans onto you, hands caging you to keep his body weight off of you. You take the moment to stare at his arms and pecs, biting your bottom lip as he shifts himself in you. You exhale, curling upward to his collar, biting quietly. The prince cocks his neck to the side to give you more access, and you bite down, the male moaning. You suck quietly. You wonder if you could ask him to play with his chest another day. He might think it's too much for the first time.

Your lips let go of his neck, and you lower yourself back onto the mattress. "You can move now, my prince."

Zagreus moves slowly, worried that he would break you if he were to move roughly. You can feel him with every drag, sweating. "You're, hah, so dazzling, goddess," The male moans, hissing at the feeling of your nails rake down his skin. You whimper as he drags himself inside of you again, and your eyes are glazed over with tears. Zagreus finds that you look divine like this. The mixture of sweat and spit on the two of you causes your skin to glisten, and his half-lidded eyes flick over your body. You look ethereal. Ah, not even the skies of the overworld could rival your beauty. He can't believe he gets to have you like this.

You gasp and writhe under him, broken sobs cracking out of your throat as he thrusts into your repeatedly. You feel his sweat build up under your nails, yet you don't mind. Every inch of your body is on fire, and you whimper at how full you feel. You feel every inch of him drag through you at each thrust, and your toes curl behind him. It's drunkening. Your body is a mess from him, the cum staining his sheets, yet Zagreus doesn't stop. Your arms fall above your head, Zagreus entwining his hand with one of yours. You feel embarrassed, trying to muffle your voice in his pillows. "Zag... Zag... Ah, Zahg" You gasp as he presses his chest to yours, forcing your eyes to meet his. "I'm going to... hah... cum... please..."

Zagreus presses a kiss to your collar, his thumb moving down to meet your clit. You were calling his name so sweetly, how could he not comply? Your back hits the bedding again, nails digging into his shoulders. You moan and babble incoherently as he speeds up, and you cry as your orgasm hits. It jolts down your spine, your pussy clenching on him, causing the prince to curse on your skin, fucking you through your orgasm. You cry from the overstimulation, and the prince strings apologies into your ears as he chases his own orgasm. "Zahg... nn," You cry. "It feels weird... a-ah," Zagreus presses his lips to yours, finally feeling himself cum as your nails dig back into his skin. He doesn't think much as he forces himself into you deeper so that his cum stays, and you finally relax onto the pillows, tear stains visible on your cheeks.

"Sorry, darling," He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, licking the salt curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," You whimper as he pulls out. "I'm fine. Thank you, my prince."

"Rest again, my goddess." He mumbles, kissing your forehead. "I shall take care of you."

"I'm sorry," Your eyes shut. "My prince."

"There is nothing for you to apologize for," He pulls the covers over you once more, and you drift off.

#this is two years old. no i will not elaborate #☾.nsfw #hades game #zagreus x reader #reader insert #☾.fics #hades game x reader #beeeeg sigh. no more tags other than that this one is staying HIDDEN #oh my god why is the tag trending this is EVILLL NOO DON'T PERCEIVE MEEE :(

633 notes · View notes

yunhohours · 4 months ago

Text

Do It For Me

✗ Pairing: bf!jeonghan x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 1.5k

✗ Warnings: phone sex, liberal use of 'baby' and 'angel,' masturbation (reader only), dirty talk (obviously), no orgasms :)

✗ A/N: this was requested. i was originally planning on doing just a lil hard thought but instead i wrote this in like an hour so i hope it's ok! not intended to be a full fic. a lil taste, if you will.

“I know, right? It was so awkward. And then when I bent down to pick up the change, he bent down at the same time so we collided. And in the process of trying to keep myself on my feet, my coffee splashed all over my sweater. Thank god it was iced. But now I have a huge stain on the nice sweater you bought for me.” You frown, plucking at a loose thread on your bed’s comforter. “Why did it have to be this one? It was so nice and bright white.”

Jeonghan hums on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry, angel.”

“No, I’m sorry. You gave me such a thoughtful gift and now it’s potentially ruined.”

He laughs. “I’m not worried about the sweater, baby. I just don’t like that your morning went like that. I can always buy you a new sweater.”

Before you can protest, he continues speaking, knowing you well enough to know that’s exactly what you’d do if he gives you the chance. “Are you still wearing it now?”

You look down at the sizable brown stain and your frown deepens. “Yeah. I just got home when you called. I didn’t have time to come home and change.”

There’s a slight but noticeable silence between your phones.

“You should take it off, baby.”

“I know. I will. I’m probably going to shower soon so–”

“No. I mean right now.”

You hesitate. Is he just being thoughtful or is he up to something? Knowing Jeonghan, it could be either. Maybe slightly more likely to be the latter. “H-huh?”

You can sense the smile in Jeonghan’s voice. “Take it off. Go on. Do it for me.”

You hesitate again, a shiver running down your spine. The atmosphere feels suddenly heavier. Without asking another question, you put your phone on speaker phone and pull the sweater over your head. You shiver again when the air of your room hits your mostly bare top half–only your bra covering you there. “I–um–It’s off?”

Jeonghan chuckles, barely audible. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not–” You don’t bother finishing. You both know that’s not true.

“You are.” Another extended silence. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Lay back for me.”

You shift, pulling your dangling leg up until your body is fully seated on the bed. You maneuver yourself until you’re in the center of your bed, resting your body against the mattress. Jeonghan seems to be able to tell by the cessation of rustling sounds that you’ve done what he’s asked.

“Comfy?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Unclip your bra. It’s that rose colored one I like, right? Your skin looks so pretty in that one. I need you to take it off though. Can you do that for me?”

You nod before remembering that he can’t see you. “”Y-yes.” You sit up just long enough to remove your bra, gently tossing it aside and resuming your horizontal position. “It’s off.”

“Mm. I can just see you now–your face all shy, your nipples forming perfect little peaks.”

He’s not wrong. You chew on your bottom lip. You feel like it’s your turn to speak, but you’re not sure if you should. He’s the one leading this right now, right?

“Unbutton your jeans while you listen to me.” He keeps right on talking, now knowing for sure you’ll do what he tells you. You do. “My angel had a tough day, hmm? My poor baby. You deserve to be taken care of after a day like that. This day has some making up to do for you, isn’t that right? Lift your pretty hips and slide off those jeans. Real slow and sexy like when I do it.”

Your phone rests near your head, Jeonghan’s voice dripping from it like a smooth honey. You close your eyes as you follow the instructions, picturing Jeonghan’s hands instead of your own. A part of you is wondering what he’s doing right now, what he’s wearing when you’re almost naked aside from your panties. “I like it better when you do it,” you admit.

“I know, baby.” The satisfaction in his voice is palpable. “I love how eagerly your hips rise, like you can’t wait to be bare for me.” Your heels dig into the mattress, an effort to disperse some of the tension that’s quickly building in your body. “Just your panties now, right?”

You nod instinctively. “Yes. That’s all.”

“Put your fingers in your mouth. Get them nice and wet. I want to hear.”

Your cheeks burn from the nature of the request, but you’re not sure why you feel so shy. He can’t even see you right now. You take two of your fingers into your mouth and start to suck on them, coating them generously in your saliva. You suppose Jeonghan can hear the wet sounds because he hums–an approving sound.

“Good. Close your eyes.” You don’t tell him they’re already closed. “I want you to pull those fingers out of your mouth and use them between your legs. Don’t take your panties off. Don’t move them. Use your fingers against them. Think about how it feels when I tease you like that. When I use my tongue on you but your panties are in the way. How deliciously frustrating that is…”

You groan, but it’s quiet–unconvincing. It is frustrating, but you also love it. He knows that. “Can’t you just come over?” Your hand falls between your thighs, your wet fingers rubbing against the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath pushes out of your parted lips and Jeonghan chuckles.

“I could. But what would be the fun in that?” Your brows furrow, but you focus on touching yourself. It is extremely hot having Jeonghan talking you through this. The pads of your fingers circle your clit, occasionally pulling a twitch out of you. You think it’s both a blessing and a curse that Jeonghan can’t see your body do that. “Use your other hand to play with your nipples. Doesn’t it feel good, baby?”

You pinch your left nipple, rolling the button between your fingers. “Mhmm. Really good.”

“See? I’d never steer you wrong.” You hum this time. “I bet you want more, don’t you? You want those panties out of the way. You want to feel more.”

You huff out a breath, your head nodding against the mattress. “Yes.”

“Move them to the side. Don’t take them off.”

You start to argue, knowing it’ll be easier if you just take them off completely. “But–”

“Shh. You’re imagining me, right? I want you to imagine all the times when you’re so needy for me that we don’t waste time undressing you fully. You need me so bad and I just move those pretty but annoying little things to the side so I can give you what you want.” You whimper at his words, the image vivid in your mind. “Move them, baby. Move your fingers through your slick. Tell me how wet you are.”

You’d swear both your cheeks and your ears are burning now. Your fingers move the fabric of your panties, wincing slightly at the dampness of them. You can only imagine what the situation beneath them is like. You move your fingers down and around your folds, goosebumps prickling your skin at the amount of arousal you find. “I–I’m–”

“Don’t be shy.”

“So wet.” You’re surprised the words are able to leave your mouth. You feel almost embarrassed. You’re this aroused just by Jeonghan talking to you? God, you knew you were down bad for him, but you didn’t know it was this bad. Your fingers are practically aching to thrust themselves inside of your cunt, craving that fullness you get when you’re with Jeonghan.

“I know you are. You always get so worked up for me.”

You make a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

“Relax, angel. Keep playing with yourself. Think about how I use my tongue on you–those patterns that make you shake. Make them with your hands. Get yourself even wetter like that–dripping onto your sheets. Don’t come though. And no fingers inside.”

You’re following his orders as he gives them, your body writhing on your bed as you overwhelm yourself. It’s all so much–how tangible he is in your imagination, how aroused you are, how he sounds talking to you like this. You’re moaning softly, torn between wanting him to hear you and feeling shy about it. You try to direct your focus to asking the question burning your brain, your words broken slightly by the heavy breath of pleasure. “W-why… no fingers?”

“Because I said so, baby.” You can hear a new rasp in Jeonghan’s voice. Listening to you like this, knowing you’re doing as he says–it must be getting to him. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Already?”

You no longer have the faculties to feel as timid about this as you usually might. “Mhmm.” It’s more a moan than an answer, but he gets the point.

“Don’t come.”

“But Jeonghan–”

He talks over you. “Your door’s unlocked, right?”

Your eyes fly open for the first time since all this started, your heart thumping somehow harder in your chest. “Yes?”

The phone clicks next to your head. As you turn to look at it to see what’s going on, you hear your front door open and close.

#th: jeonghan #th: svt #seventeen smut #svt smut #jeonghan smut

264 notes · View notes

l0vedoe · 10 months ago

Text

Yandere!Lucifer X GN!Reader

Hi! My name is Kay, and it's my first time posting something on Tumblr (I don't know how to use this)

I've been really obsessed with Lucifer and I saw a Yandere!Lucifer fanfic that I loved a lot, but sadly there's no part 2 :( So, I decided I would write MY OWN Yandere!Lucifer fanfic! (Also without a part 2..) Here is the one I got inspired by! So, have fun! <3

Sorry if it's a little weird at first, english is not my first language and I'm still learning it!

Part 2 here!

Words: 3787

Synopsis: Your friends found a ritual that can bring Lucifer to your world and, unfortunately, you accepted to participate.

You were sitting on a pile of cushions with your arms crossed, not believing what you and your friends were doing.

A few days ago, one of your friends, Lesley, had found a ritual that could summon Lucifer, the King of Hell, into the human world. You knew that your group of friends were obsessed with those sobrenatural things, ghosts and anything with horror involved. You liked it too, but among them, you were the only one who didn't enjoy getting directly involved with these things. You liked the trivia, the facts, the stories you heard on the internet, but participate in rituals? Ha! No, certainly no. You were sensible enough to know that you shouldn't be messing with these things, whether you believed in them or not. You weren't scared, you just didn't want to disturb whatever exists out there.

Even though you didn't like the idea, you accepted, not knowing why though. Maybe it was because your friends kept insisting...

And there you were, in a dark room in an abandoned house that Lesley had found so that you all could perform the ritual.

You watched your friends as they prepared everything. One of them was making a large pentagram on the floor, while another was placing six candles around it. As soon as they had finished, the three of them stood inside the pentagram, looking at you as if that was all that was missing - and it was.

"Come on, you agreed to do it, remember?" Lesley says, holding out his hand to you.

"Unfortunately."

You said, standing next to your friends.

Lesley took a needle from his pocket and pierced everyone's finger, letting them each drip their own blood onto the pentagram below. Gab, your friend on your left, held out a lighter so that you could light the candles one by one. As soon as you had finished, you all left the pentagram and the atmosphere became more tense.

This couldn't turn out good.

"Lucifer, lord of the red skies, hear my sublime call, show us your true power and appear in this circle!"

When Lesley finished speaking, silence prevailed in the room... for a long time. Since you came here you believed it wouldn't work, but your friends really believed it would, so they were all very disappointed when they saw that nothing happened.

As soon as you thought to say something, the pentagram glowed in a gold so bright that it didn't seem real. It glowed so brightly that if you looked at it for too long, you would surely lose your sight, so you all looked away until the light ceased, and it did. With your vision still blurred, you turned to face the pentagram again and sighed in shock.

There, in the middle of the pentagram, was a short, blond man with pale skin. His eyes were yellow, his teeth were sharp and there was a red circle on each cheek. His clothing appeared to be of high quality and class, a red shirt covered by a white jacket with veiled details, matching his pants in the same color. His hat was also white, with a red band, a golden crown, an apple and a golden snake. A lot of information in a single hat, to be honest.

The man looked confused and annoyed as, with one hand, he was dusting his clothes.

Not only you, but all your friends looked at the man with admiration and amazement. “It worked..." they all thought.

No one said anything, they were too surprised to be able to formulate a single sentence.

"I knew Lucifer was a fallen angel, but I thought the fall would have affected his appearance?"

You say, analyzing the whole figure of the creature in front of you. He was pretty, you had to say.

Lucifer sighed, looking extremely bored with the situation.

"I thought no one knew the summoning ritual anymore, but it seems I was wrong." he says, looking at everyone in the room. "So...?"

He waits, with a judgmental look on his face.

Lesley wakes up from her thoughts and starts talking frantically.

"Oh, Great Lord Lucifer, King of Hell!" Lesley bows, followed by all her friends too, except you. Lucifer smiles. He liked those nicknames. "We're really, really sorry to bother you. We were just curious about whether this ritual would work or not, we didn't want anything to do with you."

Lucifer rolls his eyes. Of course, he had to have been summoned by a bunch of curious mortals...

"You see, I was taking care of very important things when you summoned me, and I am unable to return to my duties unless one of you makes a deal with me." Lucifer gestured his hand gracefully in the air as he spoke. You had to admit: the real devil was not at all what you expected. You expected a tall, red-skinned, goat-legged creature with long horns and a tail, but this...? It was laughable.

But of course you didn't laugh.

Lucifer turned his gaze on you, giving you goosebumps. His gaze on you was something you had never felt before, and it scared you. He was a shorty man and yet he was making you afraid of what might happen to you if you stepped in the wrong place.

You swallowed.

"I'm waiting!" Lucifer raised his voice, making everyone shiver. "Which one of you is willing to make a deal with me, hm...?"

Lucifer had an amused smile on his face as he analyzed each individual in the room. One shaking his legs, another trying to look away, another thinking about what to do to get rid of the blond man and, finally, you, who even though you were afraid, didn't seem to be letting your guard down. You looked at Lucifer with courage, and Lucifer liked that. He really did. When was the last time he saw someone like you? A long time ago, that's for sure. Most of the humans who ended up meeting Lucifer, willingly or by accident, used to be so scared and afraid that they would sometimes beg Lucifer to let them live with their souls in peace.

Souls... Lucifer never cared, really. Most of his deals didn't involve receiving the souls of humans in return, he had no interest in that, he just asked for anything that came to mind. Most of the time, something very silly. He didn't even like making deals with humans, it’s just time he wastes to satisfy the will of mortals.

Seeing that no one would take the initiative, he decided to do it for them.

"Since you guys won't make up your minds, leave it to me. Eeny-meeny-miney..." Lucifer began to choose, and when you saw that he was going to end up with one of your friends, you interrupted him. "Hm?"

"I'll make a deal with you if that's what it takes for you to leave us alone."

Lucifer smiles. He was loving your attitude.

"Are you crazy? You shouldn't do that! He is going to take your soul!" Lesley tried to warn you, worried about you.

"At least it'll help you not to mess with things like that again."

You say harshly, stepping closer to Lucifer.

So that's what you were afraid of? It was nothing new for Lucifer.

"All right, then. What's your name, dear?" Lucifer says, approaching you.

Everyone was looking at you worried and afraid. You liked your friends, but they were the kind who fucked up and left it to you so you could resolve things. Always.

"What do you want? My soul? Possession of my body?" You ignore the question the blond man made, leaving him a little frustrated, but without showing it.

He laughs.

"No, no, no! I don't care about these things, really!" He puts his hand on his chin and closes his eyes, seeming to think deeply, until he snaps his fingers, thinking of something. "Oh, I know! You're going to dance for me dressed as a duckling!"

You look at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust. Was this really the King of Hell that everyone was so afraid of?! You hold in your laughter.

"All right." You reach out to shake his hand, but he interrupts.

"Don't you know how deals work, darling?" he asks in a mocking tone, amused. "You need to tell me what you want in return."

"Oh, is that so?" you ask and he shakes his head positively. Actually, there was nothing you really wanted, you just wanted him to go away and for you to be able to come home soon. You should never have agreed to take part in that. "Oh, I don't know, man... give me a chocolate cake and we'll be fine."

Lucifer laughs softly. You seemed as bored as he was, and your boredom amused him too much.

He grabs your hand, and you automatically felt your casual clothes change into a yellow jumpsuit with a hood that had a duckling face on it.

You sighed. What a humiliation.

You danced a children's dance that you learned as a child, and you could see how Lucifer was enjoying it, his eyes shining, his cheeks reddening and a smile on his face. He clapped his hands frantically.

When you finished your dance, he sighed, snapped his fingers and your clothes returned to normal. A second later, you were holding a plate with a chocolate cake on it. It looked delicious.

"It was a great deal. I hope I never see you again!" Lucifer said, finally disappearing into a golden dust.

Your friends were wide-eyed and dumbfounded. They gave you a quick lecture on how you could have used that deal to get anything and you decided on a chocolate cake. You could ask for thousands of dollars, you could ask to have whatever you wanted, have as much power as you wanted, and you still decided on a chocolate cake?!

You didn't care, saying goodbye and making your way home while holding your chocolate cake. You were sure to devour it as soon as you sat down on your couch.

After that incident, your days went by as normal. You wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep. Wake up, work, come home, sleep.

It was a routine you got used to, and it was good to be used to things, you weren't the type who liked new things.

However, after a week or so of performing that ritual and summoning Lucifer, you began to feel strange. You felt watched almost all the time, it was uncomfortable even to take a shower and this was something that was really bothering you. You've never been sensitive to these things, what was going on?!

In addition to the feeling of being watched, you also began to see figures out of the corner of your eye and hear voices calling you. You could have sworn you were going crazy, it wasn't normal.

You sent a message to Lesley, telling him what you were feeling. Lesley didn't care much.

Lesley Bff: idk, it must be in your head

Lesley Bff: I felt that way too during my first ritual

Lesley Bff: but you know what?

Lesley Bff: Lucifer could be watching you 👻

You laughed.

You: if he's not back in his hole, I'll send him back there myself

Lesley could be right. You've never taken part in a ritual before, so maybe it affected you more than you expected.

You sigh, smiling at the thought of being anything else. "How silly..."

You head for the kitchen to get some water. Opening the fridge, you take out your jug of water and fill a glass with the liquid, putting the jug away again.

As you bring the glass to your lips, you notice a blond man on the other side of the dining table.

You continue to drink your water.

Wait...

You spit out the water, looking back to the front and no longer seeing the man there.

"I need therapy…" you say, putting a hand to your forehead.

"Everyone needs it, dear." When you hear the familiar voice, you're startled and turn around so fast that you drop your glass on the floor, shattering it. "Wow... Do you get that excited just by seeing me?" The blond smiles debauchedly.

"What the fuck..." that's all you managed to say. "I didn't summon you, damn it! Get the fuck out of here!"

You demand, making the demon in front of you laugh.

"It's that way of yours that made me fall in love with you!" he says, still laughing.

What?

You look Lucifer up and down with disgust. How strange was it to have a religious figure, who you believed existed only in your imagination until a week ago, tell you that he's in love with you? Answer: very. ABSURDLY.

"Dude, I don't want any trouble, just do me a favor and leave."

You say, calmly, but Lucifer didn't seem to hear. His smile remained on his face, it seemed to grow with every detail he appreciated about you. It was as if he was hypnotized. You could notice his pupils dilating and his cheeks starting to turn pink.

He moves closer, making you take a step back to keep your distance.

"I'm afraid I can't…" he said, still smiling, but now without showing his teeth and without looking you in the eye. He was analyzing your body, your baggy white T-shirt, your plaid pajama pants and your matching slippers.

Your posture was as if you were ready to run at any moment. Lucifer noticed, after all, he didn't want you to run from him. Why would you run from him?

He took a step forwards, coming closer again, and that was the exact moment you knew you had to run. You weren't an idiot, you ran, you ran as if your life depended on it and, at that moment, it really did.

As you climb the stairs to the second floor of your house, you enter your bedroom and lock the door. You didn't think it would help much since your enemy was a demon who could easily teleport to where you were, but you still did what was possible at the time.

Trying to think of many ways to make the demon go away and get you out of this, you are interrupted by a voice on the other side of the door.

"Darling, please..." the voice was sly. "I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk to you..."

You didn't trust him. You couldn't trust him. He was the fucking devil!

You didn't answer, and a silence remained. You tried to look through the keyhole, to make sure he was no longer there and you could finally get out. As soon as you put your hand on the handle to open the door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You automatically turned round and punched Lucifer in the face.

"Get away from me!" You screamed, and before you could run away again, golden chains wrapped around you, preventing you from moving. "What the...!"

"Look..." Lucifer begins, caressing the cheek you punched. "I just want to talk, that's all."

You didn't want to listen, you were just trying to free yourself from the chains that bound you.

Lucifer continued.

"Your attitude that day captivated me, and I found it so attractive how you didn't show any fear. Not to mention, of course, that your dancing was incredible." he smiled. "I couldn't help myself and started watching you ever since. I couldn't stop thinking about you for a second. I've spent the last few days just watching you from hell. I've watched you sleep, you eat, you work, you shower..."

This last part seemed to have had a different effect on Lucifer.

Until now, you really believed that you could escape him, but as soon as you realized that it was impossible to free yourself from the chains, your body withered. You knew there was nothing you could do.

Even so, indignation and confusion overwhelmed you. What was this guy saying? In love with you? Really?

You looked at Lucifer angrily, while he looked at you as if you were all he wanted.

"I've been so lonely these last few years, and as soon as I started watching you I wanted to be with you even more and more..." he said, hugging himself and looking at random corners as if he was fantasizing about a thousand different things. "So I give you the honor of moving in with me! In hell!"

You widened your eyes. That couldn't be real. It couldn't.

Lucifer, the fallen angel, wanted you to live with him in hell?

You laughed. Of course it was a joke. If you accepted, he would steal your soul and you wouldn't be free for anything else. Yes, that had to be it. It was a way of persuading you, tricking you, so that he could get what he wanted.

You took a deep breath, recovering from your laughter, and kept your eyes on Lucifer's hopeful gaze.

"No!" you said, loud and clear.

You didn't want another deal, you didn't want to go to hell, you didn't want Lucifer! You just wanted to get back to enjoying your holiday peacefully watching whatever was on TV, you didn't want anything new.

Hearing you refuse, Lucifer's expression changed from a smile to disappointment. He couldn't believe it. Why were you turning him down? He was the King of Hell, he could make you powerful like him, give you anything you wanted! What was stopping you from accepting?

"Why?! I can give you anything you want! Power, money, comfort and lots of chocolate cake! Please accept it..." he looked sad, but deep down he hoped you would say yes. "I love you..."

His last words made you even angrier. The devil himself was confessing to you, you no longer feared him.

"But I don't love you! I want to get away from you, your hell and everything that surrounds you! I don't want power, I don't want money, I want you to go away!"

You scream, spitting out the words with hatred, not even caring what the blond guy might feel. You couldn't stand it any longer, the chains were tightening your body with each passing minute, you just wanted to go back to your normal life, without demons, without rituals, without anything weird.

You noticed Lucifer with his head down, quiet, and wondered if now he would accept it and leave you alone. Unfortunately, he wouldn't.

As soon as he raised his face, you noticed his eyes filled with a bright red colour, his horns began to appear from his head and his tail appeared behind him. Clearly, he was very angry, and now you felt genuine fear of what might happen to you now.

He began to smile, a fearsome smile that showed his sharp teeth.

His voice was slightly distorted. The chains squeezed you tighter and tighter.

"I am Lucifer, King of Hell, and it is not you who will change that." he approached, still smiling. "I can do whatever I want, and I want you, and I'm going to have you, whether you like it or not."

With those words, the chains disappear and you fall to the ground in pain. They were already suffocating you.

As soon as you calmed down, you looked up to find Lucifer staring down at you without smiling now. He snapped his fingers, forming a portal beneath the two of you.

Before you could fall, Lucifer caught you. You had your eyes closed, afraid to open them and see what you feared. You only felt Lucifer holding you until he finally stopped on the ground and released you. You open your eyes and realize you're in a spacious room, with a large bed with crisp sheets. The walls were dark, as was the floor. There were several pictures of Lucifer with a beautiful woman and a little girl and lots of rubber duckies scattered around the room.

You looked out of a window to see the red sky on the other side.

You were in hell, alone with the angel who had fallen from heaven, with no idea how to get home.

You despair, your breathing quickens and becomes heavy, cold sweat begins to run down your face. You turn around and find Lucifer taking off his jacket and hat and settling down in the bedroom.

You keep your distance as he starts to approach with that same smile as before, until you slam your back against a wall, making it easier for him, who could now approach you.

He came close, standing inches away. His hand caressed your left cheek, while the other took your right hand, bringing it to his lips so that he could kiss it.

"Let me go…" you plead, your eyes filling with tears.

Lucifer looks at you, smiling even more.

"No." he says, in the same tone you used when you told him that. "I tried to make it as friendly as possible, but you wouldn't co-operate. How could I keep the person I love close if I didn't force you to stay here with me?"

"This is not love...!" you say, without looking at him.

"It's your idea of love that's wrong, darling..." Lucifer's face moves closer to yours, his hand still caressing your cheek. "That love you humans appreciate doesn't exist, it never did. Love where the two live happily ever after only exists when one of the people involved makes it happen. And that's exactly what I am doing right now..."

He kisses the corner of your mouth, and you shiver at the touch of his lips.

Why you? What was so different about you that Lucifer needed it to be you? Since Lesley came with that, you knew it wasn't a good idea to do that ritual, you'd never done such things just because you knew it was never a good idea. You didn't want to mess with whatever was out there because you knew you could end up in trouble, and yet you agreed to take part in that damn ritual...

Look at the state you're in now: being forced to be Lucifer's prisoner.

"Don't worry, it won't be so bad." Lucifer says, now hugging you and putting his face into your chest.

You wanted to cry, scream, punch Lucifer until you couldn't, but you were afraid of what might happen if you did. You remained silent, cried silently, without moving a muscle.

Once again, your friends fucked up with things and you had to deal with it.

Just a quick reminder: This is just a fanfic, I don't like the idea of a yandere in real life. In real life, this is crazy and toxic, I don't support that.

So, if you guys liked it, let me know! You can also ask for me to write something about Lucifer again (I'm not doing other characters yet).

Thanks for reading! <3

#lucifer morningstar #Lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #yandere lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #hazbin hotel x reader

588 notes · View notes

voxslays · 2 months ago

Text

The night I found you.

Featuring >>> Alastor x Reader; In which, after death, Alastor finds you (his wifey) again, but at what cost?

Warnings: Smut, Dub-Con, Tentacles, AFAB! Reader, Alastor being a jerk.

A/N: Today has been stressful. I just got locked out of the google account I used for this tumblr account—yet somehow managed to stay signed in. Anyways, if I one day dissapear I probably got locked out again. Anyways, this is a part two of this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Years later, in the infernal depths of Hell, a twisted version of Alastor now known as the Radio Demon hunts from the shadows. His eyes, once filled with warmth and love, now gleam with malice and cruel amusement. But he had been missing for seven years. You knew Alastor would come looking for you eventually, but it had been almost ninety years since your deaths. Why hadn’t he come sooner? You assumed he didn't care. How wrong you were…

You were taking a relaxed stroll on the sidewalk, minding your own business, until you heard a familiar voice. A voice you knew all too well; Alastor. He had found you. You turn around just in time to see Alastors wicked grin, his voice a seductive purr over the static of his radio. “Well, well...If it isn't my darling little doe, finally come to join me in the eternal flames.” He chuckles darkly. “I've missed you, my sweet.” He slowly steps closer.

He looks different. He still has the same tall, slender frame. But now, his skin is a light, grayish-tan, and he has a wide, toothy grin filled with sharp yellow teeth. He sports small, curved antlers reminiscent of those on a deer, which contribute to his imposing presence, and his eyes—which used to be a beautiful chocolate brown color—are now a bright, glowing red.

“Alastor…?” You say his name as if it's a question. Alastor tilts his head slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he gazes at you. "Oh, ma chéri...It's been so long. And look at you, just as beautiful as the day I... " He trails off, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Well, you know." He steps closer, the air around him crackling with static. "Did you like it, Y/N? Did you like how it felt? The sting of the blade?" He chuckles darkly. "I still remember the way you screamed... “ He takes another step closer. “Stop.” You say firmly, almost at your breaking point. “But I've barely begun, my darling.”

He reaches out and gently caresses your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch is ice-cold, and his skin feels like rough, parched leather. "And now, we can be together forever." You smack his hand away. “Don't touch me.” Alastor’s grin widens menacingly, baring his sharp teeth. "Feisty, just like old times." He circles you like a predator, his voice a low purr. "You can't run from me now, my dear. We're trapped here together, for all eternity..."

“Our marriage ended the moment you decided to murder me.” You snap at him. Alastor stops circling and stands in front of you, his red eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "Our marriage ended the moment I realized you were a weakness, a liability," he corrects, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re truly sick.” You spit. Alastor lets out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Sick? Yes. In love? Still. Eternal." He reaches out and grabs your throat, lifting you off your feet. "And now, you'll see what I've become. What I've done."

Alastor squeezes your throat, his grip like a vice, and you can feel your airway closing. He starts to lift you higher, your feet dangling in the air, until you're staring directly into his burning red eyes. "Look at me, Y/N." His grip tightens, his other hand coming up to grip your hair, forcing your head back. "I want you to see the monster I've become, the monster that will never let you go." His voice is a guttural growl, his breath hot against your face.

“I could never love a monster.” You manage to choke out. He drops you unceremoniously to the ground, leaving you gasping. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "Love is a weakness I can no longer afford. But you, my dear Y/N, you're my eternal obsession." You take off the ring and throw it into a nearby drain. He watches as the gold band spins and disappears down into the sewer. Alastor’s expression darkens. "You shouldn't have done that."

He slowly walks over to you, his movements predatory. "That ring was a symbol of our love. Now, it's a symbol of your disrespect." Alastor summons one of his tentacles, which retrieves the ring and places it into his hand. He forces the ring back onto your finger, his tentacle squeezing your hand until the metal bites into your skin. "It stays on your finger, a constant reminder of your love for me, and my ownership over you." He releases your hand, stepping back to admire the ring.

You try to remove the ring, but it won't budge. He chuckles as you try to remove the ring, his magic holding it firmly in place. "My power—among other things—has enchanted the ring to stay on your finger until I decide otherwise. And I have no intention of removing it anytime soon." He reaches out to stroke your cheek. Alastor caresses your cheek, his touch gentle despite the rough texture of his skin. "You're mine, Y/N. In life, in death, and in this endless nothingness between." He leans in closer, inhaling deeply.

"You still wear the same perfume. Lavender and vanilla." This only makes you angrier. “It’s not for you.” You spit at him. "Always so defiant." He pulls you into a tight hug, his tentacles wrapping around you like chains. "I love it when you fight back." Alastor tightens his grip, his muscular arms constricting around your body. "Shhh, just relax." He nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I've missed holding you like this. Your struggles only make it better."

He teleports you to his bed, falling onto it with you still wrapped in his tentacles. He pins your arms above your head, his tail wrapping around your legs to keep them open. "You're so beautiful when you're helpless." Alastor grins wickedly, his eyes flashing with a predatory hunger. "I'm going to savor every moment of having you at my mercy again." His free hand roams your body, squeezing and caressing. "And you'll learn to love it, just like before."

"Remember the good times, Y/N?" He grinds himself against you, his hard length evident through his trousers. "Remember how we used to spend our nights?” He leans in and kisses you roughly, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You give into the kiss. He withdraws from the kiss, smiling as he sees the change in your expression. "Good girl." He releases your arms, his tentacles keeping your legs spread wide. "Leave the ring on." He unbuckles his pants, his member springing free.

Alastor settles himself between your thighs, the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance. "Wrap your arms around my neck." He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "And tell me you love me." His tail coils possessively around your legs, his muscles taut with anticipation. You do as he asks, wrapping your arms around him, and whispering an ‘I love you’ into his ear. Satisfied, he pushes forward, sheathing himself inside you in one powerful thrust. "Fuck, I've missed this." He buries his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he starts to move, his hips snapping against yours in a brutal rhythm.

"You feel so good..." He hisses, his voice low and feral. His tentacles crawling up your body to hold your arms down again. "You're mine, Y/N. All mine." He increases his pace, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. Alastor lifts your hips to give him deeper access. "Say you love me." He growls, his voice hoarse with desire. You cry out.

At the sound of your cry, Alastor loses control. He pounds into you relentlessly, his member throbbing inside you as he reaches his climax. Alastor roars as he releases a torrent of cum deep within your pussy. “Mine." His tentacles squeeze you tightly as he rides out his orgasm, his tail thrashing wildly. His hot seed filling your womb as his tentacles tighten their grip. He collapses on top of you, his chest heaving. Alastor’s tentacles loosen their grip, but still keep you pinned. "You're perfect." He murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. His softening member still inside you, plugging his seed in your pussy.

Alastor slowly pulls out, his cum dripping from your well-used hole. He scoops some up with his fingers and pushes it back inside you. "Keep my seed inside you." Alastor commands, a dark glint in his eye. "I want to make sure it takes." He murmurs. “What?” You ask confused. He grins wickedly, his eyes filled with dark amusement. "I think it's time we start a family, Y/N. A little demonling running around will keep me entertained when you're not around." He crawls back on top of you, his arms wrapping around your waist possessively.

You knew what this meant. This was Alastor’s way of tying you down. Making sure you couldn't escape. You had absolutely no choice in the matter. The only answer Alastor would accept is ‘yes.’

You groaned. “Do I have a choice?” The answer was no. You knew it. Alastor chuckles, his warm breath fanning over your face. "No, you don't. You're mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my seed takes root in your womb. Now, be a good girl and get comfortable."

Alastor nuzzles into your neck, his hands wandering over your body possessively. "Because I'm going to keep you pinned down and spend the rest of the day filling you with my seed until you're pregnant, and I want you to be comfortable while I breed you.” You are shocked. “What?” Your emotions are conflicting you. “I want to make sure there's no doubt that you're carrying my child." Alastor responds. You were in for a long night.

370 notes · View notes

houserautha · 7 months ago

Text

These Destined Ends

Part Eleven

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: you stabbed him and now you handcuff him, blood play, wound play, the events in this part are probably not hygienic or realistic but my thots took over, you both cry, mentions of killing/death, brief depiction of killing

A/N: I would like to add that reader and Feyd have such a toxic relationship but god do I love it so much (also the writing god possessed me and made it possible for this to be published now instead of tonight, god bless)

You push the dagger in to its handle.

It comes back slick with blood.

You use it to quickly unlatch your bindings, then shift aside as Feyd falls onto the bed beside you. Without thinking, you place a knee on either side of his waist and set to inspecting your work — the cut is deep, weeping ink-colored blood. A depraved part of you wants him to suffer, to feel pain as unimaginably deep as you did. And you do not want him to clot quickly.

Feyd’s hand ghosts over the wound. Blood spills onto his alabaster skin, the bedsheets, on the leg of your pant nestled into his side. And all the while he gazes up at you endearingly, face noticeably paler, blood coming to gather at the corner of his lips. You lean forward to kiss him and lap up the droplets of blood, he groans; you’re pressing your entire weight into him, into the wound.

“I want you to hurt,” you whisper against his mouth. You put your fingers to the wound, Feyd shifting uncomfortably as your nails bite into the recently torn flesh. Beneath you, his cock stirs, and in response you dig your fingers in deeper.

His flesh is warm. Wet.

“Fuck,” Feyd mutters.

“I want to hurt you and you’re enjoying it,” you sneer at him, “perhaps I should just stop. Chain you up to the bed, see how you like it. Leave you to bleed out alone.”

He doesn’t reply. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes — he knows that he’s supposed to atone for his family’s crime, play his part in your twisted battle of wits, but there’s no denying his swelling, twitching cock, eager to make contact between your legs. He grimaces as you remove your hand, breath expelling in shaky bursts.

Feyd watches you reclaim the cuff, hook it around his wrist and then do the same with the cuff on the other side of the bed that Wyn hadn’t bothered to attach. You secure both cuffs so that his hands are pinned above his head. He looks infuriatingly gorgeous like this, blood wetting his skin and your hands, muscles tensed and pain spasming his handsome features.

You grind against him and his hips buck.

“Fuck,” he says again.

You lose yourself, slightly, at the sight of him like this, and you’re entangled between vengeance and desire. The urge to maim him paired with the dreadful urge you have to ride him.

Why couldn’t you do both?

You rake your nails down his chest, creating trails of angry welts from sternum to navel. His breath quickens. Blood pools near the site of the wound and you drag your fingers through it.

“Interesting. You bleed just like the rest of us, Feyd-Rautha.”

“Do you want another taste?”

He inhales sharply. You’ve angrily pressed your palm into the wound, resenting him for reminding you of your transgressions. You growl, “You won’t find humor in this when I’m done with you.”

Fingers bloodied, you put them to his plush bottom lip — fuck, his lips drove you wild — and down his chin, the column of his throat, over the welts you’ve created. He writhes. You unbuckle his pants and, without any trace of kindness, tear them from his narrow hips. Feyd whimpers as the sudden movement prompts a gush of blood, and you grin at the reaping of your effort. He glares.

You scoop more blood like a painter from its palette. His cock is standing to attention, arched backward slightly, flushed and threaded with pulsing veins. Starting at his swollen head, you trace your fingers up and down, coating him thoroughly with his own blood. It takes several applications before you’re satisfied. An entirely addictive sounds escapes him when you fist the base of his shaft and start pumping, the slickness of the blood easing your work.

You stroke him over and over, varying your pace as not to guide him to orgasm. He rallies against you, straining at the cuffs. Although you can’t see it, you feel him dig his heels into the mattress in an effort to gain purchase, anything to channel the desire unfurling inside him. And all the while you watch him, fascinated, bleeding profusely yet so eager for your touch.

The mighty Feyd-Rautha, champion of Giedi Prime, shuddering and moaning beneath you, pre-cum leaking from the slit of his cock. It draws heat to your core. With his hands over his head, his mobility is limited, and you use this to your advantage: maintaining a steady pace on his cock with one hand while the other explores his body, dipping down to cup his balls, trace his thighs, then back up to tease his taunt nipples and the wound in his side. Feyd cries out, eyes rolling back and hips snapping.

You revoke your hand. He’s practically shivering now, undoubtedly torn between pain and pleasure. You climb carefully off his lap. Feyd’s gaze burns into you as you strip off your clothes until you’re standing only in your panties.

“This should only hurt a little,” you tell him. The muscles in his stomach jump and flicker as you resume your kneeling position, this time decidedly higher.

Your clit is aching for friction, so much so that you grind your center into him, right over the wound. He grunts in pain with each roll of your pelvis, seeking out your pleasure while you aggravate the place where the dagger had slid in, breasts pushing outwards. You can see it on his face, what he would do if he could use his mouth on you, his hands, but the pain is too great. Tears spring to his eyes as he fights the crashing waves of agony while you ride his wound.

“It’s not enough,” you utter, mostly to yourself, “it’s not enough.” Not enough pain.

You slide back down his body, reclaim his cock, then notch its head at your entrance. You’re slick with your own desire, and his blood, and you have to fend off his bucking hips to prevent him from penetrating you. The sensation of him gives you shivers, racing up and down your body.

You brace your quivering thighs and sink down on top of him. Feyd howls as your walls clamp down, taking him in one swift movement. You can’t help it — your head lulls back and your body bows, gripped by a wave of unbelievable pleasure. He fills you up so neatly, so fully, that you’re in despair when you pull away, then plunge back down with even more force. It reminds you of the throne room, how you had wrested the power from him. But you were na-Baron and na-Baroness before, this equates to something much more primal, raw, two blood-soaked fighters in an arena of your own making.

You ride him to completion, cuming on his cock twice before he finally musters the words, “Enough. You’ve got your punishment. Now let me fuck my wife.”

You pause with him still seated deep inside you.

“I don’t think I’ve yet reached the depths of your pain,” you tell him in reply.

Feyd’s eyes flash. “No weapons can maim me as entirely as having you naked in front of me and without the use of my hands to touch you. There will be no show of blood for how you’ve tormented me. No physical measure. Let me fuck you now so that we may be equals again.”

Seconds after you unlatch the cuffs, Feyd is on you. He all but attacks you, mouth hungrily searching yours, hands grabbing at your body. Effortlessly he flips you onto your back, blood gushing from him. He wavers, probably from loss of blood, before burying himself inside you. You cry out, wringing pleasure from him with each thrust, the feel of his hands more rewarding than anything without them. He’s on every surface of you — pressing kisses down your neck, your breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth and giving them a lewd suckle. His hands grab the backs of your thighs, your ass, pin your hips to the bed so that you can’t move.

“You. Are. Mine,” he grunts with each thrust. His voice is wreathed with anger. Possession.

Heartache.

You can’t even begin to examine this before he spears you even faster, with more vigor, words slurring together with impassion. “You are mine, jewel. I thought you dead. I thought you taken from me. But no one can take you from me. No one. You don’t even possess that ability. I am the keeper of your life.”

He’s becoming more and more incensed, his pace growing sloppy and unpredictable. You feel a wetness by your neck and you realize that it’s not blood causing it but rather a furious outpouring of tears from your husband, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.”

You cling to him, hold him the only way you know how, with your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails down his back. It’s as if you’re trying to merge into one being, take this man as part of your own flesh and, in addition, make his sorrows and pain yours. You taste the salt of your own tears as you both rise and crest like waves against one another, finally not opponents in a war that you can’t win but allies in a surmountable battle.

Feyd cums first, but you follow quickly after. Pulsing and shuddering, he cries into your neck as he fills you with his seed, clutching your body to him just as tightly. Both of you are gasping for air from the exertion, the tears, the culmination of your pleasures being chased down in such a heightened state. Feyd withdraws from you. He allows one hand to press against his wound protectively, but then surprises you by placing his bloodied handprint on your breast.

Above your heart.

“You are mine,” he says, “and I am yours.”

Hot water pours down you in rivulets, interrupted only by Feyd’s hands as he washes your body. Crimson water swirls down the drain. You take turns silently scrubbing the blood from each other and swapping stolen kisses, Feyd wincing each time the water makes contact with the wound. You start to form some semblance of an apology but Feyd silences you with a formidable look. “It was necessary,” he tells you.

The bloodied sheets and discarded clothes are much harder to rid of. And there’s no saying what Doctor Wyn was thinking when you told her that Feyd now demanded her attention, what she thought when she saw the horrible wound etched into his side. But, to her credit, she never asked any questions, and you never gave her any answers.

You could see why Feyd hired her.

And when someone wasn’t aggravating the wound, it healed much faster. Feyd refused any ointment that would erase the scar, however, which you knew he would. He kept every scar from every fight like badges of honor. You knew most of them well by now, and had your fair amount of contributions. And although you never explicitly discussed what happened between you two that day, you felt it between you like a tether, binding you together in a way that even you had no words to describe.

And that’s why you stall the Baron’s wish to seek an audience with you. You won’t go without Feyd.

He’s stubbornly vague about everything, too, claiming that it would make more sense to wait to hear everything unfold at once. You’ve missed too much while self-contained and now feel eager to return, to start the plot against Feyd’s uncle.

“I have my ideas,” he says one day when you’re begging him incessantly, “but first hear what the Baron says, make your own judgements. Revenge does not happen overnight.”

This irritates you, but you ultimately oblige.

Finally the day comes for your visit with the Baron, and you make sure to wear your best dress. Instead of the usual monochrome Harkonnen colors you’ve chosen a bright red, a thin fabric that clings to your figure. Feyd’s lips twitch when he sees you.

“You wear red to invoke the ire of the bull.”

“The Baron is no bull,” you retort. You think back to your grandfather’s legacy, of the dark eyes of the bull staring at you while you sat at the table on Arrakis. And while the Baron was not a bull, you were determined to have his head anyway.

Feyd grabs your hand, feathers his lips over your knuckles. “You look exceptional.”

You smile at him. “Let’s see what your uncle has to say.”

You made it a condition of the meeting not to be held in the throne room — you didn’t like the imbalance of power. Besides, you weren’t a lowly citizen come to collect their stipend, you were the na-Baroness, bound to the na-Baron in a bond that transcended the intricacies of power. You were no longer two beings but one, a formidable union. And as you sneak a glimpse of Feyd before you enter the dining room, you’re only emboldened by the resolve you see in his face; he is a fine partner to have in battle, indeed.

The doors open and his hand brushes yours once, a subtle indication of his fealty to you.

Your chin is raised and your stride confident as you approach the table. “A meal then, between family,” the Baron had said when you declined his offer to meet at the throne room. You notice that neither the Baron nor Rabban stand when you enter, which digs under your skin like a splinter.

“Don’t spare your na-Baroness with your pleasantries,” Feyd rasps darkly.

“This is not a political endeavor,” the Baron replies. If he realizes just how agitated his nephew is, he doesn’t show it. “Sit, sit. We dine together finally. I am only too glad to…catch up.”

It’s difficult to keep your composure neutral. Here before you is the man who orchestrated your family’s deaths, the one who carried them out. Hatred burns inside you.

You take your seat, Feyd beside you.

“We’ve already had our catching up, haven’t we, brother?” Rabban’s gaze is cutting.

Feyd just stares evenly back at him. “I remember.”

Rabban grins triumphantly. “And I’m glad to see that you’re healing well.” Before you can inquire about this — was Rabban the cause of the scar across his face? — the former turns his attention to you. “It is my dear sister-in-law that I need to reunite with. Isn’t that right?”

“Need is a strong word,” you retort. “I was under the impression I didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh, how you wound with your words as well as the blade,” Rabban replies, feigning insult.

“You seem to know quite a lot about blades, Rabban. Is that how you dealt the deaths of my family?”

Rabban sneers. The Baron holds up a large hand, his voice punishing, “That’s enough.”

“I’ve only just started,” you bite back.

“Brother, temper your wife,” Rabban says. “She speculates that which she has no knowledge of.”

You open your mouth to reply, outraged, but Feyd beats you to the punch. “My wife will do and say as she pleases. You should just be grateful that she hasn’t slit your throat yet.”

“There will be no deaths today,” the Baron warns.

“Because you’ve had your fill of them?” You counter. Under the table, your fingers form claws.

“Let me give you the truth, na-Baroness, so that you might stop leveling accusations,” the Baron replies coolly. “You are new to the Harkonnen so I may forgive you this once. You were not born as we were. That being said, we were the original defenders of Arrakis. It is our planet. And as you know we will do whatever it takes to defend our own.”

You can’t help it. You snort. Is that what he was doing when he cajoled his young nephew? Put more darkness in him than necessary?

“With the help of the Emperor, we were able to reclaim Arrakis. We tried to give House Atreides the option of conceding but they staunchly refused. We did only what we had to do.”

Your eyes narrow. “The Emperor aided you?”

This, you knew, but you wanted to hear an explanation from his own mouth.

“We both had certain…lofty aspirations…that the other could provide. It was a rational exchange,” the Baron says, as if talking about expanding trade routes instead of lives. “The Emperor was fearful of your father and his power. Now he has to worry no more.”

Conversation subsides as servants place food in front of you, some kind of bird drenched in a sickly colored sauce. The only person to touch it is the Baron, who savagely devours it without any use of utensils.

“You lie,” you finally say. “My father had no intentions of usurping the Emperor as you claim.”

“The Emperor is a…fickle man. He knows his own weaknesses. I cannot blame him for his fear.”

“And why did he partner with you?” You ask. “What did you gain from this?”

“Arrakis,” the Baron answers simply.

“You said that you both had aspirations that the other could provide,” Feyd presses, taking the words from your mouth. “You eliminate the House Atreides for the Emperor, but you are not the sole benefactor of Arrakis. You must know that I would rather perish than take orders from you.”

The Baron wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I suppose the news will come out sooner or later. Rabban?”

News? What news?

Rabban grins at you and Feyd. “The princess Irulan and I are engaged to be married.”

Shock seizes you and keeps you from forming any sort of response. The Emperor gave his eldest daughter to Rabban? Thoughts race through your mind. Not only did that mean the Baron had his influence in Arrakis but now the entire Known Universe as well. Dread fills you. How had anyone allowed this to happen?

“That’s not the congratulations I was expecting,” Rabban continues, clearly pleased with himself.

Feyd’s fist strikes the table, causing the silverware to rattle. “You gave me Arrakis over my brother, but now you secure him as Emperor? What are you playing at, uncle?”

“Your brother is willing to…follow my orders, as you so eloquently said. His loyalty deserves recognition.”

“This is a grave error,” Feyd snarls.

“Jealous, are we?” Rabban asks, drawing the attention back to him. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d only accepted my offer,” he says to you, then Feyd, “and then you could’ve been in my position, heir apparent to the Empire.”

Feyd shoots to his feet. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Boys,” the Baron snaps, intervening what you are certain would’ve been a death match, “everything is now in place. Feyd-Rautha will rule Arrakis and its coveted spice; Rabban, the Empire. Instead of fighting you should be celebrating the fortune of the Harkonnens.”

Silence descends.

This was worse than you imagined. The Baron had manipulated everyone here to get what he wanted. It was he who would profit from the marriages he forged for his nephews.

“Now, Feyd-Rautha, you must put aside your envy. You and the na-Baroness are required to return to Arrakis in a fortnight.”

It feels as if someone has poured ice water down your spine. “What?”

“You think you can rule from Giedi Prime?” The Baron asks, bemused.

“Fine.” Feyd looks to you but no one else. “We are done here.”

You want to challenge him, to remain where you are and root out more truth, but to do so would to humiliate him. You avoid the eyes of the Baron and Rabban as you pick up the skirt of your dress and follow after him dutifully.

The doors slam shut behind you with a resounding thud.

As you search for something to say, Feyd screams, visceral and terrifying. In a blind fury, he cuts down the two closest servants with his dagger, their blood splattering the ground as their bodies slump to the floor. His shoulders heave, dagger gripped tightly in his grasp, and he whirls on you wildly as you approach.

“Do not give them the satisfaction,” you whisper urgently to him, grabbing his face. Your touch soothes him ever so slightly. “Their time will come but first we must consider how to proceed, formulate a plan that will leave them in their graves. They will not go unpunished.”

The dagger clatters to the ground as Feyd finally releases it.

“I will not rest until then,” he swears.

You rock up on your toes and press your forehead to his, holding him to you. “Neither shall I.”

Part Twelve

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1

#dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #feyd rautha harkonnen #writing #fanfic #these destined ends #feyd rautha

318 notes · View notes