#wisp wicks

[tomorobo-illust]

See hi-res version here: patreon.com/posts/114855887

Happy Halloween Week!! Starting things off with BecauseItsGreen's patreon reward for spooky month with their MLP OC, Jasmine, dressed as Glinda and their friend's MLP OC, Sunset, dressed as Elphaba from Wicked!!

Always fun revisiting old shows I used to work on >w<

[wickedmania2024]

Wicked imPRESS Wisps

[will-of-the-wisps]

Have you ever felt bad writing something for a character but knew that you had to do it for character development?

Yeah. That's me right now.

(Check tags for my explanation ajdhejwj--)

[gender-euphowrya]

it really fucks me up how fiction isn't allowed to just end anymore like. creators will tell a full story that has a clear definite ending and instead of being like ''wow great story !'' it's all ''make a sequel ! a prequel ! an epilogue ! a spin-off ! dlc !"

like maybe move on

[fushiguho]

oh to be perched on suguru’s lap, back arching away from his chest as he mindlessly stretches you ouuuut on his fingers. they’re almost as mean as his voice, talking nothing but shit in your ear—telling you how sloppy your pussy is for him, how nasty you are for letting him use you like this, how you’re dripping down his wrist like a slut.

how you’re whining like one too.

“you’re loud,” it’s a warm breath to the crook of your neck. roughly, he’s taking your jaw into the palm of his hand, craning your head back to rest against his shoulder. “gotta keep that mouth occupied too, huh?” several fingers are creeping past the drooling crack of your lips, effectively stuffing you from head to toe. “yeah? fill all of those messy little holes for you?”

instinctively, you’re tightening up around his mean digits, saliva seeping from the corners of your pretty lips as you flail in his lap. you’re not there, not really—you’re gone, hips rutting against the palm of his teasing hand, chasing the fleeting stretch of his fingers like it’s the last thing you’ll ever fucking do.

his first mistake was not tying you up, duly noted. part of him wants to laugh watching as you reach between your sprawled thighs, desperate fingers inching toward your poor, aching clit. he watches as you spread yourself impossibly wider, arching further into his embrace as you touch yourself, brushing against his pummeling fingers that are repeatedly sinking inside of your cunt.

“what?” he laughs a little, quickly swatting your hand out of his way. “my fingers not enough for you anymore?”

“f–mmmph—!”

“i’m sorry?” his voices pitches in mockery, a wicked grin cracking along his maddeningly beautiful face. suguru’s fingers are sliding out of your wet mouth and moving to grab your face instead, forcing your lips into a pout. “can’t understand you with your mouth full,” he drops his head to kiss you once, a sweet wisp of saliva tethering your bottom lips. “say it again.”

“pleasefuckmeee,” you manage in a breathless gasp, reaching for his hand, his face, anything. “please, p-please, please?”

he only laughs against your skin, his mean fingers briefly slipping out of you—moving to indulgently slither up the expanse of your hot, drooling cunt then—plap! plap! plap! you wince, body jolting in his grasp as several, tender slaps land against your swollen clit.

“nah, you’re gonna cum just like this,” he grits, sinking his fingers all the way back inside of you with a loud, horrific schlop! “juuust like this… all over my fucking hand, y’hear me?”

you’re delirious, nodding stupidly as he begins to hook his hand beneath the crook of your knee. the discernible tremble of your thighs only encourages him spread you wider. that poor, bare cock aches so unfairly beneath the writhe of your body, hotly pressing against the underside of your thighs, leaking.

“that’s all you fucking need—a couple fingers to suck on and a couple more to stuff that slutty pussy full, right?”

suguru grants you no time to answer him as he’s nodding your head for you, long fingers sinking into your warm skin while forcing your head up and down, answering his own question.

he mutters something nasty against your perspiring skin, pressing his nose to the divot beneath your ear before inhaling deeply. you whimper when his tongue darts out, licking a long, sloppy strip up your flesh, greedily tasting the sweat that trickles down your neck.

you try to moan, but it catches in your throat, desperate hips canting forward into every filthy thrust, mouth open and drool spilling down your chin. suguru notices, raising a hand to drag his thumb over the mess of saliva that adorns your flesh.

“god, you’re a mess.” he groans and it’s almost endearing.

the pads of his fingers begin furling upward, warm palm grinding into your clit with every sloppy plunge, and you’re reeling. you can hardly breathe, choking on every breath you attempt as you tense around the numbing stretch of his digits.

“oh,” suguru gasps in feigned incredulity. “is that it? you cummin’, baby?”

you nod—violently, desperately—every part of you begging, surrendering.

“come on,” he smiles wickedly. “let me feel it.”

abruptly, he’s forcing your head back, lips latching to the heat of your throat as you buck against his hand. a big, relentless thumb is glissading over your clit with enough pressure to make you break—mouthing off nothing but incoherent pleas and fragmented renditions of his name.

it’s not long before you’re crying out for him, body faintly convulsing as you cum around his perfect fingers without even realizing it. you’re sucking him in deeper, pushing your hips into the curl of his fingers while you whimper his sacred name over and over and over again.

“there she issss,” he coos, sliding out of your messy hole to pat your clit thrice, sloppy splatters of slick flying. “that’s my gooood, slutty girl, huh?”

suguru groans as your pretty mouth gapes, mentally snapshotting the way your body reacts as he stuffs three, greedy fingers back inside of you, fucking you all the way through it—deep, heavy strokes as you drip down his steady hand, gleaming arousal kissing his palm.

you’re gasping, fighting the urge to snap your legs closed as he begins to shift beneath you, sliding his bare cock between your sticky lips. his mouth moves over your shoulder, breath hot as he wordlessly raises your wobbly hips, pressing the weeping head of his cock against your fluttering hole.

he smiles against your skin, cock jerking. “still wanna fuck?”

[burgojo]

OWN MY MIND. GOJO / M!READER

summary. nah, satoru wins.

wc. 4k

tags. smut | sub bottom gojo, top reader, husbands gojo/reader, slight blood and gore, needy gojo (he a little feral) (he's also whipped as hell), riding + teaching a pillow princess how to ride <3, spit as lube, untouched orgasms, multiple orgasms, rough sex, breeding kink, brief feminisation

notes. i'll learn to write less, i said. not every smut fic needs nine thousand words, i said. i reduce the intro to 600 words and this is still way bigger than i intended :))) skull emoji.

Ryomen Sukuna is dead, and Satoru's white hair is red with blood. For a split second, his chest was cleaved open clean in two, and he could feel the air rushing into the cavity of his chest. His exposed heart, red and slick, shuddered with the crackle of cursed energy forcing its way through every cell.

He thought that was his end. Surely it was. The monstrous, wicked grin on Sukuna's face certainly hadn't helped.

My husband.

As if in slow motion – everything feels so slow after moving at light speed, at thousandths of a second – he turns, pulse thundering against the walls of his skull. Red, red. So much of it.

My husband. My husband.

Satoru's unblinking blue eyes scour the silent battlefield for the distinct presence of your cursed energy. He hones in like a nuke on the smoky trail wisping in the air, as potent and attention-stealing as the stench of cigarette smoke at a road crossing. He takes a step, the ground unsteady and his horizons tipping, and licking his dry lips blooms the heavy iron of blood on his tongue.

I need my husband.

He follows the trail his Six Eyes shows him. He shoves past the sorcerers clamouring for his attention – his open wounds and vacant eyes don't inspire a lot of confidence – but he pushes past them, gaze trained on the wispy breadcrumb trail so teasingly left behind.

He puts one foot in front of the other. Then again. And again, again, again, until he's blitzing through rubble and ruined streets, his heart slamming into his broken ribs. His feet pound the ground as if he's trying to move the earth itself. A solid ball of heat and pressure has filled his core, curling and roiling and throbbing, pushing him to move, to find you – to fuck you.

My husband.

There you are, cradling your students and healing the worst of their injuries with frantic, grateful whispers of their names. Shoko's nearby, fluttering from patient to patient like a small bird – but your students, his students, flock to you and your steadiness, like wreck survivors to a sturdy rock at sea.

It wasn't only him learning new tricks, then – you certainly couldn't heal others before all of this.

He wants your hands on him. In him. For him. He skids to a stop just as you finish squeezing Nobara half to death in relief, and you quickly stand as his presence looms behind you. His clothes are shredded, barely hanging on.

"Satoru?" you call softly, voice husky with exhaustion, and there are new cuts and bruises littering your skin. Always so selfless, tending to others even when you've got three broken ribs and less than ten fingers.

Satoru seizes your wrist, the blood boiling in his veins at the sight of your injuries. Anger ripples hot under his skin. "Heal yourself," he demands, chest heaving.

You blink, glancing down at the hand in his tight grip. Cursed energy floods the space where your fingers would be. Satoru watches reverentially as the cuts seal over and the bruises fade.

His pale skin shines, sweat gathering wherever his blood isn't. Did he run all the way across the city to get to you?

"Satoru, the others need to speak with you," you try, but you can't help the sneaking suspicion that he's not all... there. His cerulean eyes are wide, tracking you like a predator in wait. You don't think he's blinked once. "I'll take you to Ijichi."

"No," he downright growls. Without another word, he drags you close, shoving his nose in the crook of your neck, and the whole world uproots, tipping and whirling in a nauseating swirl of colour and wind.

You nearly retch when your surroundings still, your head spinning. You stumble away, fumbling with the shoji doors in front of you and throwing them open.

Clean air. Neat greenery, a wall of trees, garden paths.

"Is this," you swallow, your stomach settling, "the Gojo estate?"

His skin burns as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face between your shoulder blades, his sweat-damp hair tickling your neck. Something hot and stiff ruts into the back of your thigh and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, a gasped moan leaving his lips.

You smell like blood, sweat, and a sweet warmth like the sun. He pants, each lungful filling him with your dizzying smell, strong and masculine. He gropes at the front of your trousers, shaking hands scrabbling at the zipper as if it's the first time he's touched such a thing.

"Satoru," you grunt, grabbing his wrists and turning around, "what are you doing? Why are you still bleeding?"

"Do it for me," he breathes shakily, widening his legs slightly to rub against you harder. "Please."

Your throat bobs and he follows the motion hungrily with his eyes. You lift your hands unsteadily and hover them over his shoulders, unsure of where to touch because it doesn't seem like there's an inch of him gone unwounded.

He decides for you, grasping your wrists and pushing his face into your palms. His thick white lashes flutter as your technique washes over his body, pulsing warm and pleasantly tingly from deep within his core. It's the same kind of flooding heat when you come in him, just everywhere this time – every limb, every finger, all the way from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. With legs like jelly, he moans quietly, his parted lips turning to the side and licking your thumb into his mouth. He suckles on it with eager, needy whines, lashes fluttering as he stares up at you with pupils blown wide, turning the sky blue of his eyes as dark as a deep ocean.

"Satoru," you whisper, entranced, pushing your thumb deeper into his mouth. You watch him moan, his body both taut and pliant under your touch, and his tongue laves against his own blood coating your skin. Criss-crossing his skin are a thousand scars you doubt any technique could completely reverse.

His head spins with the taste of your skin – warm, slightly salty, alive. Alive because of him – because he protected you like a good husband.

That's what he is, isn't he? Your perfect husband, the strongest of them all? He leans into your hand, short breaths puffing hotly against your palm, as he stares up at you, big damp eyes debauched and brimming with mania. He pushes his throbbing sex against your thigh with a whimper too sweet to ignore. You draw your thumb out of his mouth to grip his hips and pull him into you, letting him hump your thigh like a bitch in heat.

"I wanna," Satoru gasps hotly, arms thrown around your shoulders, "needa fuck you, baby, please – I-I'm—"

High on adrenaline, you surmise as he yanks you to the bed, shoving you down and clambering on top of you with less grace than usual. His breaths grow uneven and slightly whiny as he struggles with your many layers – undershirt and shirt and jacket, underwear and pants and zipper and belt – and he lets out a frustrated snarl.

He slashes an arm across your body. A crackling blade of pure cursed energy arcs through the air, slicing clean through the threads of your clothes. It bites a few millimetres into your skin, making you hiss as ruby beads pearl along the cuts. "Shit."

Satoru moans at the sight, tearing the remains of your shirt from your arms. Leaning down, he laps at the wounds, dragging his hot tongue over the dips and curves of your muscles. It scratches a primal itch in the back of Satoru's head, cooing happily knowing he would be well taken care of in your company. Your stomach heaves with effort – the tangy taste of your sweat and blood and the sound of your groans are enough to make his tip leak and bubble, soaking the front of his pants with just a few drags of his hips against air.

You manage to undo your trousers enough for Satoru to pounce. He closes his lips around the straining bulge in your briefs and sucks hard, his saliva saturating the cloth. He grinds into the mattress, nails digging into your tense thighs as he slobbers all over your clothed cock, a fucked-out expression gracing his reddened face.

"So biiig," he whines, though the drunken smile he wears tells you he likes it more than he should. He massages you with his fingers, tracing the outline of your shaft down your leg with a dreamy grin, dripping with lust and honey.

You grunt, combing your fingers through Satoru's snowy locks. The tips are dyed red, as if he's gone goth, and you shift your legs to push him off. He resists. "Baby, wait. We're both covered in blood."

"Don't you dare tell me to wait," he growls – pleads. His nails dig into your thighs. He pushes his mouth against your clothed cock, his hot breaths sending spiked shivers up your spine.

When you say nothing, acquiescing silently, Satoru lowers his gaze and fishes out your cock – he does it without his usual shy sweetheart eagerness, instead spitting on it as he pumps it, his other hand yanking at his torn pants. His pretty, dusky cock leaks and bumps his stomach. He kicks his pants off his ankles and hovers over your lap, thighs tensing as your thick tip presses against his hole.

You grab his hips, fighting against his own strength. His sharp gaze snaps up to you, blue-black with lust. His lips curl with impatience.

"Satoru," you choke out as he squeezes your shaft punishingly. "Honey, lube's in the closet drawer. Don't—"

He stares you down with a crippling intensity that makes your heart drop into your stomach. Your pulse races and your mouth goes dry as you stare back, withering slowly with every moment. He exhales softly as he smears your leaking precome down your shaft, slicking it up.

You swallow, head slowly tipping back to rest against the pillows. You keep your eyes on him all the while, hands loosening on his muscular thighs. Your fingers leave red marks on his alabaster skin.

He drops his hips. In one smooth motion, his greedy hole swallows your cock in its entirety – his ass smacks against your thighs and he lets out a loud, relieved groan, leaning forward and placing his hands on your chest. The lights flicker with a pulse of uncontrolled cursed energy.

Your heart beats beneath the cage of your ribs. He presses his palms harder against the sticky heat of your skin, committing the pattern of your heartbeat to memory.

He did that. He kept you alive.

Satoru lifts and lowers his hips, using the bounce of the mattress to help him ride you. His ass smacks roughly against your thighs, meeting halfway when the mattress pushes you up into him. He pants, breaths gasped and uneven, as his red, throbbing cock slaps his stomach, leaving a shining wet patch just above his belly button. His eyes roll back and his silky walls throb and squeeze, milking your cock as if he can't get enough, even when your balls press flush against his ass.

"'Toru," you hiss, staring up at his blissful expression. Your dick throbs at the sight and he whimpers, grinding down harshly before returning to his quick, rough pace. "Satoru! Fuck – slow down!"

"I can feel you," he whines instead of listening to you. He places a hand on his stomach, chest heaving as a wobbly smile spreads across his flushed face. "I-I can feel – here – f-feel the vein—"

He cries out as he manages to find his prostate despite the hot fog possessing his mind. His dick dribbles down the shaft but he doesn't touch it, too absorbed in the deep fullness your cock affords him.

Satoru's never been one to take control in the bedroom. He loves being pampered, being your pretty prince, and it's clear he doesn't know how to ride you. He slams his hips down, desperately trying to find that sweet spot inside him again, and if he keeps going like this, you're going to need a cast for your hips.

He makes a sound like a gurgle, arms trembling as he arches his spine. His cock drags against your stomach, pinched between your bodies.

"Baby. Baby, Satoru – let me help," you grunt, his warm insides slick with your pre. He spreads his ass, swallowing you deeper, and you struggle to sit up, his constant bouncing rough and harsh and animal.

"No," he hiccups, and when you glance up, there are tears glimmering along his lash line. "Needa fuck you. Gotta get your cum in me, okay, ruin this big fat cock with my hole – you're never gonna leave me. Never gonna wanna leave me. I'm the only fuckin' one who can make you feel like this, got it?"

Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unused to his sharp words, and his heart flutters as arousal curls thick and heavy in his lower belly. He can feel you there, splitting him in half with your meaty cock.

God, you're so perfect – he's so fucking glad that your clan didn't make things difficult when he marched in there and demanded your hand in marriage. Who cares if you're both men? He's pretty enough to be your wife and powerful enough to bring your enemies to their knees. You wouldn't have to do anything except fuck him brainless, cooing in your gorgeous sultry voice about how good he is for you.

His hips quicken, his moans bouncing around the room, almost drowning out the wet clap of skin on skin. You grip his little waist, pale criss-crossing scars smooth and feathered under your touch. He preens, lean muscles flexing under your attention. You press your thumb against one beneath his pert pink nipple, dangerously close.

Satoru's hips jerk and his eyes glaze over. He comes with a ruined mewl of your name, gasped and open-mouthed as he shoves his chest into your touch, his hands scratching stinging lines down your shoulders. The lights flicker again, this time dark for longer, and the burst of coursed energy he releases is hot and wanting, seeking you out. You shudder.

You moan at the pain of his nails digging into your back. Satoru humps his spurting cock against your stomach – pearly rivers trail down the planes of your stomach, and his eyes flutter with a final spurt that splatters your chest. He heaves like he's dying, clutching you and ramming your cock into him even when his high peters off.

It's barely a breath before he's kissing you, lips hot and pillowy and slick. Fuck, he's goddamn drooling, licking into your mouth with a hand on your nape to make sure you don't pull away. He moans into your mouth, swallowing your groan of his name with a greedy, whorish whine. A string of saliva joins your lips and he pushes his mouth against yours again, sharing moans and hot panting breaths.

"Come," he whimpers, accentuating it with a grind of his hips that has your cock twitching and his walls pulsing. "Inside. Please. Please, please, 'm so empty – wan' you t'come in me, let everyone know this cock's all mine! Want it all, wanna be marked up 'n' smell like you...!"

"Filthy," you grunt, slapping his ass and basking in his mewl of pleasure. You do it again to make his arms weak and hear him sob. "Is that right, 'Toru? You wanna get knocked up, wanna be my dirty little bitch?"

Babies?

Satoru's head spins just thinking about it. Wouldn't you be a great father? You do so well with Megumi and Tsumiki already – and sometimes, when it's quiet, Satoru does mourn the fact that he never had a sweet, fat little baby to hold and play dress-up with. If he had a baby, he'd want them to look like you.

He can't think straight. Adrenaline numbs his thoughts. Your cock buries itself deep in his guts, the thick head prodding his stomach, and your shaft rubs harshly against his swollen prostate with every rise and fall of his hips. The pleasure licks in his lower stomach, and every time your cock kisses his prostate his balls tighten and throb.

You slap his ass again, jerking him out of his drunken daze – he mewls, his reddened skin hot and tender. "Don't get quiet now, pretty. You dragged me away from people who need me. Least you can do is answer my fucking question."

"Mmh—!" Satoru's hole clamps around you, wet with spit and pre as he bounces, and he moans hungrily against your neck as your balls smack against his ass. Each slam of his hips on yours is almost painful. "Yes! Yes, yesyesyes, baby, 'wanna be your pretty slut 'n' get knocked up by this fat cock! Fill me – ah – u-up, fuck me up, feels so fuckin' good, wanna taste it—!"

"Yeah, baby, don't worry. I'll give it all to you," you mutter, and arousal coils tight in his belly at the sound of your groans, right in his ear. "Such a good boy, did so well today – you deserve it all, don't you? Deserve to finally sit back and enjoy your picket-fence life, hm?"

"With you," he whimpers, voice wrecked. His taut little hole, dark and swollen, glides along your shaft, his gummy insides sticky and warm and oh-so sensitive. His thighs tremble. "Only if it's with you."

You stroke his sides, which tense under your warm fingertips. "I'm yours, 'Toru. All yours. This cock is yours, too," you murmur, a slight lilt of amusement touching your words. "I'll fill you up every day until you take, if that's what you want. Anything for my husband, yeah?"

His eyes flicker and roll and he wails, broken little cries heaving from deep within his chest. His pearly release splatters your stomach and his heavy shaft arches towards his belly, red and swollen with desire. Staccato uh-uh-uh's leave his throat as he bounces, grinding his hips dangerously into yours.

"Satoru," you groan, half-chastising, and he whines at the sound of his name from your lips. ""Stop – stop fuckin' slamming down like that. Ovals, baby, c'mon. Back and forth – you'll put me in a damn cast if you keep going like this."

He nods desperately with a whimper, expression ruined, blue eyes hazy and teary. He tries to listen, tries to relax, but your cock is so big and it's not his fault that you take up all his thoughts! If anything, it's your fault, looking at him with those hypnotic eyes and saying his name with a voice like a siren – even the pain you cause him makes him dizzy with pleasure.

"'M sorry," he babbles, forehead and chest dipped against your sternum because his body's too heavy to hold up, "f—ah—feels too gooood, 'm s-sorry..." With your help, your heavy tip strokes his prostate with every drop of his hips, the ridges of your head catching on his hot, rippling walls. He was never very good at riding, but the perfect size and shape of your cock makes even his unsteady, inexperienced technique feel like heaven.

He's obsessed with you. You really were made for him.

"Much better," you hum, your hands on his waist to guide his movements. His hips stutter violently at the praise and you grope his ass as his thighs clamp tight around you. For his efforts, you reward him with a sharp spank, squeezing the tender meat of his twitching thigh where the print of your hand reddens his skin.

Satoru presses his mouth against yours, hot and messy – teeth clicking, tongues rolling – and the pain of his nails clawing at your shoulders sends you over the edge. Satoru gasps and cries out, his voice cracking as his eyes roll to the back of his skull. He follows you immediately over the precipice – so quick he almost beats you to it – and you love the way he falls apart in your arms, trembling and jolting and coming so hard it splatters your chest.

He hiccups out a sob, gawping, toes curling as his mind goes blank once more. Your come slicks him up nicely, eases the burn, and the warmth of it soothes his throbbing walls. It leaks down your shaft, creating a white ring around your base that froths and smears his skin with sticky strings.

The lightbulbs shatter entirely.

His orgasm lasts a while, spurts of thick come painting your stomach and chest. He sinks his teeth deep into his lower lip until he can taste iron. You hold him through it, and he presses himself further into your embrace as if he can get closer than having you inside him. His expression is dazed and blissfully fucked-out, the new scars adorning his skin like draped jewels.

He'll hold this over you, you know it. Every argument will be promptly shut down with, Remember that time where I fought Sukuna and won just for you? You can't say you're not grateful or won't be eternally in his debt for saving, quite possibly, the entire country, but you also can't say you'll be pleased when you ask him to complete his mission reports and he pulls that out of the bag.

At last, Satoru slumps against you. He's a moaning mess, his quivering hole still sucking in your cock whorishly. You're both covered in sweat, come, and a not-insignificant amount of blood; judging by the pain splitting your back, not all of it was from earlier. Cursed energy surges through your body, and the long bloody rakes down your back seal over.

"Fuck," you whisper, your voice wrecked as you sink into the bed. Your eyes flutter shut. "Ow..."

There's blood under Satoru's nails, and some sick part of him enjoys it specifically because it's yours. He doesn't have to say anything for you to kiss him and heal the cut in his lip, warm and tingly cursed energy flooding his senses and making him shudder with a valiant twitch of his spent cock.

He mewls when you pull out of him despite your gentleness, and you don't think it's the pain that he's unhappy about. His gaping hole leaks come, a thick milky glob of it rolling down his shaky thigh when he clenches around nothing. He reaches down and pushes it back into himself with two fingers, trying his best to scoop it all up.

Satoru only stops when you steal his attention, kissing the scars over his forehead and cheeks. You can tell he's still not quite himself, as he stays rooted in place over your lap with his gaze trained on you even as you try to coax him to lie down beside you. Eventually, as if coming to understand that it's over, he allows it, tucking himself against your side and entwining your legs together possessively. He rumbles out a soft purr against your chest, an arm over your waist, and he stares up at the bulb of your throat and the soft underside of your chin.

You still don't think he's blinked while looking at you.

He nuzzles into his favourite place below your chin, warm and content. His skin buzzes pleasantly with the remnants of your reversed cursed technique, still zipping along his nerves and over his synapses. He curls his legs tighter around yours.

Then, his little voice pipes up, dazed and faraway, barely a whisper: "I love you."

You brush his bangs back and kiss his forehead. He smiles, plump and flushed and pleased. "I love you, too, Satoru. Always."

He seems satisfied with your response, finally closing his eyes. You hold him tighter, and it's only a few seconds before he's lax and breathing deep and even.

The two of you are too tangled up to even attempt aftercare, as he's draped over you. You're not sure what he'd do if he woke up and found the bed empty, even if you're just in the bathroom, so your eyes slide shut and you cradle your dear little husband in your arms, protecting him from what you can.

You still haven't spoken to the other sorcerers. Satoru's going to have a big day tomorrow...

[beloveds-embrace]

Fae au thought

One of them storming into her chambers only for her to be in the middle of a bubble bath. Completely bare of all things fae. So utterly human, so utterly vulnerable.

yes || masterlist || trying my hand at actually writing johnny’s accent

It was Johnny.

Of course it was Johnny.

The door slammed open with the force of a man too furious to remember propriety, the wood crashing against the stone with a bang that echoed like thunder down the gilded corridor and scattering the softly glowing wisps that floated lazily in your chambers like fireflies caught in honeyed light. The very walls groaned in protest, ancient ivy carved into the pillars flinching at the fury that surged in behind him. His voice followed, sharp, brimming with a fire he rarely let show in court.

"Where the fuck were you- ?!"

Every faelight in the room flickered, dimming in tandem with his rage. Then, silence; a heavy, suffocating silence.

You turned in the tub, water sloshing gently against porcelain as your hand rose to clutch at the side. Bubbles clung lazily to your shoulders, slipping down soft skin untouched by glamour or adornment. No jewelry curved your ears to points. No talon-shaped rings or flower-laced braids. No velvet. No corset. No thorns. Bare as a whisper, as a prayer. Soaked in steam and solitude, skin flushed from heat.

Only you.

Bare, human, and blinking at him like a deer startled mid-step in a clearing.

The fury drained from him in an instant.

Johnny’s lips parted, then closed. His eyes flicked- once, only once- before they dropped to the floor, jaw tightening with restraint. The fire had not gone out, but it was merely stifled now, banked beneath something deeper and rougher.

“Dinnae mean to…” he muttered, voice cracking low, throat bobbing.

You remained quiet, shoulders curling ever so slightly inward. The room, warm and fragrant with oils and rose petals, suddenly felt too still, too quiet, even though distant flutes played, music still drifting in from the spring festival below. One of the glass windows glowed a faint blue, letting in the moon’s touch. You reached for a towel, slow and deliberate, never taking your eyes off him.

And you- so achingly human- were the only thing in the room that didn’t shimmer. It made you seem all the more delicate.

“… You could knock next time.” You said, softly, not with anger, but with a tiredness that had settled deep into your bones. The kind that no glamour could mask. The kind even Thrain’s company barely eased. The kind that had nothing to do with being fae or queen or wife, and everything to do with simply being alone for too long. With being human in a place that did not welcome it.

Johnny didn’t leave, though, even if he should have.

Instead, he stepped back once- just once- and turned his head, gaze fixed on a tapestry like it had offended him personally.

“I thought somethin’’d happened,” he said, voice low and rough, accent thick. “Ye weren’t in yer chambers, or at the table. No one had a fuckin’ clue where ye’d gone. Court’s been crawlin’ all day- bastards won’t stop askin’ for more time wi’ ye. Price is snappin’. Gaz nearly stuck a blade in some prissy noble’s gut when he asked too sweetly where’d you gone. I dinnae even know where Si’s at an’ I’m almost too afraid to ask.”

You sank back into the water, letting the warmth cradle your frame.

“I just wanted a bath,” you whispered, sinking back into the bath, water lapping gently at your collarbone. The petals shifted around you, soft and luminous. “Not a title. Not another favor asked of me. Just…” Your fingers trailed across the surface, drawing circles. “To be myself. For a little while.”

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t heavy this time, and neither was it angry. Quiet.

After a moment, you heard the sound of boots stepping away. Not leaving- just moving. Then the faint scrape of wood against stone that had been etched with centuries’ worth of wards to keep wicked things at bay.

He was sitting, less like an advisor and more a knight keeping watch outside a princess’s door. But even closer than that.

“I’ll stay,” he said gruffly, crossing his arms as though daring anyone to argue with him- even you. “Not lookin’. Just… watchin’ the door.”

A pause. Then, in a voice so quiet you’d never think he was even capable of, Johnny sighed. “… Take yer time, queenie. Dinnae let me take this away from ye.”

You had no answer for that.

But when you rose, wrapped in soft linen and smelling of dusk-flowers and magic, your bare feet kissed the glowing floor, and your eyes met his- he didn’t look away this time.

Not even once.

(You told yourself it was not hunger that colored his eyes; you doubted he’d find a human attractive.)

[ozzgin]

Yandere!Merman x Reader x Yandere!Prince

One day, you bring home a monstrous creature as the future groom for the much-demanded marriage. The family is in despair, and a foreign Prince vows to change your mind. Based on Antonín Dvořák's Rusalka. content: gender neutral reader, angst, love triangle

You return home with a triumphant smile, marching towards the grand room and opening the doors with fanfare. Your family has been pestering you to get married for months now, piling endless proposals on your study desk and inviting nameless royalty to meet you in hopes they'd catch your interest.

"I have found a groom," you declare with a sombre, official tone as your parents nearly tumble out of their seats, rattling the afternoon teacups. The servants, too, swarm over to witness your arrival: they'd never heard such confidence in your voice.

They all gather around, lips pursed in expectation, eyes widened towards the entrance. At last, as promised, someone appears behind you: A pallid creature with a sickly face, walking along crookedly, with clumps of dark locks framing the length of his bony, slender body.

It's...monstrous. One maid begins to fan herself in horror, while your mother returns to her cushioned chair with trembling hands. What a frightful sight! Surely this can't be a proper human; a ghastly fiend, perhaps, a ghoul haunting the forests at night, but no man to stand with you before a holy altar!

"He said he loves me, you see," you explain with flushed cheeks. "Well, he didn't explicitly say it...as I don't think he can speak at all. Yet, I can tell."

The pale beast nods fervently to your words.

Oh, yes, he does love you so very much. After all, he sold his soul and his voice just to walk the Earth with you! From the moment he caught a glimpse of you, he knew you were meant to be his. A fate seamed by the Gods themselves; he was certain of it.

There was one hurdle he was forced to overcome in order to properly face you. He is a water spirit, you see. A merman, yes, that’s how the humans often call him. He dwells at the bottom of the ocean, swimming with the frothing waves, luring the unsuspecting sailors to their early demise. It was during one of your boat travels that he laid his eyes on you. Immediately, viciously, his heart begun to throb with yearning. He needed to have you in his embrace at all costs.

Consequently, and without much stalling, he decided to leave the azure of the sea behind and crawl his way on land, searching for his betrothed. His father was enraged, but he knew better than to prod his son’s stubbornness. Before he knew it, the sallow creature was obediently standing in front of Ježibaba the Witch, signing the cursed pact that would leave him mute. Should the love fade, she warned, he’d be dragged back into the depths, fettered by the swamp mud, cursed to live as a will-o’-the-wisp, bringer of death and despair.

Child, night after night your siblings will weep for you! There’s no help for you, once a human has enticed you into their power.

With limbs foreign to him, he pitifully stumbled across the shore, where you found him in the early hours of the morning. At last, he thought, he’d be at your side.

Your family is not alone in their sorrows. Among the many suitors, there’s a certain foreign Prince who’s not quite ready to accept your decision. No, it simply cannot be. No one else in this world loves you like he does; of that he is certain. Whatever vile charlatan you’ve brought into your home is all but a mockery in the face of his feelings.

With a wrathful step, he strides towards the castle, cursing this newfound love of yours. He doesn’t play games of fate, nor does he need the wicked magic of witches and devils. His pace is confident, imposing; a far cry from the meagre slither of the monstrous merman. There’s something your wild beast will never have, something his soul is devoid of: passion. Alas, you will soon discover what it truly means to be adored by a human. Not just any human, mind you, but someone of his nobility and virtue.

The prince is welcomed by a pair of whispering servants. They bemoan the terror that has befallen their estate, the trickery that engulfed your royal heart, causing you to long after a creature of the night. What could have possessed you in that very moment, when you stumbled upon the demon?

Like clockwork, their voices are abruptly hushed by the shuffle of uncertain feet. The men turn around and immediately frown at the mysterious groom. Whatever summoned him in their presence is irrelevant. The prince shoves the terrified group aside, standing proud before the crooked figure.

“I don’t know what sorcery lies at the bottom of your deceit - convincing someone of (Y/N)’s grace to even gaze in your direction - but you’re better off returning to the hole you crawled out of.”

He briefly glances at the servants who’re holding their breaths at the exchange.

“They bear witness to my mercy! I will allow you to leave, though mistake not my kindness for naivety. (Y/N) was promised to me in marriage, and I shan’t permit anyone to interfere with my plans. This sword,” he threatens, placing a hand over the leather sheath, “this sword has slayed ogres twice as frightful.”

He pauses, searching his rival’s eyes, unable to find the fear he hoped to instil with his intimidation tactics. Very well, if death isn’t the answer to ridding himself of the plague...

“I’ll tell you what,” the prince finally continues, twisting his mouth in a pained frown, “you’re fooling yourself if you think (Y/N) feels anything but pity for you. Can you look at me, man to man, and tell me you love them with the same passion?”

There it is, that cursed word once more, ensnarling him tightly and pressing against his chest like the branding of hot iron. The merman’s hands curl in a fist, yet he is unable to speak, to shout, to cry. The creeping shadow of doubt suddenly engulfs him: is it truly the lack of voice that holds him back? Or might this man speak the truth? He is, after all, a monster that was never meant to walk on land, a spirit belonging to the waters. Could his adoration compare with that of other humans, with their warmth, with their vigorous, beating hearts?

A thread snaps. The merman’s soul is heavy, trampled by gloom and despair. Perhaps the Gods were merely laughing at his ridiculous dreams, dangling the hook of false hope before his hungry jaws, watching him writhe on the surface until the lungs collapse. The ground spins and the air is bitter, scorching his throat. As if pulled by invisible hands, his body hurries outside, across the rocky shore and into the foam of the waves; Ježibaba’s words echo against his eardrums. He sinks.

“Where’s the groom?”

You freeze in the doorframe, baffled to find one of your suitors in your room. The foreign prince welcomes you with a deep bow, gripping one of your hands with greed and pressing it against his lips.

“It has returned to its depths. I hope you understand,” he pleads, almost throwing himself at your feet. “Such a creature has no place among us.”

“What nonsense are you spewing?” the venom in your words causes the young man to tug at his chest. What must he do for you to accept him?

You nonchalantly slap his hand off you, then turn on your heels and scurry down the hall, followed by the panicked prince.

“Don’t be foolish! He’s been cursed, a damned ghoul dwelling at the bottom of the swamp, drowning humans who wander too close.”

His usual tenacity has faded, voice cracking with anguish and envy. This time it’s you who walks with unbreaking determination, reaching for the marsh. His mind races within a fog, trying to come up with a way to stop you in your tracks. He could draw his weapon, of course. Instinctually, his toned arm grips the handle, picturing the swing of the blade - a necessary evil? No, you’d never forgive such violence, and he can’t bear the thought of you despising him anymore than you do now.

It’s too late. Your expensive, polished shoes dip lightly into the mud, causing you to advance more steadily. You begin shouting without aim, scanning the area and praying for an answer.

Truth be told, he was indeed hoping you would return: the faintest of wish he dared to keep in his aching heart. The merman claws his way out of the murk, revealing his even paler figure. His beloved, his dearest! To see you in front of him like this is worth all the damnation in the world.

The prince involuntarily grabs your wrist. This is his final chance to convince you of his devotion, of his undying loyalty. He would burn the entire world down just to have you look in his direction. A vague smile crosses his face; to hear his own shameless thoughts...A noble turned into a beggar. He never expected to find himself trapped in such a miserable yearning.

The swamp is quiet, save for your laboured breaths. You’re burdened by indecisiveness. You...

[zeroxxlhero]

Visceral Need • Sevika

Warnings: 18+ characters, mutual pining, flirting, cunnilingus, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, dom! Sevika, sub! Fem! Reader, Sevika w a big dick, creampie, doggy style, vaginal sex, blowjobs, rough sex, ass slapping, mentions of Sevika having a happy trail

Pairings: Sevika x You

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Sevika had been plotting to get to you from a distance. Watching you, waiting for you.

The dim, smoky air of the Last Drop hums with tension, the kind you can almost feel crawling across your skin. You’re perched at the bar, fingers curled loosely around a glass of amber liquor, your sharp profile illuminated by the flickering neon signs. You know how to command a room without even trying, and Sevika is no exception to your quiet magnetism. She watches from her usual corner, where shadows bend to her will, trying not to make it obvious—though she doubts you’ve missed her lingering gaze.

It’s not the first time she’s seen you, but something about you tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the way you toss your hair over your shoulder, the faint smirk tugging at your lips when the bartender flirts just a little too boldly. Or maybe it’s how you lean back in your chair, self-assured and untouchable, like nothing and no one could ever rattle you.

Sevika’s jaw tightens as she takes another drag from her cigar, the taste bitter on her tongue. She knows how to take what she wants—except, apparently, when it comes to you. You’re too much, too radiant, too far out of reach for someone like her. But damn if that doesn’t make her want you more. She exhales slowly, watching the thin wisp of smoke curl toward the ceiling, hoping it might carry away her frustration.

When you glance her way—just a flick of your eyes, barely there—her heart jolts, a muscle-memory reflex she thought she’d buried long ago. Does she hold your gaze too long? Maybe. She’s not sure she cares, even though her pulse betrays her. She looks away after a moment, feigning disinterest, but her metal fingers drum restlessly against the table.

It’s pathetic, she thinks bitterly, this infatuation she can’t seem to shake. Sevika doesn’t pine. She’s not the kind of woman who waits in the wings, hoping for a glance or a smile. But here she is, doing exactly that, watching you from the shadows like a lovesick fool. She hates how vulnerable it makes her feel, how you’ve become a crack in the armor she’s spent years perfecting.

Her drink is almost gone, but she doesn’t order another. She’s too focused on you, on the way your laughter cuts through the dull roar of the bar like a blade. Someone’s talking to you now—some nobody who doesn’t know when to quit—and Sevika feels the sharp sting of jealousy twist in her gut. She shouldn’t care, but she does. She always does.

She wants to make a move, to cross the space between you and say something, anything, that might catch your attention. But every time she imagines it, her throat tightens, and her words die before they even form. What if she screws it up? What if you laugh her off, or worse—dismiss her entirely? She couldn’t stomach the humiliation.

Instead, she watches, silently yearning for something she’s too scared to reach for. Her metal arm creaks faintly as she flexes it, a nervous habit she’s never managed to break. She tells herself she’ll talk to you next time, but deep down, she knows it’s a lie. For now, she’ll settle for the stolen glances and fleeting moments that keep her tethered to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll notice her too.

..

The sound of shuffling cards and low laughter fills the back corner of the Last Drop, where Sevika sits hunched over a rickety table, a cigarette smoldering between her lips. Her prosthetic hand clicks faintly as she taps her cards against the wood, but her eyes aren’t on the hand she’s been dealt.

They’re on you.

Across the room, you’re leaned against the bar, your smile sharp and wicked as you chat with someone Sevika’s never seen before. Some tall, well-dressed stranger with too much confidence and not nearly enough sense to keep their hands to themselves. The sight of them leaning in, their shoulder brushing yours, makes Sevika’s jaw tighten, and she nearly cracks the card in her hand.

“Yo, Sev, you good?”

The voice jolts her back to the table. One of the guys playing spades with her—an older Zaunite named Corbin—grins lazily, tipping his chin toward her. “You’ve been staring off like you’re tryin’ to set something on fire with your eyes.”

A low chuckle ripples from the others at the table. Sevika doesn’t dignify him with a response, but she shifts in her seat, flipping a card onto the table with more force than necessary.

“Focus on the game, not whatever’s got you so distracted,” Corbin teases, leaning back in his chair. “Unless, of course…” His grin widens as his gaze darts toward you. “You’re busy keeping tabs on that.”

The others at the table exchange knowing glances, and Sevika scowls, smoke curling from her lips as she glares at Corbin. “Play your damn cards.”

Corbin whistles low. “Alright, alright, my bad.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, but his grin lingers. “Didn’t know you had a thing for the untouchable type. Can’t blame you, though.”

The table erupts into muffled laughter, and Sevika’s glare sharpens. She’s tempted to throw her cigarette at Corbin’s smug face, but that’d only prove him right. Instead, she leans forward, her voice low and steady.

“Worry about your hand, not mine. Or don’t—you’ll lose either way.”

The warning in her tone silences the laughter, and Corbin holds up his hands again, this time in genuine retreat. Sevika returns her attention to the game, but only barely.

Her gaze keeps drifting back to you. The stranger says something, and you laugh, your head tilting back slightly, exposing the curve of your throat. It’s a casual gesture, unintentional, but it hits Sevika like a sucker punch. She hates the way it makes her feel—jealous, possessive, like she has any right to be upset when she hasn’t even made her move.

She tears her eyes away again, focusing on her cards with a muttered curse. The game goes on, but her plays are sloppy, her attention split. It’s obvious enough that Corbin catches on again.

“You gonna stay in this game, or you wanna go shoot your shot?” he quips, shuffling the deck for the next hand.

Sevika glares at him, but before she can retort, you turn your head—and your eyes meet hers.

Her heart stutters. It’s only for a moment, but the intensity of your gaze is enough to leave her breathless. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you’re looking away, back to the stranger at your side.

Sevika exhales slowly, feeling the weight of Corbin’s amused stare. She can’t decide what burns more—your fleeting attention or the realization that she’s not the only one vying for it.

..

The bar’s hum is low and constant, voices blending into the clinking of glasses and the distant rumble of music. Sevika moves toward the bar, her empty glass in hand, but she’s not really paying attention to the drink she’s after. She’s already noticed you again, sitting at the edge of the counter, the soft neon glow catching the curve of your jaw.

You’re impossible to ignore. It’s not just your beauty—it’s the effortless way you carry yourself, like you know the world watches and you couldn’t care less. Sevika can’t help but stare, her steps slowing as her sharp gaze drinks you in.

She catches herself before she stops completely, shaking her head slightly. Get a grip, Sev, she thinks, but her feet still carry her closer.

Just as she reaches the bar, a man slides into your space. She notices him before you do—a wiry, slick-haired guy with a crooked grin that instantly sets her teeth on edge. He leans too close, trying to catch your attention with some line she doesn’t bother straining to hear.

You barely look at him, your expression unreadable, your attention flicking away almost immediately. But he doesn’t take the hint. He leans in closer, trying again, his voice louder now, a little sharper.

Sevika’s grip tightens on her empty glass.

The man doesn’t stop, his persistence crossing into territory that makes Sevika’s blood boil. Your body language stiffens, your disinterest now blatant, but he’s either too dense or too arrogant to notice. That’s when she decides she’s had enough.

With a measured stride, she closes the distance, her broad frame casting a shadow over both of you. She stops just behind the man, her voice low and dangerous as she speaks.

“She said no.”

The man startles, spinning around to face her. His mouth opens, probably to throw some defensive line, but the moment his eyes land on Sevika, the words die in his throat. His gaze flickers to her metal arm, then to her face, and recognition washes over him.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, holding his hands up as if to ward off a blow. “I didn’t—uh, I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize she wasn’t interested?” she cuts him off, her tone calm but icy. She steps closer, looming over him, her prosthetic arm flexing just enough to make her point. “Or you didn’t realize who you were pissing off?”

The man’s face pales, and he stammers out a hasty apology, first to her, then to you. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean any trouble.”

“Then leave,” Sevika says, her voice like steel.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He retreats quickly, his shoulders hunched, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.

Sevika watches him go, her jaw tight before she exhales and turns back to you. For a moment, she hesitates, unsure of how you’ll react. But then you glance at her, and your lips curve into a small, amused smile.

“Subtle,” you say, your tone light but edged with warmth.

“Wasn’t trying to be,” she replies, her voice quieter now.

Your gaze lingers on her, a spark of curiosity flickering behind your eyes. “Thanks. I could’ve handled it, but… I didn’t mind the assist.”

Sevika nods, the corners of her mouth twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Anytime.”

She starts to turn away, intending to head back to her usual spot, but your voice stops her.

“Leaving already? Thought you came here for a drink.”

She glances back, her brow quirking slightly. You gesture to the empty seat beside you, a playful challenge in your expression.

“Well?” you ask, leaning back against the bar. “You gonna join me, or are you just here to scare off creeps?”

For the first time all night, Sevika’s grin fully forms, small but genuine. She sets her empty glass on the counter and takes the seat next to you.

“Guess I’ve got time for one more,” she says, her voice low and steady.

It’s the beginning of something, she thinks. And for once, she’s not afraid to take the chance.

..

The smoky air of the Last Drop feels heavier tonight, buzzing with energy as Sevika sits at her usual corner table, deep into a high-stakes game of cards. The laughter and jeers from the surrounding players don’t faze her; her focus is razor-sharp, every move calculated, every tell read like a book.

You sit at her side, draped in casual elegance, your presence drawing more attention than Sevika’s winning streak. Over the past weeks, you’ve become a constant in her orbit, turning heads wherever you go together. You’ve yet to cross that line into something more, but the tension crackles like a live wire, impossible to ignore.

Sevika is used to being stared at, but with you, it’s different. You’re not just an accessory to her; you’re a distraction—the kind she can’t afford but doesn’t want to resist. Even now, with her attention locked on the game, she’s acutely aware of you beside her, your perfume, your presence, the subtle way your knee brushes against hers.

And you? You’re bored.

Sevika’s been winning all night, and while the crowd around the table watches the game with rapt attention, your interest wanes. You lean back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, your gaze lazily sweeping the room. But then, your eyes land on Sevika, her sharp profile illuminated by the flickering light above.

A sly grin curls your lips. You know her focus is ironclad, but you can’t help yourself. You want to see if you can shake her.

Leaning in, you bring your lips close to her ear, your voice soft and teasing. “You gonna win this one too, or are you just stringing them along for the fun of it?”

Sevika’s brow furrows slightly, but she doesn’t take her eyes off her cards. “Trying to distract me?” she mutters, her tone even.

“Is it working?” you purr, letting your breath brush against her skin.

She doesn’t answer, but you catch the slight clench of her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her cards. A thrill sparks in your chest.

You take it further, your hand drifting to rest on her thigh, your fingers light against the fabric of her pants. “You know,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry, “I was starting to think you were more interested in this game than me.”

Sevika freezes for half a second, just long enough for one of her opponents to notice.

“You good there, Sev?” the guy across from her asks, smirking.

“Fine,” she grunts, her voice rougher than usual. She glares at her cards, trying to refocus, but you don’t let up.

Your fingers trace small circles on her thigh, your touch maddeningly light. “You look tense,” you say, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “Should I stop?”

Her eyes flick to you, dark and smoldering, a warning in her gaze. “Keep it up,” she says lowly, “and I’ll make you regret it.”

Your grin widens, entirely unbothered by the threat. If anything, it eggs you on. You lean in even closer, your lips almost brushing her ear. “Big talk for someone who’s struggling to focus right now.”

That does it. Sevika slaps her cards down, the force rattling the table, and pushes her chair back slightly. The players around her start to laugh, sensing her irritation, but it’s not them she’s focused on—it’s you.

She leans toward you, her voice a low growl. “You really wanna test me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence, but the heat in her gaze sends a shiver down your spine. “Maybe,” you say softly, your smile teasing.

Sevika’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, it feels like the air between you is about to ignite. Then, with a sharp exhale, she stands, tossing a few bills onto the table.

“Game’s over,” she says curtly, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet.

“Where are we going?” you ask, laughing as she leads you away from the table.

Her grip on your hand is firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Somewhere I can deal with you properly.”

The spark in her eyes promises trouble, and you can’t help but follow, your heart pounding with anticipation.

..

Sevika's mouth is hot and hungry on yours, her tongue delving deep as she backs you up against the wall. The smooth plaster is cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of her body pressed against you. She breaks the kiss, leaving you both panting for breath.

"God, I've wanted to do that for so long," she pants, nipping at your jaw. "Wanted to taste you. Feel you." She rolls her hips into yours, grinding her thigh between your legs. The friction is delicious, the pressure exactly what you need to chase the edge. You whimper, your head falling back against the wall as she licks a hot stripe up your neck. Your hands find her shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"Fuck Sev," you groan, your hips rocking against her in desperate search of more. "Need you. Fucking need you so bad. Please."

Sevika stops you with a firm hand on your hip, her fingers digging in until you're sure you'll bruise. "Ah, ah," she tuts, shaking her head. "Not so fast, baby." She cocks her head to the side, a wicked gleam in her eye as she looks down at you.

"First, you're gonna apologize for interrupting my game." She punctuates the demand with a sharp thrust of her hips, her hard cock grinding against your aching clit. Your jaw drops, a gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden burst of pleasure. But even as your body sings, your mind reels at her words.

"What?" you sputter, your brain struggling to process the shift in power dynamics. "But Sev, I..." She silences you with a finger pressed against your lips, her eyes hard and unwavering.

Sevika chuckles, the sound low and dark and dripping with all sorts of filthy promises. "You heard me," she purrs, her hand sliding down your body to palm your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. Your nipple pebbles beneath her touch, the rough pads of her fingers sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your core. You whine, arching into her hand like a cat in heat.

God, you need this.

Need her.

Your whole body is crying out for her touch. But you know she's right.

Now you owe her an apology.

That’s how you got under her skin, how you made her so crazy for you that she left a table full of high rollers to chase after you. "Fuck," you curse, dropping to your knees with a thud. The carpet abrades your skin through the thin material of your pants, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure you’re about to indulge in.

Sevika is one of those lucky bitches who was born with everything hanging down to her knees. But it's not just the size that sets her apart. No, the crowning glory is the curl - a delicious, meaty curve that was made to hit all the right spots like it was made for your cunt. It looks like it’s almost too big for you, having the capability of stretching you out in ways that would burn so good it was almost painful. But oh, the pain would be worth it. So worth it to feel so full, so utterly and completely stuffed full of her.

You lean forward, tracing the happy trail that starts just below her navel, the coarse hairs tickling your fingertips. The scent of her fills your nostrils, musky and dark and so distinctly her. She's an intoxicating cocktail, all brute strength and raw power and that sharp, sinful mind. You're addicted, thoroughly and completely.

Sevika's cock is too big for your hand, stretching your fingers obscenely as you wrap them around her dick. She's hot and heavy in your palm, the veins ridging her length pulsing against your skin with every beat of her heart. The sight of her, all big and hard and ready, sends a fresh gush of arousal flooding your cunt. You whimper, your hips rolling involuntarily as you stroke her from root to tip.

Your thumb catches on the weeping tip, smearing the pearly bead of pre-cum that's gathered there. You're overwhelmed, completely bowled over by her. By this. By the sheer, breathtaking perfection of her cock. A cock that's all for you.

Sevika moans, a low sound that makes your clit throb. "That's it, baby," she praises, her voice rough with desire. "Just like that." She thrusts into your hand, her hips rolling in shallow little circles that send pleasure shooting up your spine. You can’t help but moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the feeling of her, hot and hard and so fucking perfect in your grip.

"God, your hand feels so good," she pants, her grip on your hair tightening until it's just shy of painful. "But I bet your mouth would feel even better." The words are a challenge, daring you to prove her right. To take her down to the base and show her just how good you are with your tongue. You open your eyes, meeting her gaze head on.

You look up at her through your lashes, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. The simple act, so quick and innocent on its own, is dripping with intent in the charged air between you. Your message is clear: you're going to devour her. Swallow her whole until she's begging for mercy. She inhales sharply, her eyes darkening with lust at the blatant promise. "Fucking hell," she breathes, the curse little more than a whisper." You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

You just smile, slow and filthy, before diving forward and swallowing her down. The surprise and pleasure mingling on her face at the first touch of your tongue is almost as satisfying as the taste of her, salty and bitter and so delicious.

Your mouth is hot and wet and eager around her, your tongue working feverishly to coax more of those heady drops from the tip. Sevika shudders, her grip on your hair tightening until you're sure you'll feel it for days. The sensation sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, your clit pulsing with the need for attention. You whimper around her, the vibrations of the sound traveling down her length until she's keening, her hips rocking into the blessed heat of your mouth.

You let her fuck your face, taking her down to the root with every pass until your eyes are watering and you're lightheaded from lack of oxygen. The discomfort is a small price to pay for the sheer depravity of it all, for the knowledge that you're the one driving her to this, making her fall apart with just your mouth and hands. You're insatiable, gluttonous in your desire.

Sevika is lost in the bliss of your mouth, her head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut as she chases her high. She fucks your face like it's her sole purpose in life, every thrust designed to push her closer and closer to the edge. You're along for the ride, letting her use you for her own pleasure. Because fuck, it's hot. Watching her like this, all wild and undone and so beautifully debauched. The noises she makes are obscene, low and filthy grunts and groans that make your cunt clench with want.

Her words are even filthier, praise and profanity tumbling from her lips in a steady stream. "God, your mouth," she pants, her grip on your hair bordering on painful. "So fucking good. Love watching it stretched around my cock." Her thrusts speed up, growing erratic as her climax nears.

Your nose presses against the neat thatch of curls at the base of her shaft, the musky scent of her arousal flooding your nostrils. Her hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she grinds against your face.

Your jaw aches, your lungs burn, but you don't stop.

You can’t stop.

Not when she's so close, not when you can feel her pulsing against your tongue as she fights not to come.

The need to make her fall apart is a living thing inside you, driving you forward until she's writhing, her legs trembling with the force of her impending release. And then she's coming, your name a ragged groan on her lips as her cock jerks and twitches and spills down your throat.

The sound of your name on her lips is sweeter than any praise, more potent than any aphrodisiac.It sends a fresh gush of arousal flooding your cunt, your clit throbbing with the need for some much needed friction. You work her through her release, milking every last drop from her as you greedily swallow it down.

The saltiness coats your tongue, slides down your throat in hot spurts. And god, it's delicious. A perfect complement to the musky taste of her skin, the spicy scent of her cologne that clings to your hair and skin. You're drunk on her, high on Sevika.

In this moment, you'd do anything for her, be anything she wants you to be. Even if it means falling on your knees like some cheap whore and choking on her cock like your life depends on it. Which, right now, it feels like it does.

Sevika tugs you to your feet, your legs shaky and unsteady as she pulls you into her arms. She doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath before she's kissing you, her tongue delving deep to taste herself on your lips. You open for her, letting her invade your mouth just like she's going to invade your body. Her hands are everywhere, roaming over your curves like a woman starved.

She squeezes and kneads and leaves bruises in her wake. Marking you, claiming you for her own. And fuck, if it doesn't turn you on. You've never been so aroused in your life. Your pussy is dripping, your panties soaked through with the evidence of your desire. She breaks the kiss, only to trail her lips down your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your pulse point. You moan, your head falling back to grant her better access.

Your head hits the pillow a split second before Sevika is on you, her body a warm, solid weight pressing you into the mattress. She kisses you again, her mouth slanting over yours in a filthy embrace that steals the air from your lungs and the sense from your head. The scent of her is dizzying, the taste of her a heady ambrosia on your tongue. You're drowning in her, lost in the drugging pull of her lips and the hot slide of her skin against yours. Your hands roam, mapping the dips and curves of her body like you're trying to commit them to memory.

You'd happily spend the rest of your life exploring every inch of her, tracing each freckle, licking each scar. But right now, there's only one thing on your mind. One thing your body is screaming for with every frantic beat of your heart and every ragged breath in your lungs. You need her.

Sevika is a woman of contrasts, every inch of her hard planes and sharp edges. The smoothness of her skin is a shock against the roughness of her hands, the gentleness of her touch at odds with the desperate need in her eyes. She worships your body like it's a religious experience, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your sternum until she reaches the valley of your breasts. There, she pauses, her hot breath ghosting over the peaked nipples. Your back arches, seeking friction, but she just chuckles, the sound rumbling through you like a shockwave.

"So pretty," she murmurs, her fingers ghosting over the straining peaks. The skimmed touch is torture, leaving you aching and wanting and ready to beg for more. But then she's taking you in her mouth, sucking you deep like she's trying to pull your soul straight from your body.

Sevika sucks harder, her teeth grazing the sensitive nubs and sending sparks of pleasure-pain zinging straight to your clit. You're keening, your hands fisting in the sheets as she works you over with lips and tongue and teeth. She's relentless, determined to push you to the brink until you're a mewling, writhing mess beneath her. And fuck, if it doesn't work. Your cunt is clenching, juices trickling down your thighs as she drives you insane.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, she's pulling away, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach as she makes her way down your body. Her tongue dips into your navel, teasing the hollow there before she's moving on, nipping at the jut of your hipbone. You gasp, your fingers tangling in her hair as she settles between your thighs.

She inhales deeply, her nose brushing against your clothed mound. The scent of your arousal fills her nostrils, and it’s so fucking perfect. She can't wait any longer.

Can't deny herself the taste of you.

Then she’s tearing at your panties, her fingers ripping the delicate fabric like it's tissue paper. The cool air hits your overheated flesh, making you shiver, making your cunt clench with want. But it's nothing compared to the heat of her breath, the first lap of her tongue against your dripping slit.

You moan out, your hips bucking up to meet her, to grind your cunt against her greedy mouth. She moans, the sound vibrating through you, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head. She's everywhere, her tongue delving deep, her nose grinding against your clit as she eats you out.

Sevika throws a thigh over her shoulder, opening you up to her in ways that are almost obscene. And then she's diving in, her tongue delving deep to taste you as her lips and chin get slick with your juices. You're incoherent, babbling a stream of curses and praises as she works you over like a woman possessed. She doesn't let up, fucking you with her tongue like she's trying to lick you inside out.

Your clit is throbbing, aching for attention, and she gives it to you without hesitation. Then she’s there, laving the sensitive bundle of nerves with long, slow strokes that make your vision white out. You're so close, teetering on the knife's edge of release, your cunt clenching around nothing. But you need something more, need to be filled up, stretched out until you're a quivering mess.

“Feel good, baby?”

You say yes, a wordless cry that's swallowed up by a moan as she doubles her efforts. Her tongue is everywhere, in your cunt, on your clit, over every inch of skin she can reach.

And she reaches a lot, her long arms spanning your body as she holds you open for her assault. You're lost in it, drowning in the pleasure, in the knowledge that she's the one giving it to you, driving you wild with nothing but her mouth.

Then need for more is a living thing inside you, a clawing desperation to be filled up in a way only she can provide. But she's too good at this, too skilled at drawing out your pleasure. Each touch of her tongue brings you closer to the edge, closer to that blissful precipice where you'll shatter into a million pieces. And you want it. Want to come on her face until you're shaking and boneless and spent.

She doesn't let up, fucking you with her tongue as she's trying to taste your very soul. Your cries are getting louder, higher in pitch, until you're sobbing out your pleasure, your voice breaking on each desperate moan. She's relentless, her lips and tongue working in tandem to push you over the edge.

And then, finally, she's hitting that spot deep inside, the one that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. You come with a shout, your cunt clamping down around her tongue like a vice as your orgasm crashes over you in waves of searing bliss.

You're thrashing, your legs shaking and your nails scoring the sheets as she wrings every last drop of pleasure from your body. It's too much and not enough, the sensation bordering on pain as it pushes you past the point of ecstasy and into something else entirely. Something primal and raw and so deeply, soul-shakingly intense.

Sevika comes up your body, her kisses reverent against your sweat-damp skin. The slow press of her lips to your thighs, your hips, your stomach, is a soothing balm against the aftershocks still coursing through you. She takes her time, mapping your body like she's trying to memorize every inch. Your fingertips tangle in her hair, keeping her close as you bask in the warm glow of your release.

"God, you're gorgeous when you come,"she murmurs against your skin, her words sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. She nuzzles into your neck, her breath hot against your ear. "Love watching you fall apart. Love knowing I'm the one who made you do it." Her cock is hard and hot against your thigh, a silent demand for its own release. But she doesn't rush her, doesn't try to mount you and fuck you into oblivion.

She rolls you onto your stomach, her hands skimming over the planes of your back, the dip of your waist. She takes a moment to admire the view, the curve of your ass, the long line of your legs. You're exquisite, all soft angles and warm, supple skin. And she can't wait to sink into you, to bury herself balls deep in your perfect cunt. But first, she's going to taste you again.

Her tongue traces the swell of your ass, dipping into the cleft between. She takes her time, kissing and nipping and laving at your flesh until you're squirming beneath her, desperate for more. Your legs fall open, a silent invitation that she's all too happy to accept.

Sevika dips her head, her tongue dragging over your dripping slit from clit to hole. Your taste explodes on her tongue, musky and sweet and so fucking perfect. She moans, the sound vibrating through you as she devours you like a woman starved.

Her hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as she feasts on your cunt. She eats you like she's trying to crawl inside you, like she wants to taste every inch of your body. And fuck, if it doesn't turn you on. The need to be filled by her, to have her stretch you wide and take you hard, is a clawing desperation inside you. You're panting, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as you push back against her mouth. Your clit is throbbing, aching for attention, and she gives it to you in spades.

She spreads you open with her fingers, her tongue delving deep to lap at your dripping walls. You're keening now, begging her for more, for something, anything to fill the aching void inside you. "Please," you whimper, your voice hoarse and broken. "Please, Sev. I need you. Need your cock." She pulls back, her lips shiny with your juices as she looks up at you through lidded eyes.

"Need this, baby?" she purrs, fisting her dick and giving it a languid stroke. You can't tear your gaze away from the sight, mesmerized by the thick, veiny length, the bulbous head already weeping with precome.

You nod, too far gone to form the words.

But she knows.

Reads it in the desperation in your eyes, in the way your body arches up into her.

You nod, unable to form the words to beg. But it doesn't matter. Sevika reads it in the desperation in your eyes, in the way your body arches up into her. With a low, feral sound, she's on you, settling between your spread thighs. The head of her cock nudges against your pussy, smearing precome over your slick lips. You moan, your hips lifting to meet her, to urge her deeper.

She thrusts in slowly, torturously so, her thick length splitting you open inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, the bite of pain giving way to pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming. You clench around her, your inner walls fluttering as they try to adjust to her size. But she’s too big, too thick. Even as your body yields to her, you know it will never be enough.

Now she’s in balls-deep, her thick cock stretching you in ways you never thought possible. You shudder, your body convulsing around the sudden intrusion as you struggle to adjust. It's too much, too full, too fucking perfect. You can feel her in your throat, her cock nudging against your cervix like it's trying to burrow into your womb. Your clit throbs, pulsing in time with the frantic beat of your heart as your cunt clenches desperately around the thick length. The need to move, to fuck herself on Sevika in a desperate, mindless frenzy, is a living thing inside you.

But she doesn't let you. Her hands grip your hips, stilling you even as she pulls out until just the tip remains before slamming back in with a force that steals the air from your lungs.

You sob at the drag of her thick cock against your sensitive walls, your voice breaking on a guttural moan. "F-fuck," you stutter, your nails scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. "D-daddy, it's too big. S'stretching me out. Gonna break me."

Your voice is high, thin and reedy, like it doesn't belong to you. But the words do. Those filthy, desperate pleas for her to ruin you, to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. Then she’s only too happy to oblige. She sets a brutal pace, her hips slamming against yours with every thrust. The headboard slaps against the wall, the obscene rhythm mixing with your cries and begging until it's a carnal symphony. She fucks you like she wants to split you open, like she wants to crawl inside you and never leave.

You can't catch your breath, can't do anything but take it as she fucks into you. Your legs come up to wrap around her waist, ankles locking at the small of her back as she pounds you into the mattress. The new angle lets her go even deeper, the head of her cock battering against your cervix with every thrust. The need for more is a living thing inside you, a clawing desperation that drives you to meet her, to push back against the relentless thrust of her hips. But she's too strong, too overwhelming.

She just holds you down, pins you in place with her weight as she takes what she wants. What you're begging her for with every wild thrash of your body. You're a moaning, writhing mess beneath her, lost in the pleasure and the pain until there's no distinction between the two. It's all Sevika, all this hot, hard, perfect cock splitting you open.

"Did you want this, baby?" Sevika grunts, punctuating the question with a sharp smack to your ass. You yelp, the pain mixing deliciously with the pleasure radiating from your core. The smack makes you clench, your cunt gripping her cock like a vise.

"You wanted this, yeah? Wanted me to fucking wreck this good pussy?" She yanks on your hair, forcing your head back to expose the slender column of your throat. She latches on, biting and sucking, intent on marking you as hers for all the world to see. Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers plunging between your lips to muffle the scream tearing from your lungs. Your hips buck, trying to meet her, to take her deeper, but she just pulls harder, holding you in place.

Sevika’s slaps your ass again, the sharp sting sending a jolt of pleasure racing through your veins.She doesn't let up, her hand coming down again and again until your skin is hot and aching. The need to beg for more, to plead with her to hurt you, is overwhelming. But she's already giving you what you need, what you crave. Her filthy words wash over you, praising your tight cunt, telling you how good you feel wrapped around her cock. You're sobbing, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as she pushes you higher, fucks you harder, takes you deeper. The need to cum is a physical ache, a desperate clawing at your insides.

But you can’t.

Not yet.

Not until she says so.

You cry out, your voice cracking on a sob as she sets a brutal pace. She fucks you like she's trying to imprint herself on your very soul, her cock driving into you with a ferocity that borders on violent. Your body is a puppet on her strings, jerking and twitching with every thrust. You're incoherent, babbling pleas and praises as she wrecks you. Your cunt is like a vice around her, fluttering and clutching like it's trying to keep her inside.

"That's it, baby," she pants, her grip on your hips tightening until you're sure you'll have bruises. "Take it. Take my big fucking cock." She's so deep, so fucking huge. You can feel her in your stomach, in your throat. It's overwhelming, more than you ever thought you could handle. And yet, you want more.

"Cum," Sevika demands, her voice rough with need. That single word is all it takes. You shatter, your release crashing over you in waves of blinding ecstasy. Your cunt clenches, spasming almost violently around her cock as you gush, squirting your release all over her thick dick. It's filthy, obscene, the evidence of your pleasure dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below. But Sevika doesn't care. She spurs her hips, fucks you through your climax until you're shaking, boneless, spent.

Your lips move in a wordless litany, begging her to stop, to ease up, to give you a moment to breathe. But she doesn't. If anything, she fucks you harder, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her own release.

You're whimpering, keening cries that barely qualify as words. The sounds are lost in the harsh slap of flesh on flesh, in the creaking of the bed frame as it strains against Sev’s brutal pace. She's relentless, pistoning into you with a single-minded ferocity that steals the air from your lungs. The sweat drips down her brow, her muscles standing out in sharp relief as she holds herself up on shaking arms.

She's fucking you now, not into the bed, but into the fucking room itself. Her hips snap forward, the drag of her cock against your sensitive walls sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins. You're whited out, lost in the sensation, the sheer overwhelming bliss of being fucked into oblivion by your own personal god.

"Fucking hell," Sevika breathes, her voice ragged with effort. Her hips are moving now, the pace growing erratic, stuttering as she nears her peak. Thenneed to feel her come is a desperation, a clawing hunger that makes your teeth ache. The need to be filled with her, marked by her, owned by her.

"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her fingers digging into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise. "I'm gonna fucking cum in this pussy and make you take it all. Gonna fucking fill you up until you're dripping with it. Until everyone knows who you belong to." Her words are punctuated by a final, brutal thrust, her cock spearing you deep as she erupts. Her cum floods your channel, hot and thick and endless.

You shudder, your cunt clenching and fluttering around her pulsing cock as your own release crashes over you. The need to be closer, to feel her all around you, is a visceral thing. You turn your head, your mouth seeking hers in a desperate, sloppy kiss. She meets you halfway, her lips crashing into yours like she can't get enough.

Can't taste you deep enough to satisfy.

Your moans are muffled, swallowed up by the kiss as you grind against her, fucking yourself on her softening length. She tastes of dark promise and forbidden pleasure, and you can't get enough. She kisses you through your orgasm, her words tumbling into your mouth in a filthy litany. Telling you how good you are, how perfect you are. You seek and find her praise, the need to hear it drowning out everything else.

Sevika pulls out with a wet sound, her softening cock slipping from your well-used cunt. Instantly, you feel empty, bereft. But it's only for a moment. Then the first gush of her cum dribbles from your hole, sliding down your inner thigh. A second later, her mouth is there, her tongue lapping at the pearly trail like you're her favorite treat. She cleans you thoroughly, her lips and tongue mapping every inch of your swollen flesh.

She doesn’t stop until you're spotless, until not a single drop of her release remains on your skin. Satisfied, she comes up to curl around your sweaty body, her arms wrapping you in a secure embrace. Then she calms you down, pressing soft kisses to your temple as she murmurs soothing nonsense. The need to be close, to be touched and held and cherished, is a visceral need.

Sevika gives you a chance to breathe, letting you bask in the afterglow for a second. Then she’s flipping you over, manhandling you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing at all. The sheets are cool against your heated skin as she settles over you, the hard planes of her chest a delicious contrast to the soft material.

She kisses your body, her lips trailing over each bump and hollow like you’re the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. "You did so good, baby," she murmurs, her voice low and rough and filled with a dark satisfaction. Then she's praising you like you're the finest prize, like conquering your body has been the ultimate accomplishment. And maybe it has. Because in this moment, with your legs spread and your cunt throbbing from her possession, you feel owned.

Consumed.

And utterly fucked out.

[saphig-iawn]

New Year, New You

CW: non-con transformation

Despite the roiling buzz of the party you always seemed to be gazing over to her just as she turned her eyes to you. It felt like coincidence at first, like making multiple moments of eye contact with a stranger while waiting for something in a public place.

This moment, however, felt different. The moment your eyes met hers, you seemed to notice how the colours of her irises were a little more vivid. Your cheeks involuntarily blushed. You look away blinking quickly, as if to shake yourself free of a stupor and you made a bit of clumsy entrance into some festivities to distract yourself.

But no matter what you did, there was this... presence that wouldn't leave you. It felt like the room was shrinking with each passing moment, like the people at the party were just elaborate cutouts.

Prey stuck in the eyes of a predator.

Hiding among the long grass that was the buffet, you felt you were safe. A timid glass of punch in hand, you turned without looking and collided with someone.

The sting of embarrassment became a weight in your stomach as you clamour to apologise, and when you finally looked up, you saw her.

Everything went cold.

You couldn't help stare at the wet patch you had made on the bodice of her green satin dress.

Oh god you're just looking at her boobs now, what are you doing?! You panicked and began to pat her chest with a paper towel and- oh god now you're patting her breasts! Whatiswrongwithyouyou'remakingitworse-

You see her hand gently curl around your wrist.

You look up.

She simply hushes you.

Her eyes feel like they're looking into you, like their gaze is reaching through your eyes and into the you in your mind.

The panic ablates. The tremors calm.

"It was a little accident, don't worry darling", she croons.

Your mind tries to recount the accident, worsening it with each recollection, stuck in a bad recursive loop, but it all seems to slow. The longer you stare into her eyes, the easier it gets to just let that anxiety go.

"You've been quite the wallflower tonight, haven't you darling?" she continues.

The room begins to turn slowly, almost like its revolving around you. You wonder if the punch is hitting you, you remember how a 'friend' said they were going to spike it, but then your body begins to sway, almost rhythmically.

"You ok there, darling? Anyone in there?" she teases.

You shake your head and blink and realise that you were actually being walked away from the buffet by the woman in the green dress, not that something unwanted was getting into your bloodstream.

There's a strange feeling of.. disconnection? Delay? Like you thought you were still being walked when suddenly the plush softness of couch cushions rise up to meet your behind.

You felt like a marionette being guided; your body unresponsive but weightless. There was a bewilderedness stopping words from leaving your lips.

"You poor thing, you look quite ready to be done with this year, don't you?"

Those words felt like a warm hand cradling your cheek. A sigh involuntarily wisps from your lips.

"Oh I know darling, it won't be long. New Year, new you, and all that-" she smiled. God it was such a warm smile. "you've said that to yourself a lot haven't you, darling?"

A little weight manifests in your stomach. Misplaced guilt at the expectations of making New Year's resolutions. You never really subscribed to them, but the pressure from everyone else making them felt like it was a thing you had to do.

"I know that feeling too darling, perhaps we could welcome in this New Year with something a little better, hmm?"

She held your hand in hers, at the strike of people beginning to countdown.

10!

She takes your other hand.

9!

You sink into her eyes

8!

She smiles with a deep warmth.

7!

You feel you can't look away.

6!

Her gaze pierces deeper

5!

You can't look away.

4!

Her warmth spreads into you.

3!

You can't move.

2!

You can't tell where her warmth ends and yours begins.

1!

She gives you a single wicked wink.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You feel her pull at your hand. The room cartwheels around you. Your head prepares for the dizziness but its strangely absent. You crash into the warmth of her embrace and are unable to pull yourself away. It feels like the moment you crash onto your bed after a long shift.

Your vision remains stuck at the middle distance, her green satin shoulder almost filling half of it.

You hear a different voice come from behind you.

"Awww, is someone a bit too drunk, huh?", the voice teased.

"Yes, the poor thing, barely able to move. I'm going to call a ride." the woman in green responded.

With little effort she lifts you up off the couch and drapes your arm over her shoulders, and moves towards the exit.

The cheering dies down to a low distant rumble. The sound of the woman's shoes echo slightly. The corridor you were being lead down stops beneath your dragged feet.

You feel a warmth blossom under your jaw as your vision swings to face a mirror.

"There we are darling, a New Year, a new you!" the woman chuckled.

Your eyes can't help but drink in your reflection, mainly because they can't do much else, not even look around.

You saw you, but your clothes seemed to hang a little looser, like something changed underneath. The woman's hand cradling your jaw gently moves your head.

'I'm... a... doll...?' your mind attempts to think. The thought is excruciatingly slow. Like a single droplet of water dangling beneath a faucet.

"You don't have to worry about much any more, now. I'll take good care of you darling."

You feel her press her cheek against yours, her reflection just entering your peripheral vision.

"You're going to look so good in my collection..." she trails off as she continues to take you down the corridor to goodness knows where.

As the pattern of the carpet rolls across your vision like scan lines on an old television, your mind can't help but ponder over that word...

'Coll... ec... tion...?'

(If you would like to see more fiction writing like this, then please support me over at https://ko-fi.com/saphig, where you can also commission 1-on-1 hypnosis sessions and your own kinky short story just like this!)

[after-avenging-hours]

How it Started vs How it's Going: Dante x Reader

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Summary: You reminisce about the day you first met Dante while the two of you start planning for the future together.

This follows the relationship established in Pollinators Beware and Two for the Price of One, but can be read as a standalone.

Word Count: 6,253

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Explicit Sexual Content, Devil Hunter Reader, Trauma Bonding, Dante being so adorably sweet, you'll have to brush your teeth afterward.

The day you first met Dante, you were already at your wits' end.

You'd been tracking a shadow demon for weeks, and every time you got close, it would slip right through your fingers. The slippery little devil could quite literally melt into the shadows and hop from one to the next. Tracking it at night was next to impossible, so you'd need to look for the signs during the day. Little flickers at the edges of an otherwise unmoving shadow. Wisps and tendrils trailing at the feet of a passerby. An ominous presence in darker corners. If you didn't catch it before nightfall, then you'd have to start from scratch the next morning.

It was a huge pain in the ass.

Finally, after you were just about ready to tear your hair out, you managed to corner it in an abandoned warehouse. Abandoned, yes, but someone was still paying the electricity bill. With a flip of the switch, the giant halogen bulbs fixed to the ceiling flickered to life, illuminating the entire space.

The demon screeched like it was in pain, and changed from a formless shadow into a hideous reptilian-like creature with razor-sharp fangs, wicked-looking claws, and a tail whipping back and forth.

You'd smirked at it while pulling the sword off your back. "Let there be light, fucker."

You were just about to dart forward and engage the demon in battle when a blur of red and broken glass came raining down from one of the skylights. He landed directly on top of the demon, sword piercing through its skull and embedding into the flood beneath its chin. With just one blow, he'd killed the thing that took you weeks just to get to this point.

"What the hell?!" You'd cried out, rage making your blood hot.

He pulled his sword out of its mangled corpse and hopped off its back. "Don't worry, baby. I got this. No need to thank your rescuer." He'd flashed a cocky grin, hiking the sword up on his shoulder.

You dashed forward, the very picture of an avenging angel, all fire and retribution.

His grin wavered, brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you d-”

He didn’t get to finish his question, because suddenly you were in the air in front of him, jamming your knee up against the bottom of his chin. His mouth clamped shut, teeth biting into his tongue, while his head whipped back from the impact. You landed, graceful as a cat, back on your feet. “I didn’t need any rescuing!” You returned your sword to the holster on your back and crossed your arms, glaring harshly. “And I’m not your baby.”

“Ow, thuck!” Dante cried out, mouth filling with blood. “Thoo madthe me bithe my thung!”

You didn’t apologize, instead choosing to sharpen your glare and give him a full once-over. His bare chest was on full display under the opening of his red coat, save for the brown leather strap running across his pecs. You scoffed and cocked out your hip. “Is it laundry day, or did you spend too much money on that ridiculous coat that you couldn’t afford to also buy a shirt?”

He spat out the mouthful of blood and ran the back of his hand over his lips. “Babe, when you’ve got abs like these, it’d be a shame not to share ‘em with the world.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately. Not at his words, but at the missing lisp. In a flash, you’d redrawn your sword and aimed it at his neck. “What the hell are you?”

He held his hands up in surrender, leaning slightly away from the blade. “Whoa, take it easy. I’m just a demon hunter. Like you.”

You’d tightened your grip on the hilt and pushed the blade closer. “Not like me.”

That cocky smirk was back on his face. “True.” He’d then opened his mouth and stuck his perfectly healed tongue out at you. “Still stings like a bitch. Nothing a little strawberry sundae won’t fix. You in?”

“What?” Your eyebrow twitched.

He placed his fingers on the flat of your blade and pushed it away from his neck. “I’ll buy. Consider it an apology for taking your kill. Didn’t realize someone was already tailing this sucker, but they can be a real pain to track down if you don’t get ‘em quick.”

For some unexplainable reason, you let him push the sword away. “Yes, I’m aware…”

“Alright, let’s go. Our ice cream awaits.” He began to stalk off like this was the most normal conversation in the world.

Confused and a little intrigued, you’d decided to follow him. Before you knew it, you were sitting at the counter inside Freddy’s Diner, with a towering vanilla ice cream and strawberry syrup sundae pushed in front of you.

Your companion, who’d introduced himself as Dante, dug into his immediately. “So,” he started while chewing on a strawberry slice. “What’s your traumatic backstory?”

You gave him a side-eye, then swiped at the whipped cream on the top of your sundae with your spoon. “What makes you think I have a traumatic backstory?”

He smirked knowingly. “You don’t get into our line of business if you grew up with all rainbows and ponies.”

You put the spoon in your mouth to give yourself time to think about how to respond. “You first,” you deflected.

He eyed you like he knew what you were doing, but relented anyway. “You’ve probably noticed that I’m half demon. Dad was a demon, Mom was human. After he was out of the picture, demons came for the rest of us. They killed my mom, and for the longest time, I thought they killed my brother too…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes lost their focus.

“Where is he now?” you questioned softly, trying to pull him back.

His eyes, a fierce crystal blue, snapped back to yours, nearly startling you. “Oh, he’s in Hell,” he stated a little too nonchalantly, like it was forced. “Turns out Vergil had an easier time connecting with his demon side than I did.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “He went willingly?”

“Yep,” he gave the ‘p’ a definitive pop, indicating the end of the conversation. He then shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and knocked his knee against yours. “Your turn.”

You glanced down at your ice cream, unable to look into his eyes while you talked about your past. “I used to be a witch. Or at least, I was raised by witches.” You then scoffed dryly, your hand tightening on your spoon. “To be honest, it was more like a cult of demon worshipers than a true coven. I was born and raised to be their brood mare; to be the vessel of the future heir to the coven. Once I turned of age, there was a ritual. They summoned a demon so that I could be fertilized with its spawn, but it broke out of the containment circle. It killed half of the members who were present, while the other half ran for their lives. I was left behind.” You finally lifted your gaze to find Dante watching you intensely. “I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Just a lot of blood and screaming. But I killed it. I killed that demon, and I’ve been killing them ever since.”

He released a low whistle once you finished, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Damn, and I thought my childhood was rough. I think you have me beat this round.”

You scoffed again and rolled your eyes. “Childhood trauma isn’t a competition, Dante. It’s all horrible.”

“Well, maybe it should be. They should have to give out awards for some of the shit we had to go through.” He waved his spoon around like it emphasized his point.

You smiled in amusement. “The award is knowing you survived it. Knowing you walked through Hell and came out the other side. It’s what you do after the trauma that’s the real test. Do you allow yourself to be consumed by the darkness, or do you try to find beauty in the things you may not have noticed before? If you have the strength to keep going, eventually you’ll find the light.”

He hummed thoughtfully while tapping his spoon against his chin, taking in your words. “Your trauma has made you very profound.”

You laughed and knocked your shoulder against his. “Thanks for the ice cream and the trauma bonding.” You licked your spoon clean and dropped it into the empty sundae glass. “See you around, Dante.” You stood up from the barstool.

“Hey, wait a sec.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, causing you to turn back with a raised brow. “I’ve been thinking about bringing in a partner. What d'you say we team up?”

It was now your turn to smirk. You raked your eyes from his pretty boy face, down his shirtless torso, to his cargo pants and unlaced boots. Your eyes then snapped back up to his. “Ask me again in a few years.” This guy had heartbreak written all over him, and you couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. But maybe after you’d both done some maturing, you could revisit whatever this spark was…

You slipped your hand from his, fingers brushing until the last moment of contact. Then you’d turned and walked out the diner, feeling his gaze on your ass the whole time.

“Hey, you still with me?” Dante’s voice pulls you out of the fog of memory. You blink several times before meeting his crystalline gaze. “Where’d you go?” he questions.

The hazy vision of a much younger Dante fades away the longer you look at the current one. “I was thinking about the day we met. When you first brought me here,” you tell him with a fond smile. You’re both sitting in the same spot you’d been in back then, perched on barstools that had been replaced at one point or another. There’s a strawberry sundae in front of each of you, though Dante’s is nearly finished.

Dante releases a dramatic sigh. “Oh yes. Nothing quite says young love like trauma bonding over your respective childhoods.”

You laugh and take another spoonful of ice cream.

Dante then grins wickedly. "Bet you're glad now that my tongue healed so quick." He flicks said tongue out of his mouth in a vulgar gesture meant to remind you of what he does with it when he's between your legs.

You roll your eyes and punch his shoulder.

He chuckles heartily and steals a scoop of ice cream from your sundae.

You glare at his audacity and tilt your head dangerously before noticing the bit of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth. Reaching up, you pinch his chin between your thumb and forefinger and tilt his face toward yours. He eyes you curiously before his shoulders stiffen when your tongue darts out and licks the whipped cream off his skin. You release his chin and straighten back in your seat, looking rather smug.

He stares at you, wide-eyed, for a moment, and then laughs. "Hell, babe. How can you expect me to behave in public when you're doing shit like that?" He shifts on his barstool against the growing tightness in his pants.

"You started it." With a cheeky grin, you lick your spoon suggestively.

His rapidly darkening gaze is laser-focused on your mouth. You feel his hand pressed to your lower back as he leans into your space. "Wanna go home and fuck on the couch?"

You very nearly choke on a strawberry slice. While attempting to cough it out of your lungs, you glance back at the family of four sitting in the booth behind the two of you. They luckily appear to be blissfully unaware of the crass remark that just came out of your partner's mouth. You turn back to Dante and push his face away from yours. "Can you at least pretend to have a romantic bone in your body?"

"You mean this one?" He grabs your wrist before you can pull your hand from his face and places your fingers over the bulge in his pants.

You really should have seen that one coming, and you're too amused to be mad about it. "Not that one." You squeeze his length teasingly and pull your hand away, returning back to your sundae.

Dante observes the side of your face while you attempt to pointedly ignore him. His heart pounds in his chest when he realizes the opening you've unknowingly provided him. He slips his hand into the pocket of his coat. "How's this for a romantic gesture?"

You eye him curiously with your spoon in your mouth before you look down at the small velvet box he places on the counter between the two of you. Your heart stops. You stare at it for a few seconds and then flick your gaze back to Dante's.

His expression tells you exactly what's inside that box. It's filled with a mix of hope, trepidation, longing, and fear. "Open it," he encourages softly.

You move like you're in slow motion, setting the spoon down and pulling the box closer. You give Dante one last side glance before flipping open the top of the box. All the air in your lungs leaves you at once. Inside the box is a gorgeous, Victorian-style engagement ring, with delicate filigree along the band and a beautiful gemstone that seems to shift between sparkling white and pale blue depending on how the light hits it. The gem reminds you of his eyes. Like a snowstorm and the skies after rain combined.

Just when you're beginning to wonder how he could possibly have afforded this, he speaks, "It was my mother's."

Any breath you may have been trying to pull in gets caught in your throat. You lift your eyes back to his face to find him staring down at the ring.

"That's the ring my dad proposed to her with. He later got her a bigger one when they married. I remembered her showing it to me once. She kept it in a hidden safe in their bedroom. I went back to look for it." He finally looks up, meeting your eyes, and gives you a soft smile. "You went back to the place that ruined your childhood for me... Figured it wouldn't be right if I wasn't willing to do the same."

"Dante..." Your eyes sting with emotion, throat tightening.

He looks away and scratches the back of his head, trying to wrestle his own emotions. "I asked Vergil if he was cool with me giving it to you. He kind of just grunted, which I took to mean yes, but don't be surprised if he tries to cut off your finger to take it back. We all know his track record on pulling limbs off of family members..."

You huff out a short laugh and push the open box back toward him. "Stop ruining the moment and put this on me already."

His smirk is too relieved to be considered cocky. He pulls the ring out of the box, hands uncharacteristically and adorably shaking as he reaches for yours, and slips the ring onto your third finger. He runs his thumb over it once it's in place. "No backing out now. You're locked in," he jokes.

You smile and lean closer to his face. "That already wasn't an option." You place a chaste kiss against his mouth.

"I really fucking love you." His words taste as sweet as the sundae.

You hum against his lips and place your hand on his upper thigh. "Okay, now I wanna go home and fuck on the couch."

He's off the barstool before you can even blink. He shoves the empty ring box back into his coat pocket and whisks you toward the exit. “You can add those to my tab,” he calls to the waitress carrying a tray of freshly made pancakes and eggs benedict, gesturing to the empty sundae glasses on the countertop. She doesn’t look surprised, just nods and keeps moving. Dante’s saved this diner from demon attacks more times than you could count. The whole waitstaff knew the drill.

The two of you stumble back into Devil May Cry like a pair of giddy teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other. Dante shrugs out of his coat before the front door has even latched shut. You yank off your boots and shove your pants down your legs. He smirks, walking backward toward the couch, hands loosening his belt buckle. You stalk after him, shoving his chest when the backs of his knees hit the couch, and then you’re crawling onto his lap. His hands grip your thighs just below the curve of your ass while your knees bracket his hips.

His stubble prickles your palms when you place them against his jaw and tilt his face up toward yours. His lips are parted, eyes heavy with want. You ghost your lips over his in the barest hint of a kiss. His chin raises, chasing after you, but you’re just a hairsbreadth too far. You shift and kiss the edge of his mouth on the side that always lifts first when he smirks. Then you kiss the apple of his cheek, then his temple, and then his brow.

His hands tighten against the backs of your thighs before moving up and delving under your shirt to splay across your lower back. “You ever think about how we both spent so long running from our destinies, only to end up right there anyway?” he asks you, voice barely above a whisper.

Your head tilts, and you begin to kiss the other side of his face. “How do you mean?”

His hands flex against your skin. “Well, for the longest time, I refused to embrace my inner demon. I clung to my humanity so tightly that I fooled myself into believing my demonic half didn’t even exist.” You kiss the tip of his nose and then pull back, waiting patiently for him to continue, recognizing the importance of what he’s trying to say. “The first time I devil triggered, I was terrified. I thought unlocking that part of myself and letting it out into the world meant that I had to give up the humanity I fought so desperately to keep within my grasp.” He looks deep into your eyes, his face lacking the usual humor that’s lined there. “I thought embracing it meant I’d have to live the rest of my life alone, just to protect everyone else from the ugliness inside me. That no one would ever accept someone with a monster living under their skin. But then I met you and…” His voice trails off, and his arms tighten around your waist, like if he doesn’t keep you close, you’ll vanish into wisps of smoke.

“I think you were made for me,” he whispers as if speaking it too loudly will shatter the fragile air between you both. “I think that summoning ritual when you were young didn’t work because I wasn’t ready yet, and so they pulled the wrong demon through. I think it was always supposed to be you and me. No one but you could ever fully understand and love every part of me. And I never would have gotten this far without you.”

“Dante…” Your smile feels like sunshine on his face; your eyes filled with so much love for him that it makes his heart pound. Your thumbs trace over his cheeks in a gentle caress. “You don’t need to sweet-talk me out of my pants, I’ve already taken them off,” you joke and lean in for a short, affectionate kiss.

He hums against your lips. “Don’t ruin my attempt at romance. I’m trying my best.”

You laugh and pull away to look down at him again. “You’re doing amazingly well, actually.” You push his bangs to the side to make it easier to look into his eyes. “I think a part of me knew that first day we met. Knew what you were going to mean to me. Knew that I’d end up running straight toward all the things I was running away from if I let you in.” You lean back down and brush your nose against the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t ready for you back then, and even if I could go back, knowing what I know now, I don’t think I’d change any of it. Our pasts have made us who we are today, and I love this version of us. You’re my everything, Dante.”

You feel his hand brush the back of your neck to pull your lips down to meet his. The kiss is more reverent than hungry, but it steals your breath all the same. This is the man who pierced and clawed and burned his way through Hell for you. The man who drives you crazy and makes you feel safe. The man that’s burrowed so deep into your soul, you wouldn’t be able to extract him without ripping out parts of yourself as well. You love every cocky remark, dirty joke, idiotic decision-making part of him.

Your hands leave his face and slip under the bottom hem of his shirt. Fingers tracing up tightening abs, and trailing silver hair. His mouth leaves yours as he reaches to grab the collar of his shirt and yanks it off. Your hands continue their northward explorations while your lips start an expedition of their own down his neck. Dante’s head falls against the back of the couch, giving you even more room to run your mouth over him. You kiss his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat. You nip at his collarbone, too playful to hurt, but it makes his hips jerk under you. His racing heart feels like butterfly wings against your lips before you suck his nipple into your mouth. He groans and writhes under you like he’s at his breaking point.

You feel his hand at the back of your neck, and he gives it a warning squeeze. “Babe, we’re about to have a sticky situation if you keep doing that.”

Your eyes flash with mischief, which is dangerous considering where your mouth currently is. Your tongue circles him. “Would you really cum in your pants from this?”

All the blood in his body rushes south. “Fuck, probably.” He grinds up, trying to find even a fraction of relief against the constricting material. He really should stop wearing leather pants around you.

You grin savagely and rake your teeth over the peaked bud. “What if I want to see you cum in your pants?”

He moans and realizes he’s so close that you might just get your wish. Mercifully, you release him from the hot, wet temptation of your mouth, and he can finally breathe. He chuckles a little blearily, “Damn, I’m so fucking pussy whipped.”

You look extremely proud of yourself as you settle more firmly into his lap. You bunch the bottom of your own shirt between clenching fingers and yank it off in one fluid movement, leaving you in your matching emerald green lace panties and brassiere. He’d watched you put them on this morning. Knew exactly what you were hiding under your clothes when he’d taken you out for sundaes with an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket. And now here you were, kneeling over him like a goddess looking down at her worshipper, the ring that once embodied the devotion between his parents now firmly settled on your finger. You were his future. You were his hope. You were the reason he jumped into Hell, because he knew he had to do everything he could to protect the only world that had you in it.

He pulls your face back to his in a raw, open-mouthed kiss. His other arm bands around your waist, holding your body tight against his. You moan into his mouth, nails scratching at his scalp as you run your fingers through his hair. He nips at your bottom lip, sinking his teeth into the supple flesh. He then starts a blazing trail of kisses and bites across the underside of your chin and down your neck.

“Dante!” You gasp and moan his name so sweetly.

He kisses the hollow of your throat and nips at your collarbone, exactly how you’d done it to him. Your hands tighten in his hair as his prickly cheeks brush against the tops of your breasts. He licks the seam where the cups of your bra meet your skin. It takes all your effort not to unravel.

“I need you,” you plead, grinding the wet patch of your panties against his bulge.

He nips at the skin between your breasts. “You have me.” It’s not a tease, it’s a fact.

You make an adorably frustrated noise from the back of your throat. “I need you in me!” you clarify.

You feel his wicked grin against your skin. “Take it easy, my dick’s not going anywhere.” He laughs before his face moves away from your breasts, and he’s leaning back against the couch again. He looks at you through lidded, lust-filled eyes. “Would you like to do the honors?”

You’re unbuttoning the front of his pants before your next breath. You yank open his fly and shove them down just enough to free his aching cock. It bounces up and hits the bottom of his abs, smearing precum against his skin. You’re impatient and desperate as you fist his base and line him up. Your other hand peels your wet panties to the side moments before you’re sinking down on his fat cock.

“Fuck,” he curses, hands flying to your waist and squeezing urgently. “Thought you’d at least get me wet first,” he huffs, the muscles in his neck straining.

“Couldn’t wait,” your voice is already wrecked, all needy and eager. As soon as he’s halfway in, you let go of his base. You pulse your hips shallowly like you’re testing the waters, and then all too suddenly, you’re lifting your hips up and then slamming back down until he fills you to completion in one long stroke. Both of your moans fill the room as his cock settles into the deepest parts of you.

“Fuck me,” he squeezes his eye shut, head falling against the back of the couch.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” You swirl your hips, and Dante swears his soul is about to leave his body.

“Babe, I love that you’re just as desperate for me as I am for you, but you’re literally killing me here.”

Your laugh is pure sex, all sultry and low. “You’re not going to die.” You rock your hips against him and clench around his length.

He grunts deep in his chest and you feel his cock twitch inside you. “You sure about that? What if my heart stops?”

Your fingers dive back into his hair. “I know CPR.”

He shivers when your nails run over his scalp again. If he were a cat, he’d definitely be purring. “What if my heart explodes?”

Your face leans down and nips at the edge of his chin. “I’ll give you a vitality potion.”

His hands move down to grip your ass. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Despite his words, his hands encourage the way you’re moving against him.

Your breathless giggle fans across his face like petals on the wind. “Always.”

You kiss him right as you begin to bounce on his cock. It’s sloppy and wet, tongues tangling between shared breaths and cries of pleasure. He kisses different when he’s buried inside you. He’s more feral, like the joining of your bodies unlocks the savage beast he tries to keep caged up. He’s wild, untamed, raw. Like he wants to devour you more than he wants to savor you. He’s unrestrained and brutal. He makes you feel like a glass of water in the desert or the first meal given to a starving man.

You have to rip your mouth away when the need to breathe becomes too strong to ignore. His lips very quickly make their way back down to your heaving breasts. He nips and sucks at the skin above your bra. Your head falls back; eyes closed in rapture. You keep one hand steadied on his shoulder while the other cups the back of his neck. His mouth moves once more and clamps over your nipple through the lacy material of your bra. You release a mewling sound of pleasure and a stuttering breath. He suckles your breast in the way he knows drives you crazy.

The measured pace of your hips grows a little more frantic. “Ah!” Both gravity and momentum work to your advantage, making him hit you so deliciously deep every time you slam down on his thighs. He feels so good, filling you just right, and it’s easy to see why he’d say you were made for each other. Every time you both come together, it’s like sparks igniting oil. Instantaneous, hot, unavoidable. Like a lock and key that only work with each other. He’s the breath in your lungs and the fire in your veins. “Dante!” you call out to him desperately, feeling the muscles in your legs burn from exertion.

In an instant, he’s moving. He doesn’t need an explanation; he just knows. Your back hits the soft leather seat of the couch. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, so he pushes your knees to your shoulders in a mating press. He has one knee shoved between your body and the back of the couch, while his other leg is stretched out, foot still planted on the floor. He doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to fuck into you during the shift in positions. You moan at both the relief of being off your legs and at the new angle he’s now plunging into you. Your hands reach above your head, gripping the armrest of the couch.

“So fucking pretty.” His eyes burn with desire as he looks down at you. He loves watching your face as you get closer to your release. When the pleasure becomes too great that all your walls come down and you bare your soul to him. You allow yourself to be defenseless, vulnerable, to let him see the deepest and darkest parts of you. To be broken apart and trust that he’ll remake you every time.

Your back arches, head thrown back as you vocalize your pleasure. “Dante, please!” He shifts the angle of his hips once more, just enough to allow him to grind into your clit with every thrust. Your body tenses beneath him, and he knows you’re close.

“Come for me. Let me feel you unravel on my cock. Squeezing me so tight while you milk me dry,” he encourages. “This pretty pussy has been taking me so good. So wet and tight and eager for a thorough pounding. I could smell your arousal, even when we were at the diner. You’ve been begging for this all day.”

You can’t deny him, because it’s true.

“And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t give you exactly what you wanted? My breathtakingly gorgeous wife.”

That does it. He calls you his wife, and you’re done for. It feels like two celestial bodies coming together and colliding, shattering into a million stars. Like the creation of life and existence itself. Like the fabric of your reality has been pulled out to a single thread and then stitched into something new. Pleasure clouds every one of your senses. It licks up your spine and fills your veins. It makes everything in the world except for Dante seem hazy and distant. For this one moment, it’s just the two of you and nothing else. No danger, no responsibilities, no expectations. Just you and the man you love with your entire being.

The rhythm of his hips starts to falter and then you feel the first spurt of cum coating your walls. You clench and squeeze around him, moaning as he fucks his cum deeper into you. He doesn’t stop until his cock is completely spent, and even then, he gives a few more thrusts for good measure. By the time he’s coming down from his high, you’re practically a puddle of goo underneath him. He gathers your body up in his arms and moves so that he’s sitting properly on the couch once more, with you collapsed against his chest. He tucks your head under his chin and holds you close while he tries to catch his breath.

“Sundaes and sex… This is the best day of my life,” he huffs out a tired laugh, head tilting back against the couch.

“Um, forgetting something?” you question, wiggling your fingers in front of his face.

He grabs your hand and kisses the knuckle of your ring finger. “That, too.” He pretends it’s an afterthought, but the way he threads his fingers between yours and holds your hand says otherwise. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” He releases a contented sigh and pulls you in a little closer. “Not even when we’re old and gray.”

You smile against his neck. “You’re already old and gray.”

He pinches your side, which causes you to yelp and jerk against his touch. “Now that’s just mean,” he pouts.

You giggle and kiss the underside of his chin. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” You don’t sound very sorry.

“I should make you sleep on the couch for that comment,” he mumbles.

“No!” you protest through your laughter. “I need my Dante-shaped body pillow!” You cling to him like a starfish clings to a rock in the tidal zone.

He cracks a smile and kisses the top of your head. The moment turns softer, quiet. Not awkward or uncomfortable. Just peaceful. Your cheek rubs against his sternum, breaths scattering over his chest like downy feathers. You melt against him, muscles going lax, heartbeat slowing. His fingers trace up and down your spine, lulling you even further. “You falling asleep on me?” he asks, voice serenely amused.

“No…” You deny, but you’re drifting off, and soon your breaths have evened out.

He chuckles quietly and holds you like you’re the most precious cargo in the world when he stands and takes you up to the bedroom. He pulls back the top sheet and sets you down on the bed, then moves to the bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water. You don’t stir when he removes your soaked panties and presses the cloth between your legs. Your body fully trusts him to take care of you, even when you’re most vulnerable. He removes your bra next, then pulls the covers up, and tucks you in.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches over you. Like a stone sentinel built to guard a holy temple. You are the best thing he thought he’d never get to have. For years, he’d built walls, and barriers, and defenses, not to keep you out, but to keep you safe. Safe from him. Safe from the dangers that clung to him like shadows in darkness. Safe from the heartbreak of losing him to either the demons outside or the one within. But he’d underestimated you. Misjudged your strength, your tenacity, your ability to wiggle your way past every single one of his defenses like they weren’t even there.

When he looks at you, he sees a future full of laughter, devotion, and a love so deep it makes his chest tight, like there’s not enough room in there for the overwhelming feeling bubbling out of his heart. He sees soft, morning smiles, and passionate, eager touches. He sees teasing laughter and honest guidance. He sees the two of you, back-to-back, blades drawn, ready to take on whatever force comes your way.

He sees a future that he wants to come true so desperately that he’s willing to risk everything for it. You’ve seen him at his worst. You faced the monster lurking under the surface, and you stayed. You looked past the cocky, flippant attitude and saw the broken, terrified, lonely man underneath, and then you reached out your hands. You took his cracked and jagged edges and you made him soft. Not weak, but malleable. You filled the empty spaces just by being constant and reliable. You did it so naturally, like there couldn’t have been any other way to go about it.

You accepted every part of him, and now he’d get to spend the rest of his life proving to you that it was worth it. To prove that he was worth it. Because he already knew that you were.

When he crashed into your life all those years ago, he had no idea that you were going to be the person he’d build his life around. No clue that you were going to mean this much, be this important to him. But now that he knew what he wanted, nothing was going to stop him from having it. If it were the two of you against the whole world, he’d be fine with it. Because as long as you were on his side, he could face anything.

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 052 - Lovesick! Fae King! Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, gaslighting(?), gore, body horror, blasphemy, BLOOD, the act of burning people alive, arson, yandere/lovesick Jinwoo au ]‼️

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Then Let This World Set Ablaze ] ¡! ❞

You really don't know how it happened, one day you were strolling blissfully in the forest behind your cottage and now you were suddenly acquainted with the fae king who was in charge of the underworld

In your world that was run by a bunch of swindling and bastard gods with their minions of divine creatures who praise even their most horrendous crimes; lives an eternal fae king of the dead who never wanes in power.

From the heavens, the lands, the seas and the afterlife— The Fae King of the undead was someone no one could touch. Not even the greater demons and the father of all creation could dare face this man.

Well, they did once upon a time.

And the world was plunged into eternal darkness with humans being shielded by the same king everyone had despised. Humans now realized that those they worship had little to no regard to them as they started a devastating ragnarok just for the sake of pride and royalty.

In the end? 80% of the gods who started the war fell beneath the fae lord's feet and reincarnated into ghastly undead soldiers made of shadowy wisps wicked beyond one could ever imagine.

Since then, Jinwoo had become someone the common folk and even demons worship. Does he care? No. He just wants to live his long and take care of his family in his kingdom where no one can get in or out.

Not even the 9th class mages could even locate where it is.

Maybe there are but never lived to tell the tale and probably suffering eternal punishment in his army of the undead where even gods aren't spared from.

Until you.

Yes, you.

Just a simple girl who lives out in the cottage living life as happily as she can away from the big city.

The foolish and small you who doesn't even have a pinch of divine power nor exceptional mana flowing within your blood.

Somehow, the same you who is nothing more than just one of the many soul the resides in this vast world— Stumbled upon the kingdom of the Fae King of the Eternal Night.

Word of tongue say this place would be barren and dry with rot here and there. The nauseating scent of death would flow here and there that it would lead you mad.

But all of those were lies.

Instead you had found youself in a tranquil land where all sorts of flowers glow beneath your feet as a guiding trail. When you followed the gentle lights that guided you in this ethereal land where the stars shine brighter than you've ever seen— You would find yourself in front of the same king that all beings fear and submit you.

Yet why is he so beautiful?

You should be afraid.

And yet you find yourself entranced by this man who brought the mightiest being of earth to their knees.

Cascading and silky long black locks that falls so prettily as if it's made from the finest of fine silk, loose and almost open black robes that seem to glimmer softly as if it's made with a blanket of stars, a face so sculpted so perfectly it's impossible to not say this man must have been a sculpture made with hands of a divine artists whose touch only brings perfection— And oh those eyes.

Those enchanting silver eyes of death that seem to pull you into an abyss you're willing to drown yourself into.

This divine being in front of you,... Is he truly the same man who has powers so great that he can eradicate all living being with a wave of his hand whenever he pleases?

You find yourself incapable to believe that, no way, this man is too beautiful for all that wickedness.

And so that was the day you have somehow stumbled upon the kingdom of the eternal night and earned the favor of it's benevolent ruler.

꒰ ... ꒱

Contrary to what the ancient texts and the priests say about Jinwoo's cold temperment— He's actually surprisingly decent and quite normal.

Maybe even more gentle than the local men of your village who are nothing more than burly men who only care about their muscles and beer and getting laid in the dead of night.

Jinwoo is extremely easy to talk to and seems to take pleasure in showing you around his kingdom which is full of life despite being a place where the personification of death presides in.

No, in fact, this place is far more beautiful than the major cities you have seen in your small lifespan as a living being.

His soldiers who are the most fiercest of all would turn into somewhat into a group of puppies the moment they see their master passing by. Of course, the undead creatures were skeptical of you at first but quickly grew warm as soon as they realized that their 'father' is quite fond of you.

A few of them are even asking if you could play with them— To which Jinwoo strictly says no to their dismay.

You really think nothing of all this, don't you?

After all, the fae king is treating you so warmly.

You really aren't thinking of it, don't you?

You foolish, naive child.

꒰ ... ꒱

Jinwoo had his eye on you for the longest time ever since you had moved into the meek village. You are nothing more than a puny and naive human who wants to live a good life and the village welcomed you.

You were given the abandoned cottage deep in the forest but not too far from the village, they even volunteered to repair the decrepit place to which you can't possibly thank them enough for.

Such generous humans for someone as sweet and cute as you.

Yes.

Cute.

An emotion that the fae king couldn't quite describe at first since he grew used to the absence of emotions because of his birth as the one who will succeed the late Ashborn as the new kingdom of the eternal night kingdom and the new monarch that will lead the army of the dead.

His duty? To uphold peace and make sure all living beings stay in their place and never go out of line.

Should they do so then it'll be immediate death as well as being added to the immortal army to prevent them from reincarnating and repeating the same mistakes.

He grew as a normal child of the elven kingdom. But as his powers grew— His emotions disappeared one by one until he is nothing more than that for a vessel of war.

Jinwoo is more than thankful enough for his beloved family who resides with him in the kingdom. He shaped this barren place for them to live in and do what they desire.

A medicinal lab for his little sister who studies healing magic, a garden for his mother to tend to any time, and a smithy for his father to busy himself to and craft weapons for fun, or maybe just his small way of helping his kind son who unfortunately has to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders.

Truly, he can't be thankful enough.

Even if he cannot feel the same level of affections he has for them the way he used to when he was but a small elven child who wished nothing more than protect and love them.

But then you came.

A fascinating and adorable human that he has a weird connection to.

He was drawn to you.

Jinwoo can never know where these foreign feelings stem from, all he knew is that he is completely entranced by you and you only.

What is it that he feels?

He wanted to watch you.

He wanted to imprison you.

He wanted to see you smile.

He wanted to see you cry miserably.

He wanted to ruin you.

But he also wanted to cherish you.

Jinwoo cant quite put a finger on it. Regardless, he was satsified on just watching you for now since he can't exactly interfere with anyone else's life since he wants to be left alone too.

But then you stumbled upon his kingdom by accident because one of his foolish children forgot to close the dimension that leads back to his domain.

He could punish them, but he decided against it since he is quite thankful of the unexpected arrangement.

He just has to tighten the security and indulge in you.

Jinwoo is aware that humans can express quite a lot since his sister is very much like that.

But you bewitch him in a way he cant really describe.

He loved to watch the way the flowers would dance and caress your gentle skin when the wind blows. He loved the way your clothes wrinkle around your perfect body that he just itched to hold. He loved to hear your sweet voice ringing in his ears when you ask him trivial and downright ridiculous questions just to satisfy your musings.

But he, the king of this land, was the fool that indulged in all your whims.

He can't really resist you, how could he?

Jinwoo has no will to fight whatever is stirring within him in the presence of the precious you.

It was to the point that he becomes extremely obsessed with you without him realizing, he wanted to know more.

Human curiosity is the reason why the species has thrived so far depsite being one of the lower life forms whose sole purpose is to play puppets for the pathetic beings higher than their measly mortal beings, right?

That means Jinwoo can also be curious too.

No matter how twisted it can be.

It should be fine.

꒰ ... ꒱

Oh how foolish can he be too, huh?

Your frequent trips to his kingdom resulted in the villagers rioting against you with the holy church charging you with meddling forbidden witchcraft.

Somehow those old bastards in the town managed to convince everyone that you are doing something heinous when in reality you were just accompanying Jinwoo on a daily basis.

And so they dragged you to the stakes, tied you on a pole and did their blasted rituals gaslighting themselves that what they're doing as it is for the world and the will of the lord that you die by fire.

"Ignite her," A booming, thundering voice ruptures through the maddeneds howls and cackles of the villagers and priests gathered around your sorry figure praying to whatever fucking god they believe in. "I dare you"

"You!" A bishop raises his finger at the stranger, his action full of vigor and pride. "How dare you interrupt this holy ceremony dedicated to our benevolent ghod Anakkhis?"

"Hah?" The heretic scoffs, finding the whole idea ridiculous. "You're talking about that god? That fool that wept at my feet for mercy? You have some thick skin for thinking that someone like me will cower over a measly insect like that?"

"You—" The bishop gasps, completely taken aback at how bold he was. "Restrain him! That filthy thing dares to speak blasphemy of the great one! Burn him alongside that wench!"

"That wench?" Jinwoo clicks his tongue, his eyes turning into an even stronger color of blazing purple as priests and ordinary humans charged at him. "You've given me more reason on why I should murder the lot of you. For daring to call my woman a wench and burning her for a sin that was never there."

With a snap of his fingers, head would explode one by one and the screams of onlookers would fill the air that was once filled with laughter and mirth.

Cold and unfeeling Purple eyes look straight at you, each step that he makes accompanied with the falling corpses.

You dare not look at Jinwoo's gaze, after all, the air is too suffocating. You can barely even take a full breath, everytime you try to it feels like your lungs will suffocate.

And the screams, god those tortured screams.

How dare you ever doubt that he is the absolute being that has put the world on a chokehold?

By the time the priests have realized who Jinwoo was, it was far too late now since he immediately had their heads bursting.

When he reached you, his blackened hand gently lifts your face to meet his maddened and cold gaze.

How is he still so hauntingly beautiful despite the blood splatters on his divine face?

How can wrath look so gorgeous and ethereal on someone like him?

You can see the vein popping on his jaw as he unfastened the ropes and picked you up, allowing your sorry form to weep on his shoulder.

"Please, stop it!' You beg, not wanting to hear more of the torturous screams. "I'll do anything, just please stop it"

"Anything?" Jinwoo tilts his head, musing at your sobbing.

"Anything." You choke up, holding tighter onto him to show your sincerity. "Please, please stop it"

"Then you shall be my wife" Jinwoo simply says as presses his lips on your pretty little head. "Humans have a saying ti'll death do us apart. But you have no need for that."

"After all, your husband is death itself."

He is both hell and heaven depending on which side you choose to take. He is the absolute being that brings everything to it's knees. The madman who has succesfully put the world into the palm of his hand.

The village that once welcomed you with warm and loving arms starts to disappear from the distance as it billows a cloud of smoke from cindering and brilliant violet flames that defies everything natural.

It was a warning to the gods and all other living beings

,... That the Fae King of the Eternal Night Kingdom, the Shadow Monarch of the Immortal Army— Is alive and well.

It is a way to announce that he still stands as the most powerful being with an omniscient view of this wretched earth and will return should they step out of line again.

May it be humans or their worshippers, no one will be spared from the bloodbath and carnage he will bring should his wrath ever be incurred.

And, you.

You, the foolish and naive child of the land—

Is the salvation that will prevent this world from dancing in violet flames so long as you remain in his hold. Forever captive to his obsession.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Whoever may i write for I will always return to my beloved Jinwoo heheh><!! I love him dearly and can never stop loving him try as I might xD!! Next fic are hsr men again so look forward to it. For now, a self-indulgent au is here that I will be making a bot for tomorrow too so heheh:3!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[fushiguho]

⭑.ᐟ no thoughts, just choso being stingy with his cock </3

cw dom! choso, cum feeding? cock/face slaps!? mean and filthy :/

choso looms over you as you sit so prettily on your knees, his fat, drooling cock lodged between his wet fist while he languidly drags it over your face, slapping himself across your flushed cheeks and pouted lips. a nasty trail of sweet, syrupy arousal adorns your skin, painting across the bridge of your nose and the high points of your face.

while wearing a wicked smile, choso prods your lips with the head of his cock.

“let me see that pretty tongue.” he rumbles. it’s low, demanding.

unabashedly, you drop your jaw, presenting your tongue to him. a loud, unwitting moan of pleasure drags from your open mouth, eyes widening in your ever growing anticipation. he smiles something sinister, teeth bared as his heavyset cock visibly throbs from your unrelenting obedience, even as he’s brazenly slapping you in the face with it.

you can’t help but to instinctively wrap your lips around the tip of his leaking cock head as he rests it agaisnt the warm center of your tongue. he tsks, immediately pulling himself out of your mouth before taking your face into his large, dominant hand, rudely squishing your cheeks as he drags you closer.

“did i tell you that you could put your lips on it, huh?” choso is bending down slightly, leaning in so close that you can smell the sweet, dizzying redolence of his inebriating cologne. something of a grimace pulls at his hardened face. “do you hear me? did i tell you to suck my cock?” he jerks your face as he speaks, dark eyes narrowing as he observes the way your face contorts in visible arousal.

an audible breath leaves you, that poor, aching cunt pathetically drooling as you stupidly shake your head. a pretty little moan is parting your lips as you desperately peer up at him. uncomfortably, you shift around on your knees, thighs pressing together so tightly in a fruitless attempt to lull the monotonous throb of your clit.

“you wanna try again? stick out your tongue.” he demands and you do, lolling out your tongue so good for him as you bat your lashes. choso creeps closer, reaching for the cusp of your jaw to force your head higher, right where he needs it. “that’s a good girl. stick it out so pretty for me… don’t move.”

once again, he’s resting the pearly head of his cock agaisnt your tongue whilst holding your pretty face in place. you don’t move, jaw unhinged as your mouth pools with saliva. it drips lewdly from the tip of the twitching muscle, collecting between the valley of your clamped thighs.

choso nastily slaps his cock against your awaiting tongue, laughing so crudely at the way your lustful eyes widen in response. a frustrated little whimper leaves you as he soon begins to pump his leaking cock onto the plush center of your tongue, the warmth of your panting breaths aerating all the way down to his thick, pulsing base.

a deep, guttural noise between a groan of pleasure and a devious laugh is departing from his curled lips. “my poor babyyy.” choso pouts, head tilting coyly. he’s forcing his cock a little deeper as he taunts you, an indulgent moan dragging from his filthy mouth. “you want some more of my cock? y’sure that slutty little throat can take it?”

you’re grasping for the tensing muscles of his thighs to stabilize yourself as muffled whimpers and gurgled pleas slip from the corners of your stuffed mouth. the feeling of his achy cock as it languidly glissades over the warmth of your dripping tongue is enough to have choso tucking himself unbearably deeper, fucking to the very back of your throat just once before pulling out with a grunt.

choso’s bottom lip falls between his pearly teeth, cock twitching as you kneel so perfectly before him, glistening eyes dilating in your ever growing lust. a shiny wisp of saliva tethers your bottom lip to the head of his cock as you depart; he breaks the glimmering cobweb of saliva with his hand before indulgently stuffing three fingers into your mouth, stealing more of the sweet essence before slathering it down the length of his cock and yet, it’s not enough.

“fuuuck, c’mereee,” he huffs in a strangled breath, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck as he continues to fist his wet, aching erection with his opposing hand. “spit on it.”

promptly, you’re rising higher on your knees, gathering saliva in your mouth before obediently drooling down the slick head of his cock, pretty eyes flickering up to catch his. it’s obscene—the way he only seems to stalk closer, shamelessly pressing his hot, throbbing cock to your cheek, stroking it so rudely against your skin that it makes your cunt tighten with a need you’ve never known.

like a feral dog, you’re salivating. drooling at the sight of a man you would do anything for as he stands over you, tongue dangling from your mouth like a bitch in heat as he strokes his cock directly in your face. he won’t even let you put your lips on it, yet a sweet cloud of dizzying arousal swirls deep inside of you at the thought of being denied.

“god,” he winces, grasp tightening at the back of your head, subconsciously drawing you closer. “o-open—fuck—wider.” a warm, burly thumb is pressing against your tongue, forcing your jaw wider as he fucks himself toward his release. “mmh, m’gonna cum so deep down that perfect little throat.”

the lewd, deafening schlop! that reverberates as he fists his cock into your open mouth is woozily drawing his head back, core tightening in a horrendous need to release. and you’re just so fucking pretty peering up at him like that, mindlessly rocking your hips in search of delicious friction as you drool down the thumb that pries your mouth open.

a sweet moan of relief is dragging from his gaped mouth, hips stuttering toward his hand as he feeds you long, pretty rivulets of pearly white cum. like the nasty little artist he is, choso is painting the cavern of your mouth in sweet ropes of syrupy arousal, drenching your throat, the roof of your mouth and the expanse of your tongue in a lewd mess.

“n-no, keep your tongue out… let me see it.” he stutters, crouching down on wobbly knees to face you, greedy fingers inching toward you gaped mouth.

his long digits are creeping down, down, down your slutty tongue, forcing his cum deep, feeding you every last drop of his seed. a large thumb is soon sweeping over your swollen lips, collecting the remnants of arousal that still remains before stuffing it into your mouth, whispering for you to swallow it all.

choso smiles, kissing your lips once. “there.”

[dulcet-aurora]

video games . jason todd x reader. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ❛ they say that the world was built for two. ❜

❪ in which. ❫ after half a decade of years of therapy, tears, and the seemingly never-ending loop of the five stages of grief, you've finally been able to claw your way past the death of your best friend. but one wish on a burning candle on a lonely, rainy night changes everything.

⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. mentions of blood, angst, dogshit writing. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚. @di-lucss. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕. 1.7k. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔. @di-lucss, @ephemerensis, @dollishmehrayan, @aangelinakii. ⸼ ࣪ ✿ 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓. please make this pull a jason and blow up 🙏🙏 also take note that there's like three different years that jason was born in order for me to determine when he died so i had to spin around in the dark and throw a dart and a random year. said year was 1990 so he died in 2005. reader has a february birthday for plot reasons. don't like it? don't read.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"𝒘ithout music, life would be a blank to me. you're my music. happy sweet sixteen." read the inside of your old, worn copy of jane austen's emma. scrawled in black pen was a little, poorly drawn but albeit sweet doodle of toad and toadette from mario kart sitting on opposite ends of a cake. you'd dubbed him as toad when you were little due to his last name. underneath, in smaller script, "for my favorite parasite. enjoy. love, jason."

your eyes glistened with tears as you looked at the date— february 7th, 2005. when you had turned sixteen, you'd tackled your best friend so hard in a hug that he fell over and landed on the grass. his sixteenth wouldn't come until august, but you already had a book chosen out. what you didn't know is that that same book would still be lodged among your collection of books in four years, because in just over two months, he'd be beaten half to death and let an exploding warehouse finish the job.

jason always liked to go out with a bang.

of course, you hadn't known that. you hadn't known that he'd gone on patrol as batman's sidekick, like he had for years without you knowing. it wasn't until an older gentleman approached you at the funeral and pressed a sharp ended pin shaped like an 'R' into your palm.

you'd renovated after he died. in this economy, you couldn't afford a new apartment other than the one you lived in when you were younger. with your father out of the picture and your mother sent to rehab just barely a year after jason's death, you'd doubled down and redid the entire thing yourself, erasing every trace of your teenaged self from every nook, cranny, and crevice. there were too many memories of jason in the walls— the two broken coat hangers where he'd tried to do a pull-up, the two handprints in red and blue paint on the wall after your first playdate in second grade, and that old guitar with two missing strings that he carved your initials into. gone, gone, gone.

you'd never forgiven him. for lying. for being so reckless. for leaving you. leaving you alone underneath that weeping willow wondering why he hadn't showed.

you brushed your fingers against jason's five year old handwriting, the last trace you had of him. the warm glow of your candle stabbed into your cupcake illuminated the pages. today marked your fourth birthday without jason, four years of that fifty dollar, leather bound copy of pride and prejudice, the one that you spent five months of allowance saving up for. you've never read it, never touched a copy of pride and prejudice again because all you could hear was his voice reading the words.

i wish you were here, jay, you thought to yourself as a puff of air left your lips as you blew out the candle. wisps of smoke curled off the wick and brushed over the first pages of emma. tears brimmed in your eyes as you caught a glimpse of his messy script again. i miss you.

you curled your legs up to your chest and rested your chin on your knees. you let yourself cry, tears trickling down your cheeks.

just then, you heard the window open and your plate beneath your cupcake vibrated as heavy footsteps hit the floor. the groan of a man echoed through your apartment and the sound of something large hitting your wall.

you flinched, your palms pressed against the table. your lights were off and your candle was out, the spark on the wick fading quickly. you inhaled sharply then clamped a hand over your mouth. you stood up and grabbed the quickest weapon you could find— your old, faulty lighter. you walked silently towards the sound.

you heard another rustle and the sound of bottles knocking against each other. the sound was hollow and echoed through your apartment— it was the sound of metal bouncing off tile. your bathroom. your socks quieted your steps as you made your way there. the door is ajar, and you can hear labored breathing slipping through crack in the door. the noise and the bright alabaster light made it look like god himself was speaking to you in tongues.

you nudge the door with your lighter, the harsh light making your vision go fuzzy for a moment before your eyes adjust. your hand goes slack.

"oh my god."

there's blood on your bathtub, your first aid kit is scattered all over the place, and there are muddy boot prints all over your tiled floor a masked head looks up at you and you make dead eye contact with none other than red hood sitting on the edge of your bathtub, a hand stained as red as his suit clamped over his abdomen.

"hey," red hood said, entirely too calm for the fact that a) he had just broken into your home, and b) there was a hole in his stomach.

"hello," you blurted out.

a beat of silence passes, "i'm bleeding," the masked man offered.

"i... can see that," you said. you slowly reached for a bottle of hairspray, your trembling fingers clutching around the bottle as you subtly angled the end of the lighter to the nozzle of the hairspray can.

"please don't set me on fire," red hood said gruffly. you lowered your lighter slowly.

"why are you here?" you asked, voice thick with the disbelief that was still choking you. "how did you even—" you cut yourself off, your eyes shifting nervously to the window, the glass still open. your apartment was on the third floor. he had a stab wound. how had he gotten in?

"i'm really not in the mood for twenty questions," he muttered, sucking in a sharp breath as he shifted his weight.

in reality, jason remembered your exact address from his old life, his old life with you in it, where he would scramble up the rusted ladder and run along the ledges to reach your bathroom window. it was muscle memory for him to go to your apartment, he hadn't even considered that maybe other people lived hear or they'd taken down that old ladder because it was a hazard.

"can you just... do the thing where you help me before i bleed out all over your bathroom?" he asked, and you blinked.

"i... i'm not qualified," you said.

"of course you're not," he grumbled, and you stiffened. red hood motioned to his wound still gushing blood in between his fingers. "look, do i look qualified? no. am i still patching myself up? yes."

"i could care less if you lived or died," you said coldly.

he went silent. you couldn't see, but he bit his cheek and forced down the lump in his throat. he knew that you didn't know that he had died, that he was the one person that you cared about. the singular organism on this planet with a beating heart and flowing blood and breathing lungs that had let those three things shut down and allowed himself to leave you forever.

you cared about jason todd. not red hood. and the only thing for your birthday was for him to stumble through your window like he used to, his clothes smelling like nicotine and his monster energy breath wafting through your tiny apartment. something had climbed through your window that night, but it wasn't your best friend, your jason, your toad. because he was gone and no matter how hard you wished, he wasn't coming back.

"clean up," you quipped, motioning at the mixture of crimson blood and mud caking onto your tile. "grab some food and go be on your merry way."

red hood gave you a thumbs up and you turned on your heel and went back to the kitchen table. your candle had melted. there was wax in your icing.

tears welled up in your eyes. you furiously wiped them away, the sleeve of your sweater burning the puffy skin around your eyes but you didn't care. while you didn't give two shits about red hood, he was still a dangerous individual and was bleeding out in your bathroom. you didn't want him thinking you were weak or see you crying over a copy of emma and potentially digging up things on your personal life.

you put your head down and feels like hours have passed before red hood comes out of the bathroom. you heard the refrigerator open and the sound of containers being rustled around before the door shut and you heard your window slide open.

words danced on the tip of jason's tongue, trapped between his lips and the mask. words like i'm sorry or it's me, jason or any of the thousand inside jokes that had been trapped in his mind and guarded by the lazarus pit that had been sure to engrave it in his brain. his memories of you were still muddled but were all the same, like the layers of a 3d movie or the text on the rosetta stone.

he noticed the cupcake. and the book. that book. emma.

the scent of smoke lingered in the air, slipping between the sweat building up in his hood and the scent of gasoline that clung to his uniform. "happy birthday," he said, one leg hanging out the window.

silence. "how'd you know?" you asked after a moment, your voice hollow.

"you wanted something, and didn't get it," he guessed. jason recognized your flushed cheeks and moodiness when something went wrong. when you were little, you'd throw tantrums.

"i'm not four." you retorted.

"yeah, so live a little," he said. "how often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!"

you'd heard that line before. "wait, did you just—"

the rest of your words came out as a breath as you looked behind you to see red hood gone, the only trace of his presence being the lingering scent of nicotine. your lips parted, hoping the rest of your sentence would spill out, but it didn't.

jane austen wrote that surprises are foolish things. the pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. as you cleaned your floor of red hood's boot prints and had to make an extra grocery run for the amount of food that he'd taken, you might've agreed with it.

but the red annotation on page 182 and the note on your bulletin board reminding you to do something spontaneous said otherwise.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[lesbojournals]

Poly!Marauders x Slytherin!Reader

part two here three here four here five

“Tell me why I have to go to this godforsaken Gryffindor party again?” You bugged Regulus.

He sighed in annoyance as you two roamed the halls. “Because my godforsaken Gryffindor brother is forcing me to. And if I have to go you do too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because that’s what best friends do. Torture each other.”

You were dressed casually, black sweater hanging off of your shoulder. You wore a green crystal necklace, as well as various rings and earrings. The walk to the Gryffindor commonroom was quiet, the halls empty as you and Regulus reluctantly made your way.

“Aren’t you worried we’re going to get caught?” You continued to pester Regulus.

“No.” He answered shortly. “Sirius has got Filch’s monitoring down to a perfect science. Well, maybe not perfect, but a science nonetheless.”

You arrived to the Fat Lady’s portrait, huffing as Regulus gave the password.

As you walked inside, your sensed were overwhelmed by the bright strobe lights, loud music, and lingering scent of weed.

“Reggie!” You heard a voice call out, and you looked around to spot no one else other than Sirius Black. 

He was dressed in tight black skinny jeans and a band shirt, eyeliner smudged with a wicked smile on his face. He had his arms around his boyfriends, Remus Lupin and James Potter. Remus was dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, his white button up unbuttoned a few at the top, revealing his chest. His tie hung loosely around his neck. James was dressed in ripped jeans and a Gryffindor Quidditch sweater. All three boys had smiles on their faces, each paying attention to different things. Sirius was beckoning Regulus over, James was chugging a drink, and Remus was in a heated conversation with Lily Evans.

You tried not to grimace. Egh, Gryffindors. 

Regulus grabbed your arm as he weaved the two of you through the crowd towards his brother.

Sirius flashed you a cheeky smile as you made eye contact. “Brought another snake with you?”

“Not willingly.” You retorted. 

Regulus sighed. “You’ll get over it.” 

“Hey!” James announced rather drunkenly. “You’re in my Transfiguration class.”

You nodded, crossing your arms. “And Potions.”

That perked up Remus’ attention. “You have Potions with us?”

Before you could answer, Sirius answered. “Yea, she sits next to Snivilus.”

You let out a chuckle at the nickname for your classmate. Remus also let out a small laugh as he got up from his seat.

“She laughs?” Sirius quipped.

“On occasion.” Regulus answered before you could snap back at him.

You glanced around the party, letting the brothers bicker between each other. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to find Remus Lupin. His hair wisped over his eyes as if just swept by the wind, and his honey eyes seemed to glow under the different lights the common room had shining. You blinked a few times. 

He smiled at you, holding up a cup. “Care for a drink?”

You took the cup from him, not letting yourself smile as big as you wanted to. “What is it?”

He seemed to be looking at you in adoration. Before he could tell you, Sirius interrupted. “Think we’re trying to poison you, darling?”

Regulus quipped back. “Don’t hit on my friend, Sirius!”

“You think that was hitting on her? Please, I-”

“I think that’s enough, honey.” Remus walked forward to put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He huffed and leaned into Remus’ touch. You felt fire light in your chest. Were you jealous?

You took a large swig of your drink, ignoring the harsh aftertaste it left in your throat. Remus looked at you in amusement, while James looked at you impressed.

He got up and grabbed your wrist, looking into your eyes. His eyes were brown like melted chocolate. He pushed up his glasses and spoke excitedly. “Wanna do shots?”

Before you could answer, he dragged you away from the group and towards a table that had an assortment of drinks on it. The drink Remus gave you must’ve been pretty strong, because your mind had no qualms with taking shots with Gryffindor Quidditch coach James Potter. Your body was starting to feel it after two or three shots, and you allowed James to put his arm around you as he guided you back to the group.

You felt heat in your face as James proudly announced, “Little snake took shots with me!”

Regulus looked at you in shock. “I am not dragging her drunk ass back to the dungeons.”

“I’m not,” You hiccuped. “I’m not drunk, Reggie.”

He sighed and pinched his nose, then glared at Sirius for introducing you to the nickname. 

“Don’t worry, she can stay with us.” Remus suggested, taking note of how you clung to James.

Regulus nodded. “I’m out of here.”

He looked at you, grabbing your head with both of his hands to force you to make eye contact with him. “Don’t drink anymore.”

James pssh’ed and held you tighter. “Dolly can do what she wants, even if that’s more shots.”

Regulus looked at Remus for help. Remus waved him off.

“I heard that Sirius is stashing some drinks up in the dorm,” He raised his eyebrows.

“I am?” Sirius asked, getting a nudge from Remus. “Right, yea, I may or may not be.”

“Upstairs!” You demanded. “The lion’s den!!”

James snorted as he stumbled with you. “This way little snake!!”