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some-bunniii · 3 months

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Lucifer confessing to an artist reader

・❥ Lucifer gets jealous, and has to prove his love for you

x: WOW this was a rollercoaster to write. Alastor being petty, a musical number, and.. 😏 you’ll have to read and see!

warnings: Mild swearing

“Mreow?”

You stirred slightly under the covers in your bed, waking from the noise. You were so warm and cozy, in your little nest of pillows that you hugged to your chest. Stilling yourself, you strained your ears, listening for whatever had awoken you.

“Mreooow,” came that needy, animalistic cry again.

“KeeKee?” You whispered hoarsely.

A high-pitched chirp answered your question.

Grumbling in protest, you grasped the sheets and pulled them from your face. Squinting at the morning light emanating from the large windows on the other end of the room.

You rubbed a hand down your face, in an attempt to squeeze out the exhaustion still fogging your mind. With a sigh, you pivoted, placing your feet on the cold, wood floor beneath.

Now where was that furball?

You scanned the room, before your eyes landed on the small black and white cyclopean cat. She sat on your nightstand, her tail swishing with happiness as you answered her call.

“You silly kitty, what do you want so early in the morning?” You questioned her, and received another chirp as a response.

You always found it fascinating that the small feline was actually the key to the hotel, created by Lucifer’s magic as a gift to Charlie when she took over the place.

You could feel it, even now, that warm crackle of energy as it flowed off KeeKee’s fur. It was faint, but so familiar. If you buried her face in her fur far enough, you could even smell traces of his scent.

As you and Lucifer grew closer, so did KeeKee. She had started following around the hotel, always a few steps behind as you traveled the halls. This morning routine of hers wasn’t new either. Before, you’d open your door and find her sprawled out on the ground on her back, her belly exposed as she greeted you.

You started leaving your door cracked after that, allowing her to enter whenever she pleased. She’d make her bed on the same cushion Lucifer was so fond of while you painted, and drift into sleep.

Sometimes, you’d use her for practice sketches. Although you could only do so while she dreamed, as she was not as good at sitting still as Lucifer was.

It was almost as if she sensed the connection between the two of you, mirroring your bond with her own loyalty. With a soft smile, you reached out to pet KeeKee, feeling the comforting vibrations of her purrs resonating through your fingertips.

Rising from the bed, you made your way into the small bathroom. Twisting the sink handle, you let the fountain of water flow into the drain as it is heated.

Your eyes landed on the object next to the faucet, and you smiled unconsciously as you picked up the yellow rubber ducky.

“Your new soap dispenser,” Lucifer had stated one evening, “Easily compactible to take it on the go and.. with the scent of apple pie.”

He demonstrated by softly squeezing the sides of the toy, and a small glob of soap left its mouth and landed into the palm of his hand.

You had taken it from him and lifted it to your nose, inhaling a deep breath.

“Delectable.” You teased, before placing it on the table beside you.

After his little performance at the art studio, Lucifer’s affection towards you grew bolder by the day. He often arrived at your room with a gift or two, even more than his silly little ducks.

Once, he brought you a small violin, the color pure angelic white with golden strings. You had stared at it in awe when he set it on the table.

“It’s white for you to paint,” Lucifer had explained, “Whatever little fantastical ideas you have to cover this instrument with, I just know it’ll be amazing.”

You had blushed, before letting your fingers glide across its smooth surface. Tracing its frame, memorizing its shape.

“I was going to get you a fiddle, like my own. But, I believe this best suits the musical pieces you are so familiar with.”

You sat across from each other at the dining table in your room, arms resting lazily on its surface as you sipped from your glass of Spiced Apple Wine.

That was another gift he had brought you. Claiming he only enjoyed the taste of fine-aged wine from his personal cellar. You had gotten used to its slightly sour taste by now, but you were glad for that slight pinch on your tongue. It kept you from ogling Lucifer for too long.

The only light emanating from your room was the candles placed around you, their flames dancing, casting shadows across the walls. The soft ting of piano keys thrummed in the air, flowing from a small brown radio on your dresser.

Not too long ago, Alastor had given it to you for your personal use. A very rare gift from a demon like him. You had just assumed it was his way of getting you on his side, your unease of him must’ve been apparent enough.

Your years of attempted swindling by potential buyers for your pieces created a sixth sense, the ability to smell when someone’s words didn’t echo their intentions.

Even though you had no animosity towards him, and spoke to him frequently enough that you did not feel any kind of negative intentions from him, his mysterious past and psychopathic tendencies struck you as odd. His presence was dark and cold.

Nothing like Lucifer’s, who’s aura was so warm and energetic you could get drunk off of it.

Alastor’s? That would sober you up in an instant.

Why didn’t you feel the same about Lucifer? After all, he had the same charm that swooped those around him off their feet.

‘His ability to love,’ you concluded in your head, ‘that was why.’

He showed deep care for the people close to him, while Alastor always held people at arms-length. Literally and figuratively.

Your personal feelings didn’t mean you weren’t going to use the radio, so whenever you’d hear Lucifer nearing your room, you’d switch it to polka. Learning by now that was one of his favorite genres. It played in the background as you discussed the violin.

“I think it’s best if you taught me how to play, I might have some knowledge on musical history, but that doesn’t mean I know anything about the instruments themselves.” You had conceded.

He shook his head at that, “Nonsense. If there is anyone I know that could pick up skills like this quickly, it would be you.”

“What makes you think that?” You had laughed.

“Because, you’re amazing. Talented, with passion that could take on the world. You and my daughter have more in common than you think. A drive that I wish I had.”

That had stopped your train of thought, your cheeks heating once more. Most times you would try to brush off his comments, and continue on to the next subject, even if those words made it hard for you to fall asleep that same night.

But this time, you let his words linger in the air between you. The faint glow from the candles illuminating his face, his angelic features intensifying.

It was your turn to make a move, you couldn’t let him have all the fun.

Slowly, your hand traveled across the table, until your fingers grazed his own. Lucifer never pulled back, instead, he accepted your advance. Lacing his fingers with your own.

The two of you didn’t speak, you didn’t need to. The day could be filled with laughter and quick-wits. But, the night? That belonged to your silent bouts of affection.

Just two pairs of eyes staring out through the large open bay windows, the flickering lights from the city your own little TV.

What was he thinking about? You had wondered. You were aware of the divorce of his wife years ago, and the fracture of his family still weighed on him. Even if his relationship with Charlie was improving the day. Did he blame himself for his family splitting?

You had never pried him on such things, there was no reason to bring him more pain. He’d open up about it when he was ready, he always did.

Was that why he was slow to actually ask for your kindness? Your care?

Your love?

He was a showman, with a drive to impress strangers around him, to win them over with his charm and flare. But you weren’t a stranger, not anymore.

There was this tiny parasite that gnawed at the back of your mind, whispering such horrid things of him leaving you if you made the first move.

‘His pride is too great to let him be swooned completely by a lower demon,’ it hissed, ‘He just wants something casual, nothing truly real,’

Was that true? Would he reject you and move on? Surely, there were much stronger, much smarter demons than you in Hell that he could choose.

Maybe, you’d just have to grow a backbone and ask him.

‘Soon’, you promised.

The calming scent that wafted from the candles around the room pulled you away from such thoughts. Instead, you used your free hand to lift the wine glass to your lips, downing the remaining liquor. Your body blooming with warmth as it traveled down your throat, and your head turning fuzzy with bliss.

A gentle thump as KeeKee landed on the counter pulled you back to reality. You finished washing your face, and placed it into the cool embrace of the small towel in your hands.

Turning away from the sink, you walked back into the main room. KeeKee trailed you as you rummaged through your dresser, plucking out items of clothing as you began to change for the day.

“Come, KeeKee,” You called, clicking your tongue at her as you strided to the doorway of your room.

She responded with a chirp and raced past you, out into the hallway. You watched her scurry down the stairs as you headed for the lobby. You were supposed to finish the season of RuGaul’s Drag Race this morning with Angel Dust, and honestly, it was a pretty good show.

Unfortunately, the raised bump in the carpet right in front of your foot had other plans.

“Fuck!” You hissed as you fell forward, your arms instinctually raising to catch your fall.

You hit the ground with an oomph. Luckily, you caught yourself in time to not face any serious injury. Except the sting of your pride. You lay there defeated for a moment, the ache in your arms subsiding slowly.

“Well, hello down there, my friend!” Came a familiar call, static trickling from their voice.

“Hello, Alastor.” You greeted the Radio Demon with a painful sigh.

“It appears you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, hm? Let me help you with that.”

Black tendrils gathered around you, they were unnaturally cold and you squirmed against their touch.

They tightened around you and lifted you up, up, and up until the soles of your feet were steady on the ground. They flowed off of you, disappearing like a shadow into Alastor’s form.

“Thank you, Alastor. That was very kind of you,” you spoke as you brushed dust off your clothes. You’d need to talk to Nifty about coming to your side of the building more often to clean.

“It was no problem, my friend. I could not just sit by and allow you to take such an attitude from that silly carpet.”

Alastor snapped his fingers, and the tiny lump in the carpet that had delivered the tripping blow vanished. Leaving behind a nice, smooth surface.

His head snapped back up to you, that large smile still plastered on his face. You were about to open your mouth again when his gaze landed on something behind you, past the railing.

“Ah, I see you have finished another one of your paintings! What a wonderful piece this is, yes, truly remarkable!”

He walked forward, and placed one hand on the railing. On the opposite side of the room, at eye level to the second floor, was a painting depicting a very large, glittering lake. A tall forest surrounded it, with massive snowy mountains as the backdrop.

Small winged-angels sat near the waters, feasting on grapes and wine as they enjoyed the summer sun. Some stood near white-freckled fawns as they fed them fruits and nuts, their faces lit in joyful smiles.

“Yes, it took me forever. Water is a pain to get perfect. Do you.. think it fits?”

“Of course it does, my dear!” His enthusiastic voice not missing a beat, “I think Charlie choosing you for this job was a marvelous choice! You must have taken much inspiration from some of the classic artists.. Perhaps Edgar Payne?”

A look of surprise crossed your face. He knew about the famous western landscape artist? Alastor didn’t seem like a fine arts kind of man to you.

“I used some of his techniques, yes. I didn’t know you had such knowledge, Alastor.” You responded, a hint of questioning in your tone. Prompting him to speak more about the subject.

Alastor waved his hand in the air in a brushing motion, as if it was no big deal.

“Oh, here and there. When I was alive hosting my radio show I once toured an art gallery for an advertisement. His pieces were on display, and I suppose his work has been imprinted in my mind ever since.”

“That’s very interesting, actually. I shouldn’t be surprised though, you seem to be in favor of many classic mediums.”

“Mm, yes. I just can’t stand the way modern society has seemed to falter from its most creative forms. I’m sure soon they’ll just start paying robots up there to make art for them.”

You doubted that, people using robots to make art? What was the point of it if not created by the human hand?

It was then you caught his eyes darting to something behind you, towards the staircase. Did his eye just twitch?

Alastor’s toothy grin widened further, which you thought couldn’t be possible. Before you could turn around and get a look at whatever had captured his attention, his gaze landed back on you.

He quickly sidled much closer to you, and placed his free hand on your shoulder. Your eyes widened at the touch, he’d never been brazen like this before. Let alone being this close to you.

Suddenly, he let out a loud, boisterous laugh at nothing particular. His head slightly shook from side to side like he just heard the funniest story in his life, which made you lean back slightly at his very odd actions.

“Oh, my dear, you are such a charm. Truly. I always enjoy our little talks about your ideas. You are so very passionate about your work.”

Your eyebrows raised in suspicion at his behavior. What was this man up to?

“We should definitely continue our talks sometime, perhaps, in the comfort of your study?” He questioned, placing his other hand on your shoulder, “Maybe, you could even teach me some of that history you have trapped in your noggin, mmm what was that era called.. the Renaissance?”

Your mouth parted slightly as you contemplated his words. He wanted to learn from you? You had never graced anyone with your teachings other than Lucifer, and you kind of liked it that way.

“Well.. I don’t know if-”

“Ahem.” Came a familiar, male voice from behind the two of you.

Your words caught in your throat. Uh oh.

You watched Alastor’s grin deepen into a knowing smirk. His eyes snapping to the figure behind you, eyebrows raised.

You pivoted, seeing the familiar pale face staring intensely at you, practically into your soul. You tried to smile at him, your teeth clenched painfully as you stood besides Alastor. His hand still on your shoulder.

You tried to speak through your eyes, desperately trying to tell him this was not something you had asked for. You weren’t sure whether he could read it.

Lucifer’s gaze diverted to the hand on your shoulder, and you could feel a crackle of scorching hot energy in the air around you.

“Why, hello there, your majesty.” Alastor greeted him with mock enthusiasm.

“What a surprise to see you here,” Lucifer responded, a slight growl in his voice. He straightened his back, leaning slightly forward on his staff, as though the scene before him was not a bother. He was terrible at hiding it though.

“Indeed. My dear friend and I were just discussing their paintings, aren’t they a wonder?”

“Of course they are.” Lucifer responded.

“We have such good conversations, you know, about their vast knowledge on the subject. It makes me envious really.”

He released your shoulder from his grasp, and you scooted an inch away from him.

“Perhaps, one day, you would care to join us? But I'm sure their line of work isn’t something you are interested in, hm?” Alastor’s words left his lips, and Lucifer’s teeth bared at that.

Alastor’s smile intensified as his own energy filled the room, an invisible dual of power was beginning to emerge between the two demons. It reminded you of what happened when Lucifer had arrived at the hotel for the first time, when they had fought for the position as Charlie’s father figure.

Alastor wasn’t an idiot though, Lucifer could eradicate him at any moment. Was just simply irritating the fallen angel his only motivation?

Was Alastor’s initial conversation with you just to pull the strings of what was happening now? Did he know Lucifer was coming to see you? That sly asshole.

Alastor turned away from Lucifer’s glare, and met your gaze.

“How is that radio doing that I gave you? I hope you’ve been putting it to good use, I was trying my hardest to

think of the perfect gift for you, and I just knew that you would be interested in it.”

“It was.. nice, thank you.. Alastor.” You responded, afraid what would happen if you ignored his question.

“My pleasure, dear friend. We’ve been through thick and thin, you and I. It’s only right I share with you a piece of my.. admiration towards you.”

Admiration?

Lucifer stalked up to the two of you, staring daggers in Alastor’s back. Clearing his throat, he let out a dark chuckle.

“I’m sure your little relationship is over-exaggerated,” He said, his tone passive aggressive, “I’ve hardly seen you in the same room together, let alone have such meaningful conversations.”

“But, of course we do! I was there the first day they walked through those doors. I was the one that welcomed them to their new home, and it was I who furnished their room in the first place. Seeing as barely anything has been changed or moved around, it is safe to say our connection is much deeper than you may think.”

You heard Lucifer growl again. His eyes flickering to a shade of red.

“Well, it’s too bad your gift is useless now.” Lucifer hissed, “They have an instrument of their own, which I have provided them.”

Alastor’s ear twitched at that, and he turned to you in mock fascination.

“Oh, an instrument? Did you know I used to play in a band?” He turned to you, his questions armed with ill intentions, “I would love nothing more than to give you a lesson or two!”

“I am going to teach them, actually.” Lucifer snapped, “I couldn’t imagine the terrible noises that would come from you plucking strings like a tone-deaf banshee.”

Alastor laughed at that before reaching out and grabbing your hand. You had the growing itch to rip it away, but his stare whispered dark things, and you relented. Allowing him to grip your wrist loosely.

“Well, this has been fun, and I would like to continue our talks,” He addressed you, “But I have important business to attend to within the hotel, as your faithful hotelier. Perhaps, later tonight?”

Your smile faltered for a second, giving him a slight glare. You weren't going to let him think you were falling for his games.

“Such a shame you have so much attention on you from so many others, those demons on the streets really look at you with such enamoration. My word, just practically begging for your attention! If only you would share all your ideas and knowledge with just me, you’d know how fantastic of a listener I am.”

“Others?” Lucifer asked incredulously.

Alastor ignored him, instead, he did something that you never expected.

He gingerly pulled your hand closer to his face, before leaning down slightly and placing a quick peck to your knuckles. You gasped, placing a hand over your mouth to cease it quickly.

It was meaningless, you could tell. An act to simply further spur on Lucifer’s rage.

“Why you pompous little fucking-!” Lucifer roared, but was cut off by Alastor’s maniacal fit of giggles.

Suddenly, the red demon evaporated into a large green cloud of smoke. A gust of freezing wind rushed you as he vanished. Behind you, Lucifer’s large hat was carried with the gust of wind, and he was left practically frothing at the mouth, his hair disheveled from the wind. His eyes still a dark sickly-red.

You strode up to him, placing a hand on his arm. Trying to get him to look at you.

“I promise you, we were not talking genuinely just then, Lucifer.”

“Do you have conversations with that creep when i’m not around? Have you been telling him the same things you’ve shared with me?”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a breath of hot air.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s just getting under your skin. I’ve barely spoken with him.”

“What did he mean by ‘others’? You have suitors that i’m not aware of?”

You leaned back, confusion spreading across your face. Was Lucifer.. jealous? Was the thought of other demons trying to get intimate with you.. bothering him?

“What? Well, I don’t know, maybe. It’s not like I-”

“It’s me who knows almost everything about you. I’m the King of Hell, what can anyone offer you that I can’t?”

What was this? He’s never spoken a word about courting you, which is why your feelings towards his affection were mixed. But now, he wants to?

“And here I thought I could make it to the overlord meeting in time,” He growled. Before his gaze was renewed with fresh determination.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer, and snapped his fingers.

Before you could blink, the area around you melted and transformed into a beautiful restaurant. You were sitting at an oak table, candles lit around you. A wine glass in front of you.

Lucifer materialized at the seat across from you in a very tight, clean black tuxedo with a red bow tie around his neck.

He gave you a playful smirk, before another figure strode to your table. You looked up, and saw.. Lucifer? Again? This time in a classic waiter outfit, an apron tied around his waist. He held a plate of food in one hand, before setting it down before you.

“You’re favorite dish, catered by yours truly.” Waiter Lucifer spoke confidently.

You looked down at the foodstuff on the plate, your mouth watering. It really was your favorite dish. You reached out to grab it, before you were thrusted into darkness again.

Where were you now?!

You were sitting on a very comfortable cushioned chair, and as you whipped your head around, noticed that there were rows and rows of the same kind of chairs.

“What the hell is going on?!” You yelled to the scene, but received no answer.

Placed in them were more.. Lucifers? They all whooped and cheered, clapping at whatever was in front of you. You turned your head, taking in the sight before you.

It was a lit stage. The curtain was closed, so you were unable to see what was on it. Suddenly, the curtain lifted, and there was Lucifer again, he held a Violin, similar to the one he gave you, but this time in pure gold.

He looked at you before gliding the bow across its strings, the echoes of its chords filling the room. You perked, recognizing its tune.

It was ‘Innsbruck, I must leave thee’! The same one he had asked you about when you caught him humming that one time.

Did he learn it… just for you? Your heart fluttered. Was this grandiose display just him trying to prove that he cared about you and your interests?

It continued for a moment longer, the strings on his instrument singing with raw power. It was a beautiful sound, and for a moment you were lost in it. Emotions from your past bubbling inside of you.

And then, he let go of the violin and it began playing on its own. It floated in the air gracefully as its tune continued. He leapt off the stage and landed right in front of your seat. He extended his hand, waiting for you to take it.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of where you would be taken next.

“Luci..” You said, giving him a questioning look.

He only smirked at you, his eyebrows raised playfully. You shook your head, a smile blooming on your face at his theatrics, and laced your fingers with his.

Instead of being thrown into darkness like before, gold flashed around you as he teleported you somewhere distant.

This time, you were on the roof of a very tall building, you shook your head to rid yourself of the dizziness before taking in the sights around you.

You were in Pentagram city, Heaven high above you, it’s white glow helping to light the rooftop like a stage.

Your hand was still gripping his, and he did not pull away. Neither did you.

Suddenly, a tune began once more. Unfamiliar this

time, and you twisted your head to find where it was coming from, but to no avail. It seemed to be emanating from the entire space around you.

Was there a faint musical number playing in the background, or was that just your imagination?

Lucifer pulled you closer, his classic red and white hats by vest clung to his frame. His hat and overcoat nowhere in sight.

“Lucifer, what are you…” You trailed off, right as he opened his mouth and started to.. sing.

With treasures untold and riches divine,

I offer you the world, to make you mine.

His voice was like velvet, that boisterous playful demeanor apparent as he circled you around, you turned with him, never releasing his hand. He continued, his eyes never straying from you as he sang.

I can offer you kingdoms, castles of gold,

Mountains of riches, for you to behold,

Diamonds that shimmer, like stars in the night,

With every breath, with every sigh,

I’ll lavish you with riches, until the end of time.

His singing ceased, and you were rushed back into reality. You looked at him in awe, enamored by that pretty voice of his. It was ethereal, just like God has designed him to be.

You stood there for a second, eyes fixed on Lucifer’s hand as it entwined with yours. Your gaze traveling to those big, beautiful golden eyes that practically begged for your response.

In that moment, as the sun above illuminated his pretty face and his shining hair flowing in the gentle breeze, you realized how much you adored- no, loved this man.

Summoning all of your willpower, you answered. Your lips parted as your tongue began to form words of your own design. You didn’t call up any lyrics from pieces of past design. These words needed to be yours. Needed to say everything you desired and more.

I don’t want your magic,

I don’t want your gold,

I want your eyes on me,

Until we grow old,

The words left your lips, soft and buttery, as your confession rang through the air. You desperately hoped your voice didn’t sound like nails against a chalkboard, that it held some resemblance to his own angelic vocals.

His eyes widened for a moment, before they softened. A sparkle shining in them that wasn’t there before.

A genuine, heart-melting smile crossed his face as he listened to your words flowing from your tongue so gracefully, like water cascading from the Fountain of Youth.

You took his other hand, pulling him backwards, as you danced across the narrow rooftop, like ballerinas, your footsteps synced and graceful.

Suddenly, he turned you towards the edge, your heels mere inches from the ledge of the roof. For a moment, you felt like you’d slip and plunge into the depths, but those eyes of his held you steady in your mind.

Until his wings appeared behind him, beating softly, giving you air as he spun you slightly off the rooftop. A pulse of warm energy hit you, and your legs lifted out from under you. Like you were Jane with your Peter Pan, and his magic fairy dust was going to send you gliding off to Neverland.

For a moment, you felt like you had wings of your own. That feeling of absolute freedom, unchained from the ground as you floated for a moment before Lucifer pulled you back to reality.

Your feet hit the rooftop once more and you were breathlessly aware of your heart beating in your throat. Your gaze snapped back to Lucifer once more, and you felt one of his hands lowering to your hip, the other still entwined with yours.

Lucifer leaned forward, and you with him. Your back curved into an arch as he leaned above you, your lips inches from brushing against each other. You felt like exploding, those butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach threatening to burst.

Both your mouths opened at once, and your words entwined with his as your lips moved once more.

Your caring touch abundantly clear,

It’s all i’ve ever known,

With you my dear,

I surely fear,

My heart will never be my own.

As your song ended, you felt your heart and mind clear instantly as your truth had finally been told. The look of pure adoration in his eyes was enough to have you trembling under his touch.

Lucifer pulled you back onto your feet, his breathing heavy and the feathers on his wings ruffled.

With both hands on your hips, you reached forward and cupped his face. Heat spread across your body as your fingers grazed across the small wisps of hair that curled around his ears.

“Darling, I-”

Before you could let him finish his sentence, you squeezed your eyes shut, and planted your lips against his. He froze for a moment, his breath hitching, before his hands around your waist tightened and he deepened the kiss.

You moved your hands from his face and instead wrapped your arms around his neck, grasping at his shirt collar with hungry desire.

His scent washed over you, and you drank it in with desperation. A sweet, crisp dose of apple cinnamon mixed with faint traces of roses. You thanked Heaven in that moment, for releasing them from their grasp, and right into your arms down here in Hell.

Your knees hit the ground the same time as Lucifer’s, and you felt the soft touch of his wings as they wrapped around you. Blanketing the two of you from the prying eyes of all the realms.

He pressed his face harder into yours as he cupped the small of your back. His teeth grazed the bottom of your lip, and you parted your mouth slightly, locking the two of you together even more intensely.

His lips left yours, and he planted feverish pecks across your cheek all the way to your earlobe. He bit tenderly on it, and you had to squeeze your lips together to stop from whimpering. He continued, trailing down your neck with hungry kisses, before burrowing his face into your shoulder blade.

You felt his teeth graze the artery in your neck, and you gasped, grasping at his hair desperately as pleasure coursed through your veins. His breath hot against your skin, tickling it.

“Fuck,” You moaned, and his response was to push you farther into bliss as he suckled on your neck. Waves of pleasure hit you once more, and you began to sloppily kiss the top of his shoulder, slightly exposed from your roughhousing.

Lucifer tightened his grip around you, pulling you as flush to his body as he could manage. You both sat there on your knees in a mix of breathless gasps and hums of pleasure.

You did not want this moment to end. Finally, the both of you had opened yourselves up to your true feelings. You smiled at the thought, and planted a kiss on his earlobe as he lifted his head slightly from your neck.

Suddenly, the watch on Lucifer’s wrist buzzed violently, and you heard him curse under his breath.

“Is that for your meeting?” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Unfortunately,” He grumbled, before switching off the noise. He didn’t move from his position though, and you realized he was going to try and skip out on it.

“You should go.” You spoke, almost a command.

“Why? They’ve been fine without me for this long.”

“You’re the king,” You retorted, meeting his gaze sternly, “Go do your job, i’m not going anywhere.”

His look of distraught at having to depart sent another wave of butterflies into your body. You couldn’t help but smile before giving him another quick peck on the lips.

“Go.”

“Fine.”

You both stood up, and his wings uncurled around your body, disappearing into his back. His fingers still with yours, as he reached down for his hat that lay on the ground beside you. You released his grip and fixed his bow tie. Pulling his overcoat back neatly onto his frame, and adjusting it slightly.

You wiped the sweat off his forehead and smoothed down his hair. Attempting to tidy him up as quickly as you could so he wouldn’t be late. He smiled warmly as you fussed over him.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” You spoke softly, batting your eyelashes at him, “I need a way off this roof.”

He smirked, before grasping his staff and tapping it against the ground.

A flurry of gold wafted around you, and that same energy tickled at the back of your neck just like it did at the art studio. His face blurring from the cascading waves of warm light that wrapped around you.

“See you soon, My Love,” His voice echoed as your eyes shut and you felt that pull of energy. That feeling of floating on thin air hit you again, as you were warped away.

“There you are!” Angel dust threw his arms in the air in exasperation a few feet away from you, as the particles of gold that floated above you disintegrated. You blinked a few times, letting your eyes adjust to the lights in the lobby.

“Where were you this morning? I had to watch the final episode all by myself!”

Shit. That’s right. You placed a hand on your forehead, berating yourself silently for forgetting. Although you weren’t too regretful about missing out on it for Lucifer.

“I’m so sorry, Angel. I just got.. busy, I guess.”

He shrugged, brushing off his slight irritation.

“It’s alright, ain’t nobody hurt from it.”

He was going to turn away, towards the bar where Husk was readying drinks for the two of them, before his gaze narrowed in somewhere on your figure.

“Wait, what the fuck is on your neck?” He asked suddenly, his eyes giving you a questioning stare, as he motioned towards it.

You looked at him confused, before reaching up and running a few fingers down the side of your throat. Your eyes flew wide open in surprise, and your hand cupped your mouth as you felt it. Your cheeks set on fire instantly.

Apparently, as a final gift, Lucifer had left a rather large hickey in the crook of your neck. Both Husk and Angel leaned in to get a better look at it, their eyes widening in surprise.

“That dickhead finally did it, huh?” Husk spoke up, a knowing smirk on his lips as he cleaned glasses behind the bar.

Angel’s eyes lit up in delight, and he squeezed his own cheeks as realization dawned on him.

“Fucking finally! Does that mean you two are a thing now?”

You contemplated for a moment, before meeting Angel’s gaze once more. A smirk growing on your lips.

KeeKee appeared at your feet, rubbing at your ankles in greeting. You gingerly reached down and picked her up. She was so soft to the touch, and you caught the faint scent of Lucifer once more as she nestled into your chest.

“I guess so,” You finally replied once you situated the cat into your arms, “Now if you excuse me, gentleman, I need a breather.”

Angel whistled flirtatiously behind you as you walked away, and you couldn’t help the growing heat that hit your cheeks once more.

——

a/n: let me know your thoughts!! i almost didn’t added the little singing bit but i cracked my knuckles and summoned the lyricist in me to have some fun. I mean, it can’t be Hazbin Hotel without a song right?

tag list: @ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @loslox

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #i’m tired y’all i’m taking a nap #im writing this fic like im getting paid for it 🤣#over 6k words too?!#hazbin hotel

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undertheorangetree · 3 months

Text

Cherry Wine

Summary- Coriolanus returns to the Capitol with his most prized possession.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Female reader. Technically TBOSAS spoilers. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Really incredibly toxic relationship. Choking. Fingering. P in V sex. This is technically kidnapping.

Author’s Note- I wasn’t sure if this was ever gonna actually see the light of day but I am a lush little creature so enjoy. This is part 2 to In the Woods Somewhere but can probably be read as a standalone?? Either way full story linked below :)

She hates the Capitol. She has hated it since the first moment she set eyes on it. Admittedly, she had not seen much when she first arrived- thrown in a cage at the zoo, paraded through the streets, dragged into the arena- but it had been enough to forge an opinion. She hates the opulence, the disgusting displays of wealth. The way everything of value is flaunted and passed around as if it’s frivolous and easily replaced. How the towers loom over the wide streets, so different from the ramshackle buildings that make up Twelve. The way garbage is swept from the roadside the moment it appears, refusing for even a moment to appear as anything less than immaculate. Everything manicured. Everything perfect. Designed to make an impression, everything about it seems to grab you by the jaw and force you to look at the perfection of it all, nails dug in lest you attempt to look away. A perfectly ripe peach, all sunset pink with its soft, near endearing fuzz, hiding the rotten, maggot-ridden center underneath.

It's enough to make her miss the coal dusted streets of home.

The Snow penthouse- Coriolanus’s penthouse- seems to be the perfect example of Capitol excellence. The perfect patterns built into the tile in the bathrooms, the marble floors that seem to glitter beneath her feet, the paintings displayed behind thin sheets of glass to keep them perfectly preserved. She can see everything from up here, the highest apartment in the tallest building, and the longer she stares out the window, the more she comes to realize she hates to be so high up.

Or perhaps she simply hates that this bay window is the only view she gets of the outside world. The only view she has gotten in weeks.

She had regretted following Coriolanus onto that train the moment she set foot inside it but by then it had been too late. The doors had slid shut as silent as a wraith and she knows her face must have changed as he had half hauled her into one of the padded chairs and made her sit, watching her with his too blue eyes as if he were waiting for her to run. And had she thought she stood a chance, perhaps she would have. She should have. But then she had caught sight of the Avoxes serving them, standing silent and resigned in the corner and knew that should she cause a scene, she would likely share their fate.

So she had sat there uncomplainingly. Let him parade her back home and listened as the lies he told Grandma’am and Tigris flowed off his tongue like honey, hating the bits of truth sprinkled throughout. Holding her hand like a shackle as he told them how they had fallen in love. That he couldn’t possibly leave her behind. That she wasn’t really district, was she? Not like the others, not when she had never truly been one of them, not now that she was a Victor. The perfect lovestruck boy and his pretty little prize. Who could make them part now, separate them so soon after they had found each other? They had fawned all over him- and Tigris over her- so quickly it had made her skin crawl but still, she had said nothing, offering smiles she knew didn’t reach her eyes.

She had continued to say nothing when she heard him tell the Plinths just how sorry he was for Sejanus, that if he had known what he was doing, he would have stopped him. As he told them how dear his dead friend had been to him. Best friends. She had listened silently as the Plinth’s rewarded him for his devotion, handing him the keys to a lavish new penthouse for little more than his supposed loyalty, for loving their sweet, kind Sejanus. The keys to her self imposed prison.

Coriolanus had never told her how the Capitol had gotten its hands on the jabberjay that damned his lone friend to the hanging tree but he didn’t have to. She has had plenty of time to put that story together herself, sitting alone in his locked apartment while he attended the university and worked under Doctor Gaul planning for the next Games.

She is a Victor and though perhaps that should mean something, it has become clear that it doesn’t. Though people watched her Games, though she made an impression, the memories of those in the Capitol are fleeting. No Victor is remembered following their Games. They are congratulated for their victory and sent home on the first train, never to be seen or heard from again. They fade from the public eye quickly, forgotten before the next moon, and perhaps she would have been as well had she not caught Coriolanus’s attention. Had he not been her mentor, so enamoured with her that he would cheat to save her.

She blames herself just as much as she blame him. Curses herself for not being able to see behind that perfectly curated mask he presents to everyone who looks at him, for being distracted by his pretty blonde curls and handsome face. Had he been ugly or cruel or anything other than deceptively kind, perhaps she could have escaped all this unscathed. Gone back home to Twelve without having him falling behind her like some forgotten shadow. Even if she had lost the Games, at least then she would be free of him. But instead she had been little more than a moth drawn to a flame, her wings now singed and leaving her an easy meal to the predator who first spotted her.

Read the full story here

#Coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #Coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow fanfiction #Coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x you #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas fic #tbosas smut #coriolanus snow

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movidita · 5 months

Text

You were so sweet.

Constantly looking to please everyone else— specifically the older men who had shown up to your daddy’s barn just a few days ago, three in particular.

Two officers and an archer.

Putting on your sweetest smile, bringing fresh lemonade and platters of fruit out. Offering a hand wherever you could fit it.

God, how eager you were to please.

And it wasn’t like they didn’t know it. Taking full advantage of the fact they could bend you to their will and render you all flustered with just a few of their sweet words.

Your three favourite pieces of eye candy working out by the barn. Hammering pieces of wood, heavy lifting with those arms, those arms that had you weak at the knees and a shy crinkle in your forehead.

Currently preparing them lunch. Bacon sandwiches and three cold crisp beers you’d stolen from your father’s cabinet.

Making your way over to them, cowboy boots pattering against the earth. Sundress flowing in the breeze, your hair secured tightly with a pale pink bow and a basket of sandwiches on one arm whilst the other struggled to hold three bottles in one hand.

Shane’s eyes lit up when he saw you, catching the attention of the other two as he straightened up from his position, leaning on the truck.

“Heya, sunshine.”

You smiled politely at the three. “Hi, I brought lunch!”

Passing them all a beer and setting down the basket on top of the trucks hood.

Daryl grunted in thanks, the first to reach over and grab his food. However, Rick just looked down at you, a cocky smirk on his face. “Didn’t have to do all this.”

Your smile only grew, “Well, Daddy said you’d be getting hungry ‘bout now. Figured it’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for us.”

His arm made its way around your shoulders, “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“No worries.” Your small hand wrapped around his wrist that was drooped over your shoulder, “I do hope you like them, used the last of the bacon.”

“For us?” Shane replied, taking a bite out of the perfectly cut triangle.

You giggle, nervous under their gazes, “Like I said, it’s the least I could do.”

The men took in your appearance. All farmer’s daughter looking. Plump lips, glistening with whatever gloss you’d put on. Your yellow sundress that stopped just above your knees, straps loose around your chest, beads of sweat coating your cleavage under the intense heat. Cowboy boots and that dainty bow— you sure fit the part.

You stayed with them for a while. Now propped up on the hood of the truck, swinging your legs back and forth. Gawking at the men as they worked. Sipping on one of the three’s beers every so often. Silently praying the trees gave you enough cover and your father couldn’t see your antics.

The fact they were working shirtless had your arousal pooling in your panties. Squishing your thighs together as you did your best to maintain calm.

But, fuck, those arms.

Every second became increasingly harder. Sipping and sipping, trying to distract yourself from the three older men.

The sun was starting to set. A faint orange painting the farm.

You were a little more than tipsy now, giggling at yourself, head tipping forward.

Hoping down off the truck. Almost tripping over your own two feet.

“Careful there, don’t wanna land on that pretty face.” Shane smirked, helping you stay upright as you adjusted yourself.

“Been drinking our beer, sweetheart?” Rick questioned, approaching your side and smirking down at you. Fully aware you had been drinking, the entire time. The way they’d look back every few minutes, taking in your giggling form atop their truck.

You fake a frown, “Nope.”

Daryl threw the last piece of wood to the pile, “What would your daddy say if he saw you like this, huh?”

Your eyes widen, dreading the fact you’d have to sneak past him when you returned inside. “Righttt, Daddy.” Your words slurred with a dopey smirk on your face.

The men knew they couldn’t just send you back inside, giggly and stumbling. They’d be kicked out the second your father found out they had let you drink.

“Want some water?” Rick questioned, leading you away from the barn and towards the sea of tents adorning the farm land.

You hiccup, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

Shane scoffed from the other side of you. “Wasn’t aware you were such a big drinker.”

“‘M not.”

He let out a laugh at that, taking in the sight of your half-hearted pulling your feet along and holding onto Rick in order to stay upright.

They led you over to Daryl’s tent as it was the farthest away from the group. Sitting you down on a log and passing over a bottle of water. It was late now, majority in bed, including your father. You figured it would be easy to get inside unnoticed.

“Drink up, girl.”

You huff, “Want to take my boots off. . .”

Daryl rolled his eyes, entering his tent and zipping it up. Clearly not in the mood to deal with a mumbling mess.

“Take ‘em off then.”

Instead of removing them yourself, you stuck your feet out in front of Rick, gesturing for him to pull them off for you. In which he did, of course. Crouching to your level and carefully slipping your feet out. Revealing the white frilly socks you had on underneath.

He set the boots down beside you.

“And the socks.” You hiccup, “Can’t walk across the field in white socks!”

He smiled at you, “Course you can’t.” Rick removed your socks, tucking them into your shoes and standing to his full height.

His hands gripped yours, pulling you up and directing you towards your house. “You gotta be quiet, okay?”

You nodded, holding onto his arm as he led you. One of his arms around your waist and the other holding your cowboy boots.

You eventually reached the porch, Shane disappearing to his tent on the way there, Rick had said something about him being able to get you there just fine and he should just head to bed. Shane grumbled but complied with the man.

Now it was just you and Rick. He practically pushed you up the stairs as you did your best to spend as much time as you could with the officer.

Stopping in the hallways to giggle at framed pictures of you and your sisters. The man couldn’t hold back his smile, despite him wanting you to shut up, he couldn’t help but enjoy seeing you so smiley and relaxed in comparison to your usual desire to be perfect.

“Come on, sweetheart, quiet down.”

The two of you finally reached your bedroom after all your stumbles and slurred words.

When Rick opened your room, he wasn’t surprised to be met with such pink. Pink, flowery bedsheets. Tulips in every corner of your room. Your vanity was adorned by many trinkets and items he had never heard of. Heart-shaped pillows, and what stuck out the most— a pile of discarded clothes on the floor by the window. A plain white dress and a pair of pink lace panties.

He gulped, averting his eyes and leading you over to the bed. Trying to push away the thoughts of you, you wearing just those panties, you without the panties. He’s a sick man, he thought. You were much younger than him, you were his host's daughter. He couldn’t do that.

Rick carefully laid you down, pulling the blanket over your body. “On your side, okay? Don’t wanna choke on your own vomit, yeah?”

You were practically asleep the second your head hit the pillow, mumbling something incoherent as you drifted off.

He smiled down at you. Staring for a few seconds, just taking in the peaceful look on your face for the first time today.

(was originally going to be rick, shane and daryl but i didn’t really know how to write for three so it ended up being rick butttt i could do some other parts with the other two if anyone would like)

part two

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rickgrimes #twd x reader #rick grimes smut #rick x reader #rick grimes imagine #the walking dead #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick imagine #shane walsh imagine

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slashers-and-rats · 8 months

Text

Another Texan Night

thomas hewitt x fem!reader | sfw | no dreams this time, baby

rat chat: i saw a lot of people wanted me to give thomas a break, and they were right. he deserves some good stuff. so here it is. grade a fluff for my big boy.

the world was in thomas’s hands. it weighed heavy on his palms; he nearly had to cup them to keep it from all slipping away. he couldn’t let it get away from him this time. he saw the earth, mother nature, the sway of the trees and the rolling of waves all bundled in his arms. he wouldn’t let it get away, not this time.

you’d never leave him again.

your heart beat created a steady rhythm against his own chest. he wondered if, with enough determination, he could align both of your pulses. he’d stop his heart for you. he’d pinch his veins until they were flowing at the same speed yours did. anything to be closer to you, to be connected to you as deeply as he possibly could.

this was all so overwhelming for him. he had to keep remembering to breathe. thomas wasn’t supposed to be out right now, and this time it wasn’t a dream. he couldn’t just shake off the guilt of wanting to leave, this time it was real.

it was technically hoyt’s idea to get him out of the house. the plan had been somewhat sloppily put together. he remembered when it had first been pitched to him.

hoyt had been spying on thomas as he laboured in the basement. he had noticed his nephew under the weather, but the guy didn’t speak much, what could he really do? he had tried to cheer him up, in his own way. he complimented thomas for his quick work of taking down “prey”, and slid thomas a chocolate bar he had smuggled from the gas station when luda mae wasn’t looking. he even offered thomas a beer, chuckling when he groaned in rejection, shaking his head dramatically. his nephew could be such a prude.

hoyt watched thomas closely, seeing him slam the butcher’s knife down with uneven rhythm. it was almost uncomfortable how out of it the man was. thomas wasn’t an energetic boy, he didn’t exactly burst with enthusiasm, but he was always good with his hands. he was coordinated in his practice, and didn’t like to mess up when handling their hunts. after all, if the meat was bad, what would luda mae use to make her best stews and steaks?

it was when tommy slammed the knife down one last time, wedging it deep into the wood of the table, that hoyt really jumped. the guy was scary at the end of the day. hoyt might’ve been tough, but his nephew was strong. there was a big difference, and it showed in the way the surface of the cutting board snapped under the weight of his blade.

thomas had huffed, sounding like a frustrated animal. he paced the room, never noticing his uncle looming in the shadows. if he had, he wouldn’t have tugged your photo out of its hiding place. it had been something private to him. he kept it tucked into the breast pocket of his shirt, close to his heart, along with the phone number and address you had given him long ago when he had lost you. every day he wished he could find you again, that he had the bravery to sneak away and visit you like he wanted to, like he dreamed of.

the paper was worn from his fingers rubbing over it, and your picture was kept as pristine as possible. it was one he had stolen from the slaughterhouse. there had been a wall in the break room of photos of workers, headshots and such, and he had snatched yours away. he liked the way you smiled. it made his head feel light.

he was staring at it for quite awhile, too long for hoyt’s liking, and the man finally walked up and slapped a hand down on his nephew’s shoulder. tommy nearly jumped out of his boots, spinning around and hiding his treasures tight to his chest.

“a girl, huh? that’s what you’ve been mopin’ about?” hoyt questioned, sounding somewhat unimpressed. of all the things for someone like thomas to be worried about, some woman was one of them. it didn’t make sense to him, but there was something about how in despair his nephew looked- “you know where she lives?”

that had been the start to this whole endeavour. it took a few nights for it to all get planned out. thomas would meet with his uncle in the dining room, and hoyt would map out their plan of escape. it was simple. they’d arrange a rendezvous, and sneak out into the night when no one was awake to even see them gone. hoyt had called ahead of time, trying his best to sound proper and respectable when he explained the situation.

thomas had been so nervous then. he had sat, wringing out his fingers and squeezing the end of his shirt in his hands. hoyt had taken the landline and pulled it as far away from his sister’s room as possible, just to make sure she wouldn’t hear. hoyt may have been her brother, but that woman was terrifying, and her house was run by her rules. tommy wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with strangers, especially women, and something about this whole thing made the stakes feel high. they were playing a dangerous game. but they were both determined, albeit for different reasons. hoyt needed his nephew’s head back down to earth, and tommy… well, you could say tommy wanted the same. after all, you were his world. he wanted you back near him so badly.

when you had answered the phone, hoyt had flashed a thumbs up to tommy. it made the man jump a little, he could barely contain his excitement. there was also an advancing sense of anxiety. what if you didn’t remember him? what if you didn’t like him like he thought you did? what if-

“hey, uh, I’m just callin’ on behalf of a guy named thomas hewitt. you don’t happen to remember that name, do ya?” hoyt had paused, and it made thomas hold his breath. when his uncle smiled, a wave of relief washed over him. he gave his nephew a wink, and continued. “oh, good, good. well, you know him, ain’t much of a talker, so he got me to be the messenger. actually, he wanted to ask you somethin’. i know it’s a little late in the night, but he was wonderin’ if you’d wanna see him? he don’t usually got days off, poor guys workin’ himself to the bone, but he had some time and-“ hoyt was cut off, and thomas could hear your muffled babbling on the other end of the phone. he hadn’t even noticed he had been sweating until a bead ran down and landed on his hands. “not tonight, eh? yeah, it’s a bit short notice- what about tomorrow than? how’s that work?” hoyt listened carefully, before giving thomas another reassuring smirk. he nodded along to whatever you were saying, before finally replying with a sense of finality. “perfect! he’ll be there this time tomorrow. see you then. okay, bye bye.”

hoyt hung up, and let out a harsh huff after. thomas felt like he had just been given wings. his heart was pounding hard in his chest, threatening to rip out and do a little irish jig on the floor. he felt like had just been handed his own personally tailored miracle. it was hard to even fathom. he was pulled back down to earth when hoyt had said, “don’t say i don’t do nothin’ for you.”

with that, the pieces had fallen into place with ease. the next day, after waiting an hour to make sure luda mae was dead asleep, tommy and hoyt piled into the truck and made their way to your home. they weaved down the dirt trails slowly and quietly, keeping the headlights off just in case, and the second they were far enough away hoyt began pumping gas. this couldn’t be a long trip, they didn’t have much time. tommy’s mama was an early riser, and if she noticed her boy wasn’t there, there would be hell to pay. no, they had to be quick, methodical.

hoyt pulled up a block away from your place. the two had agreed it was better to make it seem like thomas had come alone. after all, two brooding men showing up on your doorstep in the dead of night wasn’t exactly the best start to a romance.

hoyt had turned to thomas, eyeing him over and trying to tidy him up the best he could. “you look like a mess, but there ain’t much you can do about it…” he had muttered, tussling up his nephew’s hair. he straightened out tommy’s shirt collar, brushed off any flecks of dirt that may have gathered.

tommy had chosen a special outfit. luda mae had shown him old romance movies when he was younger, and he had learned that a well-dressed man could get any woman. he wanted you, though, and so he had made sure he was wearing something he thought you’d like. his button-up was a bit tight, and his pants rested just underneath his tummy, and his shoes still had some blood on them from his work- but he had tried. he had tried so hard.

he had hopped out of the truck into the open night air, breathing it in deep. it ran through his lungs, and with it a feeling he had never experienced before. sure, he had been nervous before- nervous when he was younger and would see his bullies running his way, nervous when he worked at the factory and would see the other workers eyeing him up like a freak-show display- but this was so much different. the closer he walked to your house, the more it wrapped around his throat and made him lose all air. he felt almost small, vulnerable, things he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

he counted the houses carefully, repeating your address over and over in his mind until he spotted the numbers over the door of a quaint cottage-style home. it was small, you had clearly been affected just as his family had by the depression that swept through the town, but it seemed you weren’t doing too bad. he could see the light on in the living room, and your shadow dancing along the curtains as you went about your nightly routine. he walked up slow, prolonging this meeting he had waited so long for. he wished he was back in his dreams, maybe he’d have more confidence if he knew he could just wake up from this if it went poorly.

thomas stood in front of your door for a few minutes before he dared knock. he listened with bated breath as you walked over, and unlocked the door. when it opened, and he saw you… well, he just about fainted.

you had been wearing a soft night gown. it was nothing scandalous, it went down just above your knees, but the way it hugged your body… you looked so soft. you had a house coat on as well, wrapped around your arms and crossed over your stomach. you had it hugged close to you when you answered, and he watched it fall away in slow motion when you opened your arms and pulled him in for an embrace. he had managed to catch the way it fell off your shoulders, and revealed a wide expanse of skin that started at your neck and ran down to the tops of your chest. the spaghetti straps of the gown were loose, letting the front of your shirt hang low over your front. he traced over every detail of your skin, right up until you had pulled him down into a tight hug.

that’s where he was. he remembered now. you were hugging him, and he was squeezing you back just as tight. the gesture had been so sudden, it made him feel as if he had been shot. it knocked the wind out of him, and he wondered if he had made any sound. he couldn’t remember, as all he could think about was how close you were to him.

you felt right in his arms. there was something so good about having you close, and sharing in that sweet body heat that radiated off of your skin. you had always been so warm, inside and out. he wished he could never let go.

“i missed you.” the words were spoken soft into his shoulder. they planted themselves deep into his rib cage, right next to his heart. they seared into his skin.

you pulled away from the hug, but didn’t go far. if tommy was fully coherent, and not in some love filled haze, he would’ve noticed that he had been gripping your hips, keeping you from leaving him fully. it was so instinctual for him. you never brought it up either.

“i was worried i wouldn’t see you again. you never rang me, and i realized… well, you didn’t talk at the slaughterhouse, why would it change over the phone?” you smiled. it was a genuine smile, and he matched it under the mask. he wanted to run his fingers over your lips and trace out every pull of muscle. “that guy who called me seems pretty nice, by the way. you’ll have to thank him for bringing you back to me,” you added, giggling a little.

that sound felt like someone blowing bubbles against tommy’s face. it felt so light. if he could find the words, he would’ve told you he loved you the second he heard it. it would’ve been sudden and out of place, and he would’ve been embarrassed the second he realized what he said, but he would’ve. he wouldn’t have been over-exaggerating either.

“it’s late, and i can’t hang out with you for long but… why don’t you come in? i put tea on, and i got some treats put away for special occasions. i think this justifies taking them out. i got my big guy back.”

“your big guy”. thomas nearly crumbled. he nodded enthusiastically, and let his hands drop down to fiddle with the front of his shirt. you took one of them in yours. his was so much bigger. you weren’t a small girl, you were plump and soft and carried yourself well, but he still lumbered over you. thomas was just big. he was a big guy. your big guy. oh, that would never get old, he just knew it.

you lead him into the house, and he felt as though he was stepping into the gates of heaven.

to say you were his world was underselling it. you weren’t that.

you were his paradise.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

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janeyseymour · 20 days

Text

Won't You Be... My Neighbor?- pt 4

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

super quick installment because @schemmentis wants the torture to drag on despite her claiming none of this is her fault

Summary: Joe shows up.

WC: 1.1k

(this gif is exactly what mel wishes she would've done to joe but doesnt)

Your eyes jump open at the woman’s earpiercing scream. And when they open, Joe is standing over top of the two of you.

“What the fuck?!” he screams as he winds up his bat again. Melissa raises her arms in self-defense, but its futile when the metal bat still comes into contact with her body and she yelps out in pain again. She falls to the floor, and before you can get up, the bat is hitting you too. You refuse to show any signs of pain or weakness though.

“You divorce me for fucking around with the babysitter, only for me to find you fucking your lawyer the day our divorce is finalized?!” he slurs out. His bat comes down on her a few more times while you’re still hissing in pain, and you swear you can hear her ribs crack as he delivers the final blow to her body.

Melissa lays there, clutching at her ribs and gasping out for air. And then he’s swinging at you again.

In reality, the two of you should be able to fend him off. Being snuck up on and jolted out of your dreaming state though makes it much harder as you try to blink away the sleep in your eyes while also trying to defend yourself and hissing out in pain from the first strike.

“G-get JJ,” Melissa croaks out, not even bothering to fight the pain at this point as she cries freely.

Almost in an instant, your eyes and Joe’s go wide, and you both race for the bedrooms. You’re faster than him, of course you are. He’s drunk, and you are stone cold sober and running on adrenaline at the mention of the innocent little boy hopefully still sleeping peacefully (although you’re not sure how he could possibly still be sleeping with his mother’s loud cries). Speed doesn’t matter though. Even with you trying to wrestle the bat out of his hands as you enter the hall, he’s able to strike you- once in the side, and once in the knee. At the blow to the knee, you stumble and fall.

He’s able to get ahead of you, and he violently whips the door to his son’s bedroom open. He snatches the little boy from his bed harshly enough that JJ wakes up with a small cry.

“Shut the fuck up,” the grown man seethes. “Shut the fuck up!”

He stumbles out into the hallway, where you’ve just managed to pick yourself up off the ground. At the sight of that sweet little boy that has wormed his way into your heart, you see red. You never understood those stories that you would hear about adrenaline taking over and being able to do things that shouldn’t be possible, but here you are. There’s a fire in your eyes as you wrestle JJ out of the arms of a man who is easily double your size and cradle him as closely to your chest as you possibly can. You’re able to stumble your way into the bathroom and lock the door before Joe can get to you again.

“Y/N,” JJ cries as he clings to you, absolutely terrified. “Is this a nightmare? Why can’t I wake up?!”

“It’s real life, honey,” you whisper as you lean against the door. “But I have you, and you’re going to be okay, and your father can’t-” There’s a force against the door, and it shakes you where you stand pressed up against the piece of wood. “He can’t get to us,” you say quickly. You glance at the window. You’re on the second floor, and if it were just you, you would fly through it and deal with the injuries later. But with JJ? You don’t know if you can do that. You don’t know which option is safer at this point- flying through a second story window with a four year old cradled to your chest, or facing the wrath of a drunk and belligerent man hellbent on getting his son back.

Before you can decide though, he comes crashing through the door. Apparently his adrenaline is flowing now too in the haste to get to his son. You fight with him tooth and nail to keep that little boy in your arms, but when Joe throws a mean right hook that collides with your jaw, your grip loosens just enough for the man to grab JJ. Unfortunately, the little boy still has his arms clasped tightly around your neck, and when Joe pries him off, you can see the way that his shoulder pops out of its socket. The blood curdling scream that the youngest Schemmenti lets out is forever embedded in your head. The man is able to throw another punch at you, successfully temporarily stopping you from fighting with all your might just enough to get a head start on you. And then, Joe is off.

With the absolute searing pain now very apparent in your leg, you do your best to run after him, but by the time you make your way out the front door, you see his car peeling away with that little boy inside.

Defeated, you hobble your way back into the apartment complex. You wonder how no one on your floor had woken at the commotion. When you get back to Melissa’s her door is wide open, and she’s still laying there on the floor clutching at where Joe had struck her. Despite the pain rippling through your body, you kneel down next to her.

“Please,” she whispers through tears. “Please tell me you got JJ.”

You shake your head. “Joe has him. But I’m going to call 9-1-1, I’m going to tell them he broke and entered, we need an ambulance for you, and that an amber alert needs to go out on JJ.”

“I- I’m going to kill him,” Melissa hisses as she tries to sit up.

You gently push her back down to the floor. “You need to stay down while I make calls.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rattle off the necessary information to the call center, and when you come back, Melissa is still lying there gripping at her side.

“They’re coming,” you whisper as you sit down next to her. “They already have cops combing the area for him. He’s not going to get away with this.”

“He might,” the redhead groans out. “The motherfucker knows his way around.”

“He isn’t getting away with it this time,” you promise her. “And when they catch him, he’s never coming back.”

TAGS, and let me know if you want to be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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edenalieth · 2 months

Text

LOVE CURSE

Pairing: god of love!minho x Y/N

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff with angst

Being a god of love wasn’t always easy. When you got assigned to Minho to be bonded to your soulmate, he thought his mission would be done in a blink of an eye. Little did he know that his biggest ally would be his greatest enemy: love.

Words: 6K

A.N: first fic of 2024, we cheered! sorry, it took me more time than i thought it would,,, that photoshoot inspired me for this story, as well as the song "rewrite the stars". my bad for the possible mistakes, hope you enjoy :) any interactions are sincerely appreciated 🫶. — 240304

Being a god of love wasn’t always easy. Mortals thought it was all about fate and butt naked babies shooting their arrows at them. However, it wasn’t as perfect as they could imagine it and deities didn’t look like cherubs.

Minho had not a single memory about his past life. One day, he had opened his eyes after wandering into darkness for a really long time and had been welcomed by an angel. This angel happened to be his new brother, Felix, who introduced him to more brothers and sisters. Felix was always cheerful, he exhaled warmth and passion, a ray of sunshine in a solid form. He taught him everything he had to know for his new function as a love god. The good sides and the bad ones. Among the great ones was the chase, as they called it with his siblings. An interesting part where they used their magic to get close to their assigned human. Using ancestral methods, they tricked their customer into thinking that they knew each other since forever. This way, it was easier for them to establish a bond with their chosen one and Minho was always sincerely curious about their lives, hopes and dreams. Once the spark of love was strong enough, came the second step. The aim. It was truly thrilling for Minho to shoot an arrow. The way the wood of his bow perfectly fitted on his hand, like an extension of his arm. Or when his fingers, hooking on the silver bowstring, had to keep the perfect balance before releasing his arrow, which never failed to ignite the passion between two human beings. It gave him goosebumps every time. Finally, came the evanescence. When the arrow had reached the heart and the two lovebirds were united, the god of love had to disappear from their lives. Despite how poetic all this appeared to be, not everyone had the chance to get their « happy ever after ». Divinities exclusively interfered to match a mortal to its soulmate and they had a glimpse of their future together. Unfortunately, they sometimes had to tie someone to a person who would break them in the most awful ways. No matter how bad it would be, they would remain in love with them to the point where they would forget about themselves. Minho had forced himself to become insensitive to such situations but, deep inside, he despised it. He felt nauseous and anger was running through his veins as he had to watch his customers becoming miserable in front of his eyes. Occasionally, he wished he could bribe the lord of death, Chan, into getting rid of those pests… Sadly, this deity wasn’t easy to negotiate with. They did their duty and nothing else.

When you got assigned to Minho, he didn’t think much about it and started his chase. You were a university student, pretty cheerful and a bit grumpy when things didn’t go your way. You loved to meet new people and hang out with your friends. Reading was one of your favorite hobby and you had a chubby black cat named Churros. Funny, he thought with a small smile on his face. He liked animals because they weren’t fooled by his powers like humans were, especially cats. With their piercing gaze, they could see the magic surrounding the deities, energy flows swirling around them in tints of red, black and gold. Truly smart beings.

Minho put his backpack correctly on his shoulders as he looked over his surroundings. Students were walking toward the entry door, chatting, laughing or shuffling sleepily — probably some hangover or all nighters for exams. Finally, he spotted you. Walking through the crowd, he reached you and put a hand on your shoulder. You turned around, visibly surprised and wondering about who the hell was touching you unprovoked. You frowned, met by a face you had never seen before, a beautiful face. It was a guy. He seemed to be the same age as you, his skin looked smooth, his pink lips stretched into a gentle smile and his hair were copper brown. Slowly, you attached your eyes to his. Warm and deep.

The god of love knew it was the perfect time to use his powers, you were visibly confused. Coming closer to your face, he saw your eyes widening. « I’m going to help you. » he whispered to your ear. When he glanced at you again and noticed the light veil over your eyes. Magic was happening. Shaking your head, as if emerging from a dream, your face lit up. « Minho! Gosh, I really thought you were going to leave me alone again. You know that I hate that class… », you gritted your teeth saying that.

Perfect, he thought. From now on, he would be your longtime friend who happened to go to the same university as you. « I know, I know » he replied, ruffling your hair. You looked offended as your fingers were quickly brushing your locks in an attempt to style them back properly. « You… Do you know how long it took me to do this ? » you grumbled, your eyes sending daggers to your friend. Minho smirked, playing his role to get to know you better. « Are you doing all of this for Thomas ? » he mused, teasing you. Naturally, you were his assigned human and he knew who he had to match you with and how to play with it to make you fall. Your cheeks turned into a bright red. You scoffed in disdain. « Me ? Doing this for a man ? Don’t be silly. » you rolled your eyes and grabbed his arm, changing the subject to the paper you had to write for today. Your crush was ridiculously obvious. He wondered if he would act this way if only he was able to love. However, your budding feelings for Thomas would help to get his job done faster. It took more time when he had to do all the job, create the meeting, put the right mood to some situation in attempt to make both parties fall in love. Yes, it would be easy. You sighed, « And here we go, for two hours of boredom… ». You sat down and prepared your papers, hurrying Minho to do the same. Obediently, he did as told and started his own class: learning about you.

Days turned into weeks and he knew a lot about you by now. You frowned when you were highly focused on something, you hated romcom — at least it was what you said, except that Minho witnessed you tearing up in front of 13 going 30 —, you were the type of person to scream your lungs out to songs while driving, you chewed on your lips and then complained about it when they were getting chapped. To make it short, you were lively in the most beautiful ways and the love god didn’t seem to grow tired of it. « Pull yourself together » he thought, lightly splashing his face with water. He had to make things move on between you and Thomas. Your interest for him didn’t seem to fade, after all, you were meant to be. He looked at his reflection on the mirror and was surprised by his expression: he seemed annoyed. Straightening his back, he glanced one more time at his face, defying it, before exiting the bathroom.

« Took you long enough » you stated, looking at the brown haired boy. He shrugged « Sorry ? ». You gestured him to come sit next to you. Churros was purring on your legs as you scratched it behind its ears and Minho looked at the scene fondly. Taking place by your side, he joined you to pet the black cat. You discreetly looked at your friend. You had been knowing him since you were kids — magic made you think that — and never had you realized how handsome he was. In your eyes, he was just your annoying lost twin. Kind of. At least, you thought… Or tried to convince yourself. Also, Thomas was there and you liked him, right ? Minho raised his head and caught you staring at him. He tilted his head before asking you, « What’s troubling you ? ». You shook your head, scratching your cat under its chin. « Hmm nothing… » your voice was low and not convincing at all, your friend wouldn’t fall for your masquerade. He came closer to you and nudge your shoulder. « Come on Y/N, what’s on your mind ? ». Seeing his eyes, you couldn’t resist them and gave up. You felt a bit embarrassed but gathered your courage up. « Have you ever been in love ? » you asked, your hands stopped moving and Churros half opened its eyes, its green pupils looking deep inside your soul. A brief silence filled the room. Minho was staring at the ceiling before clearing his throat. « Well, I’ve never experienced it myself but I believe it’s a precious and incredible feeling… » your friend seemed a bit gloomy and you were almost disappointed by his answer. « Have you ? » he kept going, curious to know if you were going to talk about your crush with him. The god of love was expectant. « Yes… » « How does it feel ? I can only imagine. » Minho smiled but his eyes weren’t. « It feels warm and exciting but complicated at times too… » you stated. « I mean, what do you do when you start having feelings for someone unexpected ? » The brown haired boy hummed. « Like falling for someone you never thought you would ? » You nodded, « Exactly. It's like... you have this image in your head of who you're supposed to be attracted to, and then someone comes along and totally flips that upside down. » The deity chuckled. « Hmm. I see what you mean. » a tint of bitterness lacing his voice. « But isn't that part of the magic of love? Discovering new feelings and connections you never imagined ? ». Why were you so hesitant about your feelings ? Never in his career he had witnessed that. Lighting the spark of love could took a bit longer to build but his customers never openly expressed their confusion. Was he lacking on some point ? As earlier when he was in the bathroom, he felt annoyance rushing through his veins and a strange tickling at the bottom of his nape... Churros left your lap, feeling the agitation of yours and Minho’s hearts. « I suppose so. It's just… I know you’ve noticed, I've been crushing on Thomas for a while now, but lately, someone else came into the picture… » you were elusive on purpose. Minho got caught off guard on that one. What was going on ? Something was definitely wrong. Who were you talking about ? He would have to review every single people being close to you to find out if you decided not to speak. You bent towards him, your move making your fingers brush against his, sending electricity into your system. « It’s a secret. » you sticked your tongue out and stood up. Still on the floor, Minho looked at you in disbelief. « What ? You started this conversation and now you’ve decided to remain silent ? ». Towering him, you shrugged and turned on the music to distract him.

This was an emergency. He needed to talk to Felix, right now. On his way home, he grabbed his phone on his pocket and looked for his brother’s number. He tapped on his name and waited to hear the ringtone. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. « Your contact isn’t available at the moment… » Minho swore as he was welcomed by the robotic voice. « Please leave a message after the ri… ». He hung up and dialed the number again and again and again. Finally, no automatic message but a deep upset voice, which was pretty rare. « For love sake, Minho. Why are you calling me ? I was preparing my aim. You better have a good reason to bother me and make me miss my shot. » he groaned. « My human. Y/N. She’s hesitant. » He heard his brother sighing. « And ? It happens all the time. Give her one more week and she will be ready. Now, if you may exc… » Loosing his temper, Minho cut him off. « It’s not like usual. And, for your knowledge, my clients never hesitate on their feelings. » he cockily added. Felix laughed. « Ok. Then, describe me how is it different ? ». Minho could hear the noises of the city coming from the end of the line. « I don’t feel that energy coming from her, it’s like… glowing a different way. And I have that constant itch bothering me... » he whispered, confused by the events. « Have you ever heard of someone changing their fate ? » « Minho. It’s written in the stars, it’s impossible to undo it. » the angel stated firmly. « Are you sure ? Wasn’t there any case of someone rewriting them ? » His voice felt desperate and he was. He was hundred percent sure that something odd was happening. A loud silence echoed his question. « Do you want my honest opinion ? » « Please. » he begged. « I think you’re the one with an unsteady heart. You’ve been around Y/N for too long. You’ve never spent much time with one of your assigned mortal and your magic is weakening. » Felix answered. Offended, the god of love received those words like a slap in the face. However, it would explain his discomfort. « This is nonsense. I’m telli… » but he hadn’t time to finish his sentence. « One week and not a single day more. » The ringtone resonated, announcing the final sentence.

One week. He had to calculate all his next moves. If Felix was right, nobody knew what would happened if Minho was loosing his power. Yet, he wasn’t scared about it but was terrified at the idea of loosing you forever. Once his job done, it would be as if he had never existed. You would remember a presence but would not be able to put a name or a face on it. Usually, Minho considered his mission like a book. He had to get into it, enjoy it, untangle the plot and put it on a shelf once done. With you, he wanted the story to keep going. However, he was supposed to be a side character and not a main one. The love god felt stupid and bothered by that strange sensation squeezing his heart. What was it ? He could only identify anger and disappointment. His fists were clenched and he had to fight the urge to punch the nearest wall. This is when you decided to intervene. He felt his phone buzzing. The screen illuminated the room he was in.

y/n: want to grab a coffee before class tomorrow ?

minho: sure!

y/n: perfect! see u :)

He sighed. He had to find a solution by the next morning and make you and Thomas fall in love, for once and for all. That night, the brown haired boy barely slept.

You were waiting for your friend in front of the coffee shop. Minho appeared at the corner, disheveled and dark circles under his eyes. « Wow, you definitely need some coffee. » You teased him. He groaned and opened the door for you. « Barely slept. » he briefly explained. « Thanks, I had noticed. » you scoffed. Once your coffee taken, you strolled along the path toward university campus, backpacks slung over your shoulders. « So, any plans for the weekend ? » the love god asked, trying his best to look cheerful. You shrugged, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. « Not much, just the usual. Probably bury myself in textbooks and drown in a sea of caffeine. Exams are coming up. »

Minho rolled his eyes, nudging you with his elbow. « Come on, Y/N, you need to loosen up a bit. Life's not all about studying. Besides, I heard there's a party happening this Saturday. You have to come with me. » Your ears perked up at the mention of a party, your curiosity piqued. It has been a while since you wen to a party and going there with Minho sounded even greater. « A party, huh? Sounds intriguing. Who's throwing it ? ». The brown haired boy flashed you a mischievous smile. « Oh, you know, just some friends from the other campus. But here's the juicy part – I heard that Thomas will be there. »

At the mention of Thomas’ name, your heart sunk a little. Maybe you would finally be able to put a word on your feelings for him, know if it was a small crush or something more serious. Maybe you would understand why you felt jelly and happier than ever around Minho too…

« Thomas? » you echoed, « Are you sure? ». The love god nodded enthusiastically. Going to a party was a simple strategy but it often worked. "Positive! This could be your chance to make a move. » He winked. You rolled your eyes. « Shush. I’m not even sure if I want to be with him anymore. » you whined. « Then it’s the perfect occasion, right ? » He was right. « Alright, you've convinced me, » you finally replied, a determined glint in your eyes. « I'll go to the party with you. ». Minho seemed relieved by your answer and closed the gap between the both of you to quickly kiss your cheeks. That sudden move of affection startled you as you brought a hand to your face. « Good! I will see you later then. » he waved you goodbye and disappeared in the corridor. As he rushed to his class, mixed feelings and a strong sensation of warmth filled his system.

When he came back home on that day, the deity decided to face his own feelings. The kiss on your cheek ? It felt natural, yet really odd. Never he had done this with a mortal before but he wanted to try again. As he sat there, lost in the midst of his own thoughts, he couldn't shake the strange sensation that had been creeping up on him lately. It was like a whisper in the back of his mind, gentle yet persistent, nudging him to pay attention to something he hadn't noticed — or even felt — before.

At first, he brushed it off as nothing more than a weakness, a fleeting moment of curiosity. But the more he tried to ignore it, the louder it became, until it was impossible to ignore any longer. It was a feeling, unfamiliar yet strangely comforting, like sunbathing on fresh grass. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, couldn't find the words to describe it, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

Suddenly it hit him, like a bolt of lightning. Could it be...? No, it couldn't. It was absurd, unthinkable, impossible. He was a god of love, he was here to help mortals not to fa… No, no, no. And yet, the more he tried to deny it, the more it seemed to make sense. He was definitely falling for you, for your laughter that echoed like music in his ears, for your smile that lit up even the darkest corners of his heart. It was a realization that sent his mind into a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty.

What did it mean? What was he supposed to do with these newfound feelings ? What was going to happen to you, your fate, his powers ? He felt torn, caught between the familiarity of the past and the uncertainty of the future. Part of him wanted to hold onto what he knew, to the comfort of familiarity, while another part yearned to embrace this new, unknown territory with open arms. But one thing was clear amidst the chaos of his thoughts: he couldn't ignore this feeling any longer. It was a part of him now, a piece of the puzzle that had been missing all along or messing with the stars. And whether it led him down a path of heartache, he knew he had to face it head-on, for better or for worse. He was scared, obviously. However, he would enjoy his final days with you, shoot his arrow and disappear. He would get another mission and drown his feelings, trying to forget about you for the rest of his immortal life…

Days passed by, slipping from his hands, and weekend was already there. He dressed himself up and headed to the party. As he was getting closer of his friend’s house, he felt his heart sinking. When he entered the place, the thumping bass reverberated through the crowded living room as Minho scanned the sea of faces, his heart pounding in his chest with a mix of excitement and gloom. He had promised himself that tonight would be the night he finally bonded you and Thomas for eternity, but now that the moment was upon him, doubt gnawed at his resolve like a persistent itch.

Spotting you across the room, your radiant smile lighting up the dimly lit space, Minho's breath caught in his throat. You looked absolutely stunning, your eyes sparkling with laughter — you seemed a bit tipsy too — as you mingled effortlessly with the other partygoers.

Determined to seize the opportunity before it slipped through his fingers, Minho made his way through the crowd, weaving between bodies. But just as he reached out to tap your shoulder, a voice cut through the din like a knife slicing through butter.

« Hey, Minho! What are you doing over here all by yourself ? »

Minho turned to find Felix grinning at him, a beer in hand and mischief dancing in his eyes. « Felix… What are you doing here ? »

Felix arched an eyebrow, his grin widening into a knowing smirk, except that his eyes felt low-key frightening. Minho had never seen that look on his face before. « Let me guess – you're trying to find Y/N, aren't you ? I hope it’s to do your job. Tomorrow is your last chance if you can’t do it tonight, which would honestly be a shame.»

Minho felt the heat rise to his cheeks, cursing himself for being so transparent. « Yeah, actually. I was hoping to talk to her. »

Felix chuckled, clapping Minho on the back in a gesture of camaraderie. « Talk to her about what exactly ? » he aggressively whispered. « You were right, Minho. The ancient gods noticed your weird behavior and they’re now asking for results. That’s why they sent me here tonight. Also, I hate to break it to you, but it looks like she's already found her right match."

Minho's heart sank like a stone as he followed Felix's gaze across the room, where you were engaged in animated conversation with none other than Thomas. His stomach churned with jealousy and disappointment as he watched you laugh and joke together, your easy proximity like a dagger to his heart.

Desperate to salvage the situation before it spiraled out of control, Minho racked his brain for a way to interrupt. But before he could formulate a plan, fate intervened in the cruelest of ways, as Thomas locked eyes with yours and began to make his way toward you with the inevitability of two stars on a collision course.

With a unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, Minho realized that his efforts to keep you for himself would be in vain. And as he watched you both draw closer, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he had been fighting a losing battle all along.

But even as the bitter sting of defeat washed over him like a wave crashing against the shore, Minho knew that he couldn't give up hope just yet. For in matters of the heart, anything was possible – even miracles. Adrenaline rushing through his veins, he nearly sprinted in your direction, pushing away the guests and ignoring his brother’s screams.

With newfound determination burning bright within him, Minho felt prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that love was worth fighting for – even if it meant risking everything he held dear: his powers, his own life. Because what would happen if things weren’t turning the way they should ? He was going against destiny and it had messed up yours too. And, if he lost his powers, you would probably forgot about him since your friendship had, at first, been built on the illusions he had created.

And as the party raged on around him, Minho took a deep breath and stepped boldly between the two of you, stopping Thomas from achieving his move whether it was a hug or a kiss. The man seemed surprised and offended. « Yo… Do we know each other ? » he asked. « We don’t, but I'm here with her. » Minho held your hand in his, the warmth of his skin against your sending electricity into your veins. You looked at them, glaring at each other as a third guy — blond hair and an angelic face — approached you. Who was he and why it looked like he wanted to punch Minho in the face ? Focusing back on the brown haired boy and Thomas, you said « Minho, it’s fine we were just talking. » He turned his head, frowning, his grip on your hand strengthening. Yet, behind that visible annoyance, you could notice despair and softness in his eyes. « Well, I need to talk to you too. » Before you or Thomas could add a word, he made you follow him across the room. The blond guy was still following you but was struggling to slide between the students. You went upstairs, Minho was trying to find a place where people weren’t making out or throwing up. Eventually, a couple left one of the room, giving you the opportunity to get some privacy.

The love god closed the door behind you, letting your hand go. « I don’t have much time and I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen after but… I have to try. »

« What are you talking about ? » you chuckled nervously, your mouth getting dry. « Remember when I told you I’ve never loved anyone before ? » he asked. You nodded, anticipating. He walked closer to you, putting a strand of hair behind your ear in a tender gesture, looking at your face features as if trying to engrave them in his mind. « It took me long enough to admit it but I did… No, I do love someone. » « Oh… » you sounded disappointed, your heart starting to be torn into pieces until you felt your friend’s lips on yours. His hands cupped your face, your eyes widened as his were closing, a single tear threatening to fall anytime. Almost instantly, you drowned onto his touch, your lips moving in perfect sync as your fists were gripping his shirt. Your heart was beating so loudly that it echoed in your eardrum and you felt butterflies getting restless in the pit of your stomach.

A deep muffled voice could be heard from behind the walls as Minho delicately stepped away from you. As soon as his lips detached from yours, you started to miss them like you would miss oxygen to breathe. « Minho you know about Tho… » « Don’t worry » a tear was rolling down his cheek and he quickly whipped it. « I know you like him… But, I had to try… ». However, you didn’t feel that way about your old crush. You had a little something for him, yes, but the feeling you had for Minho was stronger than anything you had felt before. You loved him. « Minho I lo… » you couldn’t confess fully when the same innocent looking guy you had seen earlier crashed into the room.

« Minho. I hope you didn’t do anything stupid or… » however his face started to break down. Scared, you looked at Minho who was getting paler second after second. You rushed to support him as his knees felt weaker. He could feel it, his magic leaving his body. He felt so sleepy, the itch getting intense and your and Felix’s voices sounded faint. Felix cursed as he was walking toward you. « Don’t come closer ! » you warned him, not forgetting the way he looked at him before. Not listening to you, he put one of Minho’s arm around his shoulder and helped him laying down. « Wh-what are you doing ? We need to call an ambulance. » you stuttered. Felix bitterly laughed « Your mortals shit wouldn’t help him, now move aside. ».

Everything was becoming blurry and dark for the brown haired boy. Laid down, he could see Felix’s lips moving hastily, trying to cast a spell, while your hands were holding his left one tightly. « Mor… What ? ». The blond hair guy didn’t answer, his hands moving above Minho. You couldn’t see anything but the deity did. Slowly, a golden arrow was appearing on his brother’s hands, shining brightly.

You were done with this strange guy. With trembling hands, you took your phone and dialed the emergency number. Immediately, someone answered you and asked for the reason of your call.

« My friend is… He is really pale and… he doesn’t speak anymore. I… Yes, he’s breathing. No… »

Conversation kept going as you described his state, distracted and barely paying attention to Felix who was finally done casting his spell. The arrow weighted heavily on his hands, more than usual. He looked at his brother with uncertainty. The ancient gods gave him the mission to do the necessary to help Minho, no matter what, even if it had to cost him his life. His throat was burning and his hands were holding the arrow so firmly that his knuckles were turning white. With a gain of lucidity, Minho looked at Felix. Who would have thought that his biggest ally would turn out to be his greatest enemy, love itself. Minho knew what would happen if the angel was planting the arrow on his chest. He would die. It was created for mortals only and unique for each of them. Defying destiny was dangerous. Without his power he wouldn’t be able to live, he was doomed by a love curse.

« Do it. » he whispered, his words so faint he could barely hear them himself.

Felix looked at him, a frown on his face and teary eyes. The brown haired boy repeated his demand, more loudly this time. His brother closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, holding the arrow still, right above Minho’s heart. « Remember that you did this to yourself. » Felix’s deep voice broke. « I should have noticed your behavior… I’m sorry, brother. ».

Distracted by the sudden agitation at the corner of your eyes. You noticed that the blond hair guy was holding both his hands above your friend. Confused, you looked at them, not answering on the phone anymore. Suddenly, Felix slammed his fists on his brother’s chest.

The last things Minho could remember was your scream, you pushing Felix as his tears were falling on Minho’s face like a warm summer rain, his energy swirling in a thundery way around him, and the blinding light of the arrow painfully entering his rib cage. He wasn’t regretting his decision. He hoped his brother wouldn’t blame himself. As he said, Minho had did this to himself and, for as long as he could remember, he had never felt so alive. He was happy that he had been able to meet you, love you, share his feelings with you. It costed him his life, yet, he knew that it wouldn’t have been the same if you weren’t part of it. Fortunately, you would forget everything about this thanks to Felix. It would be like a blurry nightmare, nothing more, even if he secretly hoped a part of you would never forget about him. With some sort of contentment, he drowned into darkness.

Darkness. Sounds scary at first but felt familiar to Minho. After all, he had been wandering in their meanders for a long time before becoming a god of love. It felt cosy, like a nest. He didn’t have to think about anything, just let himself sail around. However, that peace wouldn’t last eternally. Slowly, a reddish light appeared, troubling his comatose state, pulling him out of this world.

Bip. Bip. Bip. His eyelids were trembling as he tried to come to his senses. Opening his eyes, he noticed where the sound was coming from. A cardiac monitor was near, perfusions were attached to his wrist. Was he at the hospital ? How was it possible ? And what was that muffled noise ? Scanning his surrounding, he saw him. Felix. His face lighting up as his brother was awaking. He could tell that he was definitely fighting the urge to hold him, scared to hurt him.

« Minho! I… I can’t believe you did it… » he sputtered.

The brown haired boy was confused. « W-why am I here ? » he asked with a hoarse voice. Surprised by it, he brought his hand to his throat. Felix’s face lost his brightness as he started to explain what happened. When the ancient gods sent his brother to bring him back to reason, they also knew that, once every thousand years, a love god could fall for someone. In the manuscripts, few were the ones who survived, most of them loosing their powers before they could do anything except one case. The love god realizing the situation they were in, they decided to shoot the arrow toward themselves, the weapon absorbing all the power but not their soul.

« This is why they told me to do this. They didn’t explain why until I came back… The arrow saved you however… » Felix seemed to hesitate.

« What ? » Minho breathed out.

« You’re a mortal now. »

The blond haired man seemed sorry, it was some sort of punishment for going against fate. Minho wasn’t. He had a second chance to meet you.

« Y/N. How is she ? Does she and Thomas…» he expectantly asked, hope lacing his voice as he tried to sit up properly, in vain, his muscles still weak. Felix softly smiled at his brother. « She’s doing great. And, no, they’re not bonded… ». A sigh of relief escaped Minho’s mouth. « She doesn’t remember me, right ? » he asked, sappy. The angel shook his head. Of course. He had erased her memories with the brown haired boy. Seeing the sadness creeping up Minho’s face, Felix started to rummage into the bag he had across his chest. Finding what he was looking for, he handed them to Minho.

« Here. Welcome to your new life. »

Papers. Lee Minho. Twenty five years old. Born in South Korea. He looked at the angel, baffled. Was it real ?

« Oh! And you’re starting your final year of university this autumn. You better be ready. » Felix added.

« Excuse me ? » Minho groaned.

Several months later.

The crisp morning air was filled with the buzz of anticipation as students hurriedly made their way to their respective classrooms. You rushed through the throng of students, not wanting to be late for your first day. You glanced at your schedule, confirming the room number for your first class of the semester.

As you approached the corridor where your class was to be held, you noticed a figure leaning casually against the wall, engrossed in a book. His rugged charm caught your eye, and you couldn't help but steal a few glances as you neared him. His deep concentration on the book intrigued you. You have never seen him taking this class before. Was he a new student ?

With a hesitant smile, you cleared your throat softly, catching the attention of the young man. He looked up, his gaze meeting yours, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Hi, sorry to bother you," you began, your voice soft and friendly. « Do you know if this is where the Literature class is supposed to meet? »

The young man's eyes twinkled with amusement as he closed his book, revealing a cover adorned with intricate designs in a language you didn’t know. "Yes, it is. I'm actually headed there myself," he replied, his voice warm and inviting.

Relief washed over you as you returned his smile. "Great, thank you. I'm Y/N, by the way," you introduced yourself, extending your hand.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Minho," he replied, accepting your handshake with a gentle grip.

Your brief introduction was interrupted by the sound of the classroom door opening nearby, signaling the start of the class. You looked at your watch, realizing you were running out of time.

"Well, it looks like we better head in," you said with a nod towards the open door.

Minho agreed, falling into step beside you as you made your way into the classroom together. As you found seats near each other, you couldn't shake the feeling of serendipity that hung in the air. You didn’t know him, yet, you felt a deep connection and a sensation of deja-vu.

As the professor began the lesson, you stole another glance at Minho, captivated by his features and feeling grateful for the unexpected connection fate had brought you that morning.

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ceruleancattail · 10 months

Note

Hello! I saw your requests were open and got hype! May I please request butler Sebek, Ruggie, and Rook with an injured master? Can be from anything you like! Thank you and I hope your day/night is going super!

Butler Sebek, Ruggie and Rook with an injured master

Sebek x reader, Ruggie x reader, Rook x reader

Sebek

Pain shot up your leg. Your wound screamed, as if the raw skin was being set ablaze. Even the softest cloth could do little to ease your discomfort.

Every little strand of cloth seemed to jab into your skin, stinging your flesh anew.

Biting into your lower lip, you winced as Sebek pressed a cloth into your knee. Part of his butler’s uniform, ripped out hastily. He holds it over your wound, pressing into it firmly.

To stem the bleeding, most likely. His fingers were stained. A ghastly crimson, seeping into the white of his fingernails. Sweat clings onto his brow, translucent pearls sparkling in the golden sunlight.

Slowly, you reach for his face. Gently running your fingers across his forehead, wiping off the sweat to the best of your abilities. Sebek blinks sharply, before his eyes met yours.

“Master. With all due respect, have you no self preservation?”

He barks, frowning in disapproval. Despite his sternness , there was a wavering undertone. Worry for your well-being.

His hands move around your leg, clumsily lopping the cloth around your wound. A makeshift bandage, tied tightly around your knee. The jagged edge of the cloth was tugged into a bow. Awkwardly tied, with one loop much more bigger then the other.

It flaps weakly, patting the side of your leg. A oddly comforting sensation. Much like a hand gently stroking your skin, comforting you. Despite the pain, a small smile slides across your lips.

Cupping Sebek’s cheek, you squeeze it affectionately.

“I’m lucky to have you then, my knight.”

A light pink patch spreads across his cheeks, the very tips of his ears a scarlet red. He shakes his head slowly, before his arms slide under your body. Heaving you up, cradling you close to his chest.

Close enough for you to feel every beat of his heart.

“Honestly… what would you do without me, Master?”

Ruggie

Clicks of his tongue ring sharp and true. They echo through the air, sounds of disproval. It’s strangely reminiscent of an old village lady, tutting away at the young scamps running rampant.

Biting into your lower lips, you do your best to stifle your laugh. Ruggie stands before you, arms akimbo. He notices your little laugh, before raising an eyebrow pointedly at you.

“Master. What have I said about the chores?”

“Leave them to you?”

“Exactly.”

He claps, gesturing wildly at your hands.

A shallow cut, blood slipping down your arms, dripping into the chopping board. Tiny blossoms of ghastly flowers bloom in the grains, crimson petals spreading through the wood.

He plucks the knife out of your hands, dragging you towards the sink. Flicking the tap open, you can’t help but wince as water surges through it, cleaning your wound. His fingers loosen his grip, thumb rubbing small, confronting circles into your skin.

Warm.

His touch was warm, the balmy heat of the summer’s sun. You couldn’t help but relax. The tension flows out of your shoulders. Ruggie clicks his tongue again, more amused then annoyed now.

“Master. It wouldn’t hurt to trust me a bit more, yeah?”

Fingers deftly wrapping your finger, yanking a bandage into place. He wraps your wound up rather neatly, bandage pulled tight around your finger.

After he ties the final knot, his head dips. Pressing his lips onto the bandage, a featherlight kiss. The warmth of his lips is fleeting at best, yet it still sent butterflies fluttering deep in your gut.

Ruggie shoots you a sheepish grin, before pulling away.

“Don’t get injured anymore, ya hear me?”

Rook

Your heels ached. The pain gnawing through your ankles, sinking its dastardly fangs into bone. Stumbling towards the closest wall, you cling onto it for dear life.

Fingers slide into both your shoes in turn. Peeling the infernal devices of torture off your feet. Sparing a glance at your ankles, you squirm at the scarlet spreading far and wide.

You shouldn’t have worn these shoes today.

Hands grip your shoulders, carefully easing you back. A sigh, before arms wrap around your body, heaving you upwards. Rook has you in his arms, emerald eyes searching your face in concern.

“Ah… Master. Why must you torment yourself so? There are other forms of respectable footwear that would never pain you.”

Your arms loop around Rook’s neck, clinging onto him. Rook notices, before he shifts you carefully. Adjusting your body so you curl snuggly against his chest, your shoulder pressed up to his heart.

A steady beat that flows like an lullaby, soothing your pain, even just a little. Some of the tension leaves your shoulders, and you find yourself leaning into Rook. Practically melting into him, at this point.

Briskly making his way through the hallways, Rook sets you down on a bench. You sink into its plush. Soft… although Rook’s skin had brought you much more comfort.

A tap on your lips. Blinking rapidly, you glance up. Rook’s lips slip into a small smile, before his head dips closer to your face. A light kiss, pressed into your cheek.

“I hope this helps alleviate some of the pain, My Master.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigbolt x reader #sebek #sebek zigbolt #Ruggie bucchi #Ruggie x reader #Ruggie #Ruggie bucchi x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook #butler au #lucky potion 🔷

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iliveiloveiwrite · 1 year

Text

Healing Hands // Nikolai Lantsov

Request: Hi Millie! S&B s2 left me with severe Nikolai brainrot 🫠 I love my pirate prince so, if it's okay, I'd love to request a Nikolai x healer!reader 💙 I am a sucker for the patching up trope so that would be amazing. Thanks in advance! ☺️ And happy belated birthday! 🎉

A/N: First time writing for Nikolai so pls be gentle! I’m still getting to grips with his character and I haven’t read King of Scars yet so I only know of the show Nikolai and the trilogy Nikolai. Anyway! Thank you so much for your request, I hope you like, lovely!

Warnings: injuries, mentions of blood, nausea, dizziness. Pining, mutual pining. Mentions of a duel, stabbing. Pain. This is fluff, I promise.

Word Count: 1.4k

Were the grounds to the palace truly that uneven, or was he losing more blood than he initially realised?

Nikolai pondered this as he took a steadying breath against the wave of nausea that washed over him when he placed his left foot on the step first rather than using his right foot to power through. A silly mistake, the prince thinks, but a mistake nonetheless when black spots dance across his vision.

He slumps against a marble column, resting his forehead against its coolness. He could tolerate pain, could stand the sight of blood and deal with the accompanying adrenaline. What Nikolai found hard to cope with, was that he let his elder brother get the best of him.

It was this thought that spurred him on. The anger at being bested by Vasilly that kept him putting one foot in front of the other even though his left leg protested with every single step.

——————

The Healing Room was rather basic in its layout. A row of six beds placed against the back wall; each bed positioned under a window for air ventilation. Across to the furthest side of the room, shackled to the wall, was an apothecary cabinet filled to the brim with plants and herbs that could aid in healing. Most Grisha didn’t have much use for traditional medicine, but the palace hired its fair share of non-grisha too.

To the left of the room, there sat a desk. It wasn’t overly large; big enough for two just about. It was at this desk that he finds you; your face buried in a book, a streaming drink to your side and a pile of unfinished paperwork sprawled across the rest of the desk. If it wasn’t for the blood dripping onto the floor, making him dizzier, Nikolai could stand there and watch you all day.

Nikolai slumps into the door; the dark wood banging against the sage green walls, alerting you to his presence.

“Your Majesty!” You gasp, rushing to your feet, knocking into your desk and spilling ink over the pages of your new book. You barely give it more than a second thought; hurrying to Nikolai’s side. “What happened?”

Nikolai remains silent as you aid him across the small room to the uncomfortable bench where you healed the more dramatic of injuries. Nikolai tries his best not to wince as he settles down onto the hard wood, feeling every bump and scratch laid into the wood. The ceiling lights only further his nausea so he focuses his gaze on you. His eyes follow your every move; bustling from draw to cupboard, pulling out anything you could need before healing his wound with your powers.

A small, pained smile adorns his lips as you draw your stool next to him. Instinctively, you brush his hair back from his forehead. Nikolai leans into your touch; relishing in your gentleness, wishing it could be the first he felt when he came to consciousness in the morning.

“What happened, Nikolai?” You question, turning your focus to the tear in his trousers. A two inch gash stretches across the front of his left thigh; blood runs freely down his leg. The flow seems to have slowed some, but he’d already lost too much for your liking.

Nikolai lazily waves a hand in the air, putting on airs and graces. “It’s nothing. A simple scratch that needs treating.”

You shoot the prince an unimpressed look. “When you want to tell me the truth, Niko, I’m ready and waiting.”

Nikolai groaned, hating the use of your childhood nickname for him. You so rarely used it now; the nickname, like his childhood, a bittersweet memory. “You’re not playing fair,” He complains, throwing an arm across his face.

You snort, shaking your head fondly at the prince. “I never claimed to play fair. I have to know what happened in case I need to treat an infection before closing the wound.”

Nikolai sighs, knowing he had been bested for a second time that day. “Vasilly…” Nikolai begins, quashing the sudden rise of anger as he thinks back to the events of barely an hour ago.

“What did your brother do?”

“It wasn’t what he did. Am I upset he stabbed me? Yes, but I let myself get distracted and lose the upper hand.”

“How?”

“He said something he knew would get a rise out of me and I took the bait.”

“You know better than that,” You chasten, running your hands through his hair again.

He sighs. “I know but I can’t change what’s happened.” Nikolai feels his anger surge once more, “He was spouting nonsense about Grisha and their talents, stating what he would do when he was king. He made a nasty comment about you, and that’s when I lost my temper.”

“I can fight my own battles, Nikolai.”

Nikolai grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You weren’t there to fight this battle. Vasilly knew what he was doing, and I knew too.”

“Then why did you respond?”

“I always will when it comes to you. I won’t stand for anyone badmouthing you even if they are their heir to the kingdom.”

You pull away from his grasp. Shaking your head, ridding yourself of the thoughts rushing through them, you bring your hands up to the all too familiar position.

“Ready?”

The prince grins. “Ready.”

Your hands move in their familiar patterns; the movements so second nature to you that you do not give it a second thought as you watch the gash on Nikolai’s thigh close, leaving nothing behind but a faint, light pink scar. You fix the prince with a stern stare, “I may have healed you but I need you to take it easy for the rest of the day. No duelling your brother, no swords, no guns. Do you understand?”

Nikolai pulls himself up, swinging his legs off the bench as he salutes you with a cheerful grin on his face. The colour has returned to his cheeks and the usual mischievous gleam has returned to his eyes.

Your feel your heart begin to race at the sight, knowing that any Heartrender in a sixty mile radius could most likely hear it’s pounding. “You scared me out of my wits, Niko,” You confess, taking a seat on the wooden bench next to the prince, resting your head on his shoulder.

Nikolai rests his head on yours; taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry,” He murmurs, meaning it.

“It seems I’m always patching you up when you’re here,” You admonish before your tone turns softer. “Or when you return from your travels, you seem to have new scars.”

“My healers aren’t as adept as you, darling,” Nikolai compliments; his tone flirtatious as he brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a quick and gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

You hide your face in his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t feel the heat from the flush of your skin. “Don’t tell me that or I’ll be stowing away on your ship next time.”

Nikolai stiffens as the idea comes to him. “That’s perfect!” He exclaims, jumping off the bench, dropping your hand in favour of cradling your face with both of his.

“What do you mean?” You wonder, confused to his reaction but not wanting him to move a single inch. His hands on your face feels like the closest you could get to knowing what the touch of a saint is.

Nikolai keeps your gaze steady. “Come away with me,” He all but begs. “I leave soon and I don’t know when I’ll be back again. Come away with me.”

Your hands cover his. Nikolai’s thumb brush your cheekbones; his eyes shine with sheer happiness as his mind races with thought after thought of what it would be like to have you on his ship, to have you so close.

“I need you to promise me something if I’m to do this,” You warn, arching an eyebrow at the blonde.

“Anything,” He responds immediately, desperately wanting you to say yes to leaving with him, to say yes to a future with him.

“You have to promise to only let me heal you,” You state, dropping a hand in favour for poking him in the ribs. “And only me.”

Nikolai laughs; the sound ringing loud and true through the healing room. As he draws you in for an embrace, he knows that that would be a promise he could certainly keep.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #prince nikolai #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone fanfiction #nikolai Lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fluff #nikolai Lantsov imagines #fluff #shadow and bone #s&b fanfiction

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captain039 · 8 months

Text

Lord and lady

Vampire lord Astarion x spawn!reader

Warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, gore, vampire things, eventual smut, swearing, hurt/comfort, sexual

Still haven’t played Baldurs gate three, I’m thriving on YouTube and tiktok videos without trying to spoil the whole thing xD also Gale? A precious baby but also out of body love making xD 😭

Hopefully I can really make red flags and evil Astarion (HAH)

(CHANGED TITLE)

You weren’t even sure why or when it happened, all you remember is cold throbbing and your world disappearing before you awoke. You were wrong though, changed, the sounds of the forest were horrible and loud, the sun felt like a fire burning you and you were so hungry. You’d gone home on instinct mind a craze for something you never thought you’d need, blood. You’d slaughtered your parents and drunk them dry, their blood flowed through your system and you finally came to reality. You’d been in shock horror, you had wailed out into the wooden house, trashed the place before going into a numbness and burying them. You ran from the village, took few things, you wanted to die out in the wilderness, only your hunger forced you to survive. You lived off rabbits, deer, whatever was unfortunate enough to cross your crazed being. Your clothes were ruined and you felt like a hermit, your hair was matted horribly and you looked like a skeleton. It’d been a hot day and you hid in a cave panting at thirst and the warmth, you felt like a rabid dog almost. You had no idea where you were, your backpack you once had was lost to the woods and your shoes and clothes were ruined. You jolted awake, senses on edge and alerted as you felt something close. Your hunger raged and you attacked whatever it was, praying for just a deer, problem was, it spoke. You bit down on its neck, power flooded your veins and your eyes went wide and you stumbled off whoever it was. You shuffled back before getting off the ground and ready to run.

“Stop!” You froze at the word and every single hair on your body stood up.

“Who are you?” He asked and you wondered why on earth he was talking to you.

“Nothing, monster! no one” your voice wasn’t yours almost, it felt wrong, hoarse. Your eyes twitched over the woods wanting to run, you heard critters in the night making you jolt and flinch.

“What’s your name, darling?” He said voice smooth as honey.

“Nothing” you shook your head flinching when he stepped closer, why hadn’t you run?

“Who on earth did this to you?” He said more asking himself as he circled you. Your mind flashed between brown hair, red eyes, strong body and sharp cold fangs.

“A master shouldn’t leave its spawn, the spawn should leave its master” he said huffing and you frowned.

You finally found the will to move your body and sprinted through the woods, you were too quick for yourself practically smacked into every tree before you fell to the ground in agony. You hadn’t been able to cry in a long time, you just laid in the bottom of the forest floor, listening to footsteps getting closed.

“I’ll help you” you heard as someone lifted you and your world went black.

You awoke with a jolt rolling off the overly comfortable surface, you hit the cold floor with a groan. Your mind eyes opened and you stared at the grey floor, where were you? The smells and sounds weren’t familiar.

“Darling?” You heard confused and turned snarling at them. The man from the forest stood there a silk black cape behind him, his chest on display from the extremely low v-neck he work, tight leather top with pants lined with red, black lace up boots, a black jewelled head piece around his forehead, disappearing into his white curls. He approached slowly and you quickly scrambled away and hit the back of the wall, your chest heaved and you couldn’t focus properly.

“Love, you need to calm down” he said and you groaned loudly. A burst of magic left you, knocking the vampire to the ground, a groan leaving his lips.

“Sire?” You heard come from the door.

“Don’t!” The vampire growled, but you had already got up and to run out the door. You knocked over who was at the door, you got lost in the big black castle, the occasional person looking at you confused. You were knocked to the ground though a body covering yours and fangs latching on your neck. You whimpered body going limp at the growl that filled your ears. You knew it was the vampire from the forest, he didn’t drink your blood though, he simply held you there like a wolfs jaw around a rabbits neck.

“Are you done?” He let go and whispered and you nodded hesitantly. You noticed others around you and closed your eyes hoping they’d disappear.

“Leave!” He snarled and hurried footsteps left. He hesitated but slowly lifted his body off yours. You lay limply though opening your eyes again.

“Up” he ordered and your body listened. You stood on shaky legs not looking to him, holding a hand over your neck feeling your blood before the wound healed quickly. You wiped your hands on your pants and tensed as the vampire moved behind you. You avoided looking at him as he stood in front of you.

“Tell me your name” he ordered and you hesitated.

“Y/n” you muttered the name foreign almost. He muttered your name and your body shuddered.

“Why’re you out in the forest living like an animal?” He asked.

“I’m a monster” you said fangs aching at the thought.

“You’re not a monster, you just haven’t been taught” you looked up as he said those words eyes wide.

“I know all vampires around here, who turned you?” He asked and you began to shake.

“I don’t know!” You cried as boots came into your view and a hand held your neck gently. You gasped looking to the vampire, his Ruby eyes stern.

“Open your mind to me” he whispered and you frowned, you didn’t know magic.

“I don’t know how to, I don’t know magic” you said shakily.

“You have it in you” he said as his thumb moved to your bottom lip. Your whole body lit up seeing his eyes intently looking at your lips. He frowned shaking his head slightly and letting your neck go, confusion in his eyes.

“Sire” you heard the voice from before and turned to the person. Another vampire stood there, a young woman, well she looked young.

“What is it?” He asked to the woman.

“There’s an issue requiring your attention” she pressed glancing to you briefly.

“I have issues already, deal with yourself” he snapped and she huffed.

“Syla” he warned and she gave a cold face before turning to leave.

“For a spawn she is defiant” the vampire behind you tsked, how many of them were here?

“How about a bath?” He said suddenly and you frowned at him.

“Kano!” He yelled and you flinched. A dwarf appeared, a human, a pissed look on his face.

“What you want?” He huffed.

“Please take our guest to the bathroom, get some of the ladies to help her” the vampire said.

“Apparently I’m needed” he sighed walking past you and the dwarf, disappearing down the hall.

“Who are you?” The drawf asked and you gulped.

“Y/n” you said.

“Kano” he introduced beginning to walk away.

“Come on then!” He called and you followed. You were confused from the halls and door before you reached a bathroom.

“Molly” Kano called and a black haired woman looked your way, a white dress on her body.

“Oh” she said surprised at you.

“What happened?” She asked looking to the dwarf.

“Our lord found her” he shrugged and she sighed shaking her head.

“Come let’s get you cleaned up” she smiled softly and you frowned, glancing at the dwarf as he left. She beckoned you over before running the bath.

Next part ->

#Astarion #Astarion x reader #x reader #vampires #vampire reader #vampire lord Astarion

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saddestsquid · 8 days

Text

First Miguel fic + 250+ follower special ୨୧

I’d like to start off by saying THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS !! And 2000+ notes?!? omg. I checked my inbox a few times and saw 99+ notifs every time, and when I tell you I SCREAMED. As a new writer I can’t thank you enough for all the notes and sweet comments ! I’m so grateful, so take this fic as a thank you <33

Warnings: Miguel is hinted to have slept with socks on which….is a trigger on its own apparently 😥, potentially botched ass Spanish……(no Google translate was used tho, my French teacher taught me better than that), p in v, making out, grinding, slight blood, reader has no chill nor filter but Miguels lowkey into it, degradation, bondage, banter, oral, praise, etc.

a/n: Takes place before the whole Miles incident !! I love Miguel but I can’t forgive him for doing that to my son 🤨🤨 This could also be imagined as König, since they’re both huge stubborn men <33

Pairing: Female reader x Miguel O’Hara

Summary: Miguel is pent up and needs a release. Lucky for him, there’s a certain spider woman who’d do anything for him <3

Words: 4141 (DAMN I shocked myself w this)

. . .

Miguel runs his hand through his hair, grumbling when he feels it’s getting to a length that needs cutting again. Just another thing to add to his pile of responsibilities.

He pushes the fumbled blanket off to the side and lazily palms at his morning wood, finding the ministrations do little to help his raging hard-on. He’s shocked, mainly that he could still get one with how tense he’s been lately, but mostly that he’s actually annoyed that he has to jerk off. It feels like a chore to him now…though taking care of himself in any sense has since he became Spider-Man.

With a sleepy groan he drags himself up and to the bathroom. His mismatched socks are soft against the cool bathroom tiles where he turns on the shower. His muscles stretch when he tugs his white sweater over his head and tosses it onto the ground nearby, abs tensing and shoulders refusing to relax no matter how much stretching he did.

When the rest of his clothing join the heap on the floor he steps into the freezing cold shower, twitching at the icy droplets that felt like tiny icicles poking into his taut skin.

He hoped the temperature would make the nuisance go down, but it raged on, standing proud at its full height. Miguel never thought he’d find himself glaring at his own dick, but here he was, horny and heavily pissed off.

He reached down and tugged at his cock, rubbing his thumb over the angry red tip. He jerked profusely, yet all it did was leave him feeling unsatisfied and humiliated.

“Fuck.” He cursed, washing his hand off before aggressively turning the knob to stop the flowing water. He tried to remember what he had to do today while pacing the bathroom, but he couldn’t focus with his erection clouding his thoughts. Maybe if the blood would stay in his head…

He was an attractive guy, he knew that much. It would be easy to go out into the town and hook up with some stranger, but not so much so when he was in this constant sour mood. That sullen energy & resting bitch face paired with his looming height would scare any woman away.

Any sane woman.

You tied up the last of the criminals in your silky webs, smiling in victory. Unfortunately, the joy wasn’t long-lasting since as soon as you got home you felt boredom creeping up on you once again.

For weeks you’d been entertained by the intimidating founder of the spider society; Miguel O’Hara.You’d been bugging him for days on end, literally drooling at his feet and begging him to come back to your place.

He kicked you out multiple times, but like a cockroach you couldn’t be squashed—and neither could your need for him. You just couldn’t take a hint apparently. When he picked you up by the back of your suit and threw you back into your universe, all you focused on was how easily he carried you with just one of his big, veiny hands.

The way that suit hugged his defined chest so well, and his massive arms where you could see every vein…plus that prominent bulge? You were sunk.

He’d finally run out of patience for you when you ‘accidentally’ messed with the tech for his suit, almost making him go full commando in front of everyone in the spider society.(wouldn’t be the last time that happened…) He banned you for good, taking away your ‘multiversal gizmo’ without a second thought.

Your last words being ‘worth it!’ as you were flung back into your universe by the go-home-machine seemed like the icing on the cake to him despising you forever, but apparently that wasn’t the case because the man himself just appeared in your living room.

“Y/N.” He addressed nonchalantly.

You stared at him, jaw agape for a few moments before pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. You had to be, he basically filed a restraining order against you. A really complicated, multiversal restraining order. Why would he ever voluntarily come to you?

You couldn’t even respond since your throat felt so dry .. . It seemed your body had other ideas of where to soak.

“Why are you so obbsesed with me?” He suddenly asked, paying no mind to your awkward silence.

“uhm-“

“I mean, you chased me around every day, eyed me down so intensively it was basically public sex and yet here you are, alone with me like you wanted, and now you’re speechless?” He stalked around your living room, circling you like a bird of prey.

You blushed up a storm and stood frozen in front of him, trying to discretely rub your thighs together.

He eyed you down, noticing your obvious ministrations but only chuckling. “Sometimes I had wished you were an actual spider so I could crush you under the soles of my shoes, but lately I’ve found myself feeling as horny and desperate as you.” He admitted with a smirk that revealed his sharpened fangs.

That confession had your mind reeling to the point all you could muster up was; “I would’ve let you step on me regardless.”

His smirk grew and he started to approach you until his shadow covered you completely. You had to tilt your whole head up to look him in his glowing red eyes now—but you couldn’t handle making the eye contact anyway.

“You are just a small little thing, yet I didn’t expect you to be all bark no bite. All those filthy things you said lingered in my mind..don’t you want to take care of what you started?” He asked in a deliciously low voice. The almost mocking manner he said it in made you feel called out, and you looked down at your hands and picked at your nails to try and calm yourself.

A clawed finger tilted your head up by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. How could you forget—in all your time spent basically stalking him you noticed how he never broke eye contact with anyone that he was speaking to. It was both exhilarating and intimidating to see, and you felt that full force while finally being on the receiving end of it. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, arañita.” He ordered, and it sent tingles shooting up your spine.

You swore you heard your neck crack from how fast you looked up at him. He looked predatory staring down at you like that, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “So? Will you finish what you started muñeca?” He asked, as if it was even a question to you.

“Fuck yes.” You agreed without missing a beat, making him chuckle darkly. “Needy thing.”

Before your mind could catch up you were suddenly being lifted by him and thrown on his shoulder with ease. He walked through the halls of your cozy apartment and waltzed into your bedroom without even searching for it, carelessly throwing you onto the bed.

You landed with a bounce on the soft comforter, feeling even smaller now with him standing above you. “Wha- how do you know where my bedroom is?” You asked when your brain finally decided to have a rational thought.

“I’ve done my research—wanted to make sure you weren’t a spy. It was a waste of time, really, you’re just a horny stalker.” He shrugged.

You stared at him with an offended expression (tho it was 100% true) and went to argue until your lips were suddenly sealed by sticky red webs.

“On your back.” He ordered.

You crossed your arms at him first until he repeated the command in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.” Any defiance you had pretended to have quickly left your body and you laid down flat on the silk sheets.

He stalked over to you, all big and menacing as always. He leaned over you and forced your wrists together, twirling more glowing silk around them until they were bound above your head.

He smirked down at you, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your neck. He sucked dark hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your throat, enjoying your muffled moans. While before he found your voice excruciating—he was now desperate to hear it crying out his name.

He stripped the webs off your mouth and you whined at the pain. The feeling resembled a bandaid being ripped off a fresh cut. He cooed pitifully above you and leaned in, whispering “Pobre araña, why don’t I kiss it better?”

You nodded desperately until his lips met yours with a slight sting. He growled into your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth until you were squirming. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sharp canines threatening to break the skin. He pushed his muscled thigh between your legs and pressed down on your clit with his knee, the pressure making you moan under him. Your sweet sounds drove him wild, and he couldn’t help but bite down lightly on your lip until tiny droplets of blood dripped onto his tongue.

He groaned at the taste, his animalistic split-DNA going wild. When he pulled back—lips reddened, hair tussled and fallen slightly in front of his face— you couldn’t help but stare. His face looked so much more chiseled up close, cheekbones perfectly defined and a jawline sharper than the claws currently resting on your hips.

His toned chest rose up and down steadily while he regained his breath, the familiar spider symbol on his suit growing bigger then smaller with each rise of his lungs like it was breathing.

“Let’s take care of these, Cariño.” He addressed your clothing as if it were nothing but a nuisance for him before slicing your shirt right off you. He did this with ease, big claws moving onto your bottoms and clawing those off as well.

“Hey! Those were nice.” You pouted, though apparently he didn’t appreciate that comment because you were now being tied up even worse than before. Webs spewed from his wrist and circled your body like serpents, tying around your waist, arms, and thighs. “Don’t be a brat.” He ordered, webs tightening in warning. Once satisfied, he admired the way they looked pulled taut against your soft skin. “Red looks lovely on you, amor.” He praised, a quick switch from his previous comment.

He lifted you and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with one hand. He threw it onto the ground somewhere with your torn up clothes, focusing his attention on your soft tits.

He hummed in content, playing with your nipples and letting his webs circle around the soft flesh of your breasts. He licked and sucked at one while tugging on the other, making you moan and squirm under him.

“Fuck Miguel- ah! more!” You whined desperately, coaxing a chuckle out of the behemoth.

“Such a desperate slut.” He tutted, sucking marks all over your chest to match your throat. He kissed over the already forming hickeys, grazing his teeth dangerously close to your jugular. This man was massive, and made of pure muscle like a Greek god. He could easily hold you down without the help of his webs, but he wanted to focus full attention on you.

He finally moved down to where you needed him most, going to rip your panties straight off you before you rudely slammed your thighs shut. “You take off your suit first….” You whined, embarrassed at being nearly completely nude before him while he was still covered. He was genuinely offended by this, feeling like he’d just had a door slammed on his face, yet he grumbled and messed around with his watch until the hologram started to dissipate.

Your jaw dropped wider and wider the more you took him in. The man resembled a skillfully carved statue belonging to Olympus itself. His biceps and abs were enough to challenge even Ares himself. Your eyes trailed lower and lower, leisurely mapping him out until your eyes locked on the weapon between his legs.

His dick stood loud and proud against his toned stomach, and it was massive. The man is 6,9, you knew he’d be big, but this thing was around 9 inches and looked like it could rip you in half. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it even if you tried—I mean—the thing was basically introducing itself to you. We’re talking hello, how are you and goodbye.

Miguel basked in your ogling, his ego swelling more than it already had since he first noticed your obsession with him.

You finally snapped out of your trance when he bent down and slipped off your soaked panties, kissing up your leg as he did so. You spread both your legs for him and he took that as an invitation to lean in and lick a stripe up your wet cunt. You jumped, not expecting him to get into it so quickly, but you definitely didn’t complain.

He prodded a finger at your hole and pushed it in slowly, holding your hips down with his free hand. He made sure to be mindful of the claws adorning his fingertips since they wouldn’t go back down thanks to his clouded mind. The thick digit went in without much resistance thanks to how wet you were, until he pushed in a second and started scissoring them.

You moaned and whimpered at the stretch, two of his thick fingers the size of nearly four of yours. He pumped them in and out quickly, the slick sounds your pretty hole made for him music to his ears. Your slick dripped down his ring and middle fingers that he was ruthlessly pumping inside you and dribbled down his veiny forearm.

He massaged your walls and pushed against them, scissoring his fingers to stretch you as much as possible. He couldn’t hit your g-spot thanks to his clawed fingertips, so he sucked at your clit to fill that extra stimulation until your head was rolling back.

Something circled your waist and you figured it was his arm until you looked back down to see more webs. You would wriggle far too much without them, and he needed his other hand to spread your folds to drag a mix of his salvia and your slick around your twitching clit. You mewled at the overwhelming stimulation, bucking onto his face while he had a full on make out sesh with your pussy.

Only when he finally sunk four fingers into you and you were basically on the brink of tears with need did he pull away. Not without blowing on your sensitive clit, of course, just to see you twitch and squirm under the unrelenting grasp of his webs.

He stood up with a playful smile, freeing you from some of the webs just to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your ass met his pelvis with a slap when he yanked you by the ankle that quickly locked around his waist. He chuckled out something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, maybe along the lines of “Qué bonita putita…”. You didn’t bother to question it when he started to grind his rock hard dick on your drooling pussy, getting him all nice and wet to push into you.

Only when he was coated completely in your essence did he listen to your pleas and finally line his fat tip up at your hole. Even with the all the stretching, your poor cunt had to stretch to accommodate the swollen red tip. His pre-cum mixed with your juices when it finally popped in after some resistance, and he groaned at the warm feeling.

“So fucking tight, your poor pussy can’t take it, hm? You were so confident when you were begging for it like a desperate whore.” He growled, degradation making you clench Impossibly tighter around his head until he had to bite back a groan.

“Please Mig, I can take it.” You begged, rutting your hips onto him and trying to coax him deeper until he swiftly grabbed your waist. His claws dug into your skin, threatening to break through. He pulled back and you immediately assumed he was going to tease you again for being desperate.

Straight away you whined out apologies, stumbling over your words and pleas until he suddenly slammed back inside you, cramming 5 of his solid inches into your hole. You screamed, tears brimming on your waterline at the stretch. Your back arched off the bed and you squirmed away from the sting until he pulled back and rutted back in again, almost as if testing the waters.

With every drag of his hips his cock slowly got deeper into you until he was bottomed out completely. His tip kissed against your cervix and you looked down, amazed and horrified to see him crammed inside you so snugly. He gave you a moment to compose yourself—preoccupied on the bulge in your lower stomach.

“My good girl, fitting around me so perfectly. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He teased, dick twitching at the fucked out moan you gave in response.

It definitely was hard, yet his dick was harder. You could feel every single vein and ridge pressing into you, rubbing against your gummy walls in a way that left you drooling. You suddenly understood why he’d prepped you for so long. It wasn’t just to tease you, this just was not an easy thing to take.

“Move,” you pleaded, correcting youself when he raised an eyebrow, “please.”

He hummed, palming at the fat of your hips to see the way your skin sunk under his touch. “I don’t know Cariño…do you really deserve this dick?”

You gave him your best “are you for real?” face. This man was not about to make you beg when he was the one to randomly show up in your home. You’d been begging on your knees for him for months, and now he chooses to acknowledge it?

You made it your personal mission to go against everything he’s ever ordered from you, and the grind never does stop, does it?

“Like you deserve to kiss my ass?” You jest without hesitation.

You can see the way his whole face stretches; clearly dumbfounded at your response before he’s able to compose himself. With your cunt wrapped around him so tight and warm like that, it’s easy to forget the pretty spider underneath him is a little rascal.

“You were just whining a second ago, don’t try that,” He warned. “You’ve been begging for it for months, practically humping my leg in front of the entire Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Universe.”

You groaned at his insistence on calling it that, even while balls deep inside you. “I didn’t sign up to fuck a geek,” you mutter.

“With the way you approached me I’m sure you’d fuck just about anyone, puta.”

You wanted to be insulted, but your words caught in your throat when he leaned close to you to whisper right into your ear; “Quit acting like you had any dignity in the first place and beg.”

His warm breath on your nape left you shivering. Miguel wasn’t human—not completely. With DNA mixed with a spiders, he was a predator; one ready to devour you whole.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone really when you gradually let quiet pleas spill from your mouth. Miguel had half the mind to make you speak up, but he was loosing his thin amount of patience as is. With a satisfied click of his tongue, he pulled back until his flushed head was right at your entrance “see, was that so hard?”

You knew better than to try and answer at this point when he rammed his cock back into you. Huge hands gripped your thighs and pushed your legs into your chest while he bullied his dick further and further into your cunt.

Your pussy was embarrassingly loud for him, squelching with each brutal thrust of his hips. His muscled thighs were tense with the pure strength he put into slamming into you—beating your sensitive pussy in until it memorized his shape for life.

“Mig- ah! Holyfuck!” You screamed, draping your arms over his shoulders and scratching at his back like a cat post.

“Go on princesa, mark me up.” He encouraged and got a better grip on your thighs, pushing your legs out to a full spread. He had you displayed like a dinner feast and bent you like a lawn chair with your lower half on his toned chest. He was actually impressed at your flexibility, yet like always he chose the worst way to phrase it.

“I’m shocked, I never expected you to do any real training.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not?” He gloated with such a shit-eating expression that you just had to wipe off his face. He sunk deeper into you when you pulled him in for a kiss and it had you clenching around him.

His thrusts got more erratic until your mind was clouded with only the sounds of his dick disappearing into your cunt. His hands were dragging you back onto him by the hips at the same time, so you could feel him bumping against your cervix with each thrust.

You were too fucked out to say anything other than broken moans and mewls of his name, and he wasn’t too far off.

“So pretty Cariño,” he groaned, “all for me? mierda- yeah, all for me.”

A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your bruised lips in response. He pounded your pussy with so much vigour that you edged forward on the ruffled mattress with each rough thrust.

He massaged your throbbing clit between his fingers, laughing at the way they kept slipping around from how much of your own arousal was dripping down your cunt. Heavy balls slapping against your soft skin filled your ears when you felt that coil in your stomach start to snap.

“Pussys gripping me like a fucking vice- you gonna cum for me?” he teased, “look baby- look at how well this sweet little pussys taking me.”

He took your hand and lead it down until it was tracing the prominent bump in your stomach - You could feel every brutal thrust and see the way he ravaged your insides. You pressed down on it, getting impossibly tighter around him and the broken moan he let out was what got you.

He quickly tore a mind-numbing orgasm out of you - thick cockhead still splitting you open while he worked your clit. You soaked his cock and squeezed against it, shaking and crying under him until you could barely take it anymore.

He smiled in pride, sharp fangs showing and making him resemble the waiting mouth of a shark. “Such a good fucking girl, coming all over me like that. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he hummed, observing the noticeable white ring you left around the base of his cock.

His thrusts stuttered before stilling completely inside you. He made a noise akin to an animal before spilling his hot cum inside your welcoming heat with a shudder and a broken moan.

“Mfhm- mierda.. .” He cursed, his warmth filling you up so much it started to spill out.

You felt like a rag doll under him, half-asleep and smiling dumbly up at him. He chuckled and admired one last time how pretty you looked in his glowing red webs, wrapped around you like his own custom lingerie.

He sliced them off you and smiled warmly when you raised your arms out to him. He leaned in to let you wrap your arms around his massive shoulders with your legs now wrapping around his waist.

He picked you up with you curled into him like a koala - the warm sensation of his cum dripping down your connected bodies grounding you while he walked to your bathroom.

He pressed soft kisses to your marked up-neck while he ran a warm bath, rubbing at the indents his claws subconsciously left on your hips.

You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep; somewhere between when his large hands washed the cum off your skin or when he gently laid you down on your fresh bedsheets.

All you knew was that you woke up to the smell of clean laundry and noticed snacks and a water bottle left on your nightstand. There was a note too that you had to reach over to grab. His handwriting was smudged but fancy, and it was so adorably him that it left you smiling ear to ear.

“Had to leave early. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss how you’ll be living in my universe from now on ,seeing as how you’re now mine, mi vida.”

. . .

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 22 days

Text

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square.

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods.

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment.

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough.

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things.

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions.

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid.

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder.

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience.

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?”

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.”

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?”

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.”

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.”

“Sure, I could do that.”

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside.

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead.

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire.

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers.

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you.

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things.

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright.

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch.

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small.

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there.

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet...

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order.

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home.

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush.

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired.

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset.

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her.

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard.

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities.

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam.

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before?

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles.

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again.

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford.

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry.

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home.

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause.

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving.

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air.

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another.

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu.

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep.

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?”

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?”

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose.

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?”

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back.

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row.

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together.

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb.

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says.

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.”

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?”

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.”

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow.

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.”

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate.

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #au #marvel #avengers #mcu #hidden treasure

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valhallaas · 1 year

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Love Me Tender

pairing: jake hangman seresin x artist!reader

word count: 2k

warning: none, only fluff

summary: when the greek god in your bed knows you better than you know yourself

a/n: this is for @roosterforme’s love is in the air tgm challenge! Thank you for letting me be apart of it. Writing soft Jake really did something to my heart, let me tell you. I hope you guys love it!

Rain pitter patters outside. It’s two in the morning, you should be asleep but it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. How did Atlas do it? Bear so much weight, but never broke. Your knees are starting to buckle from the pressure. You asked for this, of course you did. There isn’t anything you’d trade it for. Turning your head, a satisfied smile rests on your lips. I’ll make it baby, he said. I’ll make it all night. Jake lays next to you, his breaths deep and even. You’d picked him up from the airport not too long ago. You’re sure he doesn’t even know what day it is. He’s just happy to be home. You’re happy to have him home.

Slowly, as not to wake him, you shift your covers and climb out of bed. A nice fire and a cup of tea sounded perfect to go with the rain. It’s not like you were getting any sleep anyway. Rubbing at your eyes, you make your way to the living room not bothering to flick on any lights. You’d been in this house long enough you could map it blind folded. Turning on the kettle, you made your way to the back sliding glass door to grab some wood. You’re more than thankful that Jake had cut more fire wood than needed last winter. He was always saving your back.

With the crackle of the fire you made it to the kitchen just in time, hearing the whistle of the kettle. It’s nearing three a.m. but you’re still wide awake. You’re stirring honey into your cup when you hear the creak of the floorboards. That didn’t last long, but that’s the way it goes. How either of you survive when he’s deployed is a mystery. He can’t sleep without you when he’s home.

Warm hands set themselves on your shoulders causing goosebumps to break out across your skin. Soft lips press against the back of your exposed neck, your eyes shut at the feeling. No, you hadn’t wanted to wake him, he needed his sleep, but you were glad he was here with you.

“What are you doin’ honey?” His voice is run through gravel, coated with sleep.

“Think I’m going to draw some.”

Jake hums, turning you in his grip so you’re facing him. His hands trail up from your shoulders to cradle your face. His thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, once, twice before you nip at it making him smile.

“I’ll get your supplies. Go get comfy.”

You should be drawing the view right now, but you’re not.

It’s not for lack of inspiration. There’s a reason you weren’t sleeping. You wanted to catch the storm. In any other circumstance you’d be completely captivated by the dark beauty of it all—the slow flowing raindrops rolling down the window. The dark clouds that keep the moon from shining in its dim light, all the stars hidden away. The quick flash that freezes the dried leaves and barren trees swaying in the winter air, giving you the perfect picture. Winter storms were your favorite and they were hard to come by. You normally wouldn’t pass this up. But somehow, your inspiration is solely coming from the man lying on the couch across from you. He’s sprawled out, relaxed, and completely at ease. His arms are folded behind his head, eyes closed as he breathes in deeply.

You told him to go back to bed, but he wasn’t sleeping without you. So this is the compromise. There’s a playlist on your phone playing through the speakers. One you always listen to when Jake’s away. Maybe that’s what keeps pulling your attention to him. The glow of the fire paints him in the warmest hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, making his lightly tanned skin glow. You smile, teeth biting into your cheek when green eyes flick over every few minutes to check that you’re still here with him, and it’s mesmerizing, his gaze. It’s almost the same color you thought his aura to be. Calm, steady, grounding, secure.

You keep your eyes trained on the sketchbook in your lap, attempting not to be conspicuous when you look up to study him every now and then. The idea makes you snort. As if your staring has ever bothered him. You stared so hard when you first met him that you hadn’t heard a thing he said to you for about three minutes. It was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you, but hey, he thought you were the cutest thing.

It all worked out.

When he looks up at you now and catches you lost in thought as you admire him, his lips tilt up into a teasing grin. You wink at him before looking back down at the book. You’ve drawn him a hundred times before. This one is probably your favorite. Him at home, content with you. Holding the piece back a bit, you study your favorite parts. The gentle way his lashes rest against his cheeks. The slope of his nose. He looks peaceful. Godlike. Not that you’d ever tell him that, his ego did not need to hear it.

“What are you drawing over there, honey?”

You don’t have to look up from the sketchbook to know that his smirk has turned more haughty than before, and when he leans forward a little, you lean back at the same time to keep your sketchbook out of his reach.

He knows you draw him. He’s seen a few of them. He’s seen almost all of your artwork. In fact, he has one of your drawings tattooed on him. He got it while on your honeymoon. You thought he was crazy but he thinks he was being romantic. Whatever. But this one, it feels different. More personal. It’s not him being vulnerable on the page, but you as well.

“Just the rainstorm,” you lie, with a little shrug, looking back out the window for added effect, scrunching your eyes slightly as if to examine it in depth.

“The rainstorm,” he repeats. He doesn’t believe you. Not like he has to. He knows without a doubt you’re lying. “That why you keep looking at me?”

“Maybe I just missed you, ever think of that?” You counter, but it comes out in a harsh whisper, like you're trying not to cry. Closing the sketchbook quickly, you nearly jam your finger in between the pages. His gaze burns over you, taking you in from your averted gaze, hands clenching your sketchbook, your rigged posture, back pressed so hard against the couch, as if purposely trying to keep a distance from him.

“Baby, I’m right here.”

You huff. As if you don’t already know this. Like you haven’t had your eyes on him since you crashed into him at the airport, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. It’s why you can’t sleep—because he’s home. He’s here and all you want is him close. You want him with you. You want him living inside you where he can’t ever escape; where the thought of losing him is only a nightmare. Your eyes have gone misty, something you can’t hide when you glance up at him when you feel a finger lazily drag up your leg. You raise your brows trying to feign innocence as you place the sketchbook on the other side of you. He could easily reach it if he wanted to, you’d have no chance at keeping it from him, but it seems that he can sense the anxiety radiating off of you. Jake’s smirk falls into something softer, gentler. Something you’ve only seen a handful of times—something that he saves just for you.

“Dance with me.”

You hesitate for a small second. “What?”

His eyes brighten as he pulls himself up into a sitting position. He grabs your phone that’s sitting on the coffee table and raises the volume. Suddenly, it’s three years ago, the beginning of June and you’re standing in the middle of an empty Texas pasture dressed in white. The song tugs on your heartstrings more than it ever has before. Jake’s eyes slightly crinkle with his smile.

“Dance with me.” he says softly as he extends his hand out for you to take.

For, my darling, I love you And I always will Love me tender, love me long Take me to your heart For it’s there that I belong And we’ll never part

Without much effort you're in his arms, swaying to the song that played during your first dance as a married couple. You can’t seem to stop the tears that fall from your eyes. You aren’t sad, but this feels like a lot. He’s got you wrapped up in him. One arm wrapped around your waist holding you to him, while the other is cradling your head, fingers weaved through your hair. Your head rests on his shoulder, hands tight around his waist, both of you lost in each other, in the magic of the firelight, the silence of the early morning.

“Do you regret marrying me?” Jake whispers in your ear.

“No.”

“You’d choose this life again?”

“I’d choose you every time no matter what it meant. I can deal with this, Jake, long as I get you back every time. Every time.”

His eyes rest heavy on you, and your pulse starts to race when the soft light in his eyes slightly darkens into something else. His gaze lingers on your lips long enough for you to tilt your chin up, bringing your mouth closer to his, and when his lips realign to that familiar smirk you know, like always, he’s more aware of the effect he has on you than he should be. Maybe you should be embarrassed by that, but it makes things easy. You never have to ask, he just knows. Like how you’re standing here with the electric hum of excited energy flooding your veins already, desperately waiting to feel his mouth on yours. He lowers his head slowly, eyeing you with a playful gleam telling you that he’s teasing you — that he knows his slow pace is driving you crazy. But it doesn’t last long, the moment you run your tongue along your bottom lip, his playful attitude breaks, and his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer as his hand slips down to grab at your thigh. Without much thought you jump, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you back to your bedroom.

With Jake, kisses are more than just feeling his lips against yours. It’s his calloused fingers slowly brushing the inside of your thighs, in a slow teasing motion, that drives you crazy until you're grinding against him. Desperate for him to touch you, really touch you. It’s the taste of his spearmint tongue brushing against your own, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure straight down to your core. It’s the smell of him—intoxicating, mouthwatering, enough to make you weak at the knees. But more than anything, it’s the sound of him—of the deep exhales when your fingers dip into the band of his pajama pants to tease him, the throaty groan when you grind your hips down into his, the position of you resting over him on your bed one of power, one he gives only you. It’s the surprised laugh that echoes from him whenever you nibble on his bottom lip or pull away to catch your breath.

Your seconds away from doing that when he breaks away from the kiss, grinning up at you like he knows you weren’t breathing. He probably does. The man knew you like the back of his hand from the moment you met. Jake only shakes his head, a soft laugh pouring out of him, his thumb running along your cheekbone. He’s looking up at you like you hung the stars and the moon. But that can’t be right, can it? Not when he’s magic, a myth. Something you can’t really phantom. A god in your bed, carved marble under your fingertips. He is Apollo and you, Icarus, willing to burn for a moment of his time. Willing to go to war with the sun, a battle you know you will never win.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

He smiles against yours. “And I love you.”

#love is in the air tgm #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman Seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin one shot #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick fanfic #jake hangman Seresin fanfic

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1800titz · 10 months

Text

HI FRIENDS. 18K here!! This time we explore breaks, because sometimes they are necessary! Also, we see Jealousrry, and we see Isla being Isla. Hope you enjoy!! (Feedback always appreciated!) (✿◠‿◠)

PREVIOUS PARTS HERE - WATTPAD ALTERNATIVE HERE

Open houses, to Harry, are a stage, and the gift of his gab leaves him basking in the luster of the spotlight with no stage fright.

First time home buyers, young couples waltzing through hallways with gazes bouncing over walls with demure decorum, families with young kids who run amuck, darting from one end of the house to the other as he guides their parents through empty rooms, his dialogue friendly and bright — he finds comfort in any audience. Divorced milfs whose heels click over tile, mimicking wood varnish, trailing behind as his silver tongue sells, and sells, and sells — some of those really find his dialogue of “sleek, floor to ceiling windows,” and the “flowing floor plan,” and “custom built additions,” charming enough for hungry fingers to creep against biceps by the end of the tour.

Harry, never in his life, has had so many nerves over a tour. Maybe just his very first open house, where he’d taken the reins for the first time alone.

It makes sense, theoretically, that he’d be nervous to become enclosed in a space with Isla Cleery — his masked, blissfully unaware submissive, in a setting where so much was prone to go awry. It makes sense that he’d be nervous to let something slip, that he’d be nervous he’d find himself fucking into her, pressing her face against a full length bathroom mirror mid-tour, like the climax (pun unintended) to a dirty storyline in a professionally produced porno. Young, Hot Slut Isla Cleery Bounces on Raunchy Realtor Cock, or maybe Adorable Brunette Gets Pussy Pounding for a Discount. Something like that. That last one is especially depraved, but — gotta add some form of sordid cliche to create a flashy title. Click bait, if you will.

It makes sense to be nervous when his nerves are all he can think about, sitting behind the wheel of his Range Rover, parked on the curb as he waits for her own vehicle to turn the corner and pull up to the property. It’s all sort of a vicious cycle.

She’d called him two days prior. He’d been laying in bed, in the midst of his Candy Crush bedtime ritual — culling ice tiles and smashing colorful blocks with point-inducing combos of stripes and wrappers. He’d stared at his phone as the LED display sparked alive with a banner over the top of the screen — an incoming call from an unsaved phone number. A pinch had worked between his brows, and he’d tapped over the banner with the pad of his thumb, clearing his throat and pressing the phone to his ear as he answered. A business call was a business call.

“Hello?” his voice was low with incoming sleep, his vocal cords supplying a rasp on account of the silence he’d priorly stalled in.

The pace of the organ behind his rib cage had picked up considerably when Isla Cleery’s soft voice had come in response, her cadence tinny through the speaker, undeniably delectable.

“Hey!” his ears had swallowed her chime, “Harry,” the man had shifted a bit over his linen sheets, “This is Isla Cleery.”

Isla Cleery. Bright, and chipper, and …randomly dialing his number at a strange hour in the night.

“Isla! Hi,” he’d responded, clearing his throat to curtail tacking on a quip of how can I assist you at this ungodly hour?

The uneasy wavelength of her inflection had spurred a crease to work over his brow bone — rushed, and breathy, and almost frantic in its phrasing.

“Hi,” a pause, a half-hearted apology, “Listen, I’m so sorry to be calling you so late but — ah,” a stifled, little sound that had caused his nostrils to flare and had sent an inopportune rush of excitement slithering through to the trench of his tummy and frothing, “So, you sent me this other property, and I wanted to — I wanted to see that one. The one on, Mul-Mulner, was it?”

“Mulnich,” he’d gnawed into his lip, sitting up a smidge, braced on his forearm as his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, the, uh, the Mulnich property. I wanted to see that one. So,” another pause that had his face contorting in bemusement — (was she running on a fucking treadmill?), “Can we set that up?”

The man had pulled the receiver back and toggled his counterpart to leak through the speaker setting, rolling onto his side as he’d swiped through his virtual calendar.

“Sure. Yeah. Let me just check,” Harry had supplied, pausing and pursing his lips as he’d just listened — background noise, like a TV, a rustle, a sigh, a laugh track, an inhale, “Does Wednesday at two work for you?”

“Can’t — can’t. Wednesday, at two. Anything — can you do anything later? In the evening, maybe?”

Harry had paused. He’d paused, and just listened, his ears working on overdrive to attempt to decipher whatever was spurring her strange behavior, the note of apprehension of her cadence, the — was he going insane? — desperation to her dialogue. There’d been nothing but the familiarity of a common laugh track and shuffling. His pupils had perused as he’d ripped his attention off of the odd display and swiped to give her a proper appointment.

“Yeah,” the man responded after a moment of lull, clearing his throat, “I can do …five? If that works for you.”

“Yes! Yeah,” He’d picked up on Isla Cleery doing the same on the other end of the line, her speech giddy and garbled, “Five. Wednesday. Yes. So, I can — I can come?”

His jaw had set at the choice of words — there was just no way, but the frenzy in her inflection so vividly resembled the way she’d begged him back in the White Room, days prior. There was no way, he’d told himself. She didn’t have the gall. She didn’t have the audacity. She was working him into a ludicrous frenzy — or rather, he was working himself into one with the lewd train of thought derailing his composure.

There was no way Isla Cleery was calling him and touching herself.

“To see the property?” the voice on the other end had tacked on, coaxing him from the zoned out thrill of a wild imagination.

“Yeah, yes. Of course,” he’d said.

There was just no fucking way.

More shuffling. A garbled sound. Something that’d incited his teeth to dig into his bottom lip, to sit up as he was met with silence beyond the sounds of a TV.

“Isla?”

More shuffling. There was just—

No. Fucking. Way.

He’d felt his own stomach clenching up then, muscles rippling as blood pumped and the familiarity of deluded arousal, at the prospect, suffusing through his veins like quick-acting alcohol.

“Isla?” Harry had prodded again, louder.

“Yes, sorry, I’m so sorry. God, I just saw the time — I’m sorry, it was so unprofessional of me to call so late. I hope I didn’t—“ his face twisted up at the breathless onslaught of her breakless cadence, like her speech was expelled all in one, rushed breath, “Thank you for taking my call. Wednesday at Five. Have a good night.”

His mouth had parted to inquire, because what the fuck — but from there, a click. The green logo of an active phone call had vanished. She’d hung up, evidently in a rush. Harry had stared up at his ceiling for a solid twenty minutes, ruminating on the odd encounter.

There was, simply, as previously emphasized, no fucking way.

So yeah, now, with his bare fingertips drumming over the leather of his steering wheel, he’s a smidge nervous to see her. His innards are twisting into knots by the time he catches sight of her white Corolla slipping in against the curb behind him. Harry climbs out of the car.

“Hi,” Isla Cleery talks first.

There’s no dainty bell sleeves trapped in car doors today — a pencil skirt hugs her hips, and a long sleeve with a funnel neckline adorns her torso. Harry notes the way she nonchalantly tugs to further lower a sleeve on the arm where he knows the bangle is manacled.

“You’ve renounced …your renouncement of heels,” is the first thing he says. He wants to smack himself square between the brows with the heel of his palm — what an inane start.

“Oh,” Isla shoots a glance to her choice of footwear — smart (Harry thinks, spiffy), dark pumps, “Yeah,” she bends a knee back and lifts an ankle a smidge, “Sort of had to. Felt a little weird wearing a pencil skirt with flats.”

“And,” the young woman casts a small simper his way, “No evil grates, as of yet. Fingers crossed,” she lifts her arm, the left, where the bracelet isn’t, and bares friendly teeth.

Evil grates …what the fuck? Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, her inner voice coaxes frantically.

Isla is dying inside. For good reason — it makes sense. Being enclosed in a space, casually, with her dominant un-dominant-clad, has this weird butterfly-eruption effect. They bounce against her insides aimlessly, like little crack-infused insects. She’s nervous to let something slip — anything, and it’s too easy considering she’s been cuffed by a bracelet that sort of gives it all away within a split-second flash of gold and secrets.

She’s unsure of what succubus-like tendencies of the day had possessed her to abandon her panties — that had been a dirty, last-minute decision of thrill, and it had seemed filthily exciting and sort of dangerous in the best way. The idea of ambling through a house tour with Harry, and knowing that she was entirely bare beneath her skirt. But now, faced by him, obnoxiously aware of her nude thighs grazing together under the fabric and … only …more debauched nudeness higher, well.

Isla just feels like a pervert.

It bears resemblance to the sensation she had encountered two days prior, once she’d hung up the phone (and the sex-haze had worn off). That was another thing she was nervous about. There’s no way the man had just glossed over the encounter as entirely unsuspicious. It was weird, she was weird for that, Isla thought, she was weird on the phone with a stuttery, breathy inflection that was obnoxious in give-away, and he definitely knew something was off, if not the entire background behind the lust-driven call.

She clears her throat in an attempt to ward off the flurry of nervous apprehension coiling in her stomach (that she’s sure will find its way among her vocal cords), “But. Yeah.”

Harry grins. He’s just so — Isla ogles, kind of dreamily — handsome. And she knows him on an intimate level, (a very intimate level), but these glimpses of his face, in person… she doesn’t get the pleasure of espying those often. His hair, coiled and placed in soft ringlets, his dimples burrowing as teeth showcase and his mouth lights alive with a smile. Last time he’d been clean-shaven and smooth, but today there’s a soft dusting of facial hair over his jaw. She wants to kiss him, she wants to feel it brush against her own face, wants to feel it graze over her inner thighs as he sucks kisses into her skin like affectionate bruises as proof of his presence, and—

“Please,” the man folds his palms together, like a prayer, and pillowy pink curves with his statement, “No …impromptu rope swing climbing—“

Isla’s mouth jolts.

“In heels,” Harry tacks on, raising his eyebrows and gesturing subtly with his palms.

“Ooh,” she rocks forward a bit, a pinch in her own brows, “Can’t make any promises. The rope swing calls.”

“Oh it does?”

“Siren song,” Isla nods.

Harry’s mouth quirks. And then he clears his throat.

“Well. I’m pleased you’re interested in viewing another property with me, but I can’t lie and say I’m not a bit disappointed that Sweeger Avenue didn’t particularly catch your eye. I’ll have to buy it if you don’t,” the curly-headed brunette jests.

“It did!” Isla assuages, motioning with her palm and following as he turns slowly — a gesture that indicates he’d like her to follow in the direction of the house, “It’s a beautiful house, I’m just keeping my options open.”

Harry hums. The young woman’s heels sink softly into the lawn, bright, neatly trimmed tufts crinkling with each step.

“Watch your step, there, darling,” the realtor warns softly as they venture over a pattern of concrete stone that leads up to the porch.

“Oh — thank you.”

She adds, once they’re stood under the awning of the porch, “And, well, you gave such a good tour, I figured another property in my price range was worth a look, right?”

“Right,” he sends a soft grin over his shoulder at her (that shrouds the nerves he feels teeming below the surface), “Sure. Of course.”

Isla watches him unveil a little key from his pocket and stuff it into the notch in the knob, twisting. “I will say,” the man starts, gaze cast to his handiwork, “while this one isn’t as… maybe ritzy as the last — y’know, all the bells and whistles of the reno’s — there’s still a lot of potential with this one. Character.”

The door creaks and clicks on its hinges as it swings open. Isla follows him in, greeted by the sight of what she imagines, once upon a time, had been pasted with warm hues of color and overbearing wallpaper patterns. The entryway, as the first showing had been, is no showstopper with elegant twin staircases. The wood beneath her feet is scuffed, and faint stains litter the walls near the baseboards — but it’s far from time forgotten and termite embraced, as she’d assumed would tail the realtor lingo of potential.

“Three bed, two-and-a-half bath — little more space with 2,052 square feet. Little more out of pocket, too, if you wanted to amp it up to that sort of à la mode Sweeger had,” the realtor’s shoes click over the wood in a sound that just oozes power, power, power, and Isla tails him, vision walloping the walls to curb the hunger that grows within her at something as innocuous as the sound of his dress shoes on wooden floors, “but if not, there’s loads of character to enjoy and build upon.”

The young woman sneaks a glance — they’re no serpentine patched loafers, but they’re smooth and glossy and jet. Simple.

She wonders what pair will greet her on Friday night.

“This one’s a bit newer than the last — but a lot of this stuff is original. Really a step back in time. Very open concept — vaulted floor to ceiling floor plan,” her vision flits over the living area, his velvety cadence like a pre-rehearsed soundtrack to fit a virtual tour posted on the web.

Isla gazes over the expanse of the innards — replicas of the imagery she’d scrolled through online. Only now, the lines are larger, the shapes are prettier, the space is more vibrant. Personal. It’s lived in — furnishings remain of the sellers, but there are no personalized touches of family photos (a key factor, she’d learned, to bolster prospective buyer imaginations, to spur their mental imagery into forming their own space). A half wall breaks a living area off from the entry. Set upon a platform (where tile sweeps from lounge to kitchen; a drab shade of beige others would perhaps not find nearly as endearing as Isla does — it’s a nostalgia thing, she’s sure) — between the wooded entryway that flows into an empty expanse of doors — are armchairs and a sectional in neutral tones. Beyond this, a formal dining area, and on the end is a little kitchen, broken apart from a hallway with another wall.

“We’ve got these sleek lines that come with open space like this,” Harry gestures towards the sculpt of plaster and drywall shaping lips over windows in the lounge, “but we’ve also got little touches, like a time capsule,” he twists, motioning towards the staircase — an interesting piece unforeseen, “like the spiral staircase. White wrought-iron with wood paneling — you’re not gonna find these being built very often, anymore.”

Upon the grin the realtor casts her way, Isla ambles towards it, and she runs her touch over the railing.

“Really pretty. You’re right. I don’t see many of these anymore.”

Her sight is torn between the man — his charismatic demeanor, his good looks — and the space as he continues, lucratively well-versed, “I’m sure you note there’s no overbearing pops of color, or wallpaper that’s wasting away, since I told you it wasn’t all that renovated. Carpet’s been ripped up,” he slides the toe of his shoe over the wooden floorboards, a dark, warm chocolate, and then his hand comes to rap softly over the short wall dividing the kitchen from an expanse of hallway with doors as jade reaffixes onto her, “and the walls were repainted by previous buyers. All original wood and tiling, though.”

As Isla steps onto the platform, she regards chips in laminate. Yes. Original.

“Between you and me,” her head twists — a friendly simper plays over the realtor’s cushiony (intimately familiar) lips, “I think that was a good choice. Versatile. But the rest, like these gorgeous light fixtures — all original,” he nudges towards the dining area behind her, and Isla pivots to face the table, “‘83, I believe.”

A bundle of two lanterns, elongated like cylinders with tapered ends. They hang over the table, a darling focus point.

Isla peers back over just as the man’s tongue peeks out to slick his mouth, “But my favorite’s in the kitchen.”

Eagerly, she makes her way forward, where the kitchen lays, open for her exploration. It’s no showstopper. She gets it now — his sugared warning of original pieces. And it’s not like the kitchen is this heinous sight, but it’s timeworn. An outdated shade of mustard hugs the countertops, and the cabinetry is stale and dinged. Scratches and blemishes stain almost plastic-y looking white. The appliances look to be about forty years old — which adds up, according to the timeline. But there’s an island. It’s beautiful, and broad, and even if Isla has no interest in piling it with culinary disasters, it’s still pleasant ken. She finds that on the opposite side of that wall is a pantry.

“I don’t know what to do with a kitchen like this,” her pink (gloriously fuckable, Harry thinks) mouth jolts as a smile slithers over, “It’s so. Large.”

“You don’t cook?”

Her irises roll up to the ceiling with her soft smile, “I microwave. TV dinners, mostly. I can put frozen waffles in a toaster, too. Maybe scramble an egg, but there’s no guarantee there won’t be shell in the mix.”

It’s sort of funny, Harry thinks — the way polar opposites attract. Like magnets, he supposes. Really, very horribly horny magnets. He can’t remember the last time he had a frozen waffle.

“But I guess I’ll have to learn, with an island like this,” Isla sighs and gestures.

Well, if you’re ever in need of a taste tester… Harry bridles his flirty quip. Instead, he shows her what lies behind the doors of the hallway, the rooms downstairs. A half bath, a bedroom scantily furnished — an office, for her, perhaps.

“You said you were a paralegal last time, right?” he cocks his head back at her over his shoulder as he leads the way, and Isla tries not to feel the warmth the remembrance of the minute detail ignites.

Of course he remembered. It was his job. She bites her tongue to curb the instinctive, “Yes, Sir.”

“I am, yeah.”

“Lot’s of research and a work-from-home, after-hours situation, you said, last time? I think the study on this property will be very suited to your needs.”

A laundry room, the entrance to the garage, a slow amble back towards the staircase. Ah, the staircase. The young woman feels a burnishing blush suffuse over her cheekbones when the male gestures with an open palm — an invitation for her to go on ahead of him. But there’s that little …no panties …thing. Her legs shift. Her skirt brushes against the back of her knees. There’s no probable likelihood of a flash, she’s sure. Still, that ruddiness glows over her skin as she takes the cautious, first step. She feels ludicrously lewd.

“Wouldn’t want you to get your heel caught,” the realtor states, strawberry mouth twitching.

No, that would certainly cause far more than a glimpse of a flash.

“Truly a gentleman,” Isla quips, and by the time she’s wound halfway up, Harry only a couple of steps behind, she tacks on, “God. It really is sort of a scary set of stairs.”

“Climbing a rickety rope swing is scary,” Harry scoffs from behind, his cadence lighthearted.

A hallway with a landing that allows for a gaze upon the first story. A wall of doors. A bathroom with an unsightly, pink tub. A cozy original with old-world-charm, according to the realtor; definitely creative wording, Isla thinks.

“Master bedroom,” the man slips the final door open, and Isla’s irises bounce from window to window — they suffuse the room with what she imagines would be bright, refreshing daylight. Now, it comes in the form of a warm, yellow glow with the time of day.

“Very roomy,” she comments. It is. The square footage of the space, she’s sure, has to be roomier than the master bedroom of the first showing, but perhaps the emphasis on the broadness of the space has to do with the sheer fact that the first showing had been bare, and this room holds furniture — even still, the space is bigger. Despite the queen sized bed, throned by the waxy, wooden headboard, the nightstands that mirror either side of the mattress, and the matching wooden dresser, the space is open.

“S’no reno’d Sweeger Ave,” the realtor supplies, wandering a handful of steps behind her as she makes her way into the room, “But it’s roomy, like you said. Bright. Beautiful windows — lots of light. Can you imagine yourself here?”

It’s a queen sized bed. Isla is not wearing panties, and she’s reminded of this particular fact as she stares at it and imagines Eros bending her over the edge of the mattress. She thinks of Harry’s chest pressing up behind her as his broad, ring-clad digits slide over her waist, settle on her stomach. She thinks of his mouth pasting to the crook of her neck, sponging kisses over the expanse of her skin as his soft breaths caress her nerve endings. She thinks of him walking her forward, his crotch glued to her hips. She thinks of fingers grappling for wrists and a firm grip as he manhandles the joints behind her back with ease. She thinks of him flipping her skirt up and discovering that she’s bare beneath it, thinks of a palm fondling, of croons in her ear on what a filthy, naughty girl she is, of his fingers slipping lower and his teeth grazing over her neck and—

“Great room, innit?”

Her eyes flash to him at a dangerous speed, his words from the prior week hurtling through her mind as he tells her, tone entirely innocuous, “But I think there’s something missing.”

An ottoman, the young woman thinks, her expression kept impressively neutral, all things considered. An ottoman.

“Accent wall there, long curtains with a sheer layering, different furniture set — contemporary, I’d go with, a rug,” the male taps his foot over a stark area of the floorboards, just ahead of the footboard of the bed, “Nice shag rug. Right here.”

Shag rug.

Shag rug — textile characterized by longer, heavier pile, so as to have the appearance of being shaggy. Isla imagines a white rug in tufts, warding her brain from mental images of the man physically shagging her on said rug. Yes. These are all very …compelling suggestions.

“Mhm,” Isla hums curtly.

“And, y’know, all this light lets the room whisper sweet nothings about the beauties of the approaching day, but I think, the view,” he takes slow steps over chocolate wood to tug blinds open, “beckons sleepless nights.”

Sleepless nights — Isla is going to wring her own neck. Despite the arousal that seeps through her at the dirty-fucking-twist of insinuation, she makes her way to his side for a peer. Beyond the horizon of plains and landscaping lies skyscrapers — the city a blip of scenery with the sky as its backdrop.

“Oh.”

“Mm. Really pretty at night, I’d think.”

“It’s a …good thing I have a strong constitution for sleepless nights,” Isla swallows, “I’m sure the view will keep me entertained.”

Harry steals a soft glance, down at her side profile. He’s bridled his flirtish nature, he’s restrained his quips. He’s bent over backwards for sanctity. But—

“If you ever find yourself in need of a midnight conversation partner, you know who to call.”

The young woman peers up at him through her lashes. It’s a blatant implication of her untimely phone call two days prior. He’s teasing. He has to be simply teasing. But the way his mouth twitches, the way his eyes fix on her — there’s something… something beyond innocent jest.

“Offering your services as a nocturnal conversationalist?” she tries to keep the nervous note from her cadence as she takes a step away — he had to be flirting. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“Real estate agent by day, midnight talk-show host by night. I’m a man of many talents,” the curly-headed brunette shrugs, digging ring-adorned fingers halfway into pockets of slacks. A soft smile plays over his soft mouth. It’s all sort of lascivious. Isla wants to clamber back onto a stranger's bed in a master bedroom that doesn’t belong to her, and she wants to ogle his reflection glint at her from the waxy headboard as his hips pump forward. As his cock pummels into her. A warmth pulses between her thighs, beneath her pencil skirt.

The reminder of her arousal, left in a dried stain post her drive home, confronts her as she strips in the confines of her apartment, alone, nearly two hours later.

Harry is not a green-eyed monster.

Which is an irony, because in the realm of indulge, there’s more than a handful of people who would confidently deem him with that pretty title.

Perhaps, better phrasing (that wouldn’t allow for the claim to be twisted by unruly, prior play partners), would be that Harry is not innately a jealous man. He’s a sure man, a man who knows his ambitions and aims — bluntly so. He’s a man that doesn’t like to share during scenes, but he’s upfront and honest about it. There’s no games, no teetering tugs and yanks on strings of emotions. He’s not a man that is known to ooze green at the sight of his partner fraternizing with someone else, and he’s definitely not the type of man to care about those things in any context outside of Indulge.

A person is a person — their own person. That’s not his thing to fuck with. Harry is not a green-eyed monster that bleeds envy with begrudging glances.

The sight of Isla Cleery, though, shrouded by her commonplace lace, leant up against the bar, in the midst of lively chatter with some shirtless dom adorned by an eye-cover with plastic-y tufts of horns — that culls an odd reaction from him. It’s strange — she’s early. He always shows before her to reserve the room of the night, and she arrives and waits in an obedient kneel until he opts to join her. But she’s early — she’s at the bar, and he’s just booked the room (The White Room, tonight). Harry nearly misses the sight of the interaction altogether.

But he doesn’t — she catches his eye, clad in a set of dark, silky underthings and sheer stockings. He watches her toe back against the stem of one of the barstools. She’s got her cherry concoction in hand, a plethora of syrupy fruit upon a bed of ice and artificial sweeteners, and she’s laughing at something her counterpart says. In response, the man’s grin is vibrant over the visible expanse of his lower face. Harry doesn’t know who he is at first. But then he squints, and his vision roves. Faunus. He vaguely knows of the dominant, but the most prominent thought that floats to the forefront of his mind involves the jest Isla had made prior to the drafting of their contract. The one where she’d mentioned the alternation of rocking her shit, and the name Faunus had been introduced in the prospective party.

And it’s not like Harry bleeds jade at the sight, but he kind of does. Because, the thing is, next week is their last scene, contractual obligations concerned — and. Well, it makes him feel ill. The thought of his submissive — of Isla Cleery, slipping to her knees for Faunus as their own contract comes to a close, the thought of Faunus manhandling her in the same way Harry does every Friday night, it all makes his jaw set from across the lounge. Because those are their Fridays. Something stirs in him when Faunus places his hand onto her arm — because, what the fuck?

Slowly but surely, he makes his way over, slipping into the interaction from behind his submissive. He brushes a gloved palm against the small of her back, and upon the touch, Peitho stiffens and twists. And then she relaxes. Smiles all pretty at him, too.

“You’re early,” the hand slides to the vale of her waist and squeezes softly as he presses close and speaks low. It’s obnoxious, Harry’s aware — opting not to initially acknowledge the other member of the conversation, but Faunus watches the two with a silent eye, anyhow, so.

“I was late last week, so. Wanted to be early this time. Didn’t know you were here, Sir,” the submissive supplies, rocking forward onto her toes, and then lets the outside of her arm glue to his torso as he pastes to her side.

Harry hums. And then he casts his gaze onto Faunus as the man speaks. “Eros, right?” the male’s mouth curls softly as he nudges towards Harry.

“In the flesh,” Harry grins politely. Politely. Because he’s polite.

His counterpart, glistening with a sheen of sweat under the purple-ish tinges of the lights, takes a swig from his glass — water, Harry assumes it to be, but you never can really tell in the hue of the lounge, “You’re a little infamous around here.”

Infamous. Sounds about right.

“Am I?”

“Mm. I’ve heard only good things from this one, though,” the horn-masked man gestures with his glass towards Isla. In turn, she shifts a little further against her dominant.

“Yeah?” Harry’s chin dips toward the submissive, then, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “All good things, baby?”

Isla nods and hums, melting with the side of her cheek against his chest.

“But between you and me,” Faunus leans forward a smidge, elbow braced over the marbled bar countertop, “This one’s a bit of a handful.”

Harry grins politely. Yeah, the reminder that this man has manhandled his submissive in the same manner he has makes him go a bit neon green. What the fuck. And Isla — she just squirms against him. Harry’s well aware that the nonchalant small talk of her, with no acknowledgement, like she’s not stood in the midst of the conversation, riles her in a filthy way. And Faunus seems to know this tidbit of information, too — his irises, glinty under the lights overhead, slink from Harry to Isla and back again. It’s a subtle motion, but it shows Harry enough. The dominant’s mouth quirks, gaze subtly steely in the narrow of his lashes.

“Mm. Well, between you and me,” the hand that’d previously settled on her waist slips up to her hair, cards through past the nape of her neck, digits entangling in the roots, “she knows her place with me,” Harry shoots her a look, and tugs firmly by slowly tightening his fist. It’s a subtle motion — but the pinpricks of pain that burst over her scalp, as a result, have her pulse quickening.

And Harry knows. He knows and his lips nearly crook up, but he curbs his smirk. And Faunus can ogle all he wants — but he can’t touch. Can’t draw the same reaction from her. That thought has satisfaction blooming in his chest.

“Don’t you, darling?”

When the young woman returns in concurrence, her inflection is breathy and soft. “Yes, Sir.”

He’s jealous, Isla thinks. She’s not sure why. But he’s jealous, and he tugs on her hair like a showcase of his dominion, like she’s simply a plaything for him and him only to lewdly siphon soft reactions from. It’s so blatant, the way he does it all in front of Faunus. He’s claiming his territory. It’s subtle, it’s obnoxious, it borders on impolite, but it lights a fire within her like no other.

“The White Room,” Harry croons against her ear, low in decibel, “S’open. If you were up to play.” Jade slinks back up to dull blue, to the opposite dominant watching the display — a blank slate of curious interest. His gloved fingers untether gently and he speaks a bit louder, face turned back towards Faunus, “Wouldn’t want to tear you away and impose, though.”

The White Room. With Eros. Yes. Isla wants to go to the White Room with her Eros.

“Oh — no,” Isla assuages quickly, pivoting her head from Faunus to Eros and back, “Great — it’s been great, catching up, with you,” she motions with her palm towards the horn-masked dom.

Faunus pauses, as if musing, and eventually the corners of his mouth curl up softly.

“Likewise,” he tells her, gesturing with his glass, before his vision skids from Isla to Harry and back. His tongue peeks out to glide over his bare lips. Harry doesn’t miss the way his eyes wander roguely over the submissive’s silhouette — a tad flirtily, if he’s not mistaken, before he tacks on what sounds uncomfortably ominous to him. “I’ll see you around, Peitho.”

Harry’s jaw sets and he watches the other man all the way as he ambles off and disappears into the midst of the crowded lounge to mingle. It’s childish, he’s aware, to feel as though his turf is being invaded upon, like a personally deemed sector of a sandbox, and Isla his prized, shiny …bucket …or something (what do children play with in sandboxes? Harry can’t recall, at the moment). And he’s aware that Isla is not his possession, per se, but she sort of is. For the window of six weeks, she is his and his only, and the way he seems to recall it, they’re only on number five. His head snaps to her as the submissive clears her throat. She’s peering up at him, her mouth twitchy in giveaway.

He’s jealous, Isla thinks, and obviously so, the envy in him visible like figurines through the glass of a snowglobe.

“Had a nice time catching up with your friend?” Harry settles on. His inflection is smooth like molasses and low like a foreboding omen — a siren song. Isla contemplates getting him jealous more often.

“Yeah,” the young woman blinks, “Faunus is always great.”

Her lips twitch on the latter, and the word choice is made with such outright and overt intent to goad him — but she’s so harmless about it, too, afterwards nestling against him sweetly post the double entendre. Always great. Always a great fuck. Harry gives into her game shamelessly. He fingers at the strap on her brassiere as his mouth quirks wryly.

“This is a pretty little piece. Wear it for Faunus?”

“No,” Isla’s cadence doesn’t offer nearly as much resolve, and she jolts minutely as he lets it snap back into place. “Wore it for you.”

“For me?” the dominant raises his eyebrows, playing coy, and smooths the pad of his finger over an embellishment of lace over the edge of a cup as he tacks on, a little derisively, “How sweet.”

Then, Eros juts with his chin towards her unfinished rocks glass of sugar and syrup and fruit with the barest bones of their original nutrients, “Are you gonna throw that up if I play rough tonight?”

The brazen insinuation causes Isla to swallow, her chest growing a little tighter and the valley between her thighs growing a little warmer.

“Wouldn’t be a pretty sight. S’the White Room, after all,” his irises glimmer mischievously.

“No,” Isla protests, her gaze jumping from the glass to the shiny latex disguising his stupid, perfect face. A beat. The sound of the glass grazing over the wood coaxes his eyes to her hand as she slides it away. Yes.

“No, no. Feel free to finish it. I’ll wait.”

Despite this, her eyes jump between the half-empty glass and his face. His lack of tout — the empty, unspoken allurement of possibility — only lure her further. Take your time, I’ll patiently wait to do cruel and unusual things to you (that would’ve probably been deemed beyond illegal in the middle ages). It’s — yes. That is, no. No. Isla does not want to wait, her imagination running rampantly on the prospects of a mean Eros spurred by a jealous streak suddenly prevalent.

That she’s wrenched from him.

“No, I’m good,” Isla tells him, her cherries discarded.

Harry blinks at her, and then responds, his mouth curling softly, “Really, love. S’no rush. Got all night to,” her fingers jump to her palm, as he stretches it and settles it against the countertop, pleather-coated digits splaying, “play.”

Play. Her interest itches horribly to know what his agenda for the night entails.

“No — no, I’m good. I’m good,” the submissive clears her throat, sliding the cup away just a smidge more with the flex of her fingers. Harry’s mouth quirks.

“You’re awfully eager.”

Good. He’s pleased to coax the reaction — he’s pleased that Faunus, evidently, doesn’t even have the ability to harvest her attention in the same manner. Good, good, good.

“Well. White Room’s waiting for you, then. I’ll meet you in there,” Harry blinks at her, and then his eyes flash to his fingers as those come out to smooth over the bangle manacling her wrist, “Lemme just tie up some loose ends.”

Isla looks at him then, for a second, speaking volumes through her expression despite the majority of it being clandestine by swirls of dark fabric. Loose ends. He can tell she’s bemused that he doesn’t personally walk her, hand-in-hand.

“Okay,” the young woman settles on.

“Okay?”

“Okay, …Sir.”

He watches her walk off down a secluded hallway at the edge of the lounge, and then he blows out a breath and turns to the mocktail bartender on shift. Bliss — pretty corset, pretty, bedazzled mask, and a pretty mean dominatrix on the weekends when she’s not tending to the bar, he’s heard.

“S’cuse me, could you just—“ he gestures with the glass once the bartender’s in earshot, and she lifts her face from the sink at his cadence, “switch this off her tab onto mine.”

He doesn’t have to specify — he knows Bliss well enough. They’ll engage in the occasional small talk. Mundane shit, usually; the weather, the housing market, reputable toy artisans. Or, they had. These days he spends much of his Indulge time playing rather than strung up at the bar. Anyways, it’s the least he could do for Peitho, considering… well. The agenda for the night. The least. His mouth nearly crooks at the thought.

“Oh, it’s not on her tab, babes. Guy that was with her already tabbed it out.”

Oh — Oh. Okay. O-kay. His head swivels back to the throng of Indulge, where Faunus has vanished into the midst of the mingling masses. So now Faunus was buying her mocktails. Sick.

“How …nice,” Harry turns back, a tick in his jaw.

By the time the door clicks open from behind her, Isla’s knees are already shifting into their welcomed ache. It’s all sort of a routine she’s become beyond well accustomed to. The young woman listens to his dress shoes pad over the floor, and then she feels his hand brush through her hair from the back.

“Come sit.”

He says it in a way that doesn’t imply that he’s presently vexed — it’s easygoing enough, but his tone nearly carries the impending weight of the incoming scene. The submissive feels his palm withdraw, and then watches the backs of his dress shoes move, for a moment, as he winds past her towards the chair. And then she clambers up and follows. The mischievous jest Isla had basked in, priorly, starts its usual gear-shift into apprehension. Because being in a room, alone, with Eros, post whatever brazenly mouthy infringements Isla has managed, doesn’t leave her with …nearly as much pluck. Though, unfortunately for Eros and his ego, (or perhaps fortunately — she’s convinced he quite enjoys manually taming her into submission far more than he lets on), she’s still far from that state of mindless subservience he always manages to draw her into by the end of a session. The dominant sinks into the cushion and blows out a breath as if to discard the heft of a long workday, and his thighs splay a smidge as his eyes convey, expectantly through the slit of his mask, that he’d like her to sit. Isla slips into his lap, against the sturdy muscle of one of his parted thighs, and his leg shifts beneath her as his arm winds around her waist to cradle her close.

“I didn’t fuck you last week, and you’re already looking elsewhere, darling?” are the first words out of his mouth.

The statement is said as a jest — but it’s only half of that. His strawberry mouth is twitchy, and the pads of his digits are gentle on her thigh, and his tone is calm, and friendly, and traitorously sweet.

But Isla knows better.

Her mother had always said, behind every joke there’s some truth, sort of like a more wholesome version of drunk words are sober thoughts — far more kid friendly, but. The young woman couldn’t relate more to the wise piece of advice than she was, now, in this moment. Because her Eros is green, and obviously so. It radiates from his pores, the envy, no doubt a response to seeing Faunus’s palm pasted to her arm (she’s sure her innocuous, little comment played some part, as well), and the tidbits of his vulnerability make something oddly twist in her. Something like — feelings, beyond the playroom. It pleases her, in a red-flag-on-her-part sort of way, knowing that he cares. But more than that, the sentiment leaves her brimming with arousal. A jealous man was never a kind man, and a mean Eros, tucked away with her in a reserved playroom at Indulge, always left her simmering in welcomed anticipation.

“Of course not,” she assuages, tracing the folds of fabric in his collar and fixing them up with a smoothing touch, her pupils fixed to her fingers as she tacks on, “I’d never look elsewhere when I’m contractually obligated to uphold monogamy.”

It’s a tease that’s blatantly meant to rile him — the corners of her mouth buckle like an afterthought, and beneath her touch, the dominant’s chest heaves with a sigh.

“Contractual obligation. S’that all my time is to you, then?”

His tone is lighthearted, but the words have that undercurrent of brooding, like her words have wounded him, and Isla thumbs over a button and pops it through a loop — just for a bit of skin.

“All my cock is to you?” the man shifts below her, his tone still playful, “A contractual obligation?”

“No,” she protests, her fingers twitchy before his chin dips to ogle her handiwork, and a palm clasps over her wrist to bring the fingertips to his mouth and nip.

“Hm?” he prods, teeth grazing over skin playfully, “Gonna go back to alternating having your shit rocked when my time is up?”

Okay. Little less playful. His cadence is still light and good-natured but. Oddly heavy question. That little, unspoken slice of reality peeks through the facade of joking, traces streaking like dawn through cracks of blinds, if only for a moment.

Isla swallows. Her pupils paste to his cushiony mouth, to the tips of her digits pressed lightly between his teeth. She settles for something safe, her breath held in her chest. Actually, maybe a little unsafe, given the trajectory of his emotions.

“If you want me to, Sir.”

Placate, placate, placate. The words are all that any dominant could want — submission in its ultimation. Whatever he wants of her. Despite this, the statement has something like …disappointment twisting in his chest. He doesn’t want that. He wants to elongate their contract, he wants to keep railing Isla over, and over, and over, he wants to spend the rest of timeless time with her as his in the realm of Indulge, and only his. And he doesn’t want it to be up to him. Tell me no, Harry wants to say. Tell me you want me and only me. Show me you care, the way I do.

Instead, his mouth purses.

If there’s any inkling of protest to her words, the dominant doesn’t showcase it. She’s curious to hear his response, but he doesn’t give one. Instead, he intertwines their fingers and shoots her a glance. The topic of conversation pivots.

“Were you a good girl for me this week, sweetheart?”

Oh, goodness gracious. She’d nearly forgotten all about Monday night’s debacle, so honed and amused by the envy the dominant was radiating. The mischievous streak in her really starts to fade, then.

Was she a good girl for him this week? Vague recollections of a very satisfying vibrator pressed between clammy thighs in messy sheets at late hours flit through her mind.

And her Eros on the other end of the line.

There’s a sudden heaviness to her tongue. It’d be easy to fib and pretend she hadn’t slipped up with hungry fingers between hungrily splayed thighs, just as he’d requested — commanded — her not to do. It’s not like he’d know.

Was she a good girl for him? No. Isla certainly wasn’t.

She admits, after a moment of deliberative lull, “No, Sir.”

Sir, she’s tacked on, politely — without coaxing, Harry notes. It’s the first thing he notes, in fact, besides her candid confession of misconduct. After that, it’s the way her body language has morphed from joking to tensed, to the way her fingers rub together in her lap, to the way her chest rolls lightly with her slow, bated breaths.

“No?” he prods softly, pondering on her admission, “You weren’t a good girl?”

Behind his ribcage, his heart kicks it up a notch from priorly peaceful equilibrium into a wild, racketing hammer. Because if she tells him what he thinks she’s going to tell him, if she confirms his suspicions and proves that he hadn’t spent Monday night driving himself mad, with hands raking restively through his tendrils in lieu of getting a good night’s rest post her late night call, then—

“I …touched myself, Sir.”

And there it is.

Isla bites into her cheek when faced with his hum of acknowledgement — of course the sound is coated with condescension, as if he’d expected her to fail.

“And you came, I assume?” jade glimmers between lengthy lashes and shadows of an unnecessary disguise as he tacks on, “I mean, I’d hope disappointing me was worth it, at least.”

It — what? Isla toes at the back of her opposite ankle, a crease working between her eyebrows.

“I didn’t — I don’t know,” she blows out a breath, “how to answer this question.”

“You don’t know if you came?” his own eyebrows rise in teasing, inflection jestingly incredulous. It’s a good sign, for now, the young woman thinks. She’d expected green to turn steely, but he seems keen on poking at her — which she’ll take rather than to be confronted by his demeanor of disdain.

“No— I,” she sighs, craning her neck back and crossing her arms as the dominant’s pillowy mouth twitches, “I did,” upon the glint of warning to his expression, even mostly bridled by rubber, the submissive curbs the exasperation that’s leaked into her tone, backtracking softly, “I mean, I don’t — I wasn’t trying to disappoint you.”

“Mm.”

“And — well, anyways. I think you should be the opposite of disappointed, considering I came clean,” the twist she takes on the circumstances, to Harry, are a little appalling.

He just sort of hums, entertained, and states, “S’that where the bar is, now?” and upon her vexed look, commences a slow clap, “Applause for the bare minimum.”

“Amnesty,” she cocks her head, sitting up a bit, unperturbed by his derisive sarcasm, “is a thing, by the way, if you weren’t aware.”

At that, he literally feels the dimples poke into place beside the curl of his smile. “You’re quite funny.”

“I know,” Isla tells him after a moment, her shoulders sagging as she tips her chin to her hands and picks at her nails, her voice low, “I’m hilarious.”

Harry brushes a pleather-clad palm over her thigh before he bats at her hands. He clears his throat. “How many times?”

Her face tips up, like she’s confused by the question, and the man clarifies, “How many times did you touch yourself?”

Rather than persisting with the jittery habit of nail picking, she mollifies by tracing down his chest, over his dress shirt, sort of hoping to smooth out the incoming tension of the scene in the same way her touch smooths the fabric, “Just once.”

“Tell me,” she watches his tongue peek over before his swipes over his lips, and her vision only flits away for a mere moment when she feels his colossal palm squeezing at her hip, “how you did it.”

She blinks up at him, like the request baffles her.

“S’not that difficult of a task. Well,” Harry pauses, and his eyes roll to the side with the patronizing dig, “The first one wasn’t either, but.”

“I—“ the young woman’s jaw sets as she lifts her chin at the jab and she declares with resolve (plucky, Harry thinks, considering the circumstances), “with my vibrator.”

Vibrator. Interesting. He hadn’t heard it on the other end of the phone — sneaky girl. The chatter from the television, obnoxiously loud, floats to the forefront of his mind, then.

“Okay,” he nudges with his chin, “Getting somewhere…”

“Third setting,” Isla states, deadpan in decibel, “and I came.”

And then his palm locks, softly, over the back of her neck, and he physically guides her to lean forward against him. The dominant’s strawberry lips brush over Isla’s ear as he speaks, low and tantalizing, and then that same mouth pastes to an expanse of skin just below.

“Details, little miss. And less attitude. Paint me a picture.”

Oh — her pulse stutters.

“Were you,” his mouth alternates between questioning and pressing open-mouthed kisses that incite chills to bloom over her flesh, “watching something? Thinking of something? Hm?”

The young woman’s unsure of the cause behind the sudden, sensual twist in their discussion, but she tries to bare her neck a bit, quite literally the furthest from complaining.

“I — the TV was on. But I was thinking about you,” she admits, and the dominant slides the opposite hand around the curvature of her hip, fondling over the side of her thigh.

“What about?”

“Your—“ the man’s mouth curls up lewdly against her skin in response to the stutter he coaxes as his hand ventures to her backside, squeezing — the way her throat bobs with a swallow, “your hands, touching me. Your mouth — on my, on my—“

“Your…?” Harry wheedles tauntingly, his hand tracing its way back onto her front and teasing at the hem of her underwear.

Isla’s confession comes breathy, and her legs splay apart a smidge when he dips his forefinger past the barrier just a tad, brushing over the smooth, sensitive crease between her pelvis and her thigh, “My pussy.”

“Mm. S’that all?”

“No,” her lashes flutter behind the lace, “I thought about — about your cock. Thought about you fucking my mouth, and,” her speech dies off as his fingers wriggle further beneath her panties and brush against her clit.

“And?”

“and I thought about you,” Isla swallows, screwing her eyes shut, “…holding my nose, as you did it. So I couldn’t breathe.”

The pads of his fingers stutter in their caress. Shit. His nostrils flare at the filthy admission, and the way desire teems through his veins and arousal coils through his tummy at the thought is pure, hedonistic darkness. When Harry asks her, “What else?” his voice is considerably huskier against the crook of her neck.

“I thought about you slapping me — my face,” her chest rolls as his fingers dip and gather sopping slick — she knows she’s ludicrously wet, reliving the fantasies that’d become tucked away in the dells of her mind, in combination with his soft touch, will sort of do that. It all has her feeling as if a fucking furnace glows angrily between her thighs. “I thought about—“ her jaw sets as she tips her head back, and he nips at her earlobe, “you spanking me for touching myself. How sore I would be over the next few days, having to sit at work.”

“Spanking you with what?” Harry’s cadence comes muffled and heady against her skin.

“Just — just your hand,” Isla’s heart races in her chest as he draws circles, like it beats in laps that trace the track of the motion.

The dominant presses open-mouthed kisses to her skin, crooning, “Just my hand? Y’dont think you deserve the paddle or the strap for disobeying me?”

Isla doesn’t think much of anything when his tongue pokes out and glides over straining muscle.

“Whatever,” she swallows, his fingers fisting desperately at the sturdy muscle of his thigh, “Whatever you want, Sir.”

“S’not whatever I want, though,” he hums, “It’s about what you deserve. So what,” his fingers press a little harder, his cadence grows a little hungrier, “do you think you deserve?”

“I — I deserve whatever you decide I deserve, Sir.”

“Mm. Well. I think,” Isla gasps and jolts, her breath morphing into a soft whimper when he pinches her clit between his digits, “You don’t deserve to entertain any of those little fantasies. Not after you couldn’t follow one simple rule.”

She sags as his fingers withdraw and the elastic snaps back into place.

“Don’t deserve to have your mouth fucked,” Harry sighs, shaking his head as if disappointed by the statement, himself (good, he’d be missing out, Isla thinks petulantly), “Don’t deserve to have my hands, or my mouth. I suppose spanking wouldn’t even serve as a punishment for you, would it?”

“Because,” he motions with a hand, “we’ve done loads of that, and you’re still what, darling?”

Isla gnaws on her bottom lip, chin tilted to her hands.

“I’m talking to you,” she’s caught off guard and has to bridle a gasp when he grips onto her jaw with a gloved palm and roughly guides her face in the direction of his own. The sudden emergence of his stern streak leaves her doused in want, “You’re still what?”

It’s appalling, honestly, the way a mercurial flip of a switch in his character could affect her so deeply, but there’s nothing Isla finds more arousing than when her Eros gets like …this.

“…Disobedient,” Isla tells him softly, after a moment, not entirely sure of the answer he’s looking for.

“A disobedient, little whore—“

Isla swallows dryly, his words — his irritated tone, sinking straight to her core.

“—that just doesn’t seem to learn.”

“I’m sorry,” the submissive starts after a moment, but her cautious apology is hindered by his scoff, a shake of his head that leaves light bouncing off the glossy hood, a sound of sardonic amusement. Her pupils, through the lace, bound to meet his narrowed gaze.

“No, you’re not.”

Isla swallows. He’s right. She’s not exactly this virtuous angel who’s lurched into a pit of misdeed because of a careless accident. And she’s not exactly regretful of it, either.

The way the dominant squeezes over her hip then, the fondle of his hand gentle in contrast to the foreboding words he tacks on — the way his irises sweep over her like he’s nonchalantly deliberating her fate, has an eager thrill of the looming danger wracking down the knobs of her spine. “But you will be.”

Loads of people are adrenaline junkies — the bungee jumpers, the skydivers, the bull riders, the mountain bikers, the people who like to watch scary movies in theaters with 3D glasses, melted back against their seats as the volume of the music dims and a pregnant pause of impending doom stalls. The ones who stand in lines, veins teeming with anticipation as they edge closer and closer, zig-zagging through dividers in slow, stalling steps, all to become seated in a rollercoaster with a 90 degree drop. That excitement on the drop billows through their arteries like a chaser. It’s all sort of the same thing. Isla just has …unorthodox penchants. Methods. She happens to enjoy having the shit beat out of her, maybe, or being terrorized by something rooted in fear. Because when you mix adrenaline and sex, it’s just. Unfathomable. Truly a top-tier recommendation, if Isla were ever coaxed to recommend it. But it’s all the same thing. All a similar outcome.

Isla’s absolutely aching for that enslaving rush, and then Eros nearly gives her whiplash as he just …looks at her and says, “Maybe we shouldn’t play at all tonight.”

She can’t manage to muzzle the bloom of bemused disappointment that seeps into her tone, “I — what?”

“I mean,” Harry retracts his palm, and Isla’s suddenly left oddly cold, perched on his lap as his arms cross laxly over his chest, “you’re a disobedient, little whore. We’re on the same page about that, aren’t we, pet? Doesn’t matter if I punish you for it. And you certainly don’t deserve to be rewarded. Could just call it a night, hang out in the lounge—” his eyes convey volumes as he peers at her through lashes with insinuation, “Could mingle a bit. Sit around with your great, little friend.”

Faunus. Back to Faunus.

“I—“ Harry watches her pillowy mouth part, and settle into a line as words fail her, and then part again, “Please.”

“Please?” his eyebrows jolt, mouth pursing as a huff of wry amusement is expelled from his nostrils, and he’s about to say more, but then she interjects—

“Please, Sir. Please, I need—“

“Shut—“ Isla freezes when his hand comes back to her face, this time with the pads of his digits squeezing into her cheeks harshly, “—the fuck up.” And all Isla can really manage, from there, is a wordless mouthing against his digit, like a fish out of water. Harry watches her lips move a bit over a silent please, sort of amused by the persistive spectacle (but he definitely doesn’t let it show).

“Stand up,” he tells her, after a moment, unlatching his grip and shifting his thigh beneath her, “Stand up, and strip.”

As the young woman stands, he nudges himself off the armchair as well, making a beeline straight for the wall of toys, but not before aiming his forefinger her way and adding, (a bit cheekily, if Isla’s not mistaken, though that note is drowned out by the sternness that brims his tone), “Leave the stockings on.”

The pads of her thumbs hesitate, just past the hem of her left, sheer stocking. Slowly, she straightens back out and fixes the digits into her bra straps, shimmying those off of her shoulders first, then winding her arms behind her back to unsnap the hooks with a deft enough motion (her hands are sort of trembling). Her fingertips dip into her underwear — soaked, of course, post the ministrations of the man who mills about the room all the while, gleaning objects. Isla watches him gather and deliver the objects to the mattress before going back for more — almost like an animal stockpiling in preparation for a lengthy winter. She works the pair of underwear down her thighs, stepping out of them, and throwing them alongside her brassiere on the armchair.

The young woman feels, for the first time in a long time, a bit awkward, just standing on the linoleum, bare of all but her stockings, as she waits for further instruction from a dominant who doesn’t look as if he cares to bask in her nudity for even a split second. Because Harry always has this way of making her feel worshiped — even when he feigns that his attention is entirely torn away. Because in those split seconds where his pupils train back onto her, that facade breaks, and she sees the hunger seeping through. Her pulse stays impressively even when she watches him set a long, metallic spreader bar with cuffs — like shackles — onto the comforter beside a large wand. Finally, the rubber-hooded male shoots her a blank gaze — it lasts, as expected, a minute timespan before he fixes his attention back onto the objects. He doesn’t look even a smidge interested in her denuded state — it’s an offhand glance to make a point.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?”

“If you’d like me to, Sir,” Isla tells him — he couldn’t possibly get upset at an open offer of subservience (despite the underlying aim of innocuously-feigned backchat), and that fact seems to register with him.

Harry gives her a good look then, one considerably longer than the previous had been, one where she can practically witness the gears turning behind his skull. The submissive supposes she’s gotten what she’d wanted, after all. Then, his mouth twitches like he’s actively attempting to bridle it from morphing to a grimace.

“Come here,” the dominant instructs eventually, tone firm.

Shrouding her timidness, Isla follows his directions and makes her way to the bed until she’s stood in front of him with her chin held high. The way his hand gently grasps her wrist then, as the opposite digs into a pocket of his slacks, has her heart fluttering. His face is downcast to the bracelet as the pin-like key winds, until there’s a click and it isn’t — instead it fixes onto her own. The dominant leans in, his voice soft.

“On the bed. All fours.”

Isla turns just as he pockets the bangle, and crawls onto the mattress, just as instructed. She feels chilly metal graze against her calves, a brush of smooth leather.

“Spread,” Harry demands, and starts fastening one of the plush, padded cuffs to her ankle once she’s knee’d her thighs apart. Then, the following joint. “Put your arms back, through here,” he pats at the empty space between her (involuntarily) splayed limbs.

So Isla does that, too, rocking forward onto her shoulders and pressing her cheek against the sheets, her face cast at the wall where the door stands as her fingers twitch. He fastens cuffs onto those, too, and by the time all’s done and well, Isla’s absolutely immobile. Testingly, she tries to wrench her wrist back, the attempt subtle. She can’t move. At all. And behind her, the dominant’s pillowy mouth crooks at the sight. Apprehension rises in her, like a flood of water surging through a cylindrical building, swelling in the space between a spiral staircase that clings to the curved walls.

The beginnings of that beautiful adrenaline.

“Anything uncomfortable?”

“No, Sir,” Isla tells him.

“I mean — you’re going to be plenty uncomfortable,” she rocks back a tad as the dominant smooths his hand down the back of her thigh, “but I’d prefer you didn’t end up with a cramp, or a weird soreness because your neck’s in a funny position.”

The touch withdraws. Isla swallows.

“No. Everything’s good.”

She jolts when her ears pick up on a sound that destroys the lull — like tape, bondage tape, she’s sure, and the dominant sounds as if he has a piece between his teeth when he responds, “Wonderful.”

Then comes the sounds of tape tearing. Her muscles tense as she feels something press against her thigh, against her core, and then his hand starts to wind what she knows is the tape around her flesh. A click. The wand comes alive, rumbling. Isla can’t begin to stifle her soft hum.

“Good spot?” the dominant prods, out of sight.

The young woman fixes her gaze onto the bland wall through shapes and swirls of lace, her lashes fluttering, “Mm — yeah. Really good spot.”

“O-kay.”

And then after that — a stalling silence. Nothing reverberates over the walls, nothing falls on eardrums besides her soft breaths and the fixed buzz of the wand, pressed between her clammy thighs. Pleasure builds within her like water surging behind a dam, just sort of steadily rising until the structure starts to show signs of wear, rifts in its integrity. Then — well, then, there’s imminent destruction.

The mattress creaks. He’s shifted.

“Sir?” Isla prods, her voice small.

“No talking,” the dominant tells her after a moment, his cadence steely, “Don’t wanna hear you.”

Her bottom lip becomes siphoned past her teeth. That’s — fuck. Okay. She regulates her breathing, and stares at the wall as the toy continues rumbling against her. He hadn’t exactly, explicitly mentioned that she was to hold off her climax, so. All sort of fair game, Isla thinks. Despite this, she does try to moderate the pace in the surge of bliss — maybe it could be, like, a trickle instead of a swelling flood, if she really focuses—

Another click. The buzzing increases in intensity. Her digits flex and clench, and her wrists shift in their respective cuffs. Still, she stays very quiet. That is, until the familiar, foreboding wave of pleasure tides, frothing at her tummy and sinking. Isla tenses in the restraints, and holds off pleading until she absolutely has to. It’s sort of a gray area, because she’s definitely not supposed to wait until that happens, but apparently she’s also not supposed to talk, so.

“Sir! Can I cum? Please, please, can I—“

“Cum,” he tells her simply, not even batting an eye at her improper wording — may, he’s told her so many times, may I?

Isla does, and it’s extraordinary. His dialogue nearly misses the mark entirely before the wave crashes, the countdown spent to milliseconds. Her toes curl, and her eyes screw shut, and her thighs tense, and her wrists tug reflexively, pinioned, as she groans and attempts to coil up. The dominant doesn’t make any moves that propose the idea of him touching her or using her for his own pleasure, in any manner, nor does he make an effort to remove the vibrator or her restraints. It buzzes at her core, even as the tide of pleasure ebbs. It ebbs, and all she’s left with is the hammering of her heart, and the toy still rumbling at her core. The young woman feels her pulse racketing in her eardrums. Isla shifts in her cuffs a smidge — as much as she can — though, there’s not much leeway for that.

“Thank you, Sir,” she tells him, after a moment, her tongue swiping out after, over her strawberry mouth. She supposes she’s supposed to thank him, right? Isla’s still unsure of what exactly is going on. He’s going to overstimulate her — that much she’s discerned. It’s not rocket science. Spreader bar plus vibrator plus bondage tape? That shit was crystal clear from a mile away. She figures the dominant is aiming to venture to three, …maybe four. Maybe until she’s crying. Who knows.

The dominant doesn’t respond. She hears him exhale, though. The bed creaks again.

The thing with toying at senses with overstimulation was that the first bit …wasn’t all that rough. The first bit feels good — even on the advance towards the second crest, past that incipient budding of discomfort post an orgasm, the pleasure builds up pretty well. In fact, it sort of feeds off that discomfort. For Isla, at least. Because once you get past that first hurtle of too much, too much, that smidge of aching becomes a mere shadow in the cliff of rapture that blooms from stone — growing, growing, growing.

Until, eventually, it gives.

“Oh, oh, please, can I— Sir—“

“Cum.”

She expands and shrivels all in one, everywhere and nowhere with a surfeit of dopamine spurting through her nervous system. The fire kindles. Ah. The beginning stages of displeasure-pleasure. She’s felt it before, a plethora. That kind where her nerve endings settle into a dull, numbing ache. Involuntarily, her limbs jerk in the restraints, tugging to get away. Her jaw clenches.

The thing with toying at senses with overstimulation was that the first bit wasn’t all that rough, but the bit after starts to suck. All good things must come to an end, and all that, but—

Despite that, the unwavering pleasure builds. It builds because of the stimulation, first and foremost, but then it builds because he hasn’t touched her, because he’s just sat back ogling, because she knows she’s dripping down the toy and that the bulbous head glints with her arousal. It builds because it’s a punishment, because Eros doesn’t want to hear her, because she’s disappointed him, and now she’s meant to appease him by enduring suffering. It builds because she wants nothing more than to endure suffering to please him—

“Sir!” Isla wriggles in the restraints, helplessly, the mantra of please-please-please morphed to nothing but a slurred string of words.

“Cum.”

The submissive nearly rolls and topples to her side under the earth-shattering abuse of the third — frankly, the only reason she doesn’t sink into a ridiculous sort of spreader-bar-mangled fetal position, is because Harry touches her, for the first time, steadying her with a firm palm against her bare hip. The pleasure with the third is much shorter-lived than the wide windows of the first two. It wanes nearly instantaneously, shrinking back as fiery ache overtakes it in the race. Isla grits her teeth, writhing forlornly as pain settles, coating her and seeping to interweave through the marrow of her bones. Three, maybe four, she tells herself, a mellow appeasement for inner peace — though, her brain has slowly begun its melt into a commonplace mush. Telling anyone anything, or even processing thoughts besides the signals fired off by her nervous system, is beyond strenuous. She doesn’t notice a sheen of tears has glazed over until she blinks and what’s normally sharp, clear lines of fabric turns to blurs. Despite the (reasonable, Isla believes) assessment of the dominant’s agenda (Isla’s fixated upon to ground herself amidst the curdling fear that tails the unknown, in all circumstances), she can’t help but start to plead, a bit, all things considered.

“Sir, please, please, please—“

“Cum,” the man tells her, from behind, offhand and simple, probably admiring his gloves, or something. The statement comes as if he’s nothing but a robot programmed to grant her permission, and that word is the only term coded into his feasible vocabulary.

If Isla had it in her to balk, she certainly would. She doesn’t. Partly because she doesn’t have it in her, and mostly because the tingling pain from the toy has her expression helplessly forming into a frown, almost as if on its own accord. The submissive just pouts, her bottom lip quivering in forlorn appall. Because Sir doesn’t care if she’s begging, because he doesn’t care that she’s already had three, because the realization dawns on her, then, that that would’ve been four, and he still hadn’t made any inclination to cease the torture.

“No — no, Sir,” Isla starts, her waterline welling with tears behind her disguise — it’s wet, and irritates her skin horribly.

The bed creaks. Behind her, the man tuts. And then the toy becomes toggled to a higher setting, buzzing incessantly against her clit with an intensity that wrenches a sharp keen from her.

“What did I tell you? I don’t want to hear you. Not unless you’re asking permission, or you’re safing. One or the other. Nothing in between. Disobedient, little whores don’t deserve to beg.”

It’s — he’s. Pitifully, Isla sobs against the comforter.

Five. Harry’s on the track to wrench five from her — which, all things considered, is a reasonable goal to shoot for, he thinks. He knows she certainly has four in her to give, because she’s already given him four, weeks ago, in the Dungeon. And if she can’t make it to five within a reasonable time frame, he’ll cut it short post her enduring the aftershocks of the fourth for a bit. He settles back onto his arm, braced against the mattress as he splays behind her, at the foot of the bed, cheek pasted to his gloved palm as he drinks in the sight of her cunt leaking helplessly over the head of the wand. Great view. One for the books.

Despite all of this, the sobs wracking her body have him sitting up a smidge to peer around at her face, which. Not much to decipher past swollen-post-teething lips and trembling flesh, without a good view of her eyes, but. The goal is definitely not to make her safe — that last bit was just sort of open encouragement. Like, an, always feel free sort of thing. They’re only on three. He frowns.

“Hey. Baby,” Harry sits up to lean beside her, closer to her face, where she expels helpless sobs from a quivering, slobbery mouth.

The thing with Isla crying was that it was cool. Deemed cool by both parties — sought after, in fact. But checking in, Harry thinks, is also (even more) cool, especially when she’s crying in a manner that implies that she’s slipping, and that it’s all teeming into the territory of too much, despite the fact that it can sort of break apart the characters they play up in a scene. Because roles are easy to slip back into, but reforming a bond of security post the unnecessary trauma of a boundary being unintentionally crossed is, frankly, much more difficult to casually slip back into. Safety is cool. Big thumbs up.

This stuff is so much easier with eyes, Harry thinks — they speak volumes. They get blown like nightfall, crossing and shading past the lines of pupils and seeping into colors of irises, they become shifty and evident in apprehension, they kind of give it all away. He flips the toy off, but it stays nestled to her core, and he strokes hair off the band of lace shrouding her from him.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” a crease works between his brows as he rakes his digits through Isla’s hair from her sweaty hairline. Because you sound like I’m murdering you, goes unsaid.

The thing is, he knows Isla’s limits, basically. General ballpark, that is. Really knowing and understanding takes months, and months — maybe years of experimentation. But even then, there’s those scenes where you have to check in and break character, and that’s okay. He just hadn’t prepared that it’d be after three.

Isla sniffles beneath his touch.

“Do you want to stop, darling? Red?” he smooths the pads of his digits over her cheek. And beneath his palm, weakly, the submissive shakes her head, an indication that, no, she doesn’t want to do that.

The muscles in her neck strain with a swallow as Harry tucks loose fragments of hair away, his chin dipped to observe her response, and then the young woman tells him, softly, “No. Please.”

“We don’t have to keep doing this, pet,” Harry promises, his cadence taking on a note that’s the most gentle it's been since she’d been sat over his lap, “I can take these off, and we can keep playing, but we don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

Isla sighs softly. The pain had begun intermingling with pleasure just before he’d shut the toy off, tinges of bliss blooming post abuse on her physical senses — that’s not why she was crying. Really, there’s a plethora of reasons, some not entirely decipherable. Partly because of the intensity, partly because of the adrenaline and their subsequent endorphins, and partly because she was definitely fucking slipping. She could feel it loom over her when her mind got all mushy, when it all became slower, and more difficult, like trudging through a swamp of molasses. When her tongue got heavier and her body felt fuzzier.

“Wanna make you happy,” Isla tells him. Her eyes are screwed shut behind the lace, mostly to hinder the onslaught of tears, so she can't see him, but she does hear him sigh.

“You do make me happy. Always make me happy. Always happy I get to play with you. Silly.”

Her mouth twitches, then, and curls up a bit. She huffs through her nostrils. Harry cocks his head, smoothing a thumb down the bare fragment of her face on one cheek.

“You make me happy, too,” Isla confesses, her voice small.

Harry tries to keep his mouth from curving into a sad sort of smile in return. Instead, he slips his thumb up to brush over the bottom-most hem of her mask.

“Let me get you out of these,” he only pivots his head towards the bar before she’s humming, evidently dissatisfied by the proposal.

“No,” Isla whines, “Don’t wanna stop playing.”

“We’re not going to stop playing,” the dominant curbs the instinctive eye roll that nearly overtakes the jade, “Just a little break. Don’t you want some water? Doesn’t water sound so good?”

He smirks when she gnaws on her bottom lip and gives him a slow, little nod against the sheets. The man smooths his hand, fondly, down the side of her neck, kneeing around her to slip his fingers to the tape. He unravels that, first, trying to keep the process short, like a bandaid, and he sets the toy down beside her on the bed. Next to go are the cuffs.

“Just a little break,” he promises, “Gonna get some water,” he unbuckles the first cuff — her left wrist, “stretch a bit,” the second — her right, “stretch your neck. Can’t imagine it’s not cramping a bit,” Isla rolls her wrists, her arms still splayed beneath her in the space between the bed and her arched back — the third to go is her left ankle, “and we’ll get you back to shambles in no time,” the last, her right ankle, and he smacks her backside lightly, because it’s there and it’d be a cardinal sin to miss the opportunity, honestly. “How’s that sound?”

The dominant strokes a palm softly up her calf after he sets the spreader bar aside. Isla stretches back against him, like a little cat. Yes. All of these things sound great.

“Stretch out a bit. I’m gonna grab some,” Isla picks up on him saying, before his touch retracts and she hears his shoes clicking over the tile.

Isla shuffles her arms forward, lifting up a bit only to flop back down and morph into Child’s Pose. Sort of. As best as she can. The water machine grinds in the background. By the time Harry has made his way back to the foot of the bed, Isla’s rolled onto her side. He gestures out with the plastic, little cup, and Isla flips onto her back and sits up to grasp it between her palms. They’ve ceased their shaking, for now. Harry takes a seat beside her, his legs kicked out ahead as opposed to her coiled hover, calves pressed against the bed. Her Eros has all the answers, Isla thinks. Her throat bobs frantically as she chugs, and in her peripherals she watches him take a slow sip. Once she’s reached the bottom, her hands flop against her sweaty lap, the empty cup wrapped by her right hand.

She turns her face to him, a little smile over her mouth. The dominant peers at her, lips wrapped over the rim of his respective cup through the unzipped mouth slit, and he lifts a hand to swipe a stray rivulet of water from the corner of her mouth with a thumb. Her tongue swipes out as his touch retracts, almost as if to chase the pad of his digit. The man makes a soft sound of amusement over the lip of the cup. Slowly, Isla cranes her neck back, and then forward, and then side to side, and Harry takes another sip.

“You take care of me so well,” Isla admits, planting her forehead against his arm. She’s jostled then, and nearly complains, but then she realizes that he’s only done it to grant her a space to nestle, a nook for her so he can hold her. She still feels a little …warm and fuzzy, but her head has cleared considerably since he’d unshackled her. Isla scoots in, and the dominant winds his arm around her shoulders, squeezing softly.

“You always know what I need, even when I don’t.”

“S’because I’ve got you figured out,” Harry nudges in her direction with his beverage, three thirds of the way down. His hand, cradling the cup, lays laxly against his thigh, then.

“Do you?” Isla’s gaze narrows behind the mask as a little grin plays over her mouth. She lifts her chin up to display it. And she’s so close, he could kiss her.

The male’s tongue peeks out to glide over his pillowy mouth. Isla Cleery. Cherries, and Hydrangeas, and pencil skirts and strange tendencies to do dangerous things on a whim.

No. He absolutely does not.

“Basically. You’re an easy read, love.”

Her pupils rove over the rubber hood. Over his eyes, glinting through the shadows cast by parted zippers, slipping to the muted berry of his mouth. She’s never yearned, so badly, to surpass a personal limit and kiss someone she was …just playing with. Desperately. She tears her gaze away.

“Can we keep playing?” the young woman inquires, instead.

The dominant rolls his eyes, a soft smile cresting his cushiony mouth, “Do you want to keep playing?”

“Yes. Sir. Please. Right where we left off.”

“Right where we left off?” his eyebrows raise a smidge, “Are you sure? We can move on to phase two.”

“Phase two?”

“Well. Since phase one was punishment for your little slip up earlier in the week,” Isla’s gaze skids away sheepishly, “figure s’only fair phase two is penance for that little comment you made out in the lounge.”

The young woman’s gaze snaps back to the dominant, and she wracks her brain for a dull moment where her mind sort of lags, the edges still a little fuzzy. And then it dawns on her. Fuck. Right. There was that.

“Okay,” Isla tells him, after a moment — not a deliberative one, per se. Just. Mental preparation. “That sounds good.”

“That sounds good?” Harry’s hand slinks out to stroke over her bare thigh, and then his gaze skims to his thumb as he strokes it over the hem of her stocking, “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Sir,” Isla tells him, sitting up a bit with her rejuvenated courage, “and I want to start where we left off.”

Harry hums, pausing his thumb over her stocking. He digs it under, just a bit, tugs up, and lets it snap back into place. And then he pats her thigh, takes her cup from her, and tells her, “Alright. Back into position then. M’gonna refill these so we have them ready, for later.”

As the dominant stands to refill their respective beverages of sustenance, Isla scoots back on the mattress, flips, and clambers into position, already prepped with her arms stuck flat out in the space between her parted calves by the time he returns and sets the cups onto the, (oddly domestic and ludicrously practical), nightstand, beside the bed. She hears him blow out a breath, and the bed shifts as he knees his way onto it from behind.

“All good to keep going?” Harry prods, the thin pole of the spreader bar grasped in one hand, “Promise?”

“I promise,” the young woman returns, half-nodding and half kind of just taking the opportunity to snuggle her face into the comforter. The area soused by her tears is a little further to the right, now, and despite the fact that her mask is still wet, the blanket beneath her face, now, is dry, so it all feels like a spruced up, fresh start.

He slots the cuffs back on, one by one, working backwards from the order in which they’d been discarded minutes prior. And when she’s all splayed and riveted for him, a particular sort of sensitivity settles in her as the wand, still slick from her, presses to her cunt as he sets all the props back into place for the scene (pun intended). It’s not necessarily that grating numbness she’d become accustomed to, or a cloying past aftershocks. Just the sensation of knowing, physically, that she’s already given three. A tremble nearly slinks down the knobs of her spine at the thought. The tape unsticks from the roll as the dominant works it back over her thigh.

Isla blinks, her lashes brushing over the innermost of the lace, squeezed to her face in its tightening against the sheets. She chimes, for good measure, “And. I’m all good. You don’t have to …be nice.”

His handiwork pauses. And his cadence, rasped like sandpaper, slow like seeping molasses, sweet like syrup, nearly causes her to drown in it all. He sounds …hungry, for the first time in the night since they’d explored her fantasies in the verdant armchair, when he tells her, “I don’t intend to be.”

That’s — shit. Okay. Then, Eros smooths his palm down the back of her thigh and ponders, aloud, “Can you give me five, d’you think?”

Five. That’s a …milestone.

Isla blinks. Warmth coils in her at the suggestion, instantly, hunger unsatiated as if she hadn’t just endured the three course meal of three orgasms, back to back. Her throat feels dry, like her mouth’s been stuffed by cotton.

“I can — I can try,” she swallows, “Sir.”

“There’s a good girl,” the man hums, pleased by her answer, and he sits back a bit, rewarding her with a loud smack that siphons a gasp and a jerk in the restraints from her. A ruddy splotch teems over the surface of her skin — tinges shaped by his open palm. He gives her another, just over where the first had landed, and Isla releases a girlish grunt in response, rocking forward. A third, then, and with the opposite hand, he toggles the toy on. Harry watches every muscle in her body tense, at that.

The newfound pleasure, post the break, feels almost as if spawning from square one. Not entirely — there’s still that nagging reminder deep within her nervous system that she’s already spent so much for him (recovering from three takes, maybe, just a little longer than a span of minutes). But rather than numbing tingles enmeshed with knife-like, slicing pain, pleasure blooms quickly, radiating from between her thighs and coaxing the pit of her tummy to coil with something familiar and warm. And rather than sitting back like an audience member to enjoy the show, this time, the dominant seems interested in taking part — an active part, in fact. He smooths his palms over the globes of her ass, and every blow, falling in increments (when she seems to least expect it), sends jarring shocks through her nervous system that throw her entire comprehension of sensation for a loop. It doesn’t hurt — not at all, really. Instead, each hit enmeshes with the overpowering bliss from the rumbling against her core, and the only tinges of pain come from the eventual soreness that blooms. But it makes her wetter, hotter, more sensitive, and, eventually—

“Sir!” Isla’s eyes squeeze shut as the beginnings of the flame lick at her, “Can I—“

And then one of his palms squeezes into one of her hips and the opposite smacks her again — and, fuck. Isla can’t bridle her strangled sound when he tells her, “Cum.” The wave washes over her like water crashing over jagged rock.

The discomfort that flourishes as the weak bout of ecstasy recedes is not …horrific, per se, but it certainly reminds her that this isn’t her first, and, just as it’d been strung up prior to the break, her body becomes launched into a frenzied state of escape. Five. Why did she agree to try for five? Isla whimpers, her thighs trembling in desperation. And, as if to allay her worries (or perhaps to spur them further), Harry just delivers another strike. And then again, and again, and again, and again.

“Sir,” the submissive whines, a plea (for more? for less?), tears gathering over her waterline like rain in a gutter.

“Say it with me now, go on, darling, I will not,” the volume of his cadence climbs up the stairwell as he smacks her and digs the pads of pleather-clad digits into her skin. Her brows pinch when his mean affections don’t abate, when she aches everywhere to please him, and she sobs.

“I will— will not,” Isla hiccups, sniffles, sobs, pleads for more of his aggressive attention. More, more, more, please.

“Cum without permission,” Eros waits for her to parrot the dialogue before he toggles the setting on the vibrator pressed within her to a higher setting and her sentence cuts off into a high, loud moan. Perhaps of pleasure, perhaps of pain, and probably a solid concoction of both.

He talks over her nonetheless, “I will not cum without permission,” he says it until she’s up to par and mimics, in unison, “I will not cum without permission.”

“What—“ Isla keens as the dominant smacks her again, and her arms strain in the restraints, shackled to the slim pole between her ankles, “—will you not do?”

“I will not cum without permission!” the young woman responds, her cadence breaking into a sob as the toy buzzes incessantly, nuzzled to her overstimulated clit.

“You will not,” Eros agrees and assures her, tone unwavering despite her sobs, “and I will make sure you remember this lesson very, very well.”

By the time she really starts approaching the fifth crest, Harry’s faltered on the follow through of the blows, just sort of admiring the marks, in lieu, like a rabid animal. He’s nearly foaming at the mouth. The dominant traces the pad of his forefinger over a curve, entranced, and nearly misses her shrill plea entirely.

“I’m—“

“Cum,” he demands, pupils roving over her hips, over her sticky thighs, between her legs where she clenches emptily, helplessly, drinking in her cry like an audible variation of nectar.

The burst of pleasure is as short-lived as Isla can imagine, like the most anti-climatic climax of all time. It tears through her, severing her seams, and dwindles almost immediately for a dull ache to settle in its place. Except, this one isn't dull at all. It’s sharp, and it sends her nerve endings into pure angst. She freezes up, her muscles quivering, tensed like the string of a bow just waiting to snap, and she can’t even make out discernable request for him to turn the wand off. All that slips from her is a string of incoherent, muffled sounds, and then the rumbling ceases. Isla pants, her heartbeat so frantic she can feel it in the tip of her tongue. It pulses through her neck, through her appendages, tingling in their cuffs. It slinks through her stomach, through her fingers, it rattles her ribcage as the organ pumps rapidly.

She doesn’t realize the cuffs are gone until she feels herself being manhandled, onto her side, and then onto her back. The dominant slips off the bed, standing at the foot, and wraps his arms around the backs of her thighs as he yanks her toward him. And Isla just splays like a ragdoll. She watches him watch her, her legs flopping and her soles planting against the mattress, knees bent. The submissive tells him, then, cadence soft and dry as if she hasn’t drunk in days, “Please.”

Her chest rises and falls, almost in tune with the slow clink of his belt buckle as he opens it, nimbly, with one gloved palm as the opposite strokes over her knee. His eyes glint like green embers — hungry with want like fire kindling in a forest. Contained in a campfire, for now, just yearning to swallow the branches and brush in flame. Her own pupils shift to his belt buckle. He draws the belt out.

“Please.”

Finally, some give in his otherwise hardened features — his mouth quirks as he tips his chin towards his trousers, utilizing both hands to pop the button and tug down the zipper.

“Please? What, you wanna bounce on my cock, a bit? Gave you five orgasms, and you’re still desperate for it, like a slut.”

Her inhale is tremble-y as she watches him cull a condom, tucked away in its wrapper — red, this time, unlike his usual. His mouth purses as he flips it, rotating between his fingertips.

“Funny,” Harry shoots a glance her way, “This one’s cherry.”

Want a taste, she nearly expects him to jest, memorable remnants of their first one-on-one scene floating to the forefront of her mind. He doesn’t. He goes quiet, and looks awfully concentrated. Isla exhales at the sight of him untucking his cock from its confines, at the view of him tearing the wrapper open with his teeth, and the image of him rolling the condom down his shaft. He takes his hands away, and his cock bobs. The young woman’s chest rolls as he lines himself up with her core, and she jerks when he swipes the head from where she gushes and leaks to where she’s swollen and sensitive. Jade flickers up to face her.

“Gonna be a good girl and follow the rules from now on?” he croons, his voice a bit strained given that he’s been aching for fuck her for the entirety of the session.

The submissive nods, weakly. More than anything, it’s a mindless jerk of her chin. She tenses when he nudges into her. And the stretch is — it’s euphoric. She feels like pure euphoria to him, her spongy walls squeezing over his tip as if they’re two puzzle pieces destined to slot together. A perfect fit. A tight one. His teeth clench, and he hisses and he slides further, unable to curb his groan halfway to the hilt.

“Fuck.”

Isla spasms over him, over the perfect drag, over the perfect stretch. He buries in, sheathing his cock in its entirety until she hugs every last inch, and his fingers fondle over her thigh as he lifts her legs to plant her calves against his shoulders.

“Please,” Isla says again, her hips shifting like she’s eager for him to move.

His mouth twitches. He huffs, reining the instinct to hammer into her as his stomach swirls with want and his mind swims with defiling filth. “Look at you. Desperate to cum. Desperate for attention — for anyone’s attention,” he tacks on pointedly, a dig made as her little rendezvous back at the bar, and Isla’s irises nearly roll back into her head as he withdraws, just a smidge, and pumps forward harshly. Harry grunts. “Just a desperate, little thing. Aren’t you?”

All Isla can manage, as his hips work into a steady pace, is a wordless part of her lips.

“Answer me,” the dominant demands, tone hard.

“No,” the submissive manages out, eventually, and his hips stutter. She whines, bracing her calves against his shoulders to grind wantonly. Case and point.

A wryly amused crease works over his brow bone, behind latex, and his pace becomes stifled to nothing, “No?”

Isla whines, frantically, rolling her hips and squeezing over his length, until he scoffs, throws her legs off of him unceremoniously, and leans down in the newfound space to press her cheeks between his digits harshly.

“No? What the fuck are you doing right now? Grinding on me, like a desperate whore.”

Her breaths are shallow, and she expels, again, a denial. His takes his hand away, just a smidge, and then pats, once, over the fleshy part of her cheek with his open palm splaying — it’s borderline harsh enough to be considered a slap. Isla groans, and the dominant feels the aftermath manifest as a frantic spasm over his cock.

“No?” he repeats, voice low and soft.

“No,” Isla tells him, for the third time. So, he lifts his hand back and does it again, this time a little firmer. Her hips cant as she muzzles a soft sound with her lips, glued together.

“Don’t want anyone’s attention,” the young woman tells him from below, then, her inflection borderline frenzied, “just want yours.”

Slowly, the plush strawberry of his mouth quirks and curls up. His ego swells, and the man pulls his hips back, just a smidge, and pummels forward — a reward, for her, and she’s aware. “S’that right?”

“Yes, Sir,” Isla cranes her neck back against the comforter when he pushes off of her, picks her legs back up, and melts back into a sure, satisfying tempo, his hips pumping relentlessly. It’s the best. He’s the best.

The dominant takes her ankles in one palm — how the fuck does he do that, Isla thinks, his hand is so large, and strong, and—

“Fuck, baby, f’you could just see the way we fit together — s’like a fucking match made in heaven,” he throws his head back with a groan post taking in the view of her cunt swallowing him up, coated in cherry-flavored, red latex. His shoulders roll as a shudder wracks down the knobs of his spine, and he separates her ankles off with his hands, setting them into a spread, against the bed, gently. He pushes her knees back until the front of her thighs nearly brush over the sheets, and braces himself with his palms on either side of her head as he works into a hammer.

“He fuck you like—“ Harry grunts as his hips swivel, and Isla watches, entranced, the plush of his lips part on shallow breaths, his grin wicked and twitchy in response to her little sounds, “this? Give you what you want? What you need?”

She doesn’t have to inquire to know that he’s talking about Faunus — still on about Faunus.

“No,” Isla tells him, soft and breathy, And he rewards her, again, by pumping forward, harder, faster, deeper, and groaning, soft huffs suffusing his speech.

“No? Doesn’t stretch this snug little cunt out the way you need? Who does?”

“You — just you,” she keens as the entire mattress rocks beneath her.

“Just me?” his tongue sticks to the tips of his front teeth as he pummels forward and punches a little gasp out of her, “Who does this sweet, little cunt belong to?”

“You — Sir!”

“That’s right. S’my cunt. Mine to fuck, mine to tease, mine to kiss,” his gaze flickers down between them, where they connect, and the sight alone nearly has his balls draining. His hand ventures, and fingertips rub over the bundle of nerve endings in a way that has her tensing and crying out.

“My clit. Isn’t it?” He switches to a thumb, swiping over it, and his jaw falls open as he watches her pulse over his shaft while her head thrashes above, her teeth clenched and grinding in a pained frenzy. She’s quite pretty, overstimulated, too.

“And that means,” the left corner of his mouth buckles up, his speech glazed with condescension, “I can do whatever I want to it, right?”

As soon as his touch abates, Isla can no longer restrain herself. She digs the pads of her fingers onto his placket, into the empty spaces between the buttons of his shirt and the slits where they’re looped, clenching a fist as she raises herself and tugs him down. And before the dominant has the opportunity to scold her for treating his dress shirt with such an unshackled lack of care, she meshes their mouths together. Harry’s arms nearly buckle.

It’s filthy — but not at first. At first, he doesn’t return it, appalled by the gesture. Because it’s a limit, according to her, it’s her limit, because it’s too personal, and she’s just broken it herself. Because she just couldn’t hold back anymore, and in the fervor with which she kisses him, that shit is pretty evident. But then, he does return it. His lips move, and he moans against her strawberry mouth, and then her lips part, and from there it’s just …lewd. They’re sort of in the middle of active intercourse, Isla thinks, so a kiss shouldn’t make her feel so dirty — but it does. It’s not a dainty first kiss of first loves and soft touches and curious experimentation. It’s thrilling, and dirty, and his tongue slips into her mouth after she brushes her own against his bottom lip, and one of her hands tangles into his dress shirt while the opposite presses against his shoulder as if aiming to work out a fucking knot with the pressure. She whimpers against him, wetly, and in turn he groans and nips at her bottom lip with his teeth, his cock pulsing inside of her. And then it’s all teeth, and tongues, and want, want, want, as his hips hammer against her. It’s wanton moans, and whimpers, and rugged groans. It’s everything she’s been yearning for, and more.

“Open your mouth, open your mouth,” Harry urges, pulling off a bit and slinking a hand over her cheek, “Tongue out.”

She complies, and then a rivulet of spit dribbles from his mouth against her twitching tongue, and that’s just—

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his hips rolling against her, “You’re fucking filthy. Swallow it.”

So she does, her throat bobs below his palm, which slinks to cradle over her windpipe — not squeezing, just …there. She moans, soft and melty and desperate as his hips roll into her. And then Harry exhales, takes his hand off of her throat, and plants his palms on either side of her head to raise himself, hovering over her. He sighs like the experience is too pornographic to even comment upon. It sort of is.

“Dirty fucking girl,” the dominant settles on, eventually. And then he plows her like fucking farmland.

Her palms roam, frantically, over the fabric covering his back, the craving to leave marks of her own with short nails swelling through her mind, as he pumps forward, until it’s the only thought fathomable. It’s that — and the sick urge to spit into his own strawberry mouth, to have him leant back against the sheets, bare beneath her as she works and bounces over his cock.

Christ.

She’s warm, and wet, and heaven, and Harry imagines that his own personal Nirvana, then, would involve nothing but her cunt squeezing over his cock for the rest of eternity, her skin sticky with sweat beneath him, and her muscles quivering as he imbibes and basks. She is, in the moment, everything he wants and everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he ever will want, maybe. Because sex with Isla was — well. It was something else. Something rapturous, something sick and twisted, something he imagines he could never grow tired of. Ever.

His muscles do, though. Eventually. He feels the ache start in his hamstrings, in his shoulders, in his neck from its crane to gaze down upon her, because he just can’t tear his irises away — it’d be a cardinal sin to miss the view of a lifetime, afterall, Harry thinks. And along with the ache of his muscles comes the familiar chip in his resolve — cracks surfacing as he begins to become rended apart. He feels that in his stomach, first and foremost, in the trench of his tummy as his muscles tense — then, on the underside of his balls, a pleasured warmth that radiates as he pulses, and finally it seeps through his shaft. She squeezes over him, like she knows, and he almost loses it, then and there. He drives into her frantically, groaning animalistically as his body chases release almost on its own accord.

“Shit — always milk my cock so good, baby. Gonna— FUCK—“

Isla moans, soft beneath him, when she feels the warmth of his release, confined by the stupid cherry-flavored condom. When she feels his cock pulsing in her, when she feels his tempo slow, when he gives her a few last, weak strokes. When his head dips and he blows out a long breath, grunting as he pulls back and slips out, when she feels nothing but emptiness.

“Sir,” she starts, soft, soft, soft, and the rough exterior, the paramountcy-hungered, hard shell of his demeanor splinters and falls apart.

“So sweet for me,” Harry says, voice coated in candy, tucking strands back from her sweaty hairline, “Aren’t you? Always so eager to be good for me.”

Isla whimpers. Harry coos, shushing her with soft croons for a moment, until he pulls back and starts untucking himself from the condom and clearing up a bit.

“Always make me happy, always such a good girl. Take everything I give you and more, so well,” the man tells her, his pupils bouncing from his cock to her face as he cautiously rolls the condom off, “Hold on just a minute, baby, and we’ll have a cuddle, alright?”

He stows the condom away in its wrapper after he’s tucked himself away, and he contemplates making the short walk to the trashcan by the electric water thing against the wall. Ultimately, the dominant decides against it when she whines, needy for him and in need. Instead, he sets it off to the side, on the nightstand, as he turns back to her, lips twitching up into a little grin.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he starts, kneeing his way back onto the bed to sit beside her and hover, his hand stroking over her cheek, the side of her head, over her ear, down the side of her neck, “Gave me five today. Made me so proud.”

Isla just nods against his gloved palm, her sigh dreamy. Did she? Five, really? What an exciting and, frankly, impressive number. It’s all sort of a bliss of euphoria. She feels it, the headspace, the kind where she’s buzzing and floaty and her mind drifts and bobs about the walls aimlessly. The kind where all she can fathom is that she wants to be close to him. And it really hits her when Eros coaxes, “Can you sit up for me, pet?”

Absolutely not.

She shakes her head at him, wordlessly, and his mouth quirks with an endeared scoff, and the young woman nearly whines until he slips onto his side beside her to cradle her close. For a minute, he just lays near her, his chest to her side as he pets and caresses over her waist, and eventually he rolls to his own back and beckons, “Come here, baby,” holding her close as she shifts her head onto the space just over his butterfly.

Harry stares at the ceiling. All is well.

All is well, and it happens nearly out of the blue, brought about from a murky horizon, unforeseen. Because in their nights together, Isla cries — she always cries, and sometimes, when Harry cradles her close, he coddles her out of soft sobs that wrack her body post an intense scene. But those are traces. Remnants. They’re aftermath. The unanticipated is a fresh wave.

And Isla feels it coming on. She feels it settling in her chest, first, bursts and blooms of sadness, like the kind where you feel nostalgic, missing something. Then, her eyes. They already feel puffy and swollen, but they start to burn in the back. Her throat feels tight. And that sadness creeps deeper and settles.

Because she sort of feels she’s living through the nostalgia, then and there, in the moment. Like she’ll never relive it again.

Isla lays her head over his heartbeat and starts to cry.

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#dom harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles wattpad #harry styles writing #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles x oc #dom!harry #dom!harry x sub!reader #tdiag

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princess-ibri · 6 months

Text

Darkside Disney Princesses: Belle

(Edit-put my original picture for her under the cut)

(So this one does rely somewhat on the backstories made up for my DisneyVerse versions of the parents of both Belle and the Beast. But I think it still has good precedent because of the whole Belle and Rumplestiltskin thing that happens in OUAT)

In the Darkside version of Belle's tale, Felipe never makes it back to the village to let Belle know something has happened to Maurice, either he gets lost in the woods, or the wolves find him again. And so Belle waits patiently for him to return. Waits, and waits, and waits…

Finally a month has passed, and Belle is desperate to find out what's happened to her father. With no way to know where along his journey he went missing though, she has no way to know where to start looking. And the town isn’t too worried about chasing after “Crazy Old Maurice”, gone into the blue.

Her own circumstances are getting dire as well, without Maurice there to bring in their little income from helping repair the villages various items, her resources are running low. She's taken in sewing or whatever small work people might give her, but its a small town after all, and the people are used to doing their own labor, and couldn't pay her much besides.

The kinder townsfolk give her what they can, but with winter coming on they've got to look out for themselves and their own families

Of course, there's always Gaston's ready offer of marriage, but Belle isn't that desperate. Yet.

Her refusals don't stop him from coming over and offering nearly every day, and they certainly spur him into making sure the town gets the idea that Belle is "too proud to accept charity, don't bother giving her any supplies"

So the winter closes in, Belle finds herself colder and hungrier, and her firewood is getting low. Finally, she bundles up as warmly as she can, and braves her way into the forest to gather what wood she can.

And in the glamor of the sudden snow, she too becomes lost within the trees.

The cold closes in around her. Deep and biting. The trees seem to twist around her, and finally she trips and falls, losing her axe beneath the snow that's piling higher and higher. She has no idea where she is or where to go, as the darkness deepens

Then suddenly, a light. Just ahead of her in the trees, flickering like a flame. She manages to stumble towards it. Following the dance of the light as it seems to lead her onwards, almost beckoning. Every bit of her is numb, but at last she makes it to the door of a ruined looking old tower. And inside, lounging by a roaring fire, is someone, something, between a man and a beast. It bears the shape of a man, but it's skin is mottled green, like the stuffed crocodile she'd once seen hanging in a church as a girl. It's eyes are black as coal, save for the irises, which shine-- like it's hair--like burning gold.

"Hello there Dearie", the being says, with a smile that glitters like a row of needles in the firelight. "Won't you come in? What is it that brings such a pretty young thing out into these dark and dangerous woods?"

Too numb with cold to feel fear, too desperate for warmth to think with caution, Belle accepts the offer, and lulled by the warmth of the fire and the being's careful coaxing, she begins to tell her tale. Her missing father, her growing desperation as Gaston drove away those who might have helped her, the dwindling food and firewood. And through it all the being listens, sympathizes, and finally, offers it's aid:

"For a price of course"

Belle is not put off by this caveat. She has read enough to know of Les Fées and the bargains they often make. She knows of the tricks and traps they lay. She also knows that at this point, she has little left to lose.

And so she agrees to make a bargain with this strange Imp

“You don’t know it, but there’s a power in you dearie. Flowing in your veins, deep down, like an underground spring. I can teach you to draw it up, so that you’ll never know weakness nor want again. You’ll be able to do all the things you ever dreamed of dearie, fulfill every wish—even finding your father”

The promise of this wished for dream above all lights a fire inside of Belle hotter than the one she sits by, but she asks warily: “And, what is it you get out of this?”

“Let’s just say that I’ll have the opportunity to pay something forward”

So Belle begins her lessons, she has always been a swift student. Drawing out the latent fairy magic that lies sleeping within her, waiting to be called forth. In another life she might have discovered it with the help of a more benign teacher. But that is not this life. And she learns to call forth her power through the lens of her fear, frustration, and anger over the willingness of that small and small minded town to so easily cast her and her father aside.

Time passes differently within the environs of the old stone tower. When Belle finally leaves, for her months have gone by, and yet as she reaches the edge of the forest, clad in a gown of midnight blue, her eyes dark as the winter sky above her, she perceives that less than a day has passed since she entered the woods, seeking wood to keep back the cold.

She has no need of warmth anymore.

She reaches out with the power she has learned to yield, seeking the bonds of blood and love that link her to her father. She sees them, feels them, faintly running through the forest. She follows them through the trees, unafraid of the wolves that once would have stalked her, and now slink away in fear at her approach.

She follows them to the gates of a vast and terrible castle, echoing with dying magic, a curse reaching completion she thinks, with the new arcane knowledge she holds. But she does not think on that, but on following the call. Through the door, along empty passages,up the winding stairs, to a jail cell atop a tower. Where lies the frozen body of her father, long gone.

Belle’s grief consumes her, feeding the cold flames of her power. She stalks through the halls, seeking the one who locked her father away, who left him to his fate.

She finds him at last, a snarling beast, crouched around a bell jar that holds a rose, with but one petal left upon it. Magic swirls about it, the center of the web that binds this place. Once Belle might have been curious, wished to learn the secrets of this place, and it’s strange enchanted inhabitants.

Now, she wishes only for revenge

The beast is strong and fierce, savage, the last vestiges of human thought quickly fading away as the curse nears completion, for he has never learned to love, nor earn love in return. But for all his brute strength, he is still only a mortal, and once more finds himself overpowered by a sorceress’s magic

When Belle leaves the castle, crumbling into smoking ruins behind her, she holds in her hands a staff, grown from the dying stem of a rose; once the blushing pink of hopeful love, hope that withered as its petals fell, now burst forth into bloom, the deep dark blue of a winters sky, of a heart gone dark and cold.

She walks steadfastly, resolutely towards the small town she had once called home. There are more scores to settle. Somewhere on the wind, she thinks she hears the echo of the Imp’s laughter…

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horanghoe · 2 years

Text

until it hurts a little less

MAIN MASTERLIST /// TXT MASTERLIST /// IMAGE MASTERPOST

[UIHALL - PART 2.I HERE] /// [UIHALL - PART 2.II CONTINUED]

members/group: Beomgyu / TXT --- (mentions of Jon / NCT)

pairing: Hybrid!Beomgyu x Reader (Fem perspective)

genre: angst, fluff, heavy smut, hybrid!txt, minors dni !!

word count: 15.9k

T/W’s : heavy smut with frequent mention of hybrid features; this is purely fiction and not intended to harm. If you don’t like hybrid!au’s, please scroll on, peace and love!! (Pls dm me if you would like a trigger warning added ♡ )

shoutout to my fellow furry loving idiot ~ @raibebe

& A HUGE THANK YOU to all my beta readers ~ @kthpurplesyou / @rairecommends again / @gyukult / @flowerboykun

special cameo shoutout to miss angel ~ @moonctzeny

IMPORTANT AUTHOR NOTE - This fic has received a mass update since its original publishing date. I hope the edit serves as a greater service to returning readers; and doesn't take away from the original experience felt ♡

Music to listen to while reading ♡ (in no particular order)

Settle - (BAYNK, Sinead Harnett)

Never Seen You Get So Low - (Aquilo)

Be Like That - (Kane Brown, Swae Lee & Khalid)

Lo Que Siento - (Cuco)

Deja Vu - (Post Malone, Justin Bieber)

Come Over - (Jorja Smith, Popcaan)

Bleu - (agajon, Leonie Barbot)

A Storm on a Summers Day - (Full Crate, Gaidaa)

Happier Than Ever - Edit - (Billie Eilish)

긴 밤 (The Long Night) - (Seori, GIRIBOY)

Lonely - (Chloe x Halle)

Broken Clocks - (SZA)

Good Days - (SZA)

Frank Ocean as a genre, lmao

Your day had been simply awful.

Awful.

It was like everything that could go wrong in the world, did. And everything that didn’t; sure as hell gave it a try.

The pain started as soon as you woke up.

You were old enough to know when you were due on your period. Even had an app for it - with notifications, etc. But the past month had totally whipped by, and you awoke to ruined pajamas and a deep ache in your lower back.

Fumbling for your phone, you swiped clumsily at the alarm cutting out the harsh noise before it could offend your ears any further.

Grumbling, you cursed your body for having such a heavy flow out of nowhere, before pulling your corpse-like body out from under the sheets and out into the cold air.

It was just a Friday. One day until the weekend. You could do this.

Willing yourself into positive thinking, you stumbled out of your room and down the hall - straight towards the medicine cupboard to dull the ache in your body and head.

"Jeez! You look like shit. Maybe you should brush your hair before bed, owner."

Almost missing the cat hybrid's words until the pointed end - the prophetical sentence a well-crafted hilt and the end the tip of the sword - you turned around with a sleepy frown and an exasperated sigh, ready to fight without your eyes fully opened.

But he had already disappeared.

Maybe you had imagined it.

Maybe adopting Beomgyu had been one huge, massive dream (or nightmare), and you were due to wake up any minute.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

The bathroom door in front of you slammed shut, making your body shoot up and back against the hallway wall. Beomgyu's laugh could be heard behind the door; high and lilted, full of mockery.

Clinging to your nightshirt and abdomen you whined softly.

"Beomgyu! That was mean! Get out of there, I need to get ready for work!”

Said idiot snorted from behind the door, thumping his clothes into the washing basket.

“Sorry, no can do. I’m going out to the cafe today to meet Yeonjun. Wouldn’t want to walk around smelling like you.”

Absolutely at a loss of words, you garbled a noise of frustration and pleading.

“Beomgyu - please - can you at least grab something from the cupboard? I need some … medicine… fuck. Nevermind."

You knew as soon as you had begun to beg, that you had already lost.

The sound of the shower tapped out from behind the very much locked and sealed door, the male humming to himself as you knocked your head against the wood. You curled over at a wave of pain, breathing through it before it subsided.

The night before, there had been... a disagreement.

You had tried to initiate some ground rules.

(Albeit, three months in could be considered a little late for a peace treaty, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Spoiler alert: it didn't make a difference).

The first point was that Beomgyu was to remain second on the pecking list.

He was arrogant. And a brat. But you were willing to work through it to not send him back to the adoption centre. He was a grown-ass cat-man and had the right to his own space; even if the local laws meant he had to have a human on his registry to do that. He was welcome to stay, on the terms that he could temper his ego, even just a little bit.

You had placed the handwritten ‘new-rules list’ in front of him.

He had peered over it with sharp eyes and a scoff, before crossing his arms and leaning back into the dining room chair.

"I'm literally older, bigger and smarter than you, Y/N. What exactly is your point? On all of this? I already work part-time to pay my way - this is a null request."

He had leered at you. Disgustingly smart, seemingly only when he needed to be.

"But - I'm - I'm your owner… Your - I adopted you…"

Beomgyu had howled with laughter, shaking his headbefore his eyes dropped and his gaze bore straight into you.

"And? Just because you brought me here, signed the leasing papers; doesn’t mean I have to listen to your every beck and call. I’m not your little puppy on a leash, Y/N. Or maybe you’d prefer that. Someone to follow your every order. Maybe you should go back for Mingyu, I’m sure he’d die to get bossed around so much."

It was such a shocking change of aura that you were struck dumb. Sharp feline eyes and rigid tall triangle ears pointed straight at you had made you weak at the knees - the push of dominance, a very unfamiliar feeling. At least where the hybrid was involved.

He had always edged around your limitations but had never directly opposed you before.

At a lack of words, you had withdrawn the list. Shoving it into a kitchen drawer and trying your very best to avoid the emotions swimming in your lungs. Unsure whether to evict yourself or your anger via a punch straight into his - annoyingly charming, handsome, clean, frustrating, stupidly beautiful - face.

The rain had been relentless all week, and it had only seemed to add to your misery after defeat had been admitted.

You sent yourself to sleep with a heavy head full of thoughts and a heart full of frustration. Sleeping through the loud music he played through the TV speakers. Fighting the occasional wakes from flashes of lightning and the thought of work looming over your next day.

Your sleep was troubled, at best.

It seems that last night's confrontation had only made him more irate.

And you knew it was stupid - knew it was mean and entirely selfish - but you couldn't stop the spike of emotions in the apprehension of a very long office shift.

Thoughts of emails, processing paperwork and phone calls and attending meetings; all flooded your mind's eye until you lashed out your frustration at the selfish idiot behind the bathroom door.

You knew he didn’t deserve it, but it sort of just happened before you could stop it.

Your fist solidly thumped against the door, with more strength than Beomgyu had ever expected to hear from you. You had never lashed out. So, in the comfort of the shower, he flinched harshly, bating his breath.

Were you finally going to send him back? None of his ‘owners’ had ever lasted this long. He considered you more of an equal, but that uncertainty was like murky waters that left him too scared to test fate.

Considering the fact he fought bad types of hierarchy with the fervour of a forest fire; he was insufferable towards your lax rules around the flat.

And he would bite on purpose, just for some attention.

But, weirdly, he liked you. You were his opposite - disgustingly happy and optimistic. Buying him gifts when all he knew was hand-downs. Taking his bad behaviour as it came. That’s why your words dug deep into his psyche, deeper than he wanted.

"God, you're insufferable! It's my flat! I brought you back here, pay for your shit! And you're the worst hybrid I've ever met! Maybe it would be a good idea to send you back since you keep fucking suggesting it!!"

Beomgyu closed off the shower. Breathing heavily as he quickly dried himself off. He needed to get away from you and fast before he said something he would regret.

The door snapped open.

You realised your mistake as soon as the male stepped out from behind the door, shoving past your body and down the hall.

The look he had given you was as sharp as any knife. A pure scowl that was full of all the discontentment in the world. Piercing your lungs and squeezing your guts into a flood of guilt.

"I-I'm sorry - I didn't mean that - I just -"

You tried to call out to him; before his bedroom door slammed tightly shut.

As you showered, you considered the feeling sitting heavy inside of your chest. Empty and aching.

You - you didn't even like him, so why the hell did you feel so bad about confrontation when it came to Beomgyu? You had always bitten your tongue at his snide remarks, the poking. But you just couldn’t do it today.

You didn't even have much time to consider it. The second of your third alarms rang out, tapping your phone with a hurriedly dried hand to quickly cut it off before placing your forehead on the cold shower tiles.

It could only go up from here, right?

Your car wouldn't turn on.

Thrusting the key forward; one, two, three times. Before releasing a small cry and shaking the wheel in desperation.

"Why? Why me?! Today, of all days!! I swear, I'm cursed by this stupid black cat! Handsome fucking - cat boy! Stupid - argh!"

To anyone outside of the car... well they may have called the police.

The small vehicle rocked as you yelled into the (somewhat) private space. Each shout was permeated by the aggressive turning of your keys against the very dead ignition - probably doing more harm than good.

Eventually, you pulled back to slump against the seat, admitting yet another defeat.

Reaching for your phone, you dialed the first number you could think of.

"Kun! Oh my god, thank you for picking up. Please, I need to ask a massive favour -"

In reaction to your rushed voice, Kun, your friend of maybe ten years or so, pulled the breaks on the conversation. He knew something was up, simply by you calling him instead of texting.

Who even does that nowadays?

"Woaahhhh there Y/N, good morning - what's up? Did something happen?"

"Yeah - yeah and no, actually. The issue is that nothing is happening... My car won't start - Beomgyu - and then - I don't - it’s all just going wrong, Kun. Sending a friendly SOS. Very much won’t be making it into work without your help."

The light laughter from across the phone pulled your migraine tighter across your head, but you were at least comforted by his silent support.

"You need me to come and pick you up?"

He asked calmly. Ever the rock in a flowing storm. Speaking of; a gust of wind battered the rain against your windshield enough to make you flinch.

"God - yes, yes please! Then we'll both make the briefing! Wet, but on time… at least."

Kun chuckled, confirming your location before hanging up.

The two of you made it into the briefing, barely on time.

Running through the halls in the mandatory but entirely stupid low heels. Cursing every God, Demon and Spirit on Earth for your luck today.

Upon arriving at the office’s car park, the storm outside only seemed to match your inner emotions. It welled, swirled, and looked entirely miserable but angry at the same time, with sharp changes of winds, and heavy downpour matching the ache at your core. You had totally forgotten to bring extra pain medication - and didn’t have the heart to ask Kun.

You and Kun had dashed out from his large Jeep to skid across the car park.

Obviously, your umbrella broke immediately.

But it hurt less as Kun hurried you in, taking the metal cage from you with bubbly laughter and throwing the metal immediately in the trash behind reception, pushing you through the doors to avoid the hawk-like receptionists.

"Jeez, I mean this as your close friend Y/N, but you might want to go clean up -"

Peering at yourself in the shiny plastic noticeboard, you grimaced.

Nodding at the wisdom of your best friend and immediately dashing to the women's bathroom to dab yourself with tissue. Contorting your damp clothes under the hand dryer, and simply begging for the day to get better.

It was within the first 15 minutes of the official meeting that you realised you had forgotten breakfast.

Some people could go without. You were not one of those people on a good day, and with today going the way it was - ah. The first rumble.

Like a beast had just made its way into the quiet room and stomped on the table, demanding 'hear me! I am hunger!'.

You slinked down into your chair, positively embarrassed.

Across from you, a particular Johnny Suh smirked in knowing. He reached forward to tap at his half-closed laptop before a ping made itself known on your own laptop messaging system.

He nodded towards it, before turning his gaze in faux concentration to the projected screen upfront.

Groaning internally at the office hotshot noticing you for all the wrong reasons; you pulled your PC onto your lap, slapping the mute button and - pulling your open coffee cup onto the ground with your momentum.

The one Kun had shoved into your hands outside of the meeting room.

The one he had instructed you to keep a lid on, like your parent.

The men around you whipped their heads on a swivel to see the source of the noise.

The feeling of absolute dread and humiliation washed over you like a cold sweat. What you wouldn’t do to have the earth swallow you whole; bending down to pick up the half-empty cup and release a pent breath.

The guest speaker at the front cleared his throat. Continuing the meeting with enough decorum to exchange a nod with you.

Well, at least the coffee hadn’t - oh. Nevermind.

The hot liquid hitting your sleeve made you jolt, the last of the liquid spilling from the cup and into your upper forearm. You withheld a squeal - only for your face to flush and the cup to hit the floor all over again.

As soon as you hit the third hour of your workday - 11 pm sharp - your phone buzzed from within your bag. A flurry of messages hit your device enough to distract you from the current email draft.

Idiot Feline (Beomgyu) - 4 new messages

Sighing, you pulled the phone fully onto your desk to open it.

- I’m going out to the cafe to see yeonjun

- me and the band will be fucking around for a few hours after. not really sure for how long

- you left your house keys in the kitchen

- text me and I might be able to drop the keys off. or come find me. bye

You’re not sure why, or how, but the dull-sharp tone of Beomgyu’s messages really hit harder than usual today. Maybe it was your hormones, but it hurt to read such an empty message.

The guilt in your stomach twisted into a ghostly kind of pain.

Why should he even say hi? Why should he care how your day was going? After saying what you did to him this morning, his lack of compassion towards your reply was mostly expected.

- ah - thanks for letting me know… I finish at five today - don’t suppose you could get me from work? It would be really appreciated…car broke, had to get someone to drop me in…

His response was immediate. The blue dots flashed up and fizzled out in an angry wave.

- shame. nope, sorry. like I said - we’re practising later. would probably miss your calls/the time anyways. break a window or something, since you’re so big and clever.

You sighed, choosing not to text back.

Leaning forward to flop onto your desk. Closing your eyes - if only for a moment.

Taking a few deep breaths, the bags under your eyes began to feel heavier. The ache in your back just beginning to settle.

But the peace was momentary.

You were at work. There were phone calls to take. Work to be done, and deadlines to be met. Within this soulless shell of an office hall, you could at least ignore the storm outside for a little while.

Basking instead, in the aggressively white installation lights.

Your phone was dead.

Of course, it was. Why wouldn’t it be?

Crying out loud in the staffroom, you willed the swelling of tears back down your throat like a python wrestling to escape your grip.

The door opened, and a familiar - and not so unwanted person - stepped inside.

Local water-tank fuck-boy, Sir Johnny Suh.

“Oh - hey Jon. What is it with you and catching me at bad moments today, huh?”

Quickly swiping at your cheeks in case of any escapee tears - you laughed through a sniffle.

Jon sat down opposite you. The large white table reflected his handsome face, but his smile was a lot kinder than usual. He dragged the chair under his legs before laughing and placing a lunchbox on the table.

Huh. That was very - domesticated, for him. You didn’t mean to judge, but he always struck you as more of a pot-noodle kind of guy. Not that there’s anything wrong with pot noodles.

“Hey, Y/N. Not sure, I just have this way with people, sometimes, I guess.”

His smile breached his eyes as he nodded towards your one folded sleeve. Pulling out a fork to prod at - okay, this was getting a little odd. A salad? In a cutesy little pre-made box? That was totally left field from what you were expecting.

“You okay? Didn’t burn your arm or anything?”

His voice brought you back into the room. You shook your head sheepishly, brandishing your arm until he nodded. He was a little - awkward when caught alone, it seemed.

“No, just clumsy today for some reason. One of those days.”

Jon released a sound of understanding.

“Ah - gotcha. Bit of a shit show?”

You pulled back, feeling weirdly comfortable around the guy you had avoided for quite some time. Laughing weakly you nodded, placing your phone down on top of your laptop to massage your temples.

“Yeah - yeah you could say that. Car broke down, my phone just died, and I’ve been typing up an endless report.”

The two of you were oddly compatible, it seemed.

At least, he made you laugh for the first time since 8 am this morning. And that was pure gold. You told him about your morning, while he revealed some details about his life. He came here from America and had a cool family. No partner, but had a cat hybrid called Angel. Cute name.

Eventually, Johnny nodded towards your phone.

“Hey - that’s an old model, right?”

You pulled your spine up straight with a nod, about to explain why you hadn’t been able to buy a new one after adopting Beomgyu before he nodded.

“If you want - you totally don’t have to - I have a charger in my car that’s compatible with that port? I don’t mind taking you as far as the hybrid clinic if you want?”

You almost choked on your coffee (again), wiping your mouth to nod enthusiastically.

“Oh my God - you’re actually kidding me? Yes, please, that would be amazing - but wait, isn’t that the opposite way to where you live? I can ask Kun -”

Jon laughed kindly, shaking his head with a shrug.

“No, it’s totally chill, it’s fine. I need to get Angel from the clinic anyways. That’s on the way to yours, with a slight detour. She’s working part-time there, so, yeah. No worries.”

At his slight wink, you grimaced. You hadn’t been flirted with in years, and it was telling.

He laughed at your expression before you blurted an explanation to avoid offence. But he brushed it off, enamoured by your honesty.

It was different - and he liked different.

You managed to survive the rest of the day relatively well.

At least you had thought - you sat snug in the back of Johnny’s lush car, charger stretching from the centre of the vehicle console to your phone.

Leaving it to charge while you chatted with Jon on the twenty-minute journey, until a message dinged on your phone.

Kun - 1 new message

- Idiot !! You left your computer on !!!! And your emails are wide open !!!! Hope you didn’t have anything important on there, with the 12 pm forced shutdown and everything. I at least locked it for you. Lots of love, shit for brains. Call me ~

The laughing emoji at the end of the sentence oddly, hauntingly, took your mind back to Beomgyu so early that morning. Or maybe it was the initial ‘idiot’. The feline had claimed that word in your mind, annoyingly. Every time you read it you heard his stupid voice.

Being around Jon - had been the only time in the day where things had actually worked out.

But it seemed like his luck was wearing off.

Groaning, you thumped your head back against the headrest, sliding down the seat. The leather immediately seemed more uncomfortable than before.

Jon laughed softly before peering at you in the inside mirror.

“What? What’s happening now?”

Something about him asking. Something about him taking the time to care. It struck up that deep aching feeling in your gut once more, pushing you to take a few seconds with your eyes closed before releasing a held breath.

“My report - It’s gone. I don’t - I didn’t save it, literally any of it because I was in such a rush to go - I don’t… I’m gonna be in so much shit…”

You forced yourself to clip your voice before you started to sob in the back of the hot man’s car. Dipping your head and masking your face by massaging your skull.

“Y/N - I’m so sorry. That’s so shit. I’ll put in a word for you - honestly, it happens to the best of us. I’m sure they’ll understand!”

Johnny’s attempts at comforting you were… futile.

He didn’t know you.

He didn't know the importance of your document. Nor the time sensitivity. But you were too tired to argue, and too emotionally strung to fully explain. You knew you were homebound to an arrogant boy and journeying through the downpour was nothing but fodder for longing. Longing for it all to stop, so you could simply catch a breath.

Just one day. A few more hours. The weekend was within eyesight.

Defeated once more, you simply nodded.

The next ten or so minutes passed slowly. For the first time in days, the rain was a light drizzle. And the sun was trying its damndest to make an appearance.

The inside of Jon's car smelt like - well, him. A foreign cologne mixed with new-car leather. It was sort of nice. But also very unfamiliar.

You were left feeling alone; in a car, you never belonged in.

Making it to the clinic, Johnny’s companion jogged out to meet your vehicle at the curb.

You were driven down the next motorway before Jon pulled off to let you out. He felt a little mean and apologised profusely, but you shushed him immediately.

Honestly - you were kind of happy to get out of the car.

Jon’s hybrid was lovely. Truly; an Angel.

A cat hybrid whose tawny brown fur matched her pulled-back, soft-looking hair. She was pretty, very tall, and had a delicate, twinkling accent. And you got to see a different side to Jon too, if only for a moment.

But that wasn’t what you had noticed, or been shocked by the most, within your brief exchange. You were shocked by her mannerisms.

You understood that every hybrid worked a little differently - but the characteristics were usually the same across the board. The innate, animalistic instincts, that is. But you hadn’t seen a lot of these behaviours before. Something was… off.

As soon as Angel had entered the car, she emitted a strong purr at Johnny’s side hug. Pulling away to quickly scan you before deciding you were trustworthy; smiles and greetings were exchanged.

Beomgyu… had never purred around you.

Come to think of it - Beomgyu had never even shown you his tail.

Angel seemed to groom hers out of habit, the limb resting on her lap as she smoothed and unknotted the fur.

And her ears - Beomgyu always tried to hide his in his messy emo-looking mullet. Or at least, that’s what you came to presume; ogling at the way Angel’s seemed to flick and move about so freely.

Exiting the car, you took the break in the downpour to start quickly walking home. Pushing through the ache in your thighs to cut the distance by as much dryness as possible.

It wasn’t until you tugged your bag tightly over your shoulder that you realised you had forgotten your phone on Johnny’s centre console, charger still inserted.

What the fuck was going on with you today?

You couldn’t walk straight, couldn’t keep your emotions in check, couldn’t breathe as you fought the tears blurring your eyes. A slurry of grief slamming into you like a falling brick wall.

Just another straw on your back.

A stray droplet of moisture hit your nose. Your forehead. Your cheek.

What started as a light drizzle, soon picked up into relentless rain. It took less than a minute, and your skin was already wet to the touch.

You tugged your puffy black hood even tighter around your head. Lungs burning at the effort to not sob pathetically into the middle of the street. Your feet hurt. You were sopping wet. And you had a twenty-minute walk ahead of you, into the outskirts of town.

A soft gust of wind forced you to look away, tucking your chin into the coat even further. When something struck you. The inner lining of the coat smelt familiar - yet, different from your own perfume.

This - wasn’t even your coat?

What? How was that even possible? Did you pick the wrong one up from work?

Confused, you swiped your wet face with your wet sleeve, tugging at the collar until you revealed the inner tag on the side of the hood.

‘Beomgyu’ It read, in neat black sharpie.

Confused. Alone. Shivering, and enveloped by the aura of someone who hated you.

You sort of forgot how to exist for a step or two.

You stopped, and turned to look up and down the empty country road as you considered the bus stop shelter in front of you. It was somewhere past 6 pm, and the autumn sun was on its fast descent into the darkness.

But you needed to stop. Just - just for a moment, a short while. You couldn’t take it anymore. Tired, and lonely. Surrounded by bustling trees and large splatters of liquid splooshing against rivers in the street.

Following the stream up the slight hill by the side of the road, you approached the last dimly lit bus stop before your house. The lighthouse in your washed-up storm. Meekly entering to see nobody present. You crumbled onto the seat inside of the shelter. You were torn between ripping your coat off, taking your shoes off or simply not moving.

Choosing the latter, you took a moment to release some of the tears in debt from the night before. So troubled by something you wanted to forget. Such a stupid, stupid thing to be upset over.

You considered every step of your day. Everything you could have avoided, changed. It was your fault, your mind yelled. You chose bad luck by adopting a black cat, right? No - you argued mentally - you were the issue. Not the person in your home, nor the superstitions.

Everything bad was down to your decisions, and it would be you who had to pick up the pieces. Alone.

Pulling your body and thrown off items up from the refuge, you followed the street lights of the familiar home-bound path. Numb to the lashing of wind, the coldness of the night seeped into your soul and the jittering of your teeth was violently dimmed by the sound of mother nature's passionate winds.

The house was in sight.

With bare feet - coat and shoes in hand - you continued your slow and defeated pace towards the building.

You almost dreaded entering - the lights inside all switched on alerting you to Beomgyu’s presence - even considered turning away.

But without a phone - your money all on contactless - no keys, and in this state.

Where else could you go?

Stepping into the house entryway, you took a moment to wipe your face.

You weren’t even sure if you were crying anymore. It could have been the rain.

You were dissociative as you knocked weakly at the door. Expecting no answer. You wouldn’t blame him for leaving you outside. It was your fault your day had ended up like this, anyways.

Beomgyu had been trying to reach you for hours.

You never ignored his texts - and for a while, the calls didn’t go through to dial.

But after a good twenty attempts, the call finally went through.

An unfamiliar voice answered. A male colleague. Johnny.

Beomgyu couldn’t help but prickle - this being the last person you had supposedly been in contact with. And as much as he had no right to want you back after being nothing but a nuisance - god, he couldn’t think about you with another man.

After the first hour, he ran circles. Entirely triggered by the ordeal. It took him to his deepest darkest fears trapped inside, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t let himself not care. Maybe he had pushed you too far? Had you abandoned him? Did you hate him enough to leave, and never come back? Had he truly hurt you?

He was an idiot. A mean, selfish, stubborn feline. But God, he was still part human. And it pained him to think of you stranded and potentially swept away by the storm raging outside. He would take a screaming match over this situation, any day.

He couldn’t leave the house - since you didn’t have a key. And he had no neighbours to leave the key to. The other half of the flat is vacant, and Beomgyu is untrusting of strangers. He called his older friend, heart racing as he considered calling the police. You were so - small, and kind - what if someone had taken you?

“Hey, hey, hey, cool off kiddo. I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she found a lift or something? It’s not too late, don’t panic just yet. She could be walking home.”

Yeonjun had offered over the phone call, shocked by the panic in his friend's voice. It was rare for him to worry about someone so much. The last time he saw Beomgyu so distraught was the last time he was taken back to the adoption centre.

Three years ago, after his owner’s boyfriend fought him over nothing but faux dominance within the home. He was left scared and scarred. Doubting of strangers and prickly to kindness. With that morning being the only time you had ever shouted at him - he was scared of the worst-case scenario.

“You guys had an argument this morning, right? Maybe she went to a friend’s place to cool off. Y’know, like you came round mine today? Give it an hour Gyu. If she doesn’t turn up before eight, we’ll get the boys to help find her. She’s probably fine, I promise.”

The elder fox hybrid did his best to calm him before he had to go. Leaving Beomgyu to sit anxiously in the silent apartment. Fiddling with his hands, pacing. He just wanted you home.

Around 7 pm was when a weak knock hit the thick wooden front door.

Beomgyu practically leapt from his place on the sofa, padding out to the hallway. Skidding around the corner to reach for the handle and lock, to pull simultaneously.

Not even taking a moment to compose himself, he pulled the heavy door open to see you standing there.

Your makeup had streaked down your face. Hair matted. Body sopping wet.

He could hear your erratic heartbeat pressing through your thin fabric, despite the whipping winds whistling against the buildings.

He could smell the hormones of sadness and fear rolling off of you in waves; like a tsunami flooding the hall.

You were barefoot - and somewhere between your bottom lip wobbling and your shivering body holding his coat, he couldn’t help the anger that washed over him.

For what felt like a millennium, the two of you stood like two rangers, awaiting the other to draw their weapons first. In reality, the time elapsed was less than a few seconds.

Ultimately, Beomgyu was the first to shoot. And he aimed well.

”You - fucking idiot Y/N - would it kill you to be more careful?! Jesus, get inside -”

His large hand gripped at your elbow, pulling you in and past his body in the thin space available.

“Where were you?! It doesn’t take that fucking long to walk from the highway - you’ve been gone for hours!”

"Y-Your c-coat-t -" You began to apologise, teeth jittering from the cold.

The door slammed shut behind you, Beomgyu snatching his coat from your grip, taking your shoes, and throwing them at the doorway behind his legs.

Anger is a secondary emotion to sadness, and fear.

He had felt both today, and he was struggling to temper himself.

You tried your best not to cry. Humiliated, and at a loss. Backed up against the cold exposed brick wall.

“Why the fuck did you take my coat?! It’s not even waterproof Y/N - seriously, are you trying to get ill? Is that what you want? To get sick? To get hospitalised because you’re so fucking forgetful? Because you take joy in other people worrying about you?!”

You stifled a whimper, tucking your head down as you shrugged. Gripping at your icy skin.

Beomgyu’s ears flicked up out of his long hair, aching to hear the sounds coming from you. He was stunned for a moment. They aimed at your dipped head and the way you swiped aggressively at your weathered skin. The moving water on your cheeks - they were tears.

The emotion in his voice ripped through you, water pooling at your feet as you trembled. You were so overwhelmed - couldn’t speak, couldn’t even look at him. Closing your eyes you flinched at the sound of him punching at the wall behind you. He didn’t want to scare you but had to express his twisted emotions somehow.

“Please, please, please can you try to pay a little more attention to things, so I don’t have to worry about your safety all the goddamn time? Shit, Y/N, what if I wasn’t here? Who - who would have come to find you? Nobody Y/N! Don’t do that shit to me ever, ever again! What if you had been taken - or - or hurt in the storm?! I was ready to get the boys for fuck sa-”

Your eyes were pressed shut, hands reaching up to show your palms in defence.

“I-I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry for making you worry. But please stop shouting at me, I - I’m so tired, Beomgyu. A-and I’ve had such a s-shit day… P-please… Just stop shouting, I can’t take it anymore…”

The sore heaviness of your words cut short Beomgyu’s breathing pattern. The silence in the hall became so thick you could slice it. The only sound coming from your jittering teeth.

Something painful bloomed in Beomgyu’s chest.

Frowning in an effort not to cry, he let out a sound of desperation. In the most gentle movement you had ever experienced, Beomgyu stepped forward to carefully cup your face.

“You - you pretty idiot, Y/N.”

His warm palms covered your jaw, pushing the hair out of your face before gently kissing your forehead. His body drew closer as he choked up. Adam's apple bobbing as he pulled you into his chest for a tight squeeze. It sent you for a spin, eyes bleary and unfocused as he pulled you back to the wall by the shoulders, face irrevocably close to your own.

“P-pretty -?” You whimpered, a little lost.

“You might be a forgetful clutz, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see how hard you try… Jeez, Y/N, I've never been more worried about someone in my entire life. You’re so beautiful, but - God, such an idiot. Don’t scare me like that ever, ever again. Shit -”

The world kind of stopped spinning for a moment, when Beomgyu showed you how much he truly did care.

A shaky hand tilted your head back, to place a kiss on your lips.

It was pressed. Slow, heavy. Weakly, you gripped his shirt. He could feel your heart pound against his fingertips through your pulse; your mixed scents washing over him in an unknown shiver.

His lips warmed your cold ones, pulling away to wipe at his own face. He was crying. For you.

You reached cold fingertips up to his cheek to wipe them - it made the area wetter than before and did little to help, but he smiled, laughing softly.

Shaking his head, Beomgyu pushed you back against the wall, peppering your lips with quick anxious kisses until his mouth stayed long enough that his tongue danced with your own.

Truly, he was just happy to be able to hold you.

He gripped at your thighs; pulling them up around his waist to press you against the wall in one swift motion, securing you with his hips.

Heavy kisses were pressed against your neck and jaw, as hot tears slipped over your cheeks.

Small, sharp canines nipped gently at the soft skin of your collarbone. Before kissing open-mouthed love bites against your throat. So deliberate, careful and passionate.

You considered never leaving, as his hands dutifully held you against his body. Head tipping back as more and more waves of emotion started to flood out, now that the plug had finally been pulled.

"Why are you so upset, Y/N?" The feline asked gently. Pulling away to press a feather-light kiss to your lips. He watched the way your face pinched, struggling to form an answer. Noting your white knuckles from the grip of the warm fabric at his shoulders.

“I know it’s not just the storm.” He whispered. “And I know it can’t be totally down to your hormones.”

Beomgyu could feel it in his gut, smell it on your skin; the way you ached about something even harsher than getting caught in the rain. “Tell me.” He pushed, gently coaxing you to open up to him.

“I won’t leave you alone until you do.” Each kiss to your body proved to press the seam of pain apart until it ripped suddenly; revealing the anguish tucked neatly underneath.

Unable to speak, you carded your hands into the back of Beomgyu’s hair, heart painfully beating at pace with the butterflies sparking up a fire in your belly.

He paused for a moment. Dipping his head to your shoulder as your body scrunched up against his torso, tightly, before you unleashed an ugly bubbly, cry. He allowed you to push your fingers up and through his hair, pulling him against you. Enveloped in security. Boards against your shoulders weakened by the weight but withstanding the push.

He was warm, and smelt like home. And you never wanted to let go.

“I’m so sorry.” You whimpered, a sob ripping through you.

“I-I’m a really awful person, and I can’t seem to get anything r-right. My car broke down, m-my phone died, I burnt myself, f-fucked up at work. And I've been in s-s-so much pain - and so, so hungry - all f-freaking day. My favourite work blouse is ruined and I just - I'm s-so sorry, sorry that I'm so useless, that I forget th-things a-and I drop things, I get tired, and th-then I shout -”

Beomgyu, surprised even at himself, emitted a deep, stomach-rumbling purr.

He pressed his lips to the nape of your neck one last time, before relenting the weighty affection to instead rub his nose up against the curve of your jaw. Purring gently through pursed lips.

He considered how your unhappiness had made his guts churn inside out; how his mood changed by proxy of your unhappiness. And he realised he had become vexed by your sudden lack of vibrancy.

Seeing you, his person, so upset; pulled a piece of his heart apart.

Weak at the knees to your pleading, your need to be comforted. Even if that wasn’t what you were verbally saying, he understood. Understood the feeling of breaking. But unlike what he had suffered, Beomgyu wasn’t prepared to let you go through this alone.

"I don't - I can't even d-deal with myself anymore - I don't - I'm so tired B-Beomgyu that I can't - I won't -"

Beomgyu shushed you quietly, rubbing his nose against your damp cheek. He stayed silent as he let you cry into the open air. Your voice tangled with the garble of pure emotion and jittering bones. Unable to do more than choke for breath and release bubbling rounds of tears.

Beomgyu had never scented anyone before. Avoided it out of shyness.

But the emotion that washed over him was like a happy full-body buzz at you slowly, slowly, starting to smell familiar again. He resisted the push inside of his gut, at least until you were able to truly advocate for your body.

The rain dampened the smell of your clothes, even weakened the smell of Johnny’s cologne and the aroma of the wet electric-fuelled storm. But his gut compelled him to go further. Pupils dilating at the marks blooming against your cold skin. Ears still firmly folded back against his hair as he pulled back to see your face.

You were so distressed.

“Just - shut up.” He whispered, delicately.

“You’re soaking wet, aggressively hormonal, and smell like - well, nothing, but also that guy Jon - Anyways, let me do the talking. You’re a mess, hmm? Don't want you saying anything you don't mean.”

Weirdly, you knew you were safe with Beomgyu taking control. Considering your entire three months of history together, you should have been doubting the trust you instantly felt around him.

But you knew he was more thoughtful than he let on - underneath all those protective insults and mean glares. Knew to boil the kettle after he had used it, leaving hot water for your coffee in the morning. Even leaving your leftovers, without a word. Love appears in the unspoken corners of a person.

“I’m sor-”

Beomgyu pressed his lips against yours, effectively swallowing the remaining irritation between the two of you. Pulling away, his lips brushed your own as he spoke.

“I said - stop, baby. Just trust me. Trust this. I've got you… Just - I'm happy you're safe… Let me take care of you for once, 'cause I know nobody else fucking does. And I’m not about to let you go mope about and cry alone in the same apartment, hmm? We both know I’m not that mean.”

The tenderness in his voice was entirely new. And for once, he had shown his vulnerability. He showed how much he saw you for who you truly were. How he knew your mannerisms already. How you tried to hide the pain.

And the pet name. Baby?

If you weren’t crying before, you sure as hell were crying now.

You nodded weakly. Truly in no position to fight. Your defences settled and you slumped into his awaiting arms.

Beomgyu shushed you as he moved to carry you both into the shared bathroom. Back to where all of this frustration had started. You held onto his hips with your thighs, gripping his shoulders as he held you to his body. Melting into his temperate movements and the hushing of your tears.

You were so used to being shoved away from him or distancing yourself from his annoying anti-socialism, that being near him like this - was so nice. Strange. But like finding a new path through a forest, you were willing to take the risk for the sake of admiring the scenery.

He just fit right.

You were starting to believe what you had heard about the healing of purring, as you wiped the tears from your face. Stiffening as he entered the bathroom, tipping you to slide off his hips.

Beomgyu dropped you onto the sink counter.

And his heart bounded in his chest at the sight in front of him. You had covered your face with your hands, wiping and sniffling with a bowed head. Still trying to hide from him.

“Oh g-gosh, I’ve made such a t-tit out of myself, Gyu… God, you m-must think I’m s-so pathetic...”

The boy smiled to himself, while your eyes were distracted. Ears swivelling over the side of his head solely to hear you better.

He chuckled with a small “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” before lacing his fingers between the ones hiding your face. Pulling them back to kiss the edges of your lips. Once, twice. A few more times. Until your lips melded together; hands gripping his shirt as he licked into your mouth. At your soft moan, he pulled away with a bite to your lip, chuckling at you being so much more malleable than usual.

“Come on - clothes off princess.” He poked at your stomach, making you buck in surprise. Laughing gently, he settled your sides with patient hands. “You’ll get a nasty cold otherwise.”

Despite his nonchalant tone, Beomgyu wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in one of his jumpers and keep you there as long as possible. The thought of him claiming you entirely made his neck flush with a feeble purr, pressing a kiss against your cheek. And the thought of how he would have acted if the other hybrid boys had in fact joined the hunt - flooded him with guilt.

What he said was true. You probably would get a cold if you stayed in them any longer. But he didn’t press you.

His voice stayed hushed as the pads of his fingers wiped the dark liquid from under your eyes, flicking them against his joggers.

“Shh, baby. You’re okay. Let it all out.”

And when you thought you had stopped crying; his words pushed you to sob against the back of your hand.

As you curled over, he hushed you further.

"You're okay," Pulling your fortified cross-arm-defence apart to let him inside your bubble.

He placed your arms around his neck as he kissed your cheeks, urging you to let him into your pain. With clenched fists you let him tug you closer, pressing his lean and tall chest against you, purring deeply. A deep wash of comfort poured over your scalp until your muscles thawed.

"I've got you…" He rubbed his cheek against yours before kissing your nose. As you tensed away from him, his ears folded and his expression changed.

For just a second, a flash of annoyance had washed over him - a sound of irritation emitted before his tongue licked a quick stripe up the side of your neck. Sucking suddenly and harshly at your neck until you cried out. The distraction ended with another nip of his canines. Scattering kisses against the new aching bruise set in the middle of your pulse until you softened in his arms.

Satisfied, he trailed butterfly kisses up to your lips.

“You smell better when you’re happy.” He grumbled against your lips. Purring through them, almost. “Like warm honey. Turns sour when you're upset. Disgusting and bitter. Not a fan. Not in the slightest.”

Shocked, you laughed. “H-huh? W-what do you m-mean?” Wiping the tears from your eyes to clear the blur.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, ears flattening to throw his head back dramatically and whine. When he rounded back with a sarcastic love-dipped smile, you laughed, distracted by how beautiful he was. And for a moment, just a single small inhale, you started to smell like yourself again.

“There it is.” He smiled. “Much better.” So quiet you almost couldn’t hear it.

Before you could react, Beomgyu pulled away from you entirely. Dragging the questions away with him. He moved in such a feline manner; swiftly, and with such grace. Stretching his body upright between your knees on the counter.

Peering over you, he looked at your clothes expectantly.

The change in pace made you stiff, mumbling a small sound of confusion.

“W-why are you staring at me like that?”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes before coaxing just one more french kiss from you, drawing away to lick his gums.

Purring, he flicked his gaze down to your top.

“Come on. Clothes, now. Seriously. You’re still shivering.”

“Yes, yes, okay.” You huffed, shuffling forward.

His hands lingered at your side as you slipped off the counter. Silently ready to catch you if you fell.

Standing in front of him, you considered where the hell to even start undressing.

Moving away from his body heat had pushed the shivers to become more aggressive, and as you reached for the buttons of your fitted trousers, you felt your fingers tremble uselessly.

You puffed a small sigh, wiping at your face.

“Do you need help, babe?” Beomgyu questioned after watching you struggle for a good minute.

You paused. Peering up at him. You shrugged, and nodded. Shrugged your shoulders again. Awkward and unsure.

Beomgyu kissed his teeth before going to kneel, choosing for you instead.

He swatted your hands away to unclasp your fabric trousers, tugging the tightly squelching material from your thighs until he could free your legs completely. A slight embarrassment washed through you, but with the way he averted his eyes, you knew you were safe. Using the sink edge as a brace as you looked away bashfully.

Throwing them into a corner, he stood back up, watching as you swiped the damp hair from your face.

“You okay pretty? We can stop, if it’s too much? Still your housemate, you know…” He checked in, breath bated at your possible rejection. He would die if you pushed him away right now, but you had every right to do so. You had stopped crying, finally. And seemed more mentally present than in the hall.

You nodded then shook your head. Falling forward into his chest to wrap your arms around his torso.

"Thank you." You sniffled into the fabric of his hoodie, face smushed entirely.

Beomgyu stood, a little shocked, before tugging his arms free, and holding you against his body with a shocked laugh. Standing with you - as close as you could possibly be. Scrunching up the material just to grip you tighter. He paused his breath, aching at your sniffles against his chest. Ears tipping to hear you on his left side.

"You're welcome, Y/N -" He mumbled against your hair, relaxing into the hug, voice wavering and tears brimming in his eyes. Smoothing hair from your cheek to rest his face against your own.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you - period - but you scared me, alright? You scare me. The way you make me feel, it’s so strange and, I - I think, I love you, Y/N. Just - please, don’t ever do that shit ever again.”

Beomgyu’s chest bounced against you as he sniffled away a small, very strong stimulus of a cry; pulling you tighter to his body.

You had never seen him emote like this. Never seen him portray anything stronger than annoyance or irritation.

“I- I thought you had run off, that you were in some serious trouble - that I’d have to go back to the shelter - I don’t know… I thought anything, everything had gone wrong. Next time - I don’t know, hopefully, there never is a next time but - please promise you’ll wait for me? I would have come eventually… if-if I knew you were in that much trouble…”

He coughed slightly, wiping his eyes. Flicking his long hair out of his face. You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from your cheeks. The way he clung to you - gently and without any evil intent - made you feel so loved and cared for.

Such a strange thing to suddenly be revealed, from a man that you had been convinced, was placed in your life to make your day-to-day inherently challenging.

You could see now that the lack of communication was the real fiend.

“And for god’s sake - don’t go calling other men for help anymore! Friend or not - please, God, I hate it when you stink of other people - especially when you come home from a shit day, stinking of your dog friend from the cafe… Ugh, it makes me feel like I'm not good enough. Like - like you don’t feel safe around me?”

You squeezed him tighter at that.

His lack of confidence and security had been eating away at him. And the guilt had evidently played a part in his emotions, too.

You knew in your heart of hearts that despite being an all-around-dick, he truly would have picked you up had you expressed what had truly happened.

Beomgyu’s tears welled up little by little until he was fully crying. His ears folded back against his hair until they almost disappeared. Neck bent and hand busy wiping any remnants of tears away.

Looking up at his pained expression, you smiled softly. You reached to wipe the hairs from his eyes. Equally, a line of dampness materialised over the height of your cheek. He truly was such a sweetheart, underneath such a brash exterior.

“I’m sorry, I just - I’m here for you, I always will be. Just because I’m a dick sometimes, doesn’t mean I'm always a horrible person. It hurts me to see you in so much pain. Just - please - stop crying! It’s making me cry!!”

As Beomgyu pulled back a hand to swipe at his own face, he sniffled through a forced laugh. Smiling, you reached to brace his shoulders, tipping his chin to leave a kiss on the corner of his lips. His ears pulled forward into a hopeful, puppy-dog expression. It was… cute.

“I never knew you could be so nice, Gyu. You should try it more often.”

The tall feline released an airy laugh, lifting you back onto the sink with welcome strength.

“Yeah, whatever.” He scoffed as he dipped his face down to chase your lips; gripping at the soft flesh of your hips to pull you closer to his body.

Your hands rested at his neck, gently holding his face. Beomgyu pressed at your pursed lips with his own, until a small unfamiliar sound like a feline whine distracted you enough for Beomgyu to huff, pinching your chin up to allow his tongue to lick up in one swift movement against your palette.

It made your head immediately spin, your mood easily spiralling as you moaned softly. Beomgyu's hands squeezed at your behind as he fought for dominance; eventually pulling your face away with his hands, cutting short the passion to see your puffed lips and slackened jaw, keening softly at his teasing.

To your absolute shock-horror and amusement, a string of saliva cut between the air, connecting your mouths in such a filthy way that Beomgyu immediately groaned at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re so cute like that, baby.” He whispered breathlessly; only to break the string of spit with another forceful approach. Pressing against your body to hold you in place as a hand snaked to hold your neck; at will to the feline who probed at your gums and pulled such wanton sighs from your body.

The tongues caught between each other's teeth reflected how the two of you felt so strongly about each other. How much you had been hiding from each other. How you yearned to be near him, even if he teased you endlessly. How he loved to be near you, even if you made him beet-red from anger. Three months of pent-up emotion released into each other through flesh and energy. The fear and love of the two of you trapped on either side of a literal storm, coming to a singular point.

Beomgyu settled, soothing his palms over your thighs. Obviously, his mind had wandered; changing pace once more. He pulled away from your face as your cold skin drew his attention away from your lips. Your fingers combed through the hair at his neck, welcoming the kiss to your jaw. Soft to the touch. Streaks of white flicked over your hand as you played with it. Pulling it against your knuckles to hear his gentle sigh.

Then, something new flicked in the corner of your vision. Using the moment to test your curiosity, you reached for the tall triangle felt black ear peeking from the top of his head. It jerked harshly, sensitive to your touch as your cold fingers brushed against the skin, sending a shiver down Beomgyu’s body. Namely, straight down his spine and into his crotch.

"Ah- stop, Y/N I’m sensitive - nngh, fuck…"

He grit his teeth to resist emitting a ridiculously loud purr as you leaned towards his scalp for a proper angle. Taking advantage of his body tensing up in surprise; you reached for his ear again before he could pull away completely, ignoring his whine of protest.

You tested your lightbulb idea - pinching the inside and the outside of his ear between your thumb and forefingers, to rub the pads of your fingers together with a slight pull away from the skull, very close to the base of the ear. If it was heavenly for pet cats, you expected it to be the same for humans.

It turned out to be almost orgasmic.

Beomgyu moaned softly, eyes fluttering until his forehead flopped forward onto your shoulder. You laughed softly in disbelief, applying more pressure now you knew you were safe.

His voice was so pretty. His lips parted as his head fuzzed over, jaw slack. Consumed completely by the feeling of electricity dancing all over his scalp and the top of his spine. And that deep, rumbling purr he had been trying to hold in so desperately; vibrated loudly against your collarbone. Almost unconsciously, Beomgyu nuzzled against the juncture of your neck. His hands rested next to your thighs, as you brushed his hair with the other hand. Laughing at the second shiver bolting down his spine, purely from adding a scratching element.

He hadn't - nobody had touched his ears like that in years. He had almost forgotten how sensitive they were.

You used your spare hand to rub his neck, then shoulder. Sliding down his jumper to follow his arms, eventually slipping into the knuckles at your sides. His fingers relaxed before gripping your palms together. Weirdly, it was even more intimate than making out, and your hearts hummed in glee.

The purring vibrating across your shoulders had almost distracted you from the bulge in Beomgyu’s sweatpants pressing directly against the counter.

The flush to his cheeks and neck was giving his true emotions away. The way his left hand kneaded at the skin on your thighs, ass, and hips. The wholesomeness of the purr had almost distracted from all of this. And you had never thought about the prospect of such a reaction in a sexual setting - but if his lips and chest were vibrating this much from such a gentle touch; you could only imagine the implications of an even stronger vibration in other positions.

But the slower your circular motions, and the more you tugged against the tight muscles of his scalp; the deeper he seemed to slip into this mind-numbing state. You were almost 90% sure he would cream his pants before you could do much about anything. The thought made you smile, fondly. His demeanour, so malleable in this submissive state. And you were half tempted to push the dynamic - but you were too tired, at least for now.

Finally relenting your ear-mania, you ruffled his hair back into place with a small smile. Swiping at the last sniffles from your nose, before meeting his eyes as he pulled away.

“Sorry - I just, always wanted to do that. And you always hide them, so…” You spoke shyly, unsure what to do with yourself now that the ball was back in his court.

But - something was different. The way Beomgyu looked back up at you. His aura had changed. It had switched into something totally new and unfamiliar. His pupils pinched quickly, before expanding in a mesmerizing display of affection.

You searched his face for more clues as his palm pressed solidly over your thigh, over your underwear at your hips and up to the edge of your stomach until his palm rested against your ribs.

His hands from under the fabric tugged up; encouraging you to pull the thick blouse over your head. With patient hands the item eventually broke free from your body, cringing as the fabric slopped onto the sink before Beomgyu tossed it behind him and into the pile at the door. Once again, his ears pulled back in momentary softness as he met your eyes, hands restless to find purchase on your skin.

Being naked in front of him like this; strangely, you were okay with it. And, to add to your newfound joy; he was still purring. And smiling. Maybe this was all a dream, and you had fallen asleep at your work desk? But no, the twitch in his smile brought you back into this reality.

“Your eyes are different, Gyu?” You had asked, bemused at his body's reaction. Voice scratchy and hoarse from the crying.

Reacting to your tone, naivety, and curiosity in place of judgement, even his new pet name - it all made his ears fold back until his eyes creased into an oddly soft smile. A natural reaction to your voice that he was sick and tired of hiding.

With a tongue pressed to his canines, he giggled. Not quite the reaction you had expected, but refreshing nonetheless.

Beomgyu pulled you closer by the hips via his grip on your love handles; until your noses met and your hip bone tilted forward, ultimately pressing your core up against his very solid erection. The action made you moan airily, hips fidgeting against such a sudden change of pace, hands bracing at his shoulders. Your cheeks heated up, your body twitching in anticipation.

You had kissed, but now this was something different.

Beomgyu’s smile was Cheshire-like - and his pupils were blown out wide as he nuzzled your face aside to kiss and nip at your jawline. It was funny; his feline tendencies showed in the most random ways. His energy remained unpredictable as he began running his nose against the juncture of your jaw, ear, and neck. Until he seemed to settle at the bruise blooming against your pulse.

Purring softly, Beomgyu’s hold on you softened. Supporting your spine now instead of securely holding it. His energy was entirely focused on leaving open-mouthed kisses on top of your pulse; ears flickering with how hard your heart beat the blood to the surface. Beomgyu sucked at the same spot until your knees drew together at his hips, scraping his blunt nails down your legs to soothe you. Encouraging your breathy moans with his own purrs dipping lower in vibrato, confirming every twitch and movement to gain friction against your core.

Beomgyu pulled away suddenly with a lewd pop, rubbing his nose against your own as you came eye-to-eye with a cat who looked like he had snorted a week's worth of catnip. Before you could respond, he bit playfully at your lip, dragging it with him as he pulled away to mumble into your hairline and ear.

“I can smell how needy you are, baby. It's pretty, and sweet, just like you. My eyes are different ‘cause they dilate when I want to fuck something. And I can tell you want to fuck me, too. Can tell you really need it, baby. Can tell how much your body is aching for those cramps to go away, hmm? How wet you are already? You've needed a good fuck ever since I got here angel, God you smell so much like warm honey when you're turned on, it's insane… intoxicating, even. So much prettier when you smile.”

Letting you process what he had so brazenly pointed out, he chuckled at your flushed and abashed expression. The change in pace he kept setting was giving you whiplash - dominant, straight into playful, then back into a domineering pace.

And it was so unlike him to speak like that - in such a filthy way. But it wasn’t unwelcome.

Your eyes told him all that he needed to know; your eyebrows and nose pulled into an expression of confusion while you released a gentle sound of pleasure at the thin skin pulled delicately between his teeth. Pulling back, he laughed at you playfully.

“What? They never told you about a hybrid’s sense of smell amongst all that shitty fuckin’ paperwork?”

Pulling down your brows, you shook your head.

“No?” You mumbled, questioning yourself now too.

Beomgyu hummed in amusement while tilting his head to the side incredulously. Now, this was curious. His nose and ear twitched as he considered how naive you truly were in this situation.

“They told you nothing about our sense, at all? Not even heightened hearing?” He questioned in disbelief. And his tone once again slid from mockery, into kindness.

You shook your head again.

The feline thought about it for a moment, gaze floating inwardly before centring back on your face. He hummed, kissing the edge of your lips only to pull away as you chased him.

“Mmmm, that explains a lot, actually. The past three months have been absolute torture.”

Beomgyu pressed his forefinger against your lips as you attempted to spurt some very sudden thoughtless questions (probably); shaking his head with a mocking smile. It wasn’t a dominance you were used to. Stern, yet somehow playful in the way he moved with you.

Testing the waters - you let your jaw fall enough for your lips to fall open. Beomgyu’s short bout of shock melted into pride; pleased, as he pressed the digit down against your tongue.

It was such an unfamiliar feeling, so unlike anything you had ever done with other people. But despite his teasing and his insufferable attitude, something told you that you could trust him. Something jittering in your heart like a bird in a cage. A purr rippled across his chest as you sucked, so obviously satisfied. Ears dropping forward, canines appearing in his adoring smile.

“We can smell around three times the strength and distance that humans can.” He started, rubbing his thumb against your chin as you moved your tongue around the digits, sitting patiently on your hands. It was awfully demeaning - but with the way hearts formed in his eyes, you had to painfully admit to yourself how much you loved it.

“Our hearing is better, too. Some breeds have heightened physical abilities… Not that that really matters. Shit, Y/N, every time you pleased yourself after a long shift - it was absolute fuckin’ torture, babe. I thought you were doing it as - as part of our little game, but - how could you have known? You had no idea what you were doing to me - Had no idea how beautiful you sounded.”

Beomgyu pulled his hand away to exchange a delicate kiss, purring against your lips as he reached around to gently unhook your damp bra. Sliding it off to throw it into the wash bin without moving his gaze. Wow, that was weirdly attractive.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I took it as part of the power-play. I should have said something, maybe?”

You quickly noted the change in expression; he almost seemed deflated. His ears folded to the side as he withdrew into shyness.

“No - no - it’s fine it - it doesn’t change anything, really. If anything I - you’re lucky, I’m kind of really into voyeurism.”

Beomgyu’s attention snapped up, tall triangles standing to attention as his poker face remained unreadable. “What? Seriously?”

You forced yourself to explain before you burned up in embarrassment, or before this whole thing got awkward. If you can’t beat ‘em - tell them your most intense fetishes? That always works, right?

“Like - I’ve never thought about actually doing it before but - but the fact you could hear me do stuff and potentially even - smell? all of that - it’s kinda hot Gyu, as weird as that is to admit. And if it was helping you get off as well… I sort of, don’t mind? I promise - I’m not offended. Promise.”

Beomgyu’s eyes checked your expression - attempting to find any hint of foul play - before exchanging a nod. Followed by a slight pause for the two of you to smile in agreement - two perverted consenting adults to the other - before his eyes and hands flitted towards your chest. Focus, obviously switched now that was out of the way.

His intermittent bouts of purring hiked up a good pitch, ears folding sideways, a sign of obvious joy. He peered back up at your shy squirming expression, moving to press easing kisses against your lips.

Releasing a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, your hands found purchase on his forearms, allowing him to marginally move away.

“You really are so pretty baby, but you’re still so cold ~” He mumbled through a purr, fixated on how cold your skin was under his seemingly burning hot palms. As his hands soothed over your ribs and a thumb brushed the underside of your breast, his brows pulled into a frown. He seemed hesitant. And so you reached to pull his face closer for a kiss. You met his lips at an angle and broke apart for air after another shared smile.

A sigh slipped through your lips as he moved to kiss and nip against the skin at your jugular, softness melting into passion once again - his body moving down until his lips suckled around your nipple, leaving kisses all over your chest - but not touching you where you truly wanted him. You whined softly, gaining his attention. Beomgyu’s ears flicked up, followed by his face.

"Gyu - please… Quit teasing…"

He peeked back up at you with a guilty, playful look.

“Sorry. You’re just beautiful, Y/N.” He giggled.

Such an - honest compliment, from him. You smiled, thanking him quietly.

His hands finally found their place as he gently squeezed your breasts in either palm. It was an amazing feeling - but far too intense. A small shocked yowl sounded from the back of Beomgyu’s throat as you hissed at the soreness of your body, gripping his wrist to stop before releasing a breath and relaxing again. His ears had immediately jerked up and forward at your discomfort; eyes wide as he watched you anxiously, stiff as a board.

“Ouch, Gyu - gently, please… period boobs. No harm done, just - easy tiger...”

He nodded sheepishly in understanding, eyes, and ears softening, kissing at your cheek in apology before dipping to kiss your collarbone, hands working gently to ease the ache in your breasts. He even ignored the hated nickname - tempering his emotions for you.

But as much as he knew he could move on, he found himself drawn back again and again to the juncture of your neck. At this point he was frustrating himself; sucking at the broken skin until your moans turned into whines and your hips moved mindlessly, chasing the friction. He needed to do something about it before he truly did cum from fantasy alone.

He pulled away from yet another mind-melding hickey that was being placed at the same sensitive spot he had been abusing this whole interaction, a moan spilling from your lips as the pleasure was suddenly pulled away. His words were breathy, restless, eyes pleading.

“Bringing all the blood to the surface in just the right spot - fuck, baby, it brings your scent out so strongly. It’s so addictive. God, you smell so good - please, please let me mark you? Fuck, please - I’ll do anything - it might hurt but God I need to do it before I go insane -”

“Yes, fine! Jeez you’re starting to freak me out Gyu - take a breath!” Laughing softly at his desperateness to get your approval, you nodded with a bashful expression. “What do you even mean? Not like that Twilight shit?”

Beomgyu was losing his mind, so much so that the humour flew over his head.

“Fuck, I think I might cry -” His choked voice matched with his hurried kiss, leaving you breathless as he tugged you closer to his crotch on the edge of the sink.

“or come - fuck, it means - marking means nobody else can touch you, you’re mine only to play with. Think about it, if you smell this good on any given day I’m surprised nobody has tried to propose already -”

As he moved to dive into your jugular you scoffed, pushing his forehead back as you made a face.

“Woah! Easy there cowboy! Care to explain a little more about claiming my soul before you take it please?!”

Beomgyu groaned deeply, whining like a child as his ears folded back.

“Ugh, fine!” He cried at your attempt to push him away, but not before gripping your chin to kiss you into a moaning mess. Your hips tilting to gain some kind of friction against the boner pressing up against your core. It made him groan airily as he pulled away, purring deeply once more.

“It means,” He started sarcastically, before moving to lick at the shell of your ear, a moan slipping from your throat in embarrassingly fast record time and a shiver shaking your body.

“No other hybrid fucker can put their hands on you. It means you’re protected if you’re into that. It means that I love you - fuck -” He groaned gently, biting at your bruised jugular with sharp teeth. You flinched, whining until he pulled away.

“Means only I can touch you, baby. Come on, I can tell you want it, look at you ~ you’re so sensitive ~” He purred against your ear as his thumb rolled over your nipples, biting at your ear lobe. You had been completely called out. Panties sticking to your core as your face heated; Beomgyu’s the finger that tapping against the edge of your underwear. Caught, red-handed.

“O-okay…” You offered, a little unsure. “Just be gentle with - whatever it is…”

He smiled against your neck, a new and somehow even deeper purr making a short rumble across your shoulder.

He left a kiss at your cheek in thanks before his hands gripped the back of your hips, pressing your hips into his at such a tilt that he was holding you from falling. You started to grind against his member pressing against your clit from behind his joggers, reaching for a kiss before he sucked harshly at your neck.

The kisses were gentle; until they weren't. Beomgyu’s barely dulled canines pressed into your pulse until your body stiffened and you tried to pull away. Beomgyu pushed a purr, maintaining the pressure to not break the skin but not leave without some obvious remnant of a bruise.

His patient hands began guiding your hips, which made you moan softly, ignoring the pain to scrape your nails up against the back of his ears. He responded in kind, finally releasing your skin to kiss at the juncture of your neck and jaw.

The pain settled after a few harsh seconds; the friction of your bodies proved to distract you beautifully.

Pulling away with a deep moan mixed with a rumble, Beomgyu’s eyes blew open again, ears flopped back into a doting expression, his thumb coming to wipe at the skin. Followed by his hands in a mesmerized state, before leaning to rub his cheek against yours in a soft embrace.

“You sound like an old radiator, Gyu.” You giggled, actually enjoying this side of him.

He smiled. “That’s all you, baby. Just happy you’re okay.”

He had bit down hard enough to leave a mark, but not enough to break the skin. The two of you took a moment to hold each other.

“So - what now?” You offered quietly, loving his scoff at your sudden bravery.

“Well, Yeonjun will stop fucking bothering you, for one. That guy sticks around you like a fly and now finally he might get the hint. Soobin, too. Those guys are dogs, seriously -”

“But Soobin’s a bunny?” You laughed.

“Yeah, well,” Beomgyu laughed back, “they’re even worse sometimes. Rabbits have an almost endless libido - honestly, I pray every day for his partner.”

“Someone sounds jealous. Scared you’ve got competition? Maybe Yeonjun has more game?”

Beomgyu released a low yowl sound, lip twitching into an annoyed expression and tutting as his ears folded against his scalp. You obviously touched a nerve, a solid slap sounding against your thigh. Laughing with a scoff of surprise, you soothed a hand down his chest, kissing him into security.

“Stop it, you sensitive feline. They don’t even mean anything to me. Where are they now, hmm?” He hummed gently before rolling his eyes, purring softly at your nails scratching at the base of his ear until he melted, moving your hand away to peck your lips.

“Not between your legs, I know that much. Think they'd kill to be here though.” Beomgyu huffed moodily, sucking his gums.

Laughing you nodded, pointing to the hand securely attached to your boob.

“Yeah, and they're not the ones touching me up, either! Seriously, as if I'd even let that sly fox within a foot of any of this…" Beomgyu smiled proudly, expression softening until you pulled him into a gentle embrace, butterfly kissing his lips until he truly melted.

Your foreheads rested together for a moment. Just breathing, settling your minds.

All until Beomgyu released a sharp yawn against your hair. Stretching up and away from you suddenly as he moved to turn on the shower. Testing the water with his hand for a while before nodding his head towards the lush rainfall. You thanked yourself for that renovation. Watching him in curiosity. Still enamoured by the parts of his personality that kept appearing.

You slipped off the sink, hands covering your chest in modesty. Beomgyu smiled familiarly, ears folding as his eyes crescented. You stepped forward to pinch his oversized shirt. Tugging the fabric.

He laughed softly, confirming your intentions before reaching to tug it off, throwing it to the corner. Timid, his demeanour curved for a second before you reached to pull him closer for a kiss. He accepted, humming against your lips.

Curious, you spread your hands against his skin. Much to your amusement - his stomach was firm, yet soft.

Unsurprisingly, your hands dipped to his hips next.

Beomgyu was definitely in shape - abs mellowed by his soft honey-coloured skin. But it really showed at his waist. Beomgyu laughed at your eagerness as you smiled back up at him. Willing yourself to calm your heart down as you decided to commit to what was happening.

Your cold hands against Beomgyu made him shiver, moan and purr all in a disjointed rhythm as you dipped under the waistband of his joggers.

He laughed softly, before your hands fully found their way around his shaft, pressing gently just to hear his pretty moan. With flushed cheeks, his jaw slacked. Eyes pulling over a haze as boys do when their body is full of lust.

The steam in the bathroom was quickly rising against the strength of the wall fan, your shivers tempered by the warmth. Your lover's body warmed your hands, overheating for your sake. What a waste of water.

Beomgyu sighed as you worked your hands up and down his cock, reaching to kiss his neck as your thumb swiped the precum down the vein on the underside. Pulling with a slight twist as your tacky foreheads met in the dim bathroom light - not even able to see him fully yet, but thrilled by the weight and length in your hands.

He leaned into your touch until his head became fuzzy, and then he needed to move on. Wanting to get you warm before you did anything together. Selfish, to be selfless.

The kisses on your skin were so kind. Loving. Gentle. As his fingers danced against your hips, before gently cupping you over your underwear. You moaned directly against his ear as he rubbed softly against the fabric and around your clit in a circular motion, the flicking of his ears and a deep purr letting you know how happy he was to hear you.

Finally, as you pressed your thighs together, Beomgyu hooked his fingers into the fabric, slipping them down to your feet. He groaned openly, enveloping you into a kiss before pulling away with your lip between his canines. He had smelt the aftermath or build-up of your hormones before - but being the reason behind them made his hands shake in anticipation.

“Your sweats -” You mumbled against his lips, loving the way he smiled back at you. Nodding in glee.

He moved away to fully undress, kicking the fabric away before shyly looking back at you.

You didn’t know where to look.

At his beautiful body as a whole. Pretty cock. Or gorgeous shaggy pitch-black tail.

He watched you with affection as you scanned him, taking a second to return the gesture before your eyes met again. He could tell you had questions, smiling as he brushed the hair off your face.

“Maine coon mix. I prefer to keep it short. Otherwise, it’s big, fluffy and annoying as hell. Especially when people call me cute, because of it.”

Beomgyu’s ears twitched forward at your giggles. An ease washed over him. You were so much happier than when you had come in. And the tears had finally stopped.

“You’re pretty Gyu. Really handsome. Y-you should show it off more often!”

A loud purr sounded as his ears folded, and he nodded shyly. It was so - expressive. His tail. You couldn't stop staring at it. The way it twitched at your voice, curling then unfurling around his ankles.

Beomgyu laughed. Laughed harder than he had all night. But it was all a show; hiding the heat flushing his neck by tugging you into the shower after him.

Holding your wrists as he walked you backwards into the water stream, kissing you under the hot water.

It was thrilling. The feeling of being so surrounded. He moved back to shake his hair, laughing as you splashed him back in the face in retaliation. Only for you to grip his scalp to meet his mouth for a kiss, Beomgyu releasing a loud whine before a beastly purr.

Hair pulling. You bookmarked that for a later date.

Somehow - despite your age and the situation - you ended up fighting. In the shower. What started as innocent water flicks at the other when their back was turned; quickly ended with you, wrists gripped at your abdomen as Beomgyu’s arms flexed to keep you still.

"Stop fucking flicking me with water! I am trying to help you warm up! Not drown in the shower!" He cried, taking the opportunity to bite at your shoulder.

You both laughed until you no longer could, humming as you looked up behind you. Beomgyu rolled his eyes, as a light purr settled against your back.

Dipping his head to meet your lips, he covered your face from the water. Giggling through his kisses at his long hair creating a slight cove in the stream. Something out of an artsy-emo edit, probably.

You didn’t care.

In your heart of hearts, you prayed it wasn’t a one-time thing. Part of you could tell - his eyes were following your every movement with a blush to his cheeks - that every second was full of love.

And for once, with a partner, you weren’t nervous.

It’s not that he was totally experienced, but he was prepared to just wait, and to hold you, and to be held. He wasn’t in it just for the outcome. And you never knew sex could be fun; that you’d be laughing as he gripped at your chest, heart warmed through till your skin was on fire.

Beomgyu gently prodded you until your face was out of the shower stream, shoulders pressed against cool tiles. He bit at your lip, pulling it with him as you pushed the hair out of his face affectionately, trailing open mouth kisses down against your collarbone.

The boy was pretty tall. Having to shake out his hair when going to kneel in the restricted space, tail laying over his calves. He kissed down your sternum until he met your stomach, lips paying attention to your hips and hands holding the back of your thighs.

But his ears twitched from the water, pulling away in annoyance.

Reaching over to the water, you turned it down halfway, Beomgyu’s ears folding as he shyly smiled.

“Thanks, pretty girl.” He mumbled against your thigh. “It’ll be good, I promise.”

You weren’t exactly sure what he was referring to, but as he hooked your thigh up and over his shoulder, your heartbeat almost leapt out of your mouth and you had no thoughts to spare.

He placed a pretty kiss to your core, before moving to place deep hickeys to your thighs, winking at you with a grin as his arm wrapped around your other leg. It held you in place as his thumb came from underneath, tapping at your clit to see you jump and squeal.

“Aah!! Gyu! I’m sensitive, don’t be a tease!” Your body flushed as his shoulders shook with his airy laughter. Beomgyu apologised, nipping at your thigh before setting.

He turned his attention to eating you out with more intent than you had ever seen from him.

He started with kisses; testing the waters as he held you still. It was heavenly. Warm lips sucking and licking in a steady pattern, curling the coil in your stomach. Your hands found purchase at his shoulders, watching the water cascade down his beautiful back as your abdomen filled with bumbling warmth.

“Ngh - Gyu -” You whined softly, enveloped by his attentiveness.

He chose not to communicate; instead watching you with curious eyes as he circled your entrance with his thumb, before dipping a finger into your core. Moaning softly, your nails gripped at his skin. After a few pumps, he entered another finger, shallower but curling towards him.

He pulled away for a breath. “You’re so pretty, baby. Try and relax for me. You deserve it. I love you.”

He licked a long strip against your folds as he moved his fingers at a steady pace, your mind and body fuzzed over almost instantly. He had proclaimed his feelings so confidently, and it sent you for a spin.

You hadn’t even realised you had closed your eyes, but they jumped back open as he hummed against you, pulling away with a pop.

“You should cum first baby. Go on, I can tell you’re close.” His mumbled encouragements were so soft; fingers curling against him as you cried out. Holding on, on, on, on, until you crumbled.

As he pulled away, Beomgyu placed a kiss at the soft of your belly, holding your hips steady before kissing your forehead. Dazed, you melted into his touch.

Loving him just felt right.

Falling against his hold as he spun you away from the stream of water. The shower curtains rustled before his chest pressed against your back. He held you for a moment. Fingers wandering to your chest, nipples rolled against his palm.

The purr was back, against your shoulder blades. Matching how your mind felt as you heard lewd sounds behind you.

“You’re so pretty Gyu…” You mumbled, head resting against the tiles.

You didn’t have to see him to know it. You’d seen him plenty.

Beomgyu kissed your shoulder in response, thankful he was able to hide the smile breaching his hazed features.

Working himself until a point didn’t take very long; having such a beautiful muse made the creation of a boner, pretty damn easy.

“You sure about this, Y/N?”

Beomgyu’s mellowed question pulled you to peer behind, over your shoulder. He seemed worried. That this wasn’t the right decision. That he was showing his vulnerabilities far too soon. His brows were furrowed, inside of his mind.

Leaning back, you left a kiss against his neck.

“I’m sure, Gyu. I want this. Promise.”

That seemed to pull him out of his self-doubt. A tender expression breached his handsome features. Leaning in to kiss you deeply as he held your stomach at a curve, chest pressed against the tiles.

With your legs straight and standing up; Beomgyu hit deep. As he entered you sighed deeply, Beomgyu moaning beautifully. When he bottomed out, your thighs shook in anticipation. He ran his nose at your skin, purring. Taking a moment just to savour this feeling of connection.

After a moment, your shuffles and moans told him when it was good to move. Hands reaching for yours, intertwining between your shoulders and the tiles.

It really didn’t take very long for the whole thing to hit peak. But then; heaven has never had a time limit.

Beomgyu found no need for empty dirty-talk like your past lovers. Instead; the steam, the sounds of pure instinctual love, the shared words of care and devotion, the running water, his soft groans and even your own; it was the best music either of you had ever heard.

Beomgyu continued his steady thrusts, before a slight stutter of his hips threw his rhythm off. Hips hitting hard, deep and heavy until you cried out; Beomgyu cumming with breathless pants. He tried not to collapse from the best orgasm he had maybe ever had - steadying himself before checking on you.

His purr’s were deep against your back, his arms falling to dip his forehead into the crook of your neck and hold you. He pulled his mind out of the gutter, biting at your ear and jaw as he drew you back, via his hold across your stomach. Staying inside of you, he held your wrists up as he met your lips - a kiss full of tongue and teeth, pure filth - before his other hand flicked a quick pace at your clit. The pads of his fingers skilled as your body shivered.

“Quickly baby, com’ on, I know you can do it. Look at you, fucked out and all trembly, just for me. Come on, you can do it. Quickly baby.”

Without any control, still full and clenching around him - sensitive moans sounding from Beomgyu pushing his sensitivity - it didn’t take very long for you to submit to his pleasant pleading, pushing you to come just one more time.

Just for him.

The two of you did, eventually clean up.

Holding each other for a while before he left you to shower per request; meeting you with a large towel and radiant kisses to wrap you up as soon as you stepped out of the tub.

Things were - going to be okay.

Different than before. But good. You didn’t feel so alone in this big blue storm, anymore.

Of course, some things would never change. Bullying Beomgyu into doing house chores was just another thing left on your list. And your inability to cook left you both bickering over take-out options.

Beomgyu's abs flinched against your cold hands. Body settling again to let you slide your hand under his shirt, pulling the cotton fabric up against your forearm - before pulling back entirely. Legs perched either side of his hips, as he lay lazily lengthways on the sofa.

Beomgyu's ears flicked, a small purr of contentment floating out of his lips.

You were avoiding meeting his face, and so much quieter than normal. He wasn't so sure how to handle you. This new intimacy. He was afraid he would somehow fuck it all up. But he could only try his best.

"What is it, Y/N?"

You bit your cheek. Turning your head to avert your eyes as you moved to tug your shirt off, underwear loose but maintaining your modesty as you were otherwise bared.

"I'm cold..." You mumbled, covering yourself with your arms before resting down between his chest and chin. Arms folded between your bodies.

"You're so clingy." Beomgyu laughed. Softly, and for once without menace.

He tried his best to push out a large purr, breathing deeply as your erratic heartbeat began to thump more kindly against his skin. He liked this feeling. Skin against his. When your pulse slowed after comfort.

His knuckles soothed down your back as he reached for the throw on the back of the sofa; tucking you between his legs and enveloping you in affection. Tail loosely wrapping around your ankle and resting there.

"You can cry - if you need to, you know. You deserve that. I know you’re still upset, I can smell it hanging over you like a sour rain cloud. And - I know you don’t know how to explain what is going on in your mind. And we both know I’m not very good at talking. So we’re at a stalemate. But - I’ll stay. I promise. I’ll just stay with you until whatever it is, hurts a little less. Okay?"

His offer twinged like a hot coil in your gut. Your body going stiff; before a slight shudder and a whimper emanated from the small hole in the blanket. You were crying. Pressing his tongue against his palette, he pushed himself to purr even deeper.

Getting a sore throat was nothing when it came to comforting his person.

He could deal with a sore throat. But he didn’t think he could deal with you being upset for too long, as selfish as that was.

“I’ve got you.” He spoke into the open air. Your sniffles masked by insistent pattering thundering rain. Tight arms compressing you both into healing. Your souls content, if not in a reasonable amount of pain. “I know you’ve got me too.”

“For the record,” You snuffed into his clothes, pulling away to cough against your hand. "You’re the idiot, idiot." You wiped at your face; nose sore from earlier and a cold slowly approaching through the sleepy haze.

His fingers brushed against the bumps against your neck. He almost felt bad for leaving them there, fangs indented into your jugular. But he couldn’t deny the fuzzy pride that he filled with when you shyly caught his hand, holding it there.

He smiled sadly. “That will go in a few days, you know.”

You smiled, poking his chest with a giggle.

“We can always make another one, Gyu?”

Beomgyu blinked before his ears peeled back and his smile turned gummy, shrugging shyly.

“Oh, hahaha.” He laughed, humbled by your return of the pet name. Ah, this was what love felt like. He had almost forgotten. “Are you sure you - want me, like that, Y/N?”

Rolling your eyes, you shrugged.

“Depends - will you start hoovering?”

Beomgyu’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, jumping up before flopping down as you stayed sitting on his stomach.

“Fuck no!!” He cried desperately, “But I’ll let you come to band practice if you want to be around me so badly.”

You squinted at his faux smugness, punching his chest before crossing your arms.

He cried out, giggling until he could pull you to slide between him and the back of the sofa, ignoring your whining to drown you in fabric.

“Gyu! Get off me! HELP! I’m drowning - SEND HELP!”

But you were merely playing. Accepting kisses between giggles.

“Shut up, and get some rest. We’re ordering food tonight.”

“I’m so squished and stuffy Beomgyu -”

“Good. Oh, and, I love you, idiot.”

“Laundry duty and I’ll say it back?”

“Fuck no, but I still love you. Even if you don’t say it back.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you have a cat-boy for a boyfriend. Nerd.”

“Oh - when did I say it could be official?”

"You didn't - I did. It’s in your best interest. Trust me. I would know.”

MAIN MASTERLIST /// TXT MASTERLIST /// IMAGE MASTERPOST

[UIHALL - PART 2.I HERE] /// [UIHALL - PART 2.II CONTINUED]

well would you look at that: updated 5/DECEMBER/2023

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