#I am ignoring that and keeping him with his beautiful dark skin

[i-monster-no-trucks]

He gives me cuteness aggression

[redcherrykook]

──𐙚 think i need someone older (s & f)

olderBoyfriend!Jungkook x inexperienced!reader

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content: some plot first, loss of virginity, age gap of 9 years (he´s 30), thigh humping, little dry humping too, cowgirl, he talks her through it, dom!jungkook, "sweet girl, baby, love", "gguk" lowkey insecure reader, praise, making out, breast play, clit play, creampie, unprotected, hickies on him, big c!ck Jungkook, small karaoke session, he´s whipped and wants to take care of her, short mention of alcohol (bc of that fucking bar he has omg), allusions to reader being short, she's very feminine

note from cherry: i tried to do justice to the people who wanted this, i hope you´re satisfied mwah! sooo sorry if it´s not giving lmao writing this was lowkey exhausting, also sorry for typos as always

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Jeon Jungkook is exactly like his preferred alcoholic beverage; whiskey. strong, rich, smooth, smells like oak and a hint of vanilla caramel. Much like your introduction to the drink, you met this man in a bar.

A real man- none of those barely twenty-year olds that paraded around in their sagged sweatpants and with a bright tap of unlimited unopened snapchats lighting up the dark corners of the bar. Jungkook is pure masculinity, a chest so full with security, so grounded in his abilities that it was practically impossible to ignore how his large, brown galaxy eyes focused on your face, zeroing in on your cupid´s bow while you licked the stinging remains of your moscow mule away- he paid for it, of course.

Once the enticing conversation that felt almost comically easy faded, you expected him to try and take you to his house- mansion, as he revealed in a sidetracked sentence. Although you were looking forward to seeing the small metal pearls below and over his eyebrow move as they crinkle in pleasure, the tight ropes of virginity had not yet been released in your 21 years of living. Shackles that keep you tied down- as promised out of your own, admittedly senseless morality, not to be opened by a stranger. The key to your cuffs belonged to a lover.

It was unforeseeable, nevertheless natural for him to droop his heavily tattooed arm around your waist while escorting you out of the establishment. The sleeve of his white button down folded up along his forearm for you to see the beauty of his skin, wondering just how many more of those carefully crafted works of art he´s hiding beneath the business casual attire.

Once engulfed in the harsh, bitter wind that itaewon possesses, his arm only drew you in closer, so near in fact, you were able to notice a small scar on his cheek, one you hadn´t been able to notice in the curse of a dimly lit place. The more your eyes adjusted to him, so grew your anger at the lighting inside your place of first meeting- it had done an injustice to the man you had already been disgustingly attracted to, stole the wholehearted, inescapable allure of such a mature presence.

The gentleman looks down into your awaiting eyes, only to ask if he may have your number, upon your agreement, he proceeded to tell you that he would be walking you home, wanting you to arrive safely since it must be dangerous for a woman to walk the streets of a party district at 2 am in the morning.

That encounter was four months ago, and only a month after that initial conversation, he had completely taken over you. Swallowed you whole in just how well he treated you.

Insistent of using his black card to buy you anything you remotely showed liking in, dedicated to communication, random flowers that showed up at your office and a constant offer of a ride in his luxurious black mercedes-benz GT63s; no matter how long it took- even if it was a inconvenience, sometimes taking longer to get to you than it would have taken you to simply retort to public transport.

"I told you i´d make it for you, didn´t I baby? hm?" his velvet smooth voice rings, from how he´s standing, with his body pressed against your back, towering over you, you could feel the hardened muscles of his torso meeting you. His large, slim hands reach to either side of your waist, to the glass filled with ice that you´re holding in between your own, gently removing them to resume the task that you were occupied with. Your eyes glance to the bulging of his bicep, that loose, casual tshirt did nothing to hide just how big he had gotten due to his newfound hobby.

you whine- almost, biting down on your lower lip to prevent just that from happening, "thank you gguk" you say, turning to peck the very muscle that´s invading your line of sight. He hums, a low, satisfied sound from the back of his throat.

"c´mere baby" patting one of his muscular thighs, his eyes drift to your figure walking towards him, iced tea in hand, just like he had made it for you. Sweet, light, refreshing, much like your presence in his life. Almost like a sign from the stars that his hearts content was somewhere, bundled in the form of a shorter girl with eyes that could entrance any sailor- far less siren like, no, wide with love and purity. Just what he had yearned for in any women he had met before you-whether tangled in meaningless sheets or involved in a month long, semi serious relationship, Jungkook was yet to cross paths with the one woman that would make him turn so desperate, he would have begged for their happiness on his knees. It might be romantic, even a tad dramatic to admit that from the very first word that left your pink glossed lips, he knew better than anyone else that he was in deep, deep trouble. Upon seeing the curve of your waist, hearing that soft, lulling voice, that embarrassingly obvious fact only intensified after finding out just how delightful you truly were, it made him want to rip his hair out- do anything in the possibility of his grip to see even a glimpse of your smile, of that lighthearted, cheerful giggle you let out regularly. He was drawn in my your feminine nature, by the way you let yourself fall into his caring embrace.

He´s quickly directed back to reality as soon as your legs make it to either side of the thigh he had patted earlier, a familiar position for this equally familiar occasion. Muscle memory sets in for him, grabbing the large karaoke remote to hand to you while he turns the microphone on. "Can you sing something to me first?" the question sets his bunny smile off, nodding instantly "Sure love, chose a song for me" he says. Your mind floods with ideas, but you settle for a song you´ve heard him hum millions of times, mindlessly going about.

"Malibu nights?", jungkook questions excitedly while the instrumental sets in, he knew the answer, but his heart swelled with joy at the notice you took to this song. After all, he loved to sing. Another layer to him that has you melting, growing into the embodiment of love that is endlessly cherishing what little fractions were revealed to your eyes in each fleeting moment. His honey voice reaches beautiful highs and lows you can only compare to something angelically otherworldly in nature.

It made you want to know just how deep he could growl, how far his sounds can drop with the dirty nothings you would love to have whispered in your ear. You felt filthy for letting your mind wander to such extends when all he did was sing, lulling you into drunken harmony with him. Still, you consciously lean back into his body, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, encircling it with his vanilla oak scent.

During the past four months, you were doomed to have to shatter his hopes, reveal the truth that somehow felt shameful ; that you´re fully untouched. Nothing further than a bad makeout had yet graced your skin, it made you feel even smaller admitting something so vulnerable to a man that carries almost an entire decade of experience more. Much to your comfort, his hands found the curve of your cheeks immediately, telling you that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, he would hand you the full control, you set the pace.

Internally, Jungkook drooled at the idea that the woman of his dreams was to have her first, the most memorable, sexual encounter with him. Your body belonged to him, devoted to only remember the touch of his lips, the curve of his cock, how he would mold you to his shape without the intrusion of another man having tried the same. Not that he would have wanted you any less if that had not been the case, but for one time in your relationship, he was oh so selfish to want you all to himself, aroused that your first person induced orgasm was going to be his and his alone. The prophecy fulfilled when on one, alcohol induced night a week ago, two of his long, tattooed digits made their entrance into your tight hole, relentlessly filling you until your soft thighs shook, until after your third high, he licked his fingers clean and let you taste yourself on his tongue.

The tunes get lost in silence, he sets the microphone down, having felt the warmth of your mound beneath the tights while you tried to subtly gain friction, scooting back on him. His palms find your thighs, tightly flushed around his muscle. They´re shamelessly wandering up and down the thin material that prevents his hot, calloused fingers from feeling up your smooth skin.

"Wanna do that again, love?" jungkook mutters, his pillowed lips latch on to your exposed neck, right at the gentle curve that paints the beginning of your shoulder, soft, faint kisses that leave a trail of barely sounding sighs behind.

"Do what?" feigning innocence to avoid internal humiliation, you ask him, knowing he wouldn´t let it go, not until you told him to. The sound of his husky chuckle sounds right on the sweetspot of your neck, he sucks a little harder, encouraging you with the constant rub to your thighs. Instinctively, the heat inside your panties grows as do the intensity of your desperate moans, your hips push back on his thigh, seeking the solidity that grants you the portion of satisfaction your needy button longed for

"that" he simply says, having found an anchor in your hips now, your plaid skirt bunches around his hands, slowly- tortuously so when met with the deliberate little humps he helps you to complete on him. You practically whimper once his tongue glides across your skin, dragging from your shoulder, up your neck, intertwined with his open mouth, loud kisses that don´t seem to stop.

"that´s it... do you even know how cute you sound?" he smiles, and you feel it, you feel the smile rise to his lips with every additional kiss, every noise you grant the hungry male. "gguk, wanna see you" you whine- the high pitched noise has him twitching in his training joggers, semi errect but about to stand stiff, just as noticeably as that night seven days ago, having formed a huge tent inside his slacks, there was no hiding his attraction, no use to conceal his utter need for you.. nor his size, not that he would be capable to anyways.

To your request, he helps you turn around, now facing that dim glow on your slightly embarrassed features, taking note of how you nibble on your lip with every grind forward, "that feel good sweet girl?" he asks, ghosting his lips over yours faintly, just enough to see how much you need it, "mhm.. really good" you mumble back, chasing after his lips that he can't deny you of any longer, the kiss is gentle, but nourishes your heat further

"wanna feel even better?" the pit in your lower abdomen grows at the tone of his voice, something much stronger is seeping through his system, something that screams dominance, you nod- naturally wanting to get lost in it. Jungkook's hands stop assisting you, instead, they take to your shirt, "can i take this off of you baby?" he waits for that little hum of yours before swiftly tugging it away from your form

It's almost frightening how quickly your mind reverts back to wanting to run away and hide, your arms fly across your chest, everything you felt so good doing stops and he stops too,

"don't hide, you're perfect, you're so fucking sexy" his eyes trace your skin, hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your arms away, revealing your chest hugged into your bra, and jungkook almost forgets how to breathe properly,

he groans- groans that delicious deep noise that makes your head spin, even more so when you feel his appreciation for your body, hands pulling you closer by the waist so can bury his head into your cleavage. "so beautiful" he mutters, darting his tongue out to lick the slit between your tits, "wanna touch all over you, make you feel so good" he says, finding the clasp on your back to open it with one hand. a silent reminder of his experience, one you did not have in the slightest but somehow, it felt even better that way

"mh.. feels good gguk" you can't help but moan at the forgein sensation, his lips wrap around your hardend nipple, groaning sweetly while he sucks on it, carefully swiping his tongue over the little nub- your other breast is securely fitted into his palm, thumb playing with it just like he does with his mouth, mirroring every little flick

"feels so good doesn't it? you smell so good baby" his lips move to do the same to your other breast, switching sides with a trail of saliva sticking to his lips,

In that moment you feel so sensitive, so lost in his secure hold and at the same time, so small in his skillful dominance that you simply relish in the feeling, grinding your soaked core into his thigh over and over, long, hasty drags over his muscle while his lips work magic on your skin, squeezing a little tighter, sucking a little harder because every stuttered whimper fuels his urge to take care of you

"that's it baby.. keep going, you're so good" your hands find his dark chocolate locs, threading through it with the need to ground yourself. it feels as though every time your clit meets him, instead of getting you closer to sensational relief it adds to the ache, feeds into your desire to take and take more of him, be consumed by his strength

"want this off please" your excited fingers fiddle with the hem of his oversized shirt, earning a smug grin from your boyfriend as he detaches from you, discarding of his top

Although you have seen him shirtless before, it's impossible not to salivate at the sight, at his toned broad torso that curves into a unfairly small waist, large arms flexing when he reaches for your tits again, massaging them once more,

"like what you see pretty?" he says, teasingly cocking his head and biting at the metal ring on the corner of his lip, you blush- the slick drools out even more between your thighs, "so hot gguk, annoyingly hot" he chuckles, joining the sound with your airy giggle, but he sucks in a breath as soon as you shift in his lap, now fully straddling him, naked chest pressed to his with your head burried in his neck, "hmm.. what are you up to baby?" his hands find your back, soothing himself not to pounce on you because the strain in his pants is staggering his breath, your errect nipples are rubbing against his skin and it´s making him shiver, desperate, oh so desperate for you

but he knows all to well not to overwhealm your sweet, virgin body, to let you take all the time you need until he can feel every breath of your submission

"wanna feel you gguk, can i?" jungkook almost purrs at how innocently you ask, suppressing the need to grind his hips into your heat from below, "of course baby, anything you want. it's all yours"

he meant it, every vein cursing through his body belongs to you, working, pumping blood through him for the sole purpose of loving you, taking care of you. "all mine?" you hum, aroused by the confidence he emitts, your hands trace up his torso, creating a small distance between your bodies to feel up the hard lines on his abdomen with laboured breath of your own, lips finding every small patch of his neck that make him hum, make his sighs of pleasure slowly turn into groans "all yours my love" the answer wasn't necessary, not when you already started to leave traces of you on his skin, faint, red bruises on his neck that he's impatiently waiting to run around with

"you feel so fucking good, need to feel more of you, will you let me sweet girl?" his words are intoxicating, washing away any doubt or fear and replacing it with a intense craving of sexual desire "please gguk i'm so wet for you" the sound reaches his ears and shuts down his entire system, his hands carelessly rip down your skirt and stockings, leaving you in those tiny grey boyshorts that he looses his mind over "baby how did you hide all this from me?" his hands caress your thighs, your hips, up your waist and to the soft flesh of your stomach with hungry, insatiable eyes that long for a taste of your every inch

"all yours" you mimic him, sounding just like him with your sultry, shy voice, already wanting to remove his own bottoms which he catches on, ridding himself of the nuisance "yeah, all mine. this is all mine" he says, smiling softly

Your drenched underwear meets his errection as he pulls you back on his lap, hands sitting on your waist, you look so vulnerable- almost fragile in his grip, shyly moaning because the curve of his cock presses into your skin like it was molded for you, needy folds clinging to your underwear and your clit throbs- throbs begging for another taste of friction

"I don't know how to do any of this" he suddenly he hears you mumble, seeing how you're playing with your fingers that sit on his lower abdomen, your head is turned to them, a slight pout decorates your features

jungkook feels the need to sob- to take away whatever is making that pretty head of yours feel so threatened even though you're the best thing he has ever felt, the only person he ever wants to lay his hands on ever again

"that's okay baby, hey, look at me for a second will you?" you comply, craving his lead, his security to catch you, most of all that gentle, masculine dominance that floods your senses effortlessly

"you're doing so so well pretty, you don't have to worry okay? i'll take you through it, make you feel so good" he says, cupping your cheeks in his palms while sitting up a little to press kisses to your nose, your forhead, your lips and cheeks,

unable to contain your smile, you nod, gaining back the heartbeat in your willing feminity to let him take care of you, "thank you baby" you say with upmost honesty, pressing your lips to his in a kiss of adoration

"mhm.. come on, let's get this off of you love" his whipers lingers on you, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before pulling it off your lifted legs, he moans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick attached to the cloth and glistening over your feminity

"so beautiful, do you even realize how lucky i am? how thankful i am that this sweet, sweet girl is all mine to love?" he says softly, so softly that your eyes gloss a little bit, feeling so utterly vulnerable in front of him, so sexy in the most feminine way possible. blush creeps up your cheeks, his hands find your inner thigh, dancing around the sensitive skin "you're too sweet gguk"

he returns your smiles, lifting your hand to kiss it before intertwining it with his own, lacing his fingers into you because being apart from your body feels like torture in this moment. but you're eyes are busied elsewhere, locked on the large outline that stands rock solid insides of his calvins, a small, wet patch that indicates his arousal decorating the very top

"go ahead baby, take it off" not needing to be told twice, you help yourself to his boxers, tugging them down in one, slow motion that leaves him biting his bottom lip, he pushes them down to his ankles, kicking them off

both of you sit like this for a moment that feels like eternity, raw, bare and without a chance to hide in front of the other's desperate gaze, comfort, pure love that's inseparable with a pulsing you can no longer ignore, not when he´s so big, so broad and decorated with a vein alongside his curved shaft

he grabs at the flesh of your ass, pulling you to sit your gushing cunt over his stiff length, cursing at feeling how soft you are, how much arousal truly spills from your body

"you're so.. big gguk.. m'scared" your whine makes him coo, stroking your head while a possessive grip that stays on your hip, his left hand tethering to your hair in the meantime, "don't be, you were made for me sweet girl, made for it" your head falls to his shoulder, arching your torso into his body with a small hump to his leaking cock, "that's right baby, feel it, feel how hard i am for you" spurred on by his encouragement, you tighten your hands on his bicep, rolling your hips over his, his entire shaft is coated in your essence, angry pink tip meeting your swollen clit repeatedly, so much so you feel your thighs shake, feel an impending orgasm waiting to flow over your body,

Ripping yourself of that sensation, not yet- you tell yourself

"want it gguk, want it so bad" jungkook hums, kissing your neck messily, cock throbbing beneath you, "want what pretty? talk to me" he says, his own desire to claim you all to himself becomes unbareable with each passing second that you stay put

You shift forward again, whining, "please gguk" he groans, twitching at how desperate you sound, entranced with how needy you've become for him, he didn't even have to make you beg for it, you just did

effortlessly perfect for him, "come on, tell me my love" but he has to hear more, he needs to hear the dirty confession falling from your pure lips

"want your cock jungkook, please" there it is- that submissive, whiny plead for him, it makes him feel alive, throwing his head back on the black leather couch momentarily "good girl, fuck baby you're so cute" he praises, taking the base of his cock into his hand but something stalls him, "do you want me to eat you out first? make it nice and slippery?" his teeth graze your ear, kissing over the shell of it, "no gguk i want it, want it now"- another nibble, "anything for you"

Your hips lift, hovering your tight, clenching hole over his thick manhood, hands sweaty and grasping at his firm shoulders, he spots your anxiety, wishing nothing more but to ease it

"sit down on it baby, it's gonna sting okay? but you're so good, I know you can take it" more, more reassuring words that you drink in, just as you sink down on it, wincing as your brows meet in frustration

"hurts.." you mutter, fingers digging into his tanned skin- you can't bring yourself to move down further, clenching your muscle tightly around only his fat tip that feels like it's splitting your drooling pussy open. his hands find your back again, "ssh baby.. i know... but you'e such a good girl, i know you can take every inch of my cock"

It takes a couple more kisses to your shoulder for you to sink down fully on his length, painfully so- having your hands claw into him, your lips trembling in confusion of why it feels so good to have him stuffed into you so deeply you can feel it inside your tummy, stretching into every crevice of your gummy walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, fulfilling, deep pressure that you could get lost in- bathe in

Jungkooks feelings have synchronized with yours- he's unsure where you end or where he begins but you're clamped down on his cock, your skin already wet with sweat as it sticks to his unforgivingly, moans and shaky breaths fill in the silence, a unspoken question lingers, awaits for you to answer it

until you do, taking his large hands to your hips before pressing yours against his full pecks, a glint of confidence spites your eyes that makes jungkook want to hear you cry out his name over and over again

"oh fuck- baby you-" you whine, rolling your hips forward, mouth parted when you feel him move inside of you, slolwy, deeply "that's it my love, take your time, so sexy like this" his voice is far from stable, you moan again- the grinding becomes faster, assisted by his hands that pull you onto him just the way you like it- just like he said, you have it all, its all yours

"what- what if you can't come?" he needs to contain a laugh at that- the question is so absurd to him, so unimaginable that it makes him slightly angry why you couldn't understand that he could cum from seeing you alone, from one kiss to your chaste lips- he's already twitching at how sloppy, how loud your cunt is around him

"I almost came from seeing how needy that little pussy of yours is, you feel how hard i am don't you? all because of you baby" he mutters in response, you flourish at it, getting familiar with the grinding motion but you need more, you deserve more- so you start bouncing on him- up and down, slamming your own, curved hips down onto him. he's mesmerized by your pleasure, watching how your brows are knitted, how your lips leak with drool and airy moans, how your tits bounce- he gropes at them, cupping them greedily, his hands itch for your skin, for you to let yourself go on him

"good girl.. look at you, a natural at riding my cock- don't even need my help" you shake, exhaustion already growing in your eager hips but you cannot stop, you don´t want to stop taking every inch of his cock back into you, lifting your hips only to take him back in, "you're filling me so much" you moan into his mouth, having formed a unity with his lips that welcome you like home, "just like that pretty, little humps for me" he mumbles back, interlacing his tongue with yours

he tugs at your nipples with his inked fingers, reciprocrating the moaning, he mirrors you, throbs when you clench, explores your mouth when you part for him impatiently. it leaves you to no choice but to become his own reflection, your hips ground themselves in a stable rhythm as your fingertips roll over his own nipples, unexpectedly he whimpers, bites down into your shoulder cautiously

"That's it baby, driving me fucking crazy" he grinds his hips up into you, unlocking a feeling of bliss that leads you to errupt into pornographic moans, your hand flings to muffle them, eyes rolling back into your skull,

Jungkook is making love to you, letting you reach a state you would not have been able to imagine, not even in the slightest when all you have ever felt are your fingers hastily, uncoordinated on your bundle of nerves. still, he can feel you´re holding back, afraid to be loud- to take up space, but he's having none of it

"Dont be embarrassed sweet girl, you sound addicting, so cute, give me every little noise" sinful sensuality floods you with his encouragement, "gonna make you cum for me, deserve it don't you think?" you don't- in fact, you can't think, long gone into pleasure while his hips piston into you from below,

he slaps your clit gently, your walls clench from how good that feels, "i asked you something baby" he repeats, distracted by your droopy eyes that threaten to shut him out at any moment, "answer me sweet thing, do you deserve to cum hm?" he taunts, rutting his hips with a slower but harder motion, force that hits your g-spot- reels you back into the moment, you head moves frantically "yes, yes please i need to cum"

Jungkook groans in satisfaction, "that's right.. best little cunt, all mine" he goes back lapping at your chest, licking his way to any patch of skin that your addictive smell lurs him to- he feels all over your skin, sneaking his fingers to where your bodies morph into one so he can draw tight circles on your clit, stimulating you to cry out his name,

"Jungkook.. i- i can't stop it i-" you stutter, thighs tensing around him, the feeling is so overwhealming that you can't keep your head up, can't warn him more than that since you're already letting your dew sprinkle out- letting the shocks roll over your body

"just like that.. make a mess on my cock baby, you did so well, come for me" he rasps, his heavy balls release into your tightness at the thought that crosses his mind- the knowledge that he had made you orgasm, that your virginity belonged to him solely,

It embraces the both of you, fills you with a sense of euphoria that none of you wish to end

As the high washes over you, you break out into a small shudder, aware of his milky cum that splurts your walls white, aware of the oversensitive area between your legs that jungkook's fingers slowly stop touching, landing to your unstable and sore thighs instead.

his heavy breathing is woven into yours, contrasting how slowly, lazily he manages to caress your naked skin, finding comfort in your warm body

the small whisper of his name catches him off guard, he hums, pulling back to cup your face, "are you okay my love? feel good?" his eyes rank over your tired features, glowing before his very own eyes,

"so okay. I love you" you breathe out, pressing a kiss to his button nose,

"I love you too baby, so proud of you" his nose nuzzles against yours, "you were so so good"

your shy giggle lights up his face like it always does, "thank you.. for taking my virginity... felt so good" you mumble with your bottom lip tucked away between your teeth- it awakens his soft- still nestled cock, his hands grip your ass- feeling the flesh spill beneath his fingers "thank you for your trust baby, but god, you're gonna make me lose it" jungkook says into your neck, nose tracing the delicate line of your shoulder,

"why? is it too much?" unbeknownst to you, Jungkook rolls his eyes in annoyance, how could you be so fucking adorable?

"Let me show you why" he answers, making your head perk up a little,

"Wanna lay down for me pretty? I can give you another one, as many as you want. You deserve it, wanna spoil you, fuck i wanna give you everything you want" faintly audible as he's speaking into your skin, having already laid you down onto the cold cushions of his unreasonably expensive leather couch.

[bywons]

MAKE YOU MINE ⭑ 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾

𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄， 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ ｡ vamp!enha 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1765────── fluff ✿‎ kissing skinship bruises blood 贅沢 𖥔

★ 𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖠 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲

LEE HEESEUNG

“get away from her,” heeseung’s voice cuts in like a knife in the darkness, and in a flash of a moment, he’s standing in front of you, the dark figure before you a second ago vanishes in the air.

his chest rises and falls steadily, but his eyes burn with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart skip. “are you okay?” his voice is softer now, trembling slightly, as if the threat had shaken him more than he wants to admit.

you look at his red glinting eyes, a horrifying sight, and yet it’s what draws you in, the real him. you finally nod at him, his cold hands cupping your jaws.

“don’t ever scare me like that again,” heeseung whispers, his forehead pressing against yours, breath cool and ragged. his hands are still on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a touch that borders on reverence.

you don’t move—you can’t. not when his lips are this close. not when his eyes, red and unholy, flicker down to your mouth like he’s starving for more than just blood.

“you don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “seeing someone else near you—touching you.”

his lips graze yours, not quite a kiss, not quite innocent. it’s restraint. torture. heeseung’s fingers curl slightly at your neck, thumb dragging down to your pulse. “this… it’s mine,” he murmurs, pressing his mouth against the skin there, not biting—just claiming.

you feel the chill of his breath, the heat of his desire. it’s terrifying. intoxicating. and you don’t want him to stop.

PARK JONGSEONG

“stay behind me,” jay says, voice low, dangerous—like a blade unsheathed in the dark.

you barely have time to breathe before he moves, a blur of motion that leaves the air sliced and stilled. the threat—another vampire, fangs bared—crumbles to ash at jay’s feet without a sound.

you stagger back, heart pounding, your silk gown torn at the hem. jay turns to you, eyes burning red, blood trailing down his temple.

“you’re bleeding,” you whisper, reaching up to touch him.

he catches your wrist midair. not harshly, but firm. “don’t.” his voice is tense, too tense. “i’m barely holding back.”

you search his face—the furrow in his brow, the tightness in his jaw. he looks more beast than man, yet still beautiful. yours.

“you keep risking everything,” you say, stepping closer, ignoring his warning. “you’re not just my bodyguard anymore, jay.”

his expression shatters. “you think i don’t know that?” he breathes. “every time you look at me like this, i forget what i am. what i could do to you.”

“then don’t forget,” you whisper, pressing your palm to his chest. “remember who you are with me.”

his breath stutters. “you’re playing with fire.”

“maybe i want to burn.”

his lips crash onto yours—desperate, bruising, filled with the hunger he’s buried for too long.

and as he pulls you into his arms, shielding you once again from the world, he silently vows:

he’d rather burn with you. than live forever without you.

SIM JAEYUN

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whisper, voice trembling as your fingers brush over the purple bruises blooming down jake’s ribs.

he winces, but not from your touch. his eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with dark shadows, lift to meet yours. a dried line of blood streaks from the corner of his mouth, sharp against his pale skin.

“i had to,” he says quietly. “he was getting too close to you.”

your heart clenches. “you let him hurt you just to protect me?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, his gaze drops—shame flickering in the red that still glows faintly in his eyes.

“jake,” you murmur, cradling his face. “this isn’t saving me if you’re killing yourself.”

he leans into your touch like it’s the only warmth left in the world. “i don’t care what happens to me,” he says hoarsely, “as long as you’re untouched. unbitten. alive.”

you feel his pain under your fingertips—the fractured ribs, the bloodless chill of his skin, the weight of everything he’s endured just to keep you safe.

“i never asked you to suffer for me.”

he looks up, jaw clenched. “i need to suffer if it means you’re okay.”

your hands tremble as you pull him into your arms, his body too cold, too still. “then let me take some of the pain, jake. please. let me save you for once.”

his voice breaks against your shoulder. “you already did… you just don’t know it yet.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“your father won’t approve this,” sunghoon breathes, lips just inches from yours, swollen from the kiss he couldn’t resist. yet he doesn’t move. his cold hands stay firm on your waist, pulling you tightly against the chestplate of his armor.

you tilt your head, breath hitching, heart pounding like a war drum beneath royal silk. “he never approved of anything that made me feel alive,” you whisper. “but you… you do.”

sunghoon’s jaw clenches, fangs just barely visible in the moonlight that spills through the stone corridor. “i’m not a man, princess ,” he murmurs, voice like dark velvet. “i’m a monster in armor. your father assigned me to guard you, not—”

“—not fall in love with me?” you finish, eyes shimmering with both defiance and longing.

he exhales shakily, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you reach up, fingers trailing over his jaw, cool and sharp under your touch. “then show me.”

and he does—he kisses you like a man who’s starved for centuries. his hands slip into your hair, down your back, trembling as they memorize every curve like it’s his last night breathing.

“we can’t stay,” he whispers against your lips. “if i stay, they’ll kill me in front of you.”

your breath is shaky, but steady with resolve. “then take me with you.”

his eyes flash red.

the next night, the princess’s bed was cold. her chamber empty. and far beyond the kingdom’s borders, a knight rode fast beneath the moon—his arms around the only thing he ever dared to love.

KIM SUNOO

the night is soft, wrapped in a quiet so complete it feels like the world is holding its breath just for you. sunoo’s hand slips into yours, warm and gentle, grounding you in the stillness. his eyes gleam faintly crimson as he studies your face, searching for the words he can’t find.

“you don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says softly, voice like a lullaby in the dark.

you swallow hard, heart fluttering against your ribs. “but what if you hurt me?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling with the weight of uncertainty.

sunoo’s fingers tighten around yours. “i would never hurt you,” he promises, voice breaking with the honesty that feels almost too fragile for someone like him.

he leans closer, breath warm on your skin, and you can’t help but shiver. “there’s a darkness inside me,” he admits, eyes locking with yours. “but with you, it’s quieter. softer. like i’m… learning to be human again.”

his lips brush yours, hesitant at first, then with growing certainty. the kiss tastes faintly metallic, but beneath it is something sweeter—hope, trust, something new.

you rest your forehead against his, breath mingling. “teach me,” you whisper.

sunoo smiles, a delicate, almost shy curve of his lips. “we’ll learn together.”

and in the quiet night, with stars watching overhead, you find yourself willing to take the leap—into the unknown, into forever—with him.

YANG JUNGWON

you shouldn’t be here. not in the shadows of the balcony, not with jungwon’s back pressed to the stone wall and your hands clutching his bloodstained collar.

“this is wrong,” he whispers, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you. his eyes glow faintly crimson in the moonlight, flickering between restraint and something dangerously close to desire.

“you’ve said that every night,” you murmur, fingers brushing the healing gash on his neck. “and yet, here you are.”

he exhales, sharp and shaky. “if your brother knew—”

“he’d kill you,” you finish for him. “but i’m not his to protect, jungwon.”

your words hang heavy between you. the space is thick with tension, charged with every stolen glance, every quiet moment over the years where you knew—he was always soemthing more than he let on.

“you smell like blood,” you whisper, stepping closer, voice softer now. “you’re hurt again.”

“i’m fine,” he lies, jaw clenched.

you reach up, cradling his cheek. his breath catches. “you keep fighting for me in the dark, jungwon. when will you let yourself have something… light?”

his composure cracks.

his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his forehead pressed to yours. “you don’t understand what i am,” he whispers.

“then show me,” you say.

and he does—kissing you like he’s spent centuries waiting, like you’re the only thing that makes him feel alive in a world of shadows.

he’ll regret this. but not tonight. not while you’re still in his arms.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“vampires aren’t real, right?”

your voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, like you’re afraid the truth might answer back. you stand in the doorway of your shared apartment, hoodie pulled tight around your frame, eyes wide and fixed on riki—who’s sitting on the windowsill, bathed in moonlight.

he doesn’t answer immediately.

he just looks at you. too still. too quiet. like he’s trying to decide whether to lie or let everything unravel.

“why are you asking that?” he finally says, voice low, almost careful.

your eyes dart to the blood on his sleeve. your breath catches. “i saw you,” you say. “last night. in the alley. your eyes… they weren’t human.”

he stands. not rushed, not startled. just slow, graceful, quiet in that unnatural way you never noticed until now.

“you weren’t supposed to see that.”

you take a step back, heart pounding. “so it’s true.”

he sighs. his voice is softer now. “i didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“how long?”

he meets your gaze, something ancient and sorrowful flickering behind his eyes. “since before we were roommates. since before i knew what it meant to want something… i couldn’t have.”

he moves closer. you don’t run. you should, but you don’t.

“are you scared of me now?” he whispers.

you tremble. but you don’t look away. “should i be?”

riki leans in, just enough that you feel his breath on your lips, he smiles through his nervousness, hand caressing your cheeks.

“absolutely not,” he murmurs, “i want to keep you safe, even from myself.”

스루 ܃ the way each one of these can be a seperate drabble or oneshot .. TT i love vampire enha 🫰🏽

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[hyruling]

in my mind palace, season 9 eddie nde goes like this: they’re on a call and something unchill happens — the details aren’t important, but it’s something that causes eddie and a civilian they’re rescuing to both be hurt. buck is closer to the civilian and goes immediately into first responder mode, putting pressure on their bleeding wound while waiting for parameddie to come do his thing. instead, eddie makes a pained sound that buck has never heard him make, and he looks up to see eddie is also bleeding badly (from his stomach, for maximum dramatic effect.) eddie collapses and buck automatically moves like he’s going to go to eddie when the civilian under his hands grunts and reminds him he’s on the job, his responsibility is keeping this person alive. but eddie is on the ground, hands on his stomach, putting as much pressure on the wound as he can but the angle is bad and he’s getting weaker and weaker. buck looks frantically between eddie and the civilian. between his duty, the one he was born to do, and the love of his life (which he’s just realized this very second) bleeding out five feet away.

he locks eyes with eddie, and eddie knows what he’s about to do. and he says, “buck. don’t you dare.” but unfortunately for him that’s about the time he starts to cough up blood, and buck closes his eyes real tight, then looks at the civilian and says, “i’m so sorry, k-keep pressure on this, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—” and races over to eddie, putting his hands over eddie���s on his stomach, both of them trying to staunch the blood but there’s so much. and eddie’s so mad he’s literally spitting, cussing buck out between gasps and coughing fits, telling buck to leave him, telling buck he’ll be fine, telling buck if he doesn’t go do his job right now he’ll never speak to him again. and buck snaps, “i am doing my job eddie, stop talking and focus on breathing.” eddie doesn’t listen and keeps trying to push him away, but buck ignores him and he doesn’t even feel bad, not right now at least, not when eddie is this pale. buck starts digging through eddie’s medical bag one handed, asking him what he needs for a field transfusion because even though he’s not a medic he knows eddie’s losing too much blood and they can’t afford to wait for help. but eddie’s just shaking his head and he’s fading, his eyes fluttering closed, and buck grabs eddie’s face and makes him open his eyes, getting blood all over his neck and jaw. and eddie does because it’s buck that’s asking him, buck that’s begging him to stay awake. and buck’s voice is hoarse when he says, “eddie, i-i’ve never done this before, i need you to talk me through this. please, don’t—don’t leave me. don’t make me do this alone.” and eddie’s still furious and he can barely keep his eyes open but he nods weakly, and bucks hands are shaking so badly as he pierces eddie’s skin with the needle, and then his own, but he manages with eddie’s soft instructions. eddie’s delirious from blood loss and without thinking says, “you’re doing so good, that’s it, good job baby,” which makes buck twitch so bad he almost rips the tube in half. but he recovers and then he’s watching his own blood flow into eddie, and it’s his blood that’s bringing color back to eddie’s face, flooding into eddie’s cheeks. they both stare at the dark red tube connecting them, completely silent but for their shared heavy breaths, until eddie smiles and catches buck’s eye. and he’s all red and beautiful when he says, “you’re makin’ me blush, you fucking idiot.” and buck laughs, all watery with tears in his eyes, and presses his lips to eddie’s forehead, just for a moment before he realizes what he’s doing. he tries to pull away but eddie grabs him by the neck with his bloody hand and pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, and breathes, ��thank you bud.”

(chim and hen show up just as eddie’s perking back up and stabilize the civilian. and through an unspoken agreement none of them tell bobby. not even the victim, who was moved from the category 5 yaoi event they just witnessed)

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Hello Beautiful 🤩 how are you doing? I currently have a massive headache just teetering on the side of Migraine. I also heard that sex whether oral or intercourse can help with headaches so I am wondering if you write a fic with either Alfie or Harry about their partner having a headache and they ask what they can do to help and you just casually mention in your pain “I heard sex is good for dealing with headaches”

Please and thank you. I love your writing so much.

“Doctor Solomons”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Alfie’s Masterlist Join the tag list

Summary: A sudden migraine leaves you desperate for relief, and when you tell Alfie an orgasm might help, your ever-devoted husband is all too eager to step in and help.

WC: 3.5k

Warning/Tags: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), cum eating, migraines.

You were curled up in bed, the heavy curtains pulled shut, draping the room in pitch black silence, because pitch black was the only way your head wouldn’t feel like it was being set on fire, even the faintest sliver of gaslight felt like it cut through your skull. One forearm was thrown over your eyes, your fingers pressing into your temples as if you could will the pain away. Your nightdress clung damp to your skin, sticky from the feverish warmth that came with the ache that had taken up residence behind your eyes.

Every pulse was a thunderous drumbeat of pain, echoing through your temples and crashing behind your eyes. The pressure built with every breath, a dull roar in your ears, each throb feeling like it might split you open. It was all too much.

And yet, even through the haze, you heard your husband approaching the room, the door opening, slow and gentle, the hinges groaning just slightly. Then you heard his voice, soft and cautious.

“Alright, my treacle?” Alfie’s voice was lower than usual, but still loud as thunder, still enough to send another spike of pain right through your skull.

“Migraine,” you murmured, barely lifting your arm. “Bad one. Please… keep your voice down.”

He crossed the room in measured, heavy steps, each foot fall like a distant tremor, as if the floor might collapse under his weight. He crouched beside the bed, towering you but trying to make himself small, his bulk figure casting a shadow even in the dark. Too large. Too solid.

He was trying hard not to make you feel worse, but Alfie wasn’t known for his graciousness. Even when he lowered his voice, he was still loud, even if he tried to make himself seem smaller, more careful, his presence was still huge, impossible to ignore.

His hand brushed gently across your forehead, his calloused knuckles grazing your cheek, fingertips barely there but grounding. You leaned slightly into the touch, exhausted by hours of insufferable pain.

“I hate this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Hate seein’ you like this. My fragile little bird, wings all twitchin’ in pain. Breaks me heart, it does.”

You gave a tired little laugh, dry and cracked. “You know... You could help… if you want.”

He blinked. “What, you need a cold cloth or—?”

You cut him off, your voice a breathy whisper, laced with a hint of mischief. “I read somewhere… orgasms can help with headaches.”

You remembered reading that a few months ago in a medical journal, not that you were particularly interested in medicine, but most days felt boring with Alfie gone to handle the business, so you picked up whatever new articles you could find. And those words stuck with you.

He paused, a wicked smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to ease your pain, and here you were, telling him the cure was exactly what he loved doing most in the world? That was a great deal,

“Did you now?” he said finally, voice low, but with the distinct edge of something filthy sparking underneath.

You peeled your arm back, squinting up at him, managing a crooked, sleep-drunk smile. “It's supposed to help blood flow… release endorphins… Natural relief.”

Alfie tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement, disbelief, and a rush of darkness all swirling together. It was like you'd said the magical word: orgasms. He loved orgasms. Loved having them, loved giving them to you even more, and now you were here, telling him that eating your cunt (his favorite fucking meal) was the key for easing your pain? Time to get to work.

“Well then,” he murmured, tone gone velvet, slow and low. “Far be it from me to ignore a woman in pain… much less my beautiful fuckin’ wife. Especially when there’s a—what did you call it? A natural remedy available, right?”

He grinned as he leaned in a little closer, you could already feel the change in the air. He stood and unbuttoned his waistcoat with precision, his fingers working each button loose like he was undressing for war. The fabric slipped from his shoulders and he tossed it carelessly over a chair, then his shirt followed, until he was bare from the waist up, chest rising slow and heavy, muscles flexing under old scars, heavy ink, and contained tension.

“I’ll sort you out, love,” he said, voice gravel-dark, low enough to rumble in your chest. “Right here. Right now. With God as my witness, I’m gonna fuck that headache right out of you.”

You rolled your head on the pillow, heavy and aching, turning toward him with a wry expression. It was almost amusing to watch him so eager to give you an orgasm, like your suggestion had instantly turned into a top mission. But truth be told, that pounding headache wasn’t going anywhere, you needed to stop it before it drove you insane, so if your handsome husband giving you pleasure was the cure… then let it be that.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m devoted,” he corrected, eyes fixed on you like a man on a mission. “Ridiculous comes later.”

You could barely lift your head, your skull was still pounding, but the sight of him like this, bare, solid, radiating heat and purpose, it stirred something low in your belly, it always did, you still got just as wet for him as you did the very first day.

He didn’t climb on top of you right away. No, Alfie Solomons was a man who took his time when it counted. Instead, he crouched beside the bed and gently eased the covers down, moving with unexpected tenderness for someone built like a butcher. His fingertips ghosted along your thighs, tugging the hem of your nightdress up inch by slow inch, until your bare skin was exposed to the cool air and his hot gaze.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something soft, “like you always do for me, yeah? Let me be good for you now, my treacle.”

Then, he dropped to his knees, ready to worship the only thing that ever made him feel good, the only person he’d ever loved. When he leaned between your thighs, your breath caught in your chest, his thumbs spread your folds open to admire his favorite sight in the world.

Before you could register it, you felt Alfie's warm and wet mouth. The first stroke of his tongue was slow and full, dragging all the way up your slit with deliberate pressure, making your whole body jerk at the contact. His beard scratched your inner thighs, rough and coarse, but instead of pulling away, the burn of it only heightened the ache, making you feel every movement, every flick, every hum against your pussy.

He didn’t tease you tonight, he just ate. Tongue flat and firm, licking repeatedly from your entrance to your clit, then circling the sensitive bud like it was the center of his universe. He knew exactly how to eat you out, he had known since that first night together, but with time, it only got better. You knew he could make you cum with just a few right flicks of his tongue, but neither of you liked to rush it, you both enjoyed dragging out the pleasure as long as you could.

He moaned into you, low and rough, as if the taste of your pussy alone had undone him, as if he needed it… needed you more than air. You let out a shaky breath, your hips twitching under his touch.

“Shhh,” he whispered against your folds, his lips brushing sensitive skin. “Just let go, yeah? Let me give you somethin’ better to feel than that bloody thumpin’ in your skull.”

He slid his arms under your thighs, pulling you flush against his face, anchoring you, keeping you still while he devoured you like a starving man. He didn’t slow down for a second, if anything, he only went deeper, his tongue plunging with a slick, greedy noise, then back up to your clit again, building a delicious rhythm, messy but focused. Wet slurps and obscene licks were filling the room, every filthy sound echoing louder now than the pulse in your head.

He moved one big hand to press it against your lower belly, holding you down, as the tension inside you coiled and snapped tighter with every stroke. You could feel the pressure of his palm along with the way his tongue was working harder, trapping the pleasure in you, forcing it to build, to break.

Your hips kept squirming, but he only grunted and buried himself deeper, beard soaked, lips slick with you. Your hand fisted the sheets, the other one sliding up into his hair, grabbing a fistful, tugging it but not to pull him away, to keep him there, with his tongue buried in your cunt.

He grunted when you pulled his hair, growled into your skin like a man grateful for the pain. He loved when you got needy like that, when your body moved on instinct, chasing every movement of his tongue, grinding your hips down agaisnt his mouth, smearing your slick all over his face to mark him. He loved the way your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer like his mouth was the best thing you'd ever felt.

Just like magic, the pulsing in your skull began to dull, you felt the ache softening, like it was being pulled out through your cunt, sucked out with every obscene slurp and low groan from him. He was treating your pain like something edible, like something he could suck out of you and lick from your cunt. All that remained now was the hot, sticky tension building deep in your body, overtaking every other sense, that same feeling that you had everytime you got closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Alfie…” you moaned, voice barely audible over your breath. “Don’t stop… please…”

“That’s it,” he muttered, mouth slick, beard matted and glistening with your juices, lips dragging across your clit as he spoke. “That’s my good treacle. Let me take it. Let me take the pain. Let me fuckin’ eat it out of you.”

He hummed, a deep, filthy hum that vibrated through your entire body, shooting straight up your spine, right through your cunt, and that was what broke you. You came with a choked cry, back arching, thighs shaking, your whole body clenching around nothing, completely unraveling on his tongue. Your slick flooded his mouth and he groaned like it was the best meal he’d ever had, like he could taste the moment you tipped over the edge.

The room went black around the edges, your pain completely gone, forgotten, replaced now by raw pleasure and the wet sound of Alfie still kissing you down there, slow and greedy, like he couldn’t bear to stop.

He didn’t just stay there, he worshiped the mess you'd made. Kept his tongue lazily stroking through your folds, collecting every drop of your release, breathing heavy through his nose like a man high on your pleasure. The scrape of his beard still stung, still burned, but it made you throb, made your oversensitive cunt twitch against his mouth like you could cum again if he pushed just right.

“Holy hell.” You could barely breathe.

“Feeling better yet, love?” he rasped, voice rough with hunger. “Because I ain’t even started.”

He grinned wickedly and then leaned down to press slow kisses on your inner thigh with his sticky lips, his beard dragging wet trails across your skin, before crawling up your body, planting more kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your chest, like your body was fully his to worship.

He braced a hand beside your head, and kissed your mouth deep and messy, his tongue curling against yours, sliding wet and hot between your lips. You could taste yourself on him, the salt, the slick, the raw want. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he needed to feel your breath in his lungs.

His hand fumbled with his belt, then the fastenings of his trousers, his eyes never leaving your face. He shoved them down just far enough to free himself, and when his cock sprang free it slapped against his belly with all the weight and urgency of it, already leaking, flushed an angry red at the tip.

“Medical marvel, me,” he muttered against your skin, voice smug but trembling with restraint.

You could feel his need, his tension, the way his whole body thrummed like a wire pulled too tight. You glanced down and he was so hard, so painfully and proudly erect. It looked obscene, all his thick veiny length throbbing with hunger. And oh, right now, there was nothing you wanted more than to feel that wonderful cock that had made you see stars more times than you could count. Just that tought made your cunt ache again, desperate for the stretch, the perfect rhythm only he could give you.

His face was flushed too, his cheeks pink, neck red, his hair damp with sweat. And those eyes were so bright, so full, like he’d been holding back with everything in him, focusing on taking your pain away first, but now he needed his release too. The way you'd moaned for him, writhed under his tongue, came for him... it was driving him insane.

“Let me finish the job, yeah?” he said, brushing your hair back with fingers so gentle, so soft it made your throat close. Those now sweet fingers were the ones that had held your thighs open just minutes ago, that mouth was the same mouth that had wrecked you.

You nodded, feeling dizzy from the heat in your belly and the sudden wave of tenderness crashing through the filth, dizzy with how badly you wanted to feel every inch of him, every stretch, every thrust, every filthy groan that was proof of just how deep inside you he was.

He lined himself up, breathing heavy through his nose, and then he pushed in with a low, broken groan, the stretch was so big, so deep, even after years of taking him every single day, even after he'd just spend endless minutes getting you open first with his mouth. It almost burned, but it was perfect anyway, it was the kind of ache that your body always craved.

You felt yourself adjusting as every inch of his perfect cock slid inside you, forcing you open, so thick, so full and hot, that had you gasping for air. Your muscles were fluttering around him as he filled you slow and deep. It was devastating, it filled your lungs, your chest, your mind. There was nothing but the feeling of him in you now.

He held still, barely breathing, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut in pure restraint, waiting for you to adjust, giving your body time to catch up with the invasion his cock supposed. That was something he didn't do every time, sometimes he'd just take you fast and rough, with no patience, just raw and hungry need, and you loved that too, loved him brutal and angry. But tonight was about making you feel better, about taking your pain away, and so he waited with calm until your body grew accustumed to him.

And when it did, he began to move slow and precise, dragging his cock through your walls like he was trying to leave a mark in them, like he was trying to rewrite the very shape of your body from the inside out. Tonight it was long and deep thrusts that punched the air from your lungs. Every slide out made your cunt ache, letting you feel every inch leaving, and every push back in felt like coming home, filling you all over again.

The sound of skin on skin, wet and rhythmic, was purely pornographic, it filled the room like a second heartbeat. The slap of his hips, the wet suction of your cunt clenching around him, it was all filth, and he fucking loved every second of it.

He liked it dirty, just like him, filthy and unapologetically nasty. He liked when the sheets were soaked through and the room reeked with the smell of body fluids by the time sex was over. He liked to make a mess, liked when his beard was matted with your slick, when your thighs were trembling and covered in his cum, when his stomach and your tits were streaked with sweat. Sweat that he would lick off of you, because he loved the salty taste of it. That was his idea of a good time, of how a proper fuck was meant to be. What other people might find disgusting, Alfie considered it proof he’d done his job right, so if you weren’t both ruined by the end of it, it wasn’t worth it.

Every stroke was intimate and raw, as if his cock was talking to you, like it knew your body better than you did, and your body answered, trembling, throbbing, fluttering around him with every slow drag. Your migraine? No trace of it, like it had never been there in the first place.

He leaned close, and between thrusts, he whispered filth in your ear, voice rough, worshipful:

“Best fuckin’ cure you could find…”

“You need this, yeah? Your body knows it…”

“You feel so fuckin’ good wrapped ‘round me, squeezin’ me like that…”

“Gonna give you every drop, treacle… Gonna fill you ‘til you forget your own name…”

He groaned when you clenched around him involuntarily, making him slam deeper, like he couldn’t help it, like you’d pulled it out of him. You moaned and clung to him, nails raking down his back, scratching red into his skin. He arched into it, hissing with pleasure, like your pain marked him.

He growled in pure satisfaction, in pride, in the filthy joy of making you lose yourself under him, in knowing he was the only one who'd ever made you feel this way. Your body began to flutter around him, heat cresting too fast, pleasure blooming in your core, legs trembling as you pulled him closer, tighter, like you could keep him inside forever.

You came again. It was sharp and sudden, gasps breaking on his name and your whole body jerking beneath him, clenching down around him so tight he nearly collapsed. You screamed his name, sobbed it, said it like it was something holy, like it was carved into your cunt.

Alfie followed you seconds later, groaning into your neck, his face buried in your shoulder as his cock throbbed hard, spilling thick ropes of his cum into you. You felt it hot and endless as it flood you, filling you so deep it felt like his cum was going exactly where it belonged.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured against your ear, “take all of it. That’s where it’s meant to be, yeah?”

His hips kept slowly rocking with need, like he didn’t want it to end, like he needed to give you every last drop of his seed. He grunted through his teeth, muttering into your neck “take it, fuckin’ take it all, that’s it, my good wife” while his cock twitched again and again inside your spent cunt.

He collapsed on top of you with a grunt, making you feel his heavy and warm body, his chest slick against yours, his breath hitching. You both reeked of sweat and sex. A proper fuck, Alfie thought.

He looked down and noticed how his thick, white cum was slowly spilling out of your cunt, even with him still buried deep inside you, thrusting slow and shallow, each movement coating his shaft, and sending a wet, sticky trail between your thighs.

“Do they say anythin’ ’bout eatin’ it in those books you read, eh? Husband’s seed’s good for migraines too, yeah?” He teased, dipping two fingers back through your folds, he made you whimper from the hypersensitivity, then scooped up some of his dripping cum with a slow, deliberate curl.

“I’m not sure,” you purred, eyes half-lidded, “but I don’t like letting it go to waste anyway.”

He pushed those fingers to your lips and you licked them slow and deliberate, savoring the salty sweetness of him as your tongue swirled around them, tasting every drop. He chuckled softly, eyes darkening as if the sight of you eagerly eating his cum never failed to amaze him. With deliberate slow strokes, he pushed his fingers in and out of your mouth, rejoicing in the way you got them clean until not a drop was left.

He didn’t let you go, just shifted enough to roll to the side, but still keeping you tangled with him, one arm draped over your waist, his spent cock still nestled inside you, still leaking, still twitching, keeping you plugged full as his release kept making a mess on your thighs. It was thick, slow, hot, you could feel it everywhere, slick on your folds, sliding down to your ass, and soaking the sheets. You were so stuffed full of him. Marked and owned by him.

“So,” he muttered, lips pressed to your shoulder, “How’s that head o’yours, love?”

You grinned, eyes closed, body limp and finally at peace. “It’s gone, Alf. Completely.”

He smirked against your skin. “Knew I had it in me.”

You snorted softly. “You have something in you, alright.”

He laughed with satisfaction and kissed your neck like a promise. “Next time you feel one of those migraines comin’ on, you just say the word, yeah? Doctor Solomons’ll see to it personally.”

You chuckled and curled into him. The warmth of his body, the scent of sweat, your cum still coating his beard, and that subtle sweetness beneath it all wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

Together, you drifted off, peaceful, painless, and so, so loved.

Join the tag list

A/N: Thank you so much for your request🩷🫶🏻 I hope you’re feeling better from your migraines, and if you’re still struggling, I hope this helps even a little.

I hope everyone enjoyed this fic, your support is very appreciated and makes me soooo happy🥹

On another note, this was the last request!!! omg I can’t believe it, there’s so much to come (I’ll probably put up a poll later to find out what you guys want to see).

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[madaqueue]

FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

[saintshiv]

i followed you in and i was with you there

part I, part II, final part

─ remmick x f!oc

─ synopsis: after a decade of him slinking himself up to her porch like a dog with a bird in its mouth, she finds herself tempted to throw in the towel. it would be so easy, to give in. to relinquish control to the other being far more powerful than her. but then their little game of cat and mouse would end too soon. and he can’t have that.

─ warnings: religious talk, smoking

─ w/c: 2.3k

fear thou not; for i am with thee: be not dismayed; for i am thy god: i will strengthen thee; yea, i will help thee; yea, i will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

isaiah 41:10

HER NOSE BURNED, a familiar scent lingering in her darkened doorstep. The rotted wood groaned, a warning to her at what awaited on the other side. Taking a step forward, she pulled her shawl closer to her body as a chill ran up her spine. Her fingers trembled, tightening their grip on the thin fabric. Her cotton dress shifted in the night breeze that blew in from her open windows. The lace curtains drifted back and forth with the warm air. Just outside, she could hear that the crickets and frogs all fell silent. Whatever stood past her doorstep did not bode well for her or the earth around her.

Living so far out, visitors were a rare occurrence. Most ended up being poor beggars, low down on their luck and looking for a hot meal and a safe spot to rest their heads for an hour or two. Some were more malicious in nature, preying on a lone woman. Her eyes darted out towards the deer rifle that was leant up against the wall next to the front door. "Excuse me? Is anyone home?" A thick Southern drawl called out from beyond the front porch. The voice was a shallow, pitiful excuse for the one she had once known.

Pursing her lips, her steady hand reached for the doorknob and yanked the door open. The dark night seeped past her feet, brushing against her skin like snakes in the tall grass. A figure shrouded by shadow stood just beyond her porch step. A figure she knew too well. "Ah," the voice spoke once again, its innocent lilt fully forgotten, "there she is." Thick with hunger and need. Her eyes narrowed in a vain form of attempted sight. Two pinpricks in the darkness watched her, pierced through her. Taking a step out onto the porch, she crossed her arms over her chest. "What, ain't no welcome wagon waitin' for me?" She could practically smell the smirk that danced on his lips. If she dared to, she could drink it, keep it all to herself. All she had to do was say the word. Actually two words. The beautiful, poetic words that he had longed to hear drip from her throat. Come in.

"Wondered how long it would be before your visage haunted my step." She finally spoke, her voice gruff with decades of nicotine and smoke coating her throat. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, hunting for another predator lying in wait. Another one patiently waiting for her to make the wrong move, say the wrong words in the wrong order. But there was nothing. Only him, her, and the insects that hung around like a bad cough. Taking another step out, the porch groaned in protest. Or perhaps warning. Halt, go back, it squealed to her. Though she ignored its claims, had made her decision ten years back. Nothing the porch or the grass or the sky could do about it now.

Fingers dug into her bra, pulling out a cigarette pack and her lighter. Pressing one of the sticks to her lips, she lit the end and took a deep drag before stuffing the items back where they once were. Though she couldn't see it, she could feel his cool gaze on her movements, on the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone. "Far too long, by my count." His honeyed words were soft in her ears, warm and gentle as if spoken directly against them. Her hand pushed a piece of hair behind her ear as she took another step forward. The further she grew from her doorstep, the clearer his form became.

A dirty white button-up, dirty brown slacks held up by suspenders, and worn shoes that looked ready for a church revival had they been cleaner. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his slacks as his eyes never strayed from her form. He watched her every breath, just as captivated with her now as he was when their paths first crossed. "C'mon, baby. Don't be like this." He took his own step closer to the bottom step of her porch, one hand pulled free from his pocket to run his fingers along the wooden post. Her eyes watched his movements like a skittish deer. One wrong move and she could dart for her door, never grant him entry past the first step until the day she died. What a pity that would be. What a tragedy it would be.

Taking a deep drag from her cigarette, she slowly let the smoke drip from her lips like drool from a hungry lion's chops. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. Her scent, her aura, her breath. Everything drew him in, begged him to step past the porch and claim her as his own. Let me take you from all of this, he once proposed - damn near begged. I like my home just the way it is, she'd told him, never once stepping off that porch and never once inviting him in. She'd always been smart like that. Though she never said it aloud, he knew that she knew what he was. "Must be real hungry to come slinkin' back to my porch. Or real lonely. Guess those go hand-in-hand these days."

He swallowed in a vain attempt to escape from the dryness in the back of his throat. The air became thick, tense and heated. Even the insects now fled from the two, unsure of their place around the world. She took another step forward, now just hovering over that top step. One more step and he could reach out and grab her. Would he, she wondered. Maybe that's what she secretly wanted. For him to make that final call. For him to end this game of cat and mouse. But where would be the fun in that? The anticipation was more rewarding than the prize. His grip on the wooden post tightened as her scent now wafted in full force. A mix of jasmine, copper, and smoke, he swallowed back the saliva that quickly filled his mouth. "Maybe I just missed my favorite girl is all. That a crime, Esther?" His voice now thick and wet with a newfound desire. Everything in his being practically begged her to step from her porch. To step into his arms so he could finally hold her and devour her whole.

Her entire form stiffened as her name slipped from his lips. A deep ache settled between her legs at the sound, the sensuality of it all. Pressing the cigarette back to her lips, she took a long and deep drag. A failed attempt to shake her mind from the impure thoughts that dared to creep into her mind. Her face warmed and she prayed to the Lord that he couldn't see it through the pale moonlight. "'Round these parts, yeah, it is. Punishable by death." She tried to hide the way her voice quivered, the way her heartbeat quickened, the way her fingers now fidgeted with the shawl hung loosely over her bare shoulders.

He chuckled lowly, fingers running along the wooden post, gentle and soft. Inviting, in a way. And, with that, she stepped down onto the first step. Two more and she'd be off the porch and on the soil with him. This is the closest the two have ever been. There's an excitement buzzing in the air around him. Taking a deep breath, he breathed her essence in. Everything he wanted, he found in her. Everything he needed, he found in her. Two steps away. Two words away. Leaning his side against the wooden post, he pressed his forehead against the cool wood. "Then I'll die a happy man as long as my last sight is your face." Now he was laying it on thick. Even she could tell.

She snorted, throwing her head back in laughter. His grip on the wooden post tightened as her bare neck was on full display. This close, he could see the pulse of her carotid artery. It called to him like a siren song. It whispered his name, drawing him in, begging him to sink his teeth into such an open area. But that would ruin all of the fun he was having. If it were that easy, this would've been over long before it'd begun. But she was fun. More fun than any other that he'd had. She was special and only he could appreciate her to her fullest. If only she could see that. Then all would be right within the world. The fates would smile once again and let him know that he was on the right path. That's all he needed. Well, that and for her to come down these two steps.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Remmick." A coil of warmth curled inside of the pit of his stomach - a feeling he'd almost forgotten. The way his name dripped from her lips like drool from a lion's chops. He watched her as she pressed the cigarette back to her lips, taking a deep drag before stepping down one more step, just hovering over the last step. So close, he could smell her blood, could hear her steady heartbeat. His fingers twitched in his pocket, itching to reach out to her.

"I know, baby." He practically growled, eyes watching her like a fox watches a rabbit. Smoke dribbled from her cigarette, dissipating into the thick night air around them. A warm breeze pushed past them, shifting the thin fabric of her dress. Her eyes watched him back, taking in every twitch, every flicker, every glint. Every breath he took, she watched carefully. He lifts his chin slightly, eyes running along her shadowed face.

After a fleeting moment, his eyes dragged down her neck and collarbone, trailing down her shoulder to her extended arm, cigarette dangling from her fingers. With whip-like movements, his hand grasped her wrist, yanking her down off the step and into his arms. A gasp escaped her lips - a sound he wouldn't mind coaxing from her again and again for the rest of their lives. His arms wrapped tight around her, holding her in a vice-like grip. Her cigarette fell to the dirt, snuffed out. Her hands curled into the fabric of his button-up, clinging to him. His figure is imposing, looming over her. Fingers danced along her waist, toying with the cotton of her light blue dress. Trails of fire warmed her skin despite his cool temperature, forever cold and uninviting. It was a welcome feeling compared to her constant state of overheating.

Their eyes watched each other, their breath mingling together, heavy with an unseen tension. It's odd, almost surreal, to be this close to him. To see every feature of his face, every line and crease, every facial hair. "Well," she spoke, her voice soft and gentle, "here we are." One of her hands began to loosen its grip on his shirt, trailing up his chest, up his neck, and resting against his jaw. His eyes slowly shut, a soft groan escaping his lips as he took a deep inhale of her very essence. Leaning closer to her, his face pressed to the crook of her neck.

A part of her had quickly accepted this fate. The moment his hand wrapped around her wrist, her fate was sealed. The moment the two had crossed paths at a tent revival, her fate had been sealed. Her own eyes shut, awaiting the pierce of his fangs into her throat. But the seconds ticked by, slowly turning into minutes. The pressure, the pain, never came. He simply rested there, breathing her in. His arms around her waist tightened, pressing their bodies impossibly close. Her hand on his jaw slipped through his hair, damp with sweat. "Remi," she muttered under her breath, fingers curling into his hair, nails digging across his scalp. Another groan, this time reverberating through her throat.

Warmth spread throughout her entire body as he pressed a searing, wet kiss to her neck, right above the thrum of her pulse. In that moment, she was prepared to give herself over to him. Years of waiting, of patience, of this game. All of it finally coming together in this heated crescendo. A whine escaped her own lips, dissipating into the night like her cigarette smoke.

Remmick ripped himself from her arms, shoving her back as he stumbled away from her. The back of her foot caught against the bottom step, sending her tumbling down onto the steps. Her wide eyes stared out at him, now fully encompassed by the darkness. Thick drool dribbled down his chin as he stared her, wide glowing eyes watching her. His chest heaved through his labored breaths. The silence of the night was beginning to unsettle her, a warning to her that she was playing a dangerous game with an even more dangerous animal. Pursing her lips, she settled her hands against the wooden steps, clinging to them just as she'd clung to his chest.

Without another word, he turned and departed, disappearing into the woods at the edge of her property. Her eyes watched him flee, a conflicting sense of relief and rejection settled into her bones. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she pushed herself up from the steps, slowly making her way back onto her porch. As she neared the open front door, her head turned to cast one more glance out towards the night before retreating back into her home, shutting the door and locking it. All candlelights were extinguished and she resigned herself to her bed, a warm pit in her stomach, her fingers twitching against her hips. The apex between her legs begged for her to indulge, but she refused. She had Sunday service in the morning and she would not indulge in any more sin than she already had. With clenched thighs, she soon fell off into a fitful sleep.

[jjoongstar]

𝕷𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑

➸pairing: grim reaper seonghwa x innocent fem reader

➸genre: fluff, angst

➸wc: 3.4k

➸warnings: none. mentions of nicknames. death

➸a/n: an apology post for being mia for a while (please forgive me). not proofread!😔🫂

you sat by the window seat in your bedroom, reading a book while you bask in the evening sun. a soft blanket over your lap to keep you cozy and a cushion behind your back. you were so into the story that you didn't bother on what's happening appearing, in your bedroom.

a tall dark figure appeared suddenly in your room and it approached behind you in silence. you sense the presence and looked over your shoulder right before the figure could touch you. its pale hand was near to your shoulder but it halted when you noticed its presence.

silence fills the air as you attentively tried to figure out, who or what even is this peculiar figure. tall and lean with a long black cloak that covers the top of its head and its whole body, only revealing its face and hands. you stare back at the eyes that bore into yours from the start. though he had an intimidating look, you didn't fear him at all. instead, you felt at ease with its aura.

"i really like your eyes,"

"what?" the unknown figure was taken aback by your words and he stumbled backwards a few steps.

its face contorts in a shocked expression and it felt its heart thump when you smile at it. it clutches the fabric of its robe over its chest, feeling the weird sensation. what the hell is this? i don't have a heart!

you marked the last page you read and place the book aside before you make small steps towards the unknown entity. your smile never falter as you reach up your hands and graze your fingers across its cheek. cold. his skin was iced cold on your fingertips. you saw how the entity hitched its breath upon your touch.

"you're so pretty too. who are you?" there was no response as it was still in a stunned state. you gasp when your brain connected the dots.

"are you perhaps… an angel?!"

"huh? EW NO!" it felt disgusted by your assumption of its identity and grabbed your wrist, shoving it away harshly from its face. when you winced in pain, guilty flooded its mind.

"sorry, i didn't mean to hurt or scare you," its raspy voice speaks again.

"you didn't scare me, why would i be afraid of an angel like you," a pretty face like that, who on earth would be afraid?

"first off, I'm not that kind of angel you think i am. also, everyone fears me, so why are you…smiling?"

"there's nothing scary of you angel!" you said giddily and beams a wider smile at him.

"stop calling me that!" it said through gritted teeth and eyes blaring in flame. but you kept that smile on your face, yet you felt more intrigued over this unidentified presence.

"then do you have a name i should call you? oh my name is-"

"i already know who you are. there's no need for introductions when…you're gonna…huh?" the last words from it fades slowly when you wrap your arms around its middle and your eyes full of gleam, looking at it from below.

its shaky hands tried to push you away but the way your face was full of admiration and eyes glimmer in hope, it tugs another string at its non-existent heart. i guess it wouldn't hurt for my name since she's gonna die either way.

"seonghwa. call me seonghwa,"

"hwa!" his name sounded so beautiful too, it matches his face really well and you felt so happy that he finally gave his name to you. you hugged him a bit tighter than before.

"no, seong…hwa," he emphasised every syllable of his name.

"hwa!"

"seonghwa,"

"HWA!" he sighs in defeat and lets you win. however, he felt his body getting relaxed when you have him in your hold. for once, he felt…comfort.

"now dear, the reason I'm here is to-"

"to accompany me!" you cut him off and release him from your grasp as you went to your wardrobe.

he tried to speak up in defense but you ignored him as you dress yourself up in something warm and suitable for an outside occasion. you grab his wrist and drags him towards outside. even though he is bigger and much stronger than you, he felt like he should just let you take him to wherever you wish. that is, to take a walk outside.

he kept on babbling he doesn't want to to this, but he still kept on walking beside you because your hand felt so soft touching his, and you never let go of his hand. after a while, you got used to his skin temperature. cold, but soft.

you pass by your neighbor's house and the owner greeted you. being your usual self, you gleefully greeted back with a wave of your hand.

"I'm here with a friend today," you tug seonghwa to show off to the old lady, but she had a concerned look instead of the expression you hoped for. was she not happy with the new friend?

"oh uh dear, i bet your friend must be as lovely as you are, i hope…. you go get along now," she mutters out the words carefully in a sentence. hoping she doesn't hurt your feelings.

you continued your journey with seonghwa and truthfully, you felt a bit sad that the lady didn't greet seonghwa too. does she not see him?

"no one can see me accept you," you turned your head over him surprised with his sudden response. can he read minds?

"well, let's say, magically, i do can read your mind, but just yours," he chuckles and you felt your heart flutters upon hearing him.

"so you are an angel!" you stopped in your tracks and tugs on his arm.

"not so, well, sort of, actually I'm a…uh…I'm…" he tongue refuses to mutter out the words as he saw the way your eyes sparkles in adoration and hope at him. he didn't have the heart to say the truth when you're like this. but you kept the smile on your face, waiting for his full response.

"yea, i am what you call that," he sighs.

"angel hwa!" you finally release his hand and you skipped your way back home. you've never felt so happier to eventually got a friend, an angel at that. that's what you thought he was.

seonghwa on the other hand, his lips formed into a small smile on his face, his eyes admiring you from behind. she looks so adorable. what the actual fuck? he slaps his own face, realizing his own actions.

you made yourself dinner and even made extra for seonghwa. he doesn't have to eat, but seeing your efforts in the cooking, he force the whole dish down his throat. he sat beside you and prop his chin with the palm of his hand while he admires you enjoying your meal. he likes the way you would squirm in joy and praise the food in every bite.

so cute. what the hell seonghwa?! he snaps himself out and clears up his throat. then tells you to clean yourself up for bed. you happily obliged to his orders with a happy stomach.

once you made yourself in bed, seonghwa tells you to sleep, but you only whine back at him as you were not that sleepy yet. seonghwa sighs and sits down beside you on the bed, he leans his back to the headboard.

"sleep now or you'll be cranky next morning," he pulls the blanket over your chest, tucking you in.

"but i don't get cranky," you whine again with a pout. seonghwa's lips betrays him once again with another smile and he caresses your head gently. yea, a pure soul like yours would never be in that state. a pure soul. SOUL!

seonghwa's eyes widen and found himself in a daze again and snaps out of it quickly. your eyes never left seonghwa's beautiful face. you want to admire it your whole life. you finally felt the drowsiness crept in when you yawned.

"will i see you again next morning, hwa?" you ask him with lidded tired eyes.

seonghwa hesitated at first. should he tell the truth or should he kept on lying? he bit his lip, before responding to you.

"yes, you will. that is if you close your eyes now sweetheart," you scrunch you nose when he boops it.

you felt so safe with him. you held hope in his promise. eager in wanting to see him first thing in the morning, and you force yourself to sleep.

seonghwa waited for you to finally drift off when your breathing fell consistent and your mind at peace. he stood up carefully from the bed, staring down at your whole body. he lets out a long sigh before he brings out the scythe he had kept hidden from your vision.

he needs to take your soul now. he was supposed to do that when he first met you, but he delayed. you were the first person to like him, to admire his beauty, the first human being to actually hugged him. hug. who knew a human would hug a grim reaper that was bout to take its soul away.

seonghwa grips the scythe's holder tighter. hesitate clouds his head. take her soul now seonghwa! he hovers the weapon above your body but his movements faltered when his eyes lands on your face, snoring quietly with a smile. must be having a nice dream.

FUCKING HELL SEONGHWA! he caught himself off guard and threw his scythe away as it disappeared again, back to its safe place. he walks away from you and runs his hand through his hair. frustration. confusion. denial.

he sits down on a chair that was facing you from a far. he decides to calm himself down and maybe wait a just little bit longer, then he'll take your soul. the night went on in silence as he stayed there admiring you from a far.

through the dark sky, from the same window he first laid eyes on you, dark smoke clouds behind it and slips through into the bedroom through a little gap. the smoke then swirls around the end of your bed and it thickens to form two new identical entities.

"fucking hell, look at her san!" said the first dark little figure with horns to the other one that looks just the same just a tad bit bigger.

you twist in your sleep that results in the blanket to be pushes aside, revealing your bare calves.

"wooyoung! she looks so scrumptious, don't you think?" the other one hovered over your body and points out at your exposed plump skin.

"i want to sink my teeth in and savor her…" the one named wooyoung reached out his hands and bare its teeth to you while his other companion, san, was already drooling to the thought.

"don't you two dare touch her, demons." a thundering growl elicits by the grim reaper from the darkness in the corner of the bedroom.

the two little demons shrieked and hugged each other as they were surprised by the sudden interruption of their nice meal.

"damn, seonghwa! calm down will ya. you're always cranky all the time, try smiling for once," wooyoung pulled away from san first and walks over to seonghwa but he only made a few steps before he halted as seonghwa gave him an intense glare.

"I'm a reaper, why should i be smiling you filthy thing. why do you two chose her to disturb tonight either way?" seonghwa stood beside your bed as to protect you from the harm of the two demons.

"well actually we're not here for her, we're here for you. she's just so beautiful we kinda got distracted," san was the one tho explained while wooyoung nodded, agreeing with him. seonghwa only gave a glaring look just for the same demon to further elaborate.

"her soul was supposed to collected, but in the list, its still hasn't, so we we're tasked to go check it out as it was your responsibility, seonghwa," a tight frown forms on the reaper's face. he knew this would happen. he sighs in annoyance before giving his reason.

"give me some time, i promise I'll give it soon. now go back to hell you two!" seonghwa shoos them away but they were whining not wanting to leave and stay with you.

"get the fuck out!" seonghwa opens wide the window before shoving the two outside and closes it back shut and pulls down the curtain.

he heard a soft sound from behind him, you were twisting and turning in your sleep, muttering incoherent words. he steps closer to you and heard you calling out for him, but your eyes were still shut. he lays himself down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

i shall never let anything taint your little innocent soul.

"hwa…" you mumble out his name and he shushes you back to sleep.

"I'm here, you're hwa is here."

your body felt his presence and snuggles into his chest. seonghwa pulls you in tighter and lets you rest under his protection for the entire night.

you felt bright light beaming onto your face and you were woken up by the sun shining from your window. your stretch out your limbs with a soft grunt. you felt sudden adrenaline that morning, it was the most peaceful sleep you've ever had and you wanted to tell seonghwa. you need see seonghwa. you looked all over your room, but no one was there.

"seonghwa?" you heart sinks when there was no response. did he left? but he promised…

"seonghwa!" you voice in a higher octave but cracked as you were on edge of bawling your eyes out.

"my dear, i was out to fetch some food for you," his voice erupted from the opening of the door. you jumped out of bed and ran towards him. he held the tray of a full meal higher in the air so it doesn't bump you when you abruptly wrap your arms around him.

"i thought you left,"

"well, i didn't, now sit down and eat your food, human," you happily made your way to a small table as seonghwa puts down the tray and lets you gobble them all up.

you were hugging in bed and you rest the side of your head to his chest, and you hum curiously as you let your hand wander around his chest.

"i don't have a heart sweetie," he said

"well, i do," you exclaimed and took his frail hand and place it firmly on your chest. he gasped quietly as he feels your heartbeat. the soft thumping felt so surreal to his hands. it felt so soft and beautiful. and he wanted to keep on feeling and hearing this heartbeat forever. to cherish it everyday of his immortal lifetime.

realization of his true demeanor made him snap out of the trance you put him in. he realized he should've end that beating heart of yours, not admire it.

he pushes you away from him. though, his actions never made you think negatively. you giddily grab him back and snuggles back on his chest. seonghwa was easily defeated by your innocence and he lets you get comfortable with him again. another day of spending more time you, and ignoring his true intentions.

days after days, you two spent a lot of time together, actually, the whole time. from morning to night, from dusk till dawn, from midnight to midday. every hour, every minute, every second. you enjoyed his company very much and he was getting more comfortable with you and protected you at all times behind your back without you knowing.

seonghwa sat on your bed with his legs crossed and back leans against the headboard as he listens attentively to your little rambling of the book you're currently reading.

"…and then the queen took in her late husband's mistress into becoming her new slave and they got married in the end! yayyy happily ever after to them!" you throw your hands both up in the air joyfully.

"you're so adorable, come here," seonghwa chuckles and you made your way to him before he pulls you down to sit on his lap.

the longer he stayed with you, you became very familiar of his bold and alluring scent. he smells so rich and seductive. the burst of sweet and spicy, like of coffees and vanillas which gives off a warm and also intoxicating aura.

seonghwa wraps your smaller body with his arms. you snuggle into his embrace as you leaned your back against his chest. his fingers trace undefinable patterns on the skin of your arms. you elicits soft giggle as it tickles you a bit. hearing your soft sounds, also made seonghwa giggles along with you. it tugs the heartstrings of his non existing heart.

you love little moments like this with him.

but luck was not on your side that day. the same smoke that almost haunt you in your sleep came back. though this time, it was only the the demon named wooyoung that appeared.

"yo seonghwa, its been three months. what took you so long to take…her…soul??" you gasp when you laid eyes on the horned devil. seonghwa quickly covered your eyes with his hands and you felt his chest vibrates as he growls.

"FUCKING HELL!! are you hugging…wait…why are you…no wait…have you lost your…wait WAIT…WHAT ARE EVEN YOU DOING PARK SEONGHWA?!!" the little menace widens his eyes. hands pulling the long strands of his hair. shouting. screaming. panicking. shocked? no, he was far more than that. he almost exploded with the sight in front of him.

you tried to release his hand as you wanted to have your visions back but his grip to your face became tighter.

"please leave…" you heard him sigh.

"please? did you just said please? damn, a reaper begging and said the 'P' word to a lowlife like me? that's a first. what have you become…"

"I SAID LEAVE!" the demon quickly disappeared right before the blade of seonghwa's scythe could touch him when he swung it.

the room fell in utter silence when seonghwa retracts his hand back. you looked down to your hands instead of looking to the man behind you.

"I'm sorry, i should've told the truth. that I'm-"

"a grim reaper,"

you felt seonghwa's body getting tense after hearing those words coming out from your mouth. you turned around and held his face in the palm of your hands.

"i already knew from the first time you came into my room,"

"huhh how? then…why did you-"

"you reek death, hwa," your chuckles made him giggle. let's savor this last smile of him before the last breath.

sorrow fills seonghwa's eyes. you couldn't help but feel bad for him. he pulls you closer to his chest, his face on the side of your neck, his hands placed themselves on your back, pushing you as close as he can to you. chest to chest. he felt every beat of your heart. remember and loving every thump. you wrap your arms around his neck and brush along his silky black hair.

"I'm really sorry…i should've done it sooner…i should not have grown attached to you…i-" you shush him and heard little sobs from the side of your ear.

he pulls you away and his hand cups the side of your cheek as his thumb rubs along your cheekbones. he pulls your face closer to his and place his lips onto yours. for an angel of death, his lips were soft and it tasted so sweet.

"forgive me, my little soul," he pulls away from you as his other hand grips the handle of his scythe behind you till it could almost snap in two.

"seonghwa." you trace your fingers across seonghwa's beautiful dark teary eyes for the last time.

you flash him a soft smile and gave him a last kiss on his lips. a tear rolled down seonghwa's face as he felt your last breath on his face and your body fell limp in his hold. he choked on his sobs when he no longer feel your lovely beating heart.

for a grim reaper who has no soul, he felt his non-existent heart shatter to a million pieces.

she finally said my name.

dividers

taglist: @engentiny @seonghw4ffles

network: @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

[mtcloudsworld]

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 | +18, mdni, fem!reader, vigilante!reader (I thought of her as a witch, revealing Jason's deepest darkest desires while putting a little twist of her own...if that makes sense lol idk), Jason Todd, cowgirl, pet names: baby, edited but in case of any errors, ignore it, ty. Enjoy lovebugs! 🦠🩷

Call it lust, call it a driven quench of thirst, ecstacy, fucking, lust but secretly and begrudgingly, you had him wrapped around your finger.

Y'all were breathless and lightheaded but somehow weren't done. He can't lie he loved fucking the living shit out of you. It made him feel alive. Having your nails embedded in his skin, marks along his back and lipstick stains left on his collar and neck. Sounds of your raunchy mouth sends his mind to a frenzy.

His tongue slithers past your swollen lips to collide against your own. The kiss deepens and turns feverish with a mixture of loathe and lust. Mean, large calloused hands kneaded at the fat of your ass as he presses you completely against him. Your moans were nothing of the sort, they kept him in a trance.

Bewitching and taunting to the point he loses control, he finds himself cursing at his own vulnerability. Hating that he was allowing you to say things that were out of the ordinary, casting a spell of addiction and hunger over him seemed bizarre to hear but it was true. You had him hooked, driven to craving your touch-- craving every sense of you till it drove him mad.

"Does it feel good baby?" You're voice was as delicate as a feather, it was light with an erotic twist. You gave him a deep whine of your hips, rolling deliciously slow so he could feel every inch of you puckering around him. "Am I making you feel better?" It was so hard to tune you out when your whimpering moans echoed within his office. "I am, aren't I?" A giggle, "I can see it all in your eyes that you like it just as much as I do. No need in hiding it. You can tell me, I promise I won't tell a soul." You coo'd sweetly.

He feels your fingers run through his hair, comforting and persuading, they curl at the strands, giving a strain at the root of his scalp. As you tug at his hair, he grunts, thrusting his hips to meet you halfway. Pressing his pink mushroom tip into your soft cervix, he acknowledges the way you gasp, whimpering to the blissful rapture of his deep strokes. Eyes half lidded, you notice the swirl of his blue irises turn dark. The feeling of your pussy lips puckering and clenching around his throbbing dick, makes a deep guttural moan emit out of him. "s-shit!"

"Mhmm, there you go, baby," she chimes with a smirk. Pressing his forehead against yours, you hear those pathetic little whimpers and groans from his lips. Planting kisses at the corner of his lips, he locks eyes with you watching how your face twisted in delight. As he crumbles in your care, he feels himself getting closer and closer towards the edge. Gradually gaining the confidence to glance up your anatomy to your fucked out face, he watches how you begin to bounce relentlessly on his dick. "Holy fuck!-- Ugggh, yes, just like that, yes baby, yes!" Listening to the repetitive smacking of skin and squelching of your pussy juices beginning to pool and soak around his thighs and stain the black leather chair.

"Oh my god...oh my god...im cumming, I'm cumming, baby, I'm cumming!" With your arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into the depths of his flesh, his hands held you right by the waist. Aiding and guiding you to keep going, equally you both leave marks behind once the intense orgasm washes away.

While you continuously feel him puncturing and abusing the inside of your gummy walls-- riding out the high, it leaves you breathless and crashing out on his chest, listening to the beautiful sound of his beating heart.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[yueichihara]

Sylus, my man, I can't stop thinking about you so here I am, writing short fics about you.

this is fluff with some angst? i guess? it's quite ominous in the beginning i suppose. sylus x reader

The car ride back to the base was silent. Not because you couldn't hear each other due to the wind, but rather because you refused to talk to Sylus.

As soon as he stopped the motorbike, you sprinted off to the main entrance, avoiding his reach as he tried to catch you. His hand came back empty as he watched you disappear into the darkness of his home. He’d wasted precious time parking the bike in the garage, and now he had to go through the corridors of the base calling out your name, his men curiously watching as he was clearly ignored. 

He’d been wondering what it was that had pissed you off this much. It had been going great, your date. He’d taken you to this new cat café you’d been talking about so much, carefully picking out his outfit so he could see that glow in your eyes, the one you had every time he wore something you’d gifted him. And you had glowed, and smiled, and given him a kiss on the cheek. “You look stunning” You’d said to him. “And you look beautiful. As always.” He’d responded.

Yet by the end of it, you’d stopped petting the cats, staring out into the distance with a visible frown, asking to be taken back soon. He went through the conversations on the ride back, now considering if it was something he did. Did he stare too much at one of the employees and that got jealous? No, he didn’t even look them in the eye if he was being honest. Too focused on the piece of skin showing between your knee highs and skirt. Did he order something that you didn’t like? Impossible, he had your likes and dislikes engraved into his mind. Even though you got easily bored once you’d had too much of something, you never acted this way. 

He’d been following the crumbs you’d left behind: one glove on a chair by the window, another one further down the corridor. The scarf you’d refused to wear only for him to wrap  it around you the moment you’d sat on the back of the bike, because of the sudden drop in temperature, laying on the corner. Finally, your helmet propped on a table outside one of the rooms, the door slightly ajar. His footsteps were silent as he approached, setting down his own helmet next to yours. He stopped for a moment as he stroked the cat ears on your helmet as if they were real. The paint was starting to fade on the tips, and the visor was already quite damaged. It was time to get you a new one. 

Peaking over through the crack, Sylus found you curled up on the leather couch in front of the fireplace, your legs hugged to your chest and your head slumped on your knees. He pushed the door open, making sure it creaked so that you knew he was coming in. He approached slowly, inspecting the room for threats that weren't there. You raised your head as he settled next to you, his arm around the back of the couch. He could see it now, very clearly, the small pout on your lips. 

You watched him from the corner of your eye, as he reached over and brushed some strands of hair behind your ear. His fingers followed the movement as he let his hand cup your jaw, his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“I’m still mad, you know.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because you don’t act like you do.” It’s supposed to come out as a snarky remark, but the pout makes it sound like a grumble. 

Sylus snorts, because he knows now why you’re behaving like this, remembering the exact moment your attitude changed. “Sweetie… You’re really going to keep pouting because of this?”

Frustrated, you try to punch him on the chest, failing miserably because there was no real anger behind it, nor intention. He catches your hand and pulls you over, making you sit on his lap. He cups your face as you try to squirm away, but you easily surrender as he leans over, leaving a kiss on your temple. 

“Kitten, the next time you want to pout over something, at least try to talk to me. I’m not a fortune teller, I won’t know what’s going on unless you tell me.” His voice is low but soft, the kind of tone he saves only for you. Melting into his embrace, you snuggle your face into his neck.

“But you already know.” He scoffed, pulling you closer into him, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.“Yes. It was quite easy once I remembered how that calico cat refused to let you pet her and instead chose to nap in my lap.”

[ummitscalledcoping]

moonwater cw: dubcon, piss

remus bounced his leg erratically, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants. he pressed his forehead against the cool condensation of the train window, watching the city pass by. lights blurred in the late night darkness as his eyes pricked with tears.

jesus fucking christ i’ve never had to piss so bad in my life

he wriggled his hips, eternally grateful that there were very few people on board the train. he spotted a drunken man several rows ahead of him half asleep, and he remembered passing by a young couple on his way to the train lavatory. he had tried to ignore their gaze as he stiffly walked back to his seat upon reading the sign plastered on the door: out of order.

now, as he fought to keep the sloshing liquid inside of him, he regretted the last beer he had downed with his friends on their way out of the pub. he tried to calculate how much longer it would be until he could use the loo, but in his current state all the numbers muddled together.

he sighed in frustration, closing his eyes and trying to focus on the cool relief of the window pane against his forehead. he could feel himself beginning to drift off.

suddenly, he jolted awake—much to the dismay of his ever aching bladder—when he felt someone sit down next to him.

that’s strange, the train is empty why would anyone sit right next to—

his thoughts were cut short as his eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

her hair was quite short for a woman, soft black curls tickling the base of her neck, heavily pierced ears exposed. faint freckles dusted across her milky skin, kissing high cheekbones and a petite nose. he met her light gray eyes and she smiled at him before looking away and reaching in her bag for a book.

he contemplated talking to her, introducing himself, but she had already flipped the book open to its marked page and was adjusting an earbud on the side closer to him—a clear sign she wasn’t looking to talk.

remus sat there befuddled by the situation.

why sit next to me when there’s a train full of empty seats? and then not want to talk? she seems perfectly nice, which begs the question, why ME?

his brows furrowed together as he suppressed a groan.

if this is one of those meet-cute moments that sirius and james won’t shut up about, does it have to be when im bursting for a leak?

he returned his head to the cool window, fidgeting with the interior of his pockets as he tried to keep the rest of his body still. it didn’t last long.

he started bouncing his leg, unconscious of the action until he felt a delicate hand rest on his knee.

he jumped slightly at the contact and was midway through blurting out a confused question when he looked up to see the girl with her nose still buried in her book. she seemed to be paying no attention to him, turning the page with her free hand while her other hand slowly drifted inwards then up, her thumb stroking his thigh gently as she made her ascent.

he felt his dick stiffen automatically and his head swam with lust, fear, dread.

am i about to get molested by a beautiful woman?

he didn’t know how to respond. and to make matters worse, this was the first reprieve in over an hour he’d gotten from his aching bladder. his mind was quickly overwhelmed with overlapping thoughts, all contradicting each other.

he couldn’t help it. he froze.

he sat stone still as the girl continued to slide her well manicured hand up his thigh. his dick jumped when she neared the crease of his groin. he bit back a moan as his tip brushed against her pinky through the fabric of his boxers and sweatpants.

she quickly pulled away.

he almost apologized to her, a knee jerk reaction, worried he had somehow made her uncomfortable.

but before he could get the words off his tongue, he gasped. in one swift motion she slid her hand beneath both waistbands and gripped his dick tightly in her small cold hand.

he jumped, but she held firm. he sputtered, turning to her with wide eyes, but it was as if she wasn’t even aware of her hand on his dick. her eyes seemed to track easily across the words on the page.

he fought with himself on what to do. he was clearly much bigger and stronger than her. he had always been quite tall, and in his young adulthood he had finally filled out, no longer so lanky. she, on the other hand, was petite in all respects of the word. he could easily yank her hand out of his pants, brush past her, and move to another train car, never to see her again.

and yet…

he couldn’t bring himself to move.

his dick had stiffened considerably, her fingers just barely able to wrap all the way around it, but her hand remained still.

he snuck a glance at her again and watched mesmerized as she licked the index finger of her free hand and turned the page.

what the fuck is happening

remus tried to shift his hips, feeling his bladder burn slightly as it continued to fill, but she squeezed tightly, choking his dick, holding him still.

he went rigid, unsure of what to do. she probably thought he was trying to get her to move her hand, to jerk him off, and clearly that wasn’t how her plan was going to go.

he almost wanted to apologize. to say: im sorry, this is probably really inconvenient, but i’m bursting for the loo and as strange and exciting as this all is i’m worried im about to piss on your hand.

but how could he?

he sat still for a couple minutes longer, her grip loosening slightly but never letting go. his dick began to soften and gone was his relief. this time, his need to go came back tenfold.

unable to squirm or move or do anything at all but clench his already exhausted bladder muscles, he didn’t know what to do.

finally, he realized in deep anguish, that he had to do something and fast or he was going to piss all over himself and this poor unsuspecting girl.

he quickly moved to stand, but the girl was faster, releasing his dick only to grip tightly around his balls.

he plopped back down in his seat and groaned as pain radiated up his abdomen.

he whipped his head over to the girl, eyes wide and was stricken to see that she still somehow seemed completely unfazed.

she turned another page with a yawn, then relaxed her grip on his balls, trailing a long fingernail lightly between them.

a shiver ran down his spine and he began to panic as he felt his dick fill with piss.

seemingly unaware of his plight, she leisurely continued her descent, stretching her finger beneath his balls and stroking his taint.

he gasped loudly as pain and pleasure mixed through his groin and his first leak spurted out.

he paled in horror, envisioning his piss jetting against the soft milky white skin of her wrist.

she froze, the only sign that she noticed anything had happened.

he chanced a glance over in her direction. she continued to ignore him, but this time there was a faint flush spreading across her cheeks.

he whimpered as she pulled her hand back and wrapped it around his flaccid dick, covering his tip with her thumb just in time to hold back another spurt. his body begged for release.

she held him tightly and the wave of desperation slowly began to subside. but just when he thought he might be able to hold on a little longer, she moved her thumb, dragging her nail against the inner edge of his urethra, making it tickle in the worst way possible.

he choked out a strangled grunt as another jet of hot piss filled his boxers, but she placed her thumb firmly over his hole once again, blocking his stream, forcing it to sit painfully in his dick, only the slightest bit able to escape and drip down his tip.

he gritted his teeth in agony as his bladder lurched against him. tears pricked at his eyes as a high pitch whine emanated from his throat. he bit his lip harshly as he saw the drunken man up ahead begin to stir. when he released it he could taste blood.

he breathed heavily, fighting through a wave of nausea and utter urgency when she moved her thumb once again.

he leaked for a long time before he was able to regain control, soaking his boxers. a wet spot the size of a softball appeared, stark against the light grey cotton of his sweatpants.

he began to panic.

“p-please…”

though he didn’t know what he was begging for.

please stop molesting me? please DONT stop molesting me and help me hold it? please open your gorgeous mouth and let me use it as a—

as if hearing his thoughts and choosing to punish him for it, she drove the heel of her palm against his bladder, causing him to lose control once again.

he gasped, his breath stuttering at the sudden pain and horrible relief. she returned her grip to his dick and began playing with the ridge, the sensation making it even harder to stop the flow.

she angled his dick so the tip was pressed firmly against the layers of fabric then squeezed, causing piss to gush out of him more forcefully.

he watched helplessly as rivulets of piss streamed over his sweats, soaking them rapidly.

she tugged at his limp dick as if coaxing the piss out of him until he couldn’t suppress the stream anymore. it poured forcefully out of him, running down his thighs, soaking the seat, and splattering onto the floor.

it wasn’t until the wet spot on his sweats reached his knees that she replaced her thumb over his hole and tampered the stream.

he whimpered and wiggled his hips, trying weakly to shake her loose but to no avail. his exhausted bladder was so close to complete relief. he didn’t care anymore that he was pissing himself, he just wanted to let go. but she wouldn’t let him.

“please, please, please” he begged over and over, his voice thick with tears.

he gripped her bicep suddenly, easily engulfing it completely. she tensed, but still pretended not notice him, though her eyes stared blankly down at the page in front of her.

though he easily could’ve pulled her arm off of him, he didn’t. the thought didn’t even occur to him. instead he just gripped her arm like a lifeline as he continued to beg for release.

she turned the page with a shaky hand and moved her thumb off his still leaking hole.

he sighed in immense relief as he let his pelvic muscles fully relax, pissing forcefully into his pants until his bladder was empty.

she allowed him to do so uninterrupted, only moving her hand to play in the stream, letting it splash across her palm and between her fingers. when it finally died down she stroked him and gave his dick a light shake, getting out the very last drops.

as soon as it was over remus began to come back to his senses, realizing what he had just done. he still had a fifteen minute walk home from the train station to get back to his flat.

but his worries quickly melted as he felt the small hand slowly stroking his dick, which he hadn’t even realized was fully hard. painfully hard.

he whined as she twisted her wrist, working over his length steadily. she slid her thumb over his tip before bringing it back down, coating his dick in piss and precum.

as he got closer she squeezed tighter, causing him to only grow thicker in her small hand. she moved away only once to tug at his balls, forcing a moan past his lips. it only took a few more firm strokes from there til he was spilling over her hand and into his soaked boxers.

she pulled her hand out of his pants and finally turned to look at him, snapping her book shut, not bothering to mark the page. she stared straight into his eyes as she raised her hand, fingers spread and coated in cum and likely piss. she worked her tongue methodically over each digit, licking herself clean. then she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, stuffed her book back in her bag, and left, exiting the train just as the doors opened at the next stop.

remus watched her leave until she was no longer in sight, willing himself to remember her. to convince himself that this wasn’t all some beer fueled fantasy.

he stared down at his lap, taking in the damage around him, eyeing the puddle that streamed beneath the seat warily.

well this should be a fun walk home.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

The princess´ favour (Criston Cole x Targtower!Reader)

synopsis: Your love may never be accepted by the people around you, that doesn´t hold you back from expressing it in the privacy of your chambers.

warnings: age gap, kinda forbidden relationship, smut, oral sex (m receiving), afab reader

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bucknastysbabe

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

As a girl you never understood what was so great about tourneys. Sitting beside your mother, flinching away from the raw violence of it all, while your brothers watched with a fascination you had rarely seen them have for anything. However, now as a woman grown, you began to see the appeal. Not for the fighting, but for something entirely else. Or rather someone entirely else. Sitting all the way in the front row of the stands with your brother Aemond, who was just under the age of being allowed to participate himself, watching on as knight after knight gets knocked off their horse. Analysing and talking on and on about what they could have done better, while your eyes solely rested on one knight, sitting on his horse waiting for his turn to most assuredly destroy his opponent. Your knight, as you called him in the secrecy of hidden places in the gardens, empty hallways around the keep and your chambers in the dead of night.

When it is Criston Cole's turn to compete against some knight from the Reach, whose name went in one ear and out the other almost immediately, he rides up to the stands. As his horse comes to a stand, his helmet finds its way under his arm and those dark eyes search for your own.

With a poorly concealed wide smile you lean over the railing. "Ser Criston."

His eyes light up with the way his name sounds falling from your lips and his own lips split into a smile, nodding to you in greeting.

“Your highness. I am sure to win this tourney. Would you do me the honour of doing so with your favour?” His voice carries over the background of excited chatter and knights barking commands at their squires.

Without hesitation you skip over to the small table to grab the ring braided from acacia blossoms to let it down the lance that is safely propped up against his side.

“Good luck, Ser.” You chirp, waiting for him to bow his head ever so lightly and then ride away to take his position. Only then you sit back down by Aemond´s side. The side eye he gives you easily goes ignored, as in the moment he opens his mouth, the horses start to race towards each other.

Of course, Criston ends up successfully knocking his opponent off his horse, having you jump up to applaud him enthusiastically. Along many other Ladies. Yet one look of his beautiful, dark eyes is enough to quell your doubts about his loyalty. It would be your chambers he would be sneaking into later.

“Have I told you how much I hate seeing you get hurt like this?” Your thumbs run over his cheeks to assess the extent of his wounds.

“You have, princess.” Criston smiles up at you, brown eyes watering as you run one of the digits over his busted lip, despite his victory he naturally had taken a few hits himself.

The heavy plates of his armour discarded and the clothes underneath unbuttoned to reveal his muscular chest.

“My apologies.” You mumble upon hearing him suck in a sharp breath.

Criston shifts ever so slightly before he lets you put the washcloth to his skin again, wandering down steadily. When you reach his chest, the backs of your noses brush against each other ever so slightly. Your breath catches in your throat and almost reflexively Criston's fingers twitch against your thigh.

"How are you feeling?" You mumble, still fully concentrated on cleaning his wounds.

"I feel quite alright, now that I have you all to myself." Criston looks at you, the glimpse of something sparkling in his eyes.

"My attention will always be on you only, my sweet knight. My affections will only ever belong to you." You put down the cloth you had used to clean him up and run your hands through his hair, before kissing his forehead.

After that you barely separate until your foreheads rest against each other, noses rubbing against each other playfully, before Criston´s lips find their way onto yours. They lap at each other in tender, languid motions while eager hands run over clothed bodies they had explored a multitude of times before. Still, even if you knew each other’s bodies like the back of your own hand, you would never grow tired of it. In all this time the butterflies never calmed.

In the blink of an eye Criston joins you on the bed, straddling your hips and pushing you onto your back. The world spins around the two of you from the abruptness of the motion, as the rough pad of a thumb traces your jaw line first, before running over your lower lip.

Instinctively your legs wrap around Criston´s hips. Before your lips can seal in another kiss though, you roll the two of you around, to comfortably kneel above the knight with a triumphant teasing smile.

“You have done enough already. Let me reward you for your win.” You whisper against his neck.

The tip of your tongue traces a line down the middle of his chest and abs to the hem of his pants.

On the bed Criston propped himself up on his elbows to look at you better, his breath hitching as you teased just under the material.

“As you wish, princess.” He breathed, hiding a half smile, by biting his lower lip.

You follow this up by pulling his pants and breeches down to his ankles to set the tan hardness free from its confines. The same action makes your mouth water at the thought of what was to follow alone already.

In a matter of moments, you gently take the base of his cock into one hand to lick up the length of the vein on its underside. When the wet muscle reaches the tip, your lips wrap around it eagerly, teasing the weeping slit. Underneath the hand resting on his strong thigh, the tired muscles begin to shake from the teasing actions.

“Princess…” Criston's shuddering voice sounds through the room.

His dark eyes, though half closed, are trained as you give his cock an experimental suck. Taking it in just a bit deeper. As an immediate reaction you can see from the corner of your eyes how the knight’s hands grip the sheets a bit tighter. With a happy sigh at the reaction, you set a comfortable pace. His hips meet your mouth, thrusting up with trembling legs.

After a while his thrusts become harsher, hitting the back of your throat now to elicit the most enticing moans mixed with quiet gagging sounds he had heard from you.

Amid trying to concentrate on breathing through your nose and the view of him vanishing under a veil of tears, the hand on his thigh wanders upwards. Immediately his body trembling turned into a full-on shaking. Your hand barely cups his stones, yet the touch pulls a groan from him, that has the juices from between your legs dripping down your own thighs. The sound is more rousing than anything you had ever heard before. You gently roll them in your palm and the knees on either side of your shoulders tighten abruptly and Criston´s hips push off the bed and into your mouth on their own volition.

“So good… I don´t think I am able to hold back much longer.” The cries of pleasure from his lips grow louder, uncaring of who outside the door might hear them.

The tip of the knight’s length slips past the back of your mouth and into your throat to make you gag. The wet sound fills the room for a moment followed by sputtering and panting, as you desperately gasp for air. At the same time, you never stopped pumping his hard cock.

The quick motions and have his body shaking uncontrollably, even more so when you put your lips to his big sack, placing gentle, wet kisses onto it and sucking it into your mouth. The two of you moan in unison. The vibrations again send shocks through Criston’s body, his eyes rolling back into his head and arms underneath going limp, unable to hold him up any longer.

“Please, princess.” The begging whimpers get repeated like a prayer.

You barely manage to separate long enough from laving affection onto his lower body to answer. “Please what, my sweet knight?”

“I'm so close." Is the desperate, needy whine you get to hear in turn. “Please, I want to finish.”

It's truly adorable how he still asks for permission to let his climax overcome him. Hips trying to hold back from trusting into your hand until you answered his pleads, swollen lips hanging open and a sheen of sweat coating his face.

“Go on then. Paint my face with your seed.” You encourage him, before going back to pay attention to his stones. Your tongue flicks out to play with them, while your hand tugs on the knight’s hardness just a bit faster. The other hand, which rubs circles into his inner thigh again, wanders up just far enough to let one finger put the lightest amount of pressure on the point right behind the sack. The reaction it earns in return is all the bigger.

Criston´s hands fist into the sheets and the groan that breaks free from tightly pressed together lips has you praying that no one would storm into the chambers while Criston does as you have told him. Painting your face with his seed, making you look like one of the women serving in the pillow houses in flea bottom. The ones Aegon would talk about, whenever he wished to upset either you or one of your siblings.

And in the moment, there exists no more beautiful sight in the entire world to your secret lover. You continue pumping his cock until he has nothing more to give and the whimpers from above have turned even more raw and high pitched. For a moment after that you sit back on your haunches to just revel in the glow that shines from Criston after his climax. One finger collects the seed on your face to get it into your mouth.

After that moment of respite, the washcloth is picked right back up and wet again. This time to wipe your face first and the knight's privates afterwards.

But the second you crawl onto the mattress the both of you know that there is not much time left to cuddle. Outside the sun started to set, colouring the sky in all kinds of beautiful shades of red and orange. Alerting you that you would be expected at a dinner in your mother's chambers and Criston needed to go back on post. Perhaps you had taken a bit too long to take care of his wounds, but when your knight’s lips graze yours, his chest still heaving underneath your hand, you can't find it in you to care about any of that. Not as long as he would be lying there with you.

“I do not know what I have done to deserve you, princess. You are too good to me.” He rasps against your lips, noses brushing against each other to make the moment more intimate, as your hands wander over the other´s sides and arms.

“You deserve only the best. I hope you know that.” You answer in a raw voice.

[werezmastarbucks]

there's always a quiet one

masterlist - part 2 of 6

in which you meet a certain SUGA at Namjoon's birthday party

word count: 4414

warnings: none

music: steven universe by l.dre, already dead by lofi.samurai, unsaved info by joji, lost! by rm

Kim Namjoon has passed the test. Not only was he polite and not a maneater with a coke nose; he also seemed infintely grateful to you for protecting his baby sister. The capacity for compassion in his brain was just the same size as the others; he acknowledged even the fact that you knew nobody at the party, except Minji and Jungkook (and the latter, very vaguely), and asked you to be comfortable and not stress. Minji kept tugging on your hand and repeating that they are good boys. She seemed to like this phrase a lot.

First thing after finishing the conversation with birthday boy, you strolled towards the boat bar room where someone with black bangs guided you. His name was probably Taehyung because that's what Minji called him. You found all the people present on the marine vehicle absolutely stunning. They were like people from the TV - in their TV skins. It was maddening. All equally pretty, Minji included, which made you want to hide. You had no idea how usual people look to them and was afraid of meeting them all; you counted seven other men on the boat, excluding Namjoon, yourself and Minji. Jungkook, the guy from the music videos, billboards and CK ads, had an unmistakeably sweet baby face in reality. His gaze was curious and inviting, and he constantly chewed on his lower lip. On your way to the bar you greeted someone and recognized Jimin (sweet voice, object of obsession for crazy stalkers in the news) in this person.

"Are you also in BTS?" you asked him in a whisper. Maybe you should have researched beforehand, but Minji failed to mention their names until today, so. Jimin pressed his lips together and you saw he was trying not to laugh. His nostrils grew with the effort.

"Almost everyone is", he helped. He smelled like candy and his hair looked like cotton candy, too. Amazingly glistening eyes, like he was on something. But his careful disposition and tender voice betrayed his gentleness:

"That guy, in the Abramovich shirt? He is the only one who's not from the band. He's Namjoon's best friend. The rest of us are... well, us", he spoke English with elegant fairy accent of unknown origin.

"And you're Y/N, right? Minji keeps talking about you non-stop. You're the first normal friend she made in years".

This sounded sad. You nodded. Said that it was nice to meet him, and Jimin asked if you're okay.

"Yes, but I am a little star struck, even though I am ignorant about most of you".

Jimin bit his lower lip with a content smile.

"Yes, it's the vibe I give off", he suddenly changed into a very happy person, "no worries. No worries".

"I need a drink".

"On, Yoongi will make you one, he's already hiding in there", Jimin stabbed the air behind his shoulder with his thumb. "Have fun".

This wasn't mortifying at all, you thought. Jimin himself was like a butterfly that was more scared of you, than the other way around. The boat, although music blasted on the deck outside, was relatively peaceful: people (men) were sitting around on sofas, chatting, their legs crossed, and Minji, as you expected her to do, kind of forgot about you once she saw all her 'good boys'. She was somewhere outside: you could see the segment of her dark haired head in the small window.

You headed on into the bar and finally found yourself in a tiny, stylishly furnished space: same glistening wood, beige leather. You wondered if this boat was rented, or belonged exclusively to Namjoon.

A wide back stood at the bar counter, tee black, hair, raven black, in black jeans, all black. But when he turned around, his face was round and white like the moon. Before seeing him you were thinking that you've yet to meet a non-conventionally beautiful person in here, and here he was. You got fairly used to seeing the local faces everywhere, since you were in Seoul. Still, he looked slightly different, and you didn't know what it was.

"Hi", his voice was low and his mouth, round, produced the sound with certain roughness of unwillingness. He's already hiding in there.

Although, upon looking at you, his brow was raised a little, opening up the eyes.

"Y/N?"

"Yes", you walked to the counter and observed the variety of alcohol. You quickly got confused with the huge amounts of similarly looking bottles.

"What are you drinking?"

He sounded like a very diligent student of English that tried to enunciate his syllables. You hummed, head empty, brain busy working out his name. There was familiarity to his face.

"Something that I can drink for a long time and not vomit later".

"Got it", he said with a little bit more enthusiasm and started working at once. His hands flew up to a shelf and grabbed a bottle. You decided to test him a little.

"How was the funeral?"

Instead of frowning, or smiling, he replied nonchalantly:

"Boring as hell. They all had long faces like someone died".

Finally, you both snickered, delighted by the seamless run of the joke you synchronized. You watched him, and as the smile touched his lips, you could see his teeth, and finally, it clicked in your brain.

"Oh, I saw your face on a bus".

Yoongi's shoulders shook with silent laughter. The guy had the effortless magnetism about him. It was a shame, you thought, he wasn't attractive.

"It's weird seeing you move, like, in reality".

Yoongi twitched his head to brush off the hair from the eyes and finally turned to you with his whole body. His eyes started sliding down you, and stopped at the collarbone.

"I try not to move, generally".

He started stirring the drink and then craned his neck in search of a straw, allowing the tip of his tongue to travel across his lower lip. The thick silver earring shimmered through the black hair and you looked away. He was all shades of moon-pale and light pink. The more animated he became, the more interesting he got, actually.

"Minji keeps talking about you", he said with the undetectable tone to his voice. You spotted a colorful straw in a metal jar to your left and took one to plop into your drink.

"Do you need one?"

"No, thank you. She mentioned you work at a university".

"Yeah", you nodded, "what about you?"

He smiled again, letting out a sigh at the same time. He didn't look tortured, but seemed to avoid looking you in the eye.

"I am in a band. Here you go".

As soon as the first gulp of the drink slithered down your throat, you realized several things. Yoongi is super, painfully shy; or he plainly hates you. Also, he is great at making cocktails. He suddenly turned his eyes to you, dark in contrast with his pale skin, to see if you like it.

"Have you eaten?"

You were taken aback by this question. Only Minji asked you that usually, because she was someone close to you. Yoongi nodded towards the glass in your hands:

"It's strong. You should eat before you drink a lot".

You nodded,

"We had pizza in a taxi".

Yoongi's mouth was pulled in a smile again:

"Did Minji drop any pieces on the floor?"

They were really close.

"Yes", you laughed, "smeared the driver's seat with ketchup".

Yoongi winced.

"She is so funny", you said, heartfelt, a sudden wave of love for your friend washing over you. The silent laughter he mastered, that shook his shoulders, made you smile as well.

"She has been the greatest support for me in adapting here", you had no idea why you said it.

"Did you live here long?"

His H's had adorable rigour to them. He tried too much to sound as clearly as possible and that showed his inner hardworking, simplistic nature.

"About two years now".

He nodded significantly.

"Yes, being alone is difficult", his eyes pierced through your face, "where are you from?"

You named your country, and Yoongi nodded again, like he was recording the data into inner software.

"Imagine the shock of differences. The new job, the new people around, and generally, loneliness. And Minji just held me through that, for the last seven months".

Yoongi managed to smirk with only one half of his mouth, showing pale salmon of his gums. His mouth, producing careful and weighed sounds and words, working not to break the bridge of connection between you.

"You fail to mention how you killed her ex with a bottle of soju".

The Korean word that fell out from his tongue had a pleasant grumble to it.

You choked on your cocktail, and Yoongi pursed his lips and smiled only with his eyes.

"Is that what she's telling you nowadays?"

"I am hyperbolizing a little. But the point stands".

"Is he dead though?"

Suga ran his hand through his hair, texture so soft that it literally cascaded back, released by his palm.

"Who cares", he stretched, his voice low. Timbre was satisfying, scratching the right spot in your brain. You felt your lips and cheeks go hot and focused on your drink while the guy kept himself busy with his own glass. Yoongi was simpler about this and just poured himself some whiskey and plopped a cube of ice into it.

"I'm sorry", he said suddenly, and you looked up, "when I am not at my best, I am unfriendly".

"At least you're not loud like the upstairs", you murmured approvingly. The bar space was slightly lower compared to the main cabin.

"There's always a quiet one", he readily agreed, with the same kind of pride that filled Jimin when you told him about being star struck.

"Give me twenty minutes", he continued, pressing the glass to his lips, but he didn't have a chance to finish, as Minji threw herself into the narrow space of the bar.

"Yoongi!" she yelped, and stepped towards him, finding a place under his arm immediately. Yoongi pressed her to himself like he, not Namjoon, was her older brother. Her eyes twinkled at you; was she already drunk?

"Oh, sorry, did I interrupt something?"

Oh, please for the love of Christ, don't start it, you thought and shook your head violently.

"No, you didn't".

Minji looked up at unperturbed Yoongi and left his side.

"Then I need to kidnap you. I'm already tired of them, and it's barely been an hour. Let's go on the deck".

And so she pulled your hand and relieved you of Yoongi's company. You tried not to attribute it to anything. He was, after all, a celebrity. Probably crafted face. Crafted personality. Maybe he had this specific role in the band, of the quiet and suave guy. You were happy to step away from him, thinking, how does Minji not get delirious, being surrounded by not one, but six of them?

On the deck, the sun was very slowly setting, and Seoul was floating on the side, slick, glistening, like on a vintage film. It was a breathtaking picture which you two enjoyed for a while. You took pictures of the sunset, and Minji gently warned you not to record or take pictures of the members, and you understood. She wasn't too concerned about it; she kept babbling at you to fill you in on who you're partying with.

"Seong-won, he's Namjoon's school time friend. He's just a normal guy like you and me. But the rest of them, you'll want to remember, you naughty foreigner", she scolded you playfully. "Have you met them? I've seen you talking with Jimin".

She met someone's eyes and you looked up. A tall guy passed you by and made a face at Minji. He nodded to you gravely, which you found funny.

"Do they all have a skill or something?" you laughed, "this one is super amusing".

Minji grinned.

"This is Jin. He is known as the most handsome in the band. My brother, Namjoon, is the leader. He is the most level-headed. You'll see tonight".

"I'd think Yoongi is", you raised your eyebrow.

"Great, you know some names! Yoongi is honestly sometimes a little unhinged. He is quiet for now, but wait until he gets into the mood".

She tapped her nail on the banister. The warm, juicy September air with still a huge whiff of August, was filling your nostrils and hair. A little bit more like that, and you'd get used to this feeling of freedom.

"Jimin is the gentle one, he is, like, always soothing to be around".

You nodded. Checks out. She was naming them like Pokémon: Taehyung is the unpredictable and smooth one; Jungkook is the youngest, and thus, he is everybody's favorite and also super talented. There's nothing he's bad at! Hobi, or Hoseok is the dancer, he dances everywhere, he can't stop dancing. Even now, when you turned your head to illustrate her words, the guy was moving smoothly to the sound of music.

"It's very easy to make him laugh", Minji added.

They all had a characteristic, you noticed. Like characters in a movie.

"They are good boys", she thought out loud, her eyes staring somewhere in the distance.

"Are you already drunk?"

"A little", Minji admitted, "I hope you have fun here. I didn't wanna force you, you know".

"So far it's entertaining, I must admit", you said. You turned towards the open door and was looking into the cabin. Yoongi emerged from the bar with his whiskey glass and walked slowly towards the dancing Hoseok. The latter instantly put his arm around Yoongi's broad shoulder. They swayed together slowly.

"They are super cosy with each other", you noticed.

"They have grown together, all seven of them. Jungkook was just fifteen when they started training together. They've been through all of it, everything", Minji's voice quivered a bit, and you stared at her with surprise.

"Sorry. I get emotional. They are..."

"Good boys?"

She gulped down her drink.

The party went on. As the sky turned redder, everybody went out on the deck to take pictures or just look. Jin was screaming at Hoseok (you watched them very closely to memorize their names):

"Film me! Film me now!" in Korean. You noticed that this whole company was trying to adjust when in close proximity to you and switched to somewhat broken but sincerely sweet English in your earshot.

"Picture, please!" Jin cried, when his eyes noticed you're looking, and started laughing at himself, "J-Hope, picture, please!"

It was honestly mellow and fun. They took pictures in pairs and in threes, and then you offered to take one picture of all of them, together, but they all couldn't fit in one shot on a narrow deck. Jungkook spent painfully long minutes trying to help you create a certain shape they could stand in, so that they would fit. He offered holding someone on his and Namjoon's shoulders, and got slapped, and shut up finally.

The sun was sliding down the dusty sky, skyscrapers on land growing darker, ember, and commotion slowly moved back inside where music became louder. Two cocktails down, you still felt adequate, thanks to Yoongi; he made you the second when you found him again at the bar. Back at the cabin, you enjoyed observing their chatter, unconcerned with having to socialise too much. Taehyung, whom you confused with Jin once, heard Jimin say to you "no worries" and kept mimicking him; everytime he passed you by, he asked something, or offered a piece of food like sacrifice, and kept saying 'no worries, no worries'.

Namjoon made it his mission to leave a classy impression on you, introducing everybody again, but way more professionally than his sister. He explained who did what in the greatest phenomenon of all time, which was BTS. You watched his mouth move with the words like "vocals" and "rap line" and hoped that he understands that all this information is about to skip your brain because you're getting slowly drunk. Still, out of respect he naturally installed in you, you listened and asked questions. You asked about the posters he's collecting, and what art he likes, and what books he reads, and he seemed genuinely intelligent and nice. His face was smooth, without a single defect, and he was a gentleman.

"I hope you understand that you are stuck with us for as long as you live here", he said in his impeccable American English that you also found borderline endearing and amusing.

"Huh?"

"Minji thinks she's in great debt to you. We don't know what Taejeong would've done if it hadn't been for you", he clarified, "he was always a very violent and abusive man".

You stepped a little closer to him and got a whiff of his subtle cologne.

"Why was she with him?" you whispered, covering your mouth with your hand.

Namjoon shrugged.

"The mystery of attraction. Our parents raised us pretty well and she's never been slapped around the house like I have. So I don't know where it came from".

"You are very well spoken", you complimented him. Namjoon seemed pleased to no end, and for the third time today you saw a wild BTS prideful boy peek through:

"Thank you. I've been listening to American rap all my life".

The pairs switched. The sun was so low that the light switched on, and the mood changed. You managed to crawl towards an unoccupied armchair and fell into it to observe from aside. Someone was being loud in the bar below. Suddenly Jungkook exclaimed:

"UNO!"

"Oh, there we go", you heard the low voice above your ear. You hadn't noticed Yoongi, blending in with the black leather, sitting in the armchair next to you.

"Now we play Uno because Jungkook will nag until everybody wants to play. Then he will win and make everybody do a Lambada or something".

"At this point I don't mind", you mused, looking into your empty glass.

"Min Yoongi, I need another one".

His slow yet sharp eyes switched to you.

"Have you eaten?"

Everything happened exactly as Yoongi predicted. Jungkook had a special, strange grip on people: they cheated for him and pulled their punches on him. Being literally the youngest in the whole group, he got to laugh with his tongue out while everybody admired him. You won two games, Yoongi won two as well; everytime he sat next to you and you dealt on him, you said his full name out loud to remember it better. You did the same with your other neighbors. Jungkook won five games and everybody decided that it wasn't worth it anymore. Hoseok did Lambada because he hasn't won a single time. The music was playing loud enough, and people were relaxed. They started dancing and you might have joined, but first you went downstairs to fix yourself a new drink since your personal barista forgot about it.

Once you were back, you all but flew onto Minji who was dying laughing; she was thoroughly enjoying the boy's club, so you wondered if your presence was ever needed in the first place.

In the cabin, the following was erupting: Namjoon's childhood friend whose name you forgot because he hadn't sat next to you once in Uno, lay on the armchair looking completely dead. BTS in full number were joined at the shoulder, jumping together, all seven of them, chanting with the music. Jungkook was in the very middle of them. You've never seen such a explosively happy picture before, you thought. This was almost insane. They were jumping in synch, all chanting and laughing, even Yoongi, and suddenly, Minji shrieked:

"Maknae throw!"

Jungkook threw himself up in a hop, and Jin, together with Namjoon, on his sides, took his weight onto themselves, and in the next second Jungkook was in the air performing the smallest flip in boat dancing history. Once he landed, the chain was complete again, and they continued singing, turning towards their passed out friend, trying to wake him up.

"They do that every time", Minji was roaring with laughter, and you realized that your jaws were separated, and your mouth which was used to crying, swearing and yawning, hooted with joy as well.

More dancing ensued, and one body got detached from the rest and floated towards you. You were trying to collect your legs, knees spreading, alcohol circulating in your blood. Where Yoongi's professional, probably alcoholic hand, knew the exact balance between making it tipsy and drunk, you just poured yourself a whole lot of soju and added a little juice to it. As you noticed Yoongi's white face approach the armchairs in the pink-purple party light, you shook your head:

"I haven't eaten".

He disappeared like a spirit and then reemerged the same way. Your mind was skipping fractions of time, video input changing into flashes of moments: his hand, pale, with visible veins, holding a plate towards you, as he is sitting down. You take the plate as carefully as you can and shove whatever's on it in your mouth. The birthday cake and some fruit. You hope you eat it with a fork and not your hand. The present gifting ceremony went well in the beginning of the evening: even if Kim Namjoon, the millionaire, deemed your antique store vases worthless, he hid this feeling very deep inside. He looked sincerely happy as he observed them, and handled them carefully, passing one of them to Hoseok for inspection. Now, you finished his birthday cake, and potassium from the banana suddenly brought back some of consciousness to you.

"Okay?" he asked. You suddenly realized Yoongi is still next to you. His face looked quite different in this light: he pushed his hair behind his ears and looked like a gun for hire now. You informed him about it, and he replied with a condescending lopsided smile. You were past the point of trying to to embarrass yoursef in front of an idol. He didn't dwell on you too long, it seemed. Speaking in such loud room was hard.

"Why", you yelled, shifting your body closer to make him hear, "do you call yourself Sugar?"

His shoulders shook.

"It's not Sugar, it's Suga. I like basketball", he cut the noise wave with his hand, putting it like a shield against your heads as you leaned onto each other.

"There is a position in basketball, shooting guard. SU-GA".

"That's quite smart", you muttered.

"Thank you. Why do you call yourself spoilt?" there was a spark in his eye. He was smiling again.

You frowned at first, and he didn't help. It was a good five seconds staring into his pitch-black eyes before you realized the top you're wearing said SPOILT in nostalgic nineties font.

"It's because life spoilt me, you know", you strangely reminded yourself of Jin with his awkward, jokingly delicate English, "it's just so good to me".

"Do you know Sebadoh?" he asked. It sounded like a demon name. You shook your head, and the boat, together with Yoongi, swayed.

"It's a band. They have a song with this title", he pointed at your top.

"Spoiled. I saw you and it started playing in my head and wouldn't stop".

He found it amusing, apparently. It warranted another wide smile. While you were thinking of what to say to that, Minji joined you, her face glistening with sweat, hair slicked back like she was shooting an erotic movie. She looked good, flushed, the vein on her throat pumping. Yoongi raised his eyes and looked at her. For some twisted reason a small part of you suddenly had a hope that he doesn't ask her if she's eaten.

Minji crashed onto the armrest by your side and bowed down to hear you both:

"Whatcha doing?"

"Playing basketball", you uttered, your brain partying there, with the rest of the crowd. Minji opened her mouth showing her white pearl teeth. Yoongi gestured for her to take his armchair and gave her his place. He retreated silently into the dancing crowd, bopping his head lazily, then took a sharp step aside as Jungkook attempted to throw himself onto his hyung's shoulders.

"How do you like them?"

You had to give it to Minji, she didn't abandon you all the way and wasn't speaking nonsense. She was happily tipsy, her body clearly craving more dancing, more movement, more action. She was biting her lower lip, scanning them with her eyes.

"Which one do you like the most?"

She nudged you with her shoulder. You scratched your head and discovered a small cut on your forearm you didn't even remember getting.

"Uuhhh..."

"Come on. Tell me and I'll tell you", she flashed her predatory smile in the red light, and you felt corrupted. You shrugged.

"I guess your brother is the most handsome so far".

Minji made the funniest face, pursing her lips and bulging her eyes.

"He i-i-sss, isn't he? He's totally a heartthroob, Namjoon. Wow. I approve, Y/N. Do you wanna dance with him?"

A chucke escaped your mouth.

"No, I don't wanna dance".

"Ah, you're a party, hater, just like Yoongi hyung".

She got distracted and pointed her finger into the dancing male bodies. Yoongi was in the middle, his left hand clutching Hoseok's neck in a firm lock, and his right, trying to get the hair off his face.

"By the way", Minji laid her chin on your shoulder, about to deliver the craziest line so far, "I am sleeping with him. Occasionally. You know, no strings attached".

The music got really loud all of a sudden, bashing your head in. You lost her voice in the torrent of it.

"What? With Yoongi?"

Minji was already vibing again and gave you a naive, careless stare. She nodded, then moved towards you again.

"Yes, you see, I was so in love with Teojeong... I had to break this feeling, and one evening, we just sort of met, and he was in his white sweatshirt, you know I love it, and he made me laugh so much, God, I don't know what happened, but now we're friends with benefits".

"Is he good?" you wondered out loud, your eyes still transfixed on him, for the last time, you guessed. Jin stepped out of the crowd and crooked his finger, calling Minji in.

"Uh-huh!" she jumped up instantly, and you saw the back of her. The music changed, a slow song filling the cabin, and almost all the boys vanished from the dancing spot. Only Jin and Minji were in each other's arms, both drunk and giggling. Taehyung approached you slowly:

"Dance?"

He read it on your face, but still, his hand was in the air before you:

"No worries, no worries. Just dance".

So you danced with Taehyung.

[readychilledwine]

A Debt Paid in Full

Summary - Your father shouldn't have sent his prettiest daughter after refusing to pay his Tithe

Warnings - this is unhinged and kind of dark, virgin reader, younger female/older male, manipulation, smut, beron is... surprisingly giving and slightly charming but arrogant. Oral, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding Kink, beron

A/N - You all asked for it. Please don't ask for more. I feel dirty 🤣

The Whore Home Masterlist

“Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?” Being circled by the High Lord of Autumn had to have been the scariest thing you had ever experienced. “Is that why Daddy sent you? Does he think a nice pair of tits will buy him time to pay his tithe?”

“No, my lord,” yes, you thought instantly. “He is just busy over looking the land and farms. He apologizes for sending a female in his place, but you know how we are when it comes to business.”

Beron seemed to smile as he studied you again. “I imagine you already know you are only useful for certain,” he paused, looking over your frame again, a true smile forming at what he saw, “activities.”

“My father taught me my place, yes.”

“How old are you?”

“302, my lord.”

“And unmarried?” He tisked slightly. “And unpresented to the court as an available female?” He circled you again, a new dangerous light gleaming in those eyes. “Why?”

You took a deep breath. “My mother needed me home to help with my younger siblings, and now that they no longer require me, I am a spinster per our standards, my lord. I am not a viable option for marriage.”

“But you are for fucking. Or for a second wife. A pretty little toy to keep around when someone's lady refused to come warm their bed.”

“Ah, a second choice. How very desirable. I will stay unwed. Be the village witch.” The statement was out before you could stop it. Beron paused midwalk, looking at you with those dark eyes and his brows raised. “I apologize.”

“You are lucky you are very, very beautiful.” A hand went to your light red hair. “Your spring court mother did you quite the favor. Her fair blonde hair mixed with red. You are a unique treasure.”

An odd feeling set into your stomach at his constant compliments, at his hand twirling your hair, his body so close to yours you could feel the fire that ran within him.

The Autumn Lord was by no means an ugly male. He had produced 7 beautiful sons, each one resembling him but with their mother's eyes and hair. He was fit, body lined and cut with muscle you could make out under his fine tailored clothing. 

“I believe you and I could reach a compromise, y/n. Regarding your father's discretion.” The sinking feeling of what he meant hit you as a hand trailed your lower back. “Your father knows I collect beautiful things, and you, little fox, are a beautiful thing.”

“Are you attempting to seduce me, my lord?”

“Is it an attempt when I can smell it clearly is working?” Beron walked you back to the wall, a hand resting on your hip and the other going behind your head to protect you from impact. “Is this what females dream of? A fae lord to whisk them away from their troubles, shower them in luxurious gifts and clothing?”

“I just dreamed of being taken away. The rest did not matter.” Beron smirked at the words, something that should have made your skin recoil but instead caused heat to settle between your legs. 

“Let's make a bargain, little fox. You stay with me, be my little second wife, and your family never pays a tithe again.”

Your eyes widened at the offer. It was a sacrifice you could make. What was your life in exchange for the safety of your family with your father's choice to ignore the tithe collection. Beron was handsome, the Forest House was beautiful, but he was cruel. “I want to be treated well.”

Beron hummed. “You will be, if you stay in line. Keep that pretty mouth in check. I was kind today. I will not always tolerate your attitude, though.”

The hand resting on your hip began to trail to the curve of your ass, the hand previously resting behind your head now, allowing him to lean into you and cage you into his body and the wall. “How soon?”

“Tonight. I have never been known to be a male with patience when I want something.”

“Why marriage? Why not just my maidenhood?” The question seemed to spark something in him, eyes growing darker and the scent of arousal being to consume every breath. 

“Why would I allow something so pretty to slip between my fingers? Especially when I didn't know I would be the one to ruin her? Yes or no. My tolerance for your questions is wearing thin and I can easily just drop you off as I have my eldest arrest your father.” 

What was your life, in exchange for the safety of theirs? “Yes.” 

That one word was all it took for him to pounce. Lips finding yours and dominating a heated kiss. He winnowed you from the room, taking you to what must have been his personal suite and walked you back to the bed. His hands roamed everywhere before picking you up and placing you on the softest bed you had ever dreamed of. “How attached to your dress are you?” The kisses moved to your jawline as he awaited his answer. 

“I'm not.”

“Good. I will give you a thousand more.”He burned every thread from your body, groaning at the newly exposed skin, so soft and untouched. Untested and unexplored. “I think your father knew I'd be weak for you. Your younger sisters had been presented to my court and married off, yet here you are. Hidden away because you were his most precious gem.” 

All you could do was whimper as soft thumbs ran over your nipples. Pinching them lightly. His lips ran to your neck, feeling like a trail of fire as they did. Every inch of you became so sensitive that you broke out in goosebumps. He stopped at a spot that made your back arch, sucking the skin there until you were sure you would bruise before continuing his path down. 

When he finally reached your breasts, he stopped temporarily, scooting you up the pillows a bit more before removing his crown and placing it on head. “Be a good pet and hold this for me.” You couldn't help but to laugh, but that quickly turned into another moan. “So responsive.” The praise quickly shot to your core just as a hand did, running along your soaked folds with an arrogant laugh. 

Every kiss, every lick, every gentle touch on your core had you mewling for him, back arching as you whined. When one finger pushed in and curled up, hitting a spot in you that you would have never found before immediately pulling it back out . “And such pretty noises.” You couldn't help but grip the sheets, praying to any God who would listen as his kisses continued lower until he settled between your legs. 

“Perfect. Just absolutely perfect.” Beron was oddly gentle, kissing your thigh. You could have died when he first licked at your core, growling as he did and nudging that precious bundle of nerves. 

“Beron,” you whispered almost in warning, fingers gripping the sheets tighter. 

“Ssh, relax.” He continued to motion again, setting your nerves a light and making you cry out at the foreign feeling. He continues then, slow methodical licks. Watching from lust filled hooded eyes as your back arched, as your mouth fell open, as your nails dug so deeply into his mattress your knuckles turned white. 

When his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking light as his tongue pressed into it, you saw stars. Then his fingers, his damned fingers pushed back inside of you, stretching you out and preparing you for him. It was all too much, yet not enough. He used his free hand to pin your hips down, leaving you with no escape from his mouth. 

Your stomach started to feel tight, and your mind became hazy, core clenching at the now two fingers pushing in and out, scissoring and dancing on the sensitive spot you have only read about in novels. You went barreling over the edge quickly, feeling him smirk on your core as you screamed for him. He pulled his mouth away, keeping his fingers deep inside of you, working you open for him. 

You had not even noticed him remove his clothing using magic, but he was bare before you. Scars littered his muscled chest and shoulders. They danced along his back and ribs. They were a reminder of his cruelty born in a place of hatred for his own father, his own upbringing. But for some reason, now of that matter, as he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “Give me one more, y/n. Cum on my fingers before you get my cock.” 

He increased his rhythm, holding your head up to keep that golden crown resting on your head. His experience was quick to bring you over the edge again, forcing you to maintain eye contact as he did. 

He also kept your eyes on him as he used your slick to lubricate his cock, kept your eyes on him as he centered himself. And he kept your eyes on him as he pushed in, watching your mouth fall open again as the burn from being so full took over. Watching in sadistic glee as you whined and moaned. He barely gave you time to adjust, letting go of the back of your head in favor of pounding into you over and over. 

Now you truly could have died. You could have died with a smile growing on your face as he pulled out before forcing you to take all of him back in, making the pain quickly turn into a burning need as the scent of sex and sweat filled the air. He moved your legs, placing one over each shoulder and fucking so deep into you that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. “So tight, pet.” His voice was breathy as his head fell back in pleasure. “Such a perfect cunt.” 

His thrusts became harder as he watched your face, trying to figure out what you liked. And a sudden gasp shifting to a wail of pleasure told him exactly what it was. Over and over, he hit that spot inside of you, the one he had found earlier with his fingers. His eyes almost seemed to roll as you grew tighter, clenching and twitching around him, swallowing him whole.

“Perhaps I should breed you as well. Make sure this pretty pussy stays mine.” Your body responded before you verbally could, gripping him higher and thighs beginning to shake. “You like that, don't you? Like the idea of being used, being bred. Fuck you're perfect. So fucking perfect.” His fingers found your clit again, massaging the swollen bundle of nerves as he buried himself into you. 

Completion found you again, ripping you so deep into pleasure as you milked his cock that you couldn't help but to fall into a silent scream. Beron fell over after you, heat passing through the room as he did and intensifying everything. He allowed your legs to fall from his shoulders. Catching himself on his forearms above you, he sat and watched as you came down from the high. He studied you like a new toy, plotting and planning what he would do to you. “Yes,” he spoke more to himself than you. “You will be quite fun to keep.”

Beron Smut Taglist:

@secret-third-thing

[shadowdaddies]

I Need You Most

Azriel x Reader angst → smut

for this request

warnings: smut below the cut, light bondage, shadow play, masturbation, p in v sex, oral f!receiving

You stormed into the bedroom, not bothering to hold the door open for Azriel who trailed closely behind. Practically ripping the shoes from your feet, you tossed them in the closet and reached around to loosen the ties on your dress.

Scarred hands gently covered yours. “Let me help,” your mate murmured, pulling the strings on the corset that you couldn’t reach. 

Before he could loosen the ties any further, you whipped around, face flushed red with anger. “Do not touch me right now,” you seethed, maneuvering around him back into the bedroom. Ignoring the awkward feeling of your half-done corset, you grabbed the book from your bedside table and moved to sit in one of the chairs by the hearth. 

Azriel slowly walked out of the closet, ever the cautious and assessing spymaster as he watched your movements with interest. Once you had taken your seat, he sat in the chair opposite you, hazel eyes burning into your skin as you struggled to focus on the pages in front of you.

“My love, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Az pressed gently, leaning forward with strong arms braced on his knees. 

Forcing yourself to bite back a bitter laugh at the question, you took a deep breath and set the book down. “You really don’t know why I might be upset, Azriel?” At his confused expression, you continued, “It seems as though you have a talent for noticing everything except me.”

Azriel’s eyes simmered with barely constrained anger at your digging comment. “If you would care to stop speaking in riddles and be straightforward with me, that would be much appreciated. I may be observant, but I am not daemati, love. I cannot read your mind.”

Shadows grew darker around Azriel, oscillating with the palpable irritation in the room. But instead of sticking to their master, they moved to join you. Cool whisps of darkness curled around you, giving cool caress to your heated skin as Azriel watched, guilt suddenly registering on his face. He knew that if his shadows were on your side, he was truly in the wrong.

“I’m sorry, angel. Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it right.”

You relaxed slightly at his apology, tension thinning as you studied your mate’s worried expression. “You are away so often, Az, and I knew that would be the case when I accepted the mating bond. I love you for who you are, and I wouldn’t want to change that. But it’s hard for me when you leave me, and then hardly notice me when you are here.”

Azriel loosed a soft sigh, understanding exactly what you meant. It was a conversation you’d had before, that you sometimes felt second to his spymaster duties. He’d been working hard to show you that that wasn’t true, but coming home from this last mission was too exhausted to notice how much you needed him.

“You don’t understand how much I miss you. I think I need you more than you need me, and I feel pathetic for it, Az,” you admitted.

Azriel’s face fell, the Illyrian leaving his chair only to kneel in front of you, eyes pleading as warm hands rested on your knees. “I need you. Like air, I need you. I don’t know how I lived before you, and I’m sorry that I make you feel anything less than the beautiful, perfect mate that you are.”

You could feel Azriel’s love through the bond, pure adoration and longing sending electric sparks through you, at odds with his warm touch on your thighs, where you hadn’t felt him in so long. 

Suddenly, your face was flushed with a different kind of heat, and Az’s eyes darkened as the scent of your arousal grew. A knowing smirk stretched across his lips, the crooked smile showing off one dimple. 

“You beautiful, cruel female. You like when I’m on my knees for you?” he purred, voice rough as his hands slipped further between your thighs. 

You fought to keep your breaths even, eyes flicking to the chair where Azriel sat moments ago. “My love, I adore when you are on your knees, but I still don’t think you understand how badly I needed you today,” you teased, the sentence taking on a different meaning with your sultry tone that shot straight to Azriel’s cock.

Curling one finger beneath his chin, you lifted in gentle encouragement for him to stand before nodding towards his chair. “Sit, Azriel.”

As though the shadows could read your thoughts, they followed Azriel to the chair, twining around his wrists and ankles. Hazel eyes were blown so wide they appeared black, the scent of your mate’s arousal so strong it was dizzying. 

“I missed you,” you whispered, standing from your seat and dropping your corset in one smooth motion. The fabric was tossed to the side, your hands pulling at the sleeves of your chemise. “I missed your touch, your warmth,” you continued, the remainder of your clothing falling in a pool at your feet.

Azriel’s breathing grew rapid, chest heaving as his hardened cock strained against his pants. “I needed you, but you stayed just out of reach, teasing and taunting me,” you drawled as you relaxed back into your own chair, eyes on Azriel as you hiked one leg over the arm of the seat, baring your glistening pussy to him.

He audibly groaned at the sight, pulling helplessly against his shadows as they stayed secure to the furniture. “Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he gritted out, eyes glassy with desire.

Humming nonchalantly, you allowed your hands to wander over your body, fingers skating delicate touches over your sensitive areas. “You may take care of me once I think you’ve learned what it feels like to need me, to be truly desperate for my touch,” you replied, flashing him a wild grin as you dipped a finger into your entrance.

Pulling out your finger, you held it up to show off your slick in the firelight, eyes fixed on his reaction when you slipped the digit into your mouth, moaning dramatically as you sucked it clean. Releasing your finger with a ‘pop,’ you slid the wet hand down your body, toying with your nipples before resting above your core.

“This is what I do when you are not here to pleasure me, Azriel,” you breathed, gathering wetness on your fingers as they found your clit, rubbing slow circles there. 

“I use my fingers,” you continued, thrusting two fingers inside of you with a moan, “and I pretend they’re yours. I pretend it’s you, hitting that perfect spot inside of me.” Curling your fingers towards that spot, you moaned Azriel’s name, bucking your hips as you shamelessly chased your high in front of him. 

You heard him grunting and groaning in his seat, his need for you only turning you on more, which he seemed to realize. “Good girl. Move your fingers a little faster, just like that. Can you rub your clit for me?” he breathed, in awe as you obeyed his commands, letting him guide you to your orgasm.

Your eyes flew open as you crashed into your high, body writhing against the sofa when you looked to Azriel, jaw dropping in ecstasy while he watched you with a white knuckle grip against the restraints. 

Breathless, you relaxed into the cushions, a lazy smile on your features. “That is how desperate, how needy I am for you,” you whispered. 

“But it’s never the same. I crave your touch, your love,” you confessed, bare body shining with a thin sheen of sweat as you moved to stand just out of Azriel’s reach. “It’s a delicious torture, this power you have over me - at least when you’re there for me when I need you. Does that make sense?”

Azriel swallowed thickly, hips rolling in any attempt at relief. “Yes, it does. I need you, too, love. To take care of you, to touch you, to love you.” He strained again against his unrelenting shadows, and you smirked at the tendrils of darkness and their loyalty to you. “Let me touch you, please,” his hoarse voice begged.

“Not quite yet, Az. Soon enough,” you promised, moving to straddle his lap, body pressed firm against his. “I want to take advantage of this moment,” you admitted, fingers threading through onyx locks to pull him in for a passionate kiss.

Starting soft and slow, the kiss quickly grew frantic into a clash of teeth and tongues, bodies desperately writhing against each other in search of friction. Your lips left his, trailing down his jaw - kissing, biting, licking the skin along his neck. Hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt, new wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of his toned chest.

“Fuck,” Azriel gritted out, cock twitching from the feeling of your slick soaking through his pants. You smirked, kissing down his chest until you arrived at the waistband of his pants, kissing along the lines of his muscles there.

“Up,” you murmured, Azriel obeying to lift his hips so you could slide his pants down, his leaking cock hitting his stomach as he groaned in relief. 

Straddling the Illyrian once more, your fingertips brushed teasing strokes along his cock as he cursed and pleaded incoherently. “I love you,” you whispered, rubbing his tip against your folds before sliding down his length, your moans swallowed by his lips on yours.

“Fuck, I love you so much,” he muttered, hips thrusting up to meet you as you bounced on his dick. Rolling your hips forward and back, you felt him hit every inch of you with each thrust. 

The pleasure was too much, legs growing shaky as you grew weak above him. Shadows sensing the shift, they released their master, Azriel wasting no time before grabbing your hips and jackhammering up into you.

Limp, your head feel against his shoulder as you took everything he gave you, nails scratching his back and torso as you hit another orgasm. 

Azriel’s thrusts grew sloppier, his breathing hard in your ear when you felt him twitch inside of you, his warmth filling you up as he came. 

“I missed that,” you muttered, shifting to press a kiss to his shoulder where your head had been resting. 

“Oh, this night is far from over, love,” Azriel purred, hand sliding under your ass as he picked you up and walked to the bed. Tossing you onto the sheets, he quickly grabbed your thighs, warm hands running along the sensitive skin. “I wanted to worship you, and I will until you are begging me to stop,” he growled, shadows twining around your wrists to pull them taut over your head.

A shiver of delight coursed through you, squirming under your mate’s hold as you prepared yourself for a long night. 

[twowaywardorphansjournal]

Mercy

Summary: Dean comes running when you ask for his help

Lyric Inspiration: "He was hellbent to find the man behind All the whiskey scars I hid" - Wait in the Truck by Hardy and Lainey Wilson

Content: Dean x Reader + Sam, alcohol, violence, abusive relationships, swearing, name calling, dark dark stuff.

Notes: My plot bunnies ran away with this one. I was listening to the song yesterday in the car and just couldn't get the idea out of my head what Dean would do in that situation. I was also inspired by a prompt challenge I saw floating around (that I was too late to enter) where the story is told from Dean's perspective. Ultimately this is from both boys point of view, but its still a reader story, no use of y/n.

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Dean knew by the tone of your voice that things were bad again. You didn’t come right out and say it, but he had that gut feeling. Or maybe he just knew you too well.

“What exactly is the job?” Dean decided that bluntness was the best option here.

“Demons.” Anyone else would have missed the hitch in your voice. “I think there are people possessed by demons.”

“You still in Riverview?” Dean paused, waiting for your confirmation. “Me and Sammy will be there by nightfall tomorrow.”

Sam voiced his reservations about coming to meet you. Dean whipped out one of Sam’s old lines about looking into a case with less to go on. Plus, they trusted you, didn’t they? Sam sighed, knowing when he’d been bested. Dean proudly strutted to the fridge to procure a beer.

That evening, Dean got a little more wasted than he had intended. Because it was you. The one that had slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. Somehow you had felt cornered and when all was said and done, there was nothing that Dean could do to convince you to stay. You had run back to your hometown, claimed you were done with hunting, but never withdrew the claw hooked deep inside of Dean’s skin. There were few people that he would topple mountains for, and you were one of them.

Nursing his hangover, Dean departed early the next morning with Sam silently judging from the passenger seat.  He did his due diligence, checking for cattle mutilations or unusual weather patterns, but nothing was popping up that would raise alarms. Sam once again tried to warn Dean off.

“Are you sure this isn’t about something else?” Sam ran a hand through his hair.

“She said she needed help.” Dean answered tersely. He flicked his eyes in his brother’s direction before returning to the road. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You know something,” Sam stated.

“I know a little about a lotta things,” Dean retorted. He nudged the dial on the stereo, Zeppelin sweeping through the car, and didn’t speak again until they stopped for gas.

You met them at the end of your driveway, arms wrapped around your ribcage, your hair blowing loose in the wind. Sunlight was fading quickly over the horizon, dimming everything but you. Dean felt his heart stutter as he watched you hug Sam. He had forgotten just how beautiful you were.

“C’mere, angel.” Dean pulled you close, trying to ignore the scent of your shampoo that always intoxicated him.

“Thank you for coming,” You muttered into his jacket. He squeezed tighter.

“Tell us more about what’s been going on.” Leave it to Sam to get straight to business.

“I keep seeing black smoke. Ya know, the kind that demons become after they’ve possessed a body. Everyone in town is meaner too, somehow.”

“Have you tested them? Have you seen any black eyes?”

“How am I supposed to get my hands on some holy water?” You shot back. Sam’s eyes widened.

“That’s, like, a pretty rudimentary thing to know.” Sam answered slowly. He opened his mouth again, but Dean held up his hand.

“You know she wasn’t doing this for very long before she left.” Dean’s low voice rumbled. “Maybe she doesn’t know, Sam.”

“Besides, I called you, didn’t I?” You continued. “And I’m sure you have holy water.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. Sam scoffed.

“We can test it out on my boyfriend. He’s been in a foul mood for the past two days.” You scuffed your shoe into the pavement, adding, “Not like himself at all.”

“Does he know that we’re coming?” Dean wondered.

“I mentioned that some friends might drop by.”

“We’ll just get some supplies.” Dean set his hand on your shoulder, lowering his head to your eye level. “Meet you inside?”

You nodded and started up the drive. Dean collected his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk of the Impala. Sam stood in the middle, dumbfounded.

“You can’t be serious right now.” Sam watched his brother throw weapons into the duffle bag.

“Sammy,” Dean barked. He sighed, dropping his head, and pressed his weight into the tailgate with his hands. Wind whistled around them. Darkness had taken over, the streetlights starting to filter on. Without another word, Dean gathered up the bag and slammed the trunk shut. He followed your path up to the small house. Sam was still trying to figure out what was happening when he heard the shriek.

Sam started running instinctively. Dean was close enough to the house that he only had to hustle a few steps before he was throwing the front door open. Sam leaped through the entrance. The duffle bag was abandoned on the ground, and Sam reached inside to grab the demon knife before moving deeper inside.

“You little slut!” A booming voice hollered from the back of the house.

“Let me go!” Your words came out higher than their normal octave.

“Not until you tell your boyfriend to get lost.”

Sam zeroed in on the area that everyone seemed to have gathered. Dean was outside a closed door, his gun clenched in his dominant hand while he tried jiggling the handle. He threw his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge.

“Dean!” You cried.

“Shut up, bitch!”

You let out a hair-raising scream. Sam felt his blood run cold. Dean fruitlessly shouldered the door again before slamming his hand against it. A commotion started up, thumps and bangs, and you let out another cry. Then, just like a lightbulb getting clicked on, it all made sense to Sam. Dean’s insistence on coming out here. How you had inhaled sharply when Sam hugged you. Playing dumb about the holy water. The way you held yourself, covering the bandage Sam had felt wrapped around your torso.

Dean looked at his brother, his green eyes edged with concern, then backed himself up and launched his boot into the door. It didn’t give in right away, but with another well-aimed kick, the door swung open. Someone tall and lean knelt over you, curled into a ball on the floor, throwing punches at your side and abdomen. He flung his head up at the sound of the door, bloodshot eyes narrowing, and snarled. Dean raised his gun and fired three shots into his chest.

Sam had experienced the feeling of time slowing down, everything moving like molasses, and he felt it happening again as Dean went to check on you. Your boyfriend was splayed on his side, his blue eyes frozen open almost in a state of shock, blood pooling on the floor around him. A whimper escaped your lips as Dean crouched next to you. You raised yourself up, slipping into Dean’s open arms, staring at the corpse of your boyfriend as a tear slipped down your cheek. It was uncertain how long everyone sat there in silence. But Sam heard the sirens, their volume increasing as they grew closer, and suddenly time was full speed again.

“We need to go.” Sam announced.

Dean helped you up off the floor, keeping you tucked under his arm as you all retraced your steps to the front of the house. Sam felt the irony of dropping the unused knife back into the duffle bag before throwing it over his shoulder. Throwing his arm out, Dean stopped on the front porch and looked at Sam.

“Prints,” He muttered over the top of your head. Sam nodded, reentering the house and carefully wiping everything down.

When Sam climbed into the Impala, he found you in the front seat still glued to Dean’s side. Dean threw the car into drive and fought his instincts to floor it. He calmly drove down the street and merged with traffic, watching in his rearview mirror for the telltale sign of flashing lights that would eventually descend upon the scene. You offered some direction of how to slip out of town unnoticed. Once the car was on a rural two lane highway headed towards Kansas, you let out a shaky breath.

“Is it really over?” You whispered.

“It’s all gonna be okay now.”