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papayainsectorone · 1 month ago

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Nothing Personal.

summary: you show up after a breakup, not really heartbroken, only to be met with Lando’s usual mix of sarcasm and comfort between teasing banter and shared fries, a way-too-smooth suggestion changes the dynamic

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, friends-to-lovers, fuck, oral (f!receiving + m!receiving), teasing, dirty talk

word count: 5.4k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader a thought: new series who dis i clearly cannot overcome my ln4 obsession so... guess who got his own series now lol. i hope you enjoy it!! feel free to hit me up if you wanna be on the taglist alsooo — new divider?? made it myself?? it’s cute right?? let me have my moment walls are way too thin - series

Lando’s couch is still too deep, too soft, and far too familiar. Your legs are flung over his like they always are—like muscle memory—and his hands rest on your shins, thumbs moving in lazy circles while you tear into a box of fries like they personally wronged you.

Somehow, this is the only place that makes sense tonight.

“It wasn’t even good sex,” you mutter, chewing aggressively.

Lando lets out a bark of laughter, tipping his head back. “That’s the worst part.” “No,” you say, pointing a fry at him like a gavel. “The worst part is wasting three months on a man who thought eating you out was some kind of annual treat.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re joking.”

You just glare at him. “I’m genuinely considering writing a Yelp review.”

“Leave a voice note,” he suggests, voice deadpan. “I’ll animate it. ‘Hi, I’d like to report a man for crimes against pussy.’”

You laugh, loud and short, and it echoes into the comfortable silence between you—the kind only years of knowing someone can earn.

Because this? This has always been you and Lando.

Since you were kids sneaking out of karting camps to buy energy drinks and snacks, since you watched his first podium in your pajamas screaming into his voicemail. Since your first heartbreak, when he brought you a single Ferrero Rocher and said, “I’m shit at feelings, but I know this one’s your favorite.”

You were the first person he told when he got his F1 seat.

He was the first person you called after losing your virginity—drunk on cheap cider, whispering into his voicemail like it was a state secret.

When he started getting morning boners, you were the one he told, beaming with this stupid, smug pride.

“Rise and shine, baby,” he’d said, holding up a hoodie in front of his crotch. “I’m a man now.”

You’d almost pissed yourself laughing.

People always assumed there was something more—always. Teachers, teammates, partners. But there never was. You were chaos and sarcasm and trust, not slow-burning desire. The kind of friendship built on late-night FaceTimes and brutally honest advice and knowing exactly how to make each other laugh when it really counts.

It had always been a problem in past relationships.

“Too close,” they’d say. “Too flirty.” But neither of you ever cared.

Because Lando had always been your person. Still is.

You’d crash at his place more often than not—after parties, after races, after long days that didn’t even need an excuse. Sometimes you’d show up with nothing but takeout and he’d just nod and slide over on the couch. No questions. No explanations.

The walls in his flat were thin—paper-thin. You heard the whispers, late at night, from the girls he dated. Their voices just sharp enough to cut through the drywall. "Why does she stay over so much?" "Why don’t you send her home?" "Are you sure she’s just your friend?"

Lando always told you about them. Not to make you feel bad. Just... because he told you everything.

And yeah, sometimes you felt sorry—guilty, even—for being the shadow in the corner of his relationships. But you never apologized. Because it was always Lando and you. You and Lando. Friends. Always friends. The kind who knew the worst and best of each other and stayed anyway.

You knew the way he took his tea. The way his knee bounced when he was nervous. The way his voice dropped when he was pretending not to care. And he knew the song that always calmed you down. The nickname only your dad used. The face you made when you were about to cry and didn’t want anyone to notice.

There was no one else. Never had been.

So it wasn’t exactly surprising that you ended up here—on his couch, legs draped over his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lando sat casually, one hand resting on your shins, the other stealing fries from the carton balanced on your stomach. Your head was tilted just enough to eat, the rest of you sprawled comfortably beside him. In the hallway, your hastily stuffed suitcase waited—silent proof that this was where you always landed when the rest of the world fell apart.

You sigh, flinging a fry into your mouth. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Three months and not one orgasm that wasn’t self-made.”

He looks personally offended. “You stayed with someone who gave bad sex?”

“I’m mentally ill,” you say, deadpan.

Lando groans, loud and dramatic, flopping his head back against the couch. “At least you were getting laid!”

You smirk. “Oh, poor baby Lando. Don’t tell me world-famous F1 driver isn’t getting any.”

He squints at you, skeptical. “I’m serious. It’s not like that.”

You arch an eyebrow. “What, the women throwing themselves at you just aren’t your type?”

Lando shrugs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t have time.”

You tilt your head. “You make time to beat Max at sim racing at 2am, but you can’t fit in a blowjob?”

That earns a crooked grin, but it’s softer this time—almost sheepish. “I don’t want hookups. I don’t want it to be… awkward.”

You blink. “Hookups are literally meant to be awkward. That’s half the point.”

He laughs, but there’s something under it. A flicker of honesty. “I mean, yeah, but—I want good. Not weird silences and ‘this was fun, see ya.’ I want someone who knows me. Who won’t make it feel like a transaction.”

You sit with that for a second, caught off guard by the realness in his tone.

And then he looks at you.

And you’re already looking at him.

Something curls in your stomach.

“I mean…” you start, voice quieter now. “You could be getting laid.”

The words are light, teasing on the surface—but they land heavy between you.

Lando doesn’t smile. Doesn’t deflect.

He just blinks. Slowly.

His hand tightens slightly on your shin.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he says, voice low.

You blink at him. “I mean… I wouldn’t necessarily not fuck with you.”

Lando stares at you like you just offered to punch him in the face and hand him a trophy for it. Then he abruptly shoves your legs off his lap and stands, muttering, “I think you’re having a stroke,” as he walks toward the kitchen.

You twist around on the couch, tracking him with your eyes. “Lando. It’s not like I’m in love with you.”

He pauses.

“It would just be—convenient?” you say. “You need someone. I need someone. We know each other. Why not?”

He turns slowly to look at you, like you’ve just asked him to join a cult.

“Why not?” he repeats, incredulous. “I know about a million reasons why not.”

You scoff. “What, do you not think I’m hot?”

He laughs—really laughs. “I’ve known you since you had one front tooth at age seven and would only wear mismatched socks. How could that possibly be hot?”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Wow. Wow.”

He grins. “What? You think I’m hot?”

You shrug, a little too casual. “I’ve obviously had worse.”

That wipes the smirk off his face.

He stares.

You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes—quick math, risk analysis, moral breakdown. His brow furrows. His mouth opens, then closes again. You swear he stops breathing for a second.

Then he says it.

“Fuck… okay, I guess. But we need rules.”

You groan. “Oh my god, Lando.”

“I’m serious!”

“Fine. Rules,” you say, throwing your arms up. “What, like no spooning after?”

“No sleeping in the same bed.”

“No feelings.”

“No one finds out.”

“No drama.”

You point at him. “No falling in love.”

He mirrors the gesture. “No ruining the friendship.”

You reach out your hand and he takes it instinctively, falling into the rhythm of a secret handshake you made up when you were twelve, all palms and slaps and pinky swears.

Your fingers lock one last time and neither of you lets go.

Not right away.

And when he pulls you closer, it’s like gravity.

The smirk fades from his face. Yours too.

You don’t know who moves first, only that his mouth is on yours again and this time there’s no pause. No second-guessing. Just the sharp, charged click of teeth and breath and want.

He kisses you like he’s proving a point.

You kiss him like you’re trying to win.

There’s nothing slow about it. His hands grip your hips like he’s allowed to and yours tangle into his hoodie, yanking him closer as your knees press into the couch cushions. You’re already climbing into his lap when he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, lips brushing your jaw. “This is so fucking weird.”

“Shut up,” you breathe, nipping at his neck. “Less thinking, more undressing.”

“Bossy,” he mutters, but he’s already lifting your shirt over your head. You help, clumsy and rushed and laughing a little when you get stuck halfway.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you tease, breathless.

“Not with you.” His voice dips lower, eyes dragging down your chest like he doesn’t know where to land. “Not like this.”

It’s cautious for half a second—his hands smoothing over your waist, the slow drag of his thumbs just under the band of your bra—but the second you reach for the hem of his hoodie, it sparks again. Like pulling a match against the box.

Everything ignites.

Clothes come off in fast, impatient pieces. You laugh when his sock gets caught on the couch. He curses when your belt loops fight back. There’s a short, chaotic scuffle over who gets to be on top—until you push him down with a smug look and he just stares, breathless and flushed, like maybe this was a terrible, amazing idea.

“You’re gonna have to back up all that shit you’ve talked over the years,” you say, hovering above him. “Mr. ‘I’m so good in bed I should get Michelin stars.’”

He groans. “I literally never said that.”

“You literally did. Karting camp. Fifteen years old. You said—quote—‘I’ll be better than anyone she’s had before.’”

His hand slides up your thigh, grip tightening. “Fifteen-year-old me had ambition.”

“Fifteen-year-old you had a big mouth and was barely not a virgin anymore” you grin.

He smirks, eyes dark. “And you’re the one who raved about that guy who said you gave the best head of his life.”

You blink innocently. “It’s not my fault I’m talented.”

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs, dragging you closer by your hips. “Prove it.”

Your smile sharpens.

His laugh cuts off halfway when you grind down on him again, slow and deliberate. One of his hands fists in the fabric of the couch while the other roams up your side, touch hotter now—more confident. Still careful in flashes, like he doesn’t quite know what parts of you he’s allowed to touch, even now.

You lean forward, lips ghosting over his. “Nervous?”

He exhales sharply. “I just… didn’t think the best head of someone’s life would come with a pre-roast.”

“You get what you pay for,” you whisper, and then you slide down his body.

“Fuck,” he groans, tossing his head back.

You pause, breath hot against his skin. “What was that? I thought you were the one with ambition.”

His breath catches when your mouth touches his abs. And again when you look up and raise a single eyebrow—taunting, smug, completely in control.

He grits his teeth. “Okay. I deserved that.”

You hum in response, slow and deliberate. “Damn right.”

Your fingers tug at the waistband of his boxers, and Lando’s whole body goes taut beneath you. It’s subtle—barely a breath—but you feel it.

He’s nervous.

You pause, looking up from where you’re knelt between his legs, hands braced on his thighs. “You okay?”

His eyes snap open. “Yeah. Just…”

“Never imagined me here?” you tease, voice low and laced with a grin.

He huffs out a breath, shaky. “Not like this. Not ever. And definitely not while terrified I’m about to embarrass myself.”

You laugh softly, warm and fond despite yourself. “Relax, Norris. I already know all your worst secrets. One more won’t kill you.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s gratitude in it—like your teasing steadies him more than reassurance ever could.

You hook your fingers under the fabric again, slower this time. “Let’s get this off, then. Time to see what you’ve been bragging about since puberty.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, throwing an arm over his face.

You pull the last piece of clothing down, inch by inch, deliberate just to watch him squirm.

And then your teasing falters—just a beat.

Okay. Maybe not all talk.

He peeks from under his arm, a smirk creeping back in. “You good?”

You clear your throat, recovering. “I’ve obviously had worse,” you echo back with a wink.

He groans like you’ve wounded him.

And then you lean down again—mouth brushing skin, warm and careful, letting him feel your breath before anything else. You start slow. You always do. One hand on his hip, the other anchoring you as your mouth finds him, slow and deliberate and way too confident for someone who’d been joking about this two minutes ago.

Lando’s hand jumps to your shoulder instantly, fingers twitching. “Holy shit.”

You hum, eyes flicking up—pleased, knowing, smug as hell. You’re good, and you know it. And now so does he.

He tries to keep quiet. Tries to breathe evenly. But it’s all unraveling fast—the shift of his hips, the way his mouth falls open with a soft, helpless sound that’s definitely not friendly.

He mutters your name once, like a warning. A plea.

You don’t stop.

You sink deeper, slow and practiced, using your hand when you have to, mouth when you want to. And you want to a lot.

“Okay,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Okay—Jesus—I get it, he wasn’t lying.”

You smile up at him, lips curling around him as you draw him deeper into your mouth. Your tongue flicks over the sensitive ridge just beneath the tip, teasing that delicate band of skin before gliding up to circle the slit. The reaction is immediate—his breath stutters, and he chokes on a moan, hips twitching as he struggles to hold still.

“Oh my god.”

He’s twitching beneath you, squirming, practically begging now—your name spilling from his lips in broken whispers. It’s fast, it’s messy, it’s too good.

Your name again, this time a warning “Fuck... I´m gonna—Jesus—don´t stop” And you don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. If anything, you push harder, chasing that edge with him.

And when he finally breaks—when his hands grip tight, back arching off the bed, curses torn from his throat like a prayer—it’s your name he chants, again and again. Shaky. Wrecked. Reverent.

You pull off slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Then you crawl up his body, smiling like sin, like you know exactly what you just did.

He looks dazed. Destroyed. Wrecked in the most satisfying way.

“I told you,” you whisper against his ear. “Talented.”

Your body stretches over his as you settle on his chest, breath warm against his skin, heartbeat still pounding under your palm.

Lando's eyes are half-lidded, completely blown out, one hand resting on your lower back like he doesn’t quite trust gravity anymore.

He exhales hard. “Fuck.”

You smirk into his collarbone. “You lost all your other vocabulary, Norris.”

He laughs—short, breathless, still wrecked. “No seriously, that was… I mean, you really do have bragging rights about that.”

You prop your chin on his chest, smug. “Told you.”

His hand slides up to brush lightly down your spine. “How the hell am I supposed to recover from that?”

You grin wider. “Come on. That all you got?”

He blinks at you, mouth twitching. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you tease, eyes gleaming. “Big talk for years, and now you’re all ‘oh no, I need to lie down.’”

He stares. “I just had my soul removed via your mouth and you’re taunting me?”

“I’m motivating you,” you say sweetly.

He laughs again, one of those quiet, incredulous laughs that bubbles up from his chest. “Well, I was gonna say something cocky but now I’m wounded.”

You raise a brow. “Say it.”

He bites back a smile. “Just thought it was common knowledge that… y’know, eating out is for annual events only.”

You smack his chest. “Twat.”

He’s grinning like an idiot now, clearly pleased with himself even as your hand lingers, half-playful and half warning.

And then—before you can fire back another insult—he moves.

You’re flipped fast, the room spinning for half a second before your back hits the cushions and he’s above you, eyes dark and mischievous.

“Oh,” you say, breath catching.

He smirks, voice low. “Guess what day it is.”

You barely manage to answer before he’s already sliding down your body—slow and deliberate, hands dragging over your thighs, your waist, your hips. You squirm under him, anticipation crackling through your veins.

He kisses the inside of your knee.

You arch a brow. “You’re just doing this to prove a point.”

“Obviously,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin again, “but I’m also an overachiever.”

His mouth finds your inner thigh and your breath hitches.

This, you realize, is very quickly about to become a competition.

And neither of you plays fair.

He kisses his way down your thighs, hands dragging slow, like he’s taking inventory.

“Still not taking this seriously,” you murmur, but your voice betrays the way your body’s already reacting to him—hips shifting, stomach tensing.

Lando lifts his head just enough to give you a wicked grin. “I’m insulted. You think I don’t rise to a challenge?”

You hum. “So dramatic.”

“I just think,” he says, lowering again, lips brushing close—too close—without quite touching where you need, “if you’re gonna make bold claims about your talents, I should be allowed to respond in kind.”

You squirm as his breath fans over you, and when you go to snap something smug back, his mouth finally meets you over your panties.

Everything derails.

It’s not tentative. There’s no awkward fumble, no hesitation. Just heat. Intention. A surprising kind of focus that makes your breath catch and your hands fly to his curls like instinct.

He hums into you, and you curse softly, head falling back against the couch cushion.

“Fuck, Lando…”

You feel him smile. Bastard.

He slides the fabric to the side and keeps going—slow at first, like he’s mapping out every reaction, every shift of your hips, every sound you make. He starts adding his hands, fingers anchoring you wide open, thumbs brushing soft along your thighs as he buries himself deeper in it.

It’s not rushed. It’s not polite.

It’s intentional.

And it’s driving you insane.

You’re panting now, fingers gripping his hair, one leg hooked over his shoulder because you stopped pretending to play it cool somewhere around the second time he moaned against you.

You manage to glance down once, and the sight nearly finishes you—him, flushed and focused between your thighs, like he’s memorizing you.

“Okay,” you breathe out, voice high and wrecked. “Okay. I take back everything.”

He doesn't stop.

“Lando.”

A flick of his tongue. A curl of his fingers.

You break.

Your hips jerk, your back arches, a sharp cry tears from your throat and you feel everything all at once—your blood rushing, your pulse crashing, the way his name leaves your mouth like muscle memory.

He slows down only when your hands tug at his hair—not to pull him closer, but in surrender.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, dazed, boneless against the cushions.

Lando crawls back up over you, and for a second, neither of you says anything—just panting breaths and the shared knowledge of what just happened.

Finally, he grins, breath still hot against your cheek. “So… just annually, huh?”

You laugh—half-gasp, half-shocked. “You’re an actual menace.”

“And you’re blushing,” he says, full of smug satisfaction.

“Am not.” You give his shoulder a playful smack.

“I mean… maybe we shouldn’t limit that to once a year,” you say, casual but breathless. “Wasn’t exactly terrible.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering. “Not terrible? Sounded like more than that to me.”

You snort, cheeks warming again. “Okay—fine. It was actually pretty fucking great.”

He rolls onto his back beside you, both of you still catching your breath in the hazy silence that follows.

“You still think this was a good idea?” he asks, eyes on the ceiling.

You turn your head, grinning. “Amazing actually.”

He laughs and it feels like nothing’s changed.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris smut #lando norris #f1 smut #𓊆papayainone𓊇

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jarofstyles · 2 months ago

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Getaway Car

Hi lovebugs! I have a one shot for you. We have a villainous Harry and his assistant turned lover for this one. I hope you guys enjoy this one, I enjoyed writing it! Please make sure to read the warnings

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings

WC- 6k

Warnings- organized crime, use of weapons, violence, blood, murder, injury, dom!H, degrading, breeding, kinda primal tbh

Harry leaned against the cold, hard wall of the jail hallway, handcuffs digging into his wrists. The pristine suit he wore was tailored to perfection, crisp and clean against his broad shoulders. His dark hair was combed back neatly, not a strand out of place. The suit jacket hugged his broad shoulders, perhaps a little too tightly, but it emphasized his powerful build. He crossed his ankles, nonchalant, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but his eyes were sharp and focused, watching the door that he knew Y/N would emerge from any moment now.

His tie was loose around his neck, the only sign of him being disheveled. His strong jaw was set, a muscle twitching as he ground his teeth together in irritation. He hated being caged, even if it was just a hallway. The man was used to being in complete control, to having power and calling the shots- and yet here he was, waiting like a restrained animal for her to emerge from the lion's den to break him out of here.

Harry's eyes flashed with a hint of his morbid nature as he thought about how he rarely got caught. How the fuck had it happened? He was slick, careful, calculated. There was no denying he knew what he was doing, and yet he had managed to get in some sort of trouble.. This little misstep was...unusual. His mind raced, trying to figure out how he could have slipped up. Was it arrogance that made him sloppy? Or was it...her? That infuriatingly alluring woman who had somehow managed to ensnare him.

A smirk played on Harry's lips as he thought about their dynamic. He wasn't used to having a partner, let alone one who was so fucking captivating. She was like a breath of fresh air, a challenge he couldn't resist. He had vowed to never take a lover, but Y/N went beyond that. The woman was simply different in every way. The way she handled herself, the fire in her eyes, the curve of her... His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open, and his head snapped towards the sound.

The metal handcuffs clinked softly against the wall as Harry pushed off from his casual lean and straightened to his full height. His dark eyes narrowed as he focused on the door, the intensity of his gaze enough to make even the toughest criminal squirm.

As soon as Y/N emerged, Harry's smirk widened. Oh, she was good. Too good. He could see the fire burning behind her eyes, the exhilaration of the game they were playing. The way her face remained stoic, unreadable, was admirable. He was the experienced one, the one who was supposed to be impossible to read, yet she matched him in that regard. No one else had ever been able to match him in any regard, and Y/N never faltered. "My dear." He drawled, his voice low and smooth.

As Y/N stepped closer, Harry felt his body relax just a tad. She slipped between his handcuffed arms, her chest pressed to his, her waist nipped perfectly by his arms. He could feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her blouse, hear the soft rustle of her skirt. "You took your time." He murmured, his breath tickling her skin. His eyes never left her face, drinking in her expression as she played her part to perfection.

“I had to take care of some things.” She smiled coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Poisoning the coffee isn’t a quick job, but I had to make sure they weren’t responsive. Had to sneak you out of here somehow, didn’t I?” Her nails ran over the back of his neck, rounded eyes laced with something sharp.

Harry's gaze remained locked on hers, his heart rate kicking up at the touch of her nails against his skin. "Impressive." He praised, his eyes glinting with admiration. "I didn't think you had it in you to be so...thorough." He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers, his breath mingling with hers. "But then again, I shouldn't be surprised. You're full of delightful little surprises, aren't you?"

“I am.” The girl purred, leaning up on her toes as their noses brushed. “How thankful you must be to have such a cunning partner in crime. Thankful to see me?”

Harry's eyes flickered with a dark hunger as their noses brushed, her warmth and scent enveloping him. Coffee lingered over the natural sweetness. Part of him was still astounded that she’d pulled off a feat like that, but he shouldn’t be. She’d been proving herself quite easily, every step of the way. Y/N was a natural at all the bad things he liked to do.

"Grateful doesn't begin to cover it." He whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I'm...thirsty, actually." He admitted, his gaze dropping to her lips. "For a kiss, to taste that clever mouth of yours again." His arms, still cuffed, tightened slightly around her waist as he pulled her closer. It was infuriating to not be able to run his hands over her to inspect and roll over her soft hips, but he didn’t mind giving her this moment.

“I’d like a thank you.” Her nose brushed his, taunting him a little. “I’ve got the key to those cuffs and everything, you know. The car outside. The security footage deleted, the cameras are all turned off.” Her nails dug into his skin just ever so slightly, making him hiss. “Say thank you, and then you can kiss me.”

Harry's eyes flashed with irritation at her teasing, his breath catching as her nails dug into his skin. He hated being at her mercy, hated that she had the power to make him beg. But he needed her, needed that kiss, needed to taste her. "Fuck," he spat out, his voice strained. "Thank you, you clever, infuriating little brat."

“Nicer.” She hissed, taking a bit of his hair and tugging roughly. “Be nice to me, or I’m not letting you touch me tonight. And I know just how much you need to let loose after shit like this.” The threat was a valid one, but Y/N knew the moment the cuffs were off he’d be able to take charge again. She was biding her time and power accordingly. “Be nice to me, baby.” The croon was soft, though her grip wasn’t. “M’a good girl for getting you free.”

Harry's eyes narrowed in frustration and a tinge of arousal at her tugging on his hair, his jaw clenched- but he knew she was right. As much as he hated it, he needed to play nice for now. He needed to be grateful, to show her how much he appreciated her efforts. "You are a good girl." he said through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with false sweetness. "My very good girl. You deserve a reward, don't you?"

“I do.” She purred, reaching up on her toes and smearing their lips together. “Lots of them. A necklace with the money you took, a vacation once this is over, and your face between my thighs when we get back to the house.” Pecking his stubbed cheek, she moved her lips back to his. “Now kiss me. Show me how much you missed me.”

Harry's control snapped at her words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He crashed his lips against hers in a bruising kiss, pouring all his pent-up frustration and desire into it. His tongue delved into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her tongue in the way he always loved to do it. Feeling her body press up against his as she chased his kiss, the soft sound of her hum against his mouth. Y/N was perfect, and he knew it. He nipped at her bottom lip hard enough to sting, soothing it with his tongue. "Fuck," he panted against her lips when they finally broke for air. “Fine. All of it. Just get these fucking cuffs off of me. We need to leave.” They’d been tempting fate just staying here as it was.

“Yes, sir.” She snickered, leaving one last kiss to his lips before pulling his arms back up so she could duck underneath them. The key was hidden in her bra, kept warm from her tits as she giggled from his expression. “What? I needed a hiding place.” Pulling the key out, he lifted his wrists up and began to unlock them.

Harry glared at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "In the future, if you're going to hide something important in your tits, at least give me a peek." He growled. "And if you ever call me 'sir' again like that, I'll bend you over my knee and spank you until you beg to be fucked. You know how I feel about that." Y/N knew to save that for the bedroom, but she was a bit of a brat. He knew that much, very well.

“You know I like a good spanking.” She purred, undoing the cuffs and letting them fall off his left wrist, then his right. It wasn’t smart to leave them, so she opened up his suit jacket to tuck the key and cuffs in the internal pocket. “We can play with these another day. Need t’get you out of here.”

Harry flexed his freed hands, relishing the feeling of being unbound. He grabbed Y/N's wrist before she could pull away, pulling her flush against him. "Oh, we will play with these again. Very soon." He promised darkly. "But first, let's get the fuck out of here before your little stunt attracts too much attention." He released her and stepped back, straightening his suit. "Lead the way, my clever little thief."

Y/N turned on her heel, strutting towards the exit with a confident sway to her hips. Harry watched appreciatively, his eyes locked onto her backside. He couldn't help but admire her poise, the way she carried herself like she owned the place. It was something that had drew him to her in the first place. Very few people had been able to make him feel interested in his life, but she’d caught his attention the moment she’d walked in the room. She glanced over her shoulder at him, catching him staring, and smirked knowingly. "Eyes up here, pervert." She teased, tossing her hair back with her nose in the air. Like she didn’t love feeling his eyes on her. She preened every time he looked her over and paid her extra attention.

Harry's gaze slowly lifted to meet hers, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Can't blame a man for looking." He drawled, sauntering after her. "Besides, I think I've earned the right to ogle you after you paraded around half-naked in front of me." He fell into step beside her as they exited the building, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

“First of all, you bought this dress for me. Secondly, you’re the one that got caught outside of a casino. Since you like me to be your distraction, I’ve got to look at least a little bit scandalous.” She scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder before reaching into her handbag for the car keys. “Can you handle driving, or do you need me to do it?”

Harry's eyes flashed with annoyance. "I didn't buy that dress for you to be a distraction. I bought it because it looks fucking incredible on you." He grunted. "And I didn't get fully caught. I'm here, aren't I?" He snatched the keys from her hand as they reached the car. "I can handle driving. Get in the passenger seat before I put you there myself."

Y/N rolled her eyes but climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up as Harry got behind the wheel. He started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, weaving through the streets with a skill that spoke to his experience in driving the getaway car. As they drove, the comfortable silence was interrupted when he reached over to rest his hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You did well back there." he mumbled, his voice softening from the monotone it usually was. "I'm impressed."

Harry’s praise wasn’t something he handed out generously. Sure, she was showered in it in the bedroom, but when it came to things like this? He was a much tougher critic. Harry and business were a serious pair, and he didn’t like mistakes or slacking off. He was harsh and eager to correct to ensure there weren’t any fuck ups. Considering this was the first time he’d been actually dragged to the station in years she had been worried about his mood, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought. There had been a lot of panic when he had been taken away, but she did her best to handle it as well as she could.

“Thanks.” She sighed, placing her hand over his. “You taught me well.” Y/N didn’t have a background in this stuff, only what Harry had taught her and she had picked up- but she did have to admit she did a very good job. A natural, really.

Though if she was honest, she had never anticipated that becoming his assistant would end up in her delving head first into the world of crime after catching something she wasn’t supposed to. Even less so, that she would fall for her man. Her boss. A criminal mastermind. “I told Delgado that the meeting to exchange would need to be moved to tomorrow, by the way.”

Harry's hand tightened slightly around hers before he released it, keeping his eyes on the road as he navigated the dark streets. "Good thinking." He murmured. "Delgado can be a bit too eager sometimes. We need to make sure everything is in place before we make the exchange." He glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road.

"And just to be clear," He continued, his tone sharper. "Tomorrow, during the meeting, you're going to stay in the car. I don't care if Delgado tries to shoot me or if he offers you a million dollars, you do not get out of that vehicle. You understand me?" He asked, his gaze intense on the road ahead. "Your safety is my number one priority, and I won't risk losing you over some stupid deal."

“I know. Stay in the car, aim the gun, shoot only if necessary.” She drawled, rolling her head to look at his side profile. It was almost irritating, how unnaturally beautiful the man was. He was evil in a lot of ways, downright terrifying- but you’d never expect it considering he looked like one of the most beautiful works of art. A face like his belonged in a museum, painted with oils or carved into marble. “I know the drill. The man gives me the creeps anyways. I’ll let you and George deal with him.”

Harry chuckled darkly. "Good girl. Don't worry, George and I will make sure Delgado doesn't try anything stupid- though he isn’t a very smart man." He turned down a familiar street, heading towards their safehouse. "In fact, I think George might be looking forward to this meeting a bit too much. The man's got a real hard-on for scaring the shit out of our past clients."

Harry pulled into the garage of the safehouse, parking the car and turning to Y/N. "Now, come inside. I think we both need to... unwind a bit." He gave her a wolfish grin, his eyes glinting with that familiar predatory look. "And I think I promised you something earlier, didn't I?" He asked, stepping out of the car and rounding to open her door. "Something about my face between your thighs?"

——

Y/N sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the meeting taking place outside. Harry stood tall, his back straight as he spoke with Delgado. George loomed beside him, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the other man with a cold gaze. Delgado the creep, on the other hand, fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting back and forth between two men.

Something was definitely up. Her eyes could see it but her body could sense it even if he hadn’t pulled anything quite yet. The man had always been creepy, but something else was at play here. She just wasn’t sure what.

Harry had insisted she stay in the car as she usually did, but she had a feeling he would need to get out. one way or another. Her hand flexed on the weapon, watching between the men and the van opposite them.

The meeting seemed to be growing heated. Delgado's gestures became more animated, his face red with either anger or frustration. Harry, however, remained calm, his expression unreadable. Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, though, the way his hand tightened around the briefcase he was holding. Beside him, George’s hand slowly drifted to the gun at his side, his stance widening slightly. Something was definitely off.

The van's side door slid open, and a man stepped out, his hand resting on the handle of a gun holstered at his hip. Delgado nodded towards him, and the man approached Harry, speaking in a low tone. Harry's expression didn't change, but his gaze flickered to Y/N in the car before returning to the man. George’s hand tightened around his gun, and Y/N could see the muscles in his jaw clenching.

The man from the van handed Harry a small device, which he examined briefly before pocketing it. He turned back to Delgado, his voice low and even. "We've got a problem," he said. Delgado's face paled, and he glanced nervously at the man who had spoken.

As if sensing the impending danger, Harry's head snapped towards Y/N just as she heard the click of guns being cocked. Without hesitation, she burst out of the car, her own weapon drawn and firing. The first bullet hit the man closest to Harry, and chaos erupted. Harry dove for cover, his own gun now in hand as he returned fire. George spun, taking out two more men with precise shots. They surely didn’t know who they were messing with when they tried to fuck over Harry, but they were finding out very quickly.

Delgado, realizing that the situation had spiraled out of control, turned to run but was cut down by Harry's shot. The man himself rolled, coming up in a crouch to fire at another of Delgado's men. As he straightened, he saw Y/N, her hair billowing around her as she moved like a dancer, each step graceful yet deadly.

In mere moments, it was over. The bodies of Delgado's men littered the ground, and an eerie silence fell. Harry approached Y/N, his eyes dark with a complex mix of emotions - anger, concern, and something almost akin to pride. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He growled, but there was an undercurrent of relief in his voice. "You could have been killed." Reaching out, his hand cupping her face tenderly, a contrast to the stiffness in his body and anger boiling over that she could physically see.

His thumb brushed gently over her shoulder, coming away with a streak of red. He looked at the blood, his eyes flashing with anger. "You're bleeding." He said, his voice low and dangerous. His gaze flicked to her shoulder, where a tear in her dress revealed a graze from a bullet that she hadn’t even felt. The adrenaline hadn’t even made her aware she’d been hit at all, too focused on making sure Harry was okay. "We need to get you cleaned up." He pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "But first, let's get out of here. I don’t know if the stupid fuck has anyone to call for backup. We’ve got our money."

—

Harry drove them back to the safehouse, his entire body visibly tense as he gripped the steering wheel, his leather gloves stretched over his clenched knuckles. The silence between them was thick, charged with unspoken words. He was mad at her for getting out of the car. Y/N knew as much, but he wasn’t about to fight him right now.

Once they arrived, Harry gave her no choice to walk on her own. Strong arms scooped her up carrying her through the house wordlessly, making his way upstairs to their bedroom. Setting her down gently on the bed, his touch was surprisingly tender given his earlier anger. "Let me get the first aid kit. Stay sitting right here. Do not move." He said gruffly, disappearing into the bathroom.

As Harry returned with the first kit, Y/N reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him down onto the bed with her. He landed on top of her, his eyes widening with surprise. "Y/N, you're fuckin’ hurt-" He began, but she cut him off, crushing her lips against his. She kissed him hungrily, her body pressing against his as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I'm fine. I don’t even feel it. Jus’ want you." She panted against his lips.

Harry hesitated for a moment, his moral compass warring with his desire. He barely had one to begin with, but with her in his life it had shifted to give the shreds of care he had to her and her wellbeing. But when Y/N's hands began to roam over his chest, her touch hot and insistent, he groaned and gave in. As much as he wanted to resist, his little devilish brat was his one and only true weakness. There was nothing else he gave a fuck about, but Y/N had managed to snare and tangle him in her web. Make him things he never felt in his life. It had been thought by everyone, himself included, that he wasn’t capable of love. Or caring. But the girl underneath him had torn down everything he had thought he once knew, making him give into the unfamiliar desires. There was no way he could say no to her. His own hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress up to her hips. "You're so fucking reckless. Should spank you raw for what you did, but I know why you did." he growled, his fingers finding the edge of her underwear. "But god, I love that you gave the first shot. Love that you’re so needy for me."

He tore her underwear aside, his fingers sinking into her slick heat. Y/N cried out, her back arching off the bed as he plunged two fingers inside her. He wasn’t patient in the slightest with his pace, pumping them in and out, his thumb rubbing rough circles against her clit. "So damn wet," he muttered, adding a third finger and scissoring them inside her. Y/N's hands fisted in his hair, tugging him closer as she rocked her hips against his hand. “Works you up to be bad, hm? Y’like to make me worry about you? Like to ring the first shot out? Trying t’protect me. Silly little fucking brat. Can’t listen t’me ever, but you still manage to make me proud.”

His fingers curled up, finding that sweet spot inside her and stroking it relentlessly. It hadn’t taken him long to memorize her body, make a mental map of where she liked to be touched, the most sensitive areas he used to his advantage. It didn’t take much to get her off, his needy slut. Harry was dedicated to the craft of getting her off and he wasn’t about to stop it now. Y/N's moans filled the room, her body tensing as he drove her closer and closer to the edge just with his hand. He could feel her inner walls clamping down around his fingers, her breathing coming in short, sharp pants. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto her breast, drawing her hardened peak into his mouth through the fabric of her top

“Fuck me. Fuck me right now.” She hissed, growling up at him as the hunger burned through her. “I need it. Give it to me.” Y/N was beyond reason, her body burning with need. She reached down, fumbling with Harry's belt and zipper. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to free his cock and pushed down his briefs, grabbing it and guiding it to her entrance. She was soaked, her pussy clenching around his thick head as she tried to push him inside herself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She chanted, her nails digging into his bicep as she tried to impale herself on him.

Harry gritted his teeth, his body shaking as he held himself back from slamming into her. "Baby, let me..." He panted, but she was beyond hearing him. Her hips bucked, taking him in another inch. He groaned, his head dropping to her shoulder as he tried to regain control. "You'll hurt yourself. Be careful." He ground out, eyes feeling blurry at the feel of her trying to drag him inside.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she urged him on. "Y/N..." he warned, his voice low and dangerous. But she ignored him, her hips lifting again, taking more of him inside her. He hissed, his hands gripping her wrists and pinning them above her head. "Alright, you leave me no choice." he growled.

With a swift, powerful thrust, Harry buried himself to the hilt inside her. She let out a loud moan, her head thrown back as he stretched her impossibly full. He set a steady and full pace, fucking into her with deep, hard strokes. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard hitting against the wall with each thrust. Harry's eyes were dark with lust, his face a mask of concentration as he took what she so desperately needed. She had brought him over, made him lose that control he liked to keep wrapped up. He should have known she was going to do it.

"Harry...please, I want more." Y/N panted, her body writhing beneath his. He growled in response, his hands tightening around her wrists as he increased the tempo. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with their moans and the creaking of the bed. "Harder, Sir. Please, want it harder..." she begged.

Harry's thrusts became rough, his cock slamming into Y/N's soaked pussy with relentless force. Her legs trembled around his waist, her hips bucking to meet each of his powerful strokes. She was a dripping mess, her juices coating his cock and running down her thighs, but she didn’t care. There was nothing she cared more about than getting to cum. The sound of his balls slapping against her ass filled the room, accompanied by the lewd squelching of his dick plunging in and out of her sopping cunt.

"Don't stop...please don't stop..." Y/N whimpered, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The rush of adrenaline had hit her full force, and she needed this to get it out of her system. The only person who could give it to her the way she needed was the man above her, and she wasn’t above begging.

Harry snarled, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he doubled his efforts. He could feel her tightening around him, her body tensing as she approached her peak. "That's it, love...cum for me, all over this cock." He snarled, his hand snaking between their sweat-slicked bodies to rub her clit. "Let go..."

He pinched her swollen pearl between his fingers, rolling it roughly as he pounded into her. “There. Give it to me, now.”

There was no way to disobey. Playing her body like his favorite game, Y/N screamed, her body trembling as she shattered. Her inner walls rippled around him, squeezing him like a vice as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. He felt the gush of her release, her juices coating him as she cried out his name. But he didn't stop, continuing to pound into her through her release. "Oh my god- oh my god, Harry.."

With a powerful arm around her waist, Harry pulled out momentarily to flip Y/N onto her stomach, his hands gripping her hips and pulling her ass up to meet him. She braced herself on her hands and knees, her fingers clawing at the bedspread as he entered her from behind. The new angle allowed him to sink even deeper, and she gasped at the intense sensation. She was still sensitive and shaky, but he gave her no time to recover. Secretly, she didn’t mind. Underneath it all, she liked being used. She loved being fucked by him, feeling his powerful body pin her down and let her be used by him to get him to the place she knew she owned.

Harry's hands tightened on her hips as he began to thrust again, his voice low and growling in her ear. "You love that, don't you? You love the way my cock fills you all the way up." He punctuated each word with a sharp hip thrust, his hips slapping against her backside. "Say it," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. "Tell me you love my cock fucking that filthy cunt..."

Y/N moaned, her head dropping forward as he set a relentless pace. "Oh god, yes...I love it...love your cock in my filthy cunt.” There was an attempt to push herself up onto her palms but it failed miserably. “Filling me so perfectly… I love it so much." Her words ended in a cry as he reached around to fondle her breasts, his fingers tweaking her hardened nipple painfully.

Y/N's body was consumed by lust, her own mix of adrenaline and primal urges taking over. She rocked back against him, meeting each of his powerful thrusts. Her hair was a wild mess, sticking to her sweat-slicked face. She bared her teeth in a feral grin, reveling in the delicious stretch of his cock inside her. "That's it...fuck me like the bitch in heat I am..."

Harry's breath hitched in his throat, his body tensing at her words. His hands gripped her hips painfully tight, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Is that what you want? You want me to mount you? Filthy slut." He snarled, slamming into her with such force that she slid forward on the bed. "You want me to breed that needy little hole?"

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, I need it.” She slurred. “I can take it. I want everything, I want you to give me everything.” It was delirium, maybe, but she loved becoming unhinged like this. After a meet, after a robbery, after anything that set her nerves on fire, Harry knew what she needed every damn time.

"Then take it." He pulled out, spinning Y/N around to face him before slamming back inside her. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the bed as he stood and let her back hit the cool wall, his cock driving into her as he held her up. She screamed, her legs wrapping around his waist as he fucked her against it the wall, her head rubbing up against the drywall with each thrust.

His eyes locked onto hers, black with lust as he continued to drive into her. The sounds of their bodies meeting filled the room, punctuated by Y/N's breathless moans and his own guttural grunts. His hands squeezed her asss, spreading her cheeks apart to allow him deeper inside. She could feel him so deeply, the pressure bordering on pain, but she never wanted it to end. "Fuck- fuck me.” She whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s so good. Use me. Please, I want t’make you happy.”

"You are, baby. Make me so happy.” As happy as a man like Harry could be. It had been a foreign emotion the first time he felt it, the weird warmth in his chest making him worry he may be having a silent heart attack- but it had been happiness. Butterflies. An odd sensation that he came to look forward to. “You do such a good job every time. Perfect slut, taking every fucking inch..." He panted, his sweat dripping down onto her. He could feel her tightening around him, her body preparing for another orgasm. "Want you t’cum for me again." he demanded, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Know you can do it."

He increased his pace, his cock slamming into her with punishing force. The wall shook with each impact, the painting he had hanging up rattling on the surface. Y/N's mouth fell open in a silent scream, her eyes rolling back as he fucked her with wild abandon. He could feel his own release approaching, his balls drawing up tight. "Fuck, 'm going to fill this cunt up. Breed it like y’want me to."

The words were a trigger. Y/N's body heated up as she took it, the overwhelming feeling cresting and falling over the edge as her back arched as she came with a guttural moan. Her pussy clenched around him like a vice, rippling along his length as she gushed around his pistoning cock. It was a mess, dribbling down to his balls as more was forced out with each slam inside of her sensitive, quivering pussy.

The sensation was too much, and with a deep growl that came from the center of his chest, Harry buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he pumped her full of his hot cum. He ground against her, making sure every last drop was inside her. "Take it all..." Y/N whimpered, her oversensitive walls fluttering around him as he filled her to the brim. The feel of the heat inside of her soothed something bone deep, clinging to his body as she felt herself go weak. His hips jerked with each pulse, working his cock deeper, ensuring his seed was planted as far inside her as possible. "There it is, baby. It’s all for you. Shit."

Finally spent, Harry slumped forward, pinning Y/N against the wall with his weight. They were both panting, sticky and exhausted- but happy. He could feel his softening cock still nestled inside her, plugging her up. "Mm. Want t’keep it all inside," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "Let it soak into my greedy cunt..."

Y/N's body went limp in his arms, letting him take over in holding up her body. It was the least he could do, after all. A blissful smile played on her lips as she basked in the afterglow. "You took me so well," Harry praised, his voice a low rumble. "Such a good girl." There was the praise she knew would be coming. He was more generous in these moments, after he’d given her all he had. The selective vulnerability was something she cherished.

Despite her disobedience, Y/N's impulsive actions had ultimately saved him. And as his nature took over, the only way he knew how to express his gratitude was by giving her what she needed. "You were disobedient, but you saved me." His hand slid up to collar her throat, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips. "You deserved to be rewarded..." he murmured. "And oh, how you took it."

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lay-z · 5 months ago

Text

battered and bruised | 1/3

Synopsis: Captain Price won't tolerate you risking your life on a mission again.

Pairing: alpha!Captain John Price x fem!omega!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse; comfort fic; humour; blood and injury; morphine/medical drug usage; fraternising; teammates/friends to lovers; dub-con; sexual/suggestive content; a/b/o dynamics; cussing; fluff (Some of these apply to upcoming parts!)

Word count: 2.2k

🖤 masterlist

Location: Hereford/UK | TF-141 HQ Date: Friday, 24/01/2025 Time: 00:37 a.m.

A door is flung open and then you’re harshly pushed and shoved, nearly sending you stumbling and crashing in your heavy boots before you barely catch yourself on the edge of a sturdy table, head spinning as your eyelids blink rapidly.

Your sight is somewhat blurry, dust and eyeblack smudging your vision, white-speckled stars dancing and flickering in the corners of your eyes in the semi-darkness of what must be some vacant, random briefing room.

The door slams shut behind you with more force than necessary, making the surrounding windows tremble in their frames, and then the room is filled with thick, accumulating tension as you feel Captain Price’s piercing glare on the back of your skull, his tangy scent surrounding the space, making you bristle like an animal caught in a trap.

His voice is sharp and jagged, a combat knife slicing through heavy silence when he snaps at you: “You wanna explain that little stunt you pulled earlier, Sergeant?”

“Oi–!” You huff, rolling your aching shoulders underneath your heavy tac gear as you turn to face him on wobbly knees; swiftly pulling your black balaclava off in one smooth motion and taking a greedy breath while tucking the fabric into an empty pocket of your cargo pants; revealing your dishevelled hair along with a thin, bleeding cut on your right cheekbone.

“We finished the mission successfully, innit?” You counter briskly like the bloody smartass you are, though you usually never dare to adopt a tone like this with Price, not even in the privacy of twosomeness, and you gulp a gasp of air, eyes widening as you realize your mistake.

This isn't John, your packmate and friend, but Price, your alpha superior.

Price’s steel blue eyes darken another shade as he steps forward with a grim frown, tilting his head slightly, the look almost murderous. He stops in front of you, tips of your chunky boots touching now, before he grabs your chin with his gloved hand, lifting your bruised face up towards him.

“You almost got yourself bloody killed, you goddamn fool!” He snarls, eyes scanning over the cut on your cheek before he lets go of you roughly. “You weren’t supposed to get that close; do you understand me? Never!”

You tut, scrunching your nose in a small snarl like a disobedient pup baring its baby teeth at his rough manhandling, glaring at him with bloodshot eyes while your supple omega skin pounds and burns around the cut, irritated and raw.

“Sir, I took those fuckers out efficiently, giving you and Gaz the necessary time to take out the main target–” you explain, trying to stay calm though your voice keeps wavering, “Call me a fool all you want, but you know I’m right, Captain.”

Price growls at you as you continue to talk back to him; eyes hardening and turning to a shade of navy blue while his jaw clenches so tightly, you’re surprised it didn’t break yet. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, trying to calm himself down as his alpha pheromones turn too heady and aggressive, causing your gut to clench and your throat to tighten as you hold back a submissive whine.

“That wasn’t part of the bloody plan, and you know it, Sergeant! Shouldn’t you be better at following orders by now? Ya could’ve gotten yourself–” He stops mid-sentence, his buff chest deflates with a rushed exhale, lids narrowing and zeroing in on the gnarly cut and bruises on your face once more. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath and the roughness in his voice makes you shiver in your boots before he reaches up with both hands to cup your face this time, gentler and tenderly; thick thumb lightly brushing away coagulated blood, making you wince and flinch, and melt simultaneously.

“That needs to be taken care of, dove,” he says much quieter, his anger now replaced with worry as his frown softens and the wrinkle between his brows smoothens out.

A tingling sensation spreads over your face, making it feel hot beneath his touch, like someone tugging on your hair so tightly, your skin is pulled taut while the tips of daggers are wrenched into your eye sockets, prodding at your brain and scraping inside your skull. The sudden pain makes you dizzy and sway.

Time slows down for you, crawling along like thick tar, though, it merely takes seconds.

With fluttering lashes, your eyes flicker up to stare blankly at his ruggedly handsome, dirty face; pain and adrenaline lowering your inhibitions and qualms, all reason melting from your brain and running out of your ears in an instant as you catch another whiff of his alpha scent.

Cold bones covered in rich dark chocolate, wrapped in ripe tobacco leaves and presented to you.

“Sergeant?”

Swallowing down a mouthful of foamy saliva, your black pupils dilate as your wide doe-eyes flit down to stare at his lips as John speaks up again, and in a moment of weakness, your omega instincts manage to slither from your grasp despite the strong suppressants you take religiously and you reach out to clutch and curl your gloved fingers into the front of his tac vest to pull him to your level for a rash, first kiss.

John freezes the second your soft lips connect with his; initial clumsiness balanced by raw fervency make his chest rumble with a pleased growl, and he finds himself kissing you back for a second, fingers carding through your hair and cupping the back of your neck, applying some pressure; sighing as he finally gets that ardently longing taste of you before his brain screeches to a halt; duty and regulations forcing him to act and contain his alpha nature, to be the reasonable one again.

He pulls back with a sharp curse, lips smacking and stealing another peck before a string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He breathes harshly, uncurling his mammoth hands from you reluctantly before stepping backwards, running a hand through his short, brown hair in frustration. “Bloody Christ, Sergeant,” he huffs, “–you’re not... We’re not supposed to–What are we doing here, huh?”

The feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him melting on your tongue like hard candy, bursting on your tastebuds, and his beard scratching your sensitive skin, was enough to distract you from the throbbing pain and fuzziness in your head momentarily, though now it’s hitting you again full force.

Inhaling a sharp breath through clenched teeth, your eyes widen as you stammer for an answer: “I–I–I’m–” you stutter, heart now hammering in your throat as your ears start ringing. “I’m sorry! I–I don’t know–ah!”

You wince as you pinch the bridge of your nose harshly, and John can merely stare and watch you struggle to speak while his heartrate increases, strong muscle slamming into his ribcage underneath his layers of gear and clothing; both thoughts and emotions all over the place uncharacteristically after you’d kissed him without so much than a friendly premonition.

Then, he steps forward again, pushing your hips back against the sturdy table behind you, large hands grasping the front of your tac vest more desperate than he’d like to admit. “You’re sorry?” He repeats in disbelief. “You kiss your superior just like that and you’re bloody sorry, Sergeant?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I–ah... Fuck,” you curse and groan, squeezing your eyes shut as the splitting headache worsens; barely registering the way John has grabbed you by the shoulders now. “Please–” you whine, unable to keep the pathetic sound concealed this time while you reach out to get a hold of his strong forearms, finding purchase against the table as you lean back.

As soon as your soft whine is torn from your delicate throat, alarm bells go off inside the Captain’s head as he ignores the pleasant shudder running down his spine and focuses on the need to protect and take care of you blossoming behind his ribcage instead.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, eyes filled with worry as he witnesses you practically falling apart in front of him and not knowing why is driving him mad already. “Jesus, you look like you’re gonna pass out any second now, dove.”

Wrapping an arm tightly around your waist despite the bulky gear covering both your bodies, John pulls your smaller frame as close as he can get you; securing you against him. “Let me help you, okay? I’m taking you to the medbay. Just breathe for me and calm down. We can’t risk you getting sick–”

You feel even weaker in the knees now, but you manage to loop your arms around his neck somehow while you take eager little sniffs of his calming scent at this proximity, and as soon as John notices you trying to seek out his comfort, he swiftly unzips his combat jacket and tugs at the tight collar of his compression shirt to expose more of his scent to you, mumbling to himself. “Damn it, honey, why is my life never easy with you?”

A pleasant tingle runs down the length of his spine when the tip of your nose grazes along the curve of his neck cutely, narrowly missing his sensitive scent gland as you breathe in his scent, and John’s jaw clenches while his mind short-circuits at the featherlight contact. He should be able to resist it, being an experienced SAS Captain and all that, but he’s slowly realizing how powerless he is when you’re all submissive and vulnerable for him like this.

“Hit my head... pretty badly when–when I grappled and–an' took out that ah... one bloke,” you explain in a muttered murmur while John hums affirmingly and starts leading you out of the briefing room, down the long hallway towards the nearest elevator, making you lean heavily against him with his arm curled around your waist below your vest. His jaw is clenched tightly, his face set in a frown once more as he tries to keep his simmering anger at bay.

Given the chance, he’d rip that fellow apart with his bare hands.

Pulled away from his violent thoughts, his attention shifts again when the bright fluorescent lights along the ceiling crackle and switch on automatically, filling the eerie silence inside the building at this hour, and causing you to groan pitifully as you squeeze your eyes shut immediately. “Ouch... Please, make them stop!” You mewl before twisting and turning your face to bury into his shoulder for protection like a lost, helpless kitten, and John feels something else stir in his chest, something heavy and warm that slows him down.

“You hit your head, and you didn’t tell anyone?” He hisses, though it’s lacking harshness, and he gently pushes his hand into your hair, along the side of your head until his fingers shield over your temple as he tries to block out some of the light. “Fuck me, Sergeant, you’re too bloody stubborn, ya muppet.”

He’s never truly witnessed you acting like an omega; always too guarded, too stoic and professional; constantly drugged up with military issued suppressants and scent blockers while the knowledge about that has always sort of peeved your alpha teammates, including John himself, leaving them worried and itching to order having you to throw them away recklessly, make you go natural, knowing each of them would more than willingly take care of you.

Almost subconsciously, John leans in and sniffs your hair; catching a slight whiff of your scent, though it’s still heavily suppressed, and he swallows down the rumble in his chest, ignoring the flutter in his stomach as he thinks back on that kiss. “And we’re gonna have a long discussion about that kiss, too, when you stop being so bloody delirious.”

With another breathy whine of pain, you practically curl into his side, holding on tightly despite his cussing and scolding; despite him being your superior. “Don’t cuss at me,” you whimper, nuzzling your face into his shoulder as he keeps guiding you towards the elevator that will take you down to the medbay. “I’m sorry... for the kiss, John.”

John croons lowly in his chest as you apologize, trying to soothe your pain and distress. He hates that he can’t smell you, which means he can’t read you properly; it's like trying to read the most interesting novella through a veil. And he hates your apology, too, not wanting to hear it.

He huffs sharply as he adjusts his grip around your waist, stopping in front of the closed elevator doors before pushing the button for it with his free hand. “Don’t talk back to me, you little brat.” John straightens and grumbles half-heartedly, trying to keep his professional demeanour up here out in the open around HQ, though the smallest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when your soft snicker reaches his ears.

The elevator doors open with the faintest gust of wind, and he catches another whiff of your scent, though–

His heart drops into a pit as he freezes, pupils dilating instantly.

A bouquet of wildflowers, resting on a pile of fresh white linens, surrounded by an assortment of candied fruits; succulent, soft, and utterly saccharine.

#captain john price #john price #john price x reader #omegaverse #call of duty #cod omegaverse #cod #alpha!price #omega!reader #comfort fic #reader insert #tf 141 #cod smut #john price smut

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hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

BOOKWORMS | knj

pairing: boyfriend!namjoon x reader

genre: smut; fluff

word count: 4.4k

summary: namjoon thinks of you when he reads a smut scene in his book.

warnings: boyfriend namjoon!!!, kimi namijoon reading, mentions of sex (riding), oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, the importance of consent, teasing, raw sex, breeding kink <3, big dick namu!!, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, joonie's chain dangling in ur face, tummy bulge, creampie, bruising, hickeys, aftercare:(

note: it took blood, sweat and tears (hehe) to write this and i'm so happy it's finally here!! i loved writing about namjoon. he's my whole soul and the entirety of my heart and i have to write abt him again soon. please take your time reading this and enjoy urself! let me know what you think in the comments mwah (or tell me anonymously in my inbox) and as i always say please like and if u want to - reblog, but i won't pressure u baby. love love you!!

side note: if you want to jump straight to the smut, it's right under the asterisks <;3

You revel, you truly do, in seeing your boyfriend in such a serene state of mind.

Nose buried in a book, Namjoon pays no mind to the surroundings fleeting by him with each flutter of his eyelashes. It goes unnoticed by him, strangely so, how you tidy up the apartment you share. How you feed the two cats that chose you and him to be their human parents. How you fondle their soft ears. How you bend over the furniture to whisper ‘pspsps’ at them when they need a moment away from you just to see their round eyes look up at you stupidly. Namjoon usually observes these moments; this utmost natural behavior of yours. He draws strength from the homeliness of it all with each and every swell of his lungs. Needs it to survive. That is until he gets a hold of that one papery portal and sits comfortably on the couch, one ankle propped over the knee. Then, he ceases to exist in this world.

You’re happy for him. Over time, you’ve come to find that you have a certain fondness for the way he remains stoic. Because you always know what kind of book he’s reading, a smile blossoms on its own over the line of your lips whenever your eye catches the sculpture-like look on his face. It’s like even if he let himself hold his breath, his consciousness would waver back to the earth and the wretched awareness that he’s here, among mortals and the unfair capitalist system aftermath, would stream in his bloodstream, poisoning his experience. It takes the leisure out of it and makes the bed for misery instead. He doesn’t like it. Hates it, in fact. It’s a necessity that he focuses, as he embarks on the journey, because he does it for you.

Namjoon confides in his feelings and his literature with you almost on a daily basis. On the same couch, with the same cats snoring faintly, their small bodies spilling over the perimeter of your tangled legs. Doesn’t matter if it’s his thigh or the curve of your hip. The animals always find a warm crook to doze in, eavesdropping in, with their curious little ears, on the conversations you’re having. Though you reckon they like the meat of his thigh the best. You do, too. Can’t really blame them. The same serenity that intimately knows the person of Namjoon perceives the person of you when he prompts you to rest your head on his lap while he brushes his book-kissed fingers through the silky waterfall of your hair. Thoroughly explains the intricacies of the plot he’s invested in to you. Describes the characters as if they’re real people he’s become acquainted with. They are real to you as you listen. As you ask additional questions and gaze up at his eyes just to catch that one body of a shooting star fiery hot in the glossiness of his eyes. As you wonder, openly, what will happen to them.

“I’ll tell you when they tell me.” He sunk the promise onto the smooth skin of your forehead with the pucker of his lips.

It’s how you discovered, in all seriousness, that the plaster of his stoicism breaks during these literary moments.

Various colors of emotion tug and twist his features, the bare kind. The unrestrained kind. You know it’s a relief for him when the dam bursts open, soaking you in the beauty of humanness one only finds in literature these days. You can’t help but fall in love with him all over again when his eyebrows furrow. When his orbs nearly burn a hole in the ceiling when he’s trying to think of the right word that will ultimately help him convey the unfolding of the storyline. When he gives up and weaves English into his sentences, relying on his hands to say what his overstimulated brain fails to do.

He reads to pass knowledge to you. The serenity whispered it into the chambers of your heart, a puff of hot breath in winter’s cold. It soothingly rubbed his shoulders when Namjoon told you there used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of his books lining up the walls of his apartment. Wanted to burn it down and watch as the evidence of his melancholy dies in front of him. Because that’s what most of his book collection consisted of back then. The innermost shadowy faces of his pain. Loneliness. Sadness. Despair from life, from it not being enough for him, from it not saving a spot there for him–not once throughout the course of his life. That’s why he reads different kinds of books now. Ones that do not reflect his survival before you.

The reader has to get wiser, ruffled by life in order to gain more, gain what they need from those once deeply loved pages. It’s what the serenity believes. It’s what you believe and hope for Namjoon. That one day, somehow by the healing of the love you give him, he will look back and pick a souvenir from that moonless country of pain. Put it up somewhere between the spines of his new cluttered collection. Look at it from time to time and sense that it’s telling him something. Something that will fill the stitched-up cracks in his heart with sunlight. Something that he will pass over to you. It’s your love language after all. Namjoon reads because you read. It’s his own personal healing thing.

You two are just a pair of two bookworms. Unfit for the world outside. Fit for the land you two created. Whose soil you take care of together.

***

Dinner is almost ready by the time you feel his fingertips gripping your hips. You hum, acknowledging his presence. Glad for the homely heat that radiates off of his body and seeps into your bones as you stir the risotto you decided to make on the stove. Coldness had been embracing you all day while he read so you’re overjoyed that he ripped it away from you.

Namjoon places a kiss on your temple and you sigh in relief. You might be too dependent on him, but so is he. He wouldn’t be nuzzling his face in your hair, squeezing your waist, peppering kisses on your tender skin if he wasn’t. It’s the perfect balance. And it’s not that you’re not able to be away from each other. The principle of looking forward to one another is what makes it so sweet, so endurable for the pair of you. Of the coming back and coming into contact at the end of the day. It’s natural. Simple. Human.

“Missed me?” Namjoon husks into your ear.

You smirk and turn off the stove, turning around to face him. “Terribly.”

His body is clad in a black T-shirt that fits his broad figure well and a pair of baggy sweats of the same color, having discarded the warm crewneck he was wearing earlier somewhere in the universe of his book. A long silver chain twinkles in the middle of his chest in the yellow light. You caress it with your fingers and leave your palm there, on the hardness of his pecs.

“I finished the book,” he says and you blink up at him. You’re not surprised at all. “Couldn’t put it down.”

Sleepy wrinkles have left their mark on his face from the cozy position he laid in for too long on the couch. His short sunlit hair, grown healthily from his military service, is tousled in all directions and you smooth it down for him. How did God bless you with such a beautiful man is something you’ll wonder about for the rest of your life.

“What happened to Theo in the end?” you ask, genuinely curious about whether one of the characters you’ve grown attached to is okay after all the shit the author put him through.

Namjoon was reading a coming-of-age book about a boy named Theo. A panorama of his childhood and adolescent life, you’ve heard all about it. Namjoon cared a lot about this story, cared a lot about the protagonist’s emotions and reactions to the reappearing storms. What made him stick with it, despite the nearly triggering themes, is the fact that Theo never let go of his optimism no matter what. It was incredibly inspiring for Namjoon. Something new. Something that he never thought could be possible. You’re proud of him for daring to read a book so reminiscent of his past.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Namjoon says, a blush creeping along his cheeks.

You raise one of your eyebrows in question.

“Theo got laid,” Namjoon reveals, laughing softly. “I’m so happy for him.”

You gasp and burst into giggles. “What?”

“He got some!”

Your laughter rises in volume. “He lost his virginity and that’s the end?”

“It was a big moment for him. A triumph of some kind. Like he shed his old skin and left that broken life behind. It was amazing.” Namjoon’s eyes glint with tiny shooting stars and you melt. He always finds poetic meanings in the varieties of the character arcs. You think you just fell in love with him all over again.

“That’s really beautiful,” you admit. It reminds you of something. Of something quite personal. “My first time with you changed my life as well.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows curl in tenderness. Dragon eyes widen and round in fervent emotion. He squeezes his arms around you, enfolding you in a hug. Kisses you warmly. Strokes your hair down your back. Your own eyes pool with little tears with the intimate knowledge that you chose the right person to unfold your raw femininity with. No one, no man other than him could have created such a safe for that to happen.

“Tell you what,” Namjoon says a bit hoarsely. “I saw us in it.”

You hum, encouraging him to continue. Crave for more of his thoughts and confidential findings. Its fire spreading through your body, as each word of his registers in your brain, always makes you feel phenomenally alive. You’re not timid to avow that it’s your addiction. Shame doesn’t know you.

“Elena was on top and he was watching her. In awe of her,” he murmurs, caressing your cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Made me think of our last time. A life changing experience of mine as well.”

You welcome the fire and suspire with sudden desire, eyes lidding. Your heart begins to thump. Namjoon studies your reaction.

“You remember well, don’t you?” He nudges his nose against yours. “I was in awe of you just the same.”

It’s impossible not to remember. The memory consumes your mind every waking hour. Gets you needy in ways you haven’t felt before. Namjoon had you sat on his lap among the fluffiness of your innumerable pillows and plushies. Had you do all the work as he focused on the sleekness of your freshly moisturized calves, its coconut aroma interfused with the scent of sex and the euphony of your bounces, ragged breaths and broken moans making his head all fucked up. He was loud himself, more loud than you ever recalled him being. Reading your body at the mercy of the pleasure his hard length was giving you with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Not once did he take his eyes off of you, not once did he help you. Just gripped your calves. Your thighs. Your tits all in his face. Only when you came hard, out of your own delightful merit, did his eyes roll back. You left his hips glazed with the evidence of your well-deserved orgasm, a porcelain statue made glossy.

A little later, during your pillow talk, he told you he’d found the idea of you using him while getting yourself off extremely hot. Made him more hard than he’d been in a while. Begged you to be even more selfish next time, adding an indistinct, ‘well, of course, if you want’ to the end of his sentence because he’s Namjoon.

“I do,” you breathe. “Touched myself to it this morning while you were still asleep.”

Namjoon groans. “God.” He kisses the side of your neck. Gets close to your ear. “You wanna do it again, hm? Wanna fuck me?”

You might burst. His closeness, his heat, his need to ask for your consent turns you unstable. You’re choked up on your words, mind too fuzzy to say something. Turned on. Fucked up.

“You wanna show me how you touched yourself?” Namjoon continues, but you shake your head against the side of his face.

You had touched yourself in the shower. Couldn’t say no to the impulse. Sharing that part of you for his eyes to see isn’t something you’re quite ready for. To you, it’s still something that’s yours. Something private. A courage you have yet to pluck up. You’re afraid to give him this last part of your femininity.

“Not today,” you whisper, planting a kiss on his neck. Feel him shiver. “I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

Withdrawing from your neck, Namjoon looks you dead in the eye, brows twisted in stern seriousness. “Don’t ever apologize for something like that again. Hear me when I say that.”

You squeeze his shoulder, the corners of your mouth lowering in a pout. Thankfulness grips your heart and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

“You know this is why we do this right?” he asks you. “Why I ask you these questions? I need to always know what you’re comfortable with so I don’t make a mistake.”

You nod. “Yes, Namjoon, I know and I’m so thankful.”

“Good. I’ll never push you to do anything you don’t want. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“That’s my girl.

You grab him by the back of his neck and engulf him in a hug. Luckiest girl in the world? That you are. The fact that you’re his is still something you can’t wrap your head around.

“We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything tonight—”

“No, Namjoon.” You withdraw. “Look.” Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you slip his hand beneath the confines of your panties.

His breath shakes when he reaches your soaked folds. He traces your hole with his middle finger and your hips follow his movement, the pleasure so faint but so good that you flutter your eyes closed.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah, I need you. Need more,” you breathe out. “Can’t leave me like this, can you?”

Namjoon hums. “No, I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of this pussy.”

He kisses you. Massages his tongue against yours. You buck your hips into his hand and Namjoon hears your body language. Takes his fingers up and rubs your swollen clit from side to side, quickening his pace as he swallows your moans down his throat. Gets angry at your tight leggings hindering him in giving you more, so he gets on his knees and swiftly pulls them down along with your underwear.

“Sit on the counter.”

You comply right away. Namjoon takes your feet in his hands and gently removes your slippers, removing your garments fully so they don’t pool around your ankles. He needs your legs spread and he needs them spread wide for what he’s about to do to you.

Torso long enough to reach you, he remains on his knees. Runs his hands up the back of your thighs to guide you into the position he wants you in. “Lock your arms around the back of your knees. Don’t let go.”

You do as he says, biting your lips in nervousness. Intertwine your hands together. Prepare yourself to die.

Namjoon studies your dewy pussy, index and middle finger mimicking the letter V as he slides them up and down your folds, squeezing just right to hear you mewling. Your knees being so close together makes her look a lot more pillowy and you hear Namjoon breathe hard, absolutely hypnotized by the beauty of your flesh.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping down my hand.” He withdraws his fingers to show you how your slick trickles down the lines on his palm, changing the course of his life once and for all.

Your clit throbs, breath matching his. “Please, Namjoon.”

He curses inaudibly. Brings his fingers back down to your folds, squeezes your lips and your clit together. Hisses at the sweet whimpery sounds spilling out of your mouth. Presses tighter so you whine needily for him. Takes you into his mouth when he accomplished what he wanted, tonguing your clit in slow agonizing circles that has you buckling your hips again. Puts his hands on your thighs to keep you down, flicking fast to absolutely abuse the fuck of you. Dragon eyes zeroing on yours, he gives you the hypnosis that your pussy did to him as he sucks on your bundle of nerves. You can’t even scream. Can’t breathe. The pleasure overwhelms you wholly and straps you down. There’s nothing you can do but take it.

You come hard on his tongue. Namjoon laps it all up gladly. And when he’s finished, he stands up and slips those two digits that ruined you into your hole. Doesn’t move them. Lets you adjust instead.

“One more,” he mutters. “Please.”

You nod.

“Use your words or we’re stopping.”

You groan and close your eyes, your thighs visibly shaking in your iron grip from your orgasm. “Yes, Namjoon, one more. I’ll come for you.”

Namjoon places a wet kiss on your thigh to praise you, and to thank you as well. Begins to move his fingers promptly, but can’t seem to get enough of your skin. Proceeds to make it shiny with his liquid love, sucking it to bruise you. To remember this moment a little more fondly in the morning.

Creating a trail up to the back of your knee, his digits pick up the speed. The pool of slick you left in his palm sloshes with each rapid thrust of his hand. He looks back at you and sees you lost in the pleasure, eyes lidded and unfocused. “Look at me.”

You do, weakly.

“Just a little bit more and I’ll fuck you, all right?”

You’re about to nod, but decide against it. “Mhm, yes, Namjoon, fuck.”

He smiles down at you. Your relief inches closer. “I’m so proud of you for speaking up today. For letting me know.”

You could cry right now. Because of his fingers making you feel so good. Because of his kindness making you feel so safe. It all closes in on you and you whimper.

Abruptly, Namjoon unravels your grip on your knees and kisses you, tongue slipping in. You come all over his hand, without meaning to, and he doesn’t stop. On the contrary, Namjoon fucks you harder. Takes all four of his fingers and strums your clit, prolonging your orgasm, swallowing down all of your moans.

“Come on.”

Namjoon helps you down. If it weren’t for his arms holding you steady, you would’ve collapsed on the floor. Your legs shake, muscles taut and tense.

“I got you.”

Sat on the floor with his joggers and boxers pulled beneath his crotch, he pulls you down on his lap. A wisp of precum adorns his tip and you wrap your hand around it, collecting it with your thumb. Watch him as you swirl your tongue around the digit before sucking on it, letting go with an obscene pop. Namjoon licks his lips, hands clasping your hips hard enough to bruise you. Twitches in your other hand.

“Don’t fucking do that to me, baby.”

You laugh almost inaudibly, drunk on him. “Are you gonna come in me?”

He replaces your hand, holding his length at the base for you to sink down. And you do, gasping softly at his thickness. Your dewiness helps it to be a smooth ride.

“Gonna pump you full. Leave you dripping,” he promises, voice restrained. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.”

One thing about Namjoon, he’s a man of his word.

Seated perfectly on him, he waits for you to adjust. Alleviates the tremble of your thighs with his palms, massaging the muscles. Takes off your shirt and flings it across the kitchen. Gropes your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You start to grind on him, throwing your head back. He latches onto your nipple and flicks the nub with his tongue. You lose your mind, leaking down his balls.

“Ready?” he asks against the fullness of your breast.

“Yeah, fuck me, Joon.”

He thrusts into you once to watch you fall apart. Locks your arms behind your back. Grabs your forearms for his use.

“You forgot something.”

He thrusts again, harder this time.

“What?” you breathe out, meekly.

“What word do you use when you want to ask for something?”

He watches you as you work it out in your brain. Fucks into you three more times, equally hard, to disrupt you.

“Fuck, sorry. Please, Joon, please.”

He grinds, hips rotating in circles.

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Now use it.”

Namjoon envelops your tit in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola. Sucking. Keeping up the agonizing pace. Groaning when you clench down on him.

“Please, hmph, fuck me.”

Your breast bounces back when he lets go, biting his lip. “Knew you could do it,” he coos. “Smart fucking girl.”

He begins to fuck you properly. Thrusting up and down as he holds you steady, keeping his eyes locked on yours. As he takes control of your squirming, leaving his fingerprints on your forearms and waist. You’re breathless, whimpering, on the verge of sobbing. So turned on and needy for him that the emotions brim in you, threatening to spill over.

“Aren’t you?” Namjoon continues. “Aren’t you a smart girl?”

You nod, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I’m a smart girl.”

He spanks your ass to reward you and you arch your back. Tits all in his face. He’s mesmerized watching them bounce and nearly slap against each other, nubs hard and pointed. He licks them up, flicking them with his tongue. You round your shoulders a little in pleasure, his strong grip not letting you fold like your body wants.

“That’s right. So smart and good for me. So fucking wet. Making me lose my mind.”

Namjoon kisses you. Inhales you. Withdraws only for a mere second before he’s back, tongue in, toying with you the way you like it. You feel your relief calling your name.

“Namjoon, I’m so fucking close. I’m so close. I’m gonna come,” you whine, forehead pressed against his, face twisted in ecstasy.

Namjoon stops out of the blue and slips out of you. You whine loudly, but before you know it, he carries you to the couch and lays you down on it. Takes off all of his clothes until only his silver chain remains, shining bright in the dim light. He spreads your legs, one limb over the backrest, the other around his thigh. Grips his length and tugs at it a few times, the feeling of your wetness making him slippery pulling moan after moan out of him.

He enters you again and resumes his fast pace, holding your calf in his hand. “Smart girls come on the couch, not on the floor like whores. You got that?”

You nod almost too eagerly, fucked out beyond measure. “Yes, Joon, please make me come. Please, come here.”

Namjoon leans towards you, propping his elbows by your head, cradling you. “I’m here. I’m gonna make you come.”

From this angle, he fucks you more deeply than before, his tip reaching your cervix. You roll your eyes back, but bring them right back to his face when his chain taps you on the chin. You find it so hot that you grind your hips against his, meeting his thrusts, encouraging him to fuck you harder. The chain meets you in erratic staccatos and you scratch your nails down his bare back, the sword-like pendant hurting you in a way that you like.

Namjoon notices. Slows down his movements. Pinches the chain from the back of his neck. Prompts you to lift your head and slides it over, letting it rest in the middle of your breasts. Then fucks you back into the couch.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna breed you. Hm. You want that, don’t you?”

The cord tightens in your lower belly. The bulge of where his tip is hitting you nudges him in his stomach and he looks down. Curses.

“Look.”

You follow his eyes and moan. “Namjoon, Namjoon, please come in me. I’m so close. Wanna feel you. Please.”

He grunts, nodding his head. Licks his fingertips and presses them against your clit. Pleasures you in fast and swift jerks until you’re knocking your head back. Only when he grabs your jaw and kisses you does the cord snap, his lips being your ultimate undoing.

Namjoon presses you down with his body, keeps you calm and collected. Kisses you all through it, your jaw, your neck, your cheeks. Then his thrusts turn sloppy and his cock twitches in you. He gives you one final hard thrusts and fills you up, groaning against your mouth.

You’re smoothing down the sting of your scratches on his back when he pulls out of you and his cum drips out of you. You wish you could see what he sees, hand on his mouth, careful to catch his drool. You push out more for him and he curses, fondling your pussy with his thumb before he pumps it back in.

He comes back to you and kisses you. Fixes your hair. Caresses your cheek. Helps you stand on your feet as he leads you into the shower. Washes every inch of your body, heedful of the bruises he left on the back of your thigh. Lathers your hair in your favorite shampoo. Wraps you in a towel. Wanted to moisturize your body, but you told him off, knowing both of you would get horny again. You let him brush your hair, though, placing a comb in his hand. He’s gentle as he undoes the knots, then he blowdries your hair.

And you do the same for him.

Once the pillow touches your cheeks, you’re both out like a light.

BACK to masterlist

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

3K notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 5 months ago

Note

Can u make more kol mikaelson smut stories pleaseeee

Rivalry

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Klaus Mikaelson and Kol Mikaelson x Vampire!f!Reader} When Kol interrupts your date with Klaus, the tension between the brothers escalates into a fiery game of wills, and you can’t help but revel (and take full advantage) of the madness.

♡♡ This is dedicated to the many requests I've received for more Kol AND Klaus! Here ya go you filthy animals (affectionate)~ ♡♡

4.7k words - Warnings: smuttty af, threesome, Kol being a teasing menace, jealous and possessive Klaus, furniture breaking, a bit of of chasing, wall breaking, wall sex, standing sex, oral sex (f!receiving), double penetration, blood drinking, ripping clothes (rude!), power dynamics (reader is the boss), && the two wildest originals competing for your affection...

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

Over the years, you have been in a lot of strange situations. It sort of came with the territory of being a vampire. In all of your centuries of living, however, you had never quite been in one as strange as this.

It was one thing to be desired by a man. That happened to you from time to time. And it usually ended with you taking a generous bite out of their neck before leaving them on the floor.

It was a totally different situation, however, when two of the strongest of your species were both trying to seduce you.

The smell of delicious food wafted through the dining room as the servants placed the plates on the table. Klaus sat at the head, a smug look on his face. His gaze sweeping over you like you were one of the hors d'oeuvres.

You knew better than to fall for his charms. But that didn't mean it wasn't a pleasant thought. He had always been rather handsome, and his advances weren't exactly unwanted.

Your gaze fell to the other end of the table, where his younger brother sat, flashing a smirk at you.

If Klaus was charming, then Kol was downright lewd. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he'd made a point to show you exactly what was on his mind.

You shifted in your seat as you recalled his whispered words in your ear, the feel of his breath on your neck. The way he described exactly what he wanted to do with you if given the chance.

Klaus on the other hand had an entirely different approach. One of a much more romantic nature. He had invited you to this private dinner with the intention of getting to know you better. But it seemed that Kol wasn't going to give him the opportunity.

You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or terrified. Two Original vampires were vying for your attention, and you could practically feel the testosterone thickening the air around you.

It was a strange dynamic, to say the least.

You could tell Klaus was growing irritated. His eyes narrowed at his younger brother, his lips forming a hard line. He didn't want to act aggressive in front of you, this was a delicate game, and he wasn't about to throw away his chances.

Kol knew that, and exploited it mercilessly.

"So, love, have I mentioned how ravishing you look in that dress?" Kol grinned, his gaze slowly moving down your body, burning a path in his wake.

You looked down at your outfit, smoothing the silk against your thighs.

"Thank you, Kol," you replied politely. You could tell that Klaus was silently fuming, his hand tightening on the silverware.

"What's the matter, Nik? You look like someone spit in your drink." Kol remarked, leaning back in his chair.

Klaus shot him a warning glance.

"I don't recall sending you an invitation to this dinner, little brother," Klaus replied coldly, his eyes darkening.

Kol gave a laugh. "If that's the case, why was there a third place setting?"

You could almost feel the way Klaus's blood was boiling, his anger threatening to burst out of him at any moment. But he took a deep breath, glancing at you before answering.

"Because, you compelled the staff to lay it out for you," Klaus said between gritted teeth.

“Details,” Kol replied with a shrug, his gaze flicking back to you. “But really, Nik, aren’t you glad I came? It would be such a shame to leave her here all alone with you. She deserves a bit of excitement.”

You looked from one brother to the other, sensing the growing tension in the room. You could almost feel Klaus's urge to throttle his younger brother, and Kol's gleeful anticipation.

Part of you wanted to laugh at their childish squabble, but the intensity in their eyes told you this wasn’t a game. Kol’s flirtation and Klaus’s brooding anger tugged at something primal within you, and you couldn't deny how much you liked it.

It was a strange dynamic, to say the least. You had a feeling they’d been fighting over women for centuries, and tonight, you were just the latest battle.

But who said you couldn't enjoy it a little bit?

"As much as I appreciate the compliment, Kol, I must say that your behavior is somewhat inappropriate. I'm here on a date with Klaus," you said, smiling sweetly.

Kol smirked, leaning forward as if your words were an invitation rather than a reprimand. “A date with Nik? How quaint. Did he ever tell you how his dates usually end up? With their throat ripped out. Or at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes both, depending on his mood."

"You're a fine one to talk," Klaus growled, gripping the edge of the table. "We both know you’re the last person who should be commenting on relationships. You’ve left more broken hearts and bodies in your wake than I care to count.”

Kol laughed, the sound light and cutting. “And you haven’t? Please. Should we bring up poor Aurora or Camille? Or are we skipping over that delightful tragedy tonight?”

The mention of her name sent a flicker of pain across Klaus’s face, quickly replaced by simmering anger. “Say another word, and I’ll tear that smug grin off your face.”

Kol leaned forward, his voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “Go ahead, Nik. Show her exactly how much of a monster you really are.”

You cleared your throat, cutting through the escalating tension. Both brothers froze, their gazes snapping to you, as though suddenly remembering you were still there.

“Boys,” you said, your voice calm but laced with amusement, “as much as I’m enjoying this little exchange, it seems a bit counterproductive, don’t you think? After all, you both claim to be interested in me, yet here you are, bickering like children over a toy."

Kol smirked. "Are you suggesting we share?"

Klaus let out a growl, and you held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Now, I can leave, or we can try and have a civilized conversation. But I suggest we stop acting like fools and start behaving like the centuries-old vampires that we are," you said, your words were firm, but the hint of a smile on your lips betrayed the playful tone behind them.

There was a pause as the two brothers stared at you, considering your words.

"What sort of civilized conversation did you have in mind, love?" Klaus asked, his tone dripping with innuendo.

"We are all adults here, let's speak plainly about what we want," you replied, shifting in your seat as you met their piercing gazes.

Kol smirked, his eyes lingering on your breasts a little too long. "I'd like to take that pretty dress off you with my teeth and make you scream so loud the neighbors can hear it."

You chuckled and took a sip of your wine, feeling the flush spread across your cheeks. "That's one idea. Any others?"

Klaus's voice was a low growl, the threat of violence hanging in the air. "I'd like to show you how a real man would please you, make you forget all about this foolish boy at the other end of the table,"

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth turning up. "A real man. Hmmm. Are you saying I should go ask Elijah to keep me company?"

Klaus and Kol both shot you an offended look.

"Elijah?!" They said in unison, nothing brought them together faster than a chance to insult their elder brother.

You chuckled, reveling in their outrage.

"What?" You smiled coyly. "He's always so well-mannered…"

Klaus let out a frustrated noise. "Now you are just being cruel."

You couldn't help but laugh. The entire situation was ridiculous, and yet somehow it was working.

"I suppose you both have your merits," you said, trailing your fingers along the table. "But I don't see why I should choose between you two… when we could all have a little fun together,"

The brothers glanced at each other, the tension rising between them. They had gleefully walked right into your trap.

Kol recovered first, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so that's what you want? You are such a greedy little thing."

"Perhaps," you mused, tilting your head to the side. "But don't tell me the thought doesn't excite you."

You could see the flash of heat in their eyes, the way their gazes trailed over you hungrily.

Kol smirked, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I'm game if Nik is."

Klaus was quiet, observing the two of you with calculating eyes. Trying to figure out how he could still manage to come out on top.

You could practically hear the gears turning in his mind, searching for some angle.

You weren't about to let him ruin the moment, so you rose from your seat, letting your hair fall loosely over your back. Their gazes followed you as you turned towards the door, looking back at them over your shoulder.

"Well, gentlemen, I'll be waiting upstairs. See who can make it to me first," you said with a smirk, before walking out of the room.

The moment the door closed behind you, you could hear a scuffle, furniture being overturned, as the two of them fought for the upper hand.

You laughed to yourself, heading up the stairs, your steps quick and light. This was going to be fun.

When you entered Klaus' room, the window was open, the cool night air flowing through the curtains. The soft light from the candles cast a warm glow over the bed.

You ran a finger over the sheets, feeling the smooth silk against your skin. A wicked smile tugged at your lips, as you slipped off your heels, leaving them by the foot of the bed.

This was a game, and the rules were simple. Make them work for it.

A crash, followed by Kol’s laughter, echoed through the hall. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the chaos you’d left behind.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall. You spun around, feigning surprise, as Klaus stalked into the room. His shirt was torn, blood smeared across his chest, and his eyes burned with feral intensity.

“I see you won the race,” you said, your voice teasing as your eyes roamed over him.

Klaus closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you close. He scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder like a caveman, before turning and carrying you out of the room.

Kol was yelling something from the end of the hall, but you couldn't make out his words. Klaus didn't even look at him, his gaze fixed on his destination.

"Where are we going?" You asked with a laugh as he carried you down the hallway.

"Somewhere Kol can't bother us," he replied, his tone dark.

You giggled as he began to vamp speed, the walls and furniture blurring around you. He carried you up several flights of stairs, past rooms filled with art and books, until he reached a spare bedroom on the uppermost floor.

It was a simple room, the bed neatly made, with a small table and chairs set by the window. It was clear that no one had been in here for quite some time.

You could hear Kol's muffled curses, as he tried to track you down.

"Don't worry, love, I've locked the doors. He'll have to find his own entertainment tonight," Klaus said, his voice rough with desire.

He dropped you onto the bed, climbing on top of you, his eyes blazing. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands on your waist, pulling your body flush against his own.

His mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking at your skin, as his hands moved lower, pulling the hem of your dress up.

His touch was possessive, claiming, and you loved it.

A loud crack and a shout rang through the house, as the lock on the door snapped, Kol finally managed to find you.

"Really, Nik, I thought we agreed on sharing," Kol huffed, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his clothing torn and dirty from the fight.

Klaus didn't bother looking up, his lips trailing lower, finding the exposed skin above your breast.

"We never agreed to anything. The rules are what I say they are," Klaus replied, his voice low and dangerous.

"Both of you stop," you sighed, pushing Klaus back.

He pulled away reluctantly, his eyes burning with desire, but he knew better than to argue. You reached out for Kol, gesturing him to join you on the bed.

"You boys want me? Prove it," you purred, a smile tugging at your lips.

Klaus and Kol looked at each other, both realizing at the same time that they had the same idea.

In a blur of movement, they were on you, their hands tearing at your clothes. Klaus gripped the fabric of your dress, ripping it clean off, the shreds falling to the floor.

"That was expensive," you protested, a playful pout on your lips.

"I'll buy you a new one," he replied, his lips capturing yours, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you up into a sitting position. “So many new ones,”

Kol knelt behind you, his fingers tracing along the curve of your neck, the soft skin of your back. He tugged on the clasp of your bra, unhooking it, and letting the fabric fall away.

Klaus' eyes darkened as he got a full view of your bare chest, the soft, round globes of flesh, the rosy peaks begging to be touched. He lowered his mouth, sucking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.

You moaned, your hands tangling in his curls, pressing his face closer. His mouth was hot and wet, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Kol's hands moved to your hips, pulling you back against him. Klaus let out an irritated growl as his lips were pulled from your skin.

"Don't get greedy, brother," Kol said, his tone teasing. "I think you owe me a chance at this beautiful girl."

Klaus shot him an annoyed look, his hands sliding up your thighs, his fingers teasing over the lace of your panties. You could feel the tension between them, the raw desire threatening to spill over into violence at any moment. Being caught between them felt like being stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you relished the danger of it.

It was overwhelming, the feel of their mouths on you, the way they fought for control. You weren't sure who to give in to first, their hands and mouths bringing you to new heights of pleasure.

Klaus slid your panties off, tossing them to the side before grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, spreading your legs apart. His lips trailed down your stomach, pausing at the sensitive spot just above your sex.

His eyes met yours as he lowered his head, running his tongue slowly along your slit, before finding your clit. You gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him close. The sensation of his mouth on you was electric, and you could feel your climax building.

Kol watched with hungry eyes, his hand stroking himself through his pants. He could see how close you were, the way your hips moved up to meet Klaus's face.

Kol placed his hand under your chin, tilting your head back towards his. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, showing you how he would do it if he was the one between your thighs.

Klaus looked up at the two of you, feeling a surge of jealousy. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, drawing out your pleasure. He wanted you to fall apart on his lips, to know that it was him who made you scream.

Your breath came in short gasps, your body trembling as your orgasm built. You could feel the heat coiling in your belly, the delicious tension growing stronger with every flick of Klaus's tongue.

"So sensitive," Kol whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I enjoy the way you respond to us. I wonder how many times we can make you come tonight."

He gave your nipple a pinch, making you gasp, his eyes dark with lust, watching as you began to lose control. His hand gripped your hair, holding your mouth against his, as you moaned into his kiss.

Your finger tugged on Klaus' hair, your thighs tightening around his head. He held you down as you came undone, your back arching, your cries muffled against Kol's lips.

He didn't stop, his tongue moving relentlessly as you writhed under him, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your hips jerked up, trying to get away, but he pinned you down, forcing you to ride it out.

Kol pulled back from the kiss, a satisfied smirk on his lips. His gaze shifted downwards, taking in the sight of his brother buried between your thighs, your body shaking with pleasure.

"Nik, don't be selfish. Let me have a taste," Kol said, his tone teasing.

Klaus finally pulled back, his mouth and chin glistening with your wetness. He shot Kol a quick look of annoyance, before moving to gently kiss along your inner thigh.

You smiled, letting out a happy sigh as you sat up, pulling away from them, letting them admire your naked form. They looked at you with hunger in their eyes, their gazes trailing over your curves.

"You are both far too dressed for this," you said, teasing them.

Klaus and Kol exchanged a glance, before flashing to undress in the blink of an eye. You looked at their bare chests, the smooth muscles and ridges of their abs. They were so different from each other, and yet the same in so many ways.

They stood there, with the same look in their eyes, a wild hunger, a feral need to claim and possess. It made your heart race, knowing that they both wanted you so desperately.

You giggled, kneeling on the bed and reveling in their desire. "Much better."

"Come here," Klaus said, his voice low and commanding.

You shook your head, smiling coyly. "No. I want you both to come to me."

Klaus's eyes flashed, his gaze darkening with lust. He reached out to grab you, but you slipped away, moving back onto the bed.

Kol let out a low chuckle, watching his brother's frustration. "She's a tease, isn't she? But worth the chase."

Your eyes flashed with mischief as you beckoned them closer, watching as they both started to crawl onto the bed.

The moment their knees touched the mattress you quickly got to your feet and bolted, running across the room. You heard them cursing behind you as they gave chase, more crashing sounds of furniture and objects being knocked over.

A pair of hands grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off your feet. You let out a squeal of surprise and delight as Kol turned you around and pressed you into the wall, his body pinning yours.

He grinned, his face inches from yours, his hand moving up to cup your breast. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, and you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you.

"I've got you now," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

You bit your lip, letting out a soft moan as he rolled his hips, grinding against you.

You reached down, wrapping your fingers around Kol's length, feeling him grow even harder in your hand. He let out a groan, his hips bucking against your touch.

"Greedy little thing," he muttered, his eyes fluttering closed.

You smirked, stroking him slowly, enjoying the way he shuddered against you.

"You like this," you teased, echoing his earlier words.

Kol let out a growl, his hand gripping your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He pinned you against the wall with his hips, his cock brushing against your entrance. You moaned, he was so close to where you wanted him, his heat making your body ache with need.

"Please," you breathed, arching your back, desperate for more.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a wicked hunger as he eased his cock inside you. You let out a gasp, feeling him stretch you open, filling you completely.

Kol began to move, his hips rocking slowly, savoring the feel of your tight warmth around him. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

He pulled you away from the wall as you clung to him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back to the bedroom, lifting you up and down as he went. He felt amazing inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots, making you moan and whimper into his kiss.

The moment you were returned to the bedroom you felt Klaus behind you, his warm hands trailing down your spine, his hard length pressing against your backside. He leaned in, nipping at your earlobe, his breath hot on your neck.

It was intoxicating, being caught between them, their bodies pressed against yours. The way they touched you, the way they moved together, it was enough to drive you mad.

You pulled away from Kol's lips, gasping for air. "Fuck... I need..."

Klaus chuckled, his hand slowly moving down your spine. "What do you need, love? Tell us."

His fingers slid between your ass cheeks, finding the tight ring of muscle. You moaned, arching your back, feeling the tip of his finger pressing against you.

Klaus smirked, his eyes meeting Kol's over your shoulder. "I think she wants this."

Kol let out a low laugh, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, not quite letting you reach the edge. "That can be arranged."

You gasped, feeling Klaus' finger push inside, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You hadn't been expecting it, but it felt good, the way he worked you open.

Klaus' finger slid deeper, his other hand grabbing your hair, pulling your head back. "You like that, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to form words, your mind overwhelmed by the pleasure.

Klaus chuckled, his lips brushing against your neck. "You are such a naughty girl. I believe you have done this before, haven't you?"

"Yes," you breathed, your hips moving against them, desperate for more.

Kol groaned, his cock twitching inside you. "Fuck... I didn't think you could be any more perfect, but here you are."

"Mmm," Klaus hummed in agreement, his fingers moving in and out of you, his lips trailing along your jaw. "She's exquisite."

You let out a gasp as you felt the blunt tip of his cock press against your ass. He was gentle, easing his way inside, taking his time to make sure you were ready.

Kol's eyes were dark with lust, his lips parted as he watched Klaus take you. He held you tighter, his hands gripping your hips, as he increased his pace.

You moaned, feeling yourself stretched around their cocks, the pressure building inside you. It was too much, too intense, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

You dug your nails into Kol's shoulders, your breath coming in short gasps as they began to move in sync, holding you between them. They set a punishing pace, their movements rough and animalistic. Your moans became louder, echoing off the walls, as they used your body for their own pleasure.

Your head fell back against Klaus' shoulder, your eyes closing as you gave yourself over to them completely. You could feel the heat coiling in your belly, your orgasm building with every thrust.

"Don't stop," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

Klaus chuckled, his lips trailing along your neck, his hands roaming over your body. "Never."

They both began to kiss along your neck, their tongues running along your veins, your blood pumping fast and steady beneath your skin. You knew what they wanted, it was what all vampires wanted, and you wanted to give it to them.

"Drink from me," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "Please."

They didn't need to be asked twice, their fangs sinking into your flesh. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, the pain mixing with the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by them both.

It was too much, the connection between you growing stronger with each drop of your blood that they took. Your mind was flooded with their desire, their need for you. You could feel their hunger, their lust, and it was intoxicating, blissful, mind blowing.

The world fell away as you reached your peak, your body shuddering as your orgasm ripped through you. You moaned, burying your face in Kol’s chest, the sound only making them fuck you harder.

Your body tensed, your legs shaking, as you rode out your high. You felt Kol come first, his cock twitching inside you, his release filling you with warmth.

Klaus wasn't far behind, his fangs still buried in your neck as he spilled inside you, his hips jerking against your behind.

Your head was spinning, your body limp in their embrace. Klaus pulled his fangs from your neck, his tongue lapping up the last few drops of your blood.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “So good for us.”

Klaus carefully eased out of you, letting Kol carry your trembling form over to the bed. He laid you down gently, his touch tender as he brushed the hair from your face.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs like lead, as you tried to catch your breath. It was an effort just to keep your eyes open, your eyelids fluttering closed.

Kol chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You’re incredible, darling. Utterly exquisite.”

“Damn, I love when you two cooperate,” you said with a giggle, your voice still breathless but laced with amusement.

Kol laughed, settling beside you, his arm draped over your waist. “We aim to please,” he replied, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

Klaus joined you on the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover your naked form. He wrapped an arm around you, his other hand brushing against your hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“Do you often have two men in your bed?” Klaus asked, his tone light but teasing, a small smile playing on his lips.

You smiled, your eyes still closed. “Sometimes,” you replied, the hint of mischief in your voice unmistakable. “But they usually aren’t as resilient as you two. Mortals can be so fragile.”

Kol laughed, shaking his head. “Then it seems we’ve ruined you for anyone else.”

You chuckled, the sound soft and satisfied. “Maybe so.”

Klaus chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Rest now, love. You’ll need your strength for later.”

Your eyes fluttered open at that, a grin tugging at your lips. “Are you hoping for round two? Because I need very little rest.”

Kol raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, do you now?”

They both chuckled, exchanging a glance that made your heart race, the heat between you all still simmering. Before you could react, they pounced, their bodies pressing against yours as you let out a delighted squeal.

As their hands roamed over your skin, you felt a warmth deeper than just the physical. The possessiveness in Klaus’s gaze and the playful hunger in Kol’s touch made it clear: you weren’t just a passing fancy to them. You were theirs, and they were yours.

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fiendishfables · 1 year ago

Note

I would love to see this- Lucifer is the strongest entity in Hell, and it turns him on like nothing else when his lover wrestles him for dominance. He will go straight up feral over that.

Lucifer Morningstar wrestling his S/O for dominance...

Headcanons + Drabble

warnings: nsfw, hints at degradation, mentions of blood, biting, scratching, power-dynamics, rough(er) love

words: 806

a/n: I had way too much fun with this- thanks for this lovely, unique ask, I hope I did it justice! It was a bit difficult for my pee brain to come up with things to write, but the people need to be fed; here is your feast

✡ It's hot, its rough, and it's primal

✡ Ideally, Lucifer never tended to like it when anyone challenged his authority, no matter what over

✡ But if you, his lover, did so, he had the benefits of being able to take you however he pleased after you get the chide out of your system (with consent of course), knowing damn well how much it riles him up

✡ When the two of you wrestle, its almost like two wild animals, fighting for a meal that could very well end up being your last before a harsh winter rolls in

✡ It doesn't take long for his demon form to make an appearance during your steamy game, allowing him a decent advantage over your regular strength capabilities; you often call him out for 'cheating', but seeing him in such a feral state turns you on like nothing else

✡ You can feel him getting hard the first few minutes of your rough-housing, telling you all you need to know about how much he really enjoys doing things like this with you. His deep, guttural groans are hard to ignore, his wings flaring up as they batter your body with feather-light touches

✡ His claws and fangs are really coming out now. His claws are dug deep into your skin, leaving light (yet effective) scratches on your skin, as he watches the blood well up on the line of the cut, proceeding to then lean down and let his forked tongue lick off the excess mess his claws left behind

✡ Bite marks will litter your body, blood complimenting those areas as well. The stinging sensation they leave can not go unnoticed and they only help add to the different emotions you are feeling in the current moment

✡ Having someone to challenge him, both mentally and physically, gets him going; its admirably hot how you continue to protest that you could take him down if you wanted to, and he likes seeing that smug, confident smirk of yours turn to one of pure pleasure and ecstasy as he proves you wrong, over and over again

✡ Knowing he holds the most power possible for a being in any hellish realm, makes it all the more fun when you try and downgrade that title, even if just in the slightest bit; it's your own little game you like to play with one another, a common game of cat and mouse, or rather, Devil and prey

✡ Lucifer is ravaging your body, fully claiming you this time, letting you know that there is no one but himself that can hold this power over you; it reminds you that he will always be in charge one way or another, no matter how much you question

✡ In the long run though, you both love these feral moments in your relationship, getting to express your shared love for one another even in such a strange, somewhat brutal way

✡ He loves fighting for his right to dominate you, and he never fails to claim it.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The heavy panting and notable scent of sweat on the pair of your bodies seemed to go unnoticed, as the two of you were locked in both an intense staring contest, and a physical fight between your bodies; fingers were locked together, arms continually pushing at the other in an attempt to overthrow them. Your bare skin rubs against each other feverishly, his hard cock still buried deep within you from earlier.

"Do you really think you can overpower me in a battle for dominance, darling? I suggest you give in and just let your King take care of you."

His voice was smooth, soothing almost, aside from his heavy breaths filling your ears. He still sounded like an angel to you all the same.

A feral one.

The two of you had been at this now for a good half-n-hour, trying to secure your position as the dominant party in the sheets for the night, but Lucifer had you pinned underneath his own pale body at this point, using the enhanced strength from his demon form to keep you where you were.

The fight for dominance had been over just as soon as it had started; you both knew this from the beginning.

No matter if you were to be above or beneath him, he would always find a way to end out on top of it all, including yourself.

And by all the Gods, if that didn't make him even sexier in your eyes.

You would easily give yourself up to Lucifer whenever he wanted or needed you; there was no doubt about it and you both shared that same knowledge.

But maybe, if this is where challenging him for dominance got you, then you'd have to indulge in the action more often.

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levisjinchuriki · 6 months ago

Text

midnight - satoru gojo

summary: gojo's new year's resolution is to tell you how he feels, but people keep stealing you away before he gets a chance

warning: fluff, friends to lovers trope, gojo pining after you, a bit of a power dynamic, small amount of angst, kissing

gojo stands near the edge of the room, one hand gripping a glass of something amber and strong, though it’s been forgotten. his other hand rests in pocket, fingers twitching with restless energy. he’s satoru gojo—jujutsu high’s golden boy, the strongest sorcerer, the life of the party…and yet, tonight, he’s anything but.

his sharp blue eyes, usually so carefree and confident, are laser-focused on you standing across the room, leaning into a conversation with a group of his friends.

you’ve always had this intense power over him, even when you weren’t trying. it’s in the way you move— completely unaware of how effortlessly you draw people in. it’s in the way you smile, disarming and genuine, making everyone in your orbit feel like they’re the only person who matters.

but for gojo, it’s your eyes that get him the most. the way you look at him commands his full attention, every time. you see him, really see him, in a way no one else does. and it makes everything else fade away.

you’ve caught him staring more than once tonight. each time, he sees that same knowing look in your eye, your lips quirking into a subtle smile that feels like a challenge. like you’re daring him to do something about the way he looks at you.

his grip tightens around the glass. gojo takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. he’s starting to lose his mind.

you’ve been stolen away from him at least five times tonight. first, it was yuji, grinning ear to ear as he swept you into an animated conversation. then geto had pulled you aside, his smooth charm keeping your attention longer than gojo liked. now, you’re surrounded by a group of people whose names gojo didn’t even bother to catch, their laughter mingling with yours in a way that makes his stomach twist in jealousy.

it’s maddening.

every time he musters up the courage to approach you, someone else beats him to it, pulling you away just before he can do the one thing he’s been too terrified to risk for years. every missed opportunity gnaws at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that even his drink can’t wash away.

because satoru gojo is in love with you.

he always has been. from the moment you first smiled at him with that effortless warmth, he was all in. but fear—sharp, unfamiliar, and relentless—has kept him silent. the thought of losing you, of ruining the bond you’ve shared for years, has held him back, no matter how much it’s tortured him to watch you be with other people.

it ached to see you cry on his shoulder over an ex who didn’t deserve you. it hurt even more to hear himself giving you advice he wished he could follow—advice he wished he could prove to you himself. but through it all, he stayed the supportive best friend, locking his feelings away and pretending that watching you love someone else didn’t shatter him every time.

but tonight, gojo feels different. maybe it’s the champagne fizzing in his veins, making everything feel a little lighter. maybe it’s the delusional bravery that comes with every new year, the promise of new beginnings and the freedom to act on desires that have been bubbling under the surface. or maybe it’s the way you keep looking at him like that—like you’re waiting. like you already know.

his chest tightens as he lifts the glass to his lips, downing the drink in one long, burning swallow. he grimaces, but the rush of liquid courage steadies him momentarily.

enough is enough.

glass abandoned on a nearby table, gojo straightens, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with ease as he makes his way toward you. his pulse is pounding, his nerves are screaming, but his eyes stay locked on you, unwilling to let anyone else take you away this time.

“can i steal her for a sec?” gojo interrupts smoothly as he approaches the group. his tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it—a subtle claim that leaves no room for argument. his towering frame and commanding presence seal the deal as his hand presses against your back, guiding you away without giving the others a chance to respond.

you let him lead you, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him. he feels the warmth of your gaze, the way it lingers, and it does little to calm the pounding of his pulse.

“finally decided to come out of your corner, gojo?” you tease, your voice low and laced with amusement.

“i wasn’t in a corner” he lies. your raised brow and knowing grin let him know you’re not buying it for a second.

“right. and i wasn’t waiting all night for you to talk to me” you counter smoothly, the challenge in your tone making his stomach flip. the glint in your eye—mischievous and just a little smug—nearly crumbles him. he stammers for a moment, trying to form a response, but nothing coherent comes out.

“you’ve been avoiding me” your voice drops in volume as you step closer. the intimacy of the gesture steals the air from his lungs.

“i haven’t—”

“you have” your voice is firm, but still laced with that teasing edge that drives him insane. “you’ve been staring at me all night like you want something, and yet, here i am, talking to everyone but you”.

gojo swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. you’ve cornered him effortlessly, your words peeling away every excuse he might have used to deflect. the way your eyes hold his makes it impossible to look away.

you’ve been watching him just as closely as he’s been watching you, dissecting every glance, every subtle shift in his posture. you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and each time, the slight tilt of your head and that knowing look in your eye made it clear: you know.

you know exactly how much power you have over him.

and you’re enjoying it.

it’s infuriating, the way you have him so completely wrapped around your finger without even trying. but it’s also exhilarating. he’s satoru gojo—untouchable, powerful, confident. no one has ever left him flustered, never made him second-guess himself. but somehow, you’ve brought him to his knees without even trying.

“ten... nine...eight…” the crowd begins the countdown, but he barely hears it, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. now, as he stands before you, the room buzzing with energy and the countdown ticking dangerously close to zero, he knows he can’t wait any longer. the way you’re looking at him— like you’ve been waiting for him to finally catch up—sends a thrill racing through his veins. it’s the curve of your lips—that faint, maddeningly confident smile—that has him completely at your mercy.

there’s no time like the present. either he steps forward and starts the new year without regrets, or he lets the moment slip away and risks losing the person most special to him forever.

“three... two...”

he doesn’t wait for “one”.

without another second of hesitation, gojo pulls you closer, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your face as though you’re something fragile and precious. his thumb brushes gently against your cheek as he leans in.

the kiss is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more—sweet, passionate, and filled with longing after years spent second-guessing and holding back. it’s not just a kiss; it’s an apology, a confession, a promise all wrapped into one moment.

your arms slide up instinctively, fingers threading into his undercut, pulling him impossibly closer. the gesture is possessive, grounding, and when you kiss him back with equal fervor, satoru knows he’s a goner.

you’re everything he’s ever wanted but was too scared to ruin. and now, with the taste of your lips on his, satoru is sure he’s addicted. he feels relieved, euphoric, and he wonders how he’s managed without this for so long.

when gojo finally pulls back, your foreheads rest against each other. you’re both breathless, chests rising and falling in unison.

“took you long enough” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth. your thumb lightly grazes his bottom lip.

for all his usual confidence, there’s a vulnerability in the way he looks at you now. his normally playful eyes are earnest, his gaze searching yours as if afraid this moment might vanish, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

“yeah, well… i like to keep you on your toes” satoru quips with familiar cockiness.

the smirk on your lips a reminder of the truth: he’s in your hands. you’ve always been the one in control. but tonight, you let him have this moment, let him play at being the one holding the reins.

you hum, the sound low and pleased. the way you’re looking at him—with affection, amusement, and something he doesn’t dare name—has his heart racing. for a second, he wonders if his knees might give out entirely.

“happy new year, gojo” you say. your fingers brush the nape of his neck.

“happy new year” he murmurs back, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s afraid to miss a single second of this.

then, before anyone can pull you away again, before the world outside this moment can intrude, he leans in, stealing another kiss. it’s slower this time, less hurried, but no less consuming. the intensity builds, unspoken feelings spilling over with every shared breath, every gentle press of his lips against yours.

it’s just him, you, and the undeniable connection you can no longer ignore.

when you finally part, both of you breathless, he lingers close, hand cradling your cheeks. there’s a softness in his gaze now, a vulnerability that’s rare for him, but is entirely genuine.

as the sound of cheers and laughter signals it’s time to celebrate with everyone, gojo laces his fingers with yours before leading you back toward the others. his grip is firm but gentle. he doesn’t let go, not even when you’re surrounded by the lively crowd.

instead, he gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

he’s determined—no one is going to steal you away again.

not tonight. not ever.

a/n: happy new year, everyone. this is my first fic of 2025!! one of my resolutions is to write more. please send some requests my way!! <3

creds: found on pinterest so i’m not sure who the creator is!

355 notes · View notes

nizhspo · 8 days ago

Text

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader x sukuna ryomen

synopsis: you were just a village girl, stealing glances at your childhood friend by the nile, when the priests came. they said ra had chosen you—that you would speak for the sun god. now, you’re bound in gold and blood, cut open in the name of divinity, and praying to a god who never answers. until one does, and he looks like yuji. he calls himself apophis.

content: ancient egypt au, oracle!reader, apophis!sukuna, ra!gojo, smut, childhood crush on yuji itadori, hints at satosugu, divine possession, religious rituals, ambiguous morality, false comfort, god x mortal dynamics, non-explicit but heavy implications of grooming/manipulation

notes: i am a pjo fan. not a big fan of egyptian mythology but writing this taught me a lot! it’s very long, enjoy!

your village sat quiet along the nile’s shoulder—mud-brick homes crumbling soft at the corners, palm-frond mats curling in the sun, smoke curling thin from clay ovens as the day leaned into late afternoon. the river lapped gently against the bank, thick with reeds and fish and a few empty palm-woven baskets half-submerged at the edge.

yuji was beside you, splashing water onto his neck, shirt stuck damp to his back. his hair, soft and pink like sun-bleached hibiscus, clung in wet curls to his forehead. he had that kind of face that was always open, warm eyes, soft lips, a little scar on his cheek from when he fell trying to impress you with a flip last summer.

he smelled like salt and sunlight and river mud, and even though he was more annoying than helpful, he was the only reason you hadn’t lost your mind already, elbow-deep in fish, swatting flies and muttering to yourself.

“you’re seriously useless,” you muttered without looking up. “you begged to come with me and haven’t touched a single fish.”

“i’m providing moral support,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “besides, i’m pretty sure i dropped the knife back by the docks earlier. i’m gonna go check before some kid steps on it.”

you rolled your eyes as he jogged up the bank, barefoot, humming under his breath. always like this—warm, helpful in theory, more trouble than he was worth in practice. and still, he was your favorite person. always had been. you couldn’t remember a single summer where he hadn’t made you laugh, where you hadn’t fought and made up three times in one afternoon.

and lately, maybe it was more. maybe it wasn’t. you hadn’t figured it out yet, but you liked having him nearby. especially today, when the heat had been unbearable, the fish were slippery and sour-smelling, and the flies wouldn’t leave you alone.

you went back to gutting fish. the basket was nearly full. the sun pressed heavy against your back, and for a second, everything felt still.

then you heard the wheels.

you looked up just in time to see dust curling into the air at the edge of the road. a chariot, gleaming gold, polished so bright it nearly blinded you. the wheels spun slow, deliberate, sun catching on every curve of its carved panels. the sides were etched with symbols you didn’t recognize, winged things, celestial spirals, a burning eye at the center like it was watching you.

two horses pulled it, sleek and massive, coats the color of sand after rain, their manes braided with gold thread that shimmered every time they moved. their hooves barely made a sound against the earth.

your stomach twisted.

who brings a chariot to the edge of a fishing village? to the riverbanks where kids ran barefoot and women scrubbed laundry against smooth stones?

it slowed, stopped, and the horses didn’t snort or shake their heads like normal animals. they just stood, still and silent, as if they’d been carved from marble.

and from it, only one woman stepped down.

she was old. tall, slow-moving, dressed in linen and gold, with a veil wrapped tight around her head and her face mostly shadowed. she said nothing as she approached. just walked through the sand like she was floating.

you froze, hand hovering above the fish basket. she didn’t look dangerous. just strange. like someone important who had gotten lost.

she knelt beside you, movements slow, deliberate, and the smell of her hit you first—frankincense, sweat, and something metallic.

you stared at her, and she looked out toward the river.

“do you think the sun ever gets tired?” she asked suddenly.

you blinked. “uh… what?”

“all that rising. all that heat. day after day. no rest.”

you hesitated. “i mean, i guess i never thought about it.”

“but you believe in the gods, don’t you?” she asked. “you know their names?”

you shifted where you sat. her tone was calm, but her eyes were locked on you.

“i mean… yeah. i guess. i don’t really think about it much. i know what i’m supposed to. you know. offerings. prayers. but i’m not like—super religious.”

you tried to laugh, unsure. something about her made your skin crawl, but you didn’t want to be rude. she could be someone’s grandmother. someone important. a temple woman. a wandering preacher. some weird cult thing. you didn’t know. you just wanted her to finish whatever she was going to say and leave.

she didn’t. instead, she looked at you for a long time, then said, “what is your name?”

you blinked again. “me?”

she nodded.

“uh…” you hesitated, unsure why the question felt so loaded. it was just your name, but something about the way she looked at you made your chest tighten. still, it’s not like you’d ever have to see her again.

“y/n,” you said, cautiously.

the moment your name left your mouth, something shifted, and her entire expression changed. she stood. turned to the road behind her and called, loud and clear, “she’s the one.”

you froze. “what?”

you scrambled backward as her hands reached for you. she grabbed your wrist like it belonged to her.

you recoiled instinctively, heartbeat thudding. “don’t touch me.”

she ignored you. her fingers brushed your skin and her grip tightened. you twisted away, stumbling into the reeds. two more women came out of the chariot. one held something beneath her robes, something angular, rigid, gleaming faintly in the sun.

“get your fucking hands off me.” you yanked your hand back and your pulse shot to your throat. her grip was like iron. she didn’t say anything, just looked down at you, face calm and distant, like she already knew how this ended.

“you are the one,” the first one said, low, certain. “the voice of the sun god. he has spoken.”

you blinked at her like she’d spoken a foreign language.

“what?” your voice came out breathy. disbelieving. “what are you even talking about? ra? are you—what does that have to do with me?”

the other two moved towards you, closer, steady, too calm for how fast your heart was racing.

your stomach dropped. you thought for a brief second—oh my god, these people are going to kill me.

you twisted, screamed.

“yuji!”

your voice cracked.

“yuji!”

you heard footsteps pounding down the path, and he appeared at the top of the bank, wild-eyed, breathless, and shirtless, his chest rising fast with every gasp of air. his skin was flushed and sun-warmed, the tan glow of it made deeper by the heat and sweat clinging to his collarbones. his muscles were lean, carved in a way that looked accidental, like he got them from running too much and working too hard. his shendyt—a faded linen kilt, tied loose at his hips, clung to him damp with river water, twisted from the sprint, the hem stained slightly with mud.

a panicked fire in his eyes. he looked like he’d been ready to fight even before he knew what for. “what the hell is going on?”

you used the distraction from yuji to yank yourself free, stumbling back from the woman’s grip and scrambling behind him, clutching the back of his shoulder like it was the only solid thing in the world.

“they grabbed me,” you sobbed. “i don’t know, they just started saying weird things—”

one of the other women stepped forward, face calm, expression unreadable. “has she bled yet?”

yuji blinked, arm already out in front of you, body angled to shield yours. “what?”

“has she begun the red season?” the woman asked. “passed through the gate of womanhood?”

you froze. the words landed in your chest like a rock. your face flushed hot, a wave of something like shame or horror crawling up the back of your neck. yuji did not need to know that. not like this.

he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, but you didn’t meet his eyes.

then he looked back at them, and his gaze dropped—just for a second, to the glint of metal beneath the older woman’s robes.

his jaw clenched. “why the hell do you need to know that?” he said, voice low. cold. unfamiliar.

he shifted his stance, shoulder squared, foot braced in the sand. a shield now. something immovable.

the women didn’t answer, they only stepped closer, and yuji moved fully in front of you.

“y/n,” he said, his voice sharper this time. “run.”

you hesitated, just for a breath. and then you ran. your feet tore across the sand, breath catching, dress flying. behind you, the fish basket flipped, splashing its contents into the dirt.

you didn’t look back. you ran until your house appeared through the heat-haze, knees buckling as you hit the threshold.

your father looked up from the floor, startled.

“dad—” you gasped. “dad, there’s people—there’s women—i don’t know what’s happening, they grabbed me, and yuji told me to run—dad, i think they have weapons—”

your words tumbled too fast. you couldn’t catch your breath. your heart wouldn’t slow down.

he crossed the room in two steps and caught you in his arms.

“please,” you begged, clutching your father’s tunic, fists trembling in the fabric. “please don’t let them take me.”

his arms tightened around you. he didn’t speak, just held you, like he could hold the world back if he tried hard enough.

and then the light shifted.

the sun, already high, suddenly felt unbearable, gleaming brighter than ever through the slats in the window, cutting across the floor in hot, blinding streaks. it made the dust glow. it made your skin burn. it felt like a spotlight aimed straight at your body, like even the heavens were pointing you out.

you barely had time to breathe before the door crashed open, and hooves thundered outside. shouting erupted like fire. the heat rushed in first, followed by the heavy rhythm of boots on clay.

they stormed in without hesitation—guards, real guards this time. cloaked in gold and thick leather armor, their faces set, eyes forward. they carried scrolls stamped with wax, blades strapped across their backs, and emblems of the gods hanging from their belts like pendants of judgment.

your father tried to block the doorway. shouted something you couldn’t hear, and they shoved past him like he was nothing. they grabbed your arms and you screamed. thrashed, kicked.

“she is the girl,” one of them said. “the one the god has whispered of.”

your father’s voice broke behind you, and then they took you.

they dragged you down the narrow road, barefoot and sobbing. past the neighbors who stood frozen in doorways. past children clutching baskets. past the dock where yuji once tried to teach you to swim and nearly drowned instead.

and from that day on, the world knew your name.

but it was no longer yours.

you were carried to the capital in a litter draped with white linen and perfumed wood, the scent of crushed myrrh suffocating you the whole way. they called you pure. unblemished. a vessel of still water. they said ra had whispered your name into the ears of his priests—that he had seen you. chosen you. that your body was no longer yours. that it was his.

you remember crying your way through it.

the whole ride your eyes were puffy and red, vision blurred with tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how tightly you squeezed them shut. you kept sniffling, chest hitching with every breath, throat raw from sobbing their names.

yuji. your father.

the chariot rattled along the road like it didn’t hear your grief at all, and when the city gates swallowed you whole, the sun blazing down on stone walls too high to see over, it felt like the last part of your life had been scraped clean away.

you remember your arrival only in flashes.

hands scrubbing your limbs with milk and salt. girls in gold veils and hushed voices, pouring warm oil through your tangled hair. your fingers dipped in resin until they stiffened. your lips painted in crushed carmine, staining your mouth like you’d eaten something sacred.

they dressed you in white linen so sheer it felt like mist. layered you in necklaces too heavy for your collarbones. you were draped in gauze-fine linen the color of morning sun, eyes rimmed in kohl and turquoise. a collar of lapis hung heavy on your neck. ringed your arms in copper and gold. they called you chosen. divine. they said the god had waited centuries for an oracle like you.

but all you could think was how small your father had looked when they tore you from his arms. how fast yuji had run to save you.

how you hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.

you remember pacing the temple for hours, its sandstone courtyards bright and humming, full of open doors and soft music, and yet you felt like an animal in a cage too pretty to complain about.

“when will the god speak to me?” you’d asked once, voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to the guards posted outside your chamber. “what if he never does?”

your handmaiden had only smiled, tucking a loose braid behind your ear, fingers still slick with scented oil.

“he will,” she said gently, like it was fact. like it was promise.

but no one ever told you when, or how. or what it would cost.

…

your first vision happened on the sixth night, and it didn’t feel like prophecy—it felt like possession.

you’d been walking toward the temple, the heat baked into the stone beneath your bare feet, the towering statues of falcons and gods casting long, warped shadows over your path. the sky above was a dull, unblinking gold. incense curled from bronze dishes in the corners. your handmaiden was a few steps behind you, humming something low.

and then something shifted. cracked. split you open like a tomb.

your body went hot all at once, then cold, then numb. your fingers seized. your breath caught in your throat. your knees nearly buckled. your handmaiden called out, said something sharp to one of the guards, but it was already too late.

your eyes rolled back so far all you saw was black, thick, and endless. the inside of your skull stretching far too wide.

you smelled incense and myrrh. and then—

he was there.

ra.

he stood in the center of your mind like it was a throne room. everything around him shimmered, shifting with heat. the sky above was blinding gold, cracked like stained glass. beneath your feet, the ground pulsed with slow, molten light. it felt like standing on the crust of the sun.

and behind him, above him, watching you, were eyes, real, golden, and unblinking. they hovered in the air like stars that had forgotten to burn. some were huge, wide as gates, irises ringed in sunfire. others blinked into view and disappeared, slow and reptilian. they followed you wherever you moved, even if you didn’t move at all. even if you couldn’t.

“you noticed them,” he said, smiling.

his hair was white-gold and wind-blown, too soft to make sense of, like strands of moonlight layered over flame. his skin glowed the way polished stone does when it’s been held too long in the sun, bronze, radiant, alive. his robe shimmered with woven gold thread, sleeveless and split at the sides, falling off his shoulders like light couldn’t quite cling to him.

his mouth curved upward, amused. following your gaze to the eyes hanging in the gold-lit air.

“don’t worry about the eyes,” he said. “they help me… discern,” he said lightly, like it wasn’t meant to sound ominous.

then he smiled.

“truth tends to hide, you know.”

he took a single step forward and the floor cracked. “you’ll speak for me now,” he said, voice smooth and bright like sunlight off water. “lucky you.”

he tilted his head, grinning. “i don’t let just anyone talk on my behalf.”

his smile turned just a little wider. “and please,” he said. “call me satoru.”

he was beautiful in a way that hurt to process. hair white as salt, soft and glowing like silk dipped in moonlight. skin bronzed and radiant, every inch of it gleaming like he’d been carved from sunlight and polished with gold leaf. his lashes were thick and pale, his jaw sharp and regal, his smile lazy but knowing. and his eyes—

his eyes were impossible.

icy blue, bright like the sky over the desert at noon. but they weren’t soft. they were focused, like flames trapped in frozen glass, like lightning waiting to strike.

and just before everything went white—

he winked. casual. playful. like this was all just a little inside joke between you and god.

you gasped awake with a sharp jolt, body drenched in sweat, the smell of frankincense thick in your lungs. the chamber spun around you. the stone was cool beneath your back. your hands were trembling.

the others had already gathered. they wept, clapped and shouted, fell to their knees.

“the oracle has spoken!” they cried.

you were pulled upright, praised, paraded through the outer halls like something sacred. someone pressed a diadem into your hair of rubies, sunstone, plumes of red and white. they placed rings on your fingers, painted your lips again, called you chosen.

you didn’t remember what you’d said. you weren’t even sure you had spoken at all.

and then the silence settled, and life for them just went on.

you were the oracle now. not a girl. not a person. just another vessel carved out for a god to pour himself into. they called you chosen, divine, blessed.

but no one listened when you tried to talk about your dad, or yuji, or home. no one asked if you missed the sound of frogs chirping in the shallows at dusk. no one noticed the way your voice shook during prayers, or how your fingers twitched when the guards walked too close. no one cared that you woke up crying most nights, gasping like you’d surfaced from drowning.

that sometimes, after visions, you sat for hours in the far corner of the temple, staring at the way the candles flickered shadows onto the wall, hoping they’d dance into something familiar.

no one cared, except for your handmaiden, shoko.

she was older. sharp-eyed, quiet, always pulling you gently away when the priests grew too eager or when your legs buckled after a long vision. she smelled like cloves and always snuck you dates from the kitchens when she thought you needed something sweet. she never bowed to you like the others. never gasped when your eyes lit gold.

“does it hurt?” she asked once, brushing the hair from your cheek.

you hadn’t answered, but she still stayed.

and when ra came for the first time—or satoru, as he’d told you to call him, when his white-haired form stepped radiant and smiling into your chamber, all gleaming gold and easy charm, calling you his beloved mouthpiece, reaching out to cradle your cheek with hands you’d never invited—

shoko was the only one who saw you flinch.

the priests bowed. the guards dropped their gazes. the other girls pressed their foreheads to the stone.

but shoko didn’t move or kneel, she just watched. watched the way your shoulders tensed. watched the way you forced a smile. watched the way his thumb brushed beneath your eye—how your whole body resisted the urge to lean away.

and when satoru turned toward her, white brow raised, your breath hitched. he stepped forward, easy and amused, stopping just short of where she stood.

the room went still. the air grew warm as his eyes flicked over her, measured, curious, and then he chuckled.

“ah,” he said softly.

“you’ve already got a lioness whispering in your ear.” he smiled. “no wonder you don’t flinch.”

shoko didn’t answer, nor blink. just inclined her head the slightest bit. not in deference, just acknowledgment.

your heart pounded. lioness?

you glanced at her wrist. at the thin bronze cuff she always wore just beneath her palm, etched with what you’d always thought were decorative flames. but now, looking closer, you saw it: the carving of a lion’s eye.

piercing. watchful. burning.

you remembered the nights she sat beside your bed, palm warm against your spine as your fevers broke. how you never heard her footsteps, but she was always there when you needed her most.

a chill ran through you.

she’s protected by sekhmet, you thought. not like you. not owned. not caged. but chosen.

…

ra never aged. not the way humans did.

his body stayed frozen in perfection, skin bronzed like sun-baked clay, white lashes dusting the edges of eyes too bright to look at for long. his hair, white as moonlight, always fell just right across his brow. his smiles came easy. his laugh was like water hitting hot stone, quick, sharp, disappearing too fast. he carried light in his palms. wore it on his shoulders. sometimes, when he passed, the very air shimmered in his wake, and he knew it.

he was the god of the sun—of creation, kingship, order, rebirth. his eye burned away chaos. his name lit the sky each morning. whole cities were built in his honor, obelisks and temples rising from the sand like gold teeth in the earth. every harvest, every law, every heartbeat was offered up to him.

he visited you often.

sometimes in dreams. sometimes in person. sometimes just as a voice in your head, a rush of heat behind your eyes.

he liked to sit near the window where the sunlight pooled the brightest. he liked when you smiled. he liked to tease.

“so serious,” he’d say, crouching down beside you, tucking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your gaze up. “you’ll wrinkle before you’re twenty if you keep frowning like that.”

you always blushed when he said things like that. always looked down, hiding the way your lips curled despite yourself.

you’d never had a boyfriend before. never been kissed. never had someone press their mouth to yours like you mattered.

yuji was the closest thing—just a friend you liked a little too much, whose shoulder you’d sometimes lean against when you were tired, whose laughter made your heart jump funny in your chest. but this was different. ra said things no one else ever had. brought gifts no one else ever could. golden bangles that sparkled like stars. oils that smelled like citrus and sun. once, he’d floated a ball of light in his palm just to hear you laugh.

and the first time he kissed you—it wasn’t hurried. his hand slid around your jaw, warm and firm. his mouth brushed yours like a blessing, soft and sure, as if he were pressing light into your skin. he kissed you like you were precious. like you were his. like the whole world had been waiting for this.

and the first time ra touched you like that, it was quiet.

the temple was heavy with dusk, warm with amber light and the scent of myrrh. outside, the river moved slow and silver. inside, it felt like the world was holding its breath. he looked at you like he always did—like you were something sacred. something his.

his hair was white as always, soft like moonlight, tousled like he hadn’t bothered to be perfect. but his burned blue, blinding, endless, holy.

he touched your face like it was breakable. thumb at your cheek, fingers along your jaw when he kissed you. it was warm, soft, too gentle for what he was, but his presence was still overwhelming. he was tall, broad, built like someone who had never once been powerless—and now, that power was all focused on you.

“you’re ready,” he said quietly, voice like honey warmed on the fire. “you trust me, don’t you?”

you nodded, breath caught behind your ribs.

his hand slid down, steady. across your stomach, then lower. his fingers parted you gently, testing how soft you were, how much you could take. your thighs trembled, shame crawling up your spine—because it was new, and you were nervous, and he was a god.

and when he finally pressed into you, your breath hitched.

it hurt. not sharp, but deep, aching, a stretch your body didn’t know how to handle. your eyes stung, and your hands clenched the linen beneath you.

“shhh,” he murmured, mouth at your ear. “i know. i know it hurts. just breathe, little sun. you’re doing so well.”

he didn’t move right away. just held you, his hips flush against yours, his hand stroking your side.

“you’re so tight,” he whispered. “so warm. it’s perfect. you’re perfect.”

you tried to relax. you tried to stop shaking. he kissed your shoulder. your neck. whispered that you were beautiful, that he’d wait as long as you needed.

and when he moved, it hurt again, but there was something else, too. heat blooming behind the pain. your body opening for him, inch by inch, breath by trembling breath. he praised every sound you made.

“just like that,” he said, voice low and full of worship. “gods, you’re perfect. my beautiful girl. look at how well you take me.”

his body glowed where it touched yours. like fire under skin. like divinity poured into flesh. he touched you like you were his light. he moved like he never wanted to leave your body again.

and when you finally gasped his name, nails digging into his shoulders, tears in your eyes, he kissed you again. soft, and endless, like sunrise.

“mine,” he whispered. “my oracle. my light. no one else gets to see you like this.”

and when he held you after, hands still warm, breath steady, you realized you’d never really belonged to yourself.

not since he first looked at you like that. not since he first called you his.

but you’d grown to love him.

not in the way a lover loves, not at first. but in the way captives love the hand that feeds them. the way girls love gods when gods are the only things that see them.

he was the one who visited when you cried. the one who spoke in your mind when no one else listened. the one who made your heart flutter and your voice stammer when he called you things like his little sunbeam, his favorite voice, the only mortal worth hearing.

and when you asked if you’d ever go home—if you’d ever see your father or yuji again, he just looked at you, head tilted, lashes glowing white against the dusk.

“what more could you possibly need than me?”

and it was terrifying how much you started to believe him.

he brought you gifts—jeweled anklets from across the sea, papyrus scrolls written in sacred script, dried figs packed in silver tins. once he even brought you a falcon, sleek and sharp-eyed, trained to sit on your arm. you named it zehuti, and it slept at the edge of your bed for months.

you began to thank him in ways you never meant to. you smiled more. laughed when he joked. leaned toward his warmth instead of away.

he made you feel full. chosen. cherished.

…

the sky was just beginning to bleed, and you sat beside the water garden, ankles tucked beneath your skirts, brushing lotus petals from the surface of the pool. the scent of milk and sunlight drifted through the temple’s outer court. frogs murmured softly in the reeds.

for once, it was quiet. no priests. no chanting. no guards watching from the colonnade. just stillness. and the fading hum of the day.

you didn’t hear them at first.

just the faint crunch of sandals against gravel, and when you looked up, three men stood a few steps away—two attendants flanking the high priest. the same one who’d crowned you with rubies on the sixth night. the same one who always called you child of the flame.

he bowed.

your brows knit. you didn’t rise.

“what’s going on?” you asked, brushing a damp petal from your wrist.

he smiled, faintly. “the sun god has made a request.”

you blinked. “what kind of request?”

he nodded to the men beside him. one stepped forward, holding a shallow bronze bowl. inside it sat folded linen, a vial of oil, and something that glinted.

“we must prepare your body,” the priest said.

your stomach tightened. “prepare it for what?”

his voice didn’t change. it was gentle. too gentle. “to strengthen the boundary. to protect the throne. to keep the great serpent asleep.”

you stared, and for a moment, your mind scrambled to make sense of it. maybe it was another ritual. another prayer. maybe—

“no,” you said slowly. “no, he wouldn’t need that. not from me.”

the priest’s gaze softened. he stepped closer. “you were chosen, oracle,” he said. “this is the role the sun god bestowed.”

“then let me speak to him.” you stood abruptly. your voice was too loud in the quiet. “he always speaks to me. let me ask him myself.”

you reached for the connection. tried to drop into that inner space, the pool in your mind where his voice used to surface—

nothing. not a flicker in your chest. not a whisper in your mind.

you tried again.

satoru?

still nothing.

…ra?

silence. the kind that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

“no,” you said, stepping back now, heart pounding. “this—this isn’t right. something’s wrong. i—he would never ask for this. he wouldn’t—”

you didn’t finish. the second attendant reached out, and took your wrist.

your body went cold. “don’t touch me,” you snapped, voice cracking. “what are you doing?”

“the oils will numb the skin,” one said. “you will be honored, praised—”

“stop!” you screamed, wrenching away. “you’re lying. he didn’t ask for this—he loves me, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t!” your lips trembled.

“he would never hurt me. he would never—”

please, you whispered, silently, desperately. please just talk to me. say something. please.

and yet, the silence held, and ra did not come.

you struggled. your body fought on instinct, wild, ungraceful, furious. arms swinging, legs kicking, breath coming fast and shallow. you screamed until your throat burned, tears streaking down your face as two guards seized you by the arms. you twisted, thrashed, dragged your feet across the floor. they didn’t care. they bound your wrists in silk—fine, ceremonial, fragrant with rose oil, and hauled you like you weighed nothing at all.

your voice echoed through the temple like a broken thing, unheard, unreturned, and in the silence, all you could hear was your own ragged breath—and the sound of their sandals against the stone.

they brought you to the altar.

white limestone, sun-bleached and smooth. flower petals scattered in rings around it. bowls of sacred oil warmed at its base, thick with myrrh and lotus, their scent cloying in your nose.

they laid you down.

not gently, either. your body hit the altar hard, wrists tugged taut above your head. silk looped again and again. a priest leaned over you with solemn hands, dipping his fingers into the oil, pressing it to your chest, your shoulders, your temples.

a prayer was spoken, one you barely heard. your ears rang. your stomach turned. the gold-threaded cloth beneath your back soaked up the sweat clinging to your skin.

and then you saw the blade, small, obsidian, and curved like the moon.

you stopped breathing. you flinched before it even touched you. your eyes squeezed shut, your head turned away, a cry catching in your throat—

and then came the sting, sharp, sudden, shallow, but real. blood welled up instantly along your thigh, hot, and slow.

“satoru,” you sobbed. “ra, please, it hurts, please, i’ll do anything, just tell them to stop—”

your blood ran hot. thick. wet down your leg and warm against the sandstone. you thought they were going to kill you, you truly did.

you gasped, not just from pain, but from the shock of it. the reality that they were doing this. he had ordered this. but the pain was so sharp it turned bright, and your vision narrowed, then eventually the world blinked out.

“satoru,” you whispered. the word cracked in your throat, and he still didn’t come.

when you came back to yourself, you were lying on a golden mat. someone was pressing cloth into the wound. your skin stung with crushed herbs and salt. the smell of resin and bitter fig choked you. your body was shaking, and you couldn’t stop crying. your fingers clenched in the fabric of your robe, soaked red. your voice broke on every prayer.

“please,” you whispered again. “just… please come back. please talk to me.”

and still, he said nothing. not a flicker of light. not a breath in your mind. not even warmth.

only cold. only pain. only the echo of your own sobbing in a chamber too golden to hold grief.

you drifted in and out of sleep. shoko came in quiet intervals to check your bandages, brushing a cool cloth over your forehead, replacing the linens beneath your thigh. others whispered prayers you couldn’t hear. their words washed over you like warm water, but never reached your skin.

by nightfall, the chamber of offerings was silent again. you sat alone, legs tucked beneath you, linen robe soaked with dried blood. the scent of copper clung to the air, and the floor beneath you felt too large, too hard, too still. your arms ached from fighting. your thigh throbbed beneath the salves. the flesh around your wrists pulsed, tight, swollen, raw where silk had once bound you.

the world felt tilted. wrong. your body knew it before your mind did. you shivered beneath the gauzy robe. your breath hitched. and then—

light.

soft at first. like dawn peeking through the temple’s slotted ceiling. a golden hum. a warmth that touched the inside of your eyelids before your skin. it pulsed gently. then brightened.

“my little sunbeam.”

your eyes fluttered open.

he was already kneeling beside you, crouched low, the folds of his radiant robes spilling across the stone like sunlight made fabric. the glow of him was almost too much to look at, white lashes catching the gleam, hair lit from within like alabaster glass. he smelled like warmth and myrrh and memory.

ra.

his hands were soft when they found your face. too soft. they cupped your cheeks like something cherished. his thumb brushed away a tear you hadn’t realized was there. his eyes, icy blue, searing bright, searched yours with a careful stillness.

“why are you crying?” he asked, quiet. too quiet.

you didn’t answer. you only let yourself lean forward, into the hands that hadn’t come for you. into the comfort of the one who had let them take you.

he held you, and you hated how warm it felt.

“you’re so brave,” he murmured. “i’m so proud of you.”

you choked on a sob.

his voice was like honey poured over open wounds. it stuck to the raw parts of you. thick. sweet. suffocating.

“why didn’t you come?” you asked, voice shaking. “i screamed for you.”

he sighed gently. tilted your chin up, his touch unbearably light.

“i heard you,” he said, soft as sunbeams. “but you had to be strong.”

you stared at him. the shine of his hair. the lines of his face. perfect. timeless. unknowable.

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you whispered. “it hurts, ra— satoru. it hurts so much.”

his expression shifted, briefly. something flickered behind his eyes. but it was gone in a blink, replaced with that same impossible smile.

“i know,” he said. “but you were chosen, my love. and chosen ones must carry the weight.”

he smooths your hair back from your face, presses his forehead gently to yours. “this pain… it’s the price of peace. your blood holds back the serpent. every drop keeps the sun rising. your people breathing. your father and yuji safe.”

his thumb moved over your cheek again.

“you’re not just anyone. you are my voice. my light. your blood, your pain—it fuels the sun. without you, it dims. don’t you see? the world needs you.”

you shake your head. your lips tremble.

“i didn’t ask for this,” you say, almost childishly. “i never—i never asked to be chosen.”

his arms wrap around you.

“and yet you were,” he murmurs. “you were always mine. and i’ve loved you, haven’t i?”

and you nod. because you have no other choice. because it’s true, you did love him. because you still do, somewhere. even now. even broken.

“you’ll get used to the pain,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “it’s a small thing… to help me save the world.”

and you try. you try so hard to be good.

you bite down on leather when they cut into your shoulder. you squeeze your eyes shut when the blade slips against your stomach. you let them drain you slowly, gently, like you’re something sacred being carved from the inside out.

but it never stops hurting, and satoru stops visiting so often.

he still smiles when he does. still calls you radiant. still places a glowing hand on your brow. but his gaze slides toward the horizon more often now. he speaks of apophis more than he speaks of you. his light feels thinner. colder.

and when you whisper for him now? he doesn’t always answer.

…

the voice begins as a hush.

not during sleep, not in dreams, but during the bloodletting.

you’re lying flat, breath shallow, thighs bound, arms trembling as another shallow cut opens along your side, when suddenly, it’s there.

a voice, coiling warm against the inside of your skull. smooth, deep, slow, like honey sliding along a blade. it curved around your thoughts, soft and deliberate, brushing the most vulnerable parts of your mind like it already knew them.

“you don’t have to let them do this,” the voice hissed. “you are not a well to be drained.”

your eyes flew open.

the ceiling above you swam in and out of focus, candles flickering high in their sconces, shadows curling like snakes across the sandstone. your wrists throbbed. your thigh ached. you could still feel the blade, even though the blood had dried.

but that voice—it wasn’t ra’s.

ra’s voice was golden, deafening, and euphoric. it rushed through your head like sunlight. this was different.

cooler, older, and quieter. obviously not human.

and you knew you should tell someone.

so you waited until that night, when the others had gone. when the guards changed. when shoko returned to your chamber with fresh linen and oil for your skin. you were sitting on the edge of the basin, water at your ankles, when you whispered her name.

she glanced at you once. “you’re bleeding again?”

“no,” you said. “i… i heard something.”

her hands slowed.

you hesitated. “it wasn’t ra.”

her face gave nothing away, but she stopped altogether, towel half-folded in her hands.

you told her about the voice. about the warmth. about the words whispered just before you lost consciousness. and the way it had curled inside you. not threatening. not painful. just… there.

she didn’t interrupt. only after a long silence did she finally speak. “there was another oracle before you,” she said, quiet. “a boy. he was younger than you, when he was chosen.”

“what happened to him?”

shoko’s eyes dropped to the basin. “his name was suguru. he served for seven years. he was… bright. clever. soft-spoken.” her voice turned faintly bitter. “like all good tragedies.”

you swallowed.

“he started dreaming of the serpent,” she said. “the same way you have.”

your mouth went dry.

“he thought he could control it. thought he could use it. thought he could take ra’s power and reshape it—reshape everything. but the thing about gods,” she said flatly, “is they don’t share.”

you stared at her.

“ra killed him,” she said. “on the altar. burned his name from the scrolls. they say the serpent grows stronger every time he claims a vessel meant for the sun.” her voice sharpened.

“so you do not speak of this again.”

you opened your mouth. “but if ra—”

“don’t be stupid,” she cut in. “you’re not protected like i am.”

you blinked. “protected?”

shoko raised her arm, tugged back her sleeve to the show the cuff you’d forgotten about, lion’s eye shining in the dimly lit room.

“i was born under sekhmet’s watch,” she said. “he can’t touch me without her knowing. but you?” she reached out and touched your cheek, gentle.

“you’re only his to use.”

she stood.

“so unless you want to end up like suguru,” she said, voice clipped, “do not mention the serpent again. not to anyone.”

and then she left you there, alone, ankles in water. hands trembling. head full of a voice you weren’t allowed to speak of.

…

every time they came to cut you, the voice returned.

it stirred in the silence before the blade touched your skin, warm and coiled at the base of your spine. it slipped beneath your thoughts like water through stone, slow and soothing.

sometimes it laughed. a low, curling sound, like silk sliding across wet clay.

other times, it stayed quiet—just lingered, brushing behind your ears, humming with a patience that scared you more than anything else.

and then the dreams began.

you didn’t notice it at first. they felt like static. heat. too many flickering candles.

but the third one, you remembered.

you were standing barefoot in an endless hall, black stone walls stretching up forever, carved with twisting shapes you couldn’t decipher. torches lined the sides but cast no warmth. the shadows didn’t move.

a boy stood at the end of the corridor, soft pink hair. honey-bronze skin. the curve of his jaw familiar.

“yuji?” you breathed, instinctive.

he looked up, and you stopped.

his eyes weren’t yuji’s. they held none of his softness—none of that open, earnest light that made you trust him even when you shouldn’t. no, these eyes were red. deep red. like crushed carnelian, like the sun caught in blood. they were sharp, slanted, knowing. they looked through you the way a knife studied skin before it split it open.

he had all of yuji’s beauty, but in a cruel, cut-glass way, like someone had taken something pure and carved it into something dangerous.

his body was bare from the waist up, skin bronzed and gleaming like polished amber. black markings coiled along his torso, tattoos like serpents and hieroglyphs, ancient spells inked in symbols you couldn’t read. a collar of gold wrapped his throat, shaped like a rearing cobra with ruby eyes. thick bands of obsidian and lapis circled his biceps, carved with scenes of chaos and fire, divine plagues, serpents devouring suns, figures kneeling before a great coiled beast.

and despite all that, the way he looked at you still mirrored yuji’s in one way:

like he already knew the softest parts of you.

but unlike yuji, it wasn’t kindness that stirred in his gaze—it was hunger.

something slithered behind you in the dark, and you turned just in time to hear it whisper—

apophis.

you looked back at the boy. “you— you’re—”

“yes,” he said easily. “but i think you already knew that.”

you backed away. “what do you want from me?”

his head tilted. “nothing.”

your breath hitched. “then why—”

“but i can help you,” he said, stepping closer. “that pain you carry… the part of you that trembles every time they bind your wrists. the ache in your bones. the fear you swallow for your god.”

you said nothing.

he smiled again. “i can take it. all of it. every last drop. you only have to ask.”

his voice was silk wrapped around a blade. slow, sweet, promising.

but he still looked like yuji, the boy who’d probably laid down his life to protect you.

that same curve to his jaw. that same messy, windswept hair, only pinker now, wild and tousled like he’d run through a sandstorm. the tilt of his head, the slight part to his lips, the familiar shape of his nose. it was him, and it wasn’t. he was carved crueler. he was heavier with meaning.

and when you stared at his torso, your gaze dropping to the gilded serpent bands coiled around his arms, the glinting stones and the black-inked sigils burned into his chest—you couldn’t look back up.

your body trembled, unable to meet those red, god-marked eyes.

he leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to smell the faint curl of smoke and myrrh on his breath. his voice curled low against your ear.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, almost gentle. “you can look at me.”

and then you woke up.

your mouth was dry. your chest was tight. there was a weight in the air, a thick, invisible coil that made the hairs rise on your arms. you couldn’t move at first, breath lodged in your throat. the room was wrong. too still. too dark. only one candle remained, its flame flickering low. the rest were blown out completely, wax still soft from the heat.

you sat up slowly. the sheets clung to your skin, damp with sweat. the wind outside had stilled. the air was silent.

and then you saw it.

curled beside the woven perch near your window—your falcon, zehuti.

still, and limp, throat mangled, neck bent. something had coiled around him. crushed him. his wings were sprawled awkwardly, his beak tilted open, eyes clouded. a thin trail of blood darkened the floor beneath his feathers, and coiled at his neck, was the unmistakable mark of something long and scaled.

you covered your mouth. a sob caught in your chest.

and behind you came quiet footsteps. shoko. she saw it and moved fast. pulled the drape closed. wrapped him in linen. wiped the blood before anyone else could see.

she didn’t say a word, but the look in her eyes said everything.

and when ra came the next day, all sunlight and honeyed lies, smiling, radiant, fingers warm beneath your chin—his smile faltered for the briefest moment.

“what happened to zehuti?” he asked, gaze flicking to the corner where the perch stood empty.

you swallowed, heart hammering at the memory of what shoko had told you about suguru geto and his fate.

“old age,” you said, voice trembling. “i think. i just found him lying there.”

satoru’s bright blue eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as if testing your answer. then he nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and offered a gentle, practiced smile.

“i’m sorry,” he murmured, voice soft as sunlight. “zehuti was a fine bird.”

you thought he was going to turn and leave. his robes had already begun to sway with the motion, his fingers lifting from your doorframe, his steps carrying that same glow they always did—but then, he hesitated.

just for a breath.

his head tilted, and his brows pulled together ever so slightly. a flicker of suspicion passed through those blinding blue eyes.

“but ah,” he said softly, almost idly, “has anything changed?”

your mouth dried. your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe.

he was still smiling, casual, disarming, but you felt it in your gut. the question wasn’t casual. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t innocent.

you bowed your head quickly. “no.”

and then, like warmth curling into your ear, “good girl,” the voice whispered. “you’re learning.”

…

you try to shut the voice out, you really do.

but you’re so tired.

your legs barely carry you from chamber to chamber now. your hands tremble when you pour the sacred water, your knees buckle during prayer. light stings your eyes like knives. you hear the priests whisper more openly now—about the color in your cheeks, or the lack of it. the way your steps falter. the way your breath sounds too thin for someone so young.

you haven’t seen shoko in days.

you wake to bleeding—your thighs, your palms, your arms, and you don’t know if it was a vision or a sacrifice. you don’t know what part of you is your own anymore. you lose time like it’s sand through a sieve. one minute you’re walking the outer corridor of the temple, and the next you’re kneeling at the basin, blood dried on your robe, hands shaking.

and satoru—he’s watching you.

he’s all smiles, still. all brightness and blue sky. but you feel it in the way he speaks to you now, lighter, but sharper. too knowing. like he sees something leaking from the corners of your spirit and is waiting for you to admit it. sometimes his eyes linger too long. sometimes he says nothing at all.

and you remember what he told you when you first met—about the eyes. how they help him discern truth.

you’ve been trying to hide yours ever since.

but one night, you can’t help it. you just can’t shut him out.

…

that night, the moon hung low and orange behind the clouds, veiled like an omen. the chamber was quiet. too quiet. the kind of silence that didn’t comfort—it smothered. no guards murmuring in the halls. no footsteps. not even the wind against the stone walls.

you sat alone on the woven mat that barely softened the cold beneath you. your knees were tucked to your chest, robe clinging to the dried blood on your thighs. your wrists still ached beneath the thin linen wrappings. everything hurt. but nothing more than your chest.

your heart was racing. too fast. thudding like it was trying to get out.

all you could see when you closed your eyes was satoru.

not the light of his smile, but the weight behind it. not the way he tilted your chin like he adored you, but the pressure in his fingers, the command in the gesture, like you were a puppet on gold-thread strings. you kept seeing his hands, yes. but not how they cupped your cheeks or caught the sunlight when he played with it for your amusement. no, now you were thinking about what they could do. what they were made to do. what power burned in his palms when he wasn’t playing at gentleness.

he hadn’t raised his voice at you. he hadn’t looked at you with hate. but the thought still throbbed behind your eyes—what if he did? what would it look like if that smile dropped? if the kindness curdled?

he was the sun. if he turned on you, there would be no shelter.

you pictured it—the fury behind his eyes, the rage he hadn’t shown. imagined your body burning to ash under his gaze. the temple collapsing. the sand turning to glass. it wasn’t a memory. it wasn’t a threat. but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

and maybe that was the scariest part.

he hadn’t done it, but you believed he could.

you drew in a breath, quiet and sharp, pressing your forehead to your knees.

“are you listening?” you whispered into the dark, unsure if you were whispering for ra or apophis—maybe not even for a god at all. maybe just for someone. anyone. someone to answer. someone to care.

“can you hear me?”

your lips parted again. your voice trembled.

“please.”

your fingers curled in the linen beneath you, knuckles pale. the shadows didn’t move. the candles didn’t flicker. the stars outside stayed still and cold. you shut your eyes.

“i’m scared,” you admitted. barely a breath.

and then a rustle, like silk over stone. like something shifting closer. then—

“of course i can hear you.” the voice slid into your mind, low and rich and warm as molasses. not ra’s light, but something older, heavier, something that wrapped around your thoughts like water around a throat. “i’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“apophis,” you said. the name tasted strange in your mouth.

you didn’t know what would happen. you’d never said his name before, never quite called to him either. he always came on his own—slithering through dreams and whispers, curling inside your head like incense smoke.

the air shifted. thickened. your skin tingled like the hairs on your arms were lifting, like something enormous had just turned its gaze toward you from the shadows.

“yes?” came the voice, not spoken, not heard, but felt. it coiled through your ribs like heat. it slithered up the back of your spine. it smiled when it said your name, like it really had been waiting for you.

“is ra going to kill me?” your voice shook. “am i going to end up like suguru?”

silence. then—

laughter. not kind, but not cruel, either. something darker. amused. indulgent. like watching a storm from the safety of a throne.

“suguru,” the voice breathed. “was a brilliant mind, with a soft heart, and a foolish end.”

the shadows in the room thickened around you. you felt your mat tilt slightly under your body, like the world had gone uneven.

“he was a miscalculation,” the voice continued. “a lesson.”

you swallowed, fingers digging into your legs. your body was trembling now, but you couldn’t stop listening. you didn’t want to.

“you,” it said, slower now. lower. “you are the real thing.”

you closed your eyes tighter. pressed your palm against your chest, right over your heart. it was still beating. still trying.

“why me?” you whispered. “i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t even believe in any of this—why me?”

“because you are a fracture in the sun,” apophis said, voice curling sweet and venomous. “a crack in his golden mask. you were meant to fall through.”

you didn’t know what that meant, and you didn’t want to ask, and the voice hummed again, pleased. like it had burrowed deeper into your ribs and found something soft.

“you called for me,” it said. “even with his light still clinging to your skin.”

and you had. you had.

you don’t know when your allegiance blurred. when fear gave way to hunger. when the god who whispered to you in the dark started feeling more real than the one who bathed you in light.

you only knew that he came when you needed him, and that ra hadn’t.

…

it had been three days of silence. not just from ra, but from apophis, too.

the air itself felt different. too still. too thick. the temple halls echoed louder. your steps dragged heavier. the light didn’t warm you anymore. it only stung.

and then there was the eclipse. they cut you deeper than they ever had—so deep, you were sure they’d nicked something vital. you’d laid on the altar, gasping, blood soaking the linens beneath you, certain you would die right there.

but you didn’t. not yet.

you were curled on your cot now, alone in the dark. the stone was cold beneath your spine. the linen stuck to your thighs, stiff with dried blood. your fingers trembled as you pulled the blanket tighter, but it didn’t help. nothing helped.

and then came his voice. sharper than before, closer. no longer content to whisper from the edge of your mind. it curled into you like smoke, like silk, like something sliding between the folds of your brain.

“they’re going to kill you.”

you froze. your breath hitched. your eyes fluttered open.

“tomorrow.”

your pulse kicked hard beneath your skin.

“they’ve seen the signs,” it continued, soft and slow. “the blood in your urine. the bruises that don’t fade. your body is failing, y/n.”

you tried to speak, tried to argue, but your voice cracked on the inhale. “they wouldn’t—”

“they will.” the voice was cold now. final. “you’ve served your purpose. you are no longer a vessel. they’ll call it mercy.”

you curled tighter on the cot, pressing your knees to your chest. your hip throbbed, deep purple, fever-warm. your hands shook as you clutched your stomach. every breath felt like a needle in your ribs. your vision swam with black spots.

“but i care,” the voice said again. lower now. warmer. “and i see you.”

tears slipped down your cheeks before you knew you were crying. they slid down your temples, pooling in your hairline.

“what do i do?” you whispered. it came out hoarse. fragile.

and he answered.

“give me what they take.” his tone was low, velvety, almost tender, like a secret passed between lovers in the dark. there was no urgency. no command. just quiet temptation. “offer it willingly. to me.”

you blinked once, and then you were moving. your body moved before your mind caught up. you pushed yourself upright. the world tilted. your legs gave a little beneath you, but your palms caught the floor.

you crawled.

the chamber was lit by one flickering oil lamp. the silver basin gleamed on the altar’s edge. the obsidian blade beside it seemed to pulse with shadow.

your fingers wrapped around the hilt. it was cool, heavier than you remembered, but you’d also been the one being cut and not the one doing the cutting. your robe slid from your wrist as you knelt.

“don’t be afraid,” the voice hummed, coiling warm and slow around your spine. “i’ll show you how.”

your breath caught as you lifted the blade and pressed it to your skin.

the first cut was shallow. slow. a line of warmth bloomed instantly, sliding down your forearm like a ribbon.

the voice purred.

“yes. just like that.”

you bit the inside of your cheek and did it again. and again.

three perfect lines. blood gathering in soft pools between your knees. your body swayed gently with the pain, head bowed, vision blurry with exhaustion and something else—something dense, something deep.

the chamber breathed. the lamp flame steadied. the air grew warmer. heavier. you felt it: the shift.

not divine, not celestial. this wasn’t holy. this was ancient. forgotten. hungry.

it coiled up your spine. licked at the edges of your mind. the scent of copper and resin swirled in the air. the shadows stretched too far, too long.

you weren’t alone anymore.

a figure unfolded from the darkness, towering, coiled, humming with pressure.

not monstrous, but beautiful.

apophis.

you’d only ever seen him in dreams—never like this. never in person. never standing before you, real as breath and fire.

your mind screamed yuji. pink hair. soft eyes. the curve of his mouth, the shape of his jaw. but your body knew better. this wasn’t yuji. his hair shimmered loose, pink and gleaming even in shadow. his eyes burned red, slit and glowing, framed by thick lashes and set in a face too ancient to be young. too cruel to be kind. carved from stone and myth, sharp with something unnamable. beautiful the way a blade is beautiful. his mouth was wide, smirking, cut like a wound made to kiss.

his body moved like something serpentine, loose, fluid, deadly. shirtless, tattooed in gold and onyx. his hands gleam with rings, nails clawed, stained with something black and dry.

he stepped into the space beside you, barefoot, slow, and the temperature dropped.

your breath hitched as he crouched down in front of you. he didn’t speak at first, just looked at you.

at your thighs. at your wrists. at the blood pooling at your knees. at your hands still holding the blade. his gaze dragged up to your face, unreadable, then he reached out. fingers beneath your chin.

he tilted your face toward his.

“what have they done to you?” he murmured. his voice was soft, slow, slicing. it slithered through your chest and wrapped around your ribs, slow and certain.

“so much beauty,” he said. “ruined. cracked open like an offering bowl.”

your mouth trembled. “are you going to hurt me?” you whispered.

he smiled. not wide. not threatening. just soft, almost tender.

“no,” he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “not unless you beg me to.”

then he touched you, not roughly, not like a man claiming or owning or taking. just gentle touches. his fingers slid to your side, to the welt blooming purple and red beneath your ribs. warm fingers pressed to scars and bruises littering your body, and suddenly, the pain there would disappear. the ache in your thighs vanished. your and arms went light, weightless.

your wounds closed beneath his palms. your skin knit clean.

your body stilled, and when when you looked up at him—this impossible god, this beast, this thing of terror and promise, this thing the world called chaos—for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you feel whole.

his thumb lingered just beneath your collarbone, tracing the curve where blood had dried and cracked. his red eyes flicked upward, meeting yours—not sharp this time, but patient. waiting.

“you’re still shaking,” he murmured.

you tried to speak. couldn’t. your throat was tight. your chest too full.

his hand moved higher, settled lightly at your throat. not pressing. just resting. “you don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice lower now, almost amused. “he breaks things, and i fix them. it’s a cycle.”

“why?” your voice was hoarse. you hadn’t used it in hours. “why do you keep helping me?”

he smiled. not wide. not cruel. a different kind of smile that you couldn’t quite discern.

“because you asked,” he said simply. “because when you were alone, and afraid, and crying on the cold floor of your god’s temple, you called for me instead of him.”

your eyes burned again. “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you did.”

his hand slipped from your throat, down to your wrist. he turned it over, ran a finger along the place where the blood had been, now smooth. “they would’ve left you to rot.”

“he wouldn’t—” you stopped. bit your lip.

he didn’t press. just watched you. let you say it yourself.

“…he wouldn’t have let me die,” you whispered, more to convince yourself than him.

“you really believe that?” his voice was so soft it hurt.

your lip quivered. your eyes dropped, and a silence stretched between you.

he reached for your chin again. tilted it up, slower this time. gentler.

“look at me.”

you did. slowly. breath caught in your chest. his face was too close now. eyes searching. mouth parted just slightly. he smelled like smoke and night and the faintest trace of honey.

“i could hurt you if i wanted to,” he murmured. “you know that.”

you nodded.

“but i won’t.”

your breath hitched as his hand slid up to your cheek. brushed a tear away with the back of his knuckle. “i know how to destroy,” he said. “but with you… i’d rather do something else.”

you blinked.

“can i?” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips.

he didn’t lean in yet. didn’t press. just waited.

and maybe that’s why you kissed him, soft and slow and trembling. because for one impossible second, it felt like you were talking to yuji.

like you hadn’t been dragged from your home, like there weren’t bruises blooming along your hips and ancient symbols carved into your skin. like your name hadn’t been stolen and rewritten in a language only gods could read.

it was just him. just you. just this.

your eyes fluttered shut, lips brushing his with the same reverence you used to fold into prayers. hesitant. aching. your fingers curled lightly at his shoulders.

his mouth was warm, there, present. answering you with a slowness that startled you.

and for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

pretend that maybe yuji had died trying to protect you, and this—this creature of dark and chaos, this impossible god with eyes like fire and hands like silk, had been sent in his place. sent to ease your pain. to honor the hurt that no one else saw. maybe a piece of yuji lived inside him. maybe that’s why he looked the way he did. why his voice never scared you.

his hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as he kissed you deeper. still slow. still gentle. like he understood something about you no one else had bothered to learn.

his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. his thumb still cradled your jaw, gentle in a way that made your chest ache. you thought he might say something soft. something about you.

because his expression looked like awe.

because his red eyes burned like embers, staring at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

but that wasn’t what the fire was for.

“you don’t even know what you’ve given me,” he whispered, voice low, nearly trembling with restrained joy.

and when he touched you—hand rising to your throat, you tilted your head back. your body didn’t pull away.

“yu—” you stopped yourself before it left your lips.

but you knew he heard it. knew who you were thinking of. you were thinking of your best friend. of safety, of home, of sunlight skipping across the river. of the boy who laughed with fish guts on his hands and hid your letters beneath woven mats. the boy you might never see again.

and now here was this creature. this god. this echo of everything you’d lost, pressed against you with heat and stillness and a patience that was starting to feel unbearable.

you didn’t want love. you didn’t want light. you wanted release.

so you kissed him again, not soft, not shy, and your mouth pressed to his like you were trying to climb inside him, like you were asking him to ruin you from the inside out. his grip on your throat tightened just enough to drag a breathy moan out of you, soft and raw against his lips.

he made a sound low in his chest, dark, hungry, and before you could breathe again, he lifted you, effortless. he carried you to the low cot tucked in the corner of the chamber, and when your back hit the thin mattress, the shadows moved.

they rose from the stone like smoke made solid. cool and smooth. they slithered up the sides of the bed, curling around your wrists were snakes made of shadow, of him. they didn’t bind you harshly, just pinned you there like you were being presented. like this was ceremony.

“i’ve been waiting for you,” he said, voice low, glowing eyes soft like eclipse rings in the dark. “for centuries.”

your breath stuttered as he leaned down, pressed a kiss to your chest, just above your heart. he didn’t tear your robes off. he unwrapped you, like a gift, like something he really had waited centuries to touch.

your breath caught again when he kissed lower—your stomach, your hip, the curve of your thigh. his fingers brushed the raw mark you carved into your arm hours earlier, and when he pushed your legs apart, you didn’t resist.

his fingers moved with purpose. slow, deliberate circles. just enough to tease. to open. to make your spine arch and your voice catch. the snakes coiled tighter around your wrists as the pleasure in your stomach twisted sharper, tighter, hotter.

and when he slid inside you, your whole body seized.

he fit in a way nothing ever had. too deep. too much. too intimate.

your back arched. your wrists pulled. a whimper cracked from your throat, eyes fluttering closed. you were shaking, everywhere, but you still didn’t say no.

his hand smoothed over your stomach, grounding you. “you can take it,” he murmured.

and you tried. gods, you tried. but your breath was already stuttering, your body trembling beneath him. your lips parted, searching for something—anything, that would make this moment make sense.

“i wanna—” your voice caught on a whine as his hips rolled deeper, slower, more deliberate than before.

he filled you, thick, deep, a stretch that stole your breath and curled your toes and made your wrists pull helplessly at the snakes. it was like he was pushing darkness into you with every thrust. like he was rewriting you from the inside out.

ra had made you feel wanted, like a jewel on a pedestal, a thing to keep precious and controlled.

but apophis? apophis moved like he wanted to ruin you, and then rebuild you in his image. not just to claim, but to change.

you were gasping now, eyes fluttering, body arching off the cot like it might split open under the weight of it all. “i wanna forget,” you breathed.

you didn’t say what. you didn’t have to.

he knew. he knew it was satoru. he knew it was your name, your temple, your stolen life. he knew it was the girl you used to be—golden, obedient, aching for something no one could give her. he knew you wanted to forget that this wasn’t yuji. that this wasn’t a soft boy with a gentle laugh and sun-warm hands.

this was chaos. this was the serpent god who curled around your dreams and whispered that he could give you everything.

and still, you let him in.

because every inch felt like surrender. every thrust felt like a severing of light, like he was reaching places ra had never touched—not even in dreams. not even with all his glowing words and honeyed kisses.

apophis didn’t just want your body. he wanted your soul. to fill it, to flood it, to leave you so full of him that the sun no longer called to you.

and gods—you were already slipping.

his thrusts stayed slow, controlled, and cruel in how good they felt. he moved like he was rewriting you. like he could fuck every ounce of gold out of your skin, every holy word off your tongue.

you tried to be quiet. but you were spread out. bound, shaking. you didn’t notice you were crying until you felt the tears slip down your temples into your hair. your voice choked on every gasp, your body twitching beneath the weight of him, beneath the shadows holding you still.

you begged with how your hips lifted, how your thighs trembled. how your mouth fell open with no sound. and when he finally lost control, when his pace broke and his voice dropped ragged into your ear—you weren’t a priestess anymore. you weren’t even a girl.

you were his.

just like you’d been ra’s: a vessel, a voice, a body for the gods to move through. a tool dressed in gold or shadow, depending on who stood at the altar.

the illusion of choice had always been a kindness, and now it was gone.

you knew it the moment the candles went out. when the light outside the chamber flickered once… then died. when your body clenched, cried, and finally shattered beneath him.

because this, too, was a sacrifice.

not the kind they wrote on temple walls. not the kind sung over in hymns.

this was older, quieter. like the tales the scribes whispered but never inked—the ones about how sometimes, a thing too beautiful to be real would descend from the sky, soft-eyed and glowing, and call itself a god. a messenger. a savior.

and humans would kneel, and humans would offer themselves, and when they rose, they were never the same.

you wondered if that’s what you’d done. if, chasing release, chasing yuji, chasing the ache to feel normal again, you’d let something ancient slip inside your soul.

not because you wanted darkness, but because you were tired of bleeding in the light.

he kissed your shoulder. your throat. your lips again—softer now. slower. like he hadn’t just unmake you, body and breath and belief.

“mine,” he whispered. “mine, mine, mine.”

and when you came undone, mind blank, body burning, breath breaking, he followed.

a groan like thunder cracked through the chamber, the air vibrated, the snakes around your wrists loosened—but not fully. they didn’t vanish. they didn’t slither away. they just rested there, cool and curled like bracelets around your skin.

and in the silence that followed, apophis laid over you. his breath was cool at your throat. his forehead pressed to yours.

“he’ll never take you from me,” he said, voice like dusk folding over the river.

you nodded, too dazed to argue. but somewhere, in the hollow of your ribs, you tried to ignore how the snakes still held you. not like ties, but like cuffs.

…

you wake in the cot the next morning.

the room smells like cedar and blood. your robes have been changed. your body is whole. your wrists are wrapped in silk, now—not bandages, nor the snakes that bound you last night, but a gift. something ceremonial. something claiming.

you remember his voice. his hands. the darkness curling around you like water. apophis.

but now its morning, and for the first time in your life—there is no sunlight. not a glow. not a flicker. not a dawn. just… silence.

and then came the screaming.

the temple is chaos. acolytes running. guards shouting. offerings burning with no answer.

you stumble into the courtyard barefoot, wind whipping your robe around your legs.

and then—you hear him, and ra’s voice cracks like lightning overhead.

“what have you done?”

he doesn’t arrive in gold—not this time. he rips the sky apart. a burst of light explodes overhead, shattering the clouds, turning day into something that feels like judgment. the earth trembles beneath your feet. your hands rise instinctively, shielding your eyes.

and then he descends.

satoru, to you. ra, to most. the ancient, all-powerful deity of the sun, to his followers.

but not the one you knew—not the one who kissed your forehead and brought you peaches, not the god who laughed when you pouted or teased when you worried. no.

this is ra, in all his fury.

his robes blaze like wildfire. his hair whips on a wind that doesn’t exist. his eyes—icy blue, glow with something ancient and livid. power radiates off him in pulses, warping the space around his form. when his feet touch the ground, the stone beneath him fractures.

he steps forward.

“you were mine,” he says. his voice is thunder. “you were my chosen one—my mouth, my voice—”

he stops just short of you, and stares. sees the blood. sees the bruises. sees the mark of something older etched behind your eyes.

“and you gave yourself to my enemy? to him?”

your lips part, but no sound comes out. your knees buckle, fear coiling deep in your belly and rising, choking, unfamiliar. it isn’t sharp. it’s slow, creeping, like heat in a sealed chamber.

you’d seen this once before. in flashes. visions you thought were dreams—satoru’s smile splitting into something less kind, his light turning harsh, blinding. hands that once touched your face like you were precious curling instead into fists.

you thought they were warnings. you hoped they were lies. now, you wonder if they were prophecy.

because this isn’t the god who kissed your temple after the first vision left you sobbing. this isn’t the man who conjured sunlight between his palms and lit it across your skin like warmth.

this isn’t a god scorned. this is a god betrayed. and you wonder, in the static silence that follows, if this is your punishment for asking too many questions. for doubting. for choosing a voice that sounded like comfort instead of fire.

and then, behind you—

the shadows shift.

and apophis doesn’t walk. he doesn’t arrive the way ra does, either. instead, he unfurls from the darkness surrounding, he’s laughter in the bones of your spine, the prickle of a sixth sense, the ripple of wrong that feels more familiar than holy now.

he steps into place beside you, tall and fluid, shirtless and glinting in the moonlight, tattoos etched in onyx and gold.

satoru’s expression twists.

“seriously?” he snaps, voice bitter, the sky behind him still split in light. “you showed up as her dead best friend?”

and it hits you all at once, like some kind of cruel prank you’d been the butt of this whole time but never privy too. yuji was gone. and apophis—he’d worn his face like a cloak, because he knew you’d trust it. because he knew you’d follow it.

you were never a chosen one. you were never special. you were bait. a vessel. a crack in the light made just wide enough for darkness to crawl through.

apophis chuckles—low, indulgent. cruel in how calm it sounds.

“you’re just upset you didn’t think of it first. he steps forward slightly, gaze flicking to you, lingering, then back to ra.

“you always put too much trust in your mortal oracles,” he says, voice smooth and dark. “pretending they were more than tools. playing god and lover at the same time, like either role would ever suit you.”

his mouth curves, something like mockery blooming slow.

“and satoru, really?” a snort. “you even gave yourself a human name. the greatest and the oldest god, but always the most foolish, apparently.” his tongue clicks, like a disappointed parent.

“maybe next time,” he drawled, stepping closer, grin curling wider across his face, “take better care of your lovers, sun god.” he let the silence stretch, just for a moment. just long enough to twist the knife.

then, with a little hum, almost fond— “i mean, you did learn your lesson with suguru, didn’t you?”

something shifts in satoru’s expression. he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak at first, but the air around him tightens. sharpens. and behind his bright blue, searing eyes, something cracks—deeper, older, a wound never sealed.

“don’t talk about suguru.” the words are low, bitten off, and the light bleeding from his skin is no longer warm, but instead a raging fire blinding, blue, and alive with fury. the wind around him rises though nothing moves. sand lifts from the stone in waves. your breath catches.

this is ra. this is the god from the old stories, the one they said could flatten kingdoms with a blink, drown armies in sunlight. the one whose name made rivers change course and whose fury boiled the nile. the one who held apophis at bay for centuries with sheer power.

and now you see it. he could burn the world if he wanted to. burn you. and you believe he just might.

apophis smiles.

“why not?” he says, voice softer now, but still laced with mockery. “it’s the same thing every time, isn’t it? ra finds an oracle—some sweet little thing with a bleeding heart, and suddenly the oldest god in existence thinks he can play househusband with a teenager. like sunshine and figs and soft hands are gonna fix anything.”

he exhales a laugh, low and amused. “and then, oh no—here i come. the big bad serpent, right on schedule, ruining the dream.” he shrugs. “been like this for centuries.”

his gaze lands on you again.

“mortals are easy like that. so eager to be chosen. so easy to influence.”

you tremble beneath his gaze, the truth sinking in like cold water. you were never chosen—not in the way you thought. not for your worth. not for your faith. you were claimed, used. a vessel shaped by their power, not your own.

satoru’s fists clenched at his sides, light blooming in his palms like something divine and barely contained. your breath caught as you stood between them, caught in the rift of what they were, what you had become, and what the world would soon be. your hands trembled at your sides, useless, shaking.

apophis only looked at you, his expression calm, a little smug, but not entirely unkind. his voice was low when he finally spoke again, softer than before, smooth as polished obsidian.

“she was never yours,” he said, turning his gaze to ra. “you just got to her first.”

ra lunged, and light cracked the sky in half.

but apophis caught it in one hand, twisted it like it was nothing, and snapped it clean. his tattoos flared across his body like firelit scars. his form shifted and pulsed, serpent scales flickering along his skin like armor, his mouth curling as he stared down the sun god.

“you’d kill her too, wouldn’t you?” he murmured lazily. “you always knew she’d break. you just prayed it would be for you.”

ra roared, and the desert floor turned to molten glass. temples crumbled. the air stank of smoke and gods and the end of all things. apophis only laughed.

and you—you stood there. a girl emptied of purpose. a body with no god left to follow. a mouth that once carried prophecy, now shaped only silence. there was blood on your hands—your blood, their blood, the blood of a world slipping into ruin, and you didn’t know who you were anymore.

the battle that followed shook the desert down to its bones. light and shadow collided until neither resembled what it once was. ra’s fire fell from the sky like dying stars, brilliant and blinding, but apophis swallowed each burst whole, reshaping them into tendrils of darkness and teeth and rage. the temple collapsed behind you in slabs of stone and smoke. priests screamed. handmaidens wept. the river boiled. the sky cracked.

and still, you didn’t run.

you stood in the center of it all, watching as the god who had once kissed your forehead and tucked figs into your hands flickered and dimmed before your eyes. ra stumbled to one knee. his light faltered. his radiance, once eternal, faded into something thin, something small.

he looked at you, one last time, only sorrow in his gaze.

“why?” he asked, barely more than a breath.

and maybe, if you’d answered, if your voice hadn’t caught in your throat, if your heart hadn’t clenched so tightly in your chest—you would have said i was afraid. or i was tired. or maybe nothing at all.

but you didn’t get the chance. because that’s when apophis struck.

his shadow rose like a storm, towering, coiled, divine, and came down with all the weight of centuries behind it. it hit the earth with a soundless crack, and just like that—

the sun went out for good. not dimmed, not hidden, but gone completely.

light vanished from the sky, and heat drained from the air. the wind stilled. the rivers slowed. the temple collapsed behind you in a cloud of dust and grief. and when the silence settled, it stayed.

no flame could spark. no prayer could rise. no god could answer. and that was the end of it—or so they said.

because afterward, your story fractured. what little was left of it was passed from mouth to mouth, scroll to scroll. a hundred different versions told by people who had never seen you, who would never know the sound of your voice or the cut of your pain.

some called you a traitor. some called you the last oracle. others just called you the girl who let the dark in.

they said the serpent wore your blood like a crown. that your final breath was an offering, not a death. that you smiled when the sun died—whether out of love, madness, or relief, no one could agree, but what many said was that the world staggered in darkness for weeks, months, maybe longer. some said crops withered overnight. others claimed they saw fire fall from the heavens. no two stories agreed.

but this part remained the same:

the sun died, and the serpent won.

at least, for a time. because gods don’t die like mortals do. they fracture. they flicker. they fade—but only for a while. and when the world forgot how bright it once was, when its people no longer whispered ra’s name with hope but with desperation—he returned. as he always does.

and so did apophis, as he always does.

this was never about love. never about you. you were a vessel, a thread pulled tight across centuries, strung between gods older than war itself. your blood bought them a moment. a single turn of the cycle.

but it keeps turning.

temples were rebuilt. dynasties rose. crops grew again, eventually. but some say the sky was never quite as blue. the warmth never lasted. every eclipse sent people into fits of panic. every generation told the same tale again—

of ra, the sun god who gave too much of himself to mortal love.

of apophis, the serpent who devoured light not out of hunger, but out of vengeance.

ra rises. apophis swallows him. and somewhere in between, mortals worship, betray, die, and are forgotten.

they’ll forget you too.

not today. not tomorrow. but eventually. because you were human, and they are not.

but when the eclipse returns, and the stars vanish from the sky again, and the wind tastes like ash—they’ll remember the shape of this story.

the sun god, the serpent, and the girl who chose one over the other and learned too late that gods don’t love the way humans do. they only need. they only want.

they only endure.

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