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im-his-druidess · 6 months

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The Deal

No one asked for this, but I needed something dark and gross 🤷‍♀️

TW: Dub-Con turned Non-Con; Infidelity; Cheating; Rough sex; Forced sex; Slight fuck-or-die but not really; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; Unnecessary amount of commas

Setting up the arrangement with Charlie Hewitt left a sour taste in your mouth at the way he openly leered at you the entire time, but you just kept thinking about finally going to bed with a full belly to get you through his poorly concealed innuendos and crass language. It wasn’t until you arrived at the Hewitt’s home, telling your husband you were walking to the next town for groceries as an excuse, that your plan began to crumble. The memory of Charlie’s words making fear squeeze your lungs and bile rising in your throat.

Just when you think you couldn’t feel even more worthless, here you were spreading your legs for a man that wasn’t your husband, all for the chance to get food on your table.

Your husband acted just as worthless as you currently felt and invited his parents to move into your already cramped house without discussing anything with you. Four grown adults living in a one-bedroom shack of a house, with your husband barely making enough money to feed you both let alone two more mouths, was enough to want to pull your hair out. Of course, it didn’t help that your mother-in-law found fault in every single thing you did which your husband agreed with to stay on his mother’s good side. Coupled with your in-laws living beyond their means, including gorging themselves on food that you managed to scrap together, which often left you going to bed hungry and riddled with anxiety. So, when you overheard the local gossip hounds whispering how the Hewitt family would give meat from their job at the slaughterhouse in exchange for favors, it didn’t take long for you to come to a steely resolve. It might have been the numerous days without a steady meal, or how you were belittled everyday at your home, that made you snap and jump at the chance.

‘As much as I want a piece of that pussy…I made a promise to my kin. Tommy’s birthday is coming up and it is far past time for him to become a man despite what mama says. So that’s who you’ll be fucking today. If you got a problem with that then you can fuck off.’

He was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that it made your head spin.

Relief that you wouldn’t have to sleep with that disgusting excuse of a man making you giddy, before realization at his words struck you like white-hot lightening. You’ve only seen Tommy Hewitt once and the memory was seared into your brain.

You had come across him as he lumbered down the main road on his way home from the slaughterhouse and you were frozen in your tracks as his hulking form stalked past you. He was a large burly man, with broad shoulders, huge biceps, and thick thighs, and his dark shaggy hair didn’t hide the fact that he wore some type of leather mask on the lower part of his face.

He still wore his bloodstained apron.

You had reluctantly agreed once Charlie “sweetened” the deal by promising double the amount of food he would give. Now, here you were, propped up on a bench in the shed while listening to Charlie whisper harshly outside the door. From his tone it sounded like he was scolding someone, Tommy to be exact when you heard his slow heavy footsteps nearing the door, and you swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest the longer you had to wait. From the snippets you could hear it sounded like he was giving instructions and you grimaced when you heard him give vivid instructions on what to put in where.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Tommy came stumbling through the door looking exactly like you remember minus the apron. You realized his blunt appearance was because he was being pushed into the room. Charlie gave you a dirty lingering look, shaking his head with a wistful sigh, before slapping Tommy on a broad shoulder before ducking back out.

The door shut with a firm thud and then you were left alone with the behemoth.

Fear and anxiety once more rushed through you fast enough to make you lightheaded, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest, and the man lingered almost awkwardly by the door. You dimly noticed that he kept his head down, stealing glances at you and your body through his curtain of hair, and you took a deep breath to gather your courage. The bench underneath you was hard and uncomfortable and you knew the sooner you got this over with the sooner you can go home and forget this entire thing.

With shaky hands you hiked up your skirt, removing your panties so they won’t get lost or ruined, and spread your legs. Your face burned in mortification at your actions, even more so when Tommy’s entire body jerked as if sucker-punched, and he didn’t even bother trying to hide the way he openly stared between your legs with wide blue eyes. You fumbled with the small bottle of oil you brought with you, knowing you weren’t going to get properly wet enough to make things less painful, and you quickly waved Tommy over. He approached slowly as if you were going to bite before settling between your spread legs. With him so close you suddenly realized just how big he was, your thighs straining to accommodate the width of his hips, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a large heavy hand landed on your thigh. His skin was rough and overly warm, thick fingers digging into the meat of your thigh curiously, and you spotted his eyes darting over the rest of your body before settling back between your legs. Your nerves were starting to crumble at his slow pace so you reached down and began unbuckling his pants with trembling fingers.

His entire body tensed up and you mumbled a quiet apology, but your hands continued their work. You knew this was supposedly his first time, but you were anxious to get this over with. Tommy made a low grunting noise as he shuffled on his feet before you got his pants open and his entire body seemed to spasm when you reached into his pants to grab his dick.

You immediately paled at the sheer girth you encountered as you fingers weren’t even close to touching.

He was clearly proportionate to the rest of his body, but that also meant that he was hung like a fucking horse. You let go and fumbled with the vial of oil with a quick prayer for things to be over quickly. You ignored how he jerked his hips closer to you as if willing your hand back as he restlessly pushed his pants down with a grunt to offer you more room to touch him.

His cock stuck out just below his button-down shirt, almost drooping from the heavy weight, and the thick tip was an angry shade of red. You couldn’t help but compare him to your husband. He was larger in every single way, almost laughably so, and you had the brief thought of if you could even get that inside you. It twitched under your gaze. You looked away suddenly embarrassed and saw out of the corner of your eye his hips jerk once more towards you. You felt sweat pool at your lower back, the hot summer air doing nothing to cool you off despite being in shade, and you nervously wiped the sweat beading at your brow the back of your hand. You chided yourself and focused once more at the task at hand.

You poured a generous amount into your palm, nearly half the bottle, and steeled yourself before reaching down to coat him thoroughly. The sound he made didn’t seem human, the punched out garbled growl making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, and you held back your whimper of fright as he thickened even more in your grasp. You tried to not think of how you were going to struggle to take him into your body. You dropped him once he was completely coated and dumped more oil into your hand, steadfastly ignoring the way Tommy panted through his mask. You leaned back while taking a deep breath before reaching down and slathering yourself, working the oil into your cunt while simultaneously trying to stretch yourself with two fingers in preparation. It wasn’t long until you felt calloused fingers brushing against the back of your hand making you nearly shriek in surprise. You whipped your head down to see Tommy had moved closer, eyes completely transfixed between your legs, and you realized he was gripping himself with his other hand.

He was stroking himself at the same pace you were working yourself open.

Unexpectedly, heat simmered low in your pelvis at the sight and you couldn’t help but squirm in place. It was only about a minute later that you could tell he was getting restless, his hand squeezing his cock tight enough to make you wince, and you pretended to not notice him rubbing the weeping tip against your thighs. Tommy suddenly gripped your leg and spread you even further and you did whimper at the pain shooting through your hip at the unnatural position. He began grinding against your hand still buried in yourself, huffing in annoyance when he was denied entry, and you took a shuddering deep breath before moving your hand away to grip the edge of the bench.

“Go…slow, okay? Slow,” you muttered in a raspy voice and the only answer you received was the sensation of something blunt and sticky nudging at you.

He suddenly surged forward in an attempt to ram himself in, making you shriek and kick your pinned leg uselessly, but thankfully he just slid through your wet folds and brushed against your clit. He did that a few more times and was clearly growing agitated.

Even as you tried to weakly soothe him by weakly petting the hand holding you open, but that just seemed to work him up even more. Eventually the head of his cock notched at your entrance and he began to slowly push forward, seemingly learning from his mistakes, and you felt your eyes widen at the stretch. He was impossibly wide, nearly making you scream as your body attempted to reject the intrusion, but he was determined and those dark blue eyes never strayed from your straining cunt. You tried to help by shifting your hips, bracing one foot on the bench to widen your pelvis, and even stretching your other leg out to help ease the tension.

Nothing worked and you couldn’t escape the mounting pressure.

“It’s not going to work…Tommy, you have to stop. It hurts,” you pleaded, beginning to push on his thick chest while wiggling your hips away from him, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. Tommy didn’t like you pushing him away.

With a growl he pulled back, but your relief was short lived as he easily grabbed your hips and flipped you over and resumed his position. One broad palm was flat on your back between your shoulder blades, pinning you in place even as you squirmed and kicked, and you felt him trying to push in again with renewed vigor.

“Tommy, stop! I changed my mind! Get off of me!” you shrieked with growing panic only to have your shouts silenced by the feel of that fat head popping inside you.

Your eyes widened, body freezing and clenching down on reflex, and you barely had time to draw in a breath before Tommy drew back and slammed himself halfway inside you. The scream you let out was ear-piercing and your throat immediately felt shredded from the sound, but was cut off by him rearing back and slamming his hip back into you until he was eventually buried to the hilt.

His croaky moan of pleasure was covered by another scream from you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face as you howled in pain, feeling as if you were being ripped in half, and you barely noticed Tommy’s other hand reaching down to paw at your wet cheeks as if to soothe you.

He only stayed still for a few seconds before leaning back and beginning a downright brutal pace. His hips were slamming into you with enough force to have the bench beneath you creaking ominously, your pelvis felt like it was going to shatter, and you had the stray thought that no amount of preparation would have ever prepared for you for him. Your gasping cries were short and choppy, from both his frantic pace and the hand pushing you down effectively squishing your lungs, but you still shrieked and yelped for him to stop or at least slow down to let your body adjust.

He didn’t listen.

He seemed possessed, grunting and snarling as he pounded into you mercilessly, and eventually your body went limp. You clawed helplessly against the wood beneath your cheek, blubbering incoherently, and prayed that Tommy would finish quickly. As if punishment for accepting this deal, you were granted no such reprieve.

He continued to rut into you like a mindless beast for what felt like hours, your insides swollen and throbbing as they were pummeled by his thick cock, and sweat was dripping off of him and mingling with your tears as he leaned over you to reach impossibly deeper. It wasn’t until his hips started stuttering and his thrusts turned deep and hard instead of fast and frantic that had you crying in relief at the telltale signs that he was nearing his finish. Then a horrifying realization dawned on you. Tommy wasn’t stopping. Instead it seemed he was spending longer and longer buried completely to the hilt, pressed flush against you as close as he could, and a new wave of terror-induced adrenaline washed over you.

“Not inside…Tommy don’t you fucking dare finish inside me,” you shrieked, renewing your struggles to escape him, and you grew increasingly wild as he only grunted at you.

You began writhing and attempting to twist away from him, kicking your legs and reaching back behind you to claw at his face, anything to get him away from you.

It only resulted in the hand on your back to slide up and fist painfully in your hair, nearly slamming you back onto the table hard enough for you to see black spots swimming in your vision, and his other hand grabbed your hip to further hold you in place. You continued to beg and plead for him to not come inside you, literally anywhere else but inside, but you were steadfastly ignored. His pace suddenly quickened, a low rattling whine escaping his broad chest, and you wailed as he stilled completely buried inside you. You felt his cock jerk and throb followed by a wave of scorching heat soothing your ravaged channel and you screamed in outrage and in despair. Tommy continued to grind into you, riding out his orgasm with small hurt noises escaping his throat, and by the time he was finished you were limp and shivering with shock. Realization of what all just happened rolling through your mind as fast as nausea rolled in your stomach at the feeling of wetness slipping down your thighs. Bile threatened to rise in your throat, silent tears spilling anew down your damp face, and your entire body felt both boiling hot and icy cold.

You wept quietly as he stayed buried inside you. He petted through your hair as if you were a frightened animal, his ragged breathing filling the stuffy air of the shed, and you swore you heard him cooing at you. You felt him lean down and nuzzle the back of your head as his hand moved from your hip to shyly pet over the back of your hand in some twisted form of affection after what just happened. The door suddenly swung open and you didn’t even have the energy to even twitch.

“Atta boy, Tommy! Heard that bitch caterwauling clear down the road!” Charlie shouted with clear glee and humiliation burned in your veins.

You heard the man move closer, no doubt wanting to leer at your crumpled body, but Tommy growled and moved his body more firmly on top of you. As if shielding you from view.

“Aw, what’s this, boy? You finally get your dick wet and now feel like you’re somebody special?” Charlie sneered and you felt the large body on top of you press even tighter to you.

You heard movement around you before a large item wrapped in brown paper tied with twine plopped on the table by your head.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t be shy now. I’m sure Tommy would love to see you again,” he continued with a wheezing laugh, clearly finding the whole ordeal hilarious, and he walked back out of the shed laughing to himself.

Regret and disgust swirled in your gut at the sight of the paper bag, knowledge of what all transpired making you want to cry all over again, and you let out a small hiccupping sob. Tommy nuzzled into your hair once more, his body relaxing now that Charlie had left, and he resumed his petting. He was letting out a happy garbled sound, clearly not realizing how he had just brutalized you, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

You felt Tommy begin to harden inside you once more.

#Thomas Hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre smut #texas chainsaw massacre 2003 #texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt smut #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher smut #the cryptid posts

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garagesesh · 3 months

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HOTD Headcanons

i can hear the bells // p.1 & p.2

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen x reader & cregan stark x reader ⤷ warning(s): mentions of sex, alcohol, general rudeness ⤷ a/n: please forgive me for Aegon 😖 part two with jace and aemond will be up soon…hopefully i acquired a hand injury today soooo… whoops lol

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ cregan stark

The betrothal came with Jace after his security of the north and the Stark’s oath. You were to fly in a fortnight to Winterfell and become Lady Stark. You find yourself in tears at night but Baela spends all night with you, making you feel better about your new northern life.

You struggle but understand that you will be alone at your binding to Lord Stark. Your family is at the precipice of war and they need the alliance

The North is cold and sparse but it’s expansive desolation is half the charm. The cold will get taking used to

There is no reception and few words at your arrival other than Lord Stark, Sara Snow, and a half dozen of his men. It’s cordial and quick, as there is war to attend to

On the morning of, Cregan’s half-sister is warm and lovely, braiding your hair in the Targaryen way but dressing you in the Stark. It is foreign but quickly becoming familiar

As you walk towards the weirwood under the swirling, quiet snow, you mourn the absence of your mother and siblings. Your father, who has long since perished within the scarred halls of Harrenhal and Luke whose death still makes you shed tears.

Cregan is handsome, ruggedly so. He’s not the man you envisioned yourself with but he will more than do. You like his frost bitten cheeks and his long brown hair. You like the furs that surround his body that make him seem warm and inviting. He’s also almost a head taller than you, you can’t help the blush that creeps up your cheeks. You hope he chalks it up to the cold.

Cregan did not imagine marrying a Targaryen princess. But he can hardly look at you, for you are far more beautiful than he had imagined

He surprises you with a feast, not with any flowers or the grandeur of the weddings you attended in childhood but there is music, food, and people dancing. You learn quickly that the Northerner's like to have fun and enjoy a good party.

Your and Cregan’s first dance is nothing short of awkward but it’s full of laughter as he spins you around and as you step on his toes. His large hands encases your own as he guides you through the dance floor.

You forget about what’s brewing in the south and relish in the feast, while simultaneously falling in love with your husband

The bedding ceremony comes around and Cregan’s timid at first. He’s unwilling to hurt you. Sweet and kind, Cregan is not rough for now

You think forever could be lovely with him

★ aegon ii targaryen

The two of you have been betrothed since your fifth name day and doomed from the beginning

It isn’t love at first sight, not at all. In fact, he gives you the look of disgust when you first meet at his sixteenth name day tourney. Aegon makes it a point to make fun of your clothing and insults your intellect, of which he is lacking you muse.

There’s not many more meetings between the two of you before the queen suggests you acquire a room at the keep. You’re not thrilled but you cannot refuse.

It’s not until a month has passed since your arrival to the Red Keep that he decides to acknowledge your presence. There are moments in the months leading up to your union that he’s almost sweet, almost affectionate with you. In the ways that he touches your wrist, brings you things you might enjoy, or spends most of his time with you

Over time you start to believe that maybe there is love there. That you and Aegon can come to be companions and lovers. At least you can say that you are falling in love with him

On your wedding day, he takes the white and silver cloak adorned with twin Direwolves and crimson red Weirwood leaves and practically throws it to the side.

His kiss is sloppy, uncouth, and embarrassing. You don’t reciprocate instead choosing to wait out the shameless display.

Aegon gets drunk at the reception.

Far into his bottle of wine, he calls you the wolf whore. The northern barbarian, he whispers in your ear. That’s when you decide you have had enough

You’re sure that if your brother was able to join the festivities away from the castle, he would have killed Aegon

You go to bed alone on your wedding night, tears stain your sheets and serious thoughts of running away plague your mind

It’s almost dawn when there’s a knock at the door and the creak of it’s hinges stirring you from slumber, he’s quiet and tentative something you hadn’t experienced with Aegon. He crawls into the bed, but doesn’t approach your form.

He’s nervous Aegon confesses, stranger to the unknown feeling of love and respect from anyone. That there has been no teaching of what love could be or is. He admits that he could see himself learning with you

#cregan stark x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #cregan stark #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #headcanon #asoiaf #angst #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen

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andvys · 2 months

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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Warnings: no warnings, I am not gonna spoil anything, read at your own risk and minors, get outta here as always

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.5k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult can you believe we made it here?... feels like we just started planning this story! anyways thank you for helping me proofread and perfecting the story ♡

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

“I don’t know if a dress would make him say yes to a date with his mortal enemy.”

Billy scoffed at your words, rolling his eyes.

“Mortal enemy, my ass.”

You were fidgety as you were walking towards the GAP store with your best friend by your side. You looked around you and stopped at the entrance, a sudden nervousness came over you when you looked inside.

This was insane and it didn’t even feel right. You knew he would say no, not even a pretty dress could change his opinion of you.

Steve couldn’t stand you, it felt ridiculous to even think of asking him out, knowing how it would end but your best friend put so much hope in you, he encouraged you so strongly, how could you not try?

Billy stood before you, a comforting smile crossed upon his features.

“I– I can’t…”

You looked into his blue eyes, the kindness that was shining just for you, making your lips twitch.

He took your hand in his and squeezed it, tilting his head down with a nod, he gestured to the store.

“You can do it, sweets…”

His words echo in your mind, repeating over and over again, blurring your vision further as you look at the man before you with tears rolling down your cheeks and rain pouring down on you, you’re shaking like a leaf, not from the coldness that envelopes your body like an icy blanket but from all the emotions inside of you.

And Steve, he stares at you, eyes blurred with tears that even you can see through your own.

His head is pounding from all the sobs that left his lips, from all the tears he shed over you after what Robin told him about you, about your feelings for him. He feels ready to crumble to his knees as he looks at you now, ready to let those tears spill again, ready to take you back into his arms and try to forget.

But despite the sadness, the brokenness in him, he also feels anger, not even for you but for himself.

“What do you want?”

Tears spill from your eyes and your chest aches in pain and fear as you look at the heartbroken, angered boy in front of you.

You have not heard that voice from him in a long time. That voice that had venom in it, directed only at you. The voice that held dislike, disgust, hatred. The voice that Steve once had towards you… and this time it hurts even worse than it ever did before.

You see the way he looks at you, so different from how he did this morning and it makes you feel small, just the way it always did and suddenly you want nothing more than to turn around and run again, to leave and spare yourself more pain.

But this can’t be the ending.

It just can’t be.

And the pain in his eyes, his reaction to whatever Robin had said to him fuels the hope that began to dwindle. If he didn’t feel anything for you, he wouldn’t stand here like this.

Thunder crashes behind you so loudly that it makes you flinch and shut your eyes tightly, for only a second but a second enough for Steve to snap and truly look at the sight before him – the storm that rages behind you, the wind that curses through the forest, the lightning that surges through the sky, illuminating everything around you as loud rumbles vibrate against the ground while the rain pours down on you.

You are standing here, in the middle of a storm, caught in the rain, you are standing here before him.

His heart lurches to his throat when he hears your sniffle, sees the tears in your eyes and the way you are shaking as your bottom lip trembles. A broken cough falls from your lips and he instantly steps forward. Worry crosses out every other emotion in him as he reaches for your hand, his gaze softening the longer he looks at you.

“Blondie! What the fuck are you doing here!? It’s— It’s storming!” He yells through the rain and tries to pull you into the house but you shake your head at him and take a step back, refusing to step inside.

All the words, all the sentences, everything you had rehearsed and looked forward to all day flet away from you, the confession you planned no longer exists in your mind, it’s all blank.

“I–I… I need to know… I need to ask… I-I never asked and I feel like I’m losing my mind now–”

A desperate sigh falls from Steve’s lips, he shakes his head at you, begging with his eyes as he moves closer to the doorstep, not understanding a single word you are saying.

“What…? Blondie, you need to get inside, you’re fucking soaked–”

“No!” You shake your head at him, feeling uncomfortable beneath the pouring rain but refusing to give into the warmth just yet. “I need to… I need to tell you something!”

He can see the way you try your hardest not to cry, the way your glassy eyes look into his so brokenly, the way you look as though you will fall to your knees any second and it only makes the aching in his chest so much worse.

“W-What?”

You take a deep breath and you almost choke from the sob you have kept inside for too long, that you can no longer hold as it falls from your lips so brokenly.

“It’s all my fault! All this time, I blamed time and I blamed bad luck but never myself! If I only had said something to you, if only I had even shown you a little bit of what I truly feel, you may have noticed! I-I never tried! I never fought! And I am the only one to blame if I end up broken in the end!”

Steve shakes his head at you, his tears falling yet again at the sight of you crying and speaking so desperately through your cries.

“Blondie– you’re– you have to get in–”

He tries to reach for you again but you swat his hand away, sniffling and shaking your head.

“For years I held it in! Even before the upside down, before joining the group and quarreling like never before with you! Even before any of what we had been doing for the past few months! When you passed me in the hallways, when you sat behind me in science class, when you had your basketball matches and even when I went to parties, I always looked at you!” Your voice cracks when another sob escapes you, and then another before they continue falling uncontrollably, feelings overwhelming you as you finally let them out after years of keeping them locked away.

And Steve, he stares at you with wide glassy eyes, feeling stunned and frozen in place as his heart stops beating for a moment.

“And– And now– I can’t hold them in anymore, because I feel like if I keep going like this I will explode– but my gut is telling me that I have to say it… but I’m so afraid… I’m so fucking afraid! I-I can’t lose you, not you, Steve.”

His knees nearly buckle at your words, at his sudden movement as he finally rushes forward, stepping under the rain with you, not letting you move away from him again as he cradles your face with his hands and tilts your head up to make you look at him.

It all moved so quickly, he didn’t have the time to properly digest everything that just left your lips but it all was enough to bring him back to you, to start his heart again, to fill it with the hope that he thought was burned to ashes only hours ago. He already saw his grave, he already saw his demise, the death of his heart when he thought that he found out what you had really felt for him.

But you are here, not caring about the storm above you, not caring about the vulnerability you’re letting come through, not caring about anything but him at this moment.

He grows desperate too and so does his heart as it calls your name.

He rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, holding you so tightly as he fears that you will slip through his fingers at any moment, that he might wake up to an empty bed after sobbing himself to sleep, thinking about you but then you wrap your hands around his wrists, clutching them tightly as you cry.

Now he can see it in your eyes, the look he always searched for but couldn’t find, now he can see it all so very clearly but it still isn’t enough, he needs to hear you say it.

“Please… Please I beg you to say it… I need to know, baby, please. Y-You don’t have to be afraid anymore… not with me… So please, say it.”

Your body trembles like it never did before, your heart pounds so strongly in your chest, you blink through your tears and stare up at him, into his hazel eyes that beg for you, the eyes that look at you with so much hope and desperation as tears cascade down his cheeks along with the rain that crashes down on the both of you.

The boy you never thought could ever feel a sliver of what you feel for him stands in front of you, holds you so tightly as he pleads for you, for your love.

“Please,” he whispers so brokenly, like your words, your love is the only thing he wants and needs.

He begs for you and no one else, only you.

The one you always wanted, the one you would give your life for, the one that had your heart from the very start.

You take a deep breath and hold onto him tightly, your heart jumps to your throat when you finally, finally whisper those three words.

“I love you.”

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying falling off his shoulders, his brows furrow as his lips part, fresh tears well up in his eyes and his heart starts beating again.

He can’t believe that this is real, he can’t believe that he just heard those words coming from your mouth, he can’t believe that you are here, standing right in front of him with no walls built around you any longer, he sees a side of you that he wasn’t sure was there but it is and you let him see, you let him see all of you, the real you, the vulnerable girl that hid from the world, from him.

And now that those words have finally left the sacred place in your heart, you feel an overwhelming sensation taking control over you, your body begins to shake harder than it did before, tears are flowing and sobs continue on falling.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!”

Your voice is so small, yet so loud as you chant those three words through your cries, clinging to him so tightly so you don’t fall to your knees.

Words that Steve never thought he would hear echo through his driveway, falling from your lips so beautifully, nothing but the truth lingers in your eyes, nothing but vulnerability, nothing but a love he had never thought he would get to feel in this life, let alone from you, you who he had fallen for so unconditionally, so deeply that it hurt not only in his heart but in his soul when he thought that you didn’t feel what he does.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you whisper, sniffling. “I love you so much, I always did, I–I loved you from the moment I first saw you, I have loved you for more than you can imagine! I have loved you for–”

A choked sob falls from his own lips before he pulls you tightly against him and smashes them against yours, kissing you with everything that he has, pouring every ounce of love into it, enveloping you in his arms, in his embrace, in his warmth. Holding your face in his hands is no longer enough, he wraps his arms around your body, pulling you tightly against him so your chest is pressed against his own.

You lift your arms up and cup his wet cheeks, kissing him deeply, holding him tightly, not caring about the salty taste on your tongue or his.

Steve cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss and getting lost in it, not minding the rain or the storm and you don’t either, you don’t even flinch when the thunder crashes. He kisses you hard and he makes you forget about everything around you, everything ceases to exist, everything but him.

He murmurs something against your lips when you both grow too breathless to continue the kiss.

He could not begin to describe the emotions that exploded inside of him.

You love him.

You love him just the way he loves you.

You have loved him for absolutely nothing, when he was cruel to you, when he mistreated you, when he gave you nothing but cold gazes and his cruelty.

You have loved him during times when he felt most unlovable, when he thought he had no one, when not even his parents wanted him, when his first love lied to him, betrayed him, left him only to come back and fill him with false hope again, only to leave him once again.

You have loved him when you showed up at Scoops Ahoy that day, you have loved him when you jumped into the water to save him, you have loved him through it all, when this started, and when he began falling, you were already in it so deeply.

But you were so good at hiding it, you were too good, too good at making him and everyone else believe how great your dislike was for him but you were such a good actress, why else would he have believed Robin’s words?

His hands settle on your upper back and he slowly brings them back to your front, sliding them upwards to your shoulders and then your neck. His brows pull together so strongly as the kiss slows down when the lack of air gets to both him and you.

Your lips tremble against his, your lashes flutter when you open your eyes again, you trace his bottom lip with your thumb, still sniffling, still crying as you look at his pretty face. You feel so relieved now that it’s all said and done, that your feelings are out in the open and no longer hidden underneath all your layers that you protected yourself with, all these years.

But you don’t know what this means for you now, not even the kiss could lay it out for you.

But Steve, he stares at you in awe, at the girl he fell so deeply, unconditionally, otherworldly in love with. The girl that stands under the pouring rain with him, the girl that lets nothing stop her from confessing her love to him, not even the thunder, the storm she fears so greatly, the girl that stands in front of him isn’t the one he started this affair with, the one he bickered with, the one with the harsh words, no, this girl is the real you, the one that lost but still gave love a chance, the one that loved despite the blows to her heart he caused, despite the hurt he put her through.

You felt that way during his worst days, you felt that way when he loved another, you felt that way when he was with other girls, you felt that way when he spit mean words into your face – all these thoughts overwhelm him, a mix of emotions flood through him, he is not sure if he is even deserving of this, of you but he would be a damn fool if he didn’t fight for you back.

Steve stares at you through his tears, he leans down closer to you, taking shaky breaths as he finally says the words he never thought would leave his lips again.

“I love you,” he whispers and cradles your cheeks again, “I love you so much and I’m stupid for not saying anything either–”

Your eyes grow wide, shock freezes your whole body as you stare at him.

You knew there was something, there had to be but love? Love isn’t something you expected him to feel for you.

“Y-You love me?”

Your voice sounds so broken, so small, your eyes well up with more tears, your lips tremble harder than before and somehow you look even more vulnerable than you did seconds ago.

How could he not love you?

How could he not give his heart to you?

How could he not imagine a future with you?

You are everything to him, you are his everything.

His heart melts at your gaze, at the way you're clinging to him, looking at him wide eyed like you are afraid that he isn’t real, that this isn’t real.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Blondie,” he whispers, his voice cracking and tears continuing to roll down his cheeks, “keeping it a secret was tearing me apart, even more so when I thought that you didn’t feel the same.”

You can’t name the emotions that burn inside of you, not right now, at least.

But all that you know is that you feel joy and happiness, like you have never felt before.

Your heart feels alive.

You feel alive.

He loves you, Steve loves you, Steve is in love with you.

His kind, soft eyes look into yours with nothing but adoration, love and affection. His hair clings to his forehead, his clothes wet just like yours are, he is crying, not from sadness anymore but from happiness, just like you are.

You can’t help but kiss him again, slamming your lips against his shaky ones, you kiss the man who confessed his love for you, the man you never thought would feel the same.

He wastes not a single second to kiss you back, your noses bump harshly together but it only makes you smile, it makes you both giggle against each other's lips. Feeling your shaking body against his, Steve wraps his arms around your waist and he pulls you back, leading you into the house without breaking the kiss.

Your sneakers squeak against the tiles in the hallway, water drips down from the both of you, needy whines and huffs fall from yours and his lips, echoing through his house when he finally closes the door to the storm, he pushes you against the red door, caging you in against it as you grab at the collar of his shirt, pulling him tighter against you as the kiss grows more desperate and hungry.

Steve feels it too, he feels the desperation, the need to feel you closer than this. Your body against his, your hands in his hair, your tongues clashing together through the feverish kiss isn’t enough, he needs to feel your skin on his, he needs to feel your warmth, he needs to hear your sweet moans, he needs to be inside of you.

But first, he needs you to know.

He can feel your tears on his lips, hear your sniffles, feel your pounding heart beneath his palm as he touches your chest.

You have loved him for so long, you have suffered for so long and he knows that you didn’t understand yet just how deep his feelings are.

Steve pulls away from the kiss, only enough so he can speak, close enough to still feel your lips against his, he leans his forehead against yours, keeps his nose nuzzled with yours, he rubs your cheeks, wipes your tears away as he pecks your lips again and again.

You are both panting, both clinging to one another, gazing at each other lovingly.

“You need to hear this, Blondie,” he whispers, not feeling scared or nervous any longer. “You need to understand my feelings for you. They’re not small, they’re not in the slightest. You are the one I imagine myself buying a white picket fence house with, the one I imagine myself marrying, the one I imagine having a family with, no matter if big or small, anything you give me I will take. You need to know that you’re my future, that I have been wanting you in my future for a long while now. There is no one else for me but you.”

Steve watches the way your eyes brighten, the way they almost turn doe-eyed, a shaky breath escapes you, like you can’t believe the words that just left his mouth. You blink at him, lips curling. “Y-You want kids with me?”

You have been by his side for so long, you have been his girl from the moment you decided you wanted to be, you have always been the missing puzzle in his life, you have always been the one that was supposed to be here, with him. All this time, you waited, waited for him and he was so blind, so unaware, so focused on anything but the love of his life. It took him time to realize that, it took him too long but he knows now, he knew for a while.

He smiles, wiping the falling tears from your cheeks as he leans in to give you a soft peck, “as many as you’re willing to have.”

A giggle falls from your lips and you nuzzle your nose against his, leaning your forehead to his as you wrap your arms around him tightly.

“I can’t believe that this is real.”

And you mean every word of that.

Steve can’t believe that someone could love him like this, so strongly, so unconditionally, not even expecting anything in return, loving him through the war between you, loving him through heartbreak, loving him through it all.

You have been there.

You have always been there.

Tears spill over his lashline and down his cheeks, a watery giggle falls from his lips, the hurt in him disappearing more and more as the light seeps back in, a brighter one that his soul had ever seen before, his heart no longer twists in pain, it beats so strongly, so lively, so happily as nothing but love and joy shines in him.

“Me neither,” he whispers against your lips, voice shaky and filled with tears, “I can’t believe that you love me, Blondie, that you want me like this.”

You can’t help but kiss him again, again and again. You cup his cheeks, smiling through your tears as you do something you always wanted to, kiss his pain away, kiss the tears away that stream down his cheeks. You kiss his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, every inch his tears have stained, you kiss it all away.

“I want you more than anything, Steve Harrington,” you murmur into his skin, making the boy sob against you as he holds you tightly, tighter than he ever did before. You grab his hand and pull it towards your chest, placing it above your beating heart, “my heart belongs to you.”

Steve could never find the right words to tell you how he felt, no matter how long he’d look for them, he would never find them, they didn’t exist, and no words that do come close to explaining just how deeply he felt for you, not even the I love you’s he gave you already come close.

So he decides to show you instead.

He bends down and hooks his arm around the back of your knees while the other comes to rest on your back, he tears a squeal out of you when he picks you up bridal style and carries you upstairs.

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, giggling at his sudden move.

He can’t help but smile at the sound that falls from your lips, his heart moving in a way it never has before, a whole new rhythm taking over when he feels the shift of energy in you, when he sees the look in your eyes changing, when you let all your guards down, stripping yourself off each layer.

You press your lips to his, pecking them softly before you move onto his cheek and then his jaw and finally his neck, kissing him while he continues his way up the stairs, trying not to get too distracted by your touch.

“I love you, Stevie,” you whisper into his skin, “I love you so much.”

You can’t stop saying those words now that you have finally allowed yourself to let them free.

Steve has to swallow down the sob that threatens to spill from his lips again, your words bring him so much happiness but he is also so emotional.

Rain water drips from the both of you as he walks through his dark hallway, he is careful not to slip with his wet sneakers, he kicks open the door to his room and walks inside, shutting it again, making it slam. The only source of light now being the lightning that still illuminates the sky every few seconds, the rain paddles down harshly against his windows.

Steve puts you down again so he can undress both you and himself and rid you of the soaked and cold clothes but not before cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, rubbing your wet cheeks as your lips and tongues mingle together in a feverish but passionate kiss.

He brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears, he slips his hands down to your shoulders, removing your jacket and letting it fall to the ground, his fingertips grazing your bare arms that are littered with goosebumps.

You hum against his lips, hands reaching for his belt, clinking as you unbuckle it. You then pop the button of his jeans and move on to his shirt as he does the same to you.

You both only break the kiss to take the chosen clothing item off, your eyes flutter open, instantly locking with his warm brown ones. You smile at one another as you help each other.

You raise your arms up when he starts taking your white, now almost see through shirt off, he drops the material and wastes no second to touch your bare skin, staring at you with nothing but awe and adoration, like it is the first time he gets to see you like this. He touches you so delicately, so softly and gently that it brings a new wave of tears to your already sensitive eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers those words to you, followed by your name that always sounds so pretty rolling off his tongue.

Your heart flutters in your chest, your cold skin heats up beneath his warm touch.

You take a step closer to him, almost pressing your chest against his now as you go to take his shirt off too, he looks down at you and bites his lip, eyes flashing with a deeper adoration when you rise to your tippy toes to roll the wet material off his skin, messing up his hair further when his shirt gets stuck around his head, making you both giggle.

You rise up further, trying to pull it off when he mumbles, “don’t say anything now.”

When you finally free him from it, you throw it on the ground next to yours, smiling brightly, “there was a reason I called you Lego–”

You gasp when he kisses you roughly, not letting you finish the sentence. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, placing your hands on his neck, touching his wet skin and raking your nails down his chest and his stomach, you reach for his belt while he kisses you breathless.

His own hands travel down to your hips, leaving no space untouched. He feels the way you suck in a sharp breath, hears the way you whine against his lips as you tug at his pants just the way he starts working on popping the button on yours.

You pull away from the kiss and breathe heavily against his lips, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

He starts pushing down your pants when you stop him by grabbing his wrists.

“Wait,” you whisper, worrying him with the tightness of your hold on him.

“W-Why? Is something–”

Before he can even question you, you stop him once again by pressing your lips against his, “everything is perfect,” you murmur against his skin, making his heart skip several beats as you continue kissing him, “you’re perfect.”

He is so close to tears once again, your words match the look in your eyes so perfectly, the love that is and was only ever reserved for him is so strong that he can’t help but wonder how he never saw it before, it’s so clear and so evidently there.

Steve never saw himself as anything perfect, not even when everyone else thought that about him throughout his short lived ‘reign’, he always had flaws, always saw them in himself, always felt like there was something wrong with him deep inside. But you make him feel special, you make him feel like he is truly something perfect, like he is worth something with the way you look at him and touch him so delicately as you reveal the side of you that wanted to love so desperately but never felt safe to.

“I want to make you feel good, Steve,” you whisper as you latch your lips onto his neck, slowly kissing your way down to his chest and stomach before you begin to sink to your knees, “please let me.”

Steve’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes close for a moment, the feeling of your lips kissing his wet body making him shiver in pleasure. He opens his eyes again when you hook your fingers around his belt loops, trying to tear his pants down but he stops you just the way you stopped him, the look you give him nearly makes him crumble, the big and pleading eyes, the pout on your lips, the desperation written all over your face.

He wants to sink to his knees for you.

He wants to make you feel good.

So he leans down and grabs you beneath your armpits, picking you up with ease and throwing you on his bed and despite the sound of your whine, he pulls himself together and takes the rest of your clothes off, tearing off your shoes before he works his way up to your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear.

He stares at your body in awe and in love, tracing every inch of you with his eyes as he quickly rids himself of his clothes and kicks off his shoes hastily before he gets down before you, wrapping his hand around your ankle, he looks into your eyes and he presses his lips to your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your thighs.

“Steve,” you whine with a whisper, eyebrows furrowing and pleasure already seeping into your bones. “Please… I want to–”

“Shh, I want to taste you, my love.”

My love.

He called you my love.

Your heart could burst right this second, it could explode, from joy, from happiness and love.

You hear nothing but his voice, the smacking of his lips against your skin and the beating of your heart as he loves on you. You no longer hear the howling wind or the crashing thunder, the bolts of lightning only add to the rush you are feeling right now as you look down at him, at the pretty man between your thighs. You throw your hand into his hair, tugging at his wet strands.

“Please, Steve… Baby, I want to taste you too, I want to make you feel good, please let me…” You whine, not feeling ashamed for the desperation in your voice. “W-We can do it at the same time, please…”

Steve’s stomach flutters at your words, he stops moving and looks up at you with a blush making its way up to his cheeks.

That is something you haven’t done before, not with each other, not with anyone else.

His blood rushes to his core just at the image of it, his stomach burning with lust as he looks into your eager eyes.

“You can’t say shit like that, darling,” he nearly growls and pulls away from you to take his boxers off before he moves on top of you, stealing your breath by slamming his lips back against yours, kissing you needily.

Your moan echoes through his room, getting louder when he grinds against your center, he pushes his hands beneath you so he can unclasp your bra, ridding you off the lacy material, he throws it on the ground before he moves on to your panties. He pulls away for just a second, hooking his fingers around the elastic and helping you get rid of them in a quick motion. His lips slam against yours again as his hands move back up to your waist, grabbing it with both hands, he flips you over so you’re the one on top.

You press your hands against his shoulders, whining when you feel his cock pressing against your center, thighs already sticking together.

He moans loudly when he feels your warmth against him, lust swirling inside of him.

You pull away from one another and he pushes his hands down to your butt, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Turn around, baby…” He whispers and you don’t waste a second to comply.

You take a deep breath and cup the side of his face, pecking his lips softly before you turn around, your knees dig into the mattress, your hands grabbing his thighs roughly when you feel a sense of nervousness rushing through you, your cheeks heat up at the position you are in, fully exposed to him in a new way but that feeling in you subsides and turns into something else when you see his erection, pre-cum rolling down his length and making your mouth water as the need to taste him, to pleasure him grows stronger than before.

And Steve, his eyes darken with lust and he grabs your hips tightly, already leaning forward, he can’t wait any longer when you’re like this in front of him, fully exposed, your folds soaked with your slick and thighs already glistening too, you are so wet that he can smell it. He gives you a rough squeeze before he leans in and licks a stripe from your clit to your hole, making you gasp out in pleasure, a sound that shoots straight to his dick.

Your eyes nearly roll back at the feeling of his tongue, of his mouth on you as he dives right in, devouring you so desperately as though he needs it, needs you like air.

And you need him too.

You press kisses along his shaft, teasing him by massaging his balls and you slowly flick your hand up and down around him, humming against him as his moans sound through the room, getting more desperate the longer you continue this.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” you promise before you spit down into your palm, wrapping your hand back around his length, a little firmer this time, you jerk him off and swirl your tongue around his leaking tip before you finally wrap your lips around him and take him deeply into your mouth, closing your watery eyes and hollowing your cheeks around him.

Steve moans loudly against you, sending vibrations through you, he slips his tongue inside of you, holding you tighter than before as he laps at your pussy with desperation, getting lost in the pleasure of tasting you and feeling your warm mouth around him.

You look so perfect, so fucking sexy with your hair falling down your arched back, your skin glowing beneath the flashing lights of the storm, he can’t help but run his palm up and down your butt, squeezing and grabbing at your skin, moaning even louder when you grind back against his face as you take him deeper and deeper until Steve can feel the back of your throat.

He whimpers your name, eyes rolling back as he delves deeper into you, slipping two of his fingers into you along with his tongue, he scissors you, spreading you open for him. He can feel you clenching around his fingers, he can feel you drooling all over him.

Your moan vibrates all around his cock, making you pull it out of your mouth in order to take a breath. Your concentration starts to fail you as his fingers move rapidly inside of you, his tongue lapping at everything he can take that is dripping out of you. You keep moving your hand on him as your hips twitch.

“S-Stevie…” He doesn’t care that you are not sucking him off right now, he is only caring about your pleasure. He needs you to feel treasured, cared for, and he needs you to feel it with him only. That he is the only one that can bring you all of this, even if it sounds possessive… He wants to be the only one, forever.

You feel your belly burn and you look down at his cock, trying to pull yourself together, trying to forget about the throbbing happening in your pussy. You want to make him feel good. You want to hear him come undone as well. So you open your mouth once more, licking at the head and pressing the tip of your tongue right on the slit. You feel Steve groan against you, and then you finally take him inside once more.

You bop your head, swirling your tongue around him as tears fall from your eyes, you are so deeply lost in the pleasure, you forget everything around you, only he matters. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, you can hear his moans and how much louder they get and you feel your own release approaching as he flicks your clit with his thumb and curls his fingers inside of you, using both his digits and his tongue to unravel you.

“I know you want to let go for me, darling,” he murmurs against you.

You can only hum around him, wanting to feel him cumming down your throat.

“Please do it, cum on my tongue,” he whispers as he drags his fingers in and out of you, making your stomach tense up hotly.

You squeeze your eyes shut, twisting your wet palm around him as drool continues to roll down his length. You want him to find his release, you want it so badly.

You grab his knee, holding on tightly as a cry tears from your throat and your legs nearly give out when your high washes over you, shaking through your core and making your body feel tense yet released all at once. His other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep you pressed against his mouth, not letting you move away.

“Mmm,” Steve hums against you as though you are the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

You wish you could see his face.

“Just like that,” he praises, giving your butt another squeeze, he laps at your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, teasing your already sensitive clit before he moves back to your entrance.

His own hips almost buck up when you hollow your cheeks further and take him deeper, nearly making him cum too soon for his liking.

“W-Wait, baby, please… I wanna cum inside of you,” he says with a shaky, pleading voice as he tugs at your waist, trying to pull you off him so he can have you back in his arms, so he can see your face again and feel you around him differently. He would’ve chuckled at the whine falling from your lips if he wasn’t so emotional right now. “Come here,” he whispers, holding you tightly as he turns you around and pulls you onto his lap, straddling him.

Meeting his eyes again, your lips part when you see the burning desperation in them, his cheeks are flushed and his chin glistens with your release. He looks so beautiful.

Steve’s hands move from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as your own hands reach for his shoulders.

No words need to be said, you both know what you want, what you need as your eager hands reach for one another, trying to pull the other closer and closer until you’re skin to skin, closer than you have ever been before.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arm around you, hugging you against him as you place your hand between you both and wrap it around his length again, teasing both him and yourself when you slip it through your sensitive, wet folds.

Your bottom lip trembles, emotions running deep because of his words.

You never thought that you would ever hear such words falling from his lips, you never thought you would ever be this blessed.

You throw your arm around his shoulder and press your lips against his as you slowly sink down on his length, taking him deeper and deeper until you’re fully seated on him, making both yourself and him whimper in pleasure. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, holding you tighter than ever, he stops breathing when he feels you clenching around him, whining as you adjust to his size.

His heart skips a beat when you place your palm on his chest, resting it there as you press yourself even tighter against him and it hits him – this is it, everything he ever wanted now belongs to him, it’s all his, you are his.

And he is yours, wholeheartedly and unconditionally yours.

You start rolling your hips slowly, breathing heavier, holding onto him tighter, gasping and sucking in sharp breaths when he moves with you, pushing his hips up as he fucks into you deeper.

A sniffle falls from you when you pull away from the kiss, breathing in shakily, you open your eyes slowly to find him looking at you already, a loving, soft gaze flashing in his honey eyes, the love in them not hidden at all, it’s all open for you now, all there for you to see and to feel as he leans into you, pressing his lips to your chin and peppering kissing along your jawline, making his way down to your neck as he murmurs your name sweetly.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, followed by your name that rolls off his tongue so beautifully. “I was going crazy, thinking that I didn’t stand a chance with you, honey.”

He was the only one for you, from the moment you laid your eyes on him, he was the only one.

“S-Steve,” you whisper as you feel yourself nearing another sob, his words and his touches overwhelming you.

You bury your hands in his hair, combing your fingers through it before you grab it tightly.

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispers against your collarbones, leaving tender kisses and marking your skin with love bites, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your bottom lip quivers, your chest contracts and you can’t hold it in any longer.

Years of pining and longing, of feeling hopeless and unworthy of him and his love while watching, admiring from afar and wishing for nothing but a chance with him, a piece of his heart, all while losing yourself in a darkness you have found home in, a darkness he took away again.

He gave you light and warmth and now he gave you more, not only a piece of his heart but he gave you his whole.

Your tears spill just as strongly as before, an uncontrollable sob falls from your lips, leading you to bury your face in his neck, you wrap your arms around him so tightly, hugging him strongly, breathing in his scent and letting your heart match the beating of his own.

“I got you,” Steve whispers as he blinks through his own tears, “I got you, darling and I’m not letting you go, not ever.”

You press your lips to his skin, shutting your eyes tightly. The burning in your chest, in your stomach all feeling too much, you hold onto him, you cling to him, scared of letting go.

Steve’s heart could burst at any second now, feeling your tears rolling down his skin, your hands, your body clinging to him like you’re afraid to lose him because you are, you are afraid to lose him.

Someone is afraid to lose him.

And he nearly let you slip through his fingers.

A silent cry falls from his lips this time, tears pool in his eyes and he pulls you closer and closer until you’re completely flush against one another, pushing in deeper and deeper to feel you closer, to feel you in the most intimate way as he spreads you open and you pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, whimpering and gasping into his neck.

“Please don’t let me go,” you whisper, pressing kisses to his hot skin, “please don’t ever leave me,” you beg despite the promise he just made to you.

The brokenness in your shaky voice only makes him more desperate to show you just how deeply in love he is with you, how he would do anything for you, how there is nothing and no one that could take him away from you, how he would come crawling back to you over and over again even if you didn’t love him.

He slides his hand up your body, cupping each side of your face, he urges you to face him, wanting to see you again and you look at him, with big and glassy eyes, you look into his eyes.

“I will never leave you,” he whispers softly, wiping your tears before he reaches for your hand, bringing it back up to his chest, he places it over his heart, “I’m yours, my heart belongs to you, darling.”

Steve sees it in your eyes, just how long you have wanted this for, how special this moment is to you, how special he is to you, how much love there was hidden in your heart just for him.

He will worship the ground you walk on for the rest of his life.

“I love you so much,” you sniffle, unable to say anything else.

His lips curl into a smile despite the tears that fall down his already wet cheeks, he pulls you against him, bumping his nose against yours accidentally as he pecks your lips, “you make me so fucking happy,” he kisses you, “and I don’t think you even realize that.” Kiss. “I’m so in love with you, honey.” Kiss. “I love you with my whole heart–”

You smash your lips against his, kissing him with everything that you have, moving your lips softly yet roughly with his, parting them with your tongue as you slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further.

He moans against you, placing his large hand on your cheek, he matches your pace and kisses you back hungrily, getting lost in the feeling of you, of your heat and your burning skin against his, your walls that tighten so strongly around him that it makes his mouth water and his cock twitch inside of you, his body screams for release but his heart aches for this moment to never stop, not realizing yet that this is only the beginning of your story.

Your hands grab at whatever they can reach, his shoulders, his biceps, his face, his messy hair and finally his hands as you pull them away from your chest so you can intertwine your fingers with his. You feel the coil in your stomach growing bigger and bigger, the burning in your thighs intensifying by the second. His moans and whimpers vibrate against your lips when you keep clenching around him.

Filthy sounds take over the room, your whines of desperation, the slick noise of his cock slipping in and out of you as you ride him, the sound of your lips smacking against each other.

But nothing, nothing about this moment is filthy or dirty. Everything about this is more than special, more than what words could describe this very moment. Your hearts beat the same rhythm, finally finding each other, your souls entwine as your bodies meet in the most intimate way, you are both overwhelmed by the feelings that rush through you and yet you feel peace because you finally are where you were always supposed to be, in each other’s arms, holding one another and making love to each other as everything fades to nothing but the two of you.

And it feels like forever, neither of you no longer wet from the rain but from the sweat that coats your foreheads, your moans turn into weak whimpers as you’re both panting, your kisses never stopping, not even when you lose your breaths, you are aching, you both are, you are sensitive and in need of release.

You are shaking and so is he, his cock so hard inside of you, your walls so sensitive as you are twitching.

He holds you possessively, from the strong hold on your waist to the touch of his hand on your cheeks, he is showing you with his touch that you are his, only his.

No words need to be shared, no warnings, nothing, you both feel it, you both know what you want, what you need.

Despite the lack of air, your kiss deepens, your lips moving roughly and needily as his digits work on your sensitive nub, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You wrap your arms around him again, hugging him so tightly as you and he finally let go, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure of coming undone.

Steve moans so needily, pressing his palm so strongly against your shoulder blade, he keeps you close, whimpering your name against your lips followed by not one but a few ‘I love you’s’ as he fills you up to the brim.

“S-Stevie,” you whisper shakily, twitching and clenching around him still, even as you slow down, more and more. “I love you.”

And even when this moment felt forever, it still wasn’t enough, how could it ever be? Not even forever would be enough with you, he needs more, so much more.

You fall limply against him and rest your head on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath and he holds you through it all, panting just like you as he lies back, taking you with him, and rests his head on the pillows behind him, playing with your hair and running his fingers through it, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers, making no moves to pull out of you just yet.

The heat of your skin burns against his own, your hand lays over his heart so perfectly and he takes it in his, raising it up to his lips and kissing your bare ring finger.

In the arms of the man you love is where you found your home a long time ago but now it no longer feels cold or lonesome, one sided or saddening, it truly feels like home now, filled with light and warmth, love. He found a home in you too, he finally did.

Seconds and minutes go by and you stay like this, clinging to one another and loving every moment of this. Your cheek is squished against his chest, you are breathing him in, your heart fluttering at the thought that this is the true beginning of it all.

You open your eyes, your lips curling into a smile when you find him looking down at you, adoration so deep in his beautiful features, his hand still holding yours.

It’s so dark in the room, the lightning no longer flashing, thunder no longer rumbling, the storm has passed and only the light rain remains. You still see his handsome face, the color of his cheeks, the pretty brown eyes that you adore so much, his kissable lips.

You cup his cheek and tilt your chin up, moving closer to him so you can press your lips against his cheek.

“You’re so pretty, Steve Harrington,” you whisper and kiss the corner of his mouth, “pretty baby.”

Steve doesn’t know why out of all the words you have called him, these are the ones that make him blush the most, his cheeks redden and he feels grateful for the darkness in the room.

“That’s you, darling,” he whispers and steals a kiss from you, snaking his arm around you further, he smiles when you press your palms against his chest and lean your chin down, staring up at him with love filled eyes.

“Darling,” you whisper, lips curling into a smile, “I love that.”

His hands squeeze your waist, his eyes not straying away from you, not for a single second, “yeah?”

You nod and lean closer to kiss his chin, “mhm.”

As you lay here on top of him, showering him in kisses, gazing up at him starry eyed, he feels comfort and warmth blossom in him thinking back to a time when he wasn’t even aware of all this, when he didn’t think that it was even possible for anyone to love him, to find out that you did, you out of all people, you who he thought hated his guts more than anything but loved him in secret, a secret you nearly took to your grave.

Oh, he would have suffered, he would have felt such a tragic loss if you had died that night but it wouldn’t have hit him until weeks or maybe even months later, when he would have finally allowed himself to look at your picture, to remember the memories of you, to remember your voice and your beautiful face, remember the few gentle moments you had with each other, only then would he have felt the truth coming to life, the feelings he always refused and denied, he would have realized that it was you, that it should have been you, that it was always supposed to be you but it would have been too late, you would have been gone and it would’ve broken him, he would have never recovered, he would have never forgiven himself for finding his love for you when it was much too late.

You would have been the loss of his life.

That thought shouldn’t even plague him right now because you’re here, in his arms, tracing his skin with your finger as you smile up at him.

“I love you so much,” he whispers instead of tracing those words into your skin like he had gotten used to doing.

This all still feels like a dream, a way too good of a dream.

The smile that reached your eyes wasn’t one he had ever seen before, no matter how happy, how comfortable you were around him, he had never seen such a bright, happy, relaxing smile on your pretty features.

He had never felt the touch of your lips in such a soft way, a kiss so delicate that it made his chest vibrate with a new wave of emotions.

“And I love you,” you murmur against his lips, “I hope you don’t get sick of me saying that.”

Steve scoffs at your words, raising his brows as he stares at you in disbelief, his hand moving up to your upper back, resting them on your shoulder blades as he presses a kiss to your nose, “honey, this is all I ever wanted.”

To hear him say such words only makes the dream-like state you are in much more intense.

Who would’ve thought that you would hear these words from him?

“I always had a crush on you,” Steve whispers, admitting something to you that he himself struggled to accept only a few months back.

This time, it’s your eyebrows that shoot up in surprise, shock flashing in your eyes, “w-what?”

There is no way that Steve ever felt anything other than dislike for you, especially before the upside down.

Steve chuckles to himself, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles at you.

“I always watched you too, Blondie,” he admits, watching the way your softened eyes fill with confusion, “but I was an idiot, I-I didn’t know how to talk to you, I knew how to talk to every other girl but you? Fuck,” he sighs, furrowing his brows as he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t know how to talk to you because you made me so fucking nervous, it’s like all my confidence slipped away the moment you looked at me with those pretty eyes.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his eyes well up with tears again, words he had kept inside for so long now finally slipping from his lips.

“And you weren’t… you weren’t–”

“Nice?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, your heart starts pounding again.

He chuckles for a moment and shakes his head, “no, I– you weren’t supposed to be nice to me, I wasn’t nice to you, but that’s not what I mean, I… You just, I don’t know how to– I always messed up around you and it kept happening so I put on this King Steve persona, especially when I was around you and fuck… Honey, I tried to impress you but I always felt like you weren’t looking at me, no matter what I did, you were never looking at me.”

You don’t know what hit you harder tonight, the three words he repeatedly blessed you with or this revelation.

All you know is that you feel it in your core, the shock and the confusion.

You shake your head a little, like you don’t understand a word he said.

“When we wrote notes to each other, I-I didn’t want to admit it to myself back then but I really fucking hoped that something would come out of it but nothing did… I know you thought that Tommy set me up to it but he didn’t.”

You don’t know what to say, you don’t even know what to think, it’s all so much, it’s all too much for one night.

“I-I don’t–”

Steve cups your cheeks, shaking his head as he isn’t done yet.

“No, I waited for you… I waited for you at every game, I always looked around trying to find you in the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of you, even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I always waited for you.”

Your eyes crinkle though they well up with tears again, you couldn’t describe the feelings in you, not even if you tried.

His hands on your skin feel softer than ever, his eyes shine with tears and his bottom lip quivers.

“I was there, Steve,” you whisper, blinking through your tears, swallowing the nervousness, “I was there.”

He nods, lips curling into a soft smile, “I know that now b-but I wish I knew back then, I wish I wasn’t so hard on you…”

You know the look in his eyes, the regret, the guilt he feels from that day at the mall and the few other bad ones.

But they don’t matter anymore, they haven’t mattered for a while now, and they especially don’t matter now.

Shaking your head, you lean up, cupping his cheek too, you kiss him sweetly, softly, stealing his breath away with tenderness. You place your hand over his, guiding it down to your chest and placing it over your heart.

“Those days are over, they don’t matter anymore,” you whisper and keep a tight hold on his hand, “you have me now.”

And you have him.

He is yours, he wants to be yours so badly.

Steve nods, leaning into the touch of your hand, he blinks his tears away and moves his head, pressing his lips against your palm, and he kisses you there, making you smile.

“And you have me,” he whispers softly, watching the way your eyes sparkle with happiness, with love.

You catch him by surprise when you start showering him in kisses, pressing your lips to his face, to his cheeks and his forehead, to his nose and his chin and then finally his lips, making him giggle at the sudden sweet affection and then, you cutely nuzzle your nose against his, giggling through it all yourself.

You only did this once, on the fourth of July, when you were wasted. Your lips went crazy across his whole face, you kissed him all over, complimented him and looked at him as though he was your own personal sun.

How could he not see back then?

How could he not see that it wasn’t the alcohol but the love you already felt for him, the love you couldn’t contain in that moment.

Steve makes you squeal when he moves too suddenly, grabbing your waist and flipping you over so he is the one on top, he cups your cheeks and leans down, doing what you just did, leaving no spot unkissed.

“Steve!” You giggle, squeezing your eyes shut as he trails kisses down to your jaw and your neck, tickling you with his hair and the light stubble around his mouth. You grab at his waist, holding on tightly.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs into your neck, kissing you there over and over until you grab his face and pull him back up to you.

He looks down at you, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks away your hair and caresses your cheek, admiring your puffy lips, your beautiful eyes as you look at him with nothing but love in them.

Everything he ever wanted is now right in front of him, in reach and now all he needs to do is ask.

“Do you want to go on a date with me, Blondie?” He asks, unable to contain the smile on his face as he watches the way your eyes crinkle and a giggle falls from your lips, you cup each side of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, answering him in the sweetest way. He only chuckles against your lips, pulling away for just an inch in order to mumble against your lips, “I need words darling…”

And that little word that will change your life forever finally comes out of your lips,

“Yes.”

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

#dwoht -- chapter twenty two #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington smut #stranger things angst

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luveline · 5 months

Note

Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻

quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k

Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours.

You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm.

“Don’t get too hot!” you call.

“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout.

“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.”

Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks.

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly.

“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?”

“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her.

Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same.

Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time.

The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine.

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.

“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze.

“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy.

“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.”

“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.”

“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says.

“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes.

“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.”

“She was disgusted.”

“She said we were being weird teenagers.”

“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.”

“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.”

“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.

Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.”

He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?”

Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?”

“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.”

“Right. Isn’t everybody?”

“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.”

“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.”

Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling.

“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly.

“I missed my cousin, I think.”

Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug.

“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles.

He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset.

“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says.

“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.”

“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.”

“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.”

“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally.

“Why now?”

“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.

You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?”

“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front.

You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease.

Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says.

“Freezing!”

Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.”

“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?”

“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.”

“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.”

“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck.

You push against his hand gently with your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says.

“What for?”

For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.”

“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.”

“How much do you have left?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just about to get out.”

“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?”

“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere.

Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.”

You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses.

“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair.

“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.”

“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper.

“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.

“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble.

“What?”

“It’s a good thing.”

“How dare you.”

“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead.

“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge.

“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”

He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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dobbysnotsureaboutthis · 2 months

Text

Very Long Mating Season Pt. 2 - Elevator Shenanigans

Masterlist

WC: 3,203

Description:

You get stuck in an elevator with Alastor and some shenanigans 乁(ಥ ͜ʖಥ)ㄏgo on. Basically, it is a short (shorter compared to pt.1) continuation of pt.1 which you can find here

Warnings:

SEX STUFF again I repeat there is !SEXUAL CONTENT IN THIS FIC! And again, tiny tiny bit of blood stuff, I felt like writing him soft cuz something’s gotta balance all that hardness, also by shenanigans (in the title) I mean !SEXUAL CONTENT!, unedited (warnings sponsored by Vivziepop)

It didn’t take too long for the rest of the hotel crew to realize what happened between you and Alastor. Angel Dust was the first to suspect the two of you, then Husk, before they spread their suspicions to the rest of them.

You did your best to avoid their judgemental (in your mind) stares, laughing awkwardly whenever Alastor would stand a little too close for comfort while they were around. When you were alone, you let him hold you when he wanted, enjoying the cozy cuddle of his hold as he had you in his lap by the fireplace, his one arm petting your fluffy ears and the other holding a book. You let him keep you in his radio tower, swinging your legs aimlessly for hours while he excitedly talked through his broadcast.

Although he still wouldn’t let you touch his antlers, despite your offer to help him with that itch he kept on scratching. When you asked him why…

“Well my de[e]ar, deer shed their antlers each year after mating season.��

Which didn’t answer your question, but explained the flaky red strips of gummy fur clinging to his antlers. As a doctor, you’ve seen much grosser things, so you watch him pick at them with curiosity rather than disgust.

But as soon as you saw the opportunity - while he was distracted in a heated argument with Lucifer, who you’ve yet to speak to - you slipped out of the hotel. You would be back, you couldn’t bring yourself to cruelly leave him back there (not that he would let you do so). It would just be after a well-needed break from that abnormally clingy demon.

After all, you did grow a bit fond of him yourself after the weeks spent constantly in his passionate embrace. But you missed walking freely through the city without an overgrown strawberry attached to your side, and you definitely needed to get back to your job at the office, rather than treating patients in the hotel while a red-eyed demon watched over your shoulder.

As you’re turning the street to your office, feeling renewed and ready to start the day, you’re stopped by… the sight of nothing.

Your office was gone. All that was left of the humble one storied building was bits and pieces of the cheap gray walls, looking like burnt bread crumbs on a messy eater’s plate. No way.

“What happened here?” You question a nearby tiny bunny demon in a construction uniform, watching as her yellow eyes flicker rapidly over a blueprint of sorts.

“Ugh, it’s the same guy again.”

“What guy?”

She ignores you, and begins moving away from the wreck that was left of your humble building. You’re not at all thrown-off, being painfully used to her type of behavior. It was rare in fact, to find a single soul down here capable of basic etiquette. You follow her, determined to get some type of answer.

“Can you at least tell me when all the construction is going to be over?”

“It’ll probably take us a month or so to fix up that tall of a building.”

Tall? You’re confused for just a second before you notice a ruined building owned by VoxTek across the street of your location. The center had disappeared as though someone took a giant bite out of it. A minute loss for a company as big as VoxTek. Well, at least compared to yours.

“What about the building over there?” You gesture to the empty spot your office used to occupy. “How long is that going to take?”

“What, you think we just have all the time in the world?”

“...Yes?”

“We don’t bother to fix small buildings like that, they get wiped out all the time.” She snorts. “I don’t even know what that thing was for!”

“That was my office. I’m a doctor. I need it reconstructed, I have patients who need me.”

That makes her lift her head from her blueprint to look at you, clear astonishment and a hint of mockery in her expression. “Seriously? A doctor in hell? That gives me even less reason to fix the darn building, your patients probably kill each other as soon as you treat them!” She reaches up high to pat your shoulder patronizingly, as though you just told her the funniest joke. “Go find yourself another job sweetheart. Maybe you’ll find one in Mr. Vox’s building that we’re fixing up right now.”

And that was that. There was nothing you could do to get them to listen to you, unless you fought fire with fire and resorted to the same type of bloodthirsty violence as them. You weren’t going to do that.

“Oh, fuck you. I hope you fall while working and reconsider what you said about doctors being pointless.” You could still say whatever the fuck you wanted, though.

Now there was only one place you could think of heading to, and that was straight back into the arms of your... “lover” was a term never explicitly stated, but friends would be a severe understatement.

The doors to the hotel entrance slam open before you could touch the handle, and you’re greeted by a deafening, “Dear, where have you been?” in your ear, a slender, red-sleeved arm hooking over your shoulders and squeezing you tightly.

“I was trying to check up on my office,” you sigh. Then you look at him reassuringly. “I wasn’t planning to leave you or anything.”

“I’m not at all worried about you leaving, I knew you’d come back.” He says this, but his tail twitches once. You smile. How endeering that he’s nervous about you leaving.

“Let me guess, somebody tore down your office?” Vaggie interrupts your conversation seemingly out of nowhere, and you notice the state of chaos the hotel lobby was in as you peer behind her shoulder to get a look inside.

Charlie is running all over the place, rambling at 100 miles per hour as she practically melts down over the crumbling walls and spilled beverages. A dart of hot pink indicates the tiny maid demon jumping around, giggling and stabbing at parts of the carpeted floor that were on fire. And, perhaps most notably, as Vaggie snags you from Alastor’s hold and pulls you outside, you notice that an entire chunk has been pulled out of the third floor, done in a similar fashion to the VoxTek building you glimpsed earlier. The third floor. Also known as, the only floor with extra rooms you could potentially stay in.

“Are you kidding me? Here too, at the hotel?”

“Yes. And even worse, it’s only been a day since we heard of this building-eating demon.” She groans. “A day! They fucked up our hotel in the short time you were gone.”

You bite your lip, brow furrowing at the information. So now, there was truly no place to stay. Well, you could ask Alastor, but you really didn’t want to. After all, he was a stranger to you up until a month ago, and you needed distance away from him to sort out your thoughts. What do you do now-?

A gloved hand squeezes your cheeks, and you’re met with red eyes right next to your face. “Smile, my dear! The fallen buildings are no big trouble, I could fix them up right now if I wished to.”

“Then could you?” You start to feel hopeful.

His grin widens. “And provide you with your own space, which you will only use to hide away from me? Not going to happen!”

You briefly think of just walking away right then, but just as you were about to, Charlie joins you at the door. “Oh, good, Alastor you’re here! You have to go fix the third floor right now, it’s really bad!”

His eyes narrowed to slits, still maintaining that grin of his which made him appear hilariously irritated in your perspective. You stifle a laugh and cheer of victory as he reluctantly accepts, knowing that he won’t defy a direct order from the princess of hell. “...Why of course I can.”

He has you on his arm again the second Vaggie lets go of you, humming an old-timey tune. The vibrations from his chest buzz pleasantly against your side, and you relax at the comfortable sensation. Well; it’s not as though you had anywhere to go, so you mindlessly follow his steady pull as he heads for the elevator. You look up, doubtful of its sturdiness at the moment.

“Alastor, are you sure this thing is safe to go on? You gesture with your free arm at the giant dent in the middle of the doors. “Are you sure we can even open the door?”

“I have my ways.” With a flourish of his hand, the doors creak open; albeit slowly, and it gets stuck at the halfway open mark. Huh. Doubtful, highly doubtful.

But Alastor’s looking at you with as innocent of an expression as a face like his can express, and you still feel slightly sorry for leaving him this morning without a word. So you step in, again slowly, because the ceiling of the elevator is smushed in. It’s low enough that you have to duck your head while walking in, and Alastor nearly has to crawl in. He twirls his radio stick behind his back, snapping his fingers to close the doors. You squeeze in front of him to select the button for the third floor.

As soon as the doors close, you become aware of just how tight the space was. Alastor sits crossed-legged next to you, his knee brushing against your ankle. You stand awkwardly, the lowered ceiling conveniently pushing on the back of your head so that you're staring at your feet. It’s even worse that you could feel him staring at you the whole ride up. He sure had no concept of other people’s personal space, for a man who supposedly guarded his own with an iron fist.

The elevator’s at the third floor. Great, it’s over. You wait for the doors to open.

One moment turns to two, then four, then… Why aren’t the doors opening?

“It appears we are stuck!”

“Seriously? I couldn’t see that! I thought I was hallucinating the whole thing so thanks for confirming!” You nearly scream in frustration, the events of the day finally catching up to you. “What happened to ‘I have my ways’?” You direct your yell at him, arms crossed in front of your chest as you finally meet his gaze.

He’s grinning at you, but his ears slightly fold back. Great, now you can’t even properly yell at him because then you’d feel bad. You turn around to face the crack of the door, attempting to pry it open to no avail. Pressing the open-door button didn’t work either. And there was no call button, because why would there be a call button in an elevator in hell?

You sink down to your knees to join him on the elevator floor, your skirt pooling neatly around your knees. The singular light illuminating the elevator flickers, and before you could even pray it doesn’t fall, it does. You barely had the time to cover your head with your arms, preparing yourself for the impact.

It doesn’t come. You look up from your hunched position to see that it had landed on Alastor instead. You blink in surprise at his form, frozen in suspense as his head tilts slightly to the right from the weight of the light that now hanged from one of his antlers. His eye twitches with the effort to not flinch at the sensation, and you gasp, realizing that it must’ve hurt due to the sensitivity from the shedding.

You carefully reach a hand upward, eyes asking him for permission. His teeth had clenched, signifying his pain despite his reluctance to drop the wide smile on his face.

“Go ahead…” He grounds out through the agony, ears completely flattened and tail nearly vibrating from its rapid twitches.

Gently wrapping your fingers around the base of the light bulb, you tug at it in small, repeated successions in hope of loosening the stuck object. It loosens just enough to make you think it's working, only for it to get stuck again on a higher ridge. His antlers shift and grow in length, until the tips nearly reach the elevator walls. Even with all the shifting, the light bulb doesn’t budge.

A pained noise alerts you of Alastor, head dipped and black liquid drooling from his teeth. You concentrate harder on dislodging the offensive gadget - nope, not moving. You couldn’t break the light bulb, who knows the extra damage that would do to him?

You didn’t notice how you had shifted onto his lap in your effort to reach the stuck object until you felt his claws dig into your waist, threatening to rip open the old wounds that had just begun to scar from your little mating session weeks ago.

You rack your brain for additional ideas. Then one comes to you. Hmm, kind of gross, but your options were limited enough to try. There was virtually no illumination in the elevator except the soft glow of red from his eyes, and you relocate the light bulb you had let go of through touch alone. You could feel the sharp edge of his nose slot between your chest, making you smile a little as it tickles.

You part your lips, and lick the smooth surface of the bulb, coating the surface with a thin layer of spit. Smearing the stickiness with your finger, you work it into the crevices where the object met his antler. The slight budge of the material gives you hope that you were doing something. Just a little more…

Beneath you, the deer man shifted relentlessly at your soft ministrations on his antler, fingers working diligently at detaching the object. Soft whimpers barely register to your unsuspecting ears as you focus on your work, letting more saliva pool in your mouth so that you could coat the entire surface with a thicker layer of goo. You slather your tongue all over its smoothness, digging the tip of it into the same crevices over and over. A musky, almost smelly taste of iron infects the point of your tongue and spreads to the rest of your mouth.

The taste is unpleasant in the way that, if you were served a bowl of the bloody bits with no context, you would probably gag; but the subtle flavor of Alastor peeking behind all the rancid munch led you to willingly take more and more of it into your mouth, as you savor it at the same time you work at the thing clinging to his antler. Periodically, you’re gifted by the squeaky noises of the object losing its grip on his antlers.

The skin on your waist aches with the clench of his clawed fingers, but you pay the affliction no mind. You vaguely register some hardness pressing into the slot between your thighs, and the familiarity of it all made it difficult for you to recognize its presence. Something about the rhythm of his hips, jagged and shamefully finding solace in your own, was still so ingrained into your mind from the two weeks of heated passion that you found it as natural as breathing, letting his actions fade into the background.

It feels like forever, as you diligently deliver slobbery licks to the bloody strands of flesh still heated by his body temperature, the soft, blood-matted bits of fur contrasting with the hard texture of his antlers. He had pulled you down to his crotch, desperately grinding into your heat until there was no space left between the two of you. His teeth encircle your shoulder as they dig into the exact imprint they left a day ago, the motion intimate and ritualistic.

Finally, your ears perk up as you hear a sharp scraping sound from the light bulb, and you let the muscles around your jaw relax, pulling your head back to gently shift the light bulb out with your hands.

“Alastor, I think I got it out-!”

You’re interrupted by a feral tightening of his claws on your arms, and the sound of bleating. The noise is broken and animalistic, and his cheeks are apparently flushed even in the darkness. Soft bleats continuously escape his lips; against his will, as indicated by his tense posture. You sat frozen, pussy pressed against his jumping clothed cock, back arching in heated fascination as you feel wet pumps of muffled fluid against your underwear.

The sensations of his heavy, labored breathing, sweat running in rivulets down his shoulders and stuttering hips finally registers to you, sinking into his hold and letting him handle your willing body as he rides out his high.

He just… came in his pants.

You simply sit in silence, light bulb still clutched in your hand, as you let him recover while his labored breaths pump into the nook of your shoulder.

“...Is that why you wouldn’t let me touch your antlers?”

He bares his teeth, the same bleating noise escaping his lips, although without embarrassment this time. Within no time at all, he had pulled your slowly distancing body flush against his own body again. “I’ll answer your curious little questions after I’m done with you.”

Ah, right. You settle yourself into his hold as you mentally prepare for what was to come.

You forgot that man had no such thing as a recovery time.

—---------------------------------

“The problem got so big that it showed itself. Turns out it was just a little crocodile demon, who was having a fit and got a little hungry while trying to find its mother. We got it down to its original size, and Charlie is working on fixing the broken buildings of the pride ring.” She holds up the tiny crocodile, its eyes glistening in fascination at the red lego in its hands. Was everything red in hell?

And what was a child doing in hell?

“Ah, don’t eat that!” Oh, that’s why. You snort as Vaggie wrestles her bleeding mouth from its jaw. Well, you’ve always thought some children were demons on earth.

“Anyway, what took you and Alastor so long to fix the floor?” She turns to look at Alastor accusingly. “I thought you had powers to help you with these types of things.”

You race to answer her question before Alastor could potentially say something weird. “We got stuck in the elevator.” That was technically the truth.

Alastor hums a guileless tune, a complacent smile resting on his face. Between his strange wordlessness (only because you threatened him earlier not to speak a word of it) and your suspiciously quick answer, something clicks in her expression.

“Oh. Ohhh. Ew.” She wrinkles her nose.

Your face burns in shame as you re-enter the elevator with Alastor. He’s still smiling the same smile, and you’re grateful for the silence until he speaks up, head tilting to one side as he ends your little escapade with one last candid remark.

“It’s a good thing you’re a doctor dear, not a politician.”

A/N: So I didn't write them fucking because every time I start a fic, I think of it as being part of the same universe. And they've already fucked in this universe. It doesn't make sense to me to write a full-on sex scene twice in the same universe, especially one with not that much plot, because then it translates as more of a "sex diary of reader and Alastor" (which I MEAN HEY IT COULD BE A THING) and less of a continuation of a story from point A to point B. But with how the fucking is the main point it might as well be a sex diary so... (WHAT DID I TYPE THAT WHOLE THING FOR) Also when I wrote jumping clothed cock I kept picturing his dick turning into a sausage and jump-roping so now you can think about it too (only if you want to (#consent (...I bet you thought about it)))

Taglist(? Never done one of these things before/ Is it a list with one item (in the English language (not programming or whatever else with lists))): @angeldustharmony here’s that pt. 2! ᕙ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x you #alastor x you smut #after the rut #fanfiction #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x you

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houpss · 6 months

Note

I urgently need you to write about what if SKZ are upset/crying

you write so well that I cry every time from your works, they break my heart :( You're born for angst ❤️‍🔥🫶🏻

SKZ feeling upset/crying

angst, fluff, consolation, tears

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧

Chan cries often, but he does it alone.

Because...he shouldn't cry. That's what he thought.

Chan helps everyone, he gives advice to everyone... but he is not able to help himself.

He looks like a drowning man, but he is drowning in his problems, he is drowning in self-hatred.

Oh...he thinks that he is absolutely ugly, that he is always behind and that he is always bad.

Tears of desperate pain choke him as he covers his mouth with his hand and hugs his knees to his chest as he sits on his bed in his room.

He knew he wasn't worthy of the fans' love or your love. What did he do to deserve you?

He slowly and surely destroyed himself from the inside.

It will be late Friday evening, Chan has had a terrible day today. He made a few mistakes, he's very absent-minded

He came home and immediately burst into tears. He collapsed exhaustedly on the bed, his body trembling with shame and tears.

He lay down in a ball and covered himself with a blanket, he wants to hide from the whole world.

You arrived a little later than Chan. you tensed up because the apartment was quiet and dark.

You went through all the rooms, but didn’t find Chan there, although his shoes and bag were in the hallway.

Your heart sank when you saw him in the bedroom, you felt his pain on you.

You entered the room and sat down on Chan’s bed, Chan was lying on his side, covered with a blanket up to his head, he was breathing heavily and sobbing. You saw several drunk bottles of whiskey on the table, it seems things are bad. You stroked Chan’s head and back as he lay under the blanket. You rubbed his back again and again. Your heart ached with every tear he shed, it hurt too much. Chan feels your gentle touch and sobs loudly. Tears dampen the pillow, his body tenses for a moment, but then he slowly turns to you and looks at you with wet brown eyes, full of pain and regret. “Y/n...you shouldn't have seen this... I'm sorry...” his voice trembles, he tries his best to stop himself from screaming, “I don't want anything to happen in our relationship because of me- that’s bad... please forgive me" ..."Channie..please tell me everything that bothers you...I will help you" Tears flowed from his eyes, he sobbed loudly and squinted. Y/n ran thumb over his cheek, wiping away large tears, they looked like pearls. Chan felt disgusted with himself, he was disgusted by his appearance and existence. The sobs slowly subside under your touch, and Bang Chan looks at you with sad eyes, they beg for help, shining under the light. * “I can’t stand it anymore... I want to stop... please help me...” Chan's voice cracks. as he speaks quietly, not daring to look away. Y/n smiles at him tenderly, but doesn’t promise anything yet.

"I know how hard it is for you and how hard you try...you are such a wonderful person, Channie...my beloved wonderful man. Why don't you take a rest?" You spoke quietly, stroking Chan’s hair. Chan wanted to protest because there was too much work, but he felt like he was breaking down inside. Chan sighed and laid his head on Y/n’s chest, he didn’t want to say anything, they understood each other without words. They are connected at the soulmate level. He didn't want to think about work right now. They lay there for a while, and Y/n gently stroked her lover's hair. Chan felt warmth spread throughout his body as you whispered soft words of comfort, “Go to sleep, my love... We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” Eventually, Chan's sobs subsided and he fell asleep in your arms. Your love will heal him, it will give him redemption. You are his sin, but at the same time his protector, you are his eternal love. Thank you.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰

He is always strict with himself, he strives for an ideal that does not exist.

He literally wants to be the best everywhere and in everything.

He may be on strict diets, exhaust himself with dancing, or spend a lot of time in the gym. This all indicates that he feels bad in his soul.

He won't ask for help, he's not a weakling.

It will be evening, late evening in the dance studio, he is sitting on the floor and breathing heavily.

He worked out so much again for so long. His bones ached, his heart beat wildly, just a little more and he would collapse, but he wouldn’t stop.

Why do so many people underestimate him? Minho wants to be the best.

You will go into the studio and sit quietly next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He won't notice you at first.

His mood will improve slightly when he sees you and rests his head on yours.

Y/n took his hand, squeezing it a little. You felt how tired Minho was, you felt that he was being destroyed from the inside, he needed help. Minho intertwined his fingers with yours and his breathing calmed down a little “Y/n, it’s late, go home” He said, straightening his wet hair from sweat. "I was expecting you, you've been training all day." "You know the comeback is coming soon and I can't—"

You stop him and stroke his face, he looks like an upset cat. You straighten the strands of hair that fell on his forehead, “I know, but if you go on stage like this, STAY won’t be happy...take care of yourself first.”

He wants to argue with you, he doesn’t want to seem weak. He would never be weak, “Y/n, it’s really okay,” but when he tried to stand up, his legs gave way and the pain in his hip intensified. You jumped up after him so he could lean on you. "Don’t be a hero, Min, we’ll BOTH go home now,” he wants to object again, but the pain in his thigh intensifies and he makes a face, allowing him to be led to the sofa. You ran for the first aid kit, giving him painkillers.

"I will remind you of this, Y/n" he grins through the pain, but allows himself to lean on you and lead him to the manager's car. He is grateful to you, maybe he will start to feel better about himself. In the car, he takes you to his side and kisses you on the the top of the head.

𝐒𝐞𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧

Changbin is rarely sad, he is always positive

Perhaps...he will be sad because some STAY don't like his appearance.

He will be quiet and taciturn, always looking at the phone screen.

One evening he comes up to you while you are preparing dinner and asks “Y/n...am I really that scary?”

You frown and don’t understand why he says that.

"Binnie, is something bothering you? You're handsome, baby."

He frowns and hands you the phone. He read the bad comments again.

You go up to him and pat him on the head, his head was at the level of your chest when he sat.

"Honey, antistay no one and you should ignore their words."

Before continuing, you handed Changbin his phone number, but with a post where there was a post where Changbin was considered the best. He is the best.

He will smile and lean towards you for a kiss.

He will shine all evening, he will be like the sun.

𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

"Leave me the fuck alone for once"

Hyunjin will be furious, he was extremely annoyed by everything and everyone

As soon as he says this phrase, then you really should leave him alone.

He will pour out his sadness and melancholy in his paintings, he will completely throw all his emotions onto the canvas.

But

He will come to you later, but he will still be upset.

He will constantly talk about how terrible he is, how unworthy he is of your love, and may even question your relationship itself.

But he wasn't really asking you questions, he was just insecure and needed you to repeatedly tell him it was all bullshit.

You will run through his hair, stroking his cheeks and wiping away the tears from them.

Oh...it seems prince is a whiny boy.

Although fans believed that Hyunjin was perfect in everything, Hyunjin himself did not think so. He was absolutely afraid, he is afraid of everything.

He will wrap his long arms around your body while his head is on your chest, he quietly sobs and mutters something like: “please... don’t leave... don’t be disappointed in me.”

Give him love and care. Gentle kisses and long hugs will suit him.

He will cry for a long time, but because of his love for you.

Hyunjin is the sweetest person you've ever met. On the outside he is cold and inaccessible, but in reality he is vulnerable and soft.

Will fall asleep on you while you play with his hair.

"Sleep sweetly, my angel"

𝐇𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠

Jisung wasn't as extroverted as everyone says

He is actually sad a lot, there are too many doubts in his head.

He may get upset over little things.

At one point it all resulted in tears.

You found him in tears in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror and crying. He cried so hard and a lot.

His soul seems to be rotting from the inside.

“There is no loneliness worse than loneliness in society. Everyone laughs, but you want to cry.” This describes his life

You will hug him tightly while his limp arms cling to you.

He cries quietly in your arms, but does not explain the reasons. But you don’t ask him to tell you.

Even the funniest person can be broken at heart.

Jisung has lost his way out of his darkness.

He had not seen a way out for a long time. He was lost in the dark forest of his own thoughts.

need to live, not exist.

Will you be his light in this pain?

Then, Jisung will say for the first time that he appreciates you. Cherish these words until the last moment.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱

He tries not to be upset, because the sun is never sad.

Felix hides his upset under a smile.

But... he won't deceive you.

He is too open and soft with you

He will cuddle up to you and tell you everything, he will be open with you and tell you about all his experiences.

"You came and everything became better"

He feels good and calm with you. You are his sedative.

He is like a kitten that needs all the love and affection.

He will sob and talk about all the problems.

You gently stroke his back, sometimes stroke his head. Throughout his story, you give him tactility and kisses.

The sadness will soon go away and you will go bake brownies or some other sweet together.

After crying, his face is little reddish, his eyelashes are pinched and his lips are swollen...he is a crying angel.

You will fulfill his every wish in order to prevent his tears! You have to tell him a lot of exciting stories to make him smile.

He must love flowers. Give him a bouquet)

If one kiss was not enough, then ten, if ten were not enough, then a hundred and even more.

The sun is shining again, and your sun happily moves around the kitchen and cooks with you.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧

You didn’t know the last time you saw Seungmin sad, he didn’t care about anything at all.

He is sad alone, but he often remembers you. Thinking about you gives him peace.

He listens to any music and looks at your photos. He thinks a lot

You never touch him when he's sad. You just give him your soft toy and a glass of water.

It will take him a few hours, but he will be completely back to normal.

Seungmin never shares his experiences, but you know everything that happens on a subconscious level.

Perhaps he likes to go for a walk when bad thoughts come over him.

Only then will he call you and ask you to come.

You will walk in silence, only his cold hand gave him away.

Surrounded by your scent and beautiful views, he felt better.

When you get home, help him change and lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He will feel better.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧

He hides his emotions.

No one needs to know how he feel.

Jeongin didn’t like unnecessary attention and didn’t talk much about his feelings.

But you know Jeongin from bones to toe.

He seems angry, but he is only upset in his heart.

Jeongin will be clingier than usual and won't talk much.

You ask what happened, and he will exhale heavily and try to tell you.

Jeongin's story will be a little incoherent, but he put his soul into his experiences.

You will help him solve his problems, because nuna/hyung always loves him!

He will feel better with your presence, as if you transferred your positive energy to him!

You will go for a walk, and then go shopping, because Jongin feels better when he buys new beautiful clothes.

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nvuy · 3 months

Text

hands on — sunday

summary. sunday feels eyes on him from everywhere, yet he still seeks your gaze despite how much he loses himself in your eyes.

notes. wrowwww confit part 2 is here i DID post it on ao3 like 5 mins ago but i think ao3 died in my country for the 74th time this year soooorrrrr hello tumblr!!!!!!

i'd strongly suggest you read confiteor here (or on ao3) before reading this one, otherwise this entire fic just sounds like an acid trip.

warnings. mdni, 18+, gn reader but you have fem anatomy, long ass 12k post, mild degradation, little bit of horror themes if you squint?, alternative summary: sunday receives head and has an existential crisis, sunday literally loses his mind (in a sexy way), religious guilt, religious themes & symbolism, sunday needs therapy, you're a weirdo (in a sexy way), y'all get it on in a church.

The church had always been beautiful. A place of worship, fairness, mutual happiness. It’s partly the reason Sunday was always so enamoured with its pieces on the walls; Robin used to trace her hands over the paintings, and he was sure he could spot her fingerprints from when the paint was still drying.

Sunday had never felt so disgusted with himself.

The murals watched him, one thousand unblinking eyes following him as he walked down the aisle, with muted clicks from his shoes against the red carpet with gold trimming.

He was so angry.

He’d trudged home the night prior seething, and Robin had rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him until he gathered himself. He hated to present himself in such a way to her, and although she begged for him to shed a light on his problems, she was met with silence.

He was so angry at his traitorous hands when they wandered below the waistband of his pants. He’d been trying to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, desperate for some sort of distraction. He’d retrieved a glass of water, he’d stayed up to read, and nothing was helping. Nothing soothed the ache between his thighs; the thought in the back of his mind that you were in that same rut.

He felt awful feeling himself up again, this time alone, and he was so ashamed when he muffled his cries and came into his hand.

Vile.

There’s a statue in the church. One erected from only the most exquisite sculptors of the era, crafted meticulously over gruelling hours to perfect the shape of THEM. Xipe stands behind the pulpit, larger than anything in the church, and silent. THEIR arms remain still, outstretched and gestured towards the empty pews. THEIR eyes are not open, but there is a gentle smile carved onto a perfectly whimsical face.

It is a beautiful statue, sure, but Sunday would have preferred another God to watch over instead.

Perhaps it was for the best.

In the preparation of the morning service, Sunday was unusually quiet. Staff piled in silently, bidding their greetings, and even Robin—and, bless her gentle heart—was reticent, her lips pulled together into a thin line. The choir practised, and it was the only sounds he heard that morning.

The wine the church offered was of pure grapes. The chalice the sacramental wine rested in was golden with a thin stem and a wide base. A single golden spoon laid within the red.

It’s supposed to be blood. It feels dastardly eerie to offer a piece of THEM to those undeserving of such.

Instinctively, when his gaze met the statue’s, his gloved hand raised and clasped the golden charm at his chest tightly.

Sunday felt a tap on his shoulder.

“The congregation is prepared,” Robin said to him. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “As per usual.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the statue. “Good.”

“And there are people coming in now,” she continued, nodding towards the door that led out to the lectern. “It’s almost eight.”

“Thank you.”

She stopped, eyeing him warily.

“There’s something bothering you,” she commented quietly. “You’ve been on edge since last night. Did something happen?”

Sunday finally turned to look her in the eye. His face remained expressionless, though his tone held a hint of warning. “I’m fine, Robin. Please. Don’t worry about me.”

“Brother–”

“Robin.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, though that smile he always pulled onto his lips when he was trying to deter her mind from him. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Please. Enough.”

Defeatedly, her shoulders sagged. She wanted to tell him, as she had so many times before—so many times—that she was there for him. She’s always been there for him.

Robin’s lips twitched into a soft, but crushed smile. “Okay.” She stared down at her shoes. They were slightly scuffed at the sides. “Okay, I… I’ll get the choir started.”

Sunday had turned back towards the statue with an approving, idle hum. His shoulders had stiffened as he watched THEM closely, fingers interlocked in front of his stomach. It was a nervous habit Robin recognised all too well.

His hand was bleeding around the golden charm now.

She said nothing.

ೃ༄

When Sunday sang prayers into the microphone with a bandaged hand beneath his gloves, he wondered if he was ever truly a good person. Was he… ever fit to see the Heavens once he passed? It was all down to the judgement of one final being; unbiased, unjudged, honest.

He always valued honesty.

“Grace be to thee, and to your kinship.” The sunlight was burning into the back of his halo. “And, weary sinners, hold your heads, as THEY will shine light down upon you, and forgive all of your transgressions.”

The chalice filled with wine sat idly on the table. There was an embroidered white table runner draped over the top to cover the chipped and old wood.

The pattern was eerily similar to the stockings you wore that night.

He dreamed of you.

How could he? To betray himself, The Family, his own flesh and blood. He felt repulsive, like swallowing strong liquor. His saliva was thick in his throat as he spoke, hands pulled tight around the edge of the pulpit, mere inches away from shedding the program that rested in the centre. The wood creaked beneath the pressure.

He remembered your voice as if you were truly whispering in your ear at that moment.

You’re haunting him. He hears your heels in the hallway at home; he can smell your perfume when he passes down the aisle every morning. The script in his hands has tears from how firm he’s been gripping the paper.

He had to remind himself he is good. He is good, and loved, and obedient, and his God is so benevolent and thoughtful to watch over someone as pathetically weak as he is. THEY will forgive him.

He knows, he told himself. He knows what he did all those nights ago.

Sunday felt unworthy to hold the golden chalice in his hands. The other staff had positioned themselves ready for the wine service. One had stopped to look strangely at the man. Sunday’s hands were trembling around the handles.

“Reverend Sunday?” one of the priests asked gently. “Are you alright?”

Briskly, he nodded his head once and pulled as much of a reassuring smile on his lips as he could. Then, he turned, careful not to spill the wine in the chalice and moved forward.

There was already a line forming down the aisle.

He is loved.

“Go…” He hoped his voice was steady. It should be, for he’s said these exact words everyday for almost a year now. “Eat your food with gladness.”

He is good.

The spoon shook in his hands as he offered it to one of the churchgoers.

The next person stepped up. The priest on the right grasped their chin gently with the red cloth. Sunday offered another spoonful of wine.

They were replaced with the next person.

He is loyal.

“…And drink your wine with a joyful heart.”

The next. And the next. And the next.

Routine. Stagnant, maddening, routine.

He glanced down to dip the spoon back into the wine again. The chalice was half full now, and the line was beginning to dwindle. He could see the end of it now.

He is faithful.

“…For THEY have already–”

His heart faltered when he looked up again.

The wine spilled from the spoon. He almost dropped the gold onto the floor.

The breath that escaped his lips was shaky.

It seemed that everyone in the church was transfixed with the smile you directed at the Head Reverend. Even the priests to his left and right had stopped.

The choir had paused. A quick glance to the right would reveal Robin with her lips slightly parted. The organ player had pressed the wrong key and had halted the singing.

When you shifted, he was reminded that you were not a perfect statue carved from the Gods hands. Not like the statue of Xipe that stood behind him. Your eyes flitted downwards, and he noticed your fists clenched at your sides. Discomfort pulled across your face like ink bleeding onto a canvas.

Perhaps it was the distasteful attire you’d chosen for the ceremony that had garnered the staring.

Maybe it was the unearthly beauty that sculpted your face, as if you were a being that had been picked from an inch of the Gods skin and blood, and brought to life on land, so full of love and saccharine bittersweetness.

He could taste it on his tongue.

Sunday quickly dipped the spoon back in the wine when one of the priests moved to hold the red cloth beneath your chin.

He swallowed. “–Have already approved of what you do.”

The spoon slipped between your parted lips.

The other priest wiped your mouth with the cloth. It was like velvet on your lips.

Hesitantly, out of time with the conductor, the church organ continued where the player had paused.

You pulled away from the cloth before the priest could remove his hand himself, and you offered one more warm smile—and sharp canines poked over your bottom lip—before you moved to let the next person replace you.

As you left, Sunday promptly ignored your hand that traced the leather of his belt beneath his coat.

His heart was racing beneath his chest, like a bird hitting its wings against the confines of its cage.

Heat clammered and sweltered up his neck. He ignored that, too.

ೃ༄

He can’t.

When Sunday stepped out of the confessional booth and locked the door with the key, he leaned against the door and shut his eyes tight.

He felt too big for his clothes. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s his. It’s hot. It’s just so hot and his skin felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His breathing was shaky and uneven.

He cannot bear to look at the images and murals plastered over the walls. If they had a choice, the unstaring eyes would, too, look away in shame. The statue is still.

Sometimes, he was convinced it moved when no one was looking.

Maybe that’s just paranoia. It all is, isn’t it? He’s always been scared of little things. Things with eyes, like dolls, and portraits, and people, and Gods. Not THEM. Never THEM—deep down, he did fear THEM. But he knows he is loved. Otherwise, he would have been abandoned.

The murals are watching him.

The walls are warping the longer he stares. The halos behind the figures’ heads are fading. He feels his own doing the same. He is unworthy of it. It is more like a weight of lead, than a ring of light.

He’s still thinking of you.

It’s horrible. It’s wrong. His eyes sting, though he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or if he will cry again. But he can’t cry. He had wept silently in his bed the night prior because he couldn’t sleep. And it’s hard to sleep when the house is silent, but there’s a distant clicking of your heels down the hallway outside of his room.

It does not stop, nor does it draw closer or further away. It is a rhythmic click click click, and it is suffocating. It’s even worse when he feels you breathe into his ear and urge his hand between his legs. He feels your hands trace over his shoulders to his chest from behind—and of course you’re behind, because if he were to turn around, he’d see something ugly.

He’d see nothing.

It’s all in his head.

But it feels real. How hot your breath is against his neck, how your lips follow the throbbing veins in his throat, how your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide his hand between his legs.

The feeling weighs on his chest like gold.

He draws close to pulling off his clothes when he is in bed. He fights his will, because it is you in his ear whispering that he is most beautiful in his rawest form. And he believes you, but the idea of ruining himself any further makes him feel sick.

And one night, with what he feels are your teeth buried in his throat, he sings that he loves you, and he grows cold.

He cannot sleep, and when he can sleep he dreams of you. And even as he lays wide awake in his bed, his hands wander, and he can feel your skin on his.

He can’t love you.

It’s not love. Love is warm, unfamiliar, and new, and he hears tales of how comfortable it is.

It’s wrong to feel this way.

He removed himself from the confessional. His legs felt weak when a hesitant breath left his lips.

“It’s like a weight… isn’t it?”

Sunday froze. He’d never felt so cold before. His spine snapped straight like it’s was crafted of metal, and something horrible hooked within his stomach, hard and aching, like he’d swallowed lead.

He heard you swallow.

He didn’t dare turn around, fingers trapped on the pages of printed hymns he was about to put away.

“It’s persistent.” He heard the telltale sign of your clothes moving. “You feel it, too.”

He was afraid of what he would see when he turned around.

He does. “I don’t know what you speak of.” He then turned, eyes glaring and face alight with anger. “If you know well, you will turn and leave. Don’t come back here.”

His shaky inhale gives himself away.

He isn’t sure if you’re real. For his sake, he hoped you weren’t.

Sunday held the key tight in his bandaged hand.

“You should feel guilty.”

His heart stopped. The teeth of the key were digging into the hole in his palm. The bandages strain against his flesh, and he bites his tongue before he can let out a bark of disdain at you.

Ungrateful.

He won’t voice it. He will say nothing. This is not his fault; it can’t be his fault.

And he still feels it is his fault. But this all happened because of you. And he’s been trapped inside his head for all these nights because of you. It’s all you.

“Should I?” he asked quietly. He watched your face twist. “Or should you?”

“Is it not your job to help people like me?” you tried. You felt blood rise up your neck and settle in your face. You weren’t sure whether it was because he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, or if your frustration was climbing further and further towards your heart. “I thought you could help me.”

You had promised to fix him as well.

If anything, he felt even more broken than he had ever been.

Sunday breathed out shakily.

The bandages around his hand were beginning to dye a dark red like the wine he had fed you.

He swallowed hard. You saw his throat move.

“Fix this, Reverend. Fix me.”

His voice faltered when he whispered, “I cannot fix what is beyond repair. I cannot give you anything more than I already have.”

“Then take me.”

There was silence.

He felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Sunday glanced towards the door of the church and tried to control his breathing. “I can’t.” He shook his head slowly. He can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. “We can’t do this again. It will fix nothing. It will make everything worse.”

Your legs trembled. You felt your heart stop in your chest, and it hurt.

And you were so angry.

So, so angry. You wanted to spit in his face, or maybe you wanted to fall to your knees and kiss his shoes and beg for forgiveness.

Whatever you felt for this man, love, attachment, some sort of long winded delusion that he could be yours if you tried hard enough, surged inside of your head.

You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel his skin on your hands, and you wanted to hear him again.

You swallowed your pride, and then you uttered, “please, sir.”

Sunday exhaled sharply through gritted teeth.

“Not only are your hands sullied with filth, but you are also disobedient.” He still cannot bring himself to look at you. He didn’t want to. He was afraid he’d succumb to your whims if he did. His hands were trembling, fingers weak and almost as if they would snap off from the knuckles. “I told you to never come back here.”

You almost looked offended.

“I don’t come here willingly–”

“I know what you are.”

Sunday’s fists clenched by his sides. The wings beneath his ears had stiffened, feathers bristling like cacti.

“I know what you do.”

You said nothing. If anything, your eyes were transfixed on the statue behind him.

“You find reverent men, and you ruin them.” He turned, then, but his eyes didn't meet yours. “Tell me: are you proud of yourself?”

“Never proud, sire,” you admitted. Then, you bowed your head. “Though I will say, I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night.”

He inhaled sharply, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

There, you dared to reach forward and trace your thumb along the bandages of his wounded hand.

And he let you.

He did not flinch away, nor did he tell you to leave again.

He simply stared down at your fingers as they smoothed along the expanse of the scratchy material along his palm. Your fingers slotted between his.

Sunday sighed, defeated.

Your hand was so warm. And despite the disgust and the swamp he felt bubbling in his guts, he felt as if he’d known you his entire life.

There was something so foreign in your skin, and yet he wanted nothing more than to melt into you like a burning flame upon a candlestick.

Sunday, at that moment, felt no shame in what he had done to himself that same night.

If anything, it pleased you, and that lit his skin on fire. A nice warmth buried itself in his stomach.

“How dare you come back here.” The whisper was without malice, though he wished it did hold some sort of bite. Instead, he sounded pathetic, and lost, and he felt only you could help him.

You don’t seem the slightest bit apologetic.

Instead, your lips stretch into a small smile.

“I blame you,” you said to him. Your lashes fluttered against his cheek. You didn't dare let your hand wander. Cautiously, you squeezed his fingers around yours, and silently prayed that he could let you indulge one last time.

He blamed himself, too.

His heart raced in his chest when your lips pressed to his. The poor muscle bashed helplessly against his ribs, like a small defenceless bird trying to free itself of its enclosure. Perhaps his heart knew better and attempted to leap from his throat.

You were gentle. So gentle he was convinced you were a different person; a different being to what he initially presumed you were. And it hurt. His chest hurt, like one thousand feathers weighed down upon his bones. Your lips were soft, and his own trembled against yours.

Sunday’s other hand was still curled by his side, shaking with the urge to touch the expanse of your skin, and to also remain glued to his thighs at the same time.

One of the wings beneath his ear tickled your jaw. The feathers trembled against your skin. You pressed deeper into hus mouth, so much so he almost startled back when your chest pressed against his.

Sunday could feel your heart clammer against his own, and he felt as though you couldn’t have been any closer to him.

A tick in time, a short moment of weakness, and one he’ll regret when he goes home and struggles to sleep again, but his hand abandons your grip. He tries his hardest to resist. He shouldn’t have ever let this happen again.

Your arms daringly swung around his neck, one hand holding his cheek gently to keep his lips on yours. You could feel his hesitation, but something wrong urged you forward; urged you to ruin him even further.

His hands rested on your hips. They did not move. They did not wander. They were frozen on your skin like ice.

You tasted of the wine he’d given you.

It was strange, sweet, and it made his face flush the same colour as the blood on his hand.

“Blessed Reverend,” you whispered against his lips. “How will you sleep tonight?”

Your nose brushed against his. His feathers rustled when your breath and the scent of wine curled around his cheek.

“I won’t,” he admitted. It’s quiet. You barely heard it. “I will toss and turn.”

You fluttered your lashes at his answer. He felt your lips stretch into a smile.

His heart frantically raced in his chest when your lips touched his again, and he stiffened when he stepped backwards with you and his back pressed against the pulpit.

The hand on his cheek traced down the throbbing veins of his neck, and he had half a mind to pull away from you. His own hands held firmer against your hips.

He was growing dizzy.

When he fluttered his eyes open, sick from the taste of wine on his lips, he saw one thousand eyes staring down at him.

On the walls, on the ceiling, from the stained glass windows. His heart hurt in his chest, the thudding so loud he could barely hear anything else as it echoed in his ears. The swarm of guilt, still, was not enough to tear him off of you.

The statue behind him, however, burned holes in the back of his head. He knew the sculpture was carved with its eyes shut, but he felt it he turned around, he’d notice the crack of a pupil beneath the stone eyelids.

Your hand was on his stomach now, thumb following the central curve of his belly down beneath his navel.

When your thumb hooked beneath his belt, his fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could dip any lower towards his thighs.

“Not here,” he pleaded softly against your lips.

He swallowed hard.

“Where do you suggest we go?” you asked. He almost didn’t hear you. There was implication in your voice.

He hated how warm he grew in his chest, but he knew it was wrong. So wrong, and it’s horrible.

“You will not clamber into my bed tonight,” he whispered to you. That he knew for sure.

You shook your head slowly. “I want you to take me here.”

His stomach churned. It was as if he’d swallowed unjust liquor in one giant gulp. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think as he did. His mouth tried to form words, some type of rejection, or some form of a nicely worded insult, but nothing came out.

Instead, he stupidly gaped at you.

His eyes flitted up to the statue of Xipe. THEIR eyes remained closed, all six of them, and the expressions held still.

Sometimes, he was convinced the statue was alive.

Perhaps that was just paranoia.

He found it fitting to pull you towards the hall and down a flight of steps. He held onto you tight by your arms, afraid you’d disappear, as he once again, grew uncomfortable in his own skin and clothes.

Fitting to be furthest away from the sunlight.

As his fingers fumbled with the keys to the cellar, your hands wandered around his waist. and your warm lips pressed to the back of his wings. The feathers twitched and flinched.

Sunday’s breathing grew heavy as the door unlocked and creaked open.

The cellar was… just that. A cellar. There were an abundance of barrels laid down beneath the benches on either side of the room. They were most likely full of wine for the services. There wasn’t much out on display.

Fittingly so, it was dark, and there were no windows.

Your shoes clicked against the tiled floor.

It’s dark. So dark you can barely see him, but he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as you step into the room. It’s not too cold, surprisingly. It does not smell of mould or abandonment; perhaps they take good care of this place.

You almost knocked into a table in the centre of the room. The glass sitting on top clattered and shook as you startled back into him.

“It is safer here,” Sunday whispered in your ear. You knew he locked the door. His hands squeezed your shoulders.

“I believe you,” you told him.

Sunday hummed at your words, and his lips brushed against the side of your neck. His breathing remained unsteady.

You turned around to feel blindly for his waist. It was probably best that it was dark down here. It was appropriate for the both of you, and so far away from the sky, and the leering eyes of the murals painted onto the walls.

His body is warm against yours.

He finds it in himself, wherever he hides himself away, to kiss you then. Maybe because it’s dark. You can just make out the outline of him, and whatever light creeps through the bottom of the door is enough.

“I came for you, sire,” you said. “Use me as you wish.”

Sunday’s lips bumped against your neck. “You cannot whisper depravity into my ears.”

“You brought me down here for a reason,” you answered him. Your fingers slid down his throat and you thumbed over the top button of his shirt. “I say what I want.”

“You are filthy.” And he kissed you again. Fury flared in his stomach like fire.

You freed the first two buttons of his shirt, and while you were busied following the smooth skin of his neck, he pushed off your coat.

You managed to pull the white blazer off of his shoulders, and though he couldn’t see it, he heard the heavy fabric crumple to the floor by his feet. He internally cringed; the wrinkles he would have to iron out would be too telling.

You hummed pleasantly as you drew him back against your lips.

The wings around his waist were a nice surprise. You hadn’t expected them to be any larger than your arm with the way he tucked them beneath his coat, but although the feathers were flattened from the material, they stretched out wide in relief.

He knew the blackened feathers were ugly and uneven and clipped to the very edge, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, your fingers flitted over the base gently, a soft caress of your hand that made the feathers bristle.

Your lips were so soft. Despite wandering hands, you were so gentle. It made his stomach churn, but his heart stammered in his chest.

The feathers rustled. You heard them. They reminded you of a pigeon shaking out its wings.

The table was just next to your hip.

You moved away from his lips for just a moment.

And then, you reached forward blindly and swiped the glass off of the table. Jars and glasses and bottles of wine smashed onto the tiles, and Sunday’s grip tightens on your hips.

“What are you doing?!” He asked with horror strewn about his face, though you couldn’t directly see it. It was very well and obvious in his voice. “Why would you–”

You silenced him with your fingers pressed to the cupid’s bow of his lips. “Lay on the table, Reverend.”

“Are you–”

“Lay down.” You guided his hips softly, cautious of the poor and frantically beating heart in his chest, until the bones bumped into the edge of the wood.

Sunday’s breathing shook with disdain. The table pressed against his back, and he could feel your hands sliding up his chest to push him backwards. The exposed skin of his chest met the slight chill of the air. Your thumb moved along the line of buttons before it raised again to push at his jugular until he was forced back onto the table.

Sunday trembled for a moment.

It almost hurt how quickly the guilt in his stomach vanished when you crawled up on the table next to him. His vision, although useless in the lowlights of the cellar, fogged over with heat and the thick air that filled his lungs.

His skin prickled when your lips grazed his neck.

This is wrong. So wrong, and–

His fists clenched by his sides when your lips drag down his chest, following the buttons on his shirt. The plastic was cool, and it collided with your teeth as you travelled lower and lower.

All the while, anxiety stirred in his stomach like some roaring beast. This was wrong, to be beneath you like this, where he’s not taking what he wants, where he’s not in control. This is wrong, wrong, wrong–

Where his shirt pulled untucked from his pants exposed a lining of skin and his stomach, and he felt teeth set into his flesh. The skin below his navel stirred a bright red, and his veins were set ablaze.

He stiffened, and his hand instinctively came forward to pull his skin free from your teeth.

He felt his eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. So, so slowly.

Sunday inhaled, and his voice trembled, so he kept his lips shut.

You spoke, “don’t resist. Enjoy it.”

He felt the telltale tug of his belt, and the jingle of the buckle as it finally loosened. He sighed in relief from the feeling. Still, his hands curled even tighter by his sides. “How can I–”

Your fingers ventured beneath his unbuckled belt. You then firmly rubbed your thumb up and down and up down his side of his cock twitching in his pants and Sunday had half a mind to squirm on the table.

“Do I make you anxious?” He heard you giggle close to his ear, and your lips smoothed over the base of one of his wings.

He wanted to say you did, and you made him shake, and you made him dream about you, and you made him touch himself when he couldn’t sleep, and–

Nothing but a moan pulled from his lips when your hand finally freed his cock from his pants.

His chest heaved in disgust and pleasure and everything for that was your sullied and dirtied skin touching him. That was you, and those terrible shameful words that spilled from your tongue that made him shudder and caused his heart to quicken.

His face grew impossibly hotter than before.

You hooked your legs around his thigh, pressing your knee between his legs firm enough to still him. The dryness of your hand tugging the warmish pulled skin of his cock sent his mind into a haze.

The horrible rhythm of your hand against his was so good, and he wished he could just disappear right then and there.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was so relieved there were no eyes watching him here. He was so relieved the cellar only had one door locked now. He made sure of it.

If you commanded him to take, then he would ensure you wouldn’t leave this very room until you’d given him everything you had to offer.

Heat sweltered between his legs, surging like flames licking up his skin.

He wanted to speak. He wanted to order; he wanted to bend you over the table and take what was his.

His ankles weakened when your fingers slipped over the head of his cock. Just at the thought of ruining you, a drop of cum squeezed from his slit, and your thumb smeared it all over him as best it could.

His stomach heaved, basically convulsed, as you stroked him firmer and firmer until his limbs grew weak and burned from squirming and wriggling beneath you. He gave up barely minutes after you’d started, and now he only found it in himself to moan and moan over and over again beneath your hand like some dog.

Wrong.

He felt your lips trail down his neck.

Oh. His hand rested behind your head and he tilted his head so your lips could drag against his flesh. It was awful. So, so awful his jaw clenched and his fingers twisted into your hair.

Your teeth pulled at the taught skin below his jaw.

“Don’t leave marks,” he breathed. He swallowed, and you followed the shape of his jugular with a graze of your teeth.

This is awful,

His stomach churned. He feared he’d throw up with shame.

Sunday was panting now, nails digging into your scalp. His teeth gritted and grinded behind his lips. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t–

Sunday managed to sit up shakily.

“Put–” Another moan escaped his lips, followed by a trail of laughter at how ridiculous this was. “Put your mouth on me.”

“Is that what the High Priest wishes?” Your lips followed along the soft skin above his collarbone. “He wants his dick sucked by a ‘whore’ on the streets? Will that satisfy you, Reverend?”

Anger flared in his chest. His hand moved from behind your scalp to grasp your chin firmly. “You will do well to remember you are here to please me.”

And you would.

A dreamy sigh escaped your lips as he gripped your face hard enough to almost hurt. His nails dug into your cheek. “Of course, Reverend. Thank you.”

He let go of you.

As obscene as it was, his hand twisted into your hair again and pushed your face towards his lap.

This was only slightly better. How he could pull and tug you where he wanted. He was here to take; isn’t that what you said?

Still, it was obscene. Grotesque. Disgusting and muddied and it’s so, so hot down here. For a moment, he feared Hell, for maybe the world below the soil had risen to take him and you into the earth.

It would be what you both deserved.

He felt your tongue first. Awful thing, your tongue. If he’d had it his way, it would have been torn from your mouth the second you stepped into his church this morning.

It didn’t feel as awful as he knew it was when the wet muscle dragged along the head of his cock. The tip of your tongue nestled upon his slit, and it was so hot, and he almost lost his mind trying to remove what was left of his clothes on his person.

He did not.

Though it was dark, and he could see the outline of you clearly, he refused to let him feel more of your skin on his.

Your lips pressed a dainty kiss to the tip of his cock before they then wrapped around the head.

Hot. That’s what it was. Sweltering, sweaty, sickening humidity crawling up his neck, like one thousand bugs twitching and writhing upon his skin.

His stomach stuttered, and he felt your palms rest on his hips as you positioned yourself more comfortably to the side of him. You draped your stomach over his soft thigh to splay your hands over his torso.

Sunday raised his fingers to bite down on the side of his hand to silence himself. There was no coming back from this. Exiting the confessional yesterday with filthy hands already destroyed him, and now something sour was pooling at the back of his throat at the idea of unlocking the cellar door and leaving.

He couldn’t imagine how dishevelled and improper he looked.

His wings fluttered when your mouth lowered further on him, and one of your hands abandoned his stuttering hips to thumb along the sensitive skin beneath his cock.

You were consistent, licking up and down with your tongue in wet passes. It drove him mad. He preferred it that way, floating out of his mind, as your warm tongue covered the skin of his cock in your saliva.

You tasted salt as his slit dripped pathetically, but you kept your lips zipped at teasing him any further. You could hear him above you, a panting mess, breathing all slow and heavy, of whatever he was an hour ago with a tight and twitch grip in your hair, so much so his nails had embedded themselves into your scalp.

His hips stuttered forward when you pushed your mouth further down his cock.

You drooled around the skin, slicking his thighs with spit and his own cum, as you willed your breathing through your nose. Surprisingly, instead of what any vile man would do and move his hips forward and fuck the back of your throat without a care in the world of your ability to breathe, Sunday waited.

He waited patiently. Perhaps he was searching for signs of discomfort, or maybe he was adjusting to the heat of your mouth and your tongue stretching past your lips to run along the swollen veins of his cock, but either way he waited.

He was more or less hesitating.

He felt so disgusting and hot, but your mouth was so warm and his breathing shook more and more and the air felt trapped inside of his lungs.

It’s so hot.

Your tongue dragged up a swollen vein alongside his cock again and Sunday hissed, holding your hair tight as a warning. Watch yourself. He was afraid of how difficult it was to allow your mouth to do its own thing; how desperately he wanted to feel the back of your throat.

You would let him. You had promised him you’d let him take and take and take until there was nothing left of you.

The hand in your hair served more as a gentle encouragement than a forcing manoeuvre. He was swollen. He could feel himself bursting at the seams.

Instead, he searched for a distraction. “Come–” His breathing stuttered. “Come here.”

You pulled off of his cock.

You hummed curiously.

One of his hands was following the gentle curve of your spine, dipping lower and lower towards the back of your thighs. Instinctively, you moved closer towards him.

But still, you managed, “you don’t have to touch me, sire.”

“I want to hear you,” he whispered.

His hand snaked around your front and steadily undid the button at your waistband. The zipper followed next before his gloved fingers disappeared beneath your underwear and delved between your thighs.

He wouldn’t take the gloves off. He couldn’t.

The feeling of the scratchy cotton against your clit sends you into overdrive.

You part your thighs to allow his fingers to tease up and down your slit as you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue.

His hips remained still.

You felt he wanted to. How he desperately wanted to grab your face through how his hips tremored and twitched around your mouth. How he wanted so badly to bury his cock in your throat and feel you choke and splutter around him.

You moaned around him, and Sunday hissed again, this time lower, and it almost served as a warning. Your pleasure, for this moment, would come after his.

Still, you grinded down on his fingers as he rubbed your clit in quick and light circles. Your breathing stuttered, and he dared to guide your head just an inch lower around his cock.

His thighs began twitching.

“Oh…” It’s breathy and light and warm, what spilled from his mouth. His fingers pushed back what strands of hair had fallen in your face. “You–” Words didn’t escape his lips properly, and all that tore from his throat was a dreary and miserable whine.

You keened over his fingers. The cotton was good, though now his palm was soaked.

You whined stupidly when his hand abandoned your clit, before your muffled disappointment was replaced by a pleased hum when he pushed a finger inside of you. The glove slid in with embarrassing ease, and Sunday flushed at the feeling.

You squeezed around his finger, drawing him in further.

Your lips were growing desperate around his cock, tongue flitting out again and again to taste the cum that streamed from his slit.

“I–” Oh, God. The room was spinning. “I can’t–” His stomach heaved when your tongue grazed along the swollen vein before you drew backwards and licked harshly along his dripping slit. “I can’t–”

He dragged his cock forward into your mouth again and again. Not enough to touch the back of your throat with the tip, but enough to knock the air from your lungs with every push.

You learned quickly that Sunday preferred your mouth and tongue remain relatively still and open for him.

He preferred to control how he fucked into your throat, holding onto the back of your head as gently as he could—you dutifully ignored how his nails stabbed into your scalp.

It was easier for him now to take what he wanted.

You’re so wet. He could hear it, even if he hadn’t even bothered to strip you of your pants. It’s obscene, and his cock hardened even more at the sound.

His rhythm remained the same. He’s quick, much unused to the wet heat soaking around his cock, and more so worried about how the head rubs along your tongue.

But you’re so obedient like this. So pliant and warm with his hand between your legs teasing that gaping and soaking hole. And it’s so warm and hot and yes, yes, yes, come on–

“This is–”

Your eyes fluttered open to acknowledge him.

His thighs twitched around your head.

He let out a shaky gasp.

His hand loosened around your skull. You drew back only just and mused a simple, “take what you need.”

He needed you.

He smelt wine from how you’d smashed the bottles onto the floor. Sacred, important wine that you’d tossed aside like you’d thrown his blazer to the floor and the golden medallion on his breast.

It filled his senses, blurred what little he could see, and he slid his cock on the curved line of your tongue again and again and again and again and again.

Two fingers, soaked in your slick, abandoned in teasing your hole to ghost over your clit again.

You’re so good. So good to him. So hot and heavy. So pretty. And you sound beautiful. Your muffled groans were like music. Like the music he’d listen to in the privacy of his home.

He felt bliss. Heavenly bliss.

His stomach lurched at the debauchery. How awful you were, how you made him feel alive in his own skin.

And nobody had ever made him feel this way. And he loved it. Every second, even if his flesh warped and his organs twisted in loathing. For himself, for you, and those pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

His hand carded over your hair with care.

His fingers teased at your clit in horrible horrible circles that made your hips twitch towards his hand. You were grinding over his palm now in steady back and forth lines.

So good.

He couldn’t even think. Nothing but stupid moans pushed past his lips, and he was almost deep enough to reach the back of your throat. So, so close now.

Your tongue was so hot it almost hurt. The noises, and the dripping of your saliva down to his thighs, made his hips squirm beneath your hands. Filthy. It’s all dirty here.

He felt after this he’d have to scrub himself until his skin withered and only bone was left.

You hummed. You pulled off of him again. When he mumbled a string of disappointed gibberish with his eyes squeezed shut in frustration, you whispered, “are you close, Reverend?”

Heat crept up his thighs and down from his stomach.

You thumbed the swollen veins and cooed at his slicking cock. “Are you?”

“Finish this,” he whispered harshly. “Finish me.” He tugged on your hair gently, guiding you down toward his cock once more.

Excitement bubbled in your stomach.

Your tongue flattened against the head of his cock. Your spit slid down his skin as you buried him deep in your mouth. Maybe you pushed too far, because you gagged around the skin close to the base.

Your nose just barely grazed the supple flesh of his lower belly. Your hand wrapped firmly around what skin you couldn’t reach.

He’s delicious. He was so heavy in your mouth and warm and his cum smeared thickly over your throat.

Sunday’s hips rocked forward as deep as he could possibly bury himself. You take him in and suck. The wet slurps of your tongue make his skin burn hotter. He feared he’d faint, or melt, soon. Like a candle. Like the votive candles upstairs in the–

His mind kept trapping himself of the main hall upstairs, and the thousands of eyes peering down at him.

Drool and cum dyed your lips with a shimmer. You were growing more and more desperate and there was a concerning and lonely ache between your legs somewhere deep inside of you. Your lips sucked a tighter seal around his cock while you kept your tongue flat for him to slide his cock over it.

Sunday’s fingers tightened in your hair.

“You–!” He tried to tell you you were awful. This was wrong. This was disgusting, and vile, and you were just a wretched streetwalker tempting him for a thrill.

He said nothing. He couldn’t.

He stiffened up again, and his thighs locked around your head.

And then, his cock jerked in your throat, and he came.

A long and broken sob echoed in your ears.

You held his hips still as he squirmed and wriggled beneath you, salt coating your throat in streams as his chest and stomach heaved with his heavy quickened breaths.

His head was swamped with a haze, like a thick foggy mist clouding over his senses.

His skin almost melted off of the muscle in his body. He felt like the countless votive candles still burning on the floor above, with the statue of Xipe, and the hundreds of eyes painted on the walls– again. His mind reeled back again.

Sweat dripped from his flesh like wax.

Sunday held a vice grip on your hair. His other hand between your legs had stilled for the moment, though he could feel you still grinding onto the soaked material of his glove.

“Good,” he mumbled. He was petting your hair. He swallowed hard to ignore the ache between his legs. “So good.” His words were slurred, and amidst the darkness, what he could see swirled into a muddied watercolour piece.

He was drawing in sharp inhales that whistled through his teeth while you cleaned him up. Your tongue traced the angry red flushes and patches along the sensitive skin, following every drop of cum that had fallen past your lips.

Sunday let go of your hair in favour of feeling his racing heart beneath his chest. It ached and thumped with need.

He was sensitive. He’d been wriggling the entire time, but now his hips couldn’t keep still, and he couldn’t stop himself from following your tongue with his cock.

His breathing stuttered loudly as he dragged the skin over your tongue. He wasn’t sure if he wanted you to open your mouth again, but at the same time, he was afraid he’d grow tremendously addicted, and you’d both remain there a lot longer than he would’ve wished.

So, he pulled away, as difficult as it was.

Guilt steamed in his stomach like a hot iron sliding over his belly and scorching his flesh.

He felt you swing over between his thighs as your mouth, sticky with cum and spit, abandoned his cock and trailed kisses up his torso.

Sunday’s free hand grabbed your chin when your lips bumped up against his jugular, pulling your mouth towards his.

He tasted himself on your tongue, but he avoided it as best he could. His hand between your legs pressed firmly against your clit, and your body twisted and grinded and squirmed on his gloved palm.

He almost felt bad.

Almost.

A string of bubbled gasps and whispers of worship escaped your lips, but they fell on his deaf ears. The smell of wine was stronger here with your heart pressed to his. His thumb teased your clit as best it could with how you moved against him, and his glove was soaked in your slick.

He was furious with himself, and yet he also found himself not caring as he did. Maybe it was you; maybe you were muddying his senses. Maybe he’d go home tonight and stab a blade through his chest and ruin the awful guilt-stricken beating muscle beneath his ribs.

For now, as you had wished him to, he’d indulge.

He’d take.

Your fingers tightened their grip when they flew to his shoulders. The linen of his loosened shirt crumpled and wrinkled beneath your hands. There was a strain behind his arms as you pulled harder on him, pleading beneath your breath.

“Was that enough for you, Reverend?” you whispered to him. Your lips were pressed against his. That same squelching sound between your legs, and Sunday could feel his cock hardening as it did the night prior.

He said nothing. The air was thick with the scent of his skin, and yours.

You felt the flutter of feathers brush along your cheek.

“I’m–”

Sunday swallowed when he felt your stomach jolt against him. “I know.”

“I want your devotion, Reverend,” you admitted. How debauched to whisper things like that against his lips. He knew you wrong, and yet his heart raced at the thought. At the idea of disobedience. “I need you.”

It was very well possible down here. No prying eyes, no other members of the church.

Just you, and him, in the mellow darkness, rocking against each other.

His fingers quickened and you almost cried.

He feared then, and now, that you did receive devotion.

Instead, to hide the burning shame in his stomach, which only grew between his legs, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed shakily. For a moment, there was the faint glow of his halo, and the distant sound of a bell toll. You just saw the outline of his hair.

Your fingers brushed past his wings blindly.

They passed through the ring of light behind his head. You felt nothing but warmth on the pads of your fingers.

“Go on,” he breathed. “Let go.”

And you did.

Your stomach pressed to his in a harsh arch and your nails raked upon and wrinkled the back of his dark shirt even further as you came.

Bliss and sugar clouded your head like fog.

His wings fluttered behind him in a panic when one of your hands hooked around the base of the clipped wing of the pair. You whispered his name like a prayer, and it hurt when he kissed you. It burned on his lips like flames, and he loved it.

Too much.

And yet not enough.

Sunday felt you weakly try to crawl on top of him, but he pushed on your shoulders gently until you rocked backwards. He held you up as best he could on shaky legs as you both rose from the table.

The wood was covered in sweat and condensation and heat, and Sunday couldn’t bring himself to tear his mouth off of you. Wine. Wine on your tongue like blood, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Heat burned in his chest, and his stomach, and it steamed to his head and rushed up his neck in bubbled waves.

He grabbed you by the collar of your crumpled shirt and pushed you against the table. He felt weak, his bones rattling beneath his skin and his blood boiling, and there was anger there, but also something else and it scared him.

Perhaps you picked up on it.

He heard you laugh, even as he forced your stomach further into the edge of the table.

“Blessed Reverend, did you fall in love?”

His blood ran cold.

He couldn’t possibly call it that. He knew it wasn’t true for you, either. The way you looked at him threatened more than love.

It can’t be love. He’s not allowed to love.

His heart frantically raced in his chest. His fingers trailed from the back of your collar to the small of your back, and he pushed and pushed until he had easily bent you over the expanse of the table.

He was panting. You could hear him somewhat close to your ear.

“No,” he answered, but he sounded unsure. “But you did, didn’t you?”

Another breathless laugh. You heard the jingle of his belt, and his gloved hands slid up the back of your thighs. He’d managed to wedge one of his legs between yours, but it didn’t nothing to quell your squirming.

His touch was soft. Too soft to the point it tickled your skin with feather-light strokes against your legs.

One of his hands wrapped around your front to feel blindly along your cheek. He grabbed your face tight, and he felt your heart thrum in your throat.

You felt him roughly tug off your pants and they fell to a pathetic heap on the floor. You kicked them away, and they fell into the pile close to his discard clothes.

“Spread your legs.”

You were panting, laughing, as he squeezed your spit covered chin in his gloved hand. The soft and soaked cotton was rough, pinching against your flesh. His breath was so hot down your neck.

You let out a droning whine.

He clicked his tongue, and the firm hand pushing you into the table pinched the back of your thigh. You cried out, and your leg twitched instinctively.

“I will not ask twice,” he whispered into your ear, lips hot on your skin.

Weak in the knees, and your stomach pressed hard and flat into the edge of the table, you shakily did as he said, hesitant with the warm hand that remained on the back of your thigh less he reel back and bruise it.

He did not.

He seemed pleased, though he did not voice it.

A gloved thumb exposed the sensitive skin between your legs, and you outwardly flinched forward on the table when his finger grazed over your sensitive hole.

Cold. It’s so cold, and he’s slowly drawing circles around your entrance.

You could feel yourself clenching, trying to entice him inside again.

His thumb pushed into your cunt, and you let out a hum. You almost squealed when the tip of his finger brushed against your walls.

“Is this not what you came here for?” Sunday asked. “To ruin yourself?”

“I’ve already ruined myself,” you said meekly. His thumb pushed deeper to his knuckle, and you mewled. “Thank you, Reverend.”

Ever the gracious Bronze Melodia, and despite your willingness to be pliant for him, he still asked for your wellbeing. To seek in your pleasure, because he knew no better.

“And have you found the relief you’ve sought?”

You didn’t want him to care, but there was a burning in your heart, because he did.

You let out a throaty hum. “Almost.”

You heard his teeth grind behind his lips, and his thumb abandoned your hole, smearing slick along your cunt. The soaked cotton caught on your clit and you moaned. “Filthy.”

He’s so angry. Heat flared in his chest.

You felt him burning, his thighs slick and trembling on the back of your legs.

Impatiently, you canted your hips back into him, and he gasped out of shock and a shameful delight when your slickened cunt dragged against his cock.

Your hips rocked against his again, skin sticking with sweat to his hip bones and he throbbed. His teeth gritted hard enough to almost crack his teeth.

His hand moved from your chin to press flat on your stomach.

It’s so hot. He could feel your skin radiating off of him. And it was overwhelming, like he’d been thrown into a sauna with no water for relief.

He wanted to fill you with cum.

It hurt to think. He shouldn’t think. All he should do is fuck you until there’s no other man out there for you but him.

And you can never have him.

So he can keep you here and watch you pine and chase after him, and he’ll deny you every time. And make you ache and suffer for what you’ve done to him.

But for now, the aching and twitching in his cock made his head spin every time he slid himself upon your slit. Back and forth and back and forth and–

It’s so hot.

He felt his mind twisting and melting beneath his skull.

Desperately, Sunday gripped the base of his cock and shakily guided the tip to your aching hole. His other hand abandoned the warmth of your stomach trapped against the table.

You mewled when he stretched your hole as wide as he could with splayed fingers. A dribble of slick escaped you, and he could feel you clenching already.

Your toes curled in your heels. One of your shoes comes off, and he feels the slide of the embroidered stockings against his leg.

Those same stockings with that pattern he saw in every single embroidered table runner in the church, and at home, and it made his skin crawl.

“You’ll let me enjoy myself, Reverend?” you whispered behind you.

Sunday pressed you further into the table and rocked his hips against yours. “You’ll lay here and take me.” His tip kissed the entrance of cunt. And then, with one hard exhale, he slowly canted his hips forward towards your thighs. “That’s what you wanted.”

You hummed and slackened against the table.

Hot. He’s so hot inside of you as his twitching, creaming cock splits your hole wider. The veins run along the stretchy walls and slip further inside of you.

He throbbed when you felt his hips press against your ass.

Sunday was already panting, holding your hips in a tight grip that loosened as he bottomed out. You felt him bend over you, his stomach jolting against your back as he tried to hold you still.

He was squirming, wriggling like a fish caught on a hook. You were so warm, and you dripped and squeezed around him, and he couldn’t possibly pull himself any closer to you. He wanted your skin to fuse with his in a tangled mess of grotesquery. He wanted you to assimilate and merge beneath his skin.

This cannot be love.

Possession flared inside of his stomach.

He was trembling. His cock twitched with need inside of you, and you let out a moan.

“I’m–” He shakily exhaled against the nape of your neck. His face was burning with shame.

You could feel it on your skin. “I’m right here.”

He pressed inside of you deeper. Deeper, deeper, deeper. He wanted to press all the way to your womb and leave a permanent imprint of his cock that left you with an empty ache for as long as you lived. “This is wrong.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “But you love it.”

And he does.

Sunday slowly pulled his hips away from your ass. So slowly, and he felt one of his traitorous awful hands reach blindly for yours to hold it. You squeezed his hand in response. He held on tight.

Then, he slammed back into you.

He grew breathless almost immediately, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your hips smashed into the edge of the table.

The ache was good.

You murmured praise, and his cock grew impossibly harder as he reeled his hips back and filled you again.

He’ll take good care of you here. He knows as much. Your skin is so, so hot, and his cock is so warm and snug inside of you, and he felt his mind growing muddy all over again.

Sunday rocked his hips quicker, his knee almost knocking against the table by your hips.

So good.

His bottom lip quivered. One of his hands dragged up from your hip and slid up beneath your ruined shirt. He pressed you down against the table as flat as he could.

So wrong.

He’s wrong. You’re wrong. You’re both sick, and ungodly, and corrupt. And you both belong to each other. He belongs to you. As depraved as you are, he feels he is worse. He wants to drag you to his bed and satisfy himself again and again, but he knows he can’t.

So he takes you here, again and again and again.

His cock buried itself impossibly deeper with every imprint he left inside of you. His tip kissed as far against your walls as it could, and his hips tremored with every grind of his hips against your ass.

He felt like a dog. Like some pathetic mutt mounting its mate.

But that’s what he felt he was in that moment: pathetic, weak, and some mindless man with his brain in his cock.

The bones of your hips were aching, snapping back and forth into the edge of the table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care for the fire surging in your veins.

Your body felt numb, like you’d been burned one thousand times over, and then had ice poured over you.

It’s awful, and yet you felt so alive.

Your hand was shaking in his when you murmured, “let go. Let me touch myself, sir.”

His cock squeezed against a particular spot inside of you, and you couldn’t see straight.

Your ears were ringing a tune you couldn’t place your finger on, and your clit throbbed with every brush of his cock against your walls.

In response, he held that hand he held still against your back. He silently allowed you the reprieve of his touch when your fingers curled around his thumb, and he did not pull away.

The scratch of his shirt against what parts of your spine peaked through your pulled shirt.

You shivered, even more so when his lips delicately lingered beneath your ear, and his hot breath fanned over your cheek.

This is wrong. It’s wrong how good he feels.

It’s wrong how you clenched around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper to the curl of your warmth around his cock.

He fucked into you again.

His tip was burning with need, and his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it. Wrong, and filthy, and–

You let out another plea. “Le’ me touch myself, Reverend.” To hammer the nail in the coffin, you then murmured, “oh God.”

It’s the need that made him crack. It’s the idea of just how tight you could be if you were to cum all over him. How he could watch that gorgeous spine unfurl in front of him, how a melody would spill from your lips only for him to hear.

The sounds are disgusting, but somehow so invigorating. Wet and loud and so grotesque.

Sunday breathed out, and he sounded excited.

“You sought relief in me, you wretch.” he breathed into the nape of your neck. Sweat dyed his lips with salt. “Do it, then.”

When he removed his hand from your wrist, he felt your knees buckle. He pushed your hips further upwards into the table, for if you both fell any closer to the floor, away from the sky, he was sure he’d never wake from this horrible dream ever again.

Your hand slipped down your front towards your swollen clit.

His cock fucked into you harder, chasing the feeling of your cunt squeezing around the sensitive flesh, struggling to pull tighter. So filling. It’s so good. It’s so good it’s shameful, and he understood in that moment why sinners confess to him in the booth, go home and use their wives, and then repeat this endless cycle of debauchery.

As guilty as he felt, he sank his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder where your shirt fell.

You’re so beautiful like this.

Moaning and begging for more of him and covered in sweat.

His halo was glowing.

He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth when he pulled his teeth away from your skin. “You’re disgusting.” It’s weak, it’s pathetic, it doesn’t even sound like he believes it.

Because you’re not. You’re like an angel, laid flat on the table, offering your very being to him.

All you were missing was a halo—distantly, he knows you’d never receive one.

You let out a squeak of laughter, breathless. Your hand stirs between your legs. You manage to crane your neck and make eye contact with him. His halo lit up his pretty, flushed face in a shimmer of gold. “Are you close?”

His feathers fluttered at the question. His face grew brighter.

Your cunt squeezed around him again, and he let out a gasp at the tightness. “Very.” He was embarrassingly close, and all you’d done was squish him tight inside of you.

Your cunt squelched around his skin, and Sunday whimpered.

You squelched against his cock as he drove in further, desperately chasing that heat the coiled tighter and tighter in his guts.

He was afraid he would grow addicted to this. He was already growing addicted. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he gripped your hips tighter.

Sweat stained his neck, and heat trapped beneath his ruined shirt. He’d have to burn his clothes. Plead for a new uniform entirely, and perhaps for salvation.

If anyone found out about this.

His stomach turned.

His cock slipped out of you and he grunted. Sunday fumbled with himself trying to slot back into your twitching hole. “Stop wriggling.”

Your cunt trembled as he stretched past your walls again. Your fingers tremored over your sensitive clit. “Haha. Of course, sir.” Breathless, slurred, beautiful.

He could listen to you moan in his ear all day.

His skin stuck to yours like glue, sweat and slick soaking his thighs as he pushed into your guts as deep as he could.

As dangerous as the thought was, he wanted to fill your womb with his cum. His cock throbbed and throbbed and as he drew closer and closer to the edge, he fucked you harder and harder.

He felt the heel of your shoe slide up against his thigh soaked in sweat. It was exciting how you treated him like a prince, and also like the dirt you stepped in with these expensive shoes.

Sunday shivered behind you, his hands trailing over the curve of your ass up to the base of your spine. Pretty, pretty skin. So soft and dainty, and so warm and supple beneath his fingers.

He didn’t deserve to feel like this.

He buried his lips into the nape of your neck again, gently brushing kisses along your sweaty skin. His tongue pushed past his lips, and he tasted salt and the lingering scent of your perfume.

Sunday slammed his hips against your skin again. And again– and he felt he was losing his mind. His hands gripped your hips so tight you were excited to see the bruises he left on you in the morning.

You were moaning and moaning against the table.

One of your hands had balled into a fist and viciously smashed against the table. “Harder, priest. Make me yours.”

“You are mine,” he reminded you coldly in your ear. Still, his hips made a resounding smack against your ass.

Sunday moaned when he felt your walls twitch around him, so tight he felt as though his blood circulation was being cut. It made his head swim. He pawed at your back desperately.

So close.

You purred praises again as his cock head kissed that sweet spot inside of you, and your fingers drew sloppily around your clit. “Just like that, Reverend.”

Sunday’s halo almost blinded you with how bright it was glowing.

He wanted to mumble that he loved you. He wasn’t sure if it was the true, or if he was stumbling over his tongue with these disgusting falsities and delusions.

Like the delusions that played in his head of waking up next to you, crawling between your legs and tonguing at your cunt, pleading for relief while his cock stirred in his pants.

“Let me fill you,” he pleaded quietly. “Please.” His tongue was watering, and he wiped drool off of his lips with his shoulder.

He heard you sigh dreamily, cut off suddenly with another harsh thrust of his cock inside of you.

He was twitching.

So fucking close.

Come on.

Shame. Shame poured from every pore in his skin like pus.

“Of course, sire. I’m yours.”

In your final confession, Sunday’s chest heaved. His gloved fingers gripped your hips enough to still them entirely, staining the unmarred skin with dark bruises and blood.

His cock twitched deep inside you, his mind twisted, and he came.

He filled your womb, just like he wanted to, and he moaned so pathetically against your neck you cried out for him. His breath fanned over your sweaty skin as he trembled above you, hips smacking weakly against your ass as he emptied himself.

“God.” It spilled from his lips.

Blasphemous. Awful. He’ll never see the light of day the same again,

He clawed at your hips, pressing you down into the table.

His heart lurched when you squeezed around his sensitive, aching cock still buried deep into your cunt, drooling around the skin as you came again.

He felt slick dribble past the rim of your hole, sticking to the soft supple skin of his thighs as he kept himself snug inside of you.

Warm.

He exhaled shakily.

The praise you had whispered had gotten to his head. Heat swelled in his face, and Sunday swallowed thickly.

After a moment, you sighed, just as wobbly as he was, and raised a hand to pull his chin down just enough for you to crane your neck to the side and kiss his cheek.

You could feel his heart bashing against your back as his chest rested on your spine. Truthfully, you could’ve stayed this way with his slowly softening cock deep inside of you.

He pulled out slowly, almost unwillingly, and he heard you hiss lowly. His cock slipped from your cunt, and his slit was still aching as the remaining cum bubbled and dribbled down the side.

Sunday did nothing.

He removed his hands from your hips and you finally pushed yourself up from the table. He heard the creaking of your bones and a sigh of relief as you stretched your skin.

His heart was still racing. He felt nauseous.

His gloves were sticky and tacky, but he still refused to touch your properly.

He heard you shift, sitting up on the table and gliding a gentle, but firm hand up and down the stretch of his spine. His wings fluttered at the attention.

His halo was still glowing, just enough for you to see that he was masking his guilt and staring far too long at the wall of the cellar. After what seemed like hours, he fumbled to pull his pants back on at the very least and attempted to straighten his rumpled shirt.

In that time, he’d heard the clicking of your heels as you’d fussed to dress yourself as best you could without moving from the table.

Devotion.

Your hand was now soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

His knees buckled.

As he slowly lowered himself to the floor, he turned to face you and slotted himself in between your legs. This was devotion, right? His gloved hands slid up your thighs as you watched him curiously. His knees hit the floor first, and his lips trembled when he leaned forward, pried your thighs further apart, and kissed your clothed cunt until your hips twitched and you giggled.

You playfully shoved his head away with a push to his forehead.

Sunday rested his head against one of your thighs and continued to tremble. His face was still

coated in sweat.

When your hand gently reached down to pet his hair, he shakily smiled.

He’d find later after he finally pulled himself from the cellar and locked it, and trekked back up the stairs to the main hall, that the murals were not looking at him. The statue was still, just as silent as it had always been, with six eyes shut to the world with their unhearing ears and unspeaking mouths.

All that would watch silently was a bird. A small, deep purple nightingale that watched from afar.

For now he walked down the aisle after you silently, holding onto his coat and his white overthrow. The golden badge that usually rested on his breast weighed heavy in his hands like led.

He did not dare to gaze at the walls. He held onto the key for the front door as if it would disappear from his grasp.

It was cold outside, and the wind blew steadily as he shut the door behind him before securely locking it tight.

He heard your heels stop.

“Reverend?”

Sunday wanted to bark at you. What more could you possibly want from him? You’d taken everything, and now he knew he would go home like a ghost trekking a lonely path, fall into bed, and tremble all night as his fingers felt blindly for the waistband of his pants.

Instead, he only hummed. He kept his hand firm around the giant brass knobs of the church.

“Don’t fear Hell.”

The words did not assure him, but for that moment amidst the wind, Sunday listened.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing the sore muscles tight.

He stiffened at how warm your skin was. How he desperately, desperately wanted to feel your lips on his again.

He refrained.

Sunday barely turned his head to look at you.

“I will be there with you.” And that, you could promise.

Daringly, you pressed a chaste kiss to his hair before you let go of his shoulder, and left.

He only glanced away for a moment, but when he peered back down the street, you had disappeared, along with the faint clicking of your heels.

Sunday’s shoulder remained warm long after you had let go.

And that warmth remained present for every day that you did not return to him.

But, distantly, with every service that he swears he sees your face, or the pattern of your stockings in the embroidery, he knows the fleeting feeling of your warmth is enough.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #✦ ( after hours. )#✦ ( the macrocosmos. )

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i-cant-sing · 6 months

Note

IMAGINE THE KAMO CLAN WANTS AN ALLIANCE WITH THE ZENIN

so they offer that noritoshi (who is secretly in love with teen!fushiguro reader) marry her, the zenin and the kamo have made this type of alliance for years, it is totally normal for them

but definitely the kamo did not wait for naoya to come to his house shouting that no kamo spawn is going to sully his sweet daughter---- NIECE

when the others hear the news, toji, gojo, nanami, megumi, mai and maki arrive, ALSO SUKUNA WHO TOOK POSSESSION OF YUJI'S BODY

poor noritoshi

AHahaha yesss, I mean the elders just wanted to form an alliance, and neither clan really knew just how strong Fushiguro reader was as a toddler, so it was right to arrange a marriage for you.

As a child, Noritoshi didnt really care much for you, especially since he had battles of his own- being born to a mistress, being the heir of the clan because the head wife couldnt bear sons so, he has to deal with that.

But youre adorable and you grow on anyone, even the Zenin clan, so when toddler Fushiguro reader meets 9 year old Noritoshi, the latter only thinks of you as a spoiled brat at first. And why wouldnt he? Youre running around barefoot in the garden, dressed in sparkly pink hello kitty pjs with servants chasing after you, with Naoya screaming from the shed that he'll lock you up if he catches you grabbing his million dollar koi fish.

Noritoshi's disgust is quite understandable when you come upto him, hair disheveled, face sweaty, and you stick your muddy hand to his face.

"Hi! Im Y/n Fushiguro!" "ZENIN! Y/N ZENIN!" Naoya yells before dragging you away for training (Naoya didnt want you to meet your future husband).

As time goes on, Noritoshi would be sent to the Zenin estate on different errands (by this point, the Kamo clan has heard rumors of your powers and now want Noritoshi to go and woo you, which is a huge task since Noritoshi isnt someone who is able to express emotions, much less romantic ones). But even though he might not be able to express his emotions, doesnt mean his heart hasnt turned soft for you. Youre pollar opposite to him, loud, energetic, carefree- and yet Noritoshi cant help but feel that you... sort of complete him. Youre everything hes not and he likes that. Like 2 puzzle pieces that fit together, he completes you too. Hes quiet, calm, realistic- he brings peace to you, especially when youre mind gets overstimulated by- well, you.

How many times has it been that Noritoshi has stopped your panic attacks when you realised that your father Toji, wasnt coming back? How many times has Noristoshi had to pull you into his robes when your cursed energy started to lose control, risking himself just to calm you down and help you control it as his soft monotonous voice guided you through it?

And how many times has it been that Noritoshi would have his terrible day turned around with just you calling him "Nori!"? Or the times he'd be questioning his worth in the clan and all he needed was you to lean your head against his shoulder to feel like a million bucks? Noritoshi would be the type of man who people would think doesnt really care about love and marriage, when in reality, he just spent the entire night listening to you yap about your day, about Hello Kitty, about uncle Naoya, pausing in between to say "hmm, okay its getting late, we should sleep" only to suddenly remember a new topic to ramble on about. And youd think Noritoshi wanst listenting to you with the way hes staring at your face in awe, but really- he remembers every single word. You could quiz him. Its funny listening to man like him talk about Hello Kitty.

When the time comes for you two to actually get married, Naoya throws a fit, and surprisingly, the Zenin clan also doesnt want to marry you off to Kamo clan (or anyone). People opposing the marriage from your side would be the Zenin clan, the twins (who start telling you all the reasons why marriage is a trap and youd be dead in 2 days.), Gojo (he just chuckles and tells you not to worry because he wont let you be forced into marriage), Nanami (my man wholeheartedly believes youre being a victim of child marriage, BUT NOT ON HIS WATCH! GONNA KILL ANYONE WHO EVEN THINKS OF U LIKE THAT- just sit in his condo and eat the sandwhich he made for you. And dont argue.), Megumi (who doenst get why he wasnt ever informed that you, his baby sister, was in an arranged marriage, and why the hell didnt Noritoshi try to get his blessings/permission considering THAT HES YOUR CLOSEST FAMILY MEMBER??? Also, no- youre not marrying Kamo) and then... theres Sukuna (if you thought Naoya threw a fit, youre in for A WORLD OF TANTRUMS AS SUKUNA SCREAMS AND MOST LIKELY KILLS WHOEVER IS IN A MILE VICINITY, just to let off some steam and calm down before he talks to you and REMINDS YOU THAT YOU PROMISED TO MARRY HIM! HAVE YOU BEEN PROPOSING TO EVERY GUY YOU MET?)

People supporting this union would be all from Noritishi's side, including- the Kamo clan, Choso Kamo (cause ofc, youre just a precious baby like Yuji, and with you being part of the clan means he can protect u better), and surprise surprise Kenjaku (because youd be strong addition to the clan and then you and Nori will have babies with SUPER STRONG CURSED ENERGY AND HE'LL ACCOMPLISH HIS PLAN FOR WORLD DOMINATION).

Anyways, its a sticky situation and it all comes down to you really. Do you want to marry Noritoshi or not?

#yandere noritoshi #yandere noritoshi kamo #yandere naoya #yandere naoya zenin #yandere zenin clan #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere sukuna #yandere sakuna

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m0chisenpai · 4 days

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Could you consider doing a fwb reader who refuses to be with them because she thinks that they are so toxic (but they are pinning over her HARD because i like my men obsessive over me)

(also i said "they" because i didnt knew who to pick 😭 but this just screams lestat or armand)

The hunt

˚｡⋆ lestat de lioncourt x black!fem!reader x armand

in which neither lestat nor armand can keep their eyes off box one

You joined the theatre after watching your maker burn to a crisp. Truth be told you would have done him in yourself had they not stepped in.He was ancient and delirious. You posed as his distant relative, some nights you were his niece, other's his heiress bastard. And in return you lived a comfortable life of luxuries.

Though you had to bear his unwarranted advances. His unwanted pet names, it all made your skin crawl. Tonight he said he needed to attend to his affairs, leaving you to explore the city. You made unnecessary puchases on his account. New gowns, jewels, head pieces for the upcoming season

When you arrived to your Paris manor to find it in shambles and the man burning amidst it all, all you could do was sigh and use his flames to light the cigarette while you watched him turned to ash. They were a gift from an ambassador. New unlike the tobacco pipes which you hated. You hardly flinched when the carriage boy screamed for help.

What were you to do now? His accounts were already settled in my name, but I liked this home.

"Your maker is no more fledgling" his presence startles you, but you stand your ground against the elder. Honeyed eyes watching yu concealed behind false glasses.

"I can see," you tap the ashes into the flames.

"He violated the ancients laws. He disrespected my coven."

"Coven?" Now he has your attention. You step up to him. "He never told me about laws, or others. Just said to tell him if I saw any more of us in the shadows."

He knows. He searched your mind fromt he shadows. Watching you shed no tears for your maker. All you could think of was no longer having to deal with him anymore. No longer were you forced to share his coffin, feel his disgusting hands. Armand felt your disgust, it churned his stomach.

He saw himself in your eyes. A hunger to learn more. He holds his hand to you, "come. Join us. And I can gurantee you will not suffer the same fate."

You stare at his hand, discarsing the cigarette next to you. "Will I truly?"

"Yes, come." There was a softness to his voice. You brought a nuturing side out to him he never knew was there. As he guided you back to the theatre, not once did his hand leave yours. You would spend the first night in his coffin, just in case he did try and kill you.

Armand presents you in front of the coven the next night. You found them off putting, but you would grow used to their presence.

"Lestat De Lioncourt, one of our actors and founding members," you bow your head to him but he takes your hand in his pressing a kiss to your hand.

"Will this beauty be joining us on stage Armand?"

"No, she will observe with me for the time being until she finds her place."

"Ah maitre, it is sin to hide such a beautiful face." He flashes you a cheky smile which you quickly brush aside.

"And I hope you put that charm to use on stage Mr Lioncourt" you retort stepping back beside Armand.

"You have a bite in you fledgling, don't lose it."

French boys. You can only shake your head.

They were all the same. Flowery words, thoughts of lust and poetry. Philosophy. Bu this blonde beauty, this one was different. No thoughts of heaven or hell, evil and good. No his thoughts intrigued you.

The first year you find yourself being a production assitant of some sort to Armand. You have your own quarters in the theatre. Filled with your gowns, jewels, your riches. You offer him input in changes, or adjusting scenery his scripts when need be. Always sitting in box one of the performances.

He won't admit it outloud but he felt you were the fledgling he was meant to make. Not your old maker.

His affections grew into something else. Was it romantic? No, vampires felt more than just human emotion. This was supernatural. Primal. As he sat in the box, he watched your gaze upon Lestat. You sat up straighter eyes wide with pride.

He wanted you to look at him like that.

"He's off script again," Armand clicks his tongue, he looks over to you.

"Yes, but don't you think it sounds bette this way."

"It would had he done it during rehersal." His eyes watch as your fiddle with the cuffs of your gown. He takes your hand into his own, now he has yoru eyes which look up at him.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to see your eyes for a moment fledgling."

"Are you growing soft Armand?" You smirk up at him, sitting up and tilting your head as to suggest you were to kiss him which he anticipates.

"The next act is starting" you whisper situating yourself to watch the performance. His eyes open, looking now to the stage, where Lestat bows smirking up at the box as you stand to join the applause.

You pace back and forth in front of Lestat who reads from his script. The coven look as dead as their hearts, the poor diva couldn’t get his line. He had been slacking lately as death, and he needed to improve for the upcoming performance.

You wouldn’t admit it, but he played death well. He was as vicious as death. But you needed death to have romance to it. Death was as beautiful as he was fearsome.

"Come now Lestat as though you are in love!" you exclaim. He reads the lline again but it sounds more...harsh than loving.

"Lestat surely you bedded enough women to know how to speak sweet love. Speak as though you wish to lure her, to drink her lust and her blood." You look up at him, he looks down upon you and in one big swoop pulls you to the stage.

"My bounty is as boundless as the sea," he whispers it tenderly, his hand cups your cheek the other srill holding the script in hand.

"My love as deep; the more I give to thee,The more I have, for both are infinite." He is closer now. "How was that?"

"Better, now do it with your bride of death tonight." You whisper Walking past him into the wings.

Armand can't help but watch as you write at your desk, beside the new set of perfumes and fans he gifted you. He watches your lips move slowly. Your french has improved with hsi assistance. bUt you slip up, speaking in oor dialect as he calls it.

He feels a presence all too familar behind him.

"Shouldn't you be practicing your lines, puce."

"My apologies maitre," Lestat speaks in false humility bowong his head. "I wished to practice them with-"

"Unnecessary. I will be speaking with her performances and coven matters.”

“Ahh yes,” Lestat hums. Taking a bold step to stand beside Armand, who continues to watch your hand move with quickness across one of his scripts.

They don’t know, but you listen. You hear their thoughts. Desires to have you as their own. You know it. Felt it the moment both men entered your lives.

But no longer will you be held captive by another man’s desires. No, the fates of their hearts shall be in the palm of your hand this time. You give them your eyes looking at them now.

You smile, Lestat happily returns it. Armand merely bows his head to enter. He clearly has told Lestat something because he is gone in an instant.

For now, you’ll indulge them. Let them think they are winning. t’s fun when your food is unaware. That is what Armand tells you during one of your hunts. It makes the blood sweeter, and the hunt more invigorating.

Thus begins the hunt.

#iwtv series #iwtv x reader #armand x reader #lestat x reader #requests #lestat de lioncourt x reader

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zorosdimples · 9 months

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mdni. reader has a vagina. i love big noses.

it’s the sort of thing you don’t notice until someone points it out—then it becomes all you can see. higuruma hiromi remembers the exact comment (the first of countless) from when he was a little boy, running around on the playground.

“how come your nose looks like that?” one of his playmates asked, scrunching up a cute, button nose in what hiromi later recognized as disgust.

“like what?” hiromi asked, touching his nose. it didn’t hurt; nothing was broken; it wasn’t bleeding. so what was wrong?

“it looks like a bird’s beak!” the child squealed, making a squawking noise to emphasize their point.

that was the day hiromi became self-conscious of his nose. the remark spread around the playground, and made its way onto the school bus, and into the classroom. he couldn’t escape it, not even in high school. “hawk” was his nickname; he loathed it, but nothing he said helped.

hiromi never cried—boys don’t cry—but he may have shed a tear or two in frustration in the bathroom when he stared at his reflection, picking himself apart. he vowed that one day, when he became a lawyer and earned enough money, he would get a rhinoplasty and be done with his beak.

when you meet hiromi, he’s a powerful lawyer. you discover his secret in the form of a stack of plastic surgery brochures when you visit his unkempt apartment after you’ve been dating for a few months. he’s shocked when you grab him by the face, running your soft fingertips down his aquiline nose, from the strong slope between his brows to the sharp tip that shades his lips.

“your nose is sexy, hiro,” you breathe, smoothing your palms to rest on his shoulders. “it suits you.”

hiromi doesn’t fully grasp what you mean until later, when you settle your knees on either side of his head, lowering yourself so that your pussy kisses his face. he starts slowly: he’s tentative in his licks to your folds, occasionally sucking, mouthing up to your clit, getting a feel for what you respond to.

when he tongues at your entrance, moving his face so that his nose smears through your juices and rubs against your clit, hiromi gets exactly the reaction he’s looking for. he uses his nose more: he nuzzles through your wetness and grinds right where you want him—where you need him, if your moans are anything to go by. your soul-shattering orgasm makes him realize something.

maybe his nose is sexy. regardless, hiromi throws the rhinoplasty pamphlets away the next day.

#i hope you guys see the vision i’ve been thinking about this for days!!!!! it’s written so quickly so please be kind. it’s messy but sweet #hiromi <3 #༄ kae writes

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kasagia · 1 month

Text

Dancing with the devil V

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem! royal!reader Summary: Things are getting a little more complicated. The bonds on your wrists are tightening, and you're running out of time to get out of your deal with the devil... but maybe you just have to accept that there's no escape from your fate this time? Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VI ~•♤♤♤•~

"You look like you swallowed a frog. If you want the story of our happy relationship to stick, maybe you'd consider at least smiling at me to add a little credibility to it." Feyd walking next to you speaks maliciously. You tighten your grip on the crook of his elbow and dig your nails into him, dissatisfied with the fact that, as usual, he is in his armour, which makes him unable to feel the pressure of your nails.

"Actually, I am going to marry a frog. Very slippery and white." You grumble, looking away from him. Feyd rolls his eyes at you. He leans towards you, feeling you tense as his plush lips brush against your earlobe.

"Do swans swallow frogs? If so, I'd love to see you try it. Especially on your knees." You flinch, outraged and disgusted by his comment and the hidden meaning behind his words.

"You are disgusting."

Feyd laughs, placing his hand over yours on the crook of his elbow. You roll your eyes at him, but make no move to move away from him. You miss that carefree banter with him—the things you used to have when you were kids.

You glance at him and quickly remember that those times will never come back, that neither he nor you are the same people. And for a moment, you let your eyes stare unconsciously at him, imagining what it would be like if his uncle had never broken him.

You catch his gaze. A strange chill runs through, something you can't control. Oh, how you wish those icy blue eyes still belonged to that boy you knew. You look away and pretend to look at the flowers. You don't notice how his gaze turns icy as you look away from him, nor how his heart squeezes and various thoughts run through his head as he loses your attention. He nods to himself. You promised him that you would hate and despise him forever.

"And you are going to marry me. Also, your mind is as dirty as mine if you take my hints." He replies playfully, trying to push away the urge to dig his hand into the thorns of the growing flowers you're looking at. He must have shed someone's blood. Feyd forces himself to look away from you, and he does so just as his recently not-so-favourite Duke enters through the garden's gate. With a very extraordinary companion by his side. "Look who it is." He whispers in your ear and nods towards the new couple in the garden.

He feels you tense as your gaze lands in the direction he's pointing. He allows himself to take a moment to examine the crinkles next to your eyes as you squint them at the two people. He found your reaction quite cute. He always loved watching the gears in your head turn as you were creating your cunning plans.

"Michael and Y/F/N? What are they doing?"

"Talking as we see. And apparently they can act decently towards each other, not like someone." He points out at you, successfully hiding his resentment behind snarky banter.

"Shhh... we need to get closer to them." You shush him and pull him towards them.

Feyd reluctantly follows you, trying to suppress a smirk as you pull him through the corridors formed by the green hedges. He remembers the last time you led him through the gardens of your estate like this. But then, it had been for an entirely more... pleasant purpose than now.

Feyd, however, can't help but stroke your hand gently with his thumb, which you seem to ignore, too excited about your little investigation.

You suddenly stop; he bumps into your back, but you completely ignore it in favour of watching the two people walking through the garden.

"I am sorry, but it is… hard to believe for me that she actually can… marry him. I mean, I don't say that Na-Baron Harkonnen is a bad match, but… their union is quite… surprising and unexpected. Don't you think?" Feyd feels your grip on his hand tighten as you hear Michael's words.

Your nails dig into the skin of his palm, and you shed a little of his black blood. Feyd lifts your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss there. He effectively grabs your attention. Your gaze focusses on your hands; he sees you holding your breath slightly as he brushes his tongue over the blood dripping down your finger.

"Son of a bitch." You mutter under your breath. Feyd frowns at you with his hairless brow as your attention returns to the gossiping couple.

"Me?"

"Not you. Michael." You explain to him, frustrated and angry, as you lean out from behind your hiding place near the hedge to watch the two of them closely.

"He is... but he also has a point here." His comment makes you frown, sending him one of your stern looks as you try to intimidate him. You yank your hand out of his grip and stare at him indignantly.

"What?! At which side are you?" You hiss at him, angry, for a moment, forgetting that you were on a spy mission.

"You barely speak to me at public events, let alone throw a flirtatious glance or even hint that you're interested in me in any way. Our engagement... is probably as surprising to society as it is to us both."

"Are you saying that people won't believe that YOU want to marry me?" You mock him, offended that according to him, in people's eyes, he may not want you, when in reality he was the one who had been persecuting you since you cut off all contact with him.

But actually Feyd was right in some parts. In the world of men, their opinion mattered more than women's. It was obvious that society would think that the... cooling of your relationship was initiated by him, although it wasn't like that at all. You shudder as your heart hurts at the mere memory of what happened between you two...

"I'm saying that in their eyes we are far from being lovers." He answers and glances at Michael, bile rising in his throat at the thought that you could willingly have feelings for someone like that, give him his affection and gentle touch, while Feyd could have only your pure hatred and disdain.

You clench your jaw and look back at him. You open your mouth to start to argue with him, but your anger subsides when you see his thoughtful gaze on Michael. You sigh, rubbing your hand over the back of your neck.

He was right.

You had been acting much worse towards him. You treated him not as your suitor but as your enemy. But if it weren't for Feyd, Michael would have taken you and your kingdom a long time ago. And the only thing you hated more than Feyd was the feeling of being in debt to someone.

"Hm... I think I see your point." You reply thoughtfully, still watching him. If it weren't for him, you'd be walking by Michael's side, and it would definitely not be by your own free will. And he certainly wouldn't have let you speak up and do the things that you did with Feyd.

But then again, Feyd wasn't such a saint. He took advantage of your difficult situation and put a ring on your finger without hesitation. But if he hadn't done that, would Michael have backed off from attacking your planet? Besides, who knows what he'll do if he becomes convinced that your relationship with Feyd is a sham?

If Michael attacks your planet, how could you be sure that Feyd would be able to send Harkonnen's troops to war? That the Baron would let his soldiers fight for a planet that wasn't his?

You had to make sure that your influence over Feyd remained, that he was completely charmed and bewitched by you, and that he was addicted to you. You had to give him as many sweet gestures and words as you had given your previous suitors, to be sure that he would do exactly what you wanted... but how in all this are you supposed to protect your heart from being broken and not let yourself be charmed by the prince of Lankiveil once again?

So when you see Michael and Y/F/N coming your way, you decide to do what you do best. Play.

"What are you... mph!" Feyd's words get stuck in his throat as you grab his neck and pull him into a passionate kiss.

The kiss surprises you as much as it does him. But for different reasons to each of you. Just as Feyd is surprised by the feeling of your lips on his again, the way you reach for him and grab the lapels of his armour, pressing your warm, soft body against his toned chest in black metal armour, you are surprised by how good he feels against you.

You didn't know why every time you kissed him, you felt an electric shiver run through your entire body. You had kissed many men, but only Feyd's strong hands that gripped your waist, his full, plush, soft lips, and the intoxicating scent of musk and just him made you feel things that no one else could. And as much as you loved it, you were afraid of the effect he had on you and of the power he held over you.

Your only consolation was that you had as much power over him as he had over you... maybe even more.

You whine, digging your nails into the back of his head as you instinctively reach up to pull at the hair he doesn’t have. Feyd growls against your mouth and grabs you hard by your waist. You gasp and pull away from his lips as your back hits the green hedge.

You pant into each other’s mouths, staring into each other’s eyes as you both catch quick, ragged breaths. His nose brushes against yours as he closes his eyes and runs his hand through your hair.

"You... you don't even know... how difficult it is to be so close and yet so far away from you." He whispers, digging his fingers into the back of your head. You blink a few times, staring at him. You raise your hand and hesitantly reach for his cheek.

His eyes suddenly open as he tenses at your sudden touch. He gives you a questioning look. You swallow, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. Feyd instinctively buries and presses his face into your palm.

You hold your breath, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He shakes his head slightly and leans down to caress your lips with his again. You sigh softly, allowing his tongue to invade your mouth and join in an oh-so-familiar dance of passion with your own. You wrap your hands around his shoulders, digging your fingers just below his neck as he tightens his grip around your waist, pressing your body against his muscular torso.

There’s a gentleness in your kiss that you haven’t seen from him since you were kids, and a possessiveness that makes your heart beat faster and creates an annoying itch between your legs that you know only he can soothe.

“I think I have an idea,” you whisper as he brushes his nose against yours, his hand travelling from your waist to your cheek. You shiver as he caresses it with his thumb as gently as he can.

"You have?" He asks surprised, moving his gaze between your lips and your eyes.

You blush, realising what you've unknowingly gotten yourself into. You swallow hard, staring at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say to him.

Then you notice a sudden movement behind him.

You push him away from you with the speed of light and fix your dress, trying to look at least a little presentable, when Michael and Y/F/N (finally) appear in your field of vision.

"Oh... my apologies; we didn't want to interrupt anything." Y/F/N says, staring in pure shock at you two. Michael looks you up and down. An involuntary cold shiver runs through you as his assessing gaze shifts from you to Feyd, who places a hand on your back, guiding you towards the pair who have arrived just in time to see his swollen, kiss-red lips—exactly how you wanted them to see him.

"You didn't interrupt in anything, right, my lord Na-Baron?" You ask, sweetly addressing your fiancé. Feyd thankfully refrains from showing his surprise at your sudden change of heart towards him and decides to join in and play your game.

"Not at all. My beloved was just showing me the beauty of the local gardens. Although I have to admit that they do not compare to hers."

"You've seen her garden, Na-Baron?" Michael asks mockingly, suggesting something completely different than the garden you are in. Y/F/N blushes, clearing her throat. Feyd digs his fingers into your back in anger, trying to keep himself from physically responding to Duke’s words.

"Yes. On (Your/home/planet). You didn't?" Feyd mocks him, but you know from the tension in his muscles that if he could, he would cut Michael's head off right where he stood.

"I, too, found them quite... bearable. But I thought the Harkonnens didn't attach much importance to something as feminine as the beauty of palace gardens."

"We don't. But we do attach importance to our women and everything that interests them." The tension between the two of them is very palpable. On one hand, you like the way Feyd refers to you as his woman, but on the other hand, you can't drown out the little voice in the back of your head that tells you that this special treatment will end the moment he puts a ring on your finger. And then you'll be his servant. Someone slightly better than the concubines he had.

"How honourable and gentlemanly. I would not have expected that from you either." Michael comments mockingly. Feyd presses his hand harder against your back, playing roughly with the material of your dress. Before he can respond, you grab his arm, forcing him to look at you.

"Na-Baron is a special man. You will confirm that, won't you, Y/F/N?" You ask your friend sweetly with a smile on your lips, momentarily turning your gaze away from the furious Harkonnen.

"I... must admit that Na-Baron's loyalty and honour were a pleasant aspect of my time on Giedi Prime. Rumours don't reflect the full scope of his... complex character."

"And I have the great honour to unfold it." You say with a huge smile, catching the gaze of Feyd's icy blue irises. You stroke his arm with your thumb, drawing small patterns on it as you try to calm the rage boiling inside him. You don't know how you would explain Duke's sudden, unfortunate death to society.

While talking to Michael and Y/F/N, you notice the look she throws to your almost-fiancée and the way Michael basked in the glow of her attention. You’re not jealous. But you can’t help but notice the obvious... threat to you in the way their gazes linger on each other a moment too long or the accidental brush of their hands.

If there was more to these two… Michael would have access to most of your secrets through Y/F/N. And they would both become significant political opponents for you on your path to the Imperial throne.

With Feyd by your side, you might have had a chance of fulfilling your dream. And even if you didn't, being Baroness Giedi Prime was just as high a title, higher than your previous suitors could give you. You reluctantly had to admit that Feyd wasn't the worst match—at least when it came to political matters.

You maintain your mask of false politeness and smile, forming a plan in your head. You will not allow these two to join. Through marriage or anything else. So when Feyd escorts you to your chambers, you ask him a question he has not expected:

"How would you react if I was walking in the gardens with a man other than you?"

"I… where does this question come from?" He asks confused and suspicious.

"I was just wondering. Michael and Y/F/N were pretty close, I suspect your brother wouldn't like that. He'd probably kill him on the spot."

"That royal, cowardly little bastard has deserved to die for a long time now. If you're curious about my brother's reaction, tell him. I'm sure it wouldn't be long before Y/F/N was his wife and locked away on Giedi Prime in his chambers."

"For usurpers of kingdoms, you are as greedy as you are possessive." You snort, mocking him as you reach the door to your chamber. You let go of his arm and are about to open the door when Feyd suddenly presses you against it, your wrists in a tight grip, his chest pressing against your back.

"You haven't seen anything yet, little swan." He whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe. You shiver as his tongue traces a path to your neck. "As for your question, you can see for yourself. But I warn you that I am not responsible for the fate of anyone who dares to get close enough to touch you." He mumbles against your skin, his teeth grazing it.

You gasp as he bites into your necklace, sparing the skin over your collarbones. You just don't know if you're gasping with relief or disappointment that he didn't sink his black teeth in and taste your blood.

"You have no right to decide who touches me and who doesn't." You growl at him angrily, struggling in his arms. You gasp as he grips your waist tighter and pulls you closer to him, not leaving even an inch of space between you.

"I will, after our wedding."

"Who said you'll live to see this happen?" Your threat doesn't impress him. If anything, it only turns him on more, as he proves by pressing his growing arousal against your ass.

"Mmm… and I thought you had hidden your teeth for today. You chirped so sweetly at me, glued to my arm. I almost believed that you saw me as more than just a sexy beast that you like to fuck."

"You are an unmannered savage." You gasp as his lips find the weak spot on your neck. He nips and licks, sucking a hickey that you’ll have to cover up later, but right now your biggest concern is getting out of his arms.

"The savage on whose fingers you fall apart every time we are alone." He gasps into your ear, allowing you to break free from his arms.

You turn to face him, your hands on the doorknob, breathing quickly as you plan how to get into the room without letting him in. You breathe heavily, feeling his saliva on your neck as he stares at you with a hunger so great you doubt if you've ever seen one in the eyes of any of your suitors.

"Screw you." You growl hoarsely and quickly open the door. At the last moment, you close it in Harkonnen's face.

With shaking hands, you lock it and take a step away from him. You breathe heavily, staring at the oak in front of you and listening to him pounding furiously on it, as if he were strong enough to punch through it with his fist. For a moment, you think he is.

"You will soon!" A cold chill runs down your spine at his shout. You listen carefully for his footsteps as he steps away from the door.

You sigh in relief and rest your forehead against the cold wood, trying to sober up from the sudden heat and adrenaline of what just happened.

Feyd was right. If you don't get out of this uncomfortable engagement, you'll be his for good. And he can do whatever he wants with you. Your prince from Lankiveil was long dead—you had to stop deluding yourself. Yes, Feyd treated you relatively well, but you're well aware that Na-Baron won't be so gentle with you anymore. If you end up with him on Giedi Prime as his wife, his behaviour will change 180 degrees, and you'll become just another one of his toys.

What else could you expect from a man with three concubines that he treated like pets? He was just like Rabban... just like Baron.

You promise yourself in this moment that if you ever become his wife, you will take your own life. You would rather die than be a slave and prisoner to Giedi Prime… than become the same as what your sweet Feyd has become.

"How could you do this to me?!" Y/F/N bursts into your chambers before your maid can open the door for her. You frown, placing the necklace on the dressing table and turning to look at your furious friend.

"I don't understand what you're talking about. By the way, good morning to you too." She snorts derisively at your words and throws the latest edition of Lady Whistledown on the dressing table.

"It's about how I was supposedly... found in a compromising situation with Michael. It somehow got through to my parents and Rabban; they want to speed up our wedding, and I'm supposed to leave for Giedi Prime tomorrow. Only you and Feyd saw me with Michael that day. So...you're Lady Whistledown." You stare blankly at the piece of paper for a moment, then at your friend. You start laughing, completely unconcerned by her angry expression.

"Do you really think... that I'm Lady Whistledown? Of all people? I mean... I get that you don't suspect Feyd at all, but me? Your best friend? I have to admit it hurts a little. But in your situation, I'd probably make similar accusations, so I'll forgive you this time."

"Who else?! You're the perfect fit! Lady Whistledown has never written anything scandalous about you!"

"Because I am insignificant. My family is not the one that counts in the political arena and in society. However, I think my engagement to Feyd will change that."

"You don't even want to marry him! Don't even lie to me! You know very well you won't! You could give him to me!" She shouts at you with tears of rage in her eyes. You freeze, staring at her in shock at her sudden outburst. "He's the only decent man there! If you don't have any serious plans to marry him, give him to me. At least in this way, save me."

You stare at her for a long moment, your heart beating fast and your mouth going dry as you swallow nervously. You dig your nails into your palms and close your eyes, taking a single, deep breath.

"Y/F/N... leave."

"What?"

"Get out of here before I do something I'll regret." You growl at her furiously, glaring daggers at her.

You clench your fists so hard you feel like they're about to bleed. Luckily, your friend gets the hint and leaves without looking back. You take a few calming breaths, trying to calm down, to get your emotions under control.

That fucking bitch wanted you to give up your Feyd so she could marry him!

What annoyed you even more was the fact that you actually didn't like the idea of giving him to someone else. Or the idea of being his wife, of becoming his plaything. Unless… there really was more to him than the shell of Harkonnen he was showing you.

You sigh, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. Things are delicately fucked up. You planned it to go differently, but apparently, as always, you had to come up with some plan B. And this Plan B wasn't exactly what you wanted to do at the beginning. But now you had no choice. And it terrified you a little more than you were willing to admit.

The Scandal of House Harkonnen!

Dear gentle reader, this season has been providing us with the perfect amount of drama and unpredictable turns of events. Just a few days ago, this author uncovered a secret romance between Lady Y/F/N and Duke Michael, (which ended in a turbulent departure for the young lady's fiancé's home planet. This author wishes the newlyweds of Giedi Prime all the best.), and now more scandalous dealings are coming to light from the Baron's successors.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, Na-Baron of Giedi Prime and Lady Y/N's recent fiancé, turns out not to be as alien and hostile to the young lady as we all initially thought. The two, especially Lady Y/N, hid their ardent feelings for each other from the eyes of society. This author has learnt from a trusted source that the pair of lovers had something in common for much longer than they let us all know.

It all started when these two were still children. Even then, they began to be seen together often, becoming inseparable until Na-Baron and Princess Irulan were officially betrothed by their families. However, as it turns out, the arranged marriage was no obstacle for the two. As was Lady Y/N's relationship with the late Paul Atreides (may his spirit rest in peace). The young couple's love story turns out to have more twists and turns than we ever deared to assume, but their feelings seemed to stand the test of time, and eventually (under the rather unexpected annulment of the marriage contract by the Harkonnens with the Emperor's consent and the death of Paul Atreides), the two became engaged.

The question is… how much did they both have to sacrifice to get here? What dirty political games did they get involved in? And will there be a wedding between them since we're all familiar with Lady Y/N's runaway bride syndrome?

This author is as curious about the young couple's past as is about their future and can't wait to see what happens in the folowing weeks. This author just hopes no more deaths will have to come before the young Na-Baron Harkonnen gets his hands on his elusive swan. He evidently intends to ascertain this as most young men do—in the darkness of the palace gardens and the nooks of the palace, where, despite everything, the eyes and ears of society are able to reach and observe everything these two have tried to hide from us.

This author wonders what we will hear first: wedding bells, war cries, or a funeral march? Because with these two, everything is still possible…

"What were you thinking?! I didn't raise you to be a whore!" You listen to your mother screaming while you stare dispassionately at the fire in the fireplace.

A sudden urge to burn yourself in the flames crosses your mind, but you hold it back, realising that it would be a rather painful death. You glance at the mirror you've shattered and shiver at your reflection in the pieces that haven't yet fallen to the floor.

You were still in your nightgown, your hair matted and uncombed, your eyes red with dark bags under them. You lost. You really did lose.

Now you had to marry Feyd. Or kill yourself. You don't know which yet. Maybe you should give him a week or a month? See if he really is a monster like Rabban or Baron? You lost anyway; what difference does it make if you cut your throat or poison yourself a few weeks later?

"You should have been taken away from that monster when you were children! I knew he would have a bad influence on you! He poisoned your mind, told you nonsense, and you probably believed him again, like a stupid, silly, insignificant noblewoman! Like a whore! And this friend of yours… tell me, is she right when she accuses you of being Lady Whistledown?"

"Do you think that I would willingly ruin my reputation just to make Y/F/N believe that I am not Lady Whistledown? I value our friendship, but not that much to ruin my life to lie to her and make her believe that I'm not Lady Whistledown. Now I have to... marry HIM. Do you think that I would choose him for all of the men? That I would willingly trap myself in the marriage with this psychopat? I was supposed to be an empress! I was supposed to rule over my stupid husband, and now... now I'm going to be a plaything. I'm perfectly aware of what happened, mother. And believe me, I'm not that stupid little girl anymore. I don't want him, I don't love him, and I don't care about him in any way. I... it's not my fault that Lady Whistledown wrote that load of crap about me. But now I have to drink the brewed beer. And trust me, I'll do it with my head held high, like you taught me, or I'll die trying. I… I just need time alone to think about it."

You wonder from where you have the strength to answer her at all—that you continue to lie and pretend to have control over a game that became too wild to tame a long time ago. You have tangled yourself in the web of your lies and intrigues, and now it is time to pay the devil back.

You don't even hear your mother leave. You just curl up in a ball on the bed, pressing your knees and stomach into the pillow as you cry into it.

You're not going to fool yourself; you won't survive a day on Giedi Prime. You can't get up every day and put on your armour, fight everyone there, and have no allies. Because you're absolutely convinced that 'the kind treatment' Feyd gives you now is temporary. He'll let you think you can be his equal, marry you, fuck you, and take advantage of your temporary submission, and then, on Giedi Prime, he'll show his true colours and hurt you more than he's already done. Or he'll throw you away when he gets tired of you. You don't know which would be worse, his apathy or his brutality, his sadistic joy in suffering of others—something he was known for.

You cry until you have no more tears. Your mouth is dry, and you continue to howl pitifully and silently, curled up on the bed like a wounded animal as you clutch the pillow to your heart with all your might.

You wonder what kind of curse hangs over you? Is it punishment for all the bad things you've done, all the court scandals you've caused, all the noble romances you've exposed, and all the reputations you've ruined?

You always wanted to be the greater woman—the one everyone admired—who did whatever she wanted and who had control over her life. But now... now you realise how hopeless your situation is. You will have nothing. All you will be degenerate to is his wife, his plaything, his pet, his breeding cow.

You should stay cool and composed in this situation; figure out how to move forward after what you wrote as Lady Whistledown, but now... now you see nothing but your dark future, from which there seems to be no escape.

So you howl in bed like a wounded animal, biting your pillow and trying not to make a sound as you despair over the fact that this is probably where your life will end.

"My Lady, Na-Baron wants.."

"Tell him to go away." You gather enough strength to keep your voice from shaking as you answer your maid.

"But..."

"TELL HIM TO GO AWAY!" You scream and throw the poker at her, which you had been using to play with the ashes from the fireplace, before your uncontrollable sobbing began.

She ducks, terrified at the last moment, and closes the door behind her. You sigh, wiping your tears angrily, and get out of bed. You go to your closet and pull out your warm, formal coat, registering the screams from behind the door in the background.

You're on autopilot, getting dressed, and heading for the door. You had no rational plan at all. You just needed to get as far away from here as you could.

"You're finally starting to act like an adult... Y/N? Where are you going?!" As you push through the doorway between him and your maid and run forward, Feyd shouts after you.

You hear him mutter something under his breath before his quick footsteps echo through the halls of the Corrino palace. You run forward, your heart pounding as you traverse the familiar halls of your childhood, turning into the less travelled ones to lose the pursuing Harkonnen.

You know Corrino's palace much better than he does, so after a few complicated moves, you manage to reach the stables alone and far ahead of him. You saddle your horse and trot to the exit gate, never once looking back.

Tears burn your cheeks as you choke on your own sobs, holding on tightly to the reins of your horse as if you were holding on for dear life. The wind whips against your face, terrorising your already red eyes. You bite your hand, trying not to cry as you steer your horse into the forest, heading for the only place you could truly be alone and far away from the black cage in which you locked yourself for the rest of your life.

You sigh with relief as your horse pushes through the mud and reaches a small cave in the forest at the foot of the mountains.

You smile fondly, dismounting your horse and petting his flank as you lead him inside. You light your lighter and look around, searching the darkness for the torch you left behind ages ago.

When you manage to light up the place a little, you pull the lever, activating the mechanism of the old shelter and closing it. The stone moves and closes the main exit with a loud crack.

You remember how, as children, you, Irulan, and Paul used to come here to play.

It was your secret hideout, a base of sorts. You remember how Feyd used to try to track where you disappeared when your parents were busy with meetings. Of course, he only went on these hunts when his uncle was also attending the meetings. Sometimes the Baron would stay in his chambers, leaving the responsibility of conducting the negotiations either to his oldest nephew or to his advisors.

Feyd was nowhere to be found during those days.

You didn’t know why. And you still don’t, and the whispers and rumours you’ve heard are so awful that you don’t want to believe them or even consider whether they could be true.

You shiver, preferring to recall in your head the memory of finding Feyd spying around your hideout rather than all the terrible rumours you heard.

“Did you get lost on the way to the training grounds?” You ask with a smirk as you watch Feyd jump, surprised at how you snuck up on him.

"Since when do you stop tripping over your own feet?" He responds to your teasing with one of his own. You laugh, shaking your head and lean against a nearby tree, staring at the 17-year-old in front of you.

"I had a good teacher." You praise him, taking out the dagger he gave you and throwing it, aiming it at him. The blade misses him by millimetres and embeds itself in the tree trunk behind him.

He turns and looks at the trunk behind him. He nods in appreciation and looks at you, barely keeping a smirk from spreading across his face.

“Not bad.” He nods and pulls a dagger from the tree. He walks over to you, standing so that the tips of his fingers touch yours. You lift your chin, staring at him defiantly as he traces a pattern from your hip to your collarbone with the tip of the dagger.

Other people, more sensible ones, and those who didn't really know Feyd, would be afraid of Harkonnen putting a blade to their skin. But you had known him too long for even your heart to race with fear at his actions—actually, it raced for a much different reason.

"But it made your blade a bit blunt now." He whispers, his gaze never leaving your collarbone. You lick your lips, watching as he stares at you, waiting for the slightest shiver from you—any sign that you're afraid of him. But he sees nothing. And that shocks him immensely.

As usual, you amaze him. When everyone else feared the Harkonnens, shunned his company, and saw him only as a cruel monster hungry for blood, you tried to be there for him. But over time, this closeness between you, instead of becoming bliss, a diversion from his terrible new life on Giedi Prime, became... dangerous. For him, and for you.

His uncle commented more and more often on how glued he was to your side and how he followed you like a lost puppy seeking your attention. And Feyd really tried to distance himself from you, to create distance between you, so as not to arouse anyone's suspicions... because Feyd would slit his own throat if you were hurt. If you suffered because of him... if you went through the same thing he had at the hands of the baron.

But every time he thought he had finally managed to scare you away, you would come back, as if the place next to him would naturally belong to you. And Feyd was too weak to let you go completely, to willingly deprive himself of your blessed presence, which was a balm for the wounds inflicted on him by Baron and during the time he spent on Giedi Prime.

He entered every "gladiator fight" he entered with you in mind. With every blood spilt on the Giedi Prime's arena, he imagined that if he didn't do it, if he didn't take the lives of these people, he would no longer have the opportunity to return to you.

At first, it was difficult for him to deal fatal blows. But over time, the sight of death became so natural to him that he was afraid that Baron would train him to the point where he wouldn't be able to control himself. That he would kill someone iontally... that he would kill you.

But Feyd was a selfish man… that's why he can't let you go so easily…

"I'm surprised you're anywhere other than training. It's been hard to find you free lately." You continue to banter, your hand moving to the dagger between you. You wrap it around the blade, your gaze never leaving Feyd's blue irises. He swallows hard, trying to push away any dirty thoughts about the ways you could use that dagger on him, and tries to think of a good response.

"Why? Did you miss me?" He asks, smiling evilly, showing a row of teeth as black as night on Giedi Prime. And instead of flinching like the others do, you answer him with a smile so beautiful that his heart stops beating for a moment and he almost gasps for air.

"I did." You admit it openly. Feyd is on the verge of a heart attack.

"You... you did?" He asks, swallowing. He curses himself mentally for allowing you to so easily destroy his composed, indifferent, mocking demeanour, to break through the shield he so meticulously puts up against himself and get to the most vulnerable parts of him.

"Yhm..." You hum, and before he can even notice, you’ve knocked the dagger out of his hand. You push him against the tree trunk behind him and press the blade against his pale neck. He swallows, his Adam’s apple brushing against the cold steel as he is looking deep into your eyes. Feyd feels his pants grow uncomfortable and tight as you lean forward, your chest brushing his as you whisper in his ear. "You must have missed me too, since you're spying on me."

"I don't…"

"Really? So why were you following me? Did you want to catch me here alone, or maybe you thought I was dating some secret admirer and wanted to catch me in the act?"

"Why? Do you want me to be jealous?" He asks in his husky voice, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Would you be?" You ask in a whisper, licking your lips. His eyes move between your eyes and your mouth, and you decide that this is your perfect moment.

So you lean over and kiss Feyd-Rautha for the first time.

It's a perfect distraction. Irulan and Paul emerge from their hiding place and flee, leaving you alone with Feyd… and you take advantage of this opportunity as long as you can.

You drop the dagger and wrap your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Feyd’s hands land clumsily on your hips, squeezing you, reaching for parts of your body he’s always wanted to touch.

He moans into your mouth, trying to take control of the kiss, trying to respond with equal tenderness. He caresses you gently, experiencing for the first time... the other side of intimacy. Of course Feyd feels the same passion and desire as you do, but this kiss... it's soft, tender, expressing emotions that neither of you is ready to say yet but is ready to show some of them in this kiss.

He kisses you as if that were the only thing he was supposed to do for the rest of his miserable existence. He kisses you as if he were still the sweet prince of Lankiveil you knew. He kisses you as if it were the beginning of your future together. He kisses you with a gentleness unlike any Harkonnen. He kisses you with a promise that you'll know only his kisses for the rest of your lives. He kisses you as if it were the last good thing he could do. He kisses you like you're his only solace and joy. He kisses you as if he would never have the opportunity to do it again.

And you pray to every god you know that this won't be your first and last kiss at the same time.

You shudder as you light the fire. A pleasant warmth surrounds you, allowing you to warm up for a moment. You stare blankly into the fire, sitting on the ground and wrapping your arms around your legs.

You freeze as you hear movement behind you. Your hand automatically reaches for the dagger hidden in your coat. You listen using all the knowledge you've gained from training with Feyd and wait for the attacker to strike first.

Your heart is beating fast, your palms slightly sweaty as you wonder what the hell is in this abandoned shelter besides you.

The attacker rushes towards you. You dodge and twist the arm of the man who attacked you, slamming him into the stone floor, trying to wrench his own dagger from his hand. You struggle with the man who has a scarf around his head, kicking him, dodging his blows, and in doing so disarming him, straddling him. You unwind the scarf from his head and gasp in shock as you see his face...

A face you never thought you would see again.

"Paul?"

Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73

Taglist for DWTD: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran @hueanhdang @barnes70stark @forgedfromthestars

@toertche

@emzzlyy

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