#feeling unholy in the tags tonight

[therabbitthatpostthings]

I watch Resident Evil for the plot

The plot:

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Sometimes, I wish I was as important as your email inbox - John Price x reader

Warnings/tags: Hurt comfort, could be considered angst. Miscommunication(?) established relationship, fem!reader. This was supposed to be pwp... then it turned in to this unholy abomination of hurt comfort because I have daddy issues and can’t fucking do this.

In which, Price has been a bit extra busy with work, and reader feels a bit… alone.

You open the door and step out of the bathroom, tugging your towel tighter around yourself as the steamy warmth from your shower mixes with the relatively cold air of the bedroom.

Price is sitting on your bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out and phone in hand as he scrolls through the device- likely for something work related. When he sees you step out of the bathroom, his eyes flit towards you and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. 

You hadn’t expected him to be home yet. For the past week, he’d been leaving early and getting back late. Usually, he left early enough that it was still dark outside, and that the only goodbye you’d get was a gentle nudge to wake you up and a kiss on the forehead- followed by a goodbye and a reassurance he’d be back before you knew it. You knew he had to go, it was some week-long training he was helping to administer- but that didn’t help to soothe the loneliness that came with an empty house and waking up to a cold spot where your husband usually lay. 

Most of the time, it was dark again by the time he got back. And he was too exhausted to do much more than shower, collapse into bed next to you, and mumble a few “love you’s” before tugging you against his chest and using you as a body pillow for the night.

Tonight though, he was home earlier than usual.

Not by much- it was still late, and had you been given another thirty minutes, you’d probably have been curled up in bed and- judging by how exhausted you felt- probably completely passed out. And of course- though he may be home earlier than expected… he wasn’t really free. The texts, emails, and paperwork were what most commonly followed him home from work- and it was stupid to be jealous of paperwork or goddamn Gmail. You knew that. You told yourself that constantly. You also constantly reminded yourself that you chose this, you knew what you were getting into with this man. But that didn’t help how starved you’d become for his touch and affection. And it certainly didn't help the nights where you would fall asleep next to your Price, yet feel more alone than ever- because there was something heartbreaking about falling asleep feeling cold, lonely, and unwanted, with the man you loved right next to you- but too busy with what felt like constant work.

Although… As much as you hated those nights, it was still better than when Price would come back with new injuries and guilt weighing heavy on his shoulder.

Today had been a bit of a rough day for you. Tiering, to say the least… especially now, as you realized tonight was shaping up to be one of the ones that hurt the most. And despite the guilt you felt at not even attempting conversation with Price after nearly a week of only goodbyes and goodnights, you really wanted nothing more than to put on your comfiest pajamas and curl up for sleep. 

You missed him dearly, but you were too emotionally and mentally drained to figure out what to do about it. Frankly, this was the only thing your exhausted self could think to do: go to sleep and hope that the rest of this (particularly) dreadful week passes quickly.

As exhausted as you may be… you also know that Price is probably about to stand up to take a shower of his own now that you’re out, and that by the time he’s done, you’ll probably be asleep- so you stifle a yawn and pad over to Price.

Once at Price’s side of the bed, you lean over to press a kiss to his forehead- a hand held over your chest to keep your towel from falling down when you do so. “Goodnight.” You mumble, stumbling a bit when you get a head rush as you try to stand back up.

When you start to sway, Price frowns and reaches out, placing a steadying hand on your upper hip. “You alright’, Love?” He asks, forehead knitted in worry.

You nod, ducking your head a bit and pressing a hand against your temple as you wait for the momentary dizziness to pass. “I’m fine, just stood up too fast.” You murmur, silent for a moment as you take a deep breath and start to straighten up.

From where you stand, you can see that Price’s phone is, in fact, open to his email inbox- and you can’t help the frown that accompanies the pang of dejection that shoots through your chest.

“You sure?” Price asks, his concern seemingly only growing as he speaks. “You look a bit off-color.”

You nod your head “yes”, trying your best to simply put Price’s worries to rest. You do know that you should talk to him, that you should take this opportunity to tell him how you feel, that you should stop this spiral you're in. But… you’re tired. Tired physically, tired mentally, tired emotionally- You’re just fucking tired, and everything feels like it’s all going shit. 

The hand on your hip moves upwards, and a strong arm wraps around your waist and gently tugs you down. You land with a bit of a bounce onto Price’s lap- his arm around your waist bracing you and keeping you upright as his other one comes up to press the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Bloody hell, you’re burning up.” Price says, the worry lines on his forehead deepening as he quickly drops his phone. “You sure you’re feeling alright?” He asks again, clearly not believing your early assertion of “fine”.

“‘Not sick, just took a hot shower.” You mumble, leaning into his hand where it still rests on your forehead- letting out a deep breath at the touch and letting your heavy eyes drift shut.

Price is clearly unconvinced- looking just as worried as before as he moves one hand to your upper back and the other to the nape of your neck- pulling you close and lifting your hair out of his way so he can check once again for a temperature.

The hand against your forehead must've broken something in you, because from that moment on you feel like a damn had burst. Like all the effort you’d been putting into hiding how bad you’ve needed this is violently swept away and forgotten. Even when you loop your arms around his neck and pull yourself against him, you’re not close enough. No matter how much of you is touching him, you need more. No matter how much you press your face into his chest or the crook of his neck, you can still see the lights from the bedside lamp, smell the soap you used in the shower, and hear the neighbor's dog barking at god knows what. And that’s wrong- because all you want in this moment is Price. You want to be held impossibly close to him, you want your everything to be only him, just for a moment.

You don’t hear what he says, but you feel him take you by the shoulders and gently to get you to look up at him.

In response, you only whine and squeeze him tighter, pressing your face deeper into his neck and shaking your head no. 

He gets the hint- a deep sigh leaving his body as you feel him relaxing beneath you. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head and you feel two large, warm, calloused hands slip under your thighs and lift- moving you so you’re straddling his thighs.

“Comfortable, Love?” He asks- to which you nod, goosebumps rising along your body as the air from the fan, even on its lowest setting, feels frigid against your still slightly damp skin- your towel from a moment ago having fallen as Price moved you. A hand runs along your arm, warming the skin slightly as you feel Price shift underneath you in preparation to stand up. 

“Do you want me to get you some clothes?” He asks- to which you, again, shake your head in response. This time, side to side as a “no”.

Price chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh traveling between you as he sets a hand on his nightstand, using it to support himself as lifts you two and yanks the covers out from where he had been sitting on them- settling back down and pulling them up to cover the two of you.

The comforter on you two’s bed is big and fluffy- perfect at trapping body heat and warming you up quickly. It’s probably your favorite blanket in the whole house, and you’ve been known to drag it out of the bed and curl up with it on the couch whenever you’re sick or it’s cold enough outside that the heater can’t keep up. Being wrapped in it is enough for you to- gradually- begin to loosen your hold on Price. Eventually, you’re not so much clinging to him as much as you’re simply draped over him.

But even when you release your death grip, Price doesn't try to get you up. He lets you stay, keeping you pressed close against his chest and your head resting on his shoulder. He keeps one hand under the blanket, resting on your lower back- occasionally stroking at the soft skin with the pad of his thumb or idly tracing the dips and rises of your body as you drifted in and out of sleep. In his other hand, he held his phone. Likely going through emails or doing something or other work related. 

You drifted between varying levels of sleep and awakeness as he held you. Whenever your head would start to slip from where he’d propped it up against his shoulder, he’d pause from his work to gently set it back and make sure you were doing okay. He’d often press sweet, loving kisses to the top of your head, cheek, or temple, or give gentle, protective squeezes to your waist whenever he felt you stir awake, and he’d speak soothingly and stroke your hair whenever you started mumbling half-asleep words to yourself or him. 

At one point, you started drifting deeper and deeper to sleep- waking up less and having fewer moments of half-awake confusion after being moved or repositioned- only to later wake up flat on your back - now dressed in some pajamas- and with Price slowly pulling away from you.

You jerk awake, gasping for breath as you immediately latch onto the part of Price that’s closest to you- which turns out to be an arm. You immediately find him back at your side, tears running down your face as you beg for him to stay.

You have his right arm in a white-knuckled grip, and his other one is behind your back, holding you up as he looks down at you- the most worried you’ve ever seen him. 

“Shh, you’re okay- I’m right here.” Price says, his look of concern only worsening as you let go of his arm in favor of clinging to his torso.

“D-Don’t go!” You sob, the burst of adrenaline from waking up and thinking he was leaving flushing through your body and leaving you shaky and with a pounding heart.

“I’m not going to leave, Love.” he reassures you, one of his hands petting your head, his beard scratching at your cheek as he holds you close in an attempt to comfort you. “But you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

You don’t respond, hiding your face against him.

He pulls away, cupping your cheek gently and making you look at him. “Sweetheart, I’m worried. You wouldn’t talk at all once you got in my lap, and you freaked out when I tried to set you down. I need you to talk to me.”

You pull your face away, going back to hiding against his chest… but eventually nod.

Price is silent for a moment- thinking before he speaks again

“Did someone hurt you?”

A quick shake of your head “no” and a heavy sigh of relief from Price.

“Is it something that happened at work?”

Another shake of your head “no”.

“Is it something that I did?”

You hesitate… 

Your lack of answer tells Price enough, and a kiss is pressed to the top of your head. Had you moved your face from where you were hiding it, you would have seen not only the look of absolute love he was looking down at you with, but the thinly veiled guilt he held as he watched the way you clung to him.

“I figured, love.”

You hiccup, choking on your own tears as you do and starting to cough. Price rubs soothing circles into your back as you try to catch your breath.

“I know, I know. This training thing is hard, and I should've done better at making sure my girl was okay. I’m sorry, love.”

“Y-you don’t have anything to be sorry f-”

Price cuts you off with a stern look. 

“None of that, now. I should’ve made more of an effort to be there for you.” He pauses, kissing you sweetly before continuing. “I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry I let you forget that and that I let things get to this point, okay?”

“I love you too- “ You say softly, sniffling and trying to wipe away some of your tears- only for Price to come in with a tissue and gently start to blot at your red and blotchy face.

“I’m sorry for not talking to you about it…” You mumble, your face heating up as you try to take the tissue from Price to dry your own face, but failing to do anything more than get him to laugh a bit and start teasing you by keeping the tissue away.

“Tomorrow is the last day of the training, I’m going to take the day after off, and we’re going to do something, okay?” He says, laughing softly before letting you have the tissue and kissing you on the cheek.

Price’s hand finds yours, and he laces you two’s fingers together before pulling your still interlocked hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of yours. 

“And I’m not just sorry about this week, I’m sorry about recently in general. I’m going to be better about making sure I make time and showing you how much I care for you, okay?”

You nod, giving one final wipe to your face before you started squirming in his hold in an attempt to sit up a bit more.

“I’m going to be better too- I’m not going to bottle things up… and I’m going to try harder to tell you when I’m feeling like something’s wrong instead of letting it get like this…”

Pride tugs Price’s smile wider, and he brushes a strand of hair out of your face- tucking it behind your ear before pressing yet another kiss to your face.

“Thank you, Sweetheart. I’m glad.”

You smile, feeling like a weight has been lifted after your cry and conversation with Price. You wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him as tight as you possibly can in an attempt to convey how thankful you are. Of his patience, of his kindness, of him.

“I love you,” You say into his chest as you squeeze him

He lets out a soft “oof” at your squeeze, huffing in amusement before wrapping his own arms around you and giving you a (far from full strength) squeeze of his own.

“I love you too.”

[belovedmusings]

Lay me down tonight.

Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫

You were loyal to your boyfriend, Megumi, before you met his estranged father at the yearly family get-together. The second you met Toji, however, the righteous and innocent person you were died, and in their place, an insatiable monster was born. Toji ruined you, and even now, you keep allowing him to ruin you, all behind Megumi’s back.

Relevant tags: shameless smut, infidelity, cheating, Toji is rough and dominant, Megumi is clueless, reader are a good liar, reader is a little depraved, everyone addresses you without the usage of “y/n” for better immersion, Megumi is aged up so that you’re both of age, ‘cause we are not gonna have Toji catchin’ a case up in here, that said, age gap between reader & Toji, minimal gendered language though reader is AFAB, Toji is a horrible father

Recommended songs while reading: older (Isabel LaRosa), Unholy (Hey Violet), Fucked My Way Up To The Top (Lana Del Rey)

A/N: infidelity is NOT the answer but this is a lil smut just for funsies so enjoy!

Read below the cut:

You remember exactly how it had first happened. It was a year ago.

You were meeting tons of Megumi’s family members at once, flying through greetings to cousins and aunts and uncles and distant cousins and great-grandparents—no one stood out to you until he showed up.

The large hotel banquet room the Zenin family had rented out sort of got quiet as he walked in. Your eyes caught on him, and after he scanned the room, unbothered by the staring, his eyes zeroed in on you and Megumi.

He’d tilted his head to the side in interest and then made his way towards the two of you. You heard mumbles and whispers about him.

“He wasn’t invited,” Megumi muttered under his breath in annoyance.

“Who is that?” You whispered back.

“He’s…well, I wouldn’t call him—”

“What are we whispering about?” The burly man said loudly, now in front of you. He looked amused and completely shameless. Now that you had seen him up close, he looked sort of familiar.

“I was just wondering who you were,” you told him, looking around. The family was watching with various degrees of surprise and disdain. The man laughed haughtily.

“Oh, I see. Megumi didn’t tell you who I was?” He asked with a salacious grin. “He didn’t tell me who you are, either. You’re holding out on us both, Megumi.”

Your boyfriend huffed beside you. “That man is technically my father.”

Your lips parted in recognition. That made sense. You’d heard a little bit about him, enough to know he’s a dead-beat and that Megumi never speaks to him nor gets along with him. The family doesn’t like him as a whole.

“What are you doing here?” Asked Megumi with narrowed eyes.

“Relax,” the man chuckled, leaning against a chair. “I just came to see my dear family.”

“You weren’t invited.”

The man just held his wolfish grin on his face. “I don’t care.”

His steel gray eyes found yours, and he raised a brow. “Now, I still don’t know who you are.”

You introduced yourself, along with your relationship to Megumi, and the man hummed. “Well, it looks like Megumi has good taste. The name’s Toji. It’s very nice to meet you.”

He gave you an unconcealed appraisal and it made you feel hot. Megumi scowled.

“Don’t overstep a boundary,” he spit at his father, arm winding around your waist in attempt to intimidate.

The longer you looked at Toji, the more you realized how hot he was. He seemed so buff his muscles were practically bursting through the black t-shirt he had on. He was tall too. So tall. And his dark hair fell in layered strands around his ears and chin—his face was handsome as hell, too. You could tell where Megumi got his looks from. He smirked at you with all of the confidence in the world. He was like a more mature, more experienced version of your boyfriend.

He was really attractive.

“‘Course not,” Toji grinned, rolling his eyes. He’s amused. “I just wanted to greet my son. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Please do.”

Please don’t, you thought, but he turned on his heel and walked towards some other family members, already starting to talk at them instead.

Megumi sighed heavily. “Damn bastard. I had hoped you never had the displeasure of meeting him.”

The pleasure is all mine, you truthfully thought to yourself.

You felt a bad desire growing inside of you, and it wasn’t long before what you wanted came to fruition.

You and Megumi had had to travel to get to the family reunion. As such, you were staying in the hotel they booked the venue in for one night before you went back home.

You were restless, and Megumi was sound asleep in bed. You’d never been to this area, so you figured you’d walk around the hotel, maybe get some melatonin from the convenience shop on the first level to help you sleep. Truthfully, you hadn’t stopped thinking about Toji and how hot he was. You wondered where he went. You and Megumi had left the reunion a little early because he was tired, and you hadn’t seen him again after your brief meeting.

You slipped on some sweatpants and a crewneck before putting your slides on and leaving a note for Megumi in case he woke up.

‘Went to get melatonin and maybe a snack. Be back soon.’

With that, you slipped out of the hotel room and walked down the hallway. It was the middle of the night, so you kept quiet, padding towards the elevator. You pressed the button to go down, and after a few moments, the doors slid open.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

Toji.

A grin instantly spread across his face. “Hey. Goin' somewhere?”

Your blood pounded through your veins as you entered the elevator. “Uh…I can’t sleep.”

“You can't?” He asked, putting a hand on his hip. Bluntly, he replied, “I can fix that.”

Your mouth went dry.

You couldn’t remember exactly what happened next, but soon the two of you were stumbling into his hotel room a floor below yours, the door slamming and locking behind you as Toji took you into a bruising kiss. Your arms were wrapped around his neck the second he lifted you into his arms like a weightless pillow, tossing you down onto the hotel bed in the center of the room.

He kissed you again and it was like he was trying to eat you whole. The things he would murmur to you in between lip locks had your head spinning with guilty pleasure.

“Megumi don’t know how to treat you right.”

“I’ll bet he ain’t fuckin’ you properly.”

“I’ll show you how a real man does it.”

Each kiss, each word, each touch drew you closer to insanity. You both had your clothes off faster than you could comprehend, and Toji was spitting dirtily onto your mound, starting to rub circles into the pearl at the apex with flattened fingers.

You writhed beneath him as he scraped his teeth over your neck and chest, only stopping to lick the hand that was rubbing at you to coat it with more saliva before dipping it back down and slipping two fingers inside of you at once.

He finger-fucked you fast and hard.

Megumi never did that to you. Sex with him was always very vanilla and straightforward. Kissing counted as foreplay and then he was inside of you, always in missionary or sometimes spooning you from behind. That was it.

God, you had no idea sex could be this wild and mind-blowing.

You had cum on Toji’s fingers with a cry, not caring if the people next to you heard, and then he kept fucking you through it, adding a third finger and spitting over it again to get you loose and sloppy.

He had a giant cock. That was why he opened you up manually, because it would have done damage had he just fucked into you from the get-go.

When he did enter you, it still stretched you out past your limits, both impossibly thick and long, and you wondered how the hell anyone took a dick that big.

You quickly found out how.

He simply made you take it.

He held you up by your hips, suspending your lower half with the strength of his arms while he pounded into you. You could hardly even recognize your own voice. It was reaching pitches you’d never heard from yourself before, sounding so debauched and wanton you’d think he found some hooker off the street and paid her to moan like a porn star.

You swore you could feel his cock in your womb. With how big he is, you wouldn’t doubt it.

“Megumi doesn’t have a damn clue,” he had grinned to himself, looking at you as he split you open repeatedly. “Sleepin’ like a little bitch while his daddy takes care of you for him.”

You moaned loudly. “Toji��”

“That’s right,” he praised, “Whose cock is inside you right now?”

“Yours, oh—yours…”

“Say my name,” he growled, slapping your mound. You jolted, shivering at the harsh pleasure it gave you.

“Toji,” you mewled, scratching at the bed comforter. He was fucking you hard enough you knew you were going to cum from brute force alone.

“You belong to me now,” he told you. “You’re mine.”

That had sent you over.

“Oh my god!” It was a shout as you orgasmed, creaming all over his cock and onto the bed. He groaned deeply, shoving himself in harshly as he emptied his load inside of you, squeezing your hips so tightly they bruised.

When he’d pulled out, he watched his own seed drip from inside of you, sucking in a breath.

“You should do something about that,” he said. “Unless you wanna give your boyfriend a sibling.”

You shivered. Toji really didn’t give a shit about his son.

At that point, you knew you couldn’t pretend like you had any moral high ground either. You slept with your boyfriend’s dad. You cheated willingly. There was no sugar-coating it.

You had limped your way back to your room and cleaned up in the bathroom, falling asleep next to a still-sleeping, oblivious Megumi.

What’s worse is that a year later you’re still going back for more.

You and Megumi are still together.

He has no clue about Toji, and you want to keep it that way. The two of you barely mention him. He only talked about him the day after you met him once to say that he left when he was seven and never bothered to return.

You hide your affair like it’s your job. So much so that now you’re on birth control. Beforehand Megumi had just been fine with condoms, never making a fuss about them. Toji, as you had quickly found out, doesn’t like them. The largest available size is too small, he had told you, and besides that fact he likes feeling you bare. He doesn’t bother to pull out either, so not wanting to risk pregnancy as well as not wanting to spend fortunes on emergency contraceptives like you had the first time, you just get on birth control instead. You also only ever meet Toji at his place, since you know Megumi doesn’t know where he lives and you currently live with your boyfriend. Having Toji over could easily end awfully. You don’t take chances.

Tonight, you’re seated in Toji’s lap at his apartment. Megumi is away on a business trip, and you’ve been staying at Toji’s place for the past few nights. You’ve had so much sex you can barely think straight, at this point. Since you walked in he was on you, and you’ve christened every surface in his small apartment. The doorway, the living room, the wall of the hallway, the bedroom, the bathroom shower, bent over the sink, the kitchen counter, the table, too…everywhere is free reign.

Right now, you’re facing away from Toji, back to his chest while he bounces you on his cock, burly hands clamped down on your wrists to keep you upright and prevent you from falling forward.

The lewd wet slap of your bodies connecting, his heavy breathing and groans as well as the desperate gasps you keep giving him are all you hear. You two hadn’t even managed to turn the television on before he pulled you in and slipped inside, only his t-shirt and nothing else on you giving him easy access to what he wanted.

Every time your body collides with his, his tip kisses your cervix and it gives you a jolt of pleasure. He’s so deep inside it feels like he’s rearranging your guts.

Then, from his slow and hard pace he suddenly switches up and starts ramming into you harshly, punching mewls from your throat.

“Toji!” You gasp, “Oh god, Toji!”

Your knees are bent and your legs are tucked under them, split apart by his own, and if he wasn’t holding you up right now you’d face-plant right into the floor. The danger and the trust it involves has your head spinning. How did you get here? This isn’t who you used to be—but you wouldn’t go back and stop yourself if you could. It’s too good.

He’s too good.

His right hand is clamping down on your neck from behind abruptly, other hand switching to your waist, wrapping around the front to forcibly arch your back, and you gasp as your air gets restricted, cock getting deeper inside with the new angle.

“Toji,” you rasp, hands covering both of his wrists just to hold onto something as the force of his thrusts start forcing an orgasm through your system. You sputter, body spasming as it begins to take over, building from the spot his tip keeps hammering and undulating through every one of your nerves, yanking a high-pitched whine from your compressed vocal chords. “Toji!”

You tighten around him as you finish, mouth falling open, eyelids fluttering as your vision unfocuses, covering his cock on your essence. He groans deeply, letting your neck go and instead pulling you flush against his chest, pressing your hips down as far as they can go so he can pump his load into you.

With a few sloppy thrusts, he’s cumming, coating your walls in what must be the millionth round this week. He groans deeply into your ear, keeping you pushed down on him, sensitive length throbbing inside of you with the aftershocks.

You then feel his rough lips dragging over your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to any skin he can touch, his heavy breaths fanning over your flesh hotly.

“So good for me,” his voice is hoarse and fucked out, and it makes your stomach flutter. Sex with your boyfriend is never this intimate—you’re never pushed to your limits. Toji does it every time and then praises you when you’ve pleased him. It’s so addictive.

You turn your face towards him and he covers your lips with his own, initiating a messy make out session that only ends when you need air. If you didn’t require oxygen, you’d have loved to keep Toji’s tongue in your mouth forever—you think that it could be your only form of sustenance if you had your way.

“When’s he comin’ back again?” Asks Toji. You draw in a breath to steady yourself. It takes you a moment to think.

“Two days from now.”

“Good,” his grin is beastlike. “I get to keep you longer.”

You grin, nodding, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. The position is a little uncomfortable though, so you end it quickly, pulling off of him.

He grabs your hips and turns you around, staring at you with dark eyes.

“Who said you could get off?” He asks, and you take a look at him, noticing that he’s half-hard again already. His stamina is seriously unmatched.

Before you can reply, he pulls you back towards him, this time your chest to his.

“I’m nowhere near done with you,” he says, and it’s done in such a way that you sort of feel like Little Red Riding Hood about to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf—it thrills you.

And you’ll continue to go back for more.

—-

A/N: MAPPA better whore Toji out like they’ve done for Satoru, Kento, and Choso next week or istg

Please don’t repost or translate but feel free to reblog & share!

[endless-weightless]

Can we get more ghoul headcannons pls!! The smuttier the better 🩷

AHHHH FIRST REQUEST!! and thank you for this because I LOVE writing smutty ghoul hcs.

not rlly proofread soz

CHARACTERS: Sodo/Dewdrop, Phantom, Aether, Rain, Mountain, Swiss, Omega, Ifrit

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut (obvi), gn!reader, CNC, monsterfucking?, size kink, dacryphilia, bondage, ghouls have mating cycles now bc i said so, pegging, anal, breeding kink, bdsm

🎸 Sodo

Will always fuck you to the point where you’re practically screaming and begging for him because he practically gets high off the ego boost.

He doesn’t mind whatsoever about having to do most if not all the work. The best reward he could ask for is seeing you all fucked out and crying his name.

When Sodo's in heat, he isn't just horny, he's also really fucking aggressive for no good reason 😭. He's snappy, grumpy, stompier than usual and it's all because he's got blue balls LMFAO.

Because of his angry mood, anything you do that pisses him off could result in some rough sex while he growls at you about how you've pissed him off. But, there's a small chance you could put him in his place because he's surprisingly into subbing when it means he gets to put up a fight (consensually, of course).

When he does sub, he's the biggest fucking brat imaginable. It's a good thing he gets so sensitive when he's punished because he cannot listen to an order for the love of everything unholy.

Hates when he can't be handsy with you. He just can't get enough of your body so if you really want to torture him then tie up his hands behind him.

🎸 Phantom

He’s super into puppy play but is absolutely terrified of admitting it and just prays that you’ll suggest something like collaring him so he can bring it up.

This hc and the next one are fem!reader (kinda?) ones but hang in there. Phantom is fucking infatuated with your tits. If your riding him he’s staring at them bouncing like he’s hypnotised.

Also loves fucking your tits regardless of their size because tits are tits and they all look beautiful (but yours are always his favourite).

So obedient it’s adorable. He never acts up around you and if he does he’s on his knees immediately and apologising profusely.

Constantly asking if you feel good even when he’s moments away from cumming and is overstimulated.

Goes non-verbal when he gets too worked up. All he can get out are whimpers, sniffles and small nods or shaking of his head. It’s hard to tell if he needs to tap out so you have to check up on him and be extra attentive.

🎸 Aether

Gets super aroused when he smells you, especially if he’s in heat.

When he’s fucking you he likes whispering in your ear about how he’s going to fuck a baby into you while you dumbly nod as his thrusts become more and more rough.

Gets a little too turned on when you wrap your hands around his horns because they just look so much bigger than your hands.

Wanna give Aether an instant boner? Wear a thin sundress or loosely buttoned shirt around him with no underwear on and watch him writhe in his seat when he picks up on the scent of your underwear being absent.

He's always down to fuck in the church part of the abbey. The risk of getting caught or being seen/heard is thrilling to him and the ministry encouraging sex is just a bonus.

Loves a good bit of cockwarming when you're both too sleepy to fuck or he just wants to torture you.

🎸 Rain

Goes absolutely feral for some sloppy and messy sex. He just loves seeing the two covered in each others cum and arousal.

Prefers being marked rather than marking you. The hickeys and bruises he gets to see the next day always make his stomach backflip as he imagines what you’ll do tonight.

Rain isn't a huge fan of seeing you in pain during sex. Him however...

It's not entirely kink related, it's kinda just a very fucked up way of showing his devotion to you that also happens to get him off.

I honestly think he wouldn't absolutely despise the idea of being caught having sex. Like in a sense where someone accidentally walks into your room while you two are fucking and not being out in public.

He's very big on you belonging to him and him belonging to you. Not in a sub/dom dynamic way but rather being each others mate. I could go on and on about him during his mating cycles but I'll save that for another fic...

🥁 Mountain

One of his favourite things to do is to use his elemental powers to grow vines to use as restraints. And if you’re into cnc or just like surprises, he’ll do it when you least expect it.

Touching his horns or tail is a dangerous game to play because it’ll always end with him above you fucking you until you see stars and there’s tears welling in your eyes.

Has a giant mirror right across from his bed that he makes you face while you fuck in reverse cowgirl just so he can see how tiny you look compared to him.

Calling him ‘sir’ is a one way ticket to overstimulation because once it slips out of you he won’t stop fucking you any time soon.

He doesn't like having to be verbal with his commands, when you see him gesture you to come sit on his lap, you better listen.

If you ever want to see him turn as submissive as he possibly can be, start scratching at the base of his horns and behind his ears. He won't go down easily but he'll still let out a few somewhat pornographic moans.

🎤 Swiss

He needs his cock stepped on every once in a while, preferably by a nice pair of stilettos or latex boots.

Practically has no limits. He’s into pretty much everything you can think of and is willing to try anything if it makes you happy and gets you off.

He’s primarily focused on your pleasure but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being taken care of.

Every heat cycle for Swiss turns all his dials up from 0 to 100 and it's almost scary. His urge to breed isn't even that strong, he just really needs to be fucked so he'll shut up.

He’s usually really enthusiastic about subbing, but sometimes he feels the need to be a bratty little shit so you’ll take out your anger on him and he can forget about everything wrong with the world for a solid few hours.

He's a biter, that's for sure. The intensity of the bite depends on your comfort but if you give him the green light he'll start biting so hard he draws enough blood to have you lightheaded.

🎸 Omega

Although I said Omega is a hard dom and a mean one too in my previous post about the ghouls, I don’t think he’d be opposed to subbing every once in a hunter’s moon.

Loves having you just ride his thigh while he practices guitar. He gets to see you all needy and not be able to be affectionate to him because of the obnoxious Hagström Fantomen blocking your torso from his and the lack of attention.

Wouldn’t mind cuckolding if it involved Terzo. Also wouldn’t mind if Terzo simply ordered the two of you around while he jerked off at the sight.

Him being a mean and hard dom doesn't make him cruel, he still praises you when you behave well. If you've managed to take his cock on top of the edging and torture, he'll softly smother your face and neck in kisses for doing such a good job while he continues to thrust into you.

(AFAB reader hc) If you ever find yourself horny yet on your period do not fret because Omega gives absolutely zero (0) fucks! He'll even eat you out if you want him to.

Adores roleplay, especially if it involves corruption. One of his favourite scenes to act out is for you to be an innocent mortal summoning a ghoul from hell not knowing what ghouls desire once they're on earth.

🎸 Ifrit

He already gets hard when he’s giving head but if you grab onto his horns to pull him closer and he chokes on your dick/suffocates between your thighs he might cum untouched because oh Lucifer it feels good.

He likes fucking fast and rough, regardless of the dynamic. He likes seeing the bruises, feeling that fuzziness in his limbs and not being able to think when he’s fucking.

Will randomly communicate how he's feeling throughout the day by hugging you from behind and pressing his hard, clothed cock into your backside. Zero shame whatsoever.

Loves a good bit of thigh riding. He doesn't mind who's riding who's thigh, he just likes the feeling of it.

You can always tell when he's close to cumming because his tail will start to flick erratically while his claws extend for a split second.

Ifrit isn't afraid to use his tail to jerk you off. Don't act surprised when you feel something wrap around your cock or the spade of his tail flicking over your clit.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

that's all lovelies!

[mothandpidgeon]

While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader)

pairing: demon!Ezra x f!reader (mom!reader)

rating: E! 18+!

wc: 2.6k

summary: The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences...

tags: dark fic, Dub/non con (making a deal with a demon), breastfeeding, nursing, lactation kink, mommy kink? (but not like that), stretch marks, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, horns, Ezra is a sex demon, moth never uses y/n

an: Here is my submission to #MothandBirdMothersDayChallenge! Actually this fic is the reason why I wanted to do this challenge. Sometimes when I'm in the dark nursery in the middle of the night, I have fun intrusive thoughts like 'What if there was a shadowy figure in the doorway?' To combat how terrifying that thought is, I took it and made it horny. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for betaing this, helping me do this Mother's Day Challenge, and all around being a cool auntie to my fics and baby Moth.

 ...

He wakes you every night. It doesn’t matter what you try. Your son hasn't let you have more than three consecutive hours of sleep since he was born. 

You’re at your wit’s end. 

Every time you look in the mirror you see a hollowed out version of yourself with dark bags under your eyes. You make yourself coffee without putting grounds into the filter. You fly into a tearful rage when you spill a bottle of precious milk. You don’t know who you are anymore. 

Tonight’s no different. You lift your crying baby from his crib. Rock him, shush him. You sit with him in the glider and try to nurse him back to sleep. It’s all done bleary-eyed, half asleep. Everything is these days. 

You’d give anything for this baby to sleep. 

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you look up to see a figure standing just outside the nursery. It’s shadowy against the dark of the hallway, shades of gray on black. From the height and broad shoulders, it could be a man. He stands abnormally still. Silent, watching. You think it’s just a trick of your sleep deprived mind until he moves just slightly and a patch of silver hair is caught in the moonlight. 

You must be dreaming because if there was a man in your baby’s room, you’d be terrified. And you’re not. You feel calm like you’re floating on steady waters. 

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice drifts like a lullaby. 

He doesn’t respond, just leans in the doorway. All that you can make out is that blonde hair and two eyes that glint at you.

“I’ve come to help you, petal,” he finally says. His voice is warm and melodic.

You feel yourself nodding off for a moment. When you blink yourself awake, he’s by your side.

You can make out his features better now. Dark stubble covers a handsome face. The sharp angles of his nose and jaw are silhouetted in the dim. You smell woodsmoke and frankincense as he comes near. He kneels beside the chair and his brow furrows as he looks up at you.

“You need that child to rest,” he says. 

You nod pathetically. You can feel familiar tears well in your eyes. Hopeless, helpless. Desperate. 

“I can be of assistance,” he says. 

“Don’t hurt him,” you say, holding your son a bit closer to your chest.  Your baby might be torturing you in the night but you love him. You won’t let anything happen to him. Even though you’re sure you’re dreaming, you remember old fairy tales, creatures that try to trick and deceive. This man isn’t human, you know that somewhere deep inside you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even touch him. It’s not the babe that’s piqued my interest. It’s his mother,” he explains. His obsidian eyes are on your lips, pink tongue darts out to lick his own. 

“Don’t hurt me either,” you say, though there’s no fight in your words. 

“That’s not my intention at all. Quite the opposite. You’re so beautiful, petal,” he coos, brushing his knuckles across your jawline. 

It must be a dream because you haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. Your body’s been stretched and broken, engorged and swollen. Your hair falls out by the handful. Your breasts reek of sweat and milk, a sickly funk. 

“I want you. Carnally,” he says.  

The growl in his voice makes warmth pool between your thighs. He looks at you like something divine, an awe over his features. His light touch moves down your neck and over your collarbone sending goosebumps over your skin. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything other than exhausted, touched in a way that isn’t a demand for food or comfort. 

“Let me have that and that boy will slumber like an angel,” he promises. He watches your baby suckling himself back to sleep.

It sounds so good. Suddenly the only thing you want more than a a night’s sleep is for this stranger to pleasure you, to be inside of you. You haven’t felt desire in just about as long as you haven’t slept. You’ve barely been able to shower and feed yourself let alone take care of your own needs.

“Put the child in his cot and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll come for you and you’ll see,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“I’m Ezra,” he whispers.

You wake up in your bed the next morning and you’ve slept like the dead.

That strange dream haunts you but you think of it as nothing more than that. When you put your son down to sleep the next night, you don’t expect any miracles. He goes down easily enough, a nice little fluke, and you decide to turn in early yourself. 

Its nearly midnight when you wake up but you realize it’s quiet. The baby isn’t crying for you. You glance at the monitor and see that he’s sleeping soundly, sucking away at this pacifier. Just as Ezra promised. 

Relief floods your veins. You put your head back against the pillow and your eyes drift close. As you begin to return to sleep, there’s a shift in the bed and you catch that earthy scent again. You gasp when you see Ezra’s black eyes. He’s beside you, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip. His chest is a wide golden plane littered with white scars, dusted with dark hairs. 

“Hush, petal,” he says. “I’ve kept my promise. And now I’ve come to ravish you.”

You want to tell him that you’re tired. You finally have the opportunity to go back to sleep and you shouldn’t let anything come between you and that sweet rest. But the same, strong want that you felt the night before is calling you. An ache runs between your legs up to where Ezra’s hand glides over the delicate skin on your pulse. You're powerless to stop your own desire from sabotaging the one thing you’ve wanted.

A languid sigh leaves you as you melt into his touch. 

Ezra sucks at your neck. You’ll have a black and blue mark from his teeth but the sensation is so delicious, you can’t bring yourself to care. 

He opens your legs and notches his hips between yours. The friction of his hard cock against your panties makes your back arch. 

“I want to taste you,” he says. 

He rucks up the ratty old t-shirt that you sleep in along with the nursing bra that’s constantly saturated with leaking milk. He takes a long moment to savor the sight of you so exposed, a smile twitching on his lips. A long, low growl leaves him as he slithers down your body, gathering your breasts in his big hands and bringing his face to nuzzle in your skin.

You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent. The stubble of his cheek scratches at your sensitive flesh. One thick finger circles your peaked nipple nice and slow. Your body responds— a bead of milk seeps out and rolls down to the valley between your breasts.

Your breath catches at the mix of sensations. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up your spine. Much to your surprise, Ezra’s eyes widen with interest. He lowers himself and  traces the wet trail with the flat of his tongue. You can only imagine what he tastes– the musk of your sweat beneath sweet milk. It seems that he likes it. He closes his lips around your nipple and lavishes it with his tongue, groaning into your flesh. 

“Shit,” you gasp. 

You feel the tingle of letdown behind your breasts, his ministrations summoning more milk. Soon Ezra is drinking from you, grunting and rutting his hips against you. The other, neglected nipple weeps milk and he pauses to lap it up greedily. You tangle your hand into his hair and that’s when you feel it. There’s a raised bump amidst his curls but it’s hard as bone. It sits just above his forehead and stands only an inch high. As your fingers rake through his hair, you find another. Horns.

The terror you expect never comes. He might be something ungodly and all you feel is a building excitement. Everything about this is wrong but the world feels upside down. 

He comes away, his plush bottom lip glistening with pearlescent milk. It’s a sight that should repulse you but in the delirium of sleeplessness and lust, it just makes you hungry.

“You are an exquisite creature,” he purrs. 

His flat palm skates down your belly where you’re middle still holds baby weight, a reminder that your body is no longer your own. He peels your panties down your thighs. You feel the fine edges of his teeth against your skin. He penetrates you with two exquisitely thick fingers. No warning but you hardly need it— you’re already slick. 

You keen, back arching off of the mattress, and the sensation is doubled when he puts his lips to your clit and sucks with the same enthusiasm he had at your breast. His wide shoulders spread your knees to make room for his body. You drown in pleasure, a heady mixture of fire doused in the thick pool of sleepiness. Floating, sinking, cresting on a wave as he licks and spreads you open, presses in deep and coils you tight. It’s hard to believe your body can have such strong responses when you’re barely function in your waking life. Something primal drives you on and Ezra knows just how to unlock it. 

“Such a delicacy. To sup on milk and cunt,” he says, barely taking his lips from you. 

The swirls and undulations of his tongue and the sweet pressure inside works you into a frenzy. Your breath shortens and then stops altogether, your thighs tighten and you hold your eyes shut, listening to the whimpers and moans between your legs. It’s too much and not enough. 

When you come undone, it’s a rush of ecstasy that you want to live in forever. Rolling and gushing and sighing. You choke and arch, your entire body convulsing. Your spine clenches up like you’ve been struck by lighting and the electricity runs out through your fingertips and toes. 

“Such a glorious vision,” he muses as you come down, panting and shivering. 

Ezra’s eyes are fixated on you, pupils blown so wide they’re nearly black. He looks like he wants to devour you. 

You share his hunger. You want more already. You’ve just had a feast and yet you’re starving again. 

You see Ezra’s cock now for the first time. Thick and upright, it’s tip, flushed and red. He takes it in his fist, glazing his shaft in your release. There’s something animalistic about it that floods you with another wave of arousal. 

“More,” you manage to say. 

“Not too tired?” he teases with a wicked smile. 

You shake your head. How can you sleep when your body is on fire with lust?

“I’ll fill each needy hole,” he says. 

You whine. He lines himself at your entrance. 

“You’re a goddess. And I’m going to defile you.”

You're filled to the hilt. The noise that escapes him is animalistic and his eyes lose focus. You’re already fluttering around him, already so close to another climax. He fucks you, the stretch and rhythm making you dizzy. 

“This is the closest I’ll get to heaven, I fear,” he revels. “But what could be more divine than this sweet cunt?”

Each word that falls from his lips seems to stroke at your core. His hips drive into you, hands greedily paw at every soft part of your body. 

The only thing that quiets his debauched ramblings is suckling at your breast. Your senses are completely overwhelmed. Tears prick in your eyes as your insides tighten, another orgasm shattering through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. 

“Let me hear,” he demands. “He won’t wake.”

And so you do, crying out as you clench around his thickness, losing all control of your body. 

“That’s it, petal. That’s it,” he says. 

He goes on thrusting and pins you down, torturing that exquisite spot deep inside of you over and over again. You’re not sure where one climax ends and another begins but you’re possessed. 

“If only I could fill that womb, sire one after the other to keep you round,” he grunts. 

Ezra swears. He hisses out words in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like an incantation. 

You hardly have time to make sense of it. He’s pulling out of you, grinding his wet length against your thigh and spilling hot ropes onto your mound. 

You lay beneath him, boneless and dazed. The exhaustion flushes over your weak body. You sense Ezra at your breast again as your eyes drift closed. 

The next thing you know, your baby is crying and it’s morning. 

It must be a dream. There’s no other way to explain it— a horned creature slipping in and out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, fucking you senseless when you have no energy left. But you wake up with come drying where he marked you. 

That night, he’s back again. 

And again after that. 

“Ezra, I’m exhausted," you breathe. "Please.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, petal?”

Now your son sleeps soundly through the night while you are awake, debauched for hours without end. 

He’s insatiable and somehow you are, too. 

He fucks you until you’re raw. Your legs quiver and burn from being parted so wide. Your pussy feels battered and bruised. You beg him to fuck your ass just to give your cunt some rest. 

And although your body feels like it can’t take another second of pleasure, though it begs for a moment’s peace, every time he comes to you, you’re flooded with arousal. 

When you try to steal an afternoon nap, he’s there, cock already standing in his fist. 

Spittle dribbles from the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth. It runs down your chest, your knees already bruised from the hours you’ve spent on them. You try to chase your own relief, grinding your hips against the floor. He pulls you by the ears to sink deeper down your throat. 

He grunts and moans and howls as he comes between your lips. 

He doesn’t always take. 

The next time he makes you come four times. 

“Again, again,” he chants into your ear. His words are hot breath as his fingers press inside of you overwhelming that ridge that sends you reeling. Your bodies are pressed together, sticky with perspiration and release and drool and milk. 

“I can’t,” you sob, your body sore and stretched to its limit. 

You’re so spent, so overstimulated, each orgasm takes more and more effort. But Ezra refuses to quit, punishing you until you reach a fearsome crescendo. 

“Oh, my petal, but I know you are more than capable.”

He’s right. You can feel the weak muscles in your core begin to twist. You hold your breath and focus on the brutal sensations Ezra gives you. 

“Besides, your ability is immaterial,” he goes on. “These were the terms of our deal. This cunt. Is. Mine.”

Despite the fact that you’re so exhausted you can barely remember your own name, hardly able to stand on your own two feel, the climax that hits you is just as monumental as the very first. 

“Have you endured enough tonight, petal?” he asks, sucking the gush of slick off of his fingers. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going. 

“Tomorrow, petal,” he promises. “Now get some rest.”

He wakes you. Every night. 

...

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! My asks are always open and I don't bite (unless you're into that).

[sytoran]

𝐆𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐘𝐔𝐏 ⌇ wanda maximoff

summary: in which you wake up to your girlfriend riding on your abs.

☰ PAIRING: G!P buff!reader x sub!wanda

☰ REQUEST: Would you be willing to do a Wanda riding g!p readers abs and then riding reader? As always, all good if you’re not! Love your writing.

☰ TAGS: smut (18+), horniness, riding, wanda's a literal cowgirl in this one, somnophilia, teasing, buff reader as in BUFF reader, wanda's your perpetually horny girlfriend, clingy wanda kinda, just in general a lot of desperation and horniness, oh and there's a heavy daddy kink just a warning

☰ NOTES: thanks for the lovely ask! this was fun to write, hope you enjoy it too

masterlist / AO3

wanda shifted under the duvet, restless and wide awake in the depths of twilight. she was laying next to you in a king-sized bed, staring at your sleeping silhouette.

she couldn't really explain it, embarassing as it was, that she had trouble sleeping because she was perpetually struck with libido whenever in your proximity, regardless of what you were doing.

despite dating for nearly two years already, you were just so arousing, with the strong jawline and the roguish smirk and those abs.

but as much as wanda was in love an in lust of the entirety of your being, no feature quite stood out to her as much as your muscles.

it had started off as a simple thing, wrapping her hand around your bicep when you walked together, enjoying the feel of how solid and structured it was.

at the beach on summer days, lathering sunscreen all over your built body, trailing wandering hands over broad shoulders and structured abs.

it became less innocent, shifting in your lap during movie nights, pleased when she felt your thigh muscle flex under her, of which an iron grip on her hips came with.

then of course, came the pinnacle of all things unholy, wanda clinging on to the curve of your trapezius when you railed her those sinful nights, scratching down tensed back muscles.

wanda loved seeing the faded, winding, red scratches on your back the next day, a semblance of your devotion towards each other.

and tonight was no different.

it didn't matter that you had fucked her silly for three hours last night, breaking the bed frame for the umpteenth time, no surface of the house you shared gone unfucked.

never enough.

that's what it was, always waiting to pounce on you given the opportunity. wanda realized that the more she stared at you, the hornier she would get.

it didn't help that you looked so effortlessly attractive now, in the moonglow of midnight and the soft breeze of ventilation.

your shirt had ridden up, exposing the rise and fall of bulky muscle. blanket being half thrown off in your haphazard state of slumber, black boxers were loose against the object of wanda's wet dreams.

the redhead licked her lips, hands reaching up and under your shirt before she could help herself.

wanda let out a shaky exhale, pupils dilating and fading into a darker shade of green.

she let her hands travel over the expanse of your torso, fingertips burying themselves in the dips and curves of your washboard-esque abdominal muscles, then stroking down the V-line that led to the forbidden area beneath your boxers.

the sheets rustled beneath wanda as she climbed atop you, hands pushing up your shirt with a heady atmosphere of lust, just below your sports bra.

"shit, daddy, i'm so wet for you," wanda whispered, in airs that you could hear her. in reality, you were still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of your girlfriend's ministrations.

hiking up her nightgown with haste, cold air rendered goosebumps blossoming on pale skin.

wanda slowly sank herself down onto your torso, her wet bundle of nerves making contact with your sculpted abs.

she whimpered, pressing her palms onto the the flat surface, and you stirred. wanda held her breath, staring intently at your turning head, but then you stopped and it was evident you had fallen back asleep.

wanda could've laughed out loud: you were such a deep sleeper, you didn't even notice- oh shit. you had begun moving in your sleep, shifting your body to get in a comfortable position.

in doing so, your torso moved, and the sensations on wanda's cunt went flying. she whined, the sound lost in the loud quiet, bucking her hips against your abs.

god, the sensation was euphoric.

wanda swore she could feel each ridge and curve of your every muscle under her glistening pussy, rubbing her in all the right directions and simply being an incredible surface to fuck herself on.

so that was what she did.

the redhead let out a pant, beginning to ride on your abs at a tantalizingly slow pace, front and back. her hair fell to the sides of her face like curtains to a stage, breathing growing erratic rather quickly.

her legs were wrapped tightly around your side, still you lay blissfully unaware of the dark beauty you called your girlfriend.

it was only when wanda let out a needy grunt, pressing down a little too hard on your stomach, that you jolted awake with a start.

wanda didn't bother stopping.

you could imagine the look of pure shock on your face at the sight before you: your girlfriend, looking at you through lowered lashes, biting her lip, grinding on your abs and leaving dampness all over your skin.

"fuck, baby," you rasped, reaching forward to brush a hand over her thigh. it only spurred wanda on further, riding you with a rekindled fire, moaning louder than she had before.

grunting at how needy she was, you clenched your abdominal muscles, and almost instaneously did you find yourself being ridden on like you were a fucking surface.

"fuck, daddy, your abs are so good," wanda rambles, cunt dripping onto your skin. you prop yourself up, letting a hand travel over her pussy.

"daddy," she repeats, almost in a cry, throwing her head as her hips keep going.

you merely stare at your girlfriend, caught in a trance, as she dry-humps you like it's the last thing she'd ever do.

when wanda orgasms, it's always loud.

you'd grown to learn that lesson when you first tried a quickie with her in a public bathroom stall, you standing and just bouncing wanda on your cock with strong hands.

let's just say it ended with you walking out the bathroom stall, a dizzied wanda clutching on your arm, and unimpressed stares of three old ladies at the sink.

she always has to moan or scream in some way, 'daddy' and 'fuck' and 'please' being her only vocabulary in those moments.

soon enough, the hardness in your boxers is tented and straining. you grunt, pushing wanda back with hands on her hip, so she could feel you against her ass.

it's fucking hot, and you're not complaining, so this time is no different.

wanda orgasms with a string of incoherent shrieks, fingernails digging themselves into your skin, as you hiss.

before she can even come down from the previous high, you grip her underneath her thighs and manhandle her onto the bulge of your cock, as wanda whimpers at the aftershocks.

she leans back, slowly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, then licking the tip of your straining cock through the black material. she looks up at you with an innocent look, eyes wide but tongue unyielding.

your eyes narrow, a dry remark on the tip of your tongue, but not projected before wanda takes matters into her own hands.

before you know it, she sinks down onto your exposed cock, warmth engulfing you entirely, and you let out a long groan.

“jesus, last night wasn’t enough for you?” you question, holding her hips as she begins riding you, slowly at first.

wanda looks at you through fluttering lashes. she’s gorgeous, absolutely so, more each and every day. “it’s never enough with you, daddy.”

you lick your lips, pushing her down a little further, letting another inch enter her. wanda moans.

"ride me, then," you say loftily, a smirk on your lips. "show me how much you want me."

wanda gets that challenging glint in her eye, and you feel a pit of gasoline burning in your core.

you were in for a wild ride.

when wanda sinks down onto your cock again, it's not just to quell some temporary bout of lust. it's to take you.

wanda had always wanted kids, you knew that. you were slightly hesitant at first, but hearing the filthy words of you becoming her daddy and her husband, had your head spinning.

"oh, you feel so good," wanda whines, speeding up as your cock hits all her right spots.

you let out a rumble from somewhere deep in your throat, at the sight of wanda's tits bouncing in front of your face every time she rides, sweaty and nipples hard.

without wasting time, you shove your face up in there, face buried between her bouncing boobs.

you lick and suck at her sternum, then the swell of her breasts and the tip of her nipples. she's so pretty, so good for you.

wanda whines, continuing to ride with more vigour. she's in love with the way your hands are everywhere, all over her, like you couldn't get enough.

because then you're thrusting your hips upwards to meet and match her rhythm, and that in itself had wanda convulsing.

wanda's eyes roll back after watching you look at her with the darkened eyes, sweat glistening on your bronzed abs and the hip thrusts sharper than she could have ever prepared for.

the shocks of arousal coming in spasms, her coil unwrapping in fast movements.

her white mess of arousal are all lapped up by you, as wanda whines at the tingles of overstimulation.

sighing, you gently soothed her over with hushed whispers and soft kisses, hovering over her but careful not to crush her with your body weight. you kissed the tears off her cheeks, smiling as she nuzzles into your chest.

“can you go and sleep now, sweetheart?” you ask lowly, almost teasingly with how her eyelids are already fluttering shut.

wanda wants to respond, a snark retort on the tip of her tongue, but her brain shuts down when she knows she’s safe in your arms. the feeling of your warmth is all too welcoming.

wanda would never really know the words you mumbled into her neck as she fell asleep, but from the way you gently kissed her hair afterwards, she was more than sure it held the lingering semblance of an ‘i love you’.

masterlist / AO3

[simpstantruther]

Hungry Heart ch. 2 | (Mullet) Stanley Pines x Reader

Summary: Stan needs to go to Oregon. You need to get to California. Stan has a car. You have a cunt. (Can I make it any more obvious~)

(TW: Dated Language and ideas of sex and consent)

Tags: 80s Americana Roadtrip Partners-in-Crime Stan x Reader fic. Smut. You can fix him, but you're worse.

Preview:

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

Read on AO3.

The street light buzzing is so loud you can’t hear yourself think.

You can feel it between your shoulder blades, tense as the dry night air hits the sweat pooling down your back. The light casts a dark shadow beneath your feet as you stroll through the middle of the street trying to keep your feet on the faded yellow divider lines. You don’t. 

You’re still in Dallas. You think. 

You had a bed to sleep in tonight. Or maybe a couch, with the guy passed out across the covers like he did. You had already cleared out his pockets, peeked through a few drawers. 

You found a tiny gun. Fit right in the palm of your hand. Like it was left in that drawer just for you.

Then the poor fucker’s wife came home. 

When you heard the shotgun cock into place, you started running and didn’t stop, pockets considerably heavier. In the chaos, you forgot you nabbed the gun.

You’re glad you nabbed the gun. 

Now you don’t know where you are. As if you ever really knew anymore. Back streets like this all kind of blended together, no matter where in the U.S. you were dragging your sorry ass around. 

Empty dirt lot with a single bench, a sun shade and a bus stop to the left. Shit-hole liquor store, piss stained parking lot to the right. Food. Shelter. Pisser.  All one could ever need.

If only you had actual cash instead of valuables you needed to pawn.

You have a small gun now.

Stupid looking little revolver. Three in the chamber. Poor fucker couldn’t be assed to fill the thing? No wonder his wife wanted to kill him.

Your stomach growls. It wants to kill you.

Do you have it in you to stick up a place just to get something to eat?

You stop. 

Under the brilliant neon Open sign of the liquor store, in bright yellow, peeled-paint glory stands a pay phone. Handset intact. You suppress a cry of joy. You would fall to your knees in praise if you didn’t think you’d catch a disease on the rusted bolts holding it to the cracked concrete. One of the bolts is loose. It wants to leave too.

You feel in the change slot for a spare quarter, sticking your tongue out through the side of your mouth. Your fingertips brush against the ridged edge.

Holy shit.

If you’re not careful, you’ll use all your luck up in one night.

The miraculous quarter slips into the slot. You wait for the dial tone to buzz into your ear, white-knuckle-gripping the handset. 

Shit.

Who the fuck are you supposed to call in Dallas? A taxi? They don’t take gold chains. A shelter? They’re all closed. Did you want to get robbed?

You still couldn’t get to one even if you wanted to.

You hit the return button. Clink. At least you can pocket the quarter. 

As you slip it into your rear pocket, you feel the fuzzy, frayed edge of a business card. Why would you keep a business—

The Loveshack it says.

Why did you have a business card for The Loveshack? What even is The Loveshack?

You don’t know what possesses you, but you sniff the card. It smells unholy. Like beer, and sweat, and man-stink and— you need to sniff it again.

Why are you thinking of a mullet? 

It smells so familiar. Why does it smell familiar? And you feel like gagging, you hate tequila. 

Oh.

You slip the coin into the slot again, bouncing your heel as you wait for the other line to pick up.

“Front desk.” Crackles through the shitty speaker in the handset.

“Hi! G-Good evening—” Your old hostess voice possesses you. High and clipped and waiting to be reprimanded. An old reflex. You haven’t had a regular job in at least a year. You remember no greasy, stinking manager is breathing down your neck to sound pretty when you pick up the phone, so it returns to it’s deep natural state. 

“Hello?” The voice on the speaker croaks again.

“Patch me through to a room, please?”

“Which room?”

Shit. Which fucking room? You turn the card over. Nothing written anywhere. You don’t even remember the guy’s name. Maybe he didn’t know how to write. Honestly, all you remember is Bruce Springsteen and a mullet and thinking that his beefy hands might fit nice around your—

“Hello? Miss? Which room?”

“Uhhhh— don’t remember. He’s a guy, you know?” Of course they know, are you stupid? “Tall, big shoulders, shitty mullet—“ You motion to the top of your head as if the operator can see you.

“Patching you through.” 

The line goes quiet. You’re too anxious to bounce your heel anymore so you stand frozen, hunched over the pay phone box.

You hear heavy breathing on the line. Then a woman’s name, in a vaguely familiar, gruff Jersey accent.

“Who?” You question, confused.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

Oh. You gave him a fake name, you remember.

“It’s Lee.”

“I know! Lee!” You draw out his name overly-affectionately. “How the hell are ya?”

“You called.” 

“I did!” 

“...I didn’t think you would call.”

“I said I would call, didn’t I?” You shrug your shoulders, tucking the phone beneath your chin and leaning back against the phone box. 

You hear him scoff. “I don’t think you did.”

He’s probably right, it doesn’t sound like you to promise something like that.

“ 'S fine. I wanted you to call. I’m glad you did.”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s quiet on the line too, drowned out by the white noise. The plastic static of the handset against your ear makes you shiver even though it’s pushing 85.

“Look, Lee… I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’m in a bit of a bad way—“

“What’s wrong?” He asks quickly. His concern is cute. He doesn’t know you. If he knew you he’d know something’s always wrong. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You aren’t. There’s a pit growing in your stomach because you remember the last time you said those words to a semi-concerned party over the phone. About a year ago. You weren’t fine then, either. “You don’t have a car by chance, do ya? Or maybe just cab fare?”

“Where are you?” 

“Uh—“ You look around. The sign on the liquor store is missing letters. It's in a language you don't recognize. You aren't as worldly as you think.

“I got wheels. I’ll pick you up right now, sweetheart. Where are you?”

You silently cheer. You crane your neck and narrow your eyes to read a street sign, murmuring it into the receiver. You cross your fingers, bite your lip raw, and pray he heard you right. You can barely understand him through the crackling line.

“Give me twenty minutes, toots. An hour, tops. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’ll be here!” You have nowhere else to go.

The line goes dead.

The hook is broken. You leave the handset on top of the box, swallow back your false cheerfulness and sit on the curb.

The street light buzzes above you, a spotlight on your failed state. You cannot hear yourself think. You are grateful.

You don’t have a watch. Giant, tacky bracelets hide your wrists well enough. So who knows how long it’s been once cars start pulling over and hollering at you to hop in. 

Cutting your jeans into daisy dukes seemed like a good idea once you got south of Memphis and the nights regularly cracked 90. It felt less so now, while rough concrete and gravel dug into your seat, sticking to your skin from sweat. 

You ready an empty glass bottle, aiming to launch it at the dark red convertible that slows beside you next.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Watch where you throw that thing. Can’t afford to replace the window again.”

You stand up so you can see past the half-rolled window.

“Lee?” You peer inside. 

It is Lee. He greets you with a wide smile, sliding out his door and moving in to hug you until he sees you flinch back. He blinks and freezes before nodding his head to himself and crossing behind the car. 

“After you, Angelface.” He cracks open the passenger door for you.

“What a gentleman.” You wheedle for him, grateful for the cushioned seat. You keep your eyes on him as he slams your door shut and gets back inside. A bit of caution was healthy. You shouldn’t trust him. He definitely shouldn’t trust you.

The front seat is clean. Vaguely. There’s a couple full trash bags sitting in the back seat. And a few beat up boxes of some bright blue towel thing, dye seeping everywhere it touches, and other assorted brand new junk headed straight for a landfill. It was like he raided the world’s shittiest truck load of useless crap. Why was he lugging around all this stuff?

It still reeks like cheap cigarettes. But at least it didn’t smell like tequila. You crack open your window anyways. 

“Where to?” Lee asks, smiling nervously as he shifts the car into gear, hand staying on the shifter knob between you. 

God, his arms. He’s punishing the thread around the sleeves, rolling them up like that. He put on a clean shirt for the occasion. And gas-station cologne. How sweet.

He shaved, too. You’re a little disappointed, though his jaw is nothing to be ashamed of. You wanna run your hand over his skin, mourn his five o’clock shadow. For the love of god, the man has dimples. Is he Catholic? Would he smack you if you use the lord’s name in vain? You kind of hope he does. Maybe you'll let him borrow one of the rings you 'found'.

You know you look like shit. You can see the outline of your tangled, frizzed hair in the dark in passenger side mirror. You’re never teasing your hair again.

If you pass by a street light, you know you’ll see the rest of yourself in the dirty yellow glow, looking haunting as ever. You angle the mirror away. No need for another reason to bum yourself out before your— whatever this is— with Lee.

You sigh and relax back into the seat, closing your eyes with relief as the rough road jostles you. Almost rocks you to sleep, right there in the passenger seat. 

He says your fake name again as you’re drifting off. 

“Sorry.” You yawn and smack your lips.

He waits for your answer. He can't go nowhere, after all.

You sigh.

“I’m gonna be honest, Lee. I got no idea where to go.”

He nods as he drives with his eyes forward. You already caught him glancing down at your chest after a particularly bad pot hole. He was on his best behavior now. You get to study his silhouette.

“Ain’t you stayin’ anywhere?”

“Nah. Got kicked out of my room this morning. Had a place lined up, but it fell through.” 

You hope he doesn’t ask more. He doesn’t. Good man.

Your stomach grumbles and you hunch over, desperate to subdue the sound. You were used to that by now.

“How about we get you somethin’ to eat, huh? That sound alright?”

“You sure?” You look up at him, your hand cradling your empty stomach.

“Hell yeah. Been dyin’ to take you out since you first glared at me. Dressed up for the occasion—thanks for noticin’.”

“Is that so?” You huff out a laugh. “Color me flattered. You clean up nice. But you’re full of it. I wasn’t glarin’ at nothin’.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Cos I liked it, you know. I thought you were makin’ eyes at me. I like when pretty girls make eyes at me.”

“You’re blind, bud.”

“Nahhh. ” He grins wider. “You like me. Think I’m handsome.” 

You neither confirm nor deny, but you smile as he turns away. You see him blinking and narrowing his eyes at the road signs as he drives. He’s probably blinder than you are. Maybe he regrets telling you to call him, now with your mess close enough to see.

“Pretty girls must be in short supply if you’re settling for me.” You mutter under your breath and lay back again. If he heard you, he doesn’t reply.

He pulls into a 24-hour diner. 

It’s like he read your mind. You could kill a breakfast combo right now. And however many coffees you can drink before they kick you out for not paying, unless Lee is more liquid than he looks.

You doubt it.

You spin around on your plastic-y little dinner stool, your busted heels hanging off your toes as you kick your feet around. The coffee is good . You would have preferred a booth for privacy, but this is fun too. 

Lee watches you with amusement over his coffee. He looks different when he’s well lit. Older. More worn. Especially with his hair slicked out of his face, so you can see how deep the bags under his eyes are. You prefer it messy.

He's a good time. Funny, but stupid. You didn’t know it was possible to fit a sausage link up one’s nose. It shouldn’t be, it was fucking gross. You stick your tongue out in playful disgust when he eats it anyways. He laughs like a boy.

He’s got nice teeth. Mom would be happy, if that kind of thing mattered now. You wonder if he’s Catholic. You don’t think you are anymore.

He makes you laugh ugly. It makes your cheeks hurt, the kind where you have to massage them for a while after. It feels good to laugh ugly.

He doesn’t ask about anything that matters. You like that.

You both check out the same waitress. You ask her for sugar free sugar, the real kind (whatever that means), and you both watch as she stands on a stool to look at the top shelf, her teeny uniform not covering much of anything. She’s probably eighteen. Doesn’t know any better.

Now you’ve been on both sides. It’s a rite of passage.

He tells you you’re prettier than her, but you pretend not to hear, flicking a folded up napkin towards the trash can behind the counter. Daddy always said you were a pretty girl. You used to hear that a lot more often. You’d believe Lee if it were a couple days ago, when you were within twelve hours of a hot shower. 

The napkin misses the trash can. You meet his eyes. He smirks.

You have an unspoken agreement with Lee.

You chew your soggy, jellied toast silently and without alarm while he pockets another customer’s tip.

He shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn’t mention anything as your fingers slip into the lady beside you’s pocket book. 

God bless 24-hour diners.

Combined, you probably have enough to pay for your food. You’re still a little short, not that the waitress would notice until you left, if she could count at all. But why leave it to chance? 

You both stand up at the same time, offering compliments to the chef, the lovely waitress—

“Where do you think you two are going?” A grimy hand wraps around your arm. It’s the cook. Or else he just smells like bacon grease. You feel less satisfied with how the food sits in your stomach, suddenly. “You ain’t paid yet.”

“Alright, keep your paws to yourself, pal—“ Lee knots his hand in the cook’s greasy shirt. Meaty fucking hand. God, the size of those fingers.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey—“ You hold your hands up in surrender. “We’re cool. No need to freak out. We’re cool, aren’t we?” 

“Still gotta pay for your fuckin’ food.” 

You have a small gun now. Your fingers itch to hold it again, to squeeze the grip made for your small hand.

You glance at the laminated menu another customer ducks their head behind. Quickly you stand beside Lee, pressing your chest against his side with your hand on his sternum. He’s warm. Solid, beneath the softness. It’s nice when he’s not damp with beer sweat. You try not to think about it. 

“Are you serious ? You—you think Mr. Denny pays at his own restaurants?” You motion to Lee with your hand. 

The cook balks at both of you, and Lee puffs out his chest. You try not to laugh.

“Bullshit you’re Mr. Denny. He’s gotta be like eighty or something.”

“J-Junior! Mr. Denny junior, obviously!” You take Lee’s jaw between your thumb and forefinger and aim his face at the cook. You’re suddenly grateful Lee combed his hair back. And that he knows when to keep his mouth shut. “See this? Spitting image!”

The cook glances at a blown up photograph hanging on the wall. White hair, beady eyes, the kind of jaw that recedes back into a neck. About the only thing similar to Lee was that they were both human. Maybe. 

Damn. You almost made it, too.

A giggle bubbles out of Lee’s throat as he catches sight of the photograph and the cook’s face goes red, burn-calloused hand reaching for Lee’s throat. A busboy with a tray full of dishes passes by at the wrong moment and you swing your hand up and knock the entire tray back against the cook. 

You leave behind a calamity of broken porcelain and gasps in your wake as you pull Lee by his hand out of the diner. He throws down a few chairs on his way to muddle the path to follow you both as you run. 

Even in busted heels, you’re faster than Lee. 

His huffing, red face would be entertaining if he wasn’t the one with the keys. 

“Drive, drive, drive!” You hollar, grin plastered to your cheeks as you smoosh your face and hands against the passenger window, watching in amusement as the cook and the waitress scramble outside and look around for you.

Lee’s braying laugh fills your ears as his car pulls out of the parking lot. You’re laughing too, content with wherever he sees fit to take you. You feel safe. You shouldn’t, but you do.

You have a small gun now.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[connieisthesun]

Kisses around Curves (Conrad Fisher x y/n)

Summary - You and Conrad have been in a committed relationship for a while but you're ready to take it to the next level and to live out the true meaning of infinity.

Warnings - Smut, protected sex, oral female receiving, sweet talk, lose of virginity, jealousy, heavy make out: Minors Do Not Interact.

*Authors note* - This is my first time writing smut so excuse me if its a bit vanilla lol but apart from that enjoy and leave any requests for future fics. :)

Tag list - @conradfisherswifesstuff @cheezbot @grxnde-dwt @itsshayfr @lanivoid @calpurnia2002

Comment or heart to be added.

______________________________________________________________

Infinity was always a recurring motif in yours and Conrad's ever so sweet relationship, no matter the tides and the trues you both battled forward with incessant love for each other. You are unbreakable, untouchable with the bond you possess spanning across distance and lifetimes and yet after a long time you urge to feel the intimate touch of his veiny fingers and his exasperating breath on yours. You wanted him to kiss your curves like he promised to do to the nature of your relationship; infinite.

You sat there in your deserted dormitory with Conrad his eyes ever so sincere and genuine piercing his soul and making you melt. As the holidays were looming your roommate had already left and what better Christmas present than the burning desire of Him. He beckoned you to sit on the half made bed next to him (you couldn't fold a fitted sheet if your life depended on it).

"Y/n, did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you. You paint my darkest sky the brightest blue and I want you to know that I have never loved and cherished a person let alone a girl as beautiful and intellectual as you. I don't know what I did to deserve you but all I can say is that you deserve anything the world can offer, my love"

Touched by his sentiments, you peck his lips ever so slightly tracing your aching mark on him.

"Connie, I have never loved anyone longer and truer than you. It's just that I get slightly envious of other girls, they're so much prettier that I can't seem to think why you even want me."

"I don't just want you I need you, to breathe, to survive, you've helped my overcome so many of my personal battles and needless to say you always look smoking and gorgeous all the time. I have eyes for no-one else but you y/n/n " He said offering a sly smirk.

"What am I saying, I know you can't resist me Fisher!" You teased back. Underneath his smile, still lay the sweet young boy you once met at a cafe, whom memorised your order after 2 seconds of meeting you, you reminisced.

"May I." He winked and seductively whispered.

"Yes of course." You replied before his lips slowly pressed against yours and a feeling of impenetrable warmth overcame your body. You tugged on his hair softly as he gripped your waist with care, your hands serving as a mere barrier from the actions you were about to commit. You parted your mouth before he slid his tongue into yours, dancing to the beat of your longing. You bit on his lip with care and an unholy groan escaped his mouth that you could feel your insides pooling. With his hand massaging your neck and reaching a stray hair across your forehead.

"We should stop" Conrad spoke reluctantly.

"Don't stop Con, as you said I need you and I need you tonight*." You breathed.

"I don't want to pressure you into this, we can take it slow." He replied with utter softness.

"Please continue" You beckoned again as your lips collided like smashing waves. This time the kiss was more passionate and slow as you could feel his tongue trace a heart in your mouth. His hands slowly reached for your top as he began to tug on it with ease, you forgot that Conrad was millenium times more experienced than you in this realm but the didn't matter to you, all that did was the connection and pleasure you experienced.

You open your eyes and slowly unclip your lacy bra, with your breasts unravelling before Conrad like a fountain. Still retaining his respectful demeanour he positioned you to lie down on the bed as he massaged around your nipples. "Do you like that honey." "Mm" was all that could escape from your mouth.

You bucked your pelvis into his as he was still on top of you now sucking on your tits with such affection and desire. You could feel his steamy body heat and your boobs felt like heaven. He gave you a brief kiss before making his way down to your core, pulling down the waistband of your plaid jeans.

A moan escaped your tongue, he grinned at you continuing to lick your areola before positioning himself in between your soaked legs.

"You ready for this y/n/n darling" He looked up at you for approval.

"Of course, Connie baby."

He began stimulating your clitoris, circling figure eights on your centre region. You began to feel a tingling feeling before his veiny fingers began to stroke your insides while simultaneously groping your breasts.

Your breath hitches as he makes a long lick across your vagina, then begins to flick his tongue within you. Kissing your sides, he explored your folds, making them his own. Licking erotically and still pumping his curled fingers into you. You grasp his back muscles, moaning with delight.

"Such pretty sounds, I love it when you moan remember that.He says breaking the silence and turning you on even more than before.

His tongue is now entering and existing your entrance as he continue sto play with your G-spot with his fingers.

"Conrad!" You scream with delight.

"Y/n don't forget we can stop, tell me to take it slower if you want."

"No no, this perfect, your perfect. You say through disgruntled sounds.

He lets go of your vagina and makes his way back up to you, offering you a steamy kiss. He let's you pull of his shirt and pants revealing his perfectly sized penis. You have a radical awakening to have him inside of you.

"Con, please." You mutter urging him.

"Of course, anything for you."

He lines himself up to your entrance and pushes slowly constantly checking in with you to ensure your comfort. You both let out yet another moan as he dominates on top.

He slowly and carefully grinds against you while kissing your neck and ear and gripping your ass. What a multitasker you though to yourself!

You could feel yourself coming to your peak but before that he strokes your labia, causing your stomach to erupt with pleasure. You couldn't take it any longer but wanted to make sure he came too so you enticed him with your seductive voice.

"Conrad, make me your's, fuck me until I can't see straight hon, do me...hard, you know I love you."

"Fuck, don't do that to my y/n " He said as his face flushed red. You could feel him harden inside of you.

He quickened his pace as you buckled your hips against his toned body. The slightly ajared window provided the greatest moonlight which picturesquely painted an incandescent glow around the silhouette of Conrad.

He flips you so you have a chance to ride him, placeing his hands on your hips and a finger in your mouth while groaning your name. You rub fast against his cock and suck on his slender hand. As you do, you lean forward allowing Conrad to grasp your breasts and continue fondling them. Suddenly, you climax with great force simultaneously with him. Feeling the warm semen fill your pussy, you ride your high out together.

He puts you down and plants a kiss on your forehead, offering to watch a movie and cuddle throughout the night.

"I'm glad it was you Connie." You spoke.

"Anything for you y/n, my future, my everything. You and me, we are infinite and I'll gladly kiss your curves for evermore. Unless you want to try out a few other moves later." He said as he winked.

Oh Conrad what would I do without you, you thought as you peacefully fell asleep against his chest.

[wongyuseokie]

Like a Cowboy | j.w.w

Summary: Your boyfriend sang the line, “like a cowboy,” and that’s precisely how you want to ride him. 

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕ smut |  ♥ completed works

Word Count: 1306 words

Pairings: Jeon Wonwoo x Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Fluff, Smut, PWP Content Warnings: None. Wonwoo is just giving amazing sex. This fic just happened because I’m a weak woman for this man. I’m a simp for this man, his deep voice singing like “like a cowboy.” Smut Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation. Unprotected sex (don’t do this). Nicknames (he calls her kitten a few times). Authors Note 1: This is an extremely self indulgent fic, since it's my birthday and Wonwoo is my bias. Hehe. 💕

Authors Note 2: Thank you so so much to @seungkwansphd for listening to me babble about this and giving me feedback and suggestions too!! 💕 Thank you also to my soul mate @here4btsfics for beta'ing and lovingly yelling at me. Thank you for indulging me as I cry about Wonwoo.

Tagging: @dokcheol because she asked and I made a new demon friend. 🥰 and @falllinflowers because I made two new demon friends today 💕also tagging @onlyseokmins because u thought it was a horsie fic.

Banner Credits: @classicscreations

Cross Posted to AO3

© wongyuseokie 2023. All rights reserved.

“Okay, why are you glaring at me?” Wonwoo asked one night while you were both getting ready for bed. He was puzzled as to why you kept narrowing your eyes at him and glaring. 

“You know what you did,” you mumbled. It was unfair. Wonwoo didn’t know, he was simply singing, but his deep voice did things to you. Unholy things and tonight was yet another night where his voice made it impossible for you to behave like a sane person. 

However silent Wonwoo could be, he was incredibly observant, and he noticed the sultry glances, looks, the lace set you wore, and the way your thighs kept pressing together. 

“Hmm, given how you’ve had your thighs pressed together the entire evening, I’m guessing you’re very frustrated, and the fact that you’re glaring at me means I caused it,” Wonwoo wondered, making you glare at him more. 

“Let’s see, was it my tongue? Did you want that? Or did I lick my lips on stage again and make you horny?” Wonwoo teased, recalling memories, making you huff at him. 

“Or was it, and I think this might be the fifth time this month that my voice turned you on?” Wonwoo suggested as he inched forward to place his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

You let out an exasperated laugh at his words, making Wonwoo smirk. 

“Kitten, if you keep getting horny because of my voice. I might have to either stop speaking or stay buried inside you,” Wonwoo teased, his thumbs pressing into your hips. 

“I pick the latter,” you mumbled, making him smile. 

“But it’s my voice, kitten. I can’t help it,” Wonwoo spoke with a playful pout on his handsome face. 

“True, but it just makes me horny,” you admitted, making Wonwoo blush at your honesty. 

“What did it this time?” Wonwoo asked. 

“You sang the sentence ‘like a cowboy’, and it did things to me,” you mumbled, and Wonwoo bit his lip to keep from laughing–not because he was mocking you, but because he found it adorable how easily you’d be affected by his voice. 

“Right, and?” Wonwoo asked. 

“All I could think of was that I wanted to ride you like one,” you added, your voice a little louder this time, and Wonwoo could feel his cock start to harden at your words. 

“I see. Well, I should probably make it up to you for that, shouldn’t I?” Wonwoo asked, and you nodded quickly, making him smile fondly at you as he leaned down to capture your lips with his. 

“Lie down, pretty girl,” Wonwoo instructed, and you did as he asked as you climbed into the bed, laying down on your back. 

Wonwoo moved until he hovered over your body, careful not to crush you. He placed a kiss starting from your forehead and moving to your cheek and then to your lips, making you melt with how soft the kiss was.

Wonwoo moved to lay between your legs, pushing the fabric of your shirt up slightly, and his lips met with your skin as he peppered soft kisses along your stomach.

Wonwoo pushed your shirt higher, exposing your lace-covered breasts, and he moved his body to place kisses up your tummy and stopped at your sternum. He pulled his shirt off, and unhooked your bra, and tossed them across the room. 

Wonwoo stayed silent as he lay between your legs again, his lips latching onto your breast. You moaned softly, and he laved over your nipple while his hand gently flicked and tugged your other breast.

Wonwoo moved his mouth to your other breast repeating the movements. He smiled at you as he trailed kisses down your chest and stopped at the waistband of your jeans.

He smiled as he undid the button on your jeans and pulled them down your legs along with your now soaking wet underwear. Wonwoo pushed your thighs apart and laid down between them.

Wonwoo threw your legs over his broad shoulders, kissing your inner thighs until his mouth finally landed on your cunt. Wonwoo groaned softly when he tasted you, moaning at how wet you were as he secured his lips to your clit. 

“My god,” you moaned out. He was incredible that you knew, but everything felt so intense. You gasped at the pleasure. You failed to hold your moans as he sucked on your clit; his hands moved to interlock at your waist as he kept sucking your clit.

You felt your eyes roll back as your orgasm approached you, 

“Wonwoo,” you gasped.

Wonwoo could tell you were close, and he continued to suck your clit until you started to shake in his grip. Wonwoo’s mouth never left your clit as you came.

You whimpered as his touch pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Wonwoo slowly moved his mouth away from your clit, smiling when he saw how swollen and wet your cunt was.

He could see it throbbing and pulsating with aftershocks of pleasure.

“Fuck,” you whispered as he pushed two fingers into you. Wonwoo stood up slightly as he pushed his middle and ring finger into your cunt and hooked them there.

“Scream for me,” Wonwoo said as he vigorously pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt. He used his other hand to press down your pubic bone holding you still as you started to thrash about.

“Do you hear how wet you are?” Wonwoo asked as he kept fingering you. You nodded, whimpering, as you fisted the sheets between your hands and let out a scream as you came hard.

“Wonwoo, fuck. I can’t,” you whimpered when you noticed that he hadn’t stopped his movements.

“Yes, you can. I know you can,” Wonwoo countered as he repeated his actions, making you squirt all over his hands.

You whimpered in his grip, pushing his forearm, and Wonwoo smiled as he pulled his fingers out of you. 

“Fuck me, please,” you begged, and Wonwoo nodded.

“Oh, I will,” Wonwoo obliged as he moved to place his hands on your face and pulled you in for a kiss, pulling you on top of him. 

 “Please,” you begged against his lips, making Wonwoo smirk into the kiss as he adjusted himself to guide his cock into you, making you whine at the stretch.

Wonwoo held your waist, his lips finding yours, and he dug his heels into the mattress thrusting into you. You moaned and whimpered into the kiss.

Wonwoo kept pounding into you, his thrusts hard and deliberate, and with each thrust, his cock brushed over the spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, cum,” Wonwoo gritted out, moaning against your lips when he felt you tighten around him. You came hard a third time, clenching around him, making him whine into the kiss. Wonwoo let go of you and flipped you both over so that you were lying underneath him.

He pushed his cock into you again as he pounded into you, chasing his own orgasm. 

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Wonwoo groaned as his hands moved to your swollen and sensitive clit. You whimpered as he rubbed it.

“Cum again with me, baby,” Wonwoo said as he rubbed your clit, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” you both gasped within seconds of one another as you clenched around him and as he  released his warmth into you.

“Well, that was wow,” Wonwoo breathed out as he rolled over, ensuring he pulled out of you slowly to lay down next to you, and immediately pulled you into his arms. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” Wonwoo asked, smirking and making you laugh, despite the eye roll you gave him. 

“You know, I think god is fair. Not everything sounds sexy, even with that voice.”

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Photo Finish

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: I don't really have words for this. @desert-fern and I were chatting about Hangman thots. And this spilled out of my brain.

Warnings: This is just porn. Porn with Plot. Consume at your own risk.

Word Count: 6484

A/N: This is dedicated to @desert-fern, @dakotakazansky and @horseshoegirl! Read and enjoy the thots my darlings!

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

It is an unforgiving job, working as a photographer. You'd been all over the world taking pictures for exposes, portraits of world leaders, and scenery. You could name a print material with a portrait on the cover and say you'd taken a picture of that kind. 

It's your first time in New York after six months of working on assignment after assignment for your agency when you're called into your boss’s office and ordered to get a studio ready. You're expecting a shot with supermodels or perfumes. Hell, you've even taken photos of cans of dog food. You're not expecting to hear that the client is the U.S. Navy. Not at all.

The U.S. Navy's recruitment numbers have fallen to an all-time low. They're looking for a propaganda vehicle or five to kickstart recruitment. They've ordered a squadron of pilots to fly to New York and have professional portraits taken. It had been decided it was too risky to have civilian photographers on base, so your company had rented a colossal hangar from the airport for one day. The squadron and their jets would land tonight, and the shoot would happen tomorrow. The information has you reeling and more than a little flustered. The U.S. Navy? As a client? That’s huge. This assignment could make or break your whole career. How do you even start? This shoot is on an awfully quick turnaround for something so big.

Your mind is spinning, thinking of how you could make these spreads work. To begin your prep work, you go to your office, collecting your assistant, stylists, makeup artist, and lighting coordinators. Once everyone is clustered around your office, you fire up your computer and display pictures of each aviator. The Navy has selected six aviators for this spread; they’re all gorgeous. And per the sanitized dossiers you hand out to your team to read, each has risked their lives to serve their country. Of the five men on the dossiers, one keeps catching your attention. His name is Jake, Jake Seresin, and his eyes pierce into you even through the low-quality picture you’ve been given.

“Alright. So how do we do this? The Navy asked for shots of each aviator and their plane in flight suits and uniforms. We’ll have all four jets in the hangar with us tomorrow. Additionally, I want to explore who they are as people. So I think we’ll also do shots of them in formal wear. As a last step, we’ll tie into their sex appeal and do shots of the boys in their flight jackets and dog tags with no shirts. For Lieutenant Trace, I thought we could explore the duality she naturally poses as a highly decorated female Naval Aviator. How does that sound? Any ideas for how we can accomplish that? Start pulling pieces on racks in the bullpen. I want to do a final review of all of the options at 4 o’clock.”

Your stylists, Adam and Lea, are already huddled up and discussing pieces to pull for the formal wear shoot. You can see an unholy gleam in Lea’s eyes as she finds pieces for Lieutenant Trace to wear for the sex appeal shot on her tablet. You grin at their enthusiasm before turning to your lighting techs.

“Seb, Kris. I want you both to head out to the hangar today. I don’t know what the lighting is going to look like. Feel free to start setting up the lighting for the shoot tomorrow. But don’t lock anything down. We’re going to have to share our space with the planes.”

You turn to your assistant, Amy. 

“Ames, go with them. Get an idea of the space we have to deal with. Measurements would be useful. Start visualizing areas where we could lay out a backdrop to do a set of pics without the planes in the background. Scope out everything — the facilities, where we could set up changing booths, a refreshments table, etc. We’ll also probably need to coordinate deliveries from the usual food platters and drinks places. Get an assortment of things that would apply to any dietary restrictions you can think of.”

With that, you turn to the last member of your team, your makeup artist. 

“Hey, Katie. We will want to keep the makeup for this shoot subtle and touch up any blemishes and under-eye circles. That should be it for the boys, but we’ll want to do something eye-catching for the formal wear portion for Lieutenant Trace. So pack accordingly. Go ahead if you want, and head to the hangar with Ames so you can coordinate placement for the makeup station.”

You call your team to attention by ringing the small gong on your desk.

“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us today. Call me for anything you need. This shoot is important for the studio, and we will have many eyes on us. Here are the credentials for the hangar. Measurements for the aviators are included in the dossier packets. For the formal wear portion of the shoot, pick coordinating colors except for Lieutenant Trace. Good luck!”

The rest of your morning is spent coordinating with the Navy Liasion. During your lunch break, you head to the hangar and help your team as they work there. You pick up sandwiches and drinks for everyone and drop some off for Adam and Lea. You reach the hangar at 1:30 and use your credentials to let yourself in. Unsurprisingly, the hangar is a hive of activity. Amy’s marking down placement points near the bathrooms with a measuring tape, and Katie’s getting a vanity plugged in and organizing her equipment.

Meanwhile, Seb and Kris are testing the lighting. A large swath of the Hangar floor is as yet empty. A clear path has been left from the hangar doors to the open area. The open area is where four F/A-18A Super Hornets are going to sit. You call your team to grab their lunches and catch up with Amy on her progress. It’s your first time delegating so much of the admin work to Amy since she’s the newest on the team, and you’re ecstatic with her progress.

She’s gotten everything organized, including the food and beverage deliveries. When a pair of workmen back in a truck containing the backdrop and the changing rooms, you supervise as they build them and place them where you want them. They’ve just started assembling the backdrop when your phone rings. You step into the afternoon sunshine to take the call. It’s the Navy Liasion. He’s calling to inform you that the squadron will be landing shortly. Sure enough, you can just hear the engines as you hang up and bolt indoors. Amy’s just sending the workmen on their way as you help your team clear the open areas of the hangar and stand near the open hangar door. 

You can feel the thrum of the engines as Four F/A-18As fly in formation and finally land in all their glory. They’re beautiful machines. You can smell the stink of the jet fuel and feel the heat from the engines as they roll into the hangar. The next moments are full of frantic activity as the flight crews help ensure the jets are safely landed. Once all the furor has died down, you finally reach where the aviators have descended from their jets. They’re examining your team's work with eagle eyes that dart to your person as you step closer, your heels echoing as you make your way to the jets. 

They’re even more gorgeous than their pictures indicated, even sweaty with helmet hair as they are. As one, they line up in front of you and salute, introducing themselves with their rank, full name, and callsign. You can hear Amy and Katie’s giggles from behind you as you introduce yourself and your team. The entire time you lay out the plan for the following day, you can feel a set of eyes boring into the side of your face. All the aviators are staring right at you, but Lieutenant Seresin makes you feel like squirming. His green eyes stay on you as you show them the different areas in the hangar and explain the order of the day. Thankfully, they leave the hangar shortly after you tell them their call time for the next morning. 

A couple of hours later, everything is ready to go, thanks to Amy, Seb, Kris, and Katie. The corner near the bathroom has two changing rooms set up. Nearby are spaces for the racks of clothing and the makeup station. It will be perfect for the photoshoot you have in mind. The concrete floors are a little chilly, so you text Lea and ask her to add some of the rugs from storage to the truck. You send her a snap of the current layout so she and Adam know what they’re walking into the following morning. You know she and Adam will pick something that complements the gunmetal gray of the planes and the clothing they’re selecting. Before long, you and your team are packed into the back of two Ubers and heading back to the studio for the final part of your day, evaluating the clothing Adam and Lea have picked.

You’re satisfied as you head home that night. Your team has done an amazing job, and the only thing you have to do is pack your cameras and lenses. You carefully wipe and pack each lens and each camera, working as quickly as possible since you have to be at the hangar with an early 6 AM call time. Amy’s picking up the coffee and breakfast deliveries at 7, and the Squadron will show up at 8 AM sharp.

When your alarm goes off at half past four the next morning, you feel barely rested. Your hair is a bird’s nest atop your head, and your eye bags could put a raccoon to shame.  But you’ve got a busy day ahead of you, so you gulp a scalding cup of coffee and walk zombie-like into your shower. Forty-five minutes later, you’re dressed in a smart blouse and pencil skirt with heels on your feet and bleary but ready to face the day. You’ve thrown your hair into a French braid snaking down your back and left your makeup and jewelry simple to avoid causing unforeseen sparkles and shadows when Kris and Seb turn the lights on.

Your team has just reached the hangar when you step in. All the lights are on in the early morning haze, and you’re immediately swept up in the preparations. It’s like you’re needed everywhere. You only get fifteen minutes to lay out your camera equipment and hook up the cameras to your laptop before you’re pulled into last-minute adjustment after last-minute adjustment. It feels like barely any time has passed when the aviators swagger through the open hangar door. They’re dressed in khaki uniforms, each holding a hanger with a leather flight jacket.

Adam and Lea direct them to leave their garment bags on an open rack, and you’re off to the races. You start with individual shots of each aviator with their plane and then against the backdrop. You’ve cued up a playlist of Top-40 hits, and you can’t help humming along as you snap away. As expected, it takes a bit for the aviators to warm up to being photographed. Two, Lieutenants Bradshaw and Seresin, take to posing for the camera like a fish out of water. Lieutenant Fitch follows shortly after them. Then all you needed to get Fanboy to cut loose was get him talking about his favorite tv show. You don’t mind the onslaught of Star Trek facts and figures because Lieutenant Mickey Garcia is adorable once you get him smiling and dancing to the songs playing. 

That leaves you with Lieutenants Trace and Floyd. Lieutenant Floyd goes next, and the first thing he does when he sees you holding the camera is blush. The bashful look on his face makes a soft squeal slip out of Amy’s mouth, and you side-eye your assistant with your fiercest glare to get her to chill out. Thankfully, Lea drags her away to help with some of the clothing. There’s no need to make the sweetheart even more uncomfortable. Much like Lieutenant Garcia, you try to get him talking. And it works, at least until Lieutenant Seresin opens his mouth and says,

“C’mon, Baby On Board. A pretty girl’s taking your picture, and you can’t even smile? This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, at least for you. You should enjoy it while it lasts.”

You can feel your blood pressure rising at how rude he is and are about to open your mouth to tell him to get out of your field of vision when Lieutenant Floyd does it himself.

“Why, Bagman? Are you afraid that if I start posing for real, all the girls will dump you as fast as possible for me instead?”

You have to stifle your giggles as Lieutenant Seresin blinks wide-eyed at Lieutenant Floyd before walking away. 

“That’s a great idea, Bob!” Lieutenant Trace is never one to leave an opportunity to cheer on her WSO.

That’s what breaks the ice between you and Lieutenant Floyd. You feel his solo plane shots have turned out better than the others. The final aviator in uniform to photograph is Lieutenant Trace. But no matter what you do, you can’t get her to loosen up. 

“Alright, everyone. Let’s take fifteen. Adam and Lea, can you get the Lieutenants in their formal wear while I finish up with Lieutenant Trace?” 

That clears the gentlemen away and leaves you and Lieutenant Trace by the planes. That’s when you finally see a fraction of the tension she holds in her shoulders drain away. She’s still standing stiffly but no longer in full parade rest. You turn the music up, put on ABBA, and pray that the music finally gets her to unwind. It takes a bit, and Lieutenant Bradshaw, now wearing a navy blue tuxedo, wiggling his hips to the beat but unwind she does. He gives you a wink before shimmying away. You can see the rest of your team laughing as the aviators pull out their silliest dance moves. 

After finishing up Lieutenant Trace’s final uniform pictures, you leave her in Lea and Katie’s capable hands and start taking the solo shots of the men. They’re all dressed in navy blue tuxedos with white shirts and shiny black dress shoes. There isn’t a tie in sight, and the jackets are perfectly tailored to their figures. You can’t help the impressed looks you give them and mentally note to compliment Lea and Adam later. Everything is going well until you start to see slack-jawed looks where the lieutenants had been smoldering into the camera. You turn and grin satisfactorily as Lieutenant Trace steps forward. Lea had selected a gorgeous crimson and burgundy gown, and Katie had chosen to leave her hair in loose curls. You’re not surprised at the boys’ awe. She looks breathtaking and like her callsign in all its fiery glory. The contrasting color combinations as she joins the boys look fantastic in the pictures. 

The final set of pictures happens after a lunch break. The gentlemen are only too eager to slip off their shirts, though you can hear Bob pleading with Lea to spare him. You wish him luck, as you know from experience that Lea’s not one to give in easily. The only other aviator who looks discomfited is Lieutenant Trace. You pull her aside.

"Lt. Trace. How would you feel about doing a shot wearing just one of the men's jackets, some heels, and jewelry? You don’t have to wear one that one of the guys has worn today. Lea and Adam brought plenty of spares."

"Please, call me Natasha. And no. I'm not doing that."

"Natasha, I have a feeling I know why, but would you tell me?" Her shoulders surround her ears as you try to reason with her.

"I'm not going to wear that just to act as the sole piece of eye candy in this group. I got here by working just as hard, if not harder, than all of them. I won't negate all my hard work with a pin-up pose on Navy propaganda."

"Thank you for telling me that. I'm not going to pressure you into doing this. But, I would like to bring one item to your consideration. You think taking a picture like this will negate your hard work. Doesn't that negate your inherent sense of femininity? You're a fighter pilot. Yes. One of the best of the best. But you're also a woman. And to me, that's one of your biggest strengths. Girls walking into Navy recruitment offices deserve to know they can be kick-ass officers and beautiful too.”

You take a breath, cataloging the emotions flitting across her face.

“I'm not asking you to do this shot because you're beautiful. As we both know, you are. I'm asking you to do this shot to show the world that you can be one of the best and still be feminine. Be strong and delicate. Sweet and savage. I want you to show the world that serving your country doesn't mean you have to only act like men. Women can serve and do everything that a man can without compromising anything. Be it their looks, their career, or their femininity."

Your words have resonated with her. You can see the figurative light bulb go off in her head as she resolutely nods, gathers up the skirts of her gown, and walks right towards Lea like a woman possessed. You grin and proceed with taking shots of the others. But this time, it’s Lieutenant Seresin that you’re having problems with. He’s stiff like his charm has melted away. You switch to the others and finish their shots easily. Even Natasha stuns in just the oversized blazer. You take a break and review the pictures on your laptop. They’re all perfect. You’ll need a day or so to clean up any small defects, but other than that, they’re exactly what you were looking for. The Navy will be pleased with the results, you hope.

You just need this one set of pictures from Lieutenant Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman, and you can finally go home and take off your heels and bra. Your irritation grows as you attempt to take the pictures you need five times. Your groan of exhaustion and irritation is far longer and louder than it should be. That’s when you start dismissing your team and the Daggers.

“Head on out, all of you. We have to clean up the hangar by the day after tomorrow when the Daggers leave. I will finish up these photos with Lieutenant Seresin, and we should be following you shortly.”

The Daggers all scramble to change, and it's less than half an hour later when you say farewell as the Daggers and your team file out the Hangar door and close it behind them. That’s when you’re left alone with the one man who’s been driving you crazy all day. You try, futilely, to get him to pose how you want, but no matter what you say and how you move him, the pictures don't turn out like you want them to. 

Partway through the latter half of the photo shoot, you'd switched to having all of the Daggers standing against the backdrop. You're regretting that decision now. 

You're done, and the blonde idiot is just standing there and smirking at you. In the studio light, you can see every ridge of his abs and the downy hair dotting his torso. You kick your heels off and let your hair out of its braid. After so long in the tight braid, it feels great to let your scalp relax.

You stalk up to Lieutenant Seresin and grab hold of his arm.

"Right. Let's make this easy on both of us. I will position you how I want you, and you won't move. Okay?"

"Darlin', just tell me to jump, and I'll ask you how high."

And now he's trying to flirt with you. Great. You roll your eyes and position his head and arms as you want him. This close, you can smell his cologne, the cedar and plum scent wafting from his skin. It's an expensive scent that is ever so inconsistent with his personality. Thankfully he doesn't fight you as you position him. 

You could cry. You're so relieved. You are finally getting the needed pictures, and Lieutenant Seresin is cooperating. His eyes still track you as you stalk barefoot back and forth from the laptop to the lights, all with your camera in tow as you make small adjustments. But you don't feel their weight as self-consciously anymore. 

In the final pose, you press on his stomach to get him to straighten his back, and your entire world seems to freeze. His abs are taut, the light dusting of hair soft against your fingers as you glance up at his face. His lips are bitten red as his eyes peer into you. It's electric being this close to him. Something is yearning in his eyes when you step away and take the final pictures. 

Your face is hot as you walk back to the table with your laptop and examine the pictures. You're exhausted, but you've finally done it. Of all the pictures, Lieutenant Seresin's looks the best. His photos exhibit strength, passion, and raw sexuality, exposing a stripe of his taut torso and dog tags. 

"Damn, darlin'. I knew you were a good photographer when I looked up your work before we flew to New York for this, but I had no idea how good you were. These pictures. They're something else."

You startle at his voice, emanating from near your ear, and jolt out of your seat. You nearly fall, but he catches you, steadying you with an arm wrapped around your waist. You gulp as you’re pressed against his chest. He's so close that you can count the flecks of gold swimming in his green eyes. You can't keep your gaze from trailing over his face, from his eyes down to his lips, and back up again. 

"Sweetheart, tell me if I'm reading you wrong, but it looks like you want to kiss me. And I know I want to kiss you. I have since I saw you for the first time yesterday."

You can't keep yourself from nodding at his words. But he's watching you like a hawk and catches your movements. So it's hardly a surprise when he trails his other hand up your side and pinches your chin before slanting his mouth over yours. 

He kisses as he flies, you think. Precise and pointed, each brush of his tongue against your calculated to make your cunt clench and throb with need. You're wet, embarrassingly so. He doesn't pull away until your lips are swollen from the rough kiss. 

Your chest heaves as he traces his finger across your lips. He's got a smug smirk on his face. You pull away from him, carefully selecting your video camera from all your camera equipment, and return to his plane. You turn on the lights, dimming them until there is just enough light to throw the area in the jet's shadow in relief in your camera, hit record, and beckon him to come to you.

"Lieutenant, it's been a bit since I've had some fun. What would you say if I suggest we make a movie?"

His grin is salacious as he lets the leather jacket fall to the ground and tugs you back into his arms.

"Baby, it'd be my pleasure."

Your answering laugh transforms into a moan as he kisses roughly down your throat, paying special attention to your pulse point. His talented hands trail up and down your waist, nimble hands rucking your blouse up from your skirt until he can finally touch your bare skin. Your moans as he traces patterns across your ribs are muffled in his kiss.

"Jake."

Your voice is breathy and high as you try to get his mouth back on yours. But when you look at his face, something is commanding in his gaze.

"Take your shirt off, baby. Let me see what you're wearing."

You tug your shirt off, thankful there aren't any buttons or ties to impede your progress. Jake’s groan at the sight of the lace covering your breasts sends goose bumps over your skin.

His voice is reverent as he walks around you.

"God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum."

He stops before you, pressing his thumb between your parted lips. He dips it in until it's wet with your pooling saliva and drags it down your throat. His finger drags over the soft flesh of your breasts, leaving a cool, damp trail as he pays special attention to the peaks of your nipples. 

He continues walking, stopping at your back and dragging you in until your back is flush against his chest. He positions you with both hands until you're centered with the camera. He keeps up a filthy litany of praise as he carefully uses his thumbs to drag your bra cups down, sending your tits spilling free. His hands immediately find their way to fondle and caress them, calloused fingers kneading and squeezing until your hips are canting unconsciously, searching for additional stimulation. 

His smile is filthy when he finally pulls you away, intertwining your fingers with his and leading you to his plane.

"Put your hands on my plane, baby. And whatever you do, don't take them off."

You can't resist your soft moan as you do exactly what he says after unfastening your bra. You can't see his face, but you can feel his lips in the hollow behind your ear as he grinds his stiff cock against your ass. 

"Stay there, baby. Gonna take these trousers off so you don't get in trouble if we make a mess."

Your nipples are pebbled in the cool air as you wait for Jake to return to you. You can hear the clink of the belt buckle and the rustle of fabric as he drags the garment off before padding back to you. His hands trail teasingly over your sensitive skin as he brackets your waist. His thumbs rub soothingly at your waist as he peppers kisses across your bare shoulders. Jake then carefully drags the zip at the back of your skirt down and eases it off your hips.

It pools to the ground at your feet, and you shudder at the feeling of his hand on your ass as he collects it and sets it on a chair in your line of sight. He's gorgeous. You can see every line of his muscles and the bulge of his erect cock in his boxers. The only thing you're wearing now is your thong. He slides the flimsy lace off, and that's when you feel his breath across your hole.

"Oh, baby. You're so wet. Wet for your Lieutenant, huh?"

He blows a stream of air over you, and you can feel your hole clench at the sensations. 

"What do you want me to do to you, baby? How do you want to cum? On my tongue? On my fingers? On my cock? You gotta tell me, sweetheart."

Your voice is breathy as you babble, "All of them, Jake! I want your tongue, your fingers, and your cock. It's been so long since I came. Please!"

He kisses your shoulder before kneeling and burying his tongue between your thighs. Each brush has you practically sobbing with pleasure. It's been so long since you came that it's only a few minutes before his tongue brings you to the brink of your orgasm. You're already chanting his name, your moans echoing through the hangar.

"Cum," he growls, his mouth still sealed to your cunt, and you're only too happy to comply, your hands scrabbling for something to squeeze on as you ride out the waves of your orgasm on his tongue.

He pulls away after a few minutes and turns you around. His mouth is on you instantly, nipping at your breasts before he kisses you hard. You can feel how hard he is against your thigh as you sink to your knees and free him from the constricting fabric.

It's only fair that you return the favor. So you start with kitten licks flicking across the head of his cock. Each tender pass of your tongue has him moaning. It's not long before his hands find their way into your hair, holding the loose strands in a ponytail at the back of your head. You use the extra leverage to begin deep-throating him in earnest. You use as much suction and saliva as possible, moaning wantonly as he fucks your mouth. His pants and grunts send heat pooling into your cunt as he approaches his orgasm. But before you can convince him to come on your tongue, he jerks himself off over your tits, spurting his release over your skin in hot thick ribbons.

There is a feral look in his eyes at the sight of you like that on your knees, and Jake lopes over to your cameras, carefully grabbing one. He drapes his dog tags around your neck and carefully snaps pictures of the pearl necklace he'd given you. He lays the camera onto the chair before coming back to you.

"Do you still want me to fuck you?"

"Yes." Your consent is less words and more a cock-drunk mewl, but Jake interprets it correctly.

"Can you get on all fours for me?"

You're only too eager to comply, positioning yourself under his eager hands as he takes his spot against your ass.

"I don't have any condoms, baby. How do you want to do this?"

"I'm on the pill, Jake. Please, fuck me. Fuck me raw."

He groans before pressing himself inside you. The slow drag of his big cock as it presses into you has your pulse racing. Jake keeps the pace purposefully slow, using his hands at your hips to hold you still as he deliberately fucks into you. It's so good that each press has you screaming, and you've long since reached the cliff of your orgasm. But what Jake's giving you just isn't enough. That's when you start wiggling your hips to meet his thrusts.

The first heavy smack of his palm against your ass has you freezing completely, caught in the pain-pleasure-pain sensation his hand is wringing out of you. The second has you moaning, your pussy fluttering around his length. His groan is near musical as he continues to smack your ass. Each smack brings you closer to your orgasm, and you're practically begging for it now. You wail when he begins to fuck you again in earnest. His balls smack against the hot skin of your ass as you finally let yourself cum. 

Your orgasm is so strong and intense that you black out. When you come to, you're cradled against Jake's chest, his hand tracing lazily over your back. You're both still under his jet. You prop yourself up on his chest with shaking arms and groan at the sensation of cum dripping out of you. It’s several long moments before you rise carefully on wobbly legs. But the sight you see when standing has your cunt clenching in need again. Jake’s torso is now covered in droplets of the mixture of both of your cum. You grab your camera and take a picture of that too.

Jake grins as he collects the bundle of your clothes and follows behind you to the bathroom. You can’t help the gasp leaving your lips as you see yourself in the mirror. He’s marked up your decolletage, and now is when you can feel the painful sting in your ass. 

“God, baby. Let me take a picture of your ass? It looks beautiful. You can see my whole hand on it.”

You groan as he presses a kiss against the sore cheek before positioning you and taking the pic. All you can see is the globe of your ass, the handprint, and the cascade of your hair down your back.

“Are you sure you didn’t pick the wrong calling, Jake?  You could’ve been a fantastic photographer if you’d chosen to.”

“Oh, I’m sure, darlin’. I love flying too much to regret my decision. And flying brought me to you.”

You grin before beginning to clean yourself up. Jake can’t resist kissing you, and you can’t resist kissing him back, either. Before long, you’re all clean and dressed in your underwear, blouse, and skirt again. Jake even has your shoes and chivalrously kneels to slide them onto your feet. He’s back in his trousers, this time sans the leather jacket. You can’t resist trailing your fingers across his skin and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him. But you have to break away from him. You only add to his current look by slinging his dog tags around his neck.

Back in the hangar, you’re packing up your cameras after ensuring your home movie is saved when the door to the hangar opens. It’s a security guard, and you’re glad he didn’t pop in earlier.

“Hello, miss. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything is alright.”

“Yes, everything is fine, officer. I just finished a photo shoot with my last client, and we’ll leave shortly.”

"Alright, miss. We have to restrict access to the hangar at 11 pm. It's about 9:30 now, so finish up and head on your way."

You can hear Jake opening the curtain to the changing room behind you and can see the Officer's position stiffen as he catches sight of the medals on his breast.

"Sir, apologies, I wasn't aware that the client she mentioned was military."

He's falling over himself, and you can see the smug smirk on Jake's face as he grins and walks the officer out. You can't help grinning as you finish packing your lenses and begin unplugging your laptop after saving all the footage you’d captured today. You know Jake is back when you feel an arm wrap around your waist. You lean easily back into his expensive-smelling embrace and can't resist sagging against him for a few moments.

"It's been a long day, huh, darlin'?" He presses a kiss against your jaw. "Let's get you packed up and home."

You smile at the new, softer side of him and kiss his jaw.

"I'm all packed up. Walk me to my car?"

"'Course, sugar. Give me your camera bag. D'you need to check on anything else before we head out?"

You pad over to all the electrical outlets, hitting the switches on power strips to ensure nothing is still on. The final place you check via phone flashlight is the area under Jake's jet. You're wearing all of your clothing. You just want to make sure you haven't made a mess with your extracurricular activities.

"I cleaned it all up already, baby. It was when you were knocked out after your orgasm." 

You startle, having grown used to his presence over the past few hours.

"Then let's head out?" 

You relinquish your camera bag to him, keeping your oversized tote on your shoulder as the two of you stride out of the hangar. You lead him to the small parking lot to the side and pop the trunk for your car, thankful you'd decided to drive to the airfield. 

"Let me give you a ride to your hotel. It's the least I can do after keeping you so late."

"Darlin', I should be thanking you. I haven't cum like that in a long time."

You've seen the man completely naked and writhed in pleasure at his touch. You shouldn't be so flustered in his presence. But you can't explain the catch in your breath as he opens the driver's side door for you before loping around to the passenger side and settling in. Everything between you and Jake doesn't feel like the aftermath of a hot frantic sexual encounter. It feels like a date.  You feel light and easy as you cruise back into the city. The silence between the two of you is comfortable. It’s not long before you drop him off in front of his hotel. He presses a kiss against your lips before swaggering in. And you head home to your small New York apartment, feeling the ghost of his presence as you go.

The next morning, you’re glad you chose to work from home because the first pictures you edit are the ones you’d taken of Jake and the ones he’d taken of you as well as your home movie. You can’t resist fingering yourself as your moans and his grunts spill out of your computer speakers. You don't have to do much editing there, but you carefully load the incriminating footage onto two flash drives — one for you and one for him. The photos for the Navy, too, are edited in no time flat. 

It's in the afternoon when you head into the studio. When you get in, you're surprised to see all the Daggers, your boss, your team, and two Admirals waiting for you. Your boss runs the show, introducing and greeting them before the floor is ceded to you. You show the assembled guests the pictures you'd taken for the Navy. 

The pictures are well received, especially the photos of Lieutenant Trace. You wink cheekily at her as Admirals Simpson and Mitchell praise the juxtaposition of those shots. As you show the last picture, you can finally breathe. Your boss is proud, especially as the Admirals turn to her and approve the pictures. But you have one final set of pictures to deliver.

"Lieutenant Seresin, apologies. I found this in my bag this morning. It was lying in the changing room when I looked through it to ensure everyone had taken their things. It must've fallen out of the pocket of your flight jacket."

His smirk is salacious as he accepts the flash drive from your hand, apologizing for leaving it there. You hand him a note, too, and leave the room. You would pay to see the look on his face when he sees what you’ve written on it.

Jake -  Thanks for last night. Call me the next time you're in New York. I'd love to do it again. It certainly was a photo finish. XXX - XXX - XXXX

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern 🎥 @dakotakazansky 🎥 @bobby-r2d2-floyd 🎥 @roosters-girl 🎥 @sarahsmi13s 🎥 @bradleybeachbabe 🎥 @lovinglyeternal 🎥 @roosterforme 🎥 @horseshoegirl 🎥

[essentiallyleaf]

day 22. daddy kink. with. sakura.

758 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, futa!idol x female reader, daddy kink, cockhungry reader, somewhat rough sex, i’m not feeling very funny tonight.

notes.

they just keep getting shorter! i swear it’s not because i’m procrastinating writing until 12 a.m. though. exhaustedly, leaf.

You met the girl in a mall, she was reading Kafka with the most peaceful, relaxed air, like there was a desert around her, when in reality it was so crowded and loud that you couldn’t hear your friend talk to you from across the table at the coffee shop. She later told you she likes to hear the sound of the artificial waterfall beside the escalator while she reads; you told her, go to the river; she told you, it’s not the same, people go to the river to relax, I don’t read to relax; you asked her, what do you read for?; she answered you, I read to understand what the writer is like in bed. Anyway, you went up to her and asked whether she knew if there was a library in the mall - you knew there was one right around the corner, but pick-up lines aren’t your forte; whose forte are they, if truth be told? - and if she had a book to recommend. “Well, it depends, what do you like?” It’s very easy to make conversation, if you think about it: you can start anywhere you want, and it’s like tributary streams, at some point you always end up channeling into your common interests.

It’s just following the course of the river that leads to her writing down her number on the paper towel you’d gotten with your coffee - “It’s Sakura, by the way, but you can call me Kkura,” she said with a warm smile, like she loved her name, like she had chosen it herself - to the two of you meeting again (neither of you used the word date, but in retrospect, well, yeah) in a bar downtown. They didn’t call themselves a gay bar, but the place had queer written all over it; I mean, Monthly Murder Mystery Monday? Really? To the two of you seeing each other four times in the next week, to her asking if you wanted to come to her house to have a drink after the fourth, cause she wanted to show you her wild animal plushie collection. One thing that surely was wild was the sex, that night. Kkura was plunging into your pussy from the back as you were bent over her bed, ass in the air, and she felt huge inside you. Your face was sunk into the soft light gray-brown fur of the sloth when it escaped your mouth.

“Ngh- ahaadhd- …addy!”

“What did you just say?”

“I- Nothing, I’msor-”

“Again.”

The thing about a river’s delta is, it splits very gradually, just one extra fork at a time, so you don’t really notice how wide it has spread until you’re already deep into it. You start calling her daddy every time you’re hungry for her cock, and she feeds you (the unholy sound of your slurps fills the room like there’s three girls sucking it at the same time, but no, it’s just little old you), then every time you’re hungry. She’s the sweetest girlfriend, you know she’d always get you whatever you’re craving if you asked nicely. You call her daddy when it’s just the two of you, then if there’s close friends around. They still smile jokingly when it happens, but they understand, they know what it’s like; not to be with a girl whose rod that can rearrange your insides, but to be lucky enough to be next to someone that you love and to not be afraid to show it. You almost have a slip up the first time you meet her parents: “Dad- Da… Dadaism was, pretty… wacky, wasn’t it? Duchamp, what an eccentric soul, haha!” Even the save is embarrassing, but it’ll be a great story to tell your kids; ok, maybe not your kids, maybe your friends.

She’s your daddy when you sit on her lap and start grinding on it while she’s having breakfast, when you lay your head on her shoulder and she gropes your tits, only covered by a thin beige t-shirt, while you’re watching Worlds, when she fucks you missionary and slaps your thighs until they become red like your cheeks at her parents’ house, and her fingers gently wrap around your throat, and she kisses you like her throat is burning and only you can help relieve it. You can’t separate freshwater and salt, once you’re out in the sea. It’s all mixed together, as one. And it’s not good or bad, it’s all just part of a natural cycle. Sakura, Kkura, daddy; any name, any place, any time.

-

footnotes.

my favorite shirt from Raygun is the one that says ‘Iowa: flee to flourish’. friedly, leaf.

[sluttyten]

UNHOLY - Chapter Eighteen

full masterlist || UNHOLY chapter index

summary: you've been anxiously waiting the reunion with Ten and Yuta. But first, you have to break them out of their imprisonment in Hell. And, who knows, maybe while you're there, you'll learn some new stuff about yourself, too

length: 19,907 words

tags: supernatural, demons, happy stuff, stressful and nervous stuff, scared and angry stuff

<-previous || next–>

You wish you could say the first day of planning went splendidly and you were ready to go marching into Hell the next day. 

That wasn’t the case. 

Each day, your planning meetings end with nothing truly decided. Each night, you dream again of Hell, of the Queen of the Night, of the torture that Yuta and Ten are enduring. Each morning you wake feeling more stressed than you had been the day before, more afraid of what is happening to them, and how different you might find them – they’ve been imprisoned in two separate prisons, possibly tortured, who knows what sort of effect that’s had on them since you last saw them.

You cover lots of things in the meetings that should reassure you of the success of this mission, but they don’t necessarily reassure you of anything.

Jeno and Jaemin tell you about the layout of Hell, of secret entrances and passages and exits while they also regale you with amusing stories of their time at Hell’s boarding school. Johnny tells each of you how shadows work – not the obvious way, but the magical way that lets him twine them around his fingers and send them away to do his bidding. There are skills lessons – Ira instructing you more in the ways of the Watchers, Jaemin and Jeno giving you more information about demons that they’d learned in their demonic boarding school, combat lessons from Jaehyun the werewolf (which Haechan seems only too eager to go head-to-head with some of your new companions). Ira and the sirens discuss various plans to leave the island and to return, revealing the secrets you’ve been wondering about since Renjun brought you here.

You keep your distance from the sirens, still a little wary of them after the dream you had a week ago in which they’d drowned you. It doesn’t help that all three of them have a mildly terrifying aura anyway, and it only gets worse every time that you see Seulgi watching all of you like you’re her prey during Jaehyun’s combat lessons. But you know that the sirens are actually rather sweet. Sunmi is kind and truly nurturing with her sisters. Seulgi actually is quite adorable and soft-hearted when it comes down to it — one day after Johnny’s shadow-talks, you see Seulgi playing with his shadow tendrils like they’re kittens while Johnny watches on with amusement. 

Minnie, though, shows such affection for Renjun. She acts cute and flirty and clingy, constantly trying to steal his attention away from Haechan who, in turn, tries to steal Renjun’s attention back. 

You try hard not to find the dynamic between the elf, the vampire, and the siren very amusing and familiar. 

Finally on the morning of the seventh day, you wake in the darkness of your bedroom to find that Mark’s side of the bed is empty.

It’s late. Or early. The sky outside the window of your bedroom is still a deep, dark shade of blue with stars just barely visible, tiny pinpricks of silver light in the sky. You can see the ink of the sea in the distance, whitecap waves reflecting moonlight.

The night is truly silent tonight. Your view out the window could be nothing more than just a pretty picture in the frame for all the sound you catch – no wind blowing, you can’t hear the waves rushing against the shoreline. No one whispers in the halls or other rooms of Ira’s house. The only sound is the thundering of your own heart in your ears and the dull sizzling sound of your handprints you’ve burnt into the sheets where you’ve been clutching them.

A nightmare is what woke you.

It’s similar to the one you had a week ago, centered on Hell. Every part of it was confusing and disappointing as each element of your plot to rescue Ten and Yuta fell through completely. You woke when the dream couldn’t possibly have gotten any worse.

You saw them burning. 

Everyone.

Everyone burned. Yuta and Ten, although that should have been impossible. Mark and WinWin, Ira, the sirens, the others that Ira has drawn here to his island to help you with this mission. 

They were all burning in your dream. The dream was so vivid that you could smell burning hair and flesh; you could see the terror in their eyes; you could hear their cries and screams. You had heard the vile laughter of the Queen of the Night, cackling with wicked delight while they burned and she made you watch.

Now, as you lie here in the waking aftermath of your nightmare, you try to focus on your surroundings to ground you in the present. 

Behind you, WinWin is unmoving, an arm pitched above his head, the sheets twisted around his hips, one exposed leg visible and covered in white scars like lightning bolts originating from the silvery bite mark left behind by the Fell Beasts. Tonight he’s unbothered, deep in dreams so he doesn’t budge even as you leave the bed, as you quietly dress yourself. 

Soft snores sound from the bedrooms you pass. There’s no sign of anyone being awake, no sounds of the unsleeping vampires being aware of you moving through the house. You creep down the spiral stairs, taking careful steps to keep quiet as you make your way out through the front door. 

Dawn is just beginning to touch the perfect blue darkness of night. Peach colored sunrise swirls through the navy clouds and the steel gray of the choppy sea. Deep shadows remain over much of the island, and you stick to them, remembering Johnny’s advice of bending shadows to help hide you, which you apply skillfully as you leave the eaves of the house towards the cliff’s edge.

As you walk forward, you glance backwards, attempting to look up at the lighthouse tower’s peak, trying to see if maybe Mark is up there. You know he’s got a tendency to climb up the tower so he can sit there and stare at the stars. If he’s up there right now, you can’t distinguish him from the dark. And if he is up there, he must not notice you because he doesn’t descend to join you or stop you either way.

You don’t want him to join you.

The nightmares that have been plaguing you all week have been bad enough, but the one you just awoke from truly has put you in a state of panic. No one else can come with you, you saw the argument for that in your dream. Everyone here on the island has been helpful in these planning stages, but if they come with you, they’re just weaknesses for you, they’ll hold you back and make you much more noticeable than if you just go by yourself.

You know how to get off the island now, and you have a plan for exactly how you’re going to get into Hell, how you’re going to locate Ten and Yuta, and how you’re going to escape. You’ve even got a Plan B tucked away in the back of your mind in case your original plan goes awry.

The beach looks nearly the same as it had the day that you arrived. Foamy white waves crash against the shore, rushing through the pebbles as you near the water’s edge. 

Since your arrival to Ira’s island, you’d wondered several times how the portal magic worked for the island. Ira and Renjun had made it clear that it was only possible to enter the island via portal, and that made sense. Up until a few days ago when one rescue strategy had been discussed, you hadn’t known how to leave the island. At what point did the sea become a portal back to the rest of the world?

Ira had led all of the group out onto the porch outside the front door. With his arm outstretched, he pointed out at the sea visible beyond the cliff’s edge. “See the water, where it turns from a shallow turquoise to a darker blue? Do you see the circle of turquoise out a little further? It’s straight out from the inlet where you all came in.”

The sea faded from turquoise closer to the shore to a deeper blue as the sea floor dropped off, but then there was in fact a pocket of lighter color out in the deep.

“This portal works a bit different from other portals. To exit the secure space I’ve placed this island in, you have to have a specific mental picture of your destination, you have to focus on it and push through.”

“Push through? It’s in the middle of the water. How will we know when we’ve reached the portal to push through and to focus?” Jeno had turned to your father in confusion. 

Mark, standing beside you in the shadow of the house’s doorway, grimaced. “Trust me, you’ll know. Coming through is easy enough, but when we left to find you guys, I thought like you. It was in the middle of the water, so how would we know? But it’s like hitting an invisible wall. You have to focus on holding your destination in mind while you also push through what feels like a solid wall of water.”

Ira nods. “I didn’t make it easy to come and go.”

And now, in the present moment as you stand on the shore and face the morning gray of the sea, you hope you’ll be able to find the portal. From down here at the water level, you can’t see a difference in the water like you’d been able to from up above. It’s impossible to tell how far out you’re going to have to swim.

You stare out at the water. 

If you don’t go now, you’re going to lose your nerve.

Images of your dream last night flash through your mind.

Ten screaming as hungry flames consumed him. Yuta’s body stretched out on the floor as veins of poisoned fire wrapped around his throat, crawling over his cheeks and mouth. 

It had all seemed so real, so terrifying. You can’t take another night of not knowing that they’re safe, of not having them in your arms again.

The seawater is cool where it touches your bare ankle. 

Ira had said the portal is just a straight swim out from the shore. You can do this. 

You take a few steps more out into the water, shivering as the cool water rises up your body, as the waves splash it even higher. 

You pull in a deep, full breath and with one last glimpse back at the cliffs behind you – halfway hoping to see a familiar face, halfway checking to make sure that there isn’t anyone watching. There isn’t anyone. You face the horizon again, and you dive beneath the surface.

Below the water, the world is dark and still. You’re still close to the shore, in only a few feet of water, but as you begin swimming forward, the bottom falls away beneath you. Darkness grows around you when you reach the open water of the sea. There’s a different feeling to the water, a hollowness and a pull of gravity as the forever black maw opens beneath you.

High above you, the sunrise bursts in prismatic colors over the surface. Your lungs begin to ache and your heart longs for you to rise to the surface again, to feel the heat of the sunrise on your face and a fresh breath of air filling your lungs, but instead you keep swimming forward into the endless, deep dark.

The pressure grows stronger  in your chest, in your head, in your throat, and you feel like you’re being squeezed to death and frozen as the sea around you becomes entirely black. Momentarily, the thought crosses your mind that you’ve slipped right through the portal without being aware, that you’ve been somehow sucked into that Abyss that Yuta and Ten once told you about – the place where soulless supernaturals go when they die.

And then, you feel it.

A wall of pressure.

You pull an image of your destination into your mind, focusing on it with every part of you that’s not worrying about being able to breathe, and you push forward.

You feel as if you’re making absolutely no progress no matter how hard you push against it, and for a moment you’re right back trapped in that mirror at the House of the Watchers – again, you can’t breathe, you’re trapped against a barrier with everything you want on the other side. You push and you push, trying to keep a river a million miles away held in your mind, pushing, pushing, feeling your lungs seizing in your chest and dots of blackness and sparks of impossible light spark across your vision.

The world breaks around you, shattering and transforming into a world of bright sound and heat and so much air.

Each breath sears your lungs, your chest burning in an entirely unpleasant manner, but you can’t help gasping for more and more air. Your hair drips into your eyes, making them sting. There’s so much noise, and after the suffocation of the deep sea, all of this everything is very disorienting.

It takes a moment or two of treading water before you realize that your escape from the island actually worked.

River water stains your skin with tiny granules of silt, a twig has tangled itself in your hair as well as a slimy piece of plant life that has twisted through your fingers. You shake it off, pluck the twig from your hair, and you look back up to the banks of the river you’re in, at the high city buildings reaching up into the orange haze of the sky.

You’ve come back to Hell City.

Something silvery flickers by you in the water, and it takes a moment too long for you to realize what it is. Another pale streak rushes by you, and this time you recognize it for what it is. A memory rises to the surface of your mind.

In your early days here, as Ten and Yuta showed you around the city, they’d brought you here to the riverwalk along this river that marks the border of Hell City. Right now, you’re a bit upriver from that spot where the river splits in two, but you still remember clearly leaning against the railing with Yuta beside you, his arm wound around your waist to keep you from tipping into the dangerous water.

It’s the memory of that day that has inspired your rescue plan. 

“What do you see when you look at the water?” Yuta had asked you that day. And that morning, just as right now, you’d seen a whitish silver ribbon twisting through the water. With his hands on you, keeping you safely planted on solid ground, Yuta had explained to you, “Those are spirits of the damned. This river leads straight to Hell. Proper Hell, not just this city. Water is a transmitter, or conductor, carrying the spirits down where they belong. A little way down the way, the river vanishes underground, and it never resurfaces.”

It’s funny, thinking back on that now. You’ve definitely learned that water works as a pathway – it’s taken you to Purgatory and to Ira’s little special corner of the universe, and it’s brought you back here.

And if your plan works, this river is going to take you straight to Hell.

This is something that has come up in your week of planning. Jaemin’s voice echoes from the back of your mind. “Once you’re in that river, it’s a certainty as to where you’re going. Because the river is a one-way ticket to Hell. Spirit Express, no stops, no clear return.”

In the present moment, you can already feel the current of the river sucking at you, pulling you downstream. A cold wave slaps into the side of your head, and you swear you hear a voice whispering a death song in your ear, and you keep your mouth closed tightly, trying to keep your face above water, even as the current pulls you along, threatening to drag you under even as you fight to stay afloat.

And then you see it just up ahead. The river forks.

One branch of the river continues on through the regular, mortal, unmagical world towards the ocean. The other branch grows darker and darker until eventually it delves underground, passing briefly through Hell City’s underground, and then surging even deeper below to the realm of the demons; this branch of the river is the one that has you in its gravity.

And suddenly it really has a grip on you. You’re being propelled forward in the water, carried along faster than you had been just a moment before, racing towards the place where the river disappears underground.

The moment is obvious when the power of the great river of the damned finally overpowers the simple current of the natural river. One moment, you’re still able to fight to keep your head above water, and the next you can feel the force of the water pulling you downward.

You keep getting pulled under, managing one final gasp for breath in the instant before it’s impossible, sucking in a little of the river water despite all of your previous attempts. It tastes like poison as it trickles over your tongue, and the moment you resurface, you cough and gag, trying to expel the toxic water. Repeat.

Occasionally, you feel something else in the water, hitting against you, bumping and slithering and slimy. Mostly it feels incorporeal, as if you’re just feeling passing souls. Until you feel the tug at your ankles, the gravity pushing you down further from the surface.

You wish you had something to hold onto, some easier way to get to Hell than this, but Jaemin and Jeno had assured you that this was going to be the easiest way for all of you to get there, and even though you’re going this alone now, you don’t know any other way to get to Hell. 

You’re being sucked downward, and you flail around, trying to claw your way back to the surface for one last breath, one last glimpse of the sunlight –

Free-fall.

You’re in free-fall, no longer controlled by the river’s current but by gravity.

Lights flicker to life – far away and below you, growing rapidly bigger and closer.

You recognize where you are, but you’ve never seen it from this perspective.

You’re tumbling in the waterfall you’ve seen before, racing through Hell City’s underground, and within seconds you’ll be crashing into the next layer of the underworld. Streams of silvery light surround you, and if you could really force your eyes to focus on anything, you feel certain that you might be able to make out features of faces or limbs. These are souls, after all.

The air is full of voices – whispers of the souls, your own screams.

You feel the impact as your body crashes into the pool of water at the base of Hell City’s underground waterfall. It doesn’t hurt necessarily, but you can feel the water passing like a heavy wave beating against you when you stand unprepared in the surf. And then everything is dark and cool again. The air is filled with the rushing sound of water and passing air and all the whispers of the souls around you. And you’re spinning.

It takes a moment to really realize that, but soon you come to understand that you’re spiraling downwards in tighter and tighter curls, moving faster and faster, you and all of these souls are funneled to a point.

You’re spinning in the darkness, and then suddenly you’re not.

In a great cold splash and a burst of warm light, you’re standing dripping wet on a stone floor. 

“What the fuck?” You hiss, blinking and looking around.

Directly in front of you is the broad back of a very tall, large man. He doesn't turn to look at you, only shuffling forward a step. 

A cold wave of water rushes over your feet as a considerable splash sounds from behind you.

You glance over your shoulder and find an elderly woman standing there with round glasses sliding toward the tip of her nose, her hair curling loose down to her shoulders. She doesn’t seem to take too much notice of you. Momentarily, there’s another big splash, a second wave assaulting your feet as a spout of water shoots down from the distant blackness of the ceiling, the jet of water deposits another soul in what appears to be a line growing behind you.

You twist around to the front, leaning around the broad man in front of you to get a look at what you’re in line for.

“What the fuck?” You repeat, looking at the line that stretches into the impenetrable distance. It winds forward, twisting around rocky structures that jut up from the floor. A deep reddish-orange glow semi-illuminates this vast space, but the end of the line in either direction – as the spout of water continues to deposit an endless string of souls behind you in line – is swallowed by the same darkness that resides above your head.

But do you really have to wait in line?

None of the others around you pay any attention to you or anyone else. They all wear bored, resigned expressions, content to shuffle forward step by step as the line slowly shifts forward with some unknown signal.

It is eerily silent. Your brain can’t comprehend the absolute lack of sound when you can see so many people. You should be able to hear breathing or some slight shifting, fabric brushing together, feet moving on the floor, an exasperated sigh or grumbling under the breath. You even half expect to hear a distant echo, water droplets trickling down from somewhere or even dripping from clothes, but as the Hell Delivery System waterfall moves ever farther down the line, you can’t even hear its roar of delivery anymore.

And you’re soaking wet. Uncomfortably so.

You know that you could easily call your demon fire and make quick work of drying yourself off, but some instinctive feeling in your belly is telling you not to do that. It might just draw attention to you.

Not that there seems to be anyone overseeing this line, enforcing behavior. If you just stand here waiting in line for some unknown end, you’ll just be wasting time. There probably isn’t anyone who will even notice if you cut the line a little.

You’ve moved only a dozen paces since your arrival. 

You take a step out of line, pause, waiting for something to happen.

After a few beats, nothing has happened.

You begin to move, passing up the column of this endless queue. No one moves or spares you a glance, speaks or breathes or anything. So you walk, and you walk and walk and walk, searching for the front of the line.

Is this Hell? Just this, waiting in line forever? Moving forward inch by inch for all of eternity. Because you’ve been walking for at least half an hour, and the front of the line doesn’t seem anywhere in sight. Although, the scenery has slightly changed. There seem to be more outcroppings of rock here, and there are large torches mounted to the walls, providing a stronger orange light than the previous ambient red-orange glow.

Another fifteen minutes pass by in unchanging silence. You look behind you to see the line vanishing back into dim light some distance back, twisting out of sight around a big boulder. Ahead of you looks pretty much the same.

But then you hear something.

It sounds like footsteps, so you freeze. Sharp clicking footsteps pass over the stone floor. Heavy breathing and the acrid scent of brimstone.

A demon.

You don’t dare to move even a little bit. Wherever this demon is, it must be ahead of you, around the next curve of the line, but you’re sure even a slight move would draw its attention to exactly where you are as it prowls along the line.

Sure enough, around the curve ahead, you see a puff of black smoke, a shadow painted on the wall of a beast. It’s coming towards you.

You clench your hands into fists, and you feel your nails bite against your palms hard enough to break skin.

The demon’s shadow on the wall twitches, head tilting curiously to the side, and you glance down to see a trickle of your blood as it drips from your hand.

A sharp whistle cuts through the never-ending space, echoing off the rock walls and the invisible ceiling. The demon twists around, a growl rumbling from it. A second whistle, and the beast sets off in the opposite direction. You hear a grinding sound of stone against stone, a third whistle and another growl from the demon.

You take a step forward, conscious of the coarse sand that dusts the stone floor, aware that even a slightly wrong move could cause sound. If only there was some way to silence your footsteps so you could sneak forward, hopefully catching a glimpse around the next curve of the line, maybe to see what is happening ahead. Have you finally found the front of the line?

You take a tentative step forward, and there’s a soft crunch of a pebble beneath your foot.

Your heart leaps in your throat, but then you remember.

During the weeks of Ira’s lack of availability and assistance with this plan, you’d dug into any and all of the books he had in his home. There were boring books about gardening and maintenance, cookbooks, and even self-help books, but there had also been histories of the Watchers, but these were ancient texts that you felt must be from the early days of the Watchers because they were just histories, they held information pertaining to the instruction of young Watchers. 

Those texts you had devoured, pouring over them for long hours until Mark or WinWin had dragged you away, providing you with ample distraction. 

But you had learned some things from those texts about the powers of the Watchers, the abilities that you possess. You’d practiced a few things, but you are fully aware that you’re a long way from being adept at the skills. 

Although, one of the magical skills you’d read about, and that you’d once attempted semi-successfully, had been the power to become undetectable – invisible and silent – for up to an hour. You’d used that experiment to sneak up on WinWin and scare him, for which you’d had to apologize and make it up to him when you returned to detectability about ten minutes later.

But isn’t that what you need right now? To be undetectable?

Luckily, the process had been rather simple, and you’d made certain to memorize it before even attempting it that first time. 

The powers of the Watchers were magic like you’d not quite seen it before. Sure, some of it involved fancy words and waving your hands around, but there was a simplicity to it all that almost seems deceptive, like you feel like it should be much more difficult than it is, and by finding it easy, you must be doing it wrong. But that’s not the case at all. Maybe it seems that way because you’re so new to this power that you were actually born with; it’s a part of you, so natural that it just flows without having to work too hard at it. 

Either way, the effort to become undetectable right now is simple. 

The sandy soil underfoot is actually much more fine than you’d believed. It’s a soft, reddish-brown powder that clings to your fingertips as you crouch and gather a handful. Disturbingly, it reminds you of dried blood. 

You spit into the small pile of soil in your hand, mixing it into a paste that you try not to think too much about as you dip your paste-coated fingers and paint them around your face.

It’s more difficult without a mirror to know if you’re getting the runes correct, but you hope that you don’t fuck it up too much.

You can tell it’s taking effect, and you begin to hurry before you lose the ability of physical touch. This spell truly makes you undetectable – invisible, silent, and intangible.

Just as you put the finishing touches on yourself, you see your fingertips fading away.

You lift your hand to your face, and you can feel your breath on your fingertips, and you think that maybe there’s the barest imprint on the air in front of you, but you can’t actually see anything there. Beneath you – where your feet should be – there’s no sign of your footprints, not even when you take a step forward.

As you walk around the curve, you don’t find the front of the line. You’re certainly closer to the front, but now the line straightens out instead of curving, moving forward into the far distance where you can see looming high in the shadows, the faintly lit arch of a massive doorway. But right here beside the line, just on this side of that curve in the rocks, is a hidden doorway. You can still see a glowing outline of it as you reach it, but your intangible fingers can’t find any purchase to pry the door open.

Again, this is where you’re grateful to be part Watcher. There’s a magical phrase for this, and a moment later the hidden doorway is grinding open again, revealing a narrow hallway roughly carved through the rock, winding away and downward. To a certain degree, it reminds you of the passages Yuta and Ten had led you through to take you from the surface of Hell City down into its underground, although these tunnels of Hell are much better illuminated. 

Once you’re through the entrance, you close the door again with a simple wave of your hand.

The rocky ridges in the walls of the tunnel are a warmer reddish brown than where the evenly spaced torches along the walls illuminate. You get a vague impression that you’re staring down a great beast’s throat, looking at the insides of its ribcage. As you pass silently down the tunnel – footsteps leaving no mark in the sandy floor nor even a scuff or sound of your footfalls – you grow even more aware of how you’re sinking further and further into Hell.

The flickering light of the torches on the ribbed walls of the tunnel truly gives the sense of being slowly swallowed by a beast, and you’re terrified and exhilarated to learn what awaits you.

And then you see it.

A small archway up ahead, open and unguarded.

Slipping through the archway into Hell Proper is easy, but what you find immediately on the other side is less so.

The hidden tunnel didn’t just bypass the rest of Hell’s eternal waiting line to the Great Gates. You managed to bypass a lot of the structure of Hell, and the tunnel has spat you out into the one place that you’ve feared and yet dreamed about for too long now.

You’re in the throne room of the Queen of the Night.

You’re in the very belly of the beast.

And you’re not alone.

You melt into the shadows at the edge of the throne room, pressing your back to the wall, your shoulders blend into an enormous woven tapestry as you make an attempt to conceal yourself even more against its pattern. There are too many people – or demons, you suppose – for you to feel safe even with your Watcher spell making you undetectable. Your heart pounds as you look around, observing the space. 

The ceiling vanishes above you into darkness just as it had in Hell’s lobby, but here there’s at least a hint of architecture. Something sort of Gothic, sort of Art Nouveau which adds an odd bit of whimsy to the otherwise imposing aura. Columns span the length of the room, leading your eye toward the apse – a semicircular space at the far end of the room, the ceiling ribbed and vaulted. The back curved wall of the apse is more window than wall, and it reminds you of something you might have seen in a Church before, although it’s much more dark and whimsical than the structured beauty of a Church’s stained glass window. It has an organic feel to it, like the wall is covered in vines that have grown around irregularly shaped black windows. 

You try not to imagine those windows as eyes, but it’s difficult to do. You feel as if you’re being observed. 

Seated there above it all, doing nothing to help the feeling of being watched, is the Queen’s throne. The high seat is housed in the apse, and you’ve seen it before.

Her throne is exactly as you’d pictured it in your dreams. Massive. An unscalable monolith, carved of black stone that reflects torchlight from the walls, thin trails of liquid darkness seep from unknown pores in the throne, and although you can’t see the base of the throne at the moment due to the throng of of demons in the way, you know that black liquid is dripping down into the black pool the throne rises from. You’d dreamed it exactly like this. 

And also like your dreams, seated atop the throne is the Queen herself, veiled in shadow.

All you can see of her are her hands, which are clawed and deformed. Her twisted long fingers are pale as bone until they taper at the tips into black points which she taps against the arms of her throne. Her voice is a rasp, reminiscent of dry leaves rattling against each other, like bare branches snapping in a strong breeze, and an underlying tone of train wheels screeching on the track. Whatever language she’s speaking in, you can’t understand it, although the demons around you certainly seem to.

They cheer at whatever it is that she’s rasping in her unholy voice.

A demon rises up above the crowd on stilt-like legs, pronouncing something that you still can’t understand. A few others respond, and the Queen laughs – her voice echoes sharply around the room, bounced back at you by all the hard stone. 

And then you hear the rattle of chains. An eerie clinking.

You need to get closer.

Even sticking to the edges of the throne room, skirting the gathered court, you narrowly avoid detection. There are guards stationed along the walls, as well as court members whose presences overflow even beyond their physical forms – similar to Johnny back on Ira’s island, with his shadows that reach beyond himself. 

At one point, you swear one of the demons turns its head to look in your direction, but it can’t see through your Watcher magic, so it turns back to face the Queen.

You keep moving until you reach the front of the crowd, until you can see the black pool beneath the throne. Heavy chains in the dark water, just like your dreams. But unlike your dreams, the chains aren’t looped around the limbs of your boyfriends. Now the chains lie limp in the water, empty.

You’re not sure if you feel relief or some other unnamed combination of fear and horror and frustration.

If they’re not here, like they had been in your dream, then where are they?

Are they hiding on the other side of the throne? Perhaps they’re just not visible from your vantage point here, and if you could just squeeze through the crowd….

It’s easier said than done.

More than once, one of the demons bumps into you, which shouldn’t be possible unless your undetectability is wearing off. Luckily, those that bump into you seem to think they’ve just bumped into another demon in the crowd with them, and they brush it off, but each time it happens you curl in a little tighter on yourself, pushing onward.

And then someone steps directly into your path, and you pull up short. 

Another demon stands slightly behind the first, reaching up to adjust the collar of the first demon’s jacket, to brush nonexistent lint from the demon’s shoulders. 

“Stop,” the demon hisses. 

The second demon drops his hands from the other’s shoulders, murmuring a quiet, “Yes, my Prince.”

A Prince of Hell. 

Ten and Yuta had once briefly mentioned the Princes to you in passing. The five Princes of Hell mostly kept to themselves, although both of your boyfriends had met them a few times. 

The Prince standing before you is very handsome. Dark reddish brown hair curls around his ears. His eyes glow a deep red as he turns to look over his shoulder at what must surely be a servant. 

Suddenly, another demon shoulders his way forward through the crowd. He’s taller than the first Prince, his hair a smooth ebony encircled by a crown of obsidian. 

“Kun,” he says, “We missed you.”

Prince Kun — the first Prince — turns to his brother. “Mother had me handling some business.” He faces the Queen, listening intently as she continues speaking her demonic tongue. “Hendery, don’t you ever wonder why she tries to keep us separate from our people? It’s only times like these she allows us among them, and even then she wants us to be kept apart. To be just simply out on display.” 

Hendery’s head turns slightly, and you follow his gaze to a small dais off to the side. Three other Princes sit there on thrones carved of dark stone, looking bored. 

“You know why,” Hendery answers. “It’s to keep us safe.”

When Kun looks at his younger brother, his eyes seem to flare a shade brighter. “If we’re never among our people, how can they ever hope to know us? How are we to ever understand them? And if they don’t know us and we don’t know them, what hope do any of us ever have of ruling them?”

His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides. Hendery only gives his brother a look of mild confusion. 

“Sometimes, Hendery, I think that Mother never plans to pass the throne on.” Kun’s voice has lowered to the point that you need to strain to hear it, meant only for his brother’s ears. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll have to steal it from her so I can fulfill my destiny as King.”

“Don’t say that.” There’s now a tick in Hendery’s jaw. 

“I’ve made it clear how I feel in the past about Mother’s rule, the changes and improvements I will make when I’m King. Don’t act like this is anything new.” Kun turns to face his brother, and you spot other demons in the crowd casting sideways glances at their two Princes. 

A third Prince, this one with silver hair and a light and bright expression, appears and throws his arms around the shoulders of his brothers. “Come, brothers. Let’s go sit. Mom says there’s a feast after her speech.”

Unwilling to continue their argument in front of their younger brother, both Kun and Hendery drop it. They carve a path through the crowd on the way back to the dais. You take the opportunity created in their wake, and you make your way clear through the crowd, following them although you don’t plan to reach their thrones with them. 

Instead, once you reach the edge of the Queen of the Night's audience, you turn your attention again to the pool at the base of her throne and the chains rusting in the liquid. 

On this side of the throne room, you can see that the pool of water trails away toward the sides of the room, trickling through a grated section at the back of the apse. There are more chains scattered throughout the water, all of them empty. Well, mostly empty. You try not to look too closely as you catch a pearly gleam of bones tangled in one of the lengths of chain. 

There’s a narrow strip of raised stone along the edge of the room just below where some of the chains are bolted into the walls. The dark water swirls, a light current keeping it moving on the way toward those grates in the back. 

High above you on the throne, the Queen’s voice still echoes out over her people. As you’re still invisible and unable to understand what the Queen of the Night is saying, you decide to take the opportunity to explore the apse.

The narrow pathway is just wide enough for you to fit without touching the water. Every few feet as you shuffle along it, you glance backwards.

All of the demons are still gazing upwards at their Queen. The dais of Princes are the only ones who aren’t devoting all of their attention to her. Kun is sitting on his throne, his left ankle resting on his knee as he disinterestedly picks at his nails. The dark-haired Hendery keeps casting glances at his elder brother. The young silver-haired prince is distractedly stroking the backs of the phantom shadow cats that twine around his ankles and stand on his shoulders and rest on the arms of his throne; as you watch, one stretches up to place its paws on his chest and rub its shadowy head beneath his chin. 

There are two other Princes sitting there, both of them with their heads bowed together in quiet conversation, although they appear to be joking around, judging by the barely suppressed laughter. One of them looks as if he’s part-bat – large membranous wings are tucked behind him. His wings are dark and angular, although the webbing is thin and paler in color. He’s very handsome, despite the bat wings and the vicious blood red color of his eyes. His hair is a deep, dark brown color, parted precisely down the middle, and two sections of his bangs fall down to perfectly frame his face.

The last Prince is round-faced, pale, and very relaxed. He’s handsome as well, although at this point you’re half-certain that being extremely handsome is a demonic condition. His jaw is so strong, his eyes gleam with mirth as he whispers with his brother. He exudes a sense of casualness, a very go-with-the-flow vibe that immediately puts you at ease even as you’re sneaking around behind his mother’s throne.

Perhaps it puts you a little too at ease.

Upon your next step, your foot slips.

Your toes dip into the water, and to your surprise, a few shallow ripples spread out over the surface of the dark liquid.

You dart a glance toward the high throne, toward the crowd, and to the Princes. 

Prince Kun has turned to look in your direction, his eyebrows furrowed together as he scans the shadows where you hide. You hope that your spell of undetectability, which is clearly beginning to wear off, stands up beneath the Prince’s scrutiny. His eyes narrow, focusing on the back section of the apse, but after another moment, he blinks and returns to his nails.

Moving forward, you go more carefully.

You’re not sure exactly what you expect to find back here. Maybe it’s something about those dark eye-like windows staring down at you, but you feel drawn into the shadows at the back of the apse, to the place where you can hear the dark water trickling and tink tink tinking down through the grate. 

When you reach the end of the stone edging, you’re right there upon the grating.

There’s an odd swoop in your belly as you take the first step onto the drain. Maybe it’s because it’s not a solid surface, and you halfway expect the thin bars to give way beneath your weight. But they hold and you take another step and another, making your way to the very back of the apse. 

There’s a doorway.

The door is recessed, half hidden in the shadows between intricate carvings, a leering gargoyle with wings like the Prince back on the dais. 

Of course, the strange pull you’re feeling is guiding you towards that doorway. 

You take a step towards the doorway, and as you do, the gargoyle moves.

A flutter of its wings. A shake of its head. 

It turns away from you, its ears tilting like dog ears do when they’re listening for something. You hold your breath, pleading with the universe to let your undetectability hold for just a little longer. You walk lightly, quietly, without breathing, and you slip right by the gargoyle, into the recessed doorway.

A yawning mouth opens before you. 

Almost literally.

The doorway has stalactites hanging from the top like jagged teeth. A cool draft plays with your hair as it breathes by you from the dark maw beyond the doorway. The air is damp, carrying with it the smell of mildew and sulfur. 

The knot in your belly tightens, rising in your throat as you whisper another helpful spell Ira’s books had taught you. Nightvision. 

Although the path had been pitch black a moment before, the way before you suddenly blooms in color. The night vision provided by the spell isn’t quite like what you thought counted as night vision in your old life. It’s not all green and black, like you’d seen in movies and on TV. Everything is just… glowy. Like there is an ambient faint light source providing just enough light that you can see the cracks in the stones on the floor and the walls. You can see where a few feet ahead of you the path becomes stairs diving down into the unknown. 

You take those stairs carefully, trying not to slip on the damp, slick stone where it’s been worn smooth by use over the eons. 

Down and down and down deeper you wind, until at last you reach the bottom, only to find a barred door padlocked shut. You’re surprised that you can see a little bit better through the barred window of the door, and as you peer into the dark, you think the increased visibility is due to a faint light source from high above; you can hear a soft trickle, and you realize that the light and the water sound is likely coming from the drain grate high overhead. 

You can see little else than some rough rocks – large boulder-like monoliths that glisten wetly. You think for a moment that you hear the rattle of a chain, but then there’s nothing. No movement, no sound. What if you’ve come all the way down here, and this is just the chamber where the Queen of the Night keeps some horrid, monstrous pet? 

But still, there’s a weight in your belly, a magnetic pull that swoops as you step right up to the bars of the door, as you curl your hands around the bar and press your face between the gap, trying to get a better look around even as the rusty texture of the bars scrapes against your cheeks.

High above you, there’s a distant roar. It takes a moment for you to realize it’s the clamor of the crowd gathered before the Queen. They’re cheering about something. Thunder rumbles overhead, and you swear a few pebbles dislodge from the faraway ceiling, shaken loose by the drumbeats of footsteps in celebration as the demons continue their rallying.

Again, you hear movement. A chain’s rattle. The quiet echo of a single footstep followed by a quiet incomprehensible murmur.

Your heart thuds a beat harder.

You reach for the padlock, and without waiting, without thinking about if this is a terrible idea that you’ll come to regret, you reach below your surface for the fire that’s always there. 

Demon fire bursts to life in your hand, glowing white-hot and then flaring blue at the core of your hand, wrapped around the padlock until the metal softens and then melts, dripping to the floor like small drops of starlight.

The cell door groans slightly as your luminous hand pushes at it, melting the metal even as it swings open on rusty hinges. 

In the light given off by your skin, you can see what you hadn’t been able to before.

At first you think it is a statue, as still as it is with its face upturned to the light and sound above. Then, you realize it’s another gargoyle. 

Ram’s horns curl from the sides of his head, clawed feet and fingers of abnormal length. He stands nude with his back to you, and where you would imagine wings would jut from his shoulders, there are instead cracked lines in the shape of wings stretching from the nape of his neck down to his tailbone. At his feet another gargoyle kneels, also nude with wings etched into his back, a tail curls over his thigh, shaggy hair reaches almost to his shoulders, and two sharp horns rise from the top of his head, curving slightly forward.

It’s only when the one standing turns his head that you gasp.

The eyes are sunken in shadow. The face is gaunt and pale.

But you would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Yuta,” you choke out, tears rising to your eyes as you stumble forward. 

The kneeling one lifts his head at the sound of your voice, his eyes striking against your soul. 

“Ten?” You collapse on your knees in front of them both. 

Now that you’re closer you can see the manacles on their ankles, the chains stretching back towards the wall. You reach for Ten’s face first, your palms gentle as you touch his sharp, unfamiliar bone structure. “What happened to you?”

Ten turns his head, unable to meet your gaze. 

“Are you really here?” Yuta rasps, his voice dry and rattling in his chest. “How are you here? Did she find you?”

You tug on Ten’s chin, turning his face back towards yours. He meets your eyes once briefly before looking at the floor again – they’re the yellow cat eyes that he used to flash at you on occasion. You stroke his cheek tenderly; he might not look how he did the last time you saw him, but that doesn’t change anything. 

“No, she didn’t find me,” You answer Yuta, “Renjun got us out of the House of the Watchers; he got us safely to my father,” you tell them. 

Ten lifts his head, his eyes bright. “He did?”

Your heart warms in your chest when he looks into your eyes. “Yes. And the first thing I made my father promise was that we would come rescue you. Now here I am, and I’m getting you out of here, bringing you to safety under my father’s protection.” You rise to your feet again.

Yuta shifts towards you, and when you reach for him, he stops you with his fingers light on your wrist. “My love, you can’t.”

You jerk your hand away from his hold. “What do you mean ‘I can’t?’ What can’t I do?”

With a clanking sound, Ten stands as well. 

“You can’t break us out of here,” Ten explains softly. “We’re bound here by the Queen’s law. And if she finds you here, she’s going to destroy you.” Now he lays his hand on your cheek, just as gentle as you’d been with him.

“Fuck that. I can save you both. I didn’t come all of this way, sneaking out of my father’s place, finding my way to Hell’s entrance, and sneaking in here all alone just to find you and not save you. Why would I give up so easily?” You take a half step back, looking between your boyfriends. You haven’t even properly had the time to rejoice in finding them, and they’re trying to drown your mood with this dark pessimism?

Yuta shakes his head. “For the moment, we’re going to ignore that you just said you’re here alone, which is insane. You don't understand. You can’t break us out. We’re chained in here. We’ve never seen a key, and these chains are impervious to everything we’ve tried, which isn’t too much honestly because all that’s down here is rocks. We can’t even really use magic because demon magic doesn’t work well within the walls of this chamber; trust me, we’ve tried. 

“For weeks, each of us has tried time and again to get a message out to you, to contact you in some way or see you through a veil. We tried to build a binding connection between ourselves and you so maybe we could pass a message along, show you how to find us. A few weeks ago, Ten thought he was almost successful at opening a tiny window, but all we saw was starlit darkness and a tall light blazing in the distance.” 

You remember that night on the island when you and WinWin and Renjun sat on the porch. You thought you’d seen something in the distance. A blip of something. A light, maybe. Could that have been them? 

“Trying to reach you has taken all of what natural energy remained; it’s why we look like this. Our true forms.” Yuta holds his arms out so you can see all of him bared in the light from above. “How can you still want us when we look like this?”

You scoff. “Seriously? You think I’m so shallow that I care what you look like right now? I love you both. I have fought my way through Hell and high water – literally – to get here. And I’m not going to pretend, but I’m honestly a little distracted and turned on by the sight of Ten’s dick right now. So yeah, I still want you now.” You cast a small glance between Ten’s legs where there’s an actual goddamned forked penis. “Which I was right about your dick, Ten, and you lied, I’d just like to point out.”

For the first time in too long, you see a ghost of Ten’s smile. Before you first had sex, he’d told you that he definitely didn’t have a forked penis or a tail or horns; but now you’re seeing the real him, and it turns out he’s actually got all three.

“And as for the chains, I’m sure I can find a way to break them.” You take a step back, looking down at the chains and manacles keeping them prisoner down here. “I just need to think.”

Overhead, the sound of the Queen and the crowd pours down through the grate. 

“What’s going on up there, anyway?” You ask, crouching to get a closer look at the manacle on Yuta’s ankle.

Silence is the only answer you receive until you look up.

Both of your boyfriends look down at you. You ask, “What?”

Ten looks at Yuta. “Just tell her.”

Yuta sighs. “A trial. The Queen and the Princes and all of the court are up there, right? She only does that for a big trial.” He pauses, lifting a hand up to touch one of his ram’s horns. “Specifically, this is our trial. Although, it’s as much a trial as the one the Watcher’s were going to give us. Our Queen seeks the death penalty for our disobedience and disloyalty; and who among her court and sons are going to tell her no?”

Immediately, the red-haired Prince Kun appears in your mind. But that’s unimportant right now. What is important is breaking these chains. Once you break them, you’ll nearly be done with the rescue.

You grab Yuta’s chain in both hands, and you pull, putting all of your strength and reaching down into that well of power within you to summon your fire. 

Nothing.

“Told you,” Ten says, “Demon powers don’t work in here. If they did, we’d have prettied ourselves up for you, and burned our way out of here forever ago.”

Yuta clucks softly. “We appreciate it, my love, but the trial sounds pretty decided up there. You should leave while you can.”

Both of them flinch at the loud, jarring sound of the chain smacking against the floor as you throw it down and stand up. You’re not anywhere near tall enough to come nose-to-nose with Yuta when he’s in his pure demon form, but you do your best. 

“I’m not leaving you. You’re both absolute idiots if you think I’m going anywhere without you now.” You spin around, turning your back to the both of them as you think. You close your eyes, trying to picture everything that you’ve read and learned and plotted back on Ira’s island. Surely someone in all the planning had come up with something about how to actually break them out. Surely not all of your plans had relied on magic? 

You should’ve brought a crowbar. Would a crowbar help, though? Surely there are tools that would help in this situation that you could’ve toted through your journey to Hell? You should’ve brought a blowtorch or something. 

Ten actually laughs when you say that aloud.

You glare at him. 

“What? I’m just imagining you busting in here with a whole blowtorch, the welder mask, a fuel cylinder, and an oxygen cylinder strapped to your back.” Ten laughs again.

“I wouldn’t need all of that if I’d thought ahead. I could’ve just manifested something that works like it’s got all of that, but it could be small and portable, able to just fit in my hand.” You frown. You’ve created original things before; objects that you’d imagined up and wanted in your apartment in Hell City. You could create whatever you wanted there, in the House of the Watchers, on Ira’s island – shit, you’d even created your own miniature solar system.

Oh.

You’d created your own stars and moons and planets before. 

That hadn’t been just basic manifestation, Ira had assured you when you brought it up one day. That was the Watcher magic that made that possible. Being a Watcher meant that you had the power of creation. It was completely separate from your demon magic. 

You drop to your knees again at the feet of your boyfriends. When you cup your hands together and close your eyes, Ten makes a noise of confusion.

“What are you doing? We told you already that–” He starts, but you cut him off with a quick shh.

Yuta and Ten watch as you dip into your well of power again, and this time you dig deeper, searching for the warm glow of your Watcher powers, focusing on bringing it all together into your hands. You can feel the moment it begins to work, when you feel heat pooling in your palms, when the buzzing in your mind becomes the quiet whispering of thermal energy eating the air, radiant light glowing through your eyelids.

“Maybe you should both look away,” you advise, and you can almost feel the power on your tongue and lips. You can feel the shift of power as the miniature white star takes form in your hands, as you have to keep your mind focused to control it. The star hisses in the damp air, sending up spirals of steam as you move carefully, bringing it closer to Ten’s chain.

When the star meets the chain, it’s a similar effect to your fiery hand encircling the padlock to the cell. Gobs of molten metal drip to the floor as the star liquefies the chain.

Ten gasps when the strain disappears from his ankle. 

Without another moment wasted, you move to Yuta’s bond, melting through his chain just as quickly. As soon as what remains of Yuta’s tether hits the floor, you sink back on your heels, let your hands fall apart, and you focus on dissipating the star safely, cooling it until it sinks, just a perfectly round black pebble resting in the center of your palm.

Again, there is cheering from far above you, and then the cry of the Queen’s voice in one final declaration.

Ten and Yuta look at each other.

“What?” You ask, rising to your feet once again. You slip the dead star into your pocket. “What’s happening up there?”

Ten swallows hard. Yuta shakes his head. 

“It’s over.” Yuta looks at you. “The trial, I mean. She just cried out ‘Death to the disloyal.’”

Your heart does something very strange – it stops beating or beats harder or just simply jerks in your chest – whatever it is, you gasp, clutching at your chest. This can’t happen. You won’t let it. You didn’t come all this way, do all of these things, create a whole fucking white dwarf star to cut your boyfriends free only to have them give up because some fucking Queen up there decided that they should die. 

No. 

You won’t let them.

“You’re not dying today,” you command them. “I refuse to let that happen. We’re leaving. Fuck the Queen. There’s got to be some way out of here that won’t take us back up into the throne room.”

After a moment of uncertainty, Ten looks at you and Yuta. “Well, there is one thing I think we could try.”

Yuta nods. “Then let’s go.”

You try not to look too closely as your boyfriends begin moving. Since you’ve never seen them in their true demon forms before, you’ve never seen them moving, and it’s mildly disturbing honestly. Yuta has backwards knees like an animal, so each step he takes, his knees bend the opposite way that you’re used to seeing. Ten just seems to float a couple inches off the ground. With the horns and the tail and the deep scars down their backs, it feels entirely new to look at them, and you’re beyond grateful when Ten takes the first step through the doorway of their prison and immediately the version of him that you’re used to snaps into place. 

As soon as Yuta follows Ten out, he resumes his usual appearance as well. But you don’t have time to stand there and admire them. Each of them pulls together some semblance of clothing that seems to knit itself from the damp shadows around the edges of the room, covering up their nudity.

“Come on,” Ten whispers, and he glances up the long staircase that leads up to the throne room. 

Darkness puddles in the space under the staircase, and to your surprise, that’s where Ten leads you and Yuta. “I used to explore the palace when I was skipping out on guard duty,” Ten explains in a whisper, “I found plenty of the secret passages and trapdoors and all sorts of secret things. And there’s one that comes out right back here.”

In the dim light, you watch Ten feel along the stone wall until finally his fingers catch in the gap between one stone and the next. There’s a faint click, and then with a grinding sound, a door slides inward to reveal a dark passage within. 

Ten steps in first, then you, and Yuta takes up the end. Once the door swings closed behind you, the tunnel is plunged into darkness. 

You bring a tiny white star to life again in your hands, and for a brief moment you see Ten and Yuta’s faces. You don’t have time to admire them, to actually rejoice in the reunion with your soulmates. You can feel it in the air, in the stones, in the tense set of Ten’s shoulders as he turns and walks away: you’re short on time. 

“Go on, my love.” Yuta’s hand is light against your lower back. “Keep up.”

The tunnel is long and dark, cool and damp. It branches off a few times, it narrows and the ceiling drops to the point that all three of you must crawl on your hands and knees to pass through to a section with a little more height. But Ten seems to know where he’s going, and with the help of your little light and Yuta’s warm hand occasionally reminding you of his presence behind you, you steadily make your way forward. 

“Where are we going?” You ask after several long minutes. 

“There are three exits from Hell,” Ten explains in a whisper. “The first is the entrance, although it’s a little more difficult to leave that way since we’d be going against the flow of souls. The second is the way the Queen brought Yuta and I in; she’s in possession of a mirror that acts as a portal, and that’s how she usually dispatched us on important missions as it’s the most private method of exit.” 

He pauses then at a fork in the path. 

“And the last one?” You ask, stepping up beside him. 

There’s a draft coming from the pathway to the left, but there’s almost a pull trying to guide you down the one on the right. You can see a faint light rightwards, perhaps a little sound of music that makes you want to dance.

“What’s that way?” You take a step ahead, face turned towards the music and the light

Ten and Yuta each grasp one of your wrists. 

“No,” Yuta rasps, “Not that way.”

Again, you feel the draft on your left cheek. The air has a breath of something sweet, something that reminds you of autumn. 

“This way.” Ten takes the lead again, and neither of them releases their hold on your wrists. “This way is the third exit option. It’s the one we’re taking.”

The path toward the light had curved deeper down into Hell, but you realize that the autumn path is leading slightly upward, the incline causing a slight burn in your calves and your breathing comes out harder than you expected as the path grows steeper and steeper until eventually you’re basically facing a wall.

Far above you, you see a light. But in between that light and the three of you down here at the bottom of this wall are about a hundred rungs of a ladder carved into the stone. 

Ten starts climbing, and you have no choice but to follow. You’ve made it up about maybe twenty rungs before your arms start burning, unused to working like this. You wish that you were able to give yourself fully functioning wings so you could fly the rest of the way out of here, but instead you double-down your focus, breathe, and keep climbing.

You barely even notice when Ten disappears from a few rungs above you. It’s only when you reach for the next rung of the ladder and find your hand placed into Ten’s instead, that you realize you’ve reached the top. He hauls you up to your feet on solid ground, and you grip onto his arm as you look around.

You’ve emerged from what is basically a crack in the wall. There’s a crumbling bit of pathway directly in front of you that extends to your left where it eventually joins with a well-kept path. 

The realm opens up in front of you in a cavernous space. Curved bridges arc over canyons you can see down into. Fires of all colors illuminate the paths and bridges and buildings. It’s still rocky, still everything has the cast of the red-brown dirt that made up the tunnels and the entryway, but it’s so much more open than you were expecting it to be. 

Behind you, Yuta clambers up through the crack, joining you and Ten.

“That’s where we’re going,” Ten says, pointing ahead. 

From here, you can’t really tell what it is that he’s pointing at other than a bridge that leads to a floating platform of stone that branches off into four more bridges. 

Off in the distance, you hear a loud, angry cry.

Yuta’s face pales. “That’s her. She must have realized we’ve gone.”

“We don’t have long, then.” Ten grabs your hand.

You run. The three of you fly along the path, scree kicked over the edge to tumble down into the abyss below. You reach the first bridge, and you try your best to not look over the side; you don’t really want to see how far the canyon goes down, nor do you want to see what might exist at the bottom of it. Luckily, with Ten’s hand still firm around yours, you don’t have the time to worry either about what would happen if you slipped. Ten runs quickly and smoothly, and you have no choice but to keep up with him, Yuta sticking behind you like your shadow. 

You fly over the platform, taking another bridge that shoots you off in another direction, and now you can better see that there are many bridges and deep crevasses all over the place. A wary peek shows you that Hell continues beneath you in many layers – bridges connect islands of stone suspended in the canyons, and you can see the true fires of Hell burning deep below. There are stairs and ramps that lead down below, and you realize you’re just at the top of Hell.

There are buildings here on occasion. You pass a bridge and find yourself jogging down a street with buildings on either side and lampposts giving off a flickering red light. You pass by what could be a park perhaps with grotesque statues and benches and what you’re almost positive is a sand volleyball court. 

Each time you think that you must finally be approaching the spot Ten said would be the exit, he keeps going. Yuta keeps up a steady pace behind you. 

“Aren’t we almost there? How big is Hell, anyway?” You gasp when Ten suddenly jerks your arm, dragging you along another new bridge. Surely you must be getting close because you can see another great wall of stone looming out of the darkness before you, much like the one you’d climbed out of what feels like forever ago. 

“Almost there,” Yuta says from behind you. “And it’s damn near infinite, but that’s when you go downwards.”

Again, you try not to look too hard at what extends beneath you. Instead you focus on what’s ahead. 

This bridge leads to a grove of sorts. Trees made of shiny black stone cling to the edges of this stone island, their roots dangling over the edge, dipping out through the seemingly solid stone they grow from. It must be solid enough to hold the whole weight of this grove of obsidian trees. Their leaves shimmer and shiver in a nonexistent breeze, changing between moonsilver and steel, like blades. You scan the branches as the three of you jog along a cleared path, half-expecting to find nothing, but also hoping to see some little creatures in the branches — birds or squirrels, insects or bats even. 

A fork in the path through the dark trees presents you the choice between a small bridge over a crack through which the level of Hell beneath you is visible before it curves out across the open space to another area of Hell, or you can choose a path that winds deeper into the forest. 

Ten, of course, drags you towards the left branch, deeper into the trees. 

You do hear something above you in the branches. It snaps a branch in one tree before landing in another. But even when you look up, you can’t tell what it is. You can only see the silvery leaves fluttering down towards you, although they vanish in a puff of smoke before they reach you. 

And Yuta swears viciously behind you. Ten forces you to run faster. 

And then you hear voices. 

Sibilant whispers through the trees. A cackle of laughter. 

Up ahead there is a glimmer through the trees, as of a handheld light swinging. The volume of the voices increases, still just incomprehensible whispers. 

Ten breaks from the path, branches tear along your arm, tugging at your clothes and your hair. One twig burns across your cheek. The light continues swinging through the trees, and you find yourself rushing forward to meet it. 

And then there you are. 

Ten comes to a complete stop. You crash into his back, and he reaches back to steady you. Yuta steps around you, moving so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with Ten, both of them acting as a barrier between you and what lies ahead. 

At first you think it is just a small, empty clearing. 

But then you see the truth. 

A black pool of liquid sits restlessly in the center of the clearing, the surface of it is choppy and bubbling, a gray mist hovers above the surface. A hook beside the pool holds one lantern, casting light down on the pool’s surface, but another light is held by a demon that stands among his peers at the edge of the pool. 

They all turn to look at the three of you. 

“Ah,” drawls Prince Kun, drawing himself up straight. “There you are.”

His gaze passes casually over your boyfriends before settling on you. He lingers, cocking his head slightly to the side, the look of an intelligent predator glowing in his eyes. At his sides, his brothers shift on their feet, sizing up Ten and Yuta and, to a lesser extent, you. 

“Move out of the way, Kun,” Yuta hisses. “We just want to be free, not to hurt you or your brothers.”

“Well, Mother just wants to put you to death.” One of the younger Princes steps forward. “So who are we to stop her from that? We’re just here to stall you until she can arrive.”

“Chenle!” Prince Hendery hisses at the young Prince, jabbing him with his elbow. 

Prince Kun glances at his younger brothers, then back at you. “Forgive my brother. He doesn’t truly understand what we’re doing here.”

Yuta curls his hands into fists at his sides. “And what’s that?”

Kun grins, cocky and sly. “We are definitely stalling for Mother to arrive. But not for the reasons he thinks.”

In that moment, you recall Kun’s hushed words in the throne room exchanged between him and Hendery. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll have to steal it from her so I can fulfill my destiny as King,” Kun had said. And here he stands now, posted between you and your freedom, poised with three escapees who will do anything to escape from the Queen’s clutches. 

You lean forward, squeezing between Yuta and Ten. “You’re plotting to involve us in something, aren’t you? You’re the Prince who longs to be King, but as long as your mother sits the throne, that’s not possible. And she doesn’t show any signs of abdicating anytime soon, so you’re thinking a little coup…. A convenient ‘accidental’ death by two death-sentenced fugitives in an escape attempt would do well to insure your placement upon the throne without the eternal wait. Hmm?”

Yuta turns to look at you, Ten squeezes your wrist. But you don’t look away from Prince Kun’s vibrant eyes, suddenly alive with hunger as he grins. 

“You’re smart. I can see why Yuta and Ten like you so much.” He takes a step towards you. “We used to know each other well, your boyfriends and I. They were my personal guard, best of the best up until my mother decided they were too good to be left on my service, and she repurposed them for a more special mission.” 

Again, Yuta and Ten move so they’re blocking you. 

“Don’t worry,” Kun placates them, holding his hands up as he says, “Your girlfriend is right.”

Hendery frowns. Chenle takes a step back, casting quick looks at his other two remaining brothers. 

The silver haired Prince who interrupted conversation earlier in the throne room interrupts again by stepping forward and placing his hand on Kun’s shoulder. “I’m with you,” he agrees. “You know I’m sick of her control. I want some freedom.”

Kun nods. “Thank you, YangYang.”

The final brother, the one who possesses wings like a bat, shakes his wings at that moment. It’s a dry leathery sound that draws every eye in the clearing to him. He looks first at Hendery and Chenle, then says, “Don’t act like you’ve never thought of it. We’ve all been under the thumb of tyranny for too long. Haven’t we longed for freedom too? To be able to take a short trip up to the mortal world just to see it? To feel the wind on our faces? Feel the light of the sun?”

“She’s our mother.” Chenle bristles. 

The brothers turn upon each other then, bickering as they face each other. 

Ten turns his head, his eye catching yours. “The pond,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth. “That is the last exit from here. We just have to get in, keep swimming, and we’ll come out where we’re supposed to.”

You understand that magic. Something you’ve come to understand here is that the lines of magic between Watchers and demons and even with Renjun’s elf magic is that they’re all drawn quite closely together, overlapping in many places. 

“Make a run for it?” Yuta asks. “While they’re distracted?”

And then everything falls quiet. The Princes cease their arguments. The leaves grow still. Whatever small movements you’d heard in the trees earlier stop altogether. The air turns chill and so fragile that you feel as if a single sound could shatter everything. 

She comes from across the clearing, which is one moment empty and then it’s not. She moves silently and smoothly, her long gown dirty at the hem as she passes barefoot over the obsidian soil and detritus of shiny leaves. Her hair hangs free and wild around her shoulders, only a thin gossamer veil hides her face. The air crackles faintly as she moves, the way it does before lightning strikes. 

You stare as the Queen of the Night takes a seat, building herself a glittering black throne of shadow and stone as she lowers herself, trusting in her magic to catch her. . 

 “At last,” she says, her voice a sigh and a rasp, the creak of branches on a stormy night. Even though she wears the veil, which still muddles her features, you can tell she’s got her sights set on you as she continues, “At last we meet, face-to-face, my dear. I’ve waited years for this moment.”

“Mom,” YangYang begins, but the Queen flicks her fingers in his direction, and the young Prince falls silent. 

“Your birth, dear child, was an abomination.” Her words are a hiss. “The fact of your creation is disgusting.” 

You shrink into yourself at her words, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from her. 

“The power held in your bones is enough to transform the world, has anyone told you that?” She leans forward on her throne. “Power enough to feed me for eons if I could just get a taste.”

Yuta firmly steps in front of you, which draws a horrifyingly shrill scale of laughter from the Queen. 

“Oh, Yuta, do you think you could really stop me now? You’re weak, both of you,” she says with a lazy gesture towards Ten. “And her blood belongs to me, it calls to me, like to like.”

A chill climbs your spine. “I’m nothing like you.”

Again, the laughter. 

“Darling,” the Queen tips her head back, her laughter climbing up into the branches of the obsidian trees. “Just because I don’t share the same toxic combination of blood as you, doesn’t mean we’re not still alike.” 

The veil flutters away from her face, folded back over her wild hair by an invisible breeze, and she tilts her face forward again to look at you. 

Your heart free falls through the bottom of your stomach, and you clutch at Yuta and Ten as your knees threaten to buckle. 

The Queen of the Night wears your mother’s face. 

A pleased smile grows on her face at your reaction. “We share blood, my dear. Since learning the truth of your heritage, haven’t you ever wondered why the Queen of demons would spare your mother for her traitorous dalliance with your father? I wouldn’t have done that for anyone, nor would I have offered forgiveness so easily to anyone but my own sister.”

As your shock clears, you see now that her face differs slightly from your mother, but the similarities are certainly there. Her mouth sits a little different, her lips wind a little tighter. She doesn’t have the small mole your mother had beneath her right eye, or the faint scar that cut through her eyebrow. Close but different. Sisters. 

“You still did cause her death, though,” Ten interjects. “You may not have chosen to kill her right away, but you did call for her death, as well as the death of the Watcher.”

The Queen snarls, “I had my reasons, Ten. My sister was set to inherit the throne from our father. She had more power, so she should have been Queen of the Night, but she never wanted it.” The Queen laughs before saying, “She fell pregnant, began losing her powers once the holy seed of that Watcher took root, and she slunk away to the mortal world, glad that she no longer would be forced to the throne. But then she produced you.”

Her gaze is piercing, a blade of black ice straight to your heart. 

“That is the great irony, of course,” she says to you, “Your mother never wanted power, but she gave life to someone more powerful than any demon, than any Watcher. I took the throne from the King before he could make a deal with my sister, and my first aim was to take your life before you could grow up and realize that you have a claim to my throne. But the Watchers sought you out as well because they were afraid and intrigued by the result of a union between our kinds. We fought a war over your cradle, and it was only because your mother possessed such power that we were thwarted time and again until finally we settled on a treatise for peace. 

“You were to be raised in ignorance, never aware of your powers, ignorant of your heritage, of the entire supernatural world that you come from. So long as my sister could keep you unaware of this throne, and of the immensity of power you could have, we weren’t to touch a hair on your little head. My throne would be safe as long as you were blind to its existence, and the Watchers need not worry about your power if you didn’t realize you had it either.” She leers at you, such violence in your eyes that you can tell some part of the Queen – your mother’s own sister – longs to throw herself at you and attack.

To your surprise, it’s the youngest prince that speaks up now. “So what happened, Mother?”

She spares her son a minute glance. “I found a loophole, Chenle. I couldn’t have a living risk to my throne, despite the treaty. I knew the Watchers were surely looking for a way around it as well. Like I said, a half-demon half-Watcher is an abomination. Your mother was my sister, dear,” she addresses you again, “and I loved her dearly. But there was this tiny little loophole in our peace accord that meant you were only safe from us while you were under her protection. So, yes, I called for her death. And for good measure, the death of that Watcher as well.”

The Queen claps her hands, brushing her palms against each other as if ridding herself of dirt. “I sent a small troop of demons after her. They were to dispatch her and the mortal lover she took to help raise you, and once they were both gone, my demons were supposed to locate you as well, to bring you to me.” Her smile goes sharp as she says, “But they returned empty-handed, to my never-ending disappointment, and there was no sign of you. Somehow you were still protected by my sister even after her death. So, I set Yuta and Ten on your trail, and like the loyal bloodhounds they were, they eagerly went in search of you.”

The Princes – your cousins, apparently – all stand there, staring at their mother as she unleashes this story. You’re at least relieved to see that none of them look at her with any approval or admiration. Kun actually looks more angry and more determined than he did before.

“Raging cunt,” Yuta whispers under his breath. 

The Queen looks at him, her mouth twisting in a tight smile. “I wanted them to bring me your heart. But strangely their loyalty wavered as soon as they met you, and they hid you in Hell City, knowing that I couldn’t go there myself. Of course, them hiding you from me only made me want you more. Originally, I planned to only consume your power, and send you back to the mortal world to live your sad, plain mortal life.”

You can’t imagine going back to your life before. You’ve tried that once already since having your eyes opened to this world, and you couldn’t do it. She would have to erase all of your memories of this — of Ten, Yuta, WinWin, and Mark; of the Watchers and demons; of everyone and everything that has transformed your life over the last several months. 

You do not want that. 

Not that you’d be willing to give her your power regardless. You’ve barely met her, but judging by the hate her own sons feel towards her, you doubt she would do any good with the powers she would steal from you. 

“Now that they’ve betrayed me,” the Queen continues, “I have to show some punishment in return, do I not? No longer do I long just to punish Ten and Yuta with their own demise, nor to satisfy myself with your power and sending you merrily on your way. Now that you’ve conveniently dropped yourself into my lap, dear niece…” Her lips curl in a wicked grin, her sharp teeth shine in the light as she declares, “I’m going to eat your heart and make them watch.”

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what Prince Kun was planning. You don’t give a damn if he was going to end his mother quickly or brutally unleash years of pent up rage on her.

All you know in that moment is that Yuta and Ten both lunge for the Queen. And you are filled with a white-hot rage that your physical body simply can’t contain – the inferno breaks through the barrier of your skin, and you can see yourself reflected in the black mirror of the Queen’s eyes.

In that moment you are more demon than anything else, just a raging inferno incarnate, hurtling at the Queen. 

Her sons stand frozen, watching. 

Yuta and Ten fall back, at your sides like two wings of shadow as you fly across the clearing, and the Watcher part of you pulls together your flames into the shape of a fiery blade, casting you in its golden light, painting you as a vision of a vengeful angel.

The Queen’s eyes widen, but her lips curl in an awed smile — full of terror and delight as you come soaring towards her — even at the very moment that you swing your blade, as it connects with her throat. 

Her wicked head separates from the rest of her unholy body.

Her smile doesn’t falter even as her head falls from her shoulders, her tangled hair twisting over her face as her head rolls across the floor of the clearing.

One of the Princes cries out, another turns and you hear him vomiting into the grass.

You point the tip of your fiery blade at the corpse of your mother’s sister, the Queen of the Night. A twisted, dark part of you considers cutting open her chest, pulling out her heart, and eating it in front of her sons much like she had wanted to do to you. But you restrain yourself, satisfying the urge by simply touching the tip of the blade to her body and watching it engulf her in flames.

A hand falls on your shoulder as you watch the body burn.

“That’s enough, my love.” Yuta’s voice is gentle, placating, trying to get you to draw back into yourself because you’re still masquerading as a vengeful angel, wreathed in dancing flames.

Ten reaches for your hand that isn’t clutching the sword. “Come back to us, darling.”

You’re not sure whether you drop the sword or if it just simply vanishes from your grip, but your hand is empty as you lift it to Ten’s face. His eyes flutter shut as you brush the backs of your still-afire fingers against his cheek. His fingers trace up your burning skin from the bend of your elbow up to the softness of your inner wrist, and when his fingertips connect in a loop around your wrist, Ten opens his eyes as he turns his head and sighs over your skin.

His breath is a gentle wave, extinguishing your flames in a domino effect beginning with your fingertips and spreading everywhere until you stand as normal before them. A little smokier and charred than usual perhaps, but otherwise normal. Your clothes seem to have barely survived your personal inferno.

Beside you, Prince Kun clears his throat.

Ten drops his hold on your wrist, but he doesn’t let go of your other hand, nor does Yuta release your shoulder. 

Kun’s brothers are gone from the clearing, save Prince YangYang who lingers at the mouth of the path, looking back at you and his eldest brother, although you can tell he’s determinedly not looking at what remains of his mother – her head and the smoking lump that used to be her body. 

“Can I have a moment alone with the Prince… or King?” You ask your boyfriends. You’re looking at Kun, but he’s not looking at you. 

Yuta squeezes your shoulder and takes a step back, but when Ten lingers, Yuta has to take him by the hand and pull him away to the other end of the clearing. YangYang disappears too, leaving just you and Kun and the dead Queen.

“Well, that’s done,” Kun sighs after a few moments. He lifts his gaze from the corpse, and to your surprise, he offers you his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, cousin. She never told us that’s what you were to us. Actually, I’m not entirely sure how much my younger brothers knew of her hunt for you.” 

You look over at the path down which YangYang disappeared. “I know this is along the lines of what you wanted, Prince Kun. But what of your brothers? They may have agreed to having her off the throne, but was this too much?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know how they thought it was going to happen. But once she started threatening you, I could see where it was going. Honestly,” Kun says, nudging his mother’s disembodied head with the toe of his shiny shoe, “I don’t know what she thought would happen. As if you were just going to peacefully give yourself up and let your lovers watch you be eaten by her?” He scoffs and turns away from the smoking remains of the former Queen of the Night. “You should leave, cousin. Now, before the realm realizes what you’ve done. There’s deeply-rooted demon magic in this place, and if you don’t hurry, I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it out.”

Your first thought is his brothers – that they’ll turn on you and sic the demon army and all sorts of horrible beasts after you. But Kun quickly clarifies, “Whatever magic was used to build this place knows who is in charge, and if it senses that the Queen was murdered, it might do things to ensure that you don’t escape. It’ll close the exits, set the hellhounds after you. My brothers won’t get involved, don’t worry about that.”

A knot works its way up your throat, drawing tighter and tighter until you force out the question that’s been bothering you. “And what of you, Your Highness? Are you going to pursue justice for your mother after I leave? Am I going to continue being hunted by demonkind for the crimes I’ve committed here, for the power I possess that apparently gives me a claim to a throne that I swear I don’t want?”

Kun smiles and shakes his head. “Trust me, cousin, I don’t give a damn what you do with the rest of your life. Be free. Take Yuta and Ten with you, and be happy. As long as you don’t try to make a bid for my throne, you’re free to live your life in the mortal world or in Purgatory with the other Watchers; you can even visit or live in Hell, I don’t care.”

You know exactly where you want to be. You want to return to Ira’s island, safely with Ten and Yuta in tow. You want to be reunited with WinWin and Mark because although it’s only been a day since you left them behind, it feels like it’s been months. And it’s been even longer since you’ve had all four of your boys together, and you just know that it’s going to feel so good to have them together, all yours.

But now the Queen is out of the way, Kun is telling you that you’re free to go, and the pond that Ten says is the portal back to the surface world is right there. 

You sigh. 

You’ve almost got everything you want.

And then the surface of the pond begins to bubble and slosh over the sides. With a vast cloud of steam that erupts and fills the air with the smell of burnt rubber, the pond dries up entirely.

“Shit,” Kun swears, “That’ll be the deep magic I was telling you about. It’s trying to lock you in.”

Distantly, you hear baying – howling and barking that sends an uncontrollable shiver through your entire body. 

“And that’ll be the hellhounds. As I recall, the alpha Cerberus wasn’t particularly fond of Yuta the last time they encountered each other.” Kun looks past your shoulder towards your boyfriends. “Run. I highly recommend going as fast as you can back to the palace. Ten should know the way to the mirror.”

You turn away, ready to heed Kun’s words as you can already tell the hellhounds are growing closer. 

Kun catches your wrist before you can take two steps. “My last piece of parting advice, if the hellhounds catch up to you… don’t look back. Not even once you’re through the portal.”

You don’t ask why. You don’t linger for another moment as a loud snarl sounds from somewhere along the path across the clearing.

“Let’s go!” Yuta hisses, racing forward to grab your hand.

Ten leads the way, setting out full pelt. Yuta’s fingers stay laced with yours as you sprint back through the obsidian forest, across a bridge, down a crumbling set of stairs to the next level of Hell. The whole time, you can hear the growling of the hellhounds chasing after you, and whether it’s through your own supernatural strength or just pure luck, you manage to keep ahead of them.

Ten winds and wends you through Hell, up and down stairs and through tunnels. At one point he leads you and Yuta to leap over a chasm between two areas, a deep river of magma swirling at an incredible heat beneath you. 

You wish you had the chance to actually look around and explore Hell because from what you can see of it, it truly looks like an interesting place. But any time you slow even slightly to admire the bizarre architecture and landscaping of this realm, you hear the scraping of claws against stone, the panting of the hounds, and Yuta’s grip drags on your hand to speed you along after Ten. 

“When we reach the mirror,” Yuta tells you, his voice shaken with each labored breath, “You’re going first. Ten and I will be behind you to try to fend off the hounds if they follow. We’ll be right behind you.”

“No, I want you two in front of me where I can see you, so I know that we’re all making it out of here.” You try to argue, but that’s pretty hard to do when Yuta’s suddenly jerking you around a sharp corner, Ten’s footsteps slap against the stone ahead of you, and you can see the three of you are rapidly approaching a wall.

Ten skids to a stop, and you watch as he starts touching the wall, running his hands along it at eye-level, searching for a seam. Just as his fingers catch on something that you can’t see, as you hear a faint click and a panel in the wall pops inward slightly, you hear the clatter of tiny pebbles being kicked across the floor and claws scrambling to turn a sharp corner.

You don’t even realize you’ve begun to turn your head towards the sound until Yuta’s palms are warm on your cheeks, keeping your head from facing back. “No, you can’t look at them. That’s how the hounds trap souls that attempt escape. If you look at them, if they look back at you, they’ll capture your soul and you’ll be stuck. Don’t look at them. Follow Ten.”

“Come on!” Ten cries as he holds open the door he’s found, waving you and Yuta forward.

No sooner have you both crossed the threshold than the door slams shut behind you. A split second after that, there’s an immense bang as a heavy body throws itself against the door.

“They might not be able to open this door,” Ten says, “But it’s not going to stop them from finding us for long.”

“Where are we?” The space you’re in is almost entirely black, only a faint glow emanates from small crystals embedded in the walls. 

Yuta answers, “The palace. This is a servant’s entrance to the royal baths.”

Ten snaps his fingers, and a ball of fire appears in his palm, illuminating his face. “I wish that we could take you to the baths, darling. They’re exquisite. Heated by the magma core, so it’s delightfully warm. There’s every scent of every kind of body care you could hope for. When we were in Prince Kun’s service, I admit I spent quite a bit of time in the baths.”

“Too much time enjoying the pleasures of the baths rather than working, if I recall,” Yuta laughs. “And as wonderful as a nice bath sounds right now, shouldn’t you be taking us to the Queen’s mirror? I assume you know some secret, faster way to get there?”

Ten grins. “Like I said earlier, I spent plenty of time exploring the secrets of the palace.” He looks at you, his dark eyes reflecting the light of his flame, the heat of his passion. “I know a shortcut that’ll get us there in no time. And the sooner we’re free and it’s just us, the better. I’ve missed you so much, darling. I fully plan to make up for lost time, and remind Mark and WinWin that we were your lovers first.”

His fingers brush your collarbone where your shirt has been burnt away, and you know there’s probably a hickey or the lasting imprint of Mark’s teeth there. 

Yuta is smiling. “I’m excited to see them, too.”

“Then let’s go. The sooner, the better.”

Ten nods, turns, and begins walking off down the dark tunnel. Behind you, there’s another solid thud against the door, the baying howl of a frustrated hound, and then silence. 

“There’s a main door to the palace not too far from here,” Yuta tells you, “So we’d better hurry before the hounds reach it. I fucking hope Ten knows the secret passages as well as he thinks he does.” He waits for you to take off at a jog before he follows at the same pace, chasing after Ten’s distant flame. 

When you step out into an open chamber, you’re surprised by the stunningly humid air ripe with floral scent until you realize this is the royal baths. The baths have been dug into the floor, and their surfaces give off curls of steam that rise to caress the ceiling, lovingly wrap around you and welcome you in. Iridescent bubbles float from the surface of one bath that smells like cotton candy, and another bath you pass by shimmers like the water is made of molten gold. 

Ten’s light is just a hazy orange glow ahead of you, and you nearly lose sight of him as the steam grows thicker around you and Yuta. Yuta has one hand touching your lower back as you wind carefully through the pools that make up the baths. At one point, in a narrow ledge between two pools, your foot does slip on the slick surface, and it’s only by Yuta quickly grabbing the back of your clothes that you manage to not take a dip in the unnaturally blue water. 

You can feel the humidity threading through your hair, dampening it until it sticks against your face and neck. You’re sure you almost look as if you had actually fallen into the pool, but as you finally draw up next to Ten, you’re pleased to see that he looks the same, and Yuta does as well although he’s raked his fingers through his hair to push it back away from his face. 

“Here,” Ten murmurs, “One of you hold this.”

You offer up your hands, and Ten pours his flame into your palms. 

You’re reminded of the first day you made your own flame, sitting with Ten, his hands warm on yours, his flame passed from his fingertip to yours, the way it had felt like a fluttering heartbeat. Now you feel that way again, and you realize how familiar Ten’s fire feels, like a welcome kiss from your long lost lover. 

You pull your hands towards your chest, longing to press his flame over your heart. 

Ten crouches on the floor in the middle of the room. 

Here, the floor is made up of a million tiny tiles all coming together to make a mosaic image of a figure upon a throne over the burning masses below. An interesting choice of artwork for a relaxing bath space, but whatever, everyone has their own taste in artwork. 

Ten runs his fingers over the tiles, and you watch the colors shift, responding to his touch. Until he reaches the small tiled throne. It glows as his fingers pass over it, and then it transforms into a handle, raised from the floor just an inch or two. 

“Yuta, help,” Ten grunts as he fits his fingers around the handle and attempts to haul open this secret passage’s door. 

Yuta crouches beside him, and you watch in the wavering light of your handheld flame as they both work in tandem to lift open the hatch. 

Ten jumps down, you follow, and Yuta brings up the rear again, dragging the door shut easily as he comes. You pass Ten’s flame back over to his hands so he can lead the way. The passage goes straight for a short distance before it becomes a set of stairs rising upwards. 

You’re surprised you only stumble once or twice as the three of you climb the stairs at a run, though luckily it is only a few flights before Ten shoves against a wall, and it swings outwards.

You run out into a large, beautiful chamber. It’s full of rich reds and golds, marble tiles, a large fur rug that looks as though it comes from a massive beast or many pelts sewn together, heavy furniture and fine fabrics. You look around in awe, trying to catch your breath even as Ten drags you forward by the hand. 

“It’s just over here.” He directs the words over his shoulder. 

Various doors lead out of this room. A large set of double-doors probably lead back out into the rest of the palace, if you had to guess. A smaller set of doors have panes of glass set in them, through which you can make out the dim firelight of Hell, so you assume those doors lead out to a balcony. You’re sure one of the doorways leads to the late-Queen’s bedchamber, another possibly to some kind of an office, and then there’s the small door Ten leads you and Yuta to. 

It’s rather nondescript, nearly blending into the wall itself. 

You’re just a few short feet from it when you hear a sound coming from the other side of the large double-doors. 

Raised voices, panic and heavy footsteps moving rapidly along a corridor outside. And then, amidst the clamor of the guards, the keening howl of hellhounds on the hunt. 

“Fucking shit!” Yuta is right behind you, close enough that you feel the kiss of heat as he summons his flames. “Go, Ten. Get her through the mirror. If they make it through, I’ll hold them off.”

Your arm wrenches painfully as you twist around and plant your feet. Ten is still trying to drag you towards the door that leads to the mirror portal, but you won’t leave Yuta. 

“No, you can’t stay here!” You argue. “Come with us. If we just run, they won’t catch us.”

Yuta’s fire is burning hot enough to distort the air between you with waves. “I’m not staying behind, I swear. Just until you’re through the portal, and I’ll be right behind you.”

No. 

You’re this close.

You reach for him, reaching through the waves of intense heat, and you clasp your hand around his wrist. “Defend our position from inside the room, then. Not from out here.”

There’s a softness in Yuta’s eyes when he’s and your face. His flames dim slightly. “Alright, I guess that works too.”

Ten throws open the small door to the portal room, waving you in first. 

The room on the other side is a small, dirt room. There’s nothing to it — dirt walls, dirt floor, dirt ceiling, a singular torch with its end planted in the ground illuminates the bare room; its light is only intensified by the only decoration: the large gilt mirror that stands tall enough and wide enough to be able to admit two tall men standing abreast of each other. 

Yuta bumps against your back before sliding around you, and then Ten is there too, his hand at your waist as the door to the room clicks shut. 

You can see your image reflected in the mirror — the unwavering image of all three of you standing side by side. 

A knot forms in your throat, but now is not the time to cry. You can do that later when you’re all safe and free back in your father’s little bubble, when you’re reunited with Mark and WinWin as well. 

On the other side of the door, you hear the loud bang of the double-doors being thrown open. Footsteps, the clacking of claws, the whines of the hounds. 

Yuta turns, his flames rising in heat and brightness as he faces the last door between you and the hounds. 

Ten wraps his arm around your waist dragging you along with him towards the mirror. 

As you stand facing the mirror this time, knowing you’re about to travel through it, you hope it goes smoother than the last time. You lift a hand to the surface, and as your fingertips brush along the image, minuscule ripples expand across the mirror. This mirror feels so much more liquid, like actual cool water, no resistance. 

“Go,” Ten urges, “Now. Think of our destination as you pass through, and that’s where this will lead. Go.”

A thud that shakes loose a few clumps of dirt from around the door. You can hear claws scraping against the door, you can see the shadowy movement as one hellhound attempts to dig under the door. The door holds, though it rattles in place. 

“Go,” Ten repeats. 

“I’ll hold them off,” Yuta growls, and his fire is still building. “But you have to get through.”

“I’m right here, right behind you,” Ten keeps his voice gentle, encouraging. “Just step through the portal, my darling.”

He’s holding one of your hands lightly in his own, and you use that hold of his to have him help you balance as you lift a foot to step through the frame. 

Ira’s island, you think, imagining the sight of the lighthouse, of the island, the kitchen, the study, the living room, the cove with the sirens. 

The mirror smoothly drinks you in, wrapping around you like stepping into blessedly cool air conditioning after standing in the disgustingly sticky heat of a humid summer day. A long passage extends before you, which is somewhat different from the mirror journey you experienced with Renjun, but it feels so blessedly cool on this side that you don’t hesitate to keep pulling yourself through the mirror. You pass through until all that remains on the other side is your fingertips pinched between Ten’s, but even then, Ten lets go, and the last of you sinks inside the mirror. 

Ten stands just on the other side, staring at you through a faintly blue tint. 

“Come on,” you say, “Hurry.”

The door into the chamber bursts open. Yuta sends up a wall of flame. 

Ten whips around to aid Yuta. You step back towards them, ready to throw yourself through the mirror as well to help, but your palms crash against the inside of the mirror as if it were back to being solid glass, no longer the fluid surface that let you in. 

You slam your hands against the glass. You yell, scream, cry, swear. 

Both Yuta and Ten stand wreathed in flames, putting up walls of fire between the door and the mirror at their backs. They’re being pushed back, you realize. Soon they’ll be backed against the mirror. 

You can see Yuta gritting his teeth together as he puts his all into maintaining the inferno he’s creating. His usual appearance is fading slightly, you can see his true demon features beginning to peek through. The same can be said for Ten. 

You hit the glass one more time. 

Ten twists his head around to look at you. His eyes are the piercing narrow-eyed slits of his cat-like eyes. “You need to go,” he calls to you. 

“No, not without you.” You lean your forehead against the glass. “I can’t come back through. I can’t come to you. Come here, hurry!” You can see shadows, smoky figures moving in the walls of flame Yuta and Ten have thrown up. “Hurry!”

“Go!” Ten shouts, his voice raw, raging, echoing up the passage behind you. And then, a little more gently, “We’re right behind you, I promise. Just trust that we’re behind you, and don’t look back! Now, go!”

This time he says it with enough power in his voice that you stumble back from the force of it. 

On the other side of the mirror, Ten turns back to face forward, to face his flames and the hellhounds. 

You take another step backward up the passage even though everything in you is telling you not to leave, to run back at the mirror and do something to make it let you through it, even though your mind is saying that, your body won’t obey. Your body is listening to Ten as you turn and start running up the passage. 

Your throat feels raw as you pant for breath, but you keep going, running up the sloping tunnel even as you feel as if your chest is going to cave in and your heart is going to burst. You can’t hear anything at all over the racing of your heart and the thunder of your breathing, so you can’t even hear if Ten and Yuta are behind you. Hell, you can’t even tell if the hounds are still pursuing you or not. 

Kun’s warning and Ten’s last words ring in your ears.

Don’t look back.

You just have to trust.

Sobs tear from your throat with each jolt of your feet against the ground. You feel like you’ve been running for hours, days, weeks. You just want to peek backwards, to know if they’re behind you because if they’re not then all of this will have been in vain, and they’ll be re-imprisoned in Hell for the crime of the Queen’s death.

Don’t look back.

You’re almost certain you hear a footfall behind you, rock scattering under someone else’s foot. Was that a breath? Was it an echo of your own breathing, or was it the panting of a hellhound almost upon you?

Don’t look back.

An entire lifetime ago, you’d sat in a literature class that taught mythology. At the time, you’d felt a bizarre mixture of shame and interest – your highly religious upbringing made you feel that learning these stories was improper as they were based on false idols, but you were so intrigued by the pantheon of gods, their many stories and interactions with mortals that differed so greatly from the stories of the One God that you were familiar with.

Among those many myths you’d learned in that stuffy classroom, there was the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. The woman who died from a snakebite, and her lover who journeyed into the Underworld to bring her back. 

The story comes back to you now. 

Orpheus, who rescued Eurydice, who was allowed to bring her back to the mortal world on the sole condition that he didn’t look back at her until they were both in the mortal world. And now, more than ever, you understand that story. You have two lovers behind you, death nipping at your heels, and as you race out of Hell, you can’t look back – it’s a warning you’ve received now twice, and as much as you want to look back to be certain that Ten and Yuta are behind you, you know the mistake Orpheus made; in the last moments before success, Orpheus looked back. 

Eurydice was lost forevermore.

It could have just been a tale, except that when poring over tomes and tales at Ira’s kitchen table during the useless planning of this rescue, one account had been that of Orpheus. 

A miserable tale that you’d barely been able to stomach reading given your circumstances. How Orpheus, barred from telling her that he was forbidden to look back at her, marched before his wife out of the Underworld, both of them in cold silence. He heard no sign of her – not a footstep or a sniffle, not the sound of her voice or a whisper of her breath as they walked for an eternity – and he wondered if she was truly there, or were the words of the gods false and he was walking this endless path from Hades for no reason? 

With mere footsteps left before he and his wife rejoined the mortal world, with hope burning bright in his heart as the light of the Sun warmed his bones, Orpheus couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. As he turned, he heard her anguished cry of his name, he saw the horror on Eurydice’s face, and Orpheus had no choice but to watch as she was reclaimed by shadow and drawn back down into the Underworld, screaming for him.

Don’t look back, Kun and Ten had both uttered the warning, Orpheus’ tale echoing the words at you again.

You run until your knees feel like liquid and your feet like stones, your chest burns with each breath, and surely if you didn’t have the power of your mother and father both in your veins, you’d have collapsed long ago. How far can this path from Hell possibly be? 

Your toe catches a loose stone on the floor, and you stumble. Your palms burn as they scuff along the rough floor, your knees bruise and sting where the tatters of your clothes don’t cover them. 

There’s no sound behind you. No hands reach forward to help you up and urge you on as you stay there for a moment – hands and knees on the dirty floor with your head bowed as your tears drip into the dirt, your ragged breath still loud in your ears. 

Are you alone? Or is that deeply-rooted demon magic Kun mentioned holding Yuta and Ten under the same spell as Eurydice had been – unable to make a sound or touch you, unable to make their real presence known to you?

You find the strength to push to your feet again, to start forward again. Your mind races, and you can’t help thinking, I just want to go home, to be free of all of this. I just want to be happy with my boyfriends again, like we were in our apartment. All four of us. Why did everything have to go so wrong? Why did everything have to play out like this? 

You run even as your bones ache and your mouth dries out. You feel hollow.

And then the ground evens out. 

And you look up, and you can see watery daylight ahead of you.

You remember this: the sight of the world through the inside of the mirror. The watery distortion of everything when Renjun first led you through a mirror portal to escape the dungeon of the Watchers. You pray the exit runs smoother this time than the last – that you won’t feel like you’re drowning and suffocating and stuck within a glue trap as you had last time.

A fresh burst of energy rolls through you as you see it so close, close enough you can reach out and touch it.

Your fingertips pass through like reaching into water.

Your toe catches the inner lip of the mirror.

The world tilts and blurs, nausea rolls your stomach as you fly through the mirror and dash yourself against the floor on the right side of the mirror.

And you wait.

You don’t dare to turn to look into the mirror. You don’t know what you would be able to see. Does it look just like a regular mirror, reflecting only you and the room you’re in? Is it semi-transparent, so you’re able to see back into the passageway you’ve just escaped through? 

But more terrifying than that – in some version of Orpheus and Eurydice, he reached the safety of the mortal world, and rejoicing in that, he turned to celebrate with his wife, only to find that she had yet to pass the border between the realm of Hades and the surface. Thus, he lost her because they were not both with their feet safely on the soil and in the sunlight.

You won’t make that mistake, even if it means you have to wait here forever with your cheek pressed against the wood of the floor, your clothes crumbling even more into charred bits after the rough friction of passing through the mirror and colliding with the world. 

Tears still spill down your cheeks, and you squeeze your eyes shut because you’ve nothing to look at anyway. 

<-previous || next–>

a/n: Thank you for reading! I'm so excited to see what y'all think about the rescue finally happening! It was a little bit different than originally planned, both in the opinion of the characters, and also different than I originally planned lol This chapter is the reason it took me so long to finally finish writing this story.

As usual, likes, comments in the tags, reblogs, messages about your thoughts, all of that is of the highest value to me! I love feedback, and I hope you can share this story with more people too 💗

[ay0nha]

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander (II)

SUMMARY: You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  The windchill was harsh, but you appreciated the way Theseus noticed—always so attentive. His desires were written on his face; in any other circumstance, his jacket would become yours.

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader  

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, smoking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, always a protective Theseus, SLOW burn, etc.  

A/N: If you saw this originally posted...no you didn’t...I didn’t love the flashback I wrote, so I wrote a different one (which is semi-inspired by this post/idea because I love it, such accuracy @star-writes4​). Thank You @kalllistos for your patience with me <3 I have such a cute idea for the next chapter, so stay tuned hehehe...Let me know if you want to be tagged. Enjoy.

PART I, PART III, PART IV

— Years prior —

“You can join me inside, you know…” You spoke to your shadow, lighter illuminating your face in the dark alley. On your exhale, you continued your invitation, “...You’ll catch a cold out here.”

After a few heartbeats of hesitation and avoiding the growing puddles, Theseus came into the dingy reflection of the neon sign. “Not convinced my kind is welcomed…”

“Like that’s ever stopped you…” Your tinted lips perked. Theseus' apparel was enough to give away his position. Always so poised. “There are some people I’m sure you’re dying to meet...”

“I’m out of my jurisdiction here.” His hands remained in his pockets, a nervous tick that seemed to run in his family. It was a deceiving behavior, as it came across as a part of his confident stature. “...and overdue for a holiday.”

“Of course.”

Theseus’ hair perked at the humidity. The gel struggled to keep the curls at bay while rain pelted the architecture. The heavy pattern created a cool draft through the outside entryways and a whistling that challenged the music emanating from within the small club.

“Don’t look so stiff, Theseus.” You teased, but he had yet to seem very receptive. “You can be anyone you want here.”

He hummed with genuine nature that briefly peeked out. “And who are you tonight?”

Your eyes were always sharp, cutting through him easily. When you were kids, it was enough to scare him off, but Theseus became fortified. Yet, you knew how he worked just as well. He had a knack for easing you into a conversation riddled with hidden questions and desires. It was as if he softened the blow for something that he knew would end poorly.  Your frown began.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Unwavering in your response, you flicked the remnants of your cigarette into the street. Theseus swallowed his scoff at the action, but it only fueled your conviction. “Add it to my list of grievances.”

His gaze was determined, dancing around something obvious. The stack of papers on his desk most likely doubled in his absence. When he saw your name, he was ready to pass it off like any of the others. It hadn’t caught his attention until it ruminated in his mind so long that he spent hours digging through files to confirm that it really was you.

He reminisced about the old school days, expecting clues to reemerge to explain your behavior. Yet, all he could remember was how you were a few years younger—your nose always pointed to the sky in hopes of finding something more interesting than what was before you. The faded memories merged together the longer Theseus dwelled on them.

“You want to know what I think?” He prodded, waiting for your hum of encouragement.  You wore a dress made for dancing, and your lips were painted a sinfully alluring shade of red. Theseus almost succumbed to the distraction. “You’re someone out of their depth.”

There it is, you thought. The pleasantries would only last for so long until Theseus tallied your faults. You knew it was part of a greater protective character, but you’d evolved, and he favored ignoring your independence.

“Oh, Theseus…” You tutted with a sore smile, arms locked together with defensiveness. “...and here I thought you missed me.”

“What have you gotten yourself into?” He moved closer to you, trying to soothe your frown. Holding back from reaching out, Theseus persisted, “If you have a time-turner—

“We’re not in school anymore.” The argument felt juvenile, but you spat your words quickly, unwilling to meet your sentence. “I can handle myself.”

The situation was ironic due to how time ruled the very encounter. It was only a matter of time until Theseus latched onto the rumor that brought him here. And there was only so much time left before his warning would become a threat. The possession of such an item had added weight to your shoulders. It was a new sensation, and the buzz of adrenaline that came with it was irredeemable. It only worsened when you learned it came easily to you. It was a genuine skill.

You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.  The windchill was harsh, but you appreciated the way Theseus noticed—always so attentive. His desires were written on his face; in any other circumstance, his jacket would become yours. But you cut him off before he could offer, clipping the argument with the truth.

“It is nice to see you, Theseus.” Just not like this, you omitted. “How’s Newt?”

“Still finding himself in all sorts of…well—you know how Newt…” His hands returned to his pockets as he shuffled slightly. “...those creatures…His creatures are doing well, I suppose…it’s always a fine way of passing time…”

Theseus wasn’t one to ramble nor participate seriously in small talk. Yet, with you mitigating the conversation, it was hard to ease back into what he had come for. Your change in topic wasn’t a distraction at all, just another dig at Theseus’ character.

“You should learn to take people more seriously.” You bit at your own defense veiled by his brother’s prospects. “Maybe then, you’d get what you want.”

The forgotten rain began to pick up. A soft spray that snuck past the protection of the awning begged for you to find warmth inside. You refused to curl into yourself. Instead, you pushed yourself off the brick wall to brush everything into the past.

“Enjoy your holiday, Theseus.”

“Look—” Stopped by your arm, Theseus paused with thought. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I know what I’m doing.” You were softer this time, but your furrowed brow still exposed your upset. But it relaxed as Theseus's hand trailed your arm to find your hand.

“I don’t doubt that.” He spoke earnestly.

Quietness followed the slight embrace that you broke after a small squeeze. The contact allowed Theseus to speak freely, but you wouldn’t listen to more. You knew what he would say, and that was enough.

“Let me buy you a drink.” You blamed the barflies stumbling out the door beside you for your sentimentality. Theseus gave you a tentative look you knew you could break. “Just the one…And if you’re lucky, I’ll tell you what I know.” It was a promise. “I’m feeling charitably inclined tonight.”

The tips of Theseus’ fingers continued to tingle despite their loneliness.  His pockets felt cold. “And why’s that?”

“I’ve met someone.”

— Present Day —

You hadn’t believed in love, and you were ready to carry that grudge—until him.

Avery Sinclair.

It wasn’t proper love, proving your skepticism in the emotion correctly. But it was the closest you’ve ever been, would ever be. He charmed you with his intelligence but decidedly made pearl dust a main ingredient in your relationship. It ensured your vision was so muddled you were willing to sacrifice yourself for him. Avery determined your demise before you could even pick up a scent.

The auror, he had told you. Rid us of him.

To this day, the memory was disillusioned by your coerced fidelity. The memory was more of an overlapping feeling. It was like your body wasn’t your own, stepping into an event without an invitation. You could still feel the heat of the fire you started and the desperation of your scream when you were pushed to your knees. Even then, you failed to remember things coherently.

Yet, when your vision finally cleared, only Aurors surrounded you. Theseus fronted the brigade with a grimace that reflected his disdain. You hadn’t known the expression was a mix of pity and guilt due to the fact that his name would be inherently tied to your public conviction. You just felt like you could finally breathe without a struggle.

“Did you hear me?” Theseus prompted you again, pulling you out of a shared past. He noted your gaze drifting, a thousand-yard stare replacing a genuine exchange. “Listen carefully; we only have so much time until—

“This is what your promotion got you.” You observed the spacious office you’d been in. Your tone asked if it was worth it. Your value was reflected in the fine leather seats, the expensive wood desk, and the plaque that named Theseus’ higher position.

Those who transported you expected catastrophe, but you entrusted your silence. You were calculated enough to know when to hold your tongue, but once in the atrium of the Ministry, you could no longer sit so stoically.

Theseus went to say your name, imploring you to focus, but you only challenged him. He held your stare just as strongly, “You underestimate the scale of this.”

“As if that matters...” You frowned only to follow with deeply rooted sarcasm, “...in a system that is so fair and competent.”

Your words were your only defense against something so factual. Although you were in danger, it had yet to actualize and frighten you as it had Theseus. To him, you were ready to give up, engage entirely with the peril Sinclair would unleash. Your indifference only confirmed his sentiments.

Theseus began to pace. With each step, he attempted to restrain his insults. How you looked at him only provoked a wave of pent-up anger, “You have always been so cruel…”

“If I'm cruel, then what does that make you, Theseus?” You were ready for the conversation; your thoughts honed and practiced. “If I'm cruel, then you must be something much worse.”

“I'm trying to help you.” His voice was low, afraid those whispering about your presence—capture—would overhear his admission. In time, you’d learn that his words were genuine, that he was risking more than you realized.

“No.” You spoke definitively, head shaking with refutation. “What you do is selfish. You help with a suffocating hand—

“You don’t get to make this my fault. You chose him.” The silence to follow echoed his regret. You eyed his uncharacteristic agitation as he tried to rectify his mistake.

“Theseus!” A voice boomed, entering the office. Torquil Travers. “There you are, now—This is her?” With a passing look of disgust, he let out another booming statement. “Have you located Sinclair?”

“Yes, sir.” Theseus’ bluntness evaporated the previous argument. Yet, his eyebrow twitched. The micro expression revealed too much. His body contradicted his words.

You rolled your eyes at the formality. After all these years, Theseus still couldn’t shake the nickname that followed him during his younger years—Schoolboy hero.

Suck up, you thought.

“Ensure this gets done.” Travers’ attitude indicated he felt the time in Theseus’ office was already wasted. “Quietly.”

Theseus held a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, sir.”

Time, too, was his concern, and it became obvious the longer Travers remained in his office. You wanted answers of your own, but you could be patient as there were more pressing desires.

“These come off.” You said evenly, gaining the attention of those in the room. Yet, Travers looked around as if your voice was foreign and your presence was no more than a nuisance.

His posture straightened with arrogance, prompting Theseus, “Handle that.”

That. Your position was clarified. You were no longer a person, no longer a witch. You were—that. Theseus felt ill, agreeing once again to his boss’ request before he left. Theseus intentionally kept his back to you, trying to form the words that explained what he had to do—what he was assigned to do. Handling that meant telling you the cuffs were to stay on.

Emotion flooded your chest; you missed your isolation. Solitude made things simpler. Though now there was no choice. You were to be bait; you were meant to lure Sinclair in. It was Theseus’ idea, only as a form of protection and to bide time for him to figure out something more promising.

With a hand tucked in his waistband and the other rubbing across his jaw in thought, Theseus stared ahead at his desk. He seemed at a loss and could only resort to honesty. “I want you to trust me.”

You did. You had. You relied on him in the past. At one point, you would have considered him the only one that had the privilege. You thought he had understood that. Your relationship had naturally ebbed and flowed. It was required when you were such opposites, but mutual respect helped it remain.

Theseus promised he wouldn’t follow you that night, but that was the same night he was no longer a man of his word. For your own good, his own remark nauseated him. It had felt so right at the moment, a moment of long-coming justice, but it was not only a trap for you but for him.

He would never fall for it again. With a weak rasp of the knuckles to his desk, Theseus’ mind settled.  His side was chosen.

Coming close, he crouched down to your seated level. You remained still, his motions far too interesting to pull away. He began trailing your arms until he reached the metal at your wrists. “...You’re not safe with them on.”

You'd grown so accustomed to the weight of the bracelets on your wrists. They weighed you down in every way you could imagine. You learned to move with them smartly, using your magic so strategically that it felt like a chore rather than an extension of yourself. And now, seeing your wrists empty, you fought off a misplaced nostalgia.

You had never meant to become the villain. You just didn't know what else to do.

Theseus watched as your eyes welled with emotion, knowing you’d never let actual tears form. He thought to move forward and bring any sort of comfort to the situation, but you moved quicker than the thought was formed.

“No!–Don’t—”

His breath was lost, the world around him dissolving into a deep color. Your hand gripped his collar, but it felt like he was being pressed hard from all directions. The journey was nauseating and familiar. The surroundings no longer reflected the Ministry, the marble flooring was replaced by puddles, and the air was no longer crisp but heavy with humidity.

Your laugh bubbled, starting slowly with the feeling of surprise that evolved into pure joy. You refused to be tracked by your magic, so you typically abstained. The feeling of magic again was like a feeling of renewal—an electricity that scratched a phantom itch.

You glanced at a flushed Theseus, “...Remember this place?”

[rookieleonskennedy]

unholy communion

Just posting one of my fics from ao3 onto here (:

Rookie!Leon x fem!reader

Description: “What a pretty angel, letting a devil split her open on his cock.”

WARNINGS/tags: MDNI, dominant Leon, spit kink, religion kink, religious imagery, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink, choking, unsafe sex, PWP, no y/n

Enjoy!

The motel room Leon found for you two after the events of Racoon City was modest at best, but to your weary and sore bodies it might as well have been a five-star resort. Leon had taken the initiative to check you two in, as you trailed behind him blindly, exhausted from the day’s events.

“I hope you don’t mind…” Leon began, giving you a shy look over his shoulder as he began to lead the way to where you would be sleeping for the night. “I only got us one room. It’s just…after the events of today I didn’t want to be alone.” He cleared his throat hastily, “Didn’t want you to be alone, I mean.” His voice trailed off at that, cheeks flushing red.

You smiled at his bashfulness, “I don’t mind that at all Lee,” you said honestly, as you felt the same as he did. Knowing that he would be close by throughout the night relaxed you, and you felt an invisible weight lift off your shoulders. You knew that if he had gotten you two separate rooms it was unlikely you would have slept at all.

“I can’t wait to wash all this fucking grime off of me!” You groan, looking down at your hands in disgust. They were practically grey, covered in God knows what. Leon chuckled heartily at your exclamation, looking down at his own hands in agreement, “You’re telling me.” He mumbled, finally stopping at one of the motel room doors.

“This is us,” Leon muttered, fumbling with the room key as he worked to unlock the door. You almost collapsed in relief at his statement, your body yearning for the warmth of a shower and the comfort of a bed. He finally opened the door, and you could have sobbed in relief at the sight before you. A beautiful king-sized bed lay in the middle of the room, looking like it could swallow you whole in its comforting down.

“You take a shower first,” Leon stated, nodding toward the bathroom at the back of the room. “I’ll check out the surrounding area to make sure we’re safe while you’re in there.” You hum in grateful acknowledgment, already headed in the direction he motioned to.

You set the water just shy of scalding, shedding your dirtied and destroyed clothes before stepping into the hot spray. You moan at the feeling of the hot water running in rivulets down your skin, taking the dirt and grime from your earlier adventures down the drain with it. Thankfully, the motel provided bath products for you to use, and the calming scent of lavender overtook your senses as you freed your skin from the blanket of grime encapsulating it.

When you were done, your skin was raw from all the scrubbing required to cleanse yourself, but you didn’t care. You were just glad to finally be clean. Toweling off the excess water that still clung to your skin, you found a plush cotton robe to pull on hung in the bathroom and then wrung your hair mostly dry with a towel. You headed out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, finding Leon sitting in one of the chairs by the bed.

He smiled at you as you exited the bathroom, “Well, well, look at you!” He exclaimed, flashing you a playful wink. “All cleaned up and feeling better, huh?” He asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looked at you, and a blush rushed to your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I feel so much better now.” You flashed a smile at him. “Your turn to clean up, you stink!” You tease him as you sat on the bed. “I’ll order us food while you’re in there.”

Leon laughed at your teasing with a shake of his head, “Okay, okay. I guess that’s only fair. Make yourself comfortable on the bed, I can stay in the chair next to it tonight.” He headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up, and you ordered the food to be delivered to the room.

A little while later Leon walked out of the bathroom wearing a cotton robe just like yours, his wet hair pushed back off his head to reveal his whole face to you. Your face heated once more. While his bottom half was completely covered by the tied robe, the top part was slightly loosened, revealing his bare, toned chest to your gaze.

“Food on the way?” He asked with a grin in your direction, catching you staring at his chest. “U-uh, yeah. It’s coming.” You stuttered, flustered at the sight before you. Leon chuckled at your reaction. “You okay?’ he asked, seeming genuinely concerned for a moment before he winked at you playfully once again. “Your face is pretty red,” he added with a kind smile. “I’m not that pretty to look at am I?”

Your face reddened even further at being caught ogling him before you looked down at your fidgeting hands and whispered “You have no idea how good you look, Lee.” You hoped that he didn’t hear your quiet declaration.

If you had been looking up at him instead of your hands, you would have noticed the slight pink blush that had risen to his cheeks, as he heard you, but decided not to comment. He distracted himself from responding by looking for the remote, which he produced with a triumphant little “Aha!” aimed in your direction. You raised your eyebrows at him, mirth written in your eyes.

He waggled the remote at you, “Anything, in particular, that you feel like watching?” He asked with a small smile. You settled back into the bed with a hum, shaking your head slightly. “Whatever you want is fine, Lee.” He nodded, once again sitting in the chair next to the bed while scanning through the channels for something suitable.

Soon he found some silly reality show on the television, and it had both of you giggling like crazy at the shenanigans happening on screen. The food had arrived shortly after he put the show on, and both of you ate ravenously, bodies craving nourishment after the strenuous events of the day.

Both of you had finished your meals, and Leon had graciously cleaned up the trash before resuming his spot in the chair next to you in the bed. His eyes were glued to the TV screen, while yours were glued to the shape of his jaw, outlined in the soft glow of the show flashing in the corner of your periphery. Your chest felt warm with affection and anxiety, as you worked up the courage to ask him a question.

“Lee?” You spoke softly, trying to grab his attention. He looked over at you with a soft smile, blue eyes searching for yours. “Yeah?” He replied, just as soft as you. “What’s up? Do you need something? I can get it for you.” He could tell by the look on your face that you were nervous, but for what he didn’t know. His own chest fluttered in anticipation.

“Earlier you said that you were going to sleep in that chair…” You fidgeted with your hands, pulling at your fingers in nervousness. “But, can you come and stay in the bed with me, please? I like having you close after…everything.” Your face burned from embarrassment, ready for him to reject you for such a childish request.

However, his face lit up at your words, as he had secretly been craving the closeness you desired but was too timid himself to say anything. He smiled warmly at you, his heart picking up pace inside his chest. “Oh, of course,” He replied immediately. “I would never say no to that.” He was actually quite giddy that you had asked him to share the bed and had no qualms about it. “It’d make me feel better too.” He added, coming to rest next to you under the soft covers of the bed.

You scooted closer to him, the warmth of his body pressing into yours was a soothing balm on your frayed nerves. Tentatively, you rested your head on his chest. “Thanks, Lee,” you whispered against his skin delicately.

His shoulders relaxed upon the contact of your head on his chest, for having you close was as much a balm to him as it was to you. His arms encircled you, pulling you ever so slightly closer, and squeezed you gently. “You comfy?” He asked, genuinely curious, as he brushed your hair back from your face and behind your ear. “I can readjust if you’re not.”

You hummed in the affirmative as his hand stroked your hair affectionately, nuzzling into his firm chest and relaxing at the safe feeling his arms around you brought. His gaze on you was tender, and he smiled down at your figure resting on his chest. He gave your body another squeeze before a hand trailed down to your back and began tracing your spine through the robe in feather-light strokes.

“You’re safe now,” He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head in promise. You kissed his chest in response, your hand coming up to stroke his midriff gently. You felt him shiver under your fingers at the touch.

“Lee?” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes from your position on his chest. “Yes, dear?” He responded softly, raising his eyebrows slightly as he looked down at you. He gave you another comforting squeeze, letting you know that he was listening to whatever you wanted to say to him.

You took a deep breath, eyelashes fluttering. Your gaze flickered between his eyes and his lips quickly before you spoke, “Kiss me?” you whispered, as butterflies took flight in your abdomen.

Leon’s own breathing had hitched beneath the ear you rested on his chest, his eyes immediately flitting to your lips. He swallowed nervously, heart pounding in his chest. His face had a beautiful pink blush as he responded, “U-uh, yeah. Y-yeah I can do that.” He answered in a hushed tone, as if speaking too loudly would make you change your mind.

You smiled up at him in relief, but made no move yet, wanting him to initiate the contact. Leon took a moment to steady himself before placing his hand beneath your chin and guiding your face up to his ever so slowly. You both closed your eyes, noses brushing together tenderly. Leon gently placed his lips upon yours, in a soft, sweet peck before moving back in a bit more insistently. His arms then wrapped around you tightly, his hands desperately winding themselves in your hair. The kisses he gave you were filled with nervousness, but also excitement, hope, and adoration.

You sighed happily into the kisses, your own hands resting on each side of Leon’s neck. His pulse fluttered like a bird’s wings beneath your touch. His lips were unbelievably soft against yours, plush like fine velvet. You shuddered at the feeling of his hands in your hair, your skin flushing red at the intimate touch.

Wanting to be closer to him, you threw a leg over his hips, allowing you to straddle him. The new angle allowed the two of you to kiss deeper, more passionately, and you felt Leon groan heartily into your mouth at the heightened sensations.

His hands traveled from your hair and down the robe covering your sides, coming to rest on the swell of your hips. He was lost in you, his whole being now simmered down to the connection of your lips on his. You felt the same, your world had condensed until all that existed was the man beneath you. His body was the only galaxy in which you existed, and the constellations covering his skin were now yours to chart.

Your hands roamed across Leon’s chiseled chest, thumbs reverently caressing each side of his neck before your hands found themselves tangled into his damp blond hair. Your chests pressed firmly together, and you could feel Leon’s pulse hammering alongside your own.

The revelation that he was just as affected by you as you were by him sent a beam of heat straight to your core, and your thighs tightened briefly. You swallowed the soft moans emanating from Leon’s mouth at this motion eagerly, offering a few lewd noises of your own in return.

The feeling of your hands in his hair had Leon leaning into the touch, a groan rumbling in his throat. Hearing your moans mingling with his own sent him into a frenzy of passion, and he began to kiss you more intensely, your bottom lip becoming entrapped between his teeth. You gasped at the pain as it melted into pleasure, tugging sharply on Leon’s hair in response.

His breathing became ragged at this, a loud whine escaping his throat. The grip he had on your hips tightened, before his hands began to travel back up your sides and then threaded themselves in the hair at the nape of your neck. With a sharp tug, Leon pulled your head back, tearing your lip from the hold of his teeth and angling your neck to the side for easier access.

He began to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the soft expanse of your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point hesitantly before he finally gained resolve and sank them gently into your skin with a possessive groan. His body trembled like a leaf beneath yours as the sensation of his teeth marking your neck caused you to keen, high and reedy, in the back of your throat.

You were panting in desire at this point, the arousal coursing through your veins felt like shooting stars beneath your skin, a sensation like no other. “Lee,” you whined. “Feels good.” He huffed against your neck, continuing to softly pepper the skin of your neck with mottled bruises.

A fire was kindling low in your stomach, but you wanted more. You tugged his hair, removing his mouth from your neck, his gaze meeting yours inquisitively. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, Lee. I won't break.” Something ignited within his baby blues at this revelation, his pupils overtaking the soft hue of his iris.

With a desperate moan, he began to handle you more roughly. His teeth sunk into your skin harder than before, and his hands moved beneath the cotton of your robe to squeeze the globes of your ass tightly.

“Oh God,” you keened, your head thrown back in otherworldly bliss. The sting of his teeth on your neck and the brush of his hands on your skin felt like rapture, an exaltation of pleasure you would continue basking in for as long as he would let you.

Looking down at him, and seeing the way he had lost himself in the touch of your skin sent sparks dancing across your nerves. “I’m yours Lee,” you gasp, the words falling from your lips like a lost sinner’s confession. “Do whatever you want with me.”

Leon’s hands shook against your skin as he took in your words, his forehead coming to rest upon the small patch of your chest that had become uncovered in the midst of your kissing. Your words were a hymn that he had once thought to be long lost, a hymn that he thought would never bless the ears of a reprobate such as he. This was a gift he would not squander and a song that he craved to hear forevermore.

He planted a swift kiss on your chest before speaking, “I’m going to take my time with you.” His tone was low and husky, and he flashed you a devilish grin before placing more kisses across the swells of your chest.

A shiver wracked through your body at his darkened tone, your hips undulating down upon his lap beneath you, searching for sinful friction. Having nothing on beneath your robe, you could feel, very well, the bulge that resided beneath Leon’s own covering against your dripping core.

He groaned softly at your movements against him, his face flushed a dark red. His breath was hitching in his throat, and you knew that your hip’s rotation against his was riling him up. His hands fluttered from your rear to the tie of the robe at your waist, fingers slowly but nimbly undoing the knot he found there.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, sweet thing.” He chuckled. You pulled his head back sharply by his hair in response, making him look you in the eye as you ground your hips downward forcefully, gasping as his bulge grew under your gyrations. “I think I have an idea,” you managed to whimper out, eyes fluttering at the sensation beneath you.

Leon let out a whimper of his own, his eyes widening when you grind down on him. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking into your eyes with desperation. You were a new messiah above him, an idol he could gladly worship for the rest of his days. “You like what you feel? What you see?” He continued hoarsely, arousal clear in his voice.

You moaned loudly, dragging his spit-slick lips up to meet yours in a bruising kiss with a rough pull of his hair. He could have sworn he felt God at that moment. “Yes,” you breathed into his open and panting mouth, “I like it so much, Lee.” His eyes fluttered closed as his lips locked with yours and he groaned into your mouth. His teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, another moan escaping from your throat as he did so. His face was dusted red with lust, his hands fervently trailing across your skin under your now untied robe.

He broke the kiss to take a deep breath, his head thrown back against the headboard as he helped you slide the cotton material off your body. “God, fuck.” He panted, eyeing your now naked form, before reconnecting his mouth with yours forcefully. You continued to grind down on his lap, the friction feeling like heaven on your needy and swollen clit.

“Lee,” you whimpered needily. “Touch me, please.” You were practically begging, needing more of Leon. Needing him closer, needing him deeper than sitting astride his lap would allow.

You were an angelic vision in Leon’s eyes, a holy temptation sent from some higher power to break him down until he was nothing but an obedient servant to you. He would readily tear himself apart for this, would gladly bare himself as a sacrifice at the altar of your body day after day if it meant that he could hear the saccharine words of sin spilling from your lips above him again and again until the day he died.

He let out a soft, needy, whimper. “My God…I will.” His hands caressed your sides before resting on your inner thighs with a rough squeeze. He could see the wetness pooling between them, the manna he craved to devour so close, but he could not give in to his temptation to eat just yet.

“I’ve gotta go slow, make it worth the wait for you.” He panted, fingertips moving ever so closer to the wet apex of your thighs. You keened as his fingertips got closer, but not nearly close enough, to where you wanted them.

“Need you so bad, Lee,” You pulled at his hair in sexual frustration, “Wanna make you feel good.” He gasped at your admission, a flustered moan leaving his lips. Your words made him feel weak, like an ancient temple crumbling into ruin.

“I know, Angel. And you are making me feel so good, I just wanna make sure you feel the same way.” His hands cupped your face, “Patience is a virtue, remember?” He smirked at you teasingly.

You leaned into his touch on your face with a small groan, “Damn my virtue, Leon. I want you more than I want it.” As soon as the words had left your mouth, Leon knew that a new Psalm had been written. One that he knew he had to get you to sing, one that he knew he had to sing with you.

With an animalistic groan, Leon flipped you onto your back, shedding himself of his robe while he did so. His cock was hard and proud against his abdomen, and you moaned at the sight of it hovering above you. Swollen and red, the tip leaked a steady stream of precum onto your stomach while Leon’s arms bracketed your head, and his lips swallowed yours in another heavenly kiss.

Your hands found themselves tangling in Leon’s hair yet again, using the leverage gained from their grip to hitch your hips up slightly and run your wet folds across his throbbing cock with a gasp. His answering noise was absolutely sinful , and one of his hands came to wrap around your throat. “Please,” he whimpered, squeezing his hand around your throat. The pressure he applied on your neck was just enough to have you seeing stars, your eyes rolling back into your head from the sensation.

“Not yet,” he ground out, hand releasing your throat. “Be a good girl and let me have my fill, and then you’ll get stuffed full of my fat cock. That okay?” He tapped the side of your face twice as he said this, waiting for your response. “Yes sir!” You whimpered.

This new, dominant side of Leon sent your head spinning. He looked at you reverently, like an apostle looking at their messiah for approval. Having given him yours, Leon moved down your body, whispering praises against your skin as he made his way down to your throbbing heat.

Settling himself between your shaking thighs, Leon looked up at you from his position and groaned in pleasure.

You were the Ark of the Covenant, a beautiful and sacred relic seated before him, forbidden to be touched and sullied by the likes of him. But he had fought his temptation for you for so long, and he was nothing but a dirty sinner, after all. Finally giving in to the carnal desires of his flesh, Leon’s mouth found its way onto your dripping cunt with a hum.

Your body came alight at the touch of his mouth on your core. Your back arched, your hands flew to his hair to lace themselves in it, and your heels dug into his back.

The fervent strokes of Leon’s tongue against your folds was your resurrection. Before this moment you had perished, your body slowly returning to the dust from whence you came. But with each suckle on your clit, and each lap of his tongue against your greedy hole, Leon had gifted your once withering body with the breath of life.

His mouth was insistent, never breaking from its attachment to your wet heat even despite the way your body undulated beneath his divine ministrations. His tongue lapped at your cunt like it was holy water, blessed for Leon by God himself. He would rather be damned than waste a single drop of the liquid manna that had been bestowed upon him.

You cried out in bliss as Leon worked, hands and thighs tightening around him. “M’gonna come,” you slurred, eyelids heavy from lust as you peered down at the man worshiping your cunt.

The sight before you had the fire within your stomach roaring into an inferno, an orgasm washing over you, consecrating your body into hallowed ground.

Leon’s hair fanned out between your thighs like a golden halo as his sapphire blue eyes met yours while you came undone on his face. He looked saintly , an absolute picture of sinful devotion painted between your trembling thighs. You wanted to capture this profane image of him and have it turned into a prayer card, one whose iconography you would eternally devote yourself to.

Leon moaned deeply at the feeling of you unraveling on his tongue. Committed to giving you as much pleasure as possible, he continued fucking you with his tongue until your delicate hands were no longer pulling him in, but rather pushing his head away.

He traveled up your body slowly, placing reverent kisses to your skin as he made his way up to your face. Hovering above you, he was enraptured. Your face was flushed red with arousal, eyes cloudy from the post-orgasm haze. You looked like lust personified, your body the picture of cardinal sin.

“Please, let me fuck you.” His words fell upon your ears not as a mere plea for the secular comfort of your flesh, but as a devout prayer. Here he knelt before you, begging for your intercession on behalf of his engorged cock.

Who were you to deny such a pretty prayer? He had been most devoted to your pleasure, therefore it was only right to answer his request in the affirmative.

“Fuck me.” You said as you nodded, spreading your legs, revealing the altar of your body to him once more. Ever the acolyte to your demands, Leon wasted no time situating himself between your spread thighs.

You helped him guide his aching dick to your entrance as his forearms came to rest on either side of your head. Your noses brushed gently, a gasp being passed between the two of you as his tip slipped past the first ring of muscle separating your sex from his.

He kept pushing forward, and one of his hands moved to cup your jaw as his own went slack at the feeling of you enveloping him. Your pulse danced beneath his hand, and your eyes rolled back into your head as the sweet pressure of him filling you overwhelmed your senses. He was so big, and so thick. You were uncertain if your body could make a home for him inside itself.

That thought quickly banished itself, however, when his dick finally made its final push to seat itself inside you. With a breathy moan, you relished in the feeling of having Leon seated snugly inside you.

He had you crucified on his cock, and yet your body still craved more. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on his shoulders as you mewled at the euphoric sensation of his member stretching you out.

“Oh, My God.” Leon groaned against your mouth, your fluttering walls squeezing him so tightly that he was unsure he could move within you.

“Please move, Lee.” You whined, and ground yourself down onto his cock. His hand on your jaw spasmed, squeezing your face briefly in surprise at your movements.

He gasped, and pressed his lips to yours in a heated and sloppy kiss. The hand on your jaw shifted to your neck, and with a gentle squeeze in warning, Leon began pistoning his hips into yours.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks in their wake, and your legs wrapped themselves around his hips for stability. The drag of his swollen cock against your walls sent your mind reeling, and you swore to yourself. “Fuck!”

This was an ascension. Leon’s hand squeezing with the perfect pressure against your neck, his lips continuously meeting yours in brutal kisses, a litany of filthy and vile invocations leaving his lips between each one, his dick being angled at just the right spot to make you see stars, and each slide in and out of your squelching wetness had you swearing that he was bringing you closer to heaven’s gates.

Leon growled, his voice demanding and wild. “Are you gonna let me come in you, my angel? Gonna let me stuff your pussy full of me?” You keened at his words, the fire in your stomach heating to an inferno once more.

“Yes,” you panted. “Give it to me, Lee.”

With a moan, Leon released your throat, only to use his now free thumb to force your mouth apart. “Open up.” He demanded, and when you willingly complied, his thumb brushed past teeth to rest on your tongue, and he spat into your mouth with a dark laugh. “What a pretty angel, letting a devil split her open on his cock.”

Swallowing his spit around his thumb greedily, you moaned, clenching even tighter around his cock as it continued to forcefully fuck in and out of you.

The feeling of your walls clamping down on his dick, and the visual of you eagerly swallowing his spit, sent Leon flying over the edge of pleasure. His hips stuttered, burying him as deep in you as he possibly could as his cum painted your insides white.

Seeing Leon come undone above you, and feeling his warm release spill inside you, you were sent careening into ecstasy alongside him. Your cunt clamped down on him hungrily as you came with a small yell, your muscles working to keep his seed inside you, a communion offering you were determined to savor.

After a few moments spent catching his breath, Leon pulled out of you with a soft whine, collapsing next to you on the bed. He shuffled a bit before pulling you into his chest and under the covers with a soft, “C’mere.”

You nuzzled into his sternum when he prompted you closer, and you felt him press soft, sweet kisses to the crown of your head as you pressed one to his chest. You two stayed that way throughout the night, sleeping soundly in the arms of one another.

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

ok but imagine reader being like rivals/enemies w xavier and finds out that xavier is going on a date w someone and reader gets jealous and drinks alot and she confesses to xavier yk

ok yes!

YOU KNOW WHAT?

parings: Xavier Thorpe x Fem!reader summary: you confess to Xavier while drunk Warnings: swearing, drinking, jealousy

"you are so annoying" you chuckled sarcastically

"and why do you think that?"

"because you're a dick" you snapped at him

"how?" he stuffed his hands in his pockets, lifting his shoulders as he looked at you

"all you do is torment me and tease and make fun of me, you think you're so much better than everybody else but guess what? you're not. you're an asshole and you need to fucking grow up because it's getting sad" you ranted

"you think you're much better?" he scoffed

you laughed at him "I don't need to be better than you"

"then why the hell are you still here?" he glared at you

"why are you still here?" you replied "it's like you want to hear how much of an ass you are"

"just stay away from me, alright? you seem to be around me a lot for someone who hates me" he requested

"you hate me too" you stated

"never said I didn't" he clenched his jaw

you started to walk away from him but you heard him speak softly "what a fucking bitch"

"oh fuck off" you flipped him off

3rd person

Enid talked on and on about the new gossip of the the school as the girl who sat next to her yawned in boredom.

the bubbly blonde rambled on about Xavier allegedly going on a date with one of the Vampire girls

"oh yeah, I heard about that!" Yoko said

Y/n groaned in annoyance "can we change topic now"

"we know you don't like Xavier, Y/n but we're just talking gossip. wouldn't you want to know about it?" Enid asked

-

"No, I don't want to know that. I could not care less about what he does" you rolled your eyes

"I can't even say his name?" Enid asked

"that would be perfect, actually" you nodded

Enid and Yoko sighed, raising their eyebrows as they looked at each other

"ok, so what are your plans tonight?" Enid quizzed awkwardly

"probably getting wasted and falling asleep on a bench somewhere" you shrugged

"why, exactly?" Yoko questioned

"I don't know, feel like it" you yawned

"please don't hurt yourself" Enid pleaded

"I'll be fine, Enid. I always am"

-

you watched Xavier go up to the girl, hugging her and kissing her cheek. she seemed to giggle at his actions, looking up at him with longing

they talked for a bit before they walked off to somewhere you didn't know.

you rolled your eyes at the two before getting up. going up to your dorm where you threw your things around, looking for the alcohol you stashed.

you opened a bottle of liquor, chugging it down at an unholy rate, finishing it just as soon as you started it.

you dug for another bottle of beer, you yawned as you twisted the cap, leaning against your bed as you drunk it slowly.

soon enough you were laying on the floor with multiple empty bottles on the floor next to you as you stared up at your ceiling, feeling dizzy at how drunk you were.

you felt horrible but so alive at the same time

you scrolled on your phone, squinting to see the screen properly

you clicked on Enid's story, seeing that she reposted a photo from another girls account. clicking on it, you saw it was tagged Xavier's account.

you coughed and threw your phone on your bed. leaning on it to help you get up.

you walked to the door and trailed to the boy's dormitories, stumbling a few time on the way. you still had a bottle in your hand that wasn't quite finished but still you knocked on the door harshly

"open up! you yelled, waiting impatiently for him to open the door

you heard footsteps coming to the door and it soon opened, revealing Xavier.

"you" you poked his chest

"me?" he asked nervously

you looked past him and noticed she was still with him, hanging on his bed

"you are an asshole" you hiccupped

"that's the third time today" he rolled his eyes

"yeah well you deserve to know" you slurred

"enlighten me" he sighed annoyed

"you know what? how could you. go on a date when you clearly know I like you" you confessed, holding out the hand with the beer

"that's it! you're drunk" he cheered sarcastically

"who is it?" the girl asked from Xavier's bed

"doesn't matter right now, don't worry about it" he assured her

he turned back to you and only just realised the state you were in

"just because I'm drunk does not mean I don't know what I'm saying" you almost tripped over your feet

"that's exactly what drinking does, there's no way you would like me. you make it very clear that you hate me every second of the day" he furrowed his eyebrows

"it's only a cover up." you whispered

"how drunk are you?" he chuckled lightly

"I'm sober enough to know what I'm saying" you stated

"I'm kind of on a date here, Y/n, can we talk about this another time?" he suggested

"No! this is the only reason I'm even here" you complained with another hiccup

"why are you here?" he wondered

"to tell you that you're- you're making a mistake" you said, choking up on your words

"a mistake? what's a mistake?" he shook his head confused by the interaction

"you should be on a date with me right now" you paused as you coughed violently "that should be me in there"

"and why's that?" he licked his lips

"because I like you! I've liked you for ages. I am basically yours! I've been yours since you ended things with Bianca" you confessed

he nodded his head slowly, running a hand through his hair

"you're really fucking drunk right now, Y/n. I think you should go to bed" he pointed out

"I don't need sleep, I need you!" you admitted loudly

"what's going on?" the girl came up behind Xavier

"you're ruining everything! I loved him first" you admitted with a cough

Xavier looked down at his feet as he sighed deeply

"pardon?" she tilted her head

"you can't tell me you don't like me too" you pleaded to Xavier

"you're drunk" he muttered

"that didn't answer her question" the girl turned to him

"what? I'm not going to answer her!" he huffed

"so you like her?" she crossed her arms

Xavier stood there silent for a second before the girl scoffed, getting her things and pushed past to leave

"bye, asshole"

"I'm sorry" you apologised

"no you're not" he breathed heavily, he slowly took the bottle off you and set it on the table next to his door

"I like you, Xavier" you repeated yourself for the third time

"you're going to forget about this tomorrow and go back to hating me" he chuckled

"no I'm not" you shook your head

"you're so stubborn" he smiled

"you already knew that" you blinked

you tripped over thin air and fell backwards, a little squeal coming out of your mouth

Xavier caught you and held you in his arms as he helped you back onto your feet

"you alright?" he questioned

"never better" you giggled with a hiccup.

"you're not going to make it back to your room, are you?" he laughed

"I'll probably just sleep on the stairs" you replied with a yawn

"come on"

he lead you inside his room, taking a deep breath as he smelt the alcohol in your breath,

"what are you doing?" you asked quietly

"you're sleeping here tonight. I won't let you sleep out there" he responded

"are you sure?"

"again, you're too drunk to think right now" he repeated himself

"I can think" you said as he got you into his bed, covering you in his blanket

"can you?" he raised an eyebrow, amused

"yeah, you wanna know what I think right now?" you smiled drunkenly up at him

"what are you thinking?" he played along, fixing the pillow below your head

"I think I want to kiss you" you admitted

he stayed silent for a second, not wanting to do anything wrong

he was leaned down above you as he tucked you in, his face so close to yours. so your drunken mind lead you to lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on lips, and just as he started kissing you back, he stopped himself, pulling away.

"I'm not going to do this, you're drunk" he shook his head in denial.

"can you promise me something?" you asked

"sure, why not" he sighed, making sure you were comfortable on his bed

"promise that when I'm sober, you'll remind me of tonight"

he took a second before a agreeing "I promise"

he stood up and put a blanket on the floor

"where are you going?" you questioned

"sleeping on the floor" he stated the obvious

"no, no please sleep up here" you patted the space beside you

"no, that seems wrong" he turned it down

"I won't let you sleep on the floor" you replied bluntly "besides, I'm cold"

he looked skeptical

"we can have a pillow wall" you suggested and he gave in. taking a few pillows, putting them between the both of you as he laid down on the other side of his bed.

-

he never reminded you of that night, because you remembered it when you woke up, snuggled up to his chest with pillows thrown on the floor with a massive headache.

------------------------------------------------

[onedaughterofman]

Call me (Cardinal Copia x g/n reader)

Summary: You give Copia a warm welcome. He gives you a nice surprise. (Or: maybe pushing the shy Cardinal past his limits has awoken something unholy inside of him). 

Tags: +18, some dom/sub dynamics, Copia on his knees for the reader (again), adult content, Copia being a bit of a switch. Around 1.4 K.

When Papa Emeritus III reluctantly asked you to make the recently arrived Cardinal feel at home, this was most likely not what he meant.

In your defense, it’s not really your fault. You tried to be, mostly decent at first, playing it safe and following all the unspoken rules the Clergy set about castes and authority. Obviously, the Cardinal was at a higher power level inside the Ministry than you, and he was also one of the best, most devoted employees. So you tried your best to be respectful, civil, maybe even serious.

But, in the end, it’s not your fault this Cardinal seems to enjoy being on his knees for you.

At first, you told yourself it was just your imagination. Cardinal Copia seemed to be a shy, awkward guy, someone who liked to spend time alone listening to music or with his nose buried in some old books, mumbling to himself under his breath. He seemed like a man not truly used to interacting with people, other than Imperator, to whom he followed around the hallways like a lost puppy.

Every time he was left alone with you, he seemed ready to bolt as soon as possible, as if your mere presence bothered or intimidated him. Still, it was impossible to ignore the way his eyes bored into your body, from time to time. It was not subtle how he stared at your chest, your waist and up and down your legs, like he was in a trance. More than once you caught him licking at his lips, fingers tight in a fist, nodding at whatever you were saying without listening to a single word.

The attention was not unwelcomed, but you weren’t necessarily a patient person. At some point, you got tired of waiting for this man to get his shit together and make a move. When you discover he began awkwardly stalking you around the Ministry during your daily duties, you knew something had to be done.

It was relatively easy to lure him inside an empty room, to wait for him to come inside before slamming his body against the wall. He went docilely, body tense but not strength behind his muscles. Leaning in his personal space, only a few words were enough to make his throat constrict as he swallowed, nodding eagerly.

That encounter ended up with an invitation whispered in his ear, a promise of so much more if he decided to meet you in your quarters tonight.

And so, here he is. On his knees, in front of you.

If this is the first time he does something like this, you don’t know. He seems nervous, muscles rigid and body tight, almost ready to jump out of his skin. As anxious as he might be, Copia remains in place, hands on his thighs and eyes looking up at you in expectation.

There’s raw, pure desire and adoration swirling hypnotically inside those dark pupils, and the thought of fulfilling all his fantasies makes you shiver inside. You don’t let him wait too much. One by one, and agonizingly slow, you begin to undo the zippers and knots that hold your religious habit together, letting it fall to the ground.

The Cardinal’s head follows the piece of cloth, swallowing hard when he realizes more and more of your naked skin is available to him. Although he stays mostly silent, a small whimper manages to escape his lips when your hand caresses down your chest and stomach, fingertips grazing over your hip bones.

And oh, good hell. There’s something about pathetic men, a dark, overly thick lust that makes your guts feel all warm and bothered and your heart race. Your skin is on fire, so hot against the chill of the room, and right now there’s nothing else you want to do more than to stay here and burn right by his side, to consume him down to the bones.

“Cardinal,” you let out, as an airy whisper.“Are you enjoying your stay here?”

For a long moment, there’s only silence.Copia struggles to find his words, body balancing over his heels. “This is… the most welcomed I’ve ever felt anywhere.”

It’s so pathetic. So good. “Is that so? Then, are you going to show some gratitude towards your host?”

The way he almost jumps to his feet is enough of an answer. Even through his clothes, you can feel the heat emanating from his body when your foot comes into contact with his thigh, keeping him in place. “Si, please,” he whispers, breathless. “Tell me what you want.”

The air is too thick inside the room. The Cardinal stays still, shaking in place like he’s almost afraid of his own carnal desires, as if they were too twisted, too dark even for the church of Satan.

“Sit on the bed, then.” He obeys, eagerly. Those pants are too tight for him to hide anything in them, and you must admit it’s bigger than what you initially thought.

Good. There’s enough space on his lap for you to sit comfortably. Copia’s hands dart out to hold you by the waist, but you swat them away with a quick slap. “Don’t touch me without permission. You are going to keep your hands on the mattress and stay very still, unless I say otherwise. I want to make sure you’ll last enough. Understood?”

“Si, si.”

Getting him out of his pants makes him whimper again, head falling back. As your hand wraps around his length, you see how his fingers grasp the bed covers. Slowly, you work up and down even if he seems to be ready to burst at any given moment.

As much as you enjoy the lust and neediness clouding his eyes, you know it’s better to give him a little something before he comes undone from your hand only. In a swift movement, you get right on top of him and  begin to descend slowly, not breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown, lips trembling as he sighs.

“Oh, Lucifer.”

The Cardinal tries to move his hips when you bottom out completely. Grabbing his face, your head shakes. “I never said you could move.”

He swallows, brows furrowed and mouth agape. “Please,” Copia whispers, leaning closer to your lips.“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You said you'd do what I want.”

“Lo so, però I can’t. I need to move.”

Laughing softly, you shake your head again. There’s raw despair on his face, a strong feeling of want he can’t hide. “You’ll move when I tell you to. Now, be good.”

It’s impossible to know how many minutes he manages to stay still. HIs whimpers and choked out moans fill the room as you rock your hips in an agonizingly slow motion. It’s not nearly enough, that’s more than obvious, and with every second that you continue he becomes more and more desperate.

Finally, his hands seize your waist, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against your skin. “I really can’t anymore.”

Without warning, Copia begins to thrust in a restless manner. It’s impossible to try to stop him when he’s all wild, submerged too deep in his own desires. You knew he had strong, fit thighs and powerful hips, but experiencing it now leaves you breathless.

It’s okay. Any thought inside of your mind is now nothing more than a dull voice. You let him do as he please, nails digging on his back and legs wrapped tight around his waist.

Fuck. This man, as pathetic as he might look, he’s a real pleaser. A natural talent.

Trapped between his arms and pressed over his body, you feel him deep in your abdomen, hitting right where you need him the most. The loud moans resonate on the wall as you scream, not caring about anything but him. 

It takes a few moments to recover when you come, legs shaking and back arched. The Cardinal collapses on the bed, dragging you with him. There’s a sharp, pulsing pain on your neck, and running your fingers over the spot you realize why.

Hell. He fucking bit you.

That was… hot.

“Hey,” your breath out, at last, chest heaving and voice shaky,“when do you think you can do that again?”

Copia’s brows furrow, eyes still closed as he muses over your question. “Give me half an hour,” he replies, not looking at you.

“Make it fifteen minutes.”

Surprisingly, he does make it fifteen. Maybe there’s more in this Cardinal than what you initially thought.

A/N: Listen, Cardinal Copia being a pathetic guy? Amazing, wonderful, so beautiful. But Popia showed me another vision, my man can be in charge for a few minutes if he wants to.

Sorry if it's not that good. Ask box is open if you want to say anything!