#his halo is slipping so fast

[tennessoui]

democratic fic part four

(democratic fic masterlist) (2.5k)

“We should go,” Kenobi says.  His voice shakes as much as his hands do, and Anakin has the almost irrepressible urge to grab them and still them. Hold them. 

“You should never have come down here in the first place,” Anakin bites back, even though his anger is far from productive. They should go. Anakin knows this. Anakin should be leaping at the chance to whisk a willing Kenobi back up to the safety of the Upper Levels. Kenobi is being cooperative. He’s only known the boy for a few days, but he already understands that Kenobi is rarely cooperative at all.

Kenobi’s lip curls up into the beginnings of a sneer, but something freezes suddenly in his face. His eyes go blank as he looks around, and then they start to water.

Oh stars, the boy is crying.

Oh stars, the boy cries so prettily that it makes Anakin feel like a dirty old man to have his hands all over him like this.

“They—” Obi-Wan blinks tear-filled eyes up at Anakin. “They were going to—”

Anakin swallows rather thickly. “Yeah,” he mutters, letting his hands fall to rest on the boy’s shoulders. The Force sings around them, so damned loud Anakin can hardly concentrate. “But uh. You’re safe, alright? I, uh.”

He flicks his eyes back to the crumpled, still forms of Obi-Wan’s would-be attackers, and the reality of what he just did catches up to him like a tidal wave. “I killed them,” he says out loud, eyes widening. Oh fucking Sith’s hells, he just killed a sentient. He could be—arrested or lose his seat in the Senate—he took another’s life—Force, the Jedi would demand he be put in Force suppression cuffs again. Worse, he’d have to sit through their remedial lessons and the Council would lecture him for hours on proper use of the Force. 

At least if he’s behind prison bars, he’d be forced to pay attention this time around, he thinks rather hysterically.

A pair of slender arms wind around his waist, shocking him out of the spiral of his thoughts. “For me,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pressing up into his hug and resting his head on Anakin’s shoulder, face turned into his neck. He can feel the wetness of Obi-Wan’s cheeks from his tears and the softness of his lips brushing his skin as he speaks.

He fits so well into Anakin’s arms, like he belongs there. 

This thought is just as hysterical as his previous ones.

“You killed them for me,” Obi-Wan repeats, nuzzling further into his neck. The way he says it makes it sound like it’s all fucking good, a justification to explain the literal fucking crime Anakin’s just committed. 

A voice that sounds very much like Padmé is screaming at him in his head that no justification can explain away taking someone’s life, but then Obi-Wan pulls back from his one-sided hug and looks up at him again with wet eyes. His face is scratched up and bleeding. His hair is mussed up too from the creature’s claws gripping and twisting it.

It makes such a sense of wrongness well up in Anakin’s chest that he almost chokes on it. 

“They would have hurt me,” Obi-Wan says. “But you killed them before they could.” 

Anakin gets the very strange impression that if Obi-Wan were a loth-cat, he would be purring right now. Purring and rubbing up against him.

Though, he doesn’t have to be part loth-cat for that last part, which he’s already proven.

But it’s not as if the boy is wrong. The Zephrian would have hurt him. Anakin prevented that hurt from coming to fruition.

As if someone else is controlling his body, he raises his hand to Obi-Wan’s face and fits it against his unblemished cheek. They’re both shaking now. Adrenaline leaving the body perhaps. Residual fear from Obi-Wan. Maybe even shock settling in.

“We should go,” Obi-Wan whispers, even as he stands still, face cradled in Anakin’s palm. “This may be the lower levels, but eventually a Coruscanti guard is going to find the bodies.”

The bodies. The bodies that Anakin made.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flare for a second—a trick of the light making them shine golden as he huffs out a breath. “I’m cold,” he says, and he shivers again.

He’s cold because he’s wearing a skimpy little outfit among the shadows of the Lower Levels. He’s cold because more skin is showing than he’s got hidden away. He’s cold because he is not tucked away in his grandfather’s apartments where a pretty little bird like him should be.

Anakin’s nostrils flare even as he drops his hand away from Kenobi’s face to yank his cloak off and drag it over the boy’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” he bites out, anger rising once more at the sight of the little princeling in front of him.

“That’s what I’ve been—Force!” Obi-Wan’s snappish reply turns into a surprised curse when Anakin takes his elbow and pulls him into motion. “Ow, Anakin!”

But Anakin knows now what Obi-Wan really sounds like when he’s in pain, the high, pitchy gasp he’s capable of making, so he does not ease up on his grasp. He just—he needs to get the boy back where he belongs, away from him, and then he needs to forget all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“You’re going home,” Anakin snarls, cutting through the crowd in the opposite direction. The smartest of the people around them get out of the way as soon as they see him coming. Kenobi makes a little noise of surprise when someone shoves into him, pressing closer to Anakin. “And then I’m never going to see you again.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Obi-Wan says, panting slightly as he has to walk twice as fast to keep up with Anakin’s strides. “My grandfather will hardly ban you from seeing m—”

Anakin swings them to a stop and pushes the infuriating princeling up against the closest wall. “That wasn’t an opinion,” he growls, using every inch of his greater height to loom over the boy. “That was an order.”

Kenobi’s eyes are round, wet. There’s none of that fear that had been present earlier, even though he is being held against an alleyway’s disgusting wall by a murderer. 

“You should be afraid,” Anakin mutters, tracing his eyes over the lines of Kenobi’s face. “Why aren’t you afraid.” This isn’t a question either; this is a demand. 

Kenobi blinks up at him and then relaxes into the wall. “You killed them for me,” he murmurs. “And then you gave me your cloak.”

As if that’s an explanation.

Anakn bares his teeth, feeling wild as the Force howls around him.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan adds, dropping his eyes away only to look at him once more from under his fucking eyelashes. “For saving me.”

Some newly awakened beast inside Anakin roars at this, though even he cannot tell if it’s from satisfaction, hunger, or rage.

“I am never going to see you again,” he repeats as firmly as he knows how.

“Yes, Senator,” Kenobi replies. His mouth curls up into a small smile. Anakin wants to bruise him. “But I can’t fly like this, Senator,” he bites at his lip. The cut on his face has stopped bleeding, but it looks wicked. His hair is still a mess. “Please take me home.”

Anakin scowls. The boy calls him senator like it’s some other title altogether. It makes his tongue feel heavy, his chest tight, and his face hot. “I’m flying,” he barks before turning out of the alleyway. He feels wrong-footed. Wrong. 

He killed a sentient today, but all he can think about is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s pretty little face looking up at him as tears beaded along his eyes. All he can think is that he should have kille the Zephrian faster, before they or their monkey could ever touch Kenobi. All he can think is that he wants to make Kenobi cry again.

Kenobi’s speeder-bike is where the boy left it, watched over by the same eager vendor. “No one touched it,” the man swears as soon as he sees Anakin approach.

“Good,” Anakin tells him. “Much obliged.”

He swings his leg up and over the seat grabbing its handles. It’s a new make, of course it fucking is. The little princeling would never fly anything but the newest speeder on the line. It makes him seethe, that Kenobi will never know the poverty Anakin came from, that he’ll never appreciate how fucking good he has it, that he’ll risk everything he has on a whimsical decision. He’ll leave a brand new speeder in a shit alleyway. He’ll parade around the Lower Levels in diamonds and sapphires. He’ll cry for others—

“Hey!” The vendor protests. “Hey, you said—”

“I lied,” Anakin growls back. Kenobi’s arms wrap around his waist again. The boy presses indecently, unnecessarily close. 

“You sleem—”

“You should leave,” Obi-Wan’s voice chimes in, lilting and calm and filled with such a heavy application of sheer power that Anakin’s feet automatically kick the speeder into low gear before he realizes that Kenobi wasn’t commanding him. 

“I…should leave,” the vendor repeats, sounding struck over the head. Anakin feels rather struck too. He’d heard of the Jedi mindtrick, most people had given the prevalence of the Jedi in popular culture, but he’d never seen it in action. He’d never heard it.

It sends a shiver of disgust down his spine in a way the popularized idea of the trick never had. To take control of someone’s mind—to enslave them to your will, even for a second….

Kenobi presses his face against his neck, turning so that his lips slide over his skin. “We should leave too,” he murmurs as if he has not just stolen a man’s free will from him, if only for a moment. 

But then—Anakin killed a sentient tonight. Does he have any room to be disgusted with Kenobi’s actions?

Padmé would despise both of them if she knew what they got up to tonight when they left the gardens. Wouldn’t she? Not that he’d ever tell her.

Anakin’s mouth forms a thin line as he pushes the speeder into motion. The engine purrs near-silently as it’s guided forward. Anakin almost wishes it were louder so he could not hear Obi-Wan’s inhales and exhales—but then, he’d still be able to feel them, plastered to his back as he is.

He flies, with Kenobi’s loose instruction, to the sector and apartments the Count is renting out. All the lights but the ones illuminating the docking bay are shut off, the quarters completely dark.

Anakin pulls the speeder parallel to the docking bay and waits for the boy to slide off and onto the platform.

“Is this the trade then?” Kenobi asks lightly as he dismounts, his hands clutching each other beneath the too-long sleeves of the cloak when he stands straight on the safety of the docking bay. “I keep your cloak, you keep my speeder-bike?”

“I will have one of my aides return it to this address tomorrow,” Anakin says flatly. “But you can keep the cloak.”

“I don’t want your stupid cloak!” The words burst out of Obi-Wan, much louder and more fierce than Anakin expected. The boy’s hands make fists at his sides. 

He recovers quickly though. “Then what do you want, Kenobi? Because I can’t pretend I have the slightest idea!”

“I want—” the boy cuts himself off an scrubs his hands over his face so roughly that the cut across his chin and up his cheek starts bleeding once more. Anakin watches it re-open in the moonlight, Kenobi’s blood appearing more black than red. “I just wanted you to like me,” Obi-Wan finishes with a sniffle, voice breaking halfway through his confession.

Anakin clenches his jaw and looks away, feeling awkward and confused and strangely sympathetic. ��You cannot force another into liking you, Obi-Wan,” he finally replies, cutting his eyes back to the boy’s pathetic figure. “It is not like one of your mind tricks.”

“I know that!” Obi-Wan says, “Of course I know that, I’m not a youngling!”

“You’ve been acting like one this entire night!” Anakin snaps back, sympathy draining away from him to make room for the anger.

Obi-Wan stills, and his eyes flash. “I can show you, Senator,” he says, tone changing completely. Becoming sultry. Dark with promise. He takes a step forward, allowing Anakin’s cloak to shrug off his narrow shoulders and pool around his feet. “I can show you I’m not a youngling…if you want…”

“What—”

Obi-Wan flicks his fingers through the air, and the speeder’s engine is sputters into idleness at the same time Anakin finds himself pushed roughly back on the seat, leaving just enough room for Obi-Wan to slither over his spread legs and sit himself in his lap.

“Kenobi—”

Obi-Wan’s arms wrap loosely around his neck. The only reason Anakin doesn’t shake him off is because he’d probably fall to his death off the docking bay just to be contrary.

That’s the only reason.

“I don’t want you to think of me as a youngling, Senator,” Obi-Wan murmurs, ducking his head and catching Anakin’s eye. “I’m not a youngling, and if we’re being honest, I’m not sure you’ve been looking at me like I’m one either.”

“Get off—”

“Exactly what I want, Senator,” Obi-Wan says, using his grip around Anakin’s neck to rock down against him. It feels good. Stars help him, it feels good.

And Obi-Wan must know it or feel his pleasure in the Force or something, because he smirks slightly, a crack of honest emotion in his seductress mask. 

It sends a pang of arousal up his chest at the same moment he finds the strength to raise Kenobi off of him and push him to the docking bay’s floor.

The little minx falls easily onto his back, spreading his legs wide as he props himself up on his elbows to pout up at Anakin. “Well now I’m just confused, Senator. Do you want me to act like a youngling or act like a man?”

Anakin exhales forcefully, hands clenching into fists on the speeder bike’s handles. His front feels cold; his lap too empty.

Palpatine was right. Kenobi is dangerous. Best avoided. Best to be put out of sight and out of mind. “I want to never see you again.” 

The words come out flat and robotic. He can’t even fucking blame Kenobi for laughing when he hears them. Anakin sort of feels like laughing at himself the entire flight back to his apartments.

When he wakes in the middle of the night, erection straining against the thin material of his sleep pants and Kenobi’s sweet face fading from behind his eyelids, he doesn’t feel much like laughing anymore. Perhaps more like sobbing, as if he were the young temperamental boy out of the pair of them. 

(Poll For The Next Part LIVE)

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | l. felix <3

a/n: another day, another soulmate au :,-) i listened to a lot of jazz while writing this, so i hope you get extra serotonin and comfort from it as a result! i truly cannot resist the precious energy of felix <3333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none! | pairing: soulmate!felix x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

your soulmate's birthday and birth time are written on your wrist.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

felix practically threw everything he was carrying the second he stepped through the door, desperate to make it to the kitchen. washing his hands, he glanced at the clock. he tried to calculate how fast he would need to move to finish the cake before midnight. of course, today of all days, his schedules would run over.

he let out a few frustrated noises but quickly gathered the utensils, dishes, and supplies he needed to make the perfect birthday cake. just as he was starting to relax, his hand felt nothing but air in the corner of the cupboard.

“oh no!” felix groaned, “we’re out of sugar!” 

doubting his reality, felix rummaged through the items he spread out over and over (and over) again. no matter how hard he wished, sugar did not materialize in front of him. what did materialize, however, was a cloud of flour. in his haste, felix had knocked into the bag, leaving a nice pile of the powder on the edge of the counter and a few streaks on his shirt. 

“is everything okay?” seungmin called from the doorway, slipping off his shoes beside jeongin.

“no!” felix rushed back out of the kitchen, racing towards the door, “i’ll clean that up later! i gotta go!”

the boys barely avoided a collision with felix as he put on his shoes and grabbed his bag in one fell swoop. felix almost crashed into minho at the building entrance, his apology flying behind him as he ran.

minho chuckled at the sight of felix’s hair whipping back and forth as a result of his fast pace, but then his face fell, “ah! we forgot to buy sugar!”

minho called out felix’s name to offer help. felix had already made it far enough down the road to be out of earshot. minho shrugged and strolled toward his home, curious if felix would reappear as quickly as he had disappeared.

the bell chimed as felix opened the store door, a calm sound clashing with his heaving breaths. he hadn’t the slightest clue how far or fast he had run, but the feeling in his body was reminiscent of how it felt to compete in variety show games. 

he caught his breath just enough to greet the store employee, trying his best to speedwalk to the baking aisle, rather than sprint across the store. when he turned the corner, felix swore he saw a halo around the bag of sugar. he nearly squealed from excitement and relief. it was the last one on the shelf, almost as though it was meant to be. 

at least, that’s what felix thought until another hand grasped the bag of sugar the second his fingertips brushed against it.

“ah, sorry! were you trying to grab this?” you lifted the bag of sugar in your hand, feeling both awkward and obliged to say something to the stranger in front of you.

“oh! uh…” felix shook the stunned look off his face, “yes. i’m so sorry, normally i wouldn’t even think to ask this, but i need that bag of sugar. i’m in the middle of a baking emergency, and i’m running out of time to finish the cake.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to hide your laughter. the person in front of you certainly looked like the poster child for a baking emergency. hair messy from–presumably–running, flour smatterings all over their shirt, and a very sincere look in their eyes when asking for a bag of sugar. they looked both silly and overwhelmingly cute.

you sighed, “now i’m sorry. i wouldn’t usually care about giving up a bag of sugar to someone in need. this time though, i need it. i’m trying to avoid a baking emergency of my own,” you paused, figuring out how to convince this frantic baker that you weren’t lying, “this sounds like a lame excuse, i know, but today’s my birthday. i can’t make myself my usual birthday treat unless i have this sugar, and i’d really like to have some of it before the day’s over.”

felix’s eyes went wide. his expression shifted from disappointment to confusion to deep thought to bewilderment to excitement in 20 seconds. you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what was running through his head, especially when you noticed that he was nearly vibrating with…excitement?

“today’s your birthday?”

you nodded.

“can i see your wrist?”

your brow furrowed, not sure why the first question was about your birthday and the second about your wrist. as your lips formed the word why? it clicked in your head. either in an attempt to conceal your hopefulness or out of disbelief, you stretched your arm out far enough to be in felix’s view. he bent forward, close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. you held your breath, waiting for him to say something.

instead of a reply, giggles fell from felix’s lips. he offered his wrist to you, muttering something along the lines of please tell me this is your–i can’t believe this–just looking for the sugar!

his smiles and giggles infected you. both of you seemingly forgot about your time crunch, basking in the happiness you felt at the hands of fate in the baking aisle.

“maybe we can share the sugar? i was about to bake your birthday cake when i ran over here.”

you tilted your head in confusion, still smiling from felix’s gleeful demeanor, “you were baking my birthday cake?”

“yeah!” felix bounced while nodding, “every year since i can remember, i’ve baked you a dessert on your birthday. i wanted to get in as much practice as possible before we met, so i could make your favorite treat on our first birthday together! obviously, i don’t know what your favorite is. i’ve done a lot of different recipes over the years though, so i’m sure i can figure it out, even if it takes me a few tries. i promise i’ll perfect the recipe so it matches your taste exactly! ah, this is great! i can finally show you the recipe book i’ve compiled with everything i’ve tried so far! do you–” felix paused, cheeks blushing when he realized how quickly he was speaking, “sorry, i got a bit excited for a second, didn’t i?”

you laughed, looking at him with nothing but gratitude and fondness, “i love the excitement, and i would love to talk about my favorite treats with you. first though, could you tell me your name?”

felix’s jaw dropped. he couldn’t believe he had forgotten his manners. how could think to ask you about your favorite dessert before asking you for your name?

“yes, of course! i’m felix!” he smiled, eyes twinkling, “what’s your name?”

“i’m y/n,” you smiled back.

“y/n,” he repeated, savoring the way it felt to say your name for the very first time, “y/n, it is so incredibly nice to meet you!”

“it is so incredibly nice to meet you too, felix!”

the two of you stood smiling at each other until felix remembered the original mission that brought him to this store, “well, since it’s getting late, would you want to maybe…come over to my place…so i can bake your birthday cake? i understand if you don’t want to come over! i live up the road, and i would love for you to enjoy a treat that you don’t have to make yourself.”

the sweetness of the man in front of you melted your heart entirely, and you couldn’t resist the surprise of your soulmate making your birthday cake this year. you agreed, prompting felix to rush to the register to pay for the sugar. as he guided you towards his place, he asked you question after question about your favorite treats, how you like your baked goods decorated, what your normal birthday traditions were, and what kind of present you wanted. you matched the speed of his enthusiastic conversation as best as you could, giggling here and there at his passionate reactions to every word you said. it felt entirely surreal to be walking side by side with your soulmate, but here you were.

“oh, y/n?” felix faced you outside his apartment door.

“yes, felix?”

“happy birthday!”

beauty radiated off felix and warmth flooded your senses. while your birthday celebration was starting way later in the day than planned, there was absolutely no better present than this. standing beside felix, who giddily held that fateful bag of sugar, you knew that this would always be your favorite birthday.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[avocado-writing]

good boy

notes: my mate M put this idea in my head. this is her fault. pairing: gale x f!reader (sub!gale, dom!reader; praise kink; mummy kink)

rating: E

Gale has been dealt an unnecessarily unfair hand in the card game of life, you think. 

Having a tumultuous relationship with a goddess is one thing, getting a bloody magic bomb sealed into your chest is quite another. And all on top of being infected with that damned tadpole?

Well. Those sorts of things can really grind a man’s self esteem down. 

You can see that he tries to paint over it with his erudite speech, using fifteen words where he could use one to trick his listener into believing he holds a sense of grandeur about himself—but you know how to look for the subtler signs. The way he casts his eyes down whenever you give him a fond word, flinching ever so slightly when someone reaches out to touch him in kindness. 

Deep down, the man does not believe he deserves to be treated well. 

You are trying to correct that in every way you know how. 

“That’s it… aren’t you gorgeous, Gale? Such a good boy for me…”

“Unf… I…”

You can tell he’s trying to think of something clever or witty to say. From where you ride him, you press a finger down onto his lips to corral him to silence. It works, and as his mouth slips open you let your thumb slide against his tongue so he can suck it. 

Gods he is gorgeous. Chestnut, silver-streaked hair fanned out like a halo against the velvet of his pillows, a soft sheen of sweat dripping down him to give away the rigour you’ve been putting his body through. You made a point to apply your reddest lipstick so you could leave a trail of your adoration on him. Marks are pressed along his jawbone, down his neck, across his collarbone and chest; he is a masterpiece of debauchery. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, Gale. So beautiful all the time, dancing across the battlefield while you weave your magic… such clever hands, darling, so lovely…”

Those hands are currently settled on your hips, holding you tightly as you fuck him. With each word of praise you feel his cock twitch inside you. It’s nice to know what you can do to him, how wild you can drive him. As wild as he drives you. 

A grind down of your pelvis, pressing your clit into the rough hair at the base of him and grinning as he moans. 

“Tell me you’re my good boy, Gale. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

What happens next is in a tumble of words, so fast you don’t properly catch it for a moment. 

“I’m—fuck—I’m your good boy, mummy!”

He freezes. You pause in your riding. His eyes snap open from where they were squeezed shut in rapture. The flush of pink across his skin is now no longer from lust, but shame, and he realises he has made a mistake in voicing that out loud. 

“Gods. My deepest apologies, I never… didn’t mean to… we should have discussed this first, beforehand, I’m utterly horrified that… I’m sorry—!”

You reach down and silence his panic with a long, tender kiss, rolling your tongue across his. When you pull back, he’s returned to looking blissed-out rather than concerned. 

“‘Mummy’, is it?” you ask, mouth ticking upwards into a rather pleased smirk. “Well, darling boy. Mummy is very glad you know how good you are. How handsome and clever and wonderful.”

“Oh…” he whimpers, actually whimpers, and you know he won’t last long like this. You go back to riding him in earnest, fucking him until all he can do is gasp, and press one of your hands down across that mark on his chest, obscuring it beneath your touch. 

He is not Mystra’s. He is yours. 

“Come for mummy, you beautiful boy.”

Gale comes so hard you’re worried that he passes out for a second. His hips stutter beneath yours as hot jets fill you up, bringing you over the edge with him, the cocktail of the two of you leaking back down his length obscenely. 

He falls back and tries to catch his breath as you slowly pull off of him, grabbing the wet cloth you brought bedside earlier and gently wiping him down. The coolness makes him sigh in delight and he nuzzles into your touch, gulping down water gratefully when you bring a cup to his lips. 

“Are you alright, my love?” you ask gently, the rougher edge of your voice gone, giving away to something soft and caring. He nods and meets your eyes with his warm, adoring gaze. 

“Yes, my heart. Better than ever. And… I really didn’t mean to… I know we were swept up in the moment but if you’re not comfortable with it then you absolutely never have to…”

Another kiss. Less dominant, more reassuring. He hums delightedly into this one. 

“Whatever you need me to give you, my love,” you tell him. He melts into your arms, safe and loved. 

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate@dhampling (lmk if you want to be added!)

[the-fiction-witch]

Secret Visits P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Lady Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - Smut Word Count - 3973

As night fell on Dragonstone, Jacaerys had the feeling that this night would be very different from the others. He knew Y/n would be waiting for him, and the thought both thrilled and intimidated him. He waited until the castle had fallen silent, the moon casting its silvery light through the windows. Then, with a deep breath, he checked over the bundle of flowers he had gathered for her keeping them with him as he left the safety of his room and made his way down the darkened corridors, his heart beating faster with every step.

He paused outside her door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could still turn back, he thought. But the thought of seeing her again, of spending the night in her presence, overpowered his hesitation. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door and slipped silently into her chambers

Jacaerys closed the door silently behind him, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the fire. He saw Y/n in her bed, fast asleep, her hair spread across the silk pillow like a halo. He approached the bed slowly, his footsteps hushed against the cold stone floor.

He stood over her for a moment, simply watching her sleep, appreciating her beauty in the soft light of the fire. A strange sense of tranquillity washed over him as if he were in a dream.

Y/n slept peacefully, her curves wrapped in the red silk, her body cradled in a small cotton shift and nothing else below the sheets, her chest rose with each breath, her eyes closed and a comfortable smile on her face,

Jacaerys' eyes traced the curves of her body beneath the silk sheets. His breath hitched in his chest, and he felt a familiar heat stir in his core. He yearned to do as he always did, to look over her touch her, to feel her skin against his, view her intimate places and touch himself to release all over her bed, but… not tonight.

Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed, he set the flowers in a glass of water next to her bed as a nice surprise for her, he simply watched her sleep, his mind filled with a mixture of desire and restraint. He reached out, gently running his fingers through her silken hair, marvelling at its smoothness.

She stirred slightly humming softly in her sleep,

Jacaerys froze for a moment as she stirred, fearing he had woken her. But she seemed to settle again, her humming resuming its soft, sleepy melody. He let out a sigh of relief, his heartbeat slowing. He continued to gently run through her hair, his touch soft and soothing. It was soothing to watch her sleep, her face free of worry and her body relaxed. He began to run his hands down her back, to feel the warmth of her skin against his palm. He swallowed hard, his mind filled with lewd images.

He shook his head slightly, But it was getting harder and harder to ignore the desire that was building within him, his hand ran down her back comfortingly but before he knew it his body had worked on its own, Jacaerys' breath hitched in his throat as his hand found her ass. The feel of her through the silk sheets was soft and warm, and his body's reaction was immediate. A flush crept up his neck as he let out a small sound of surprise, his hand frozen on her backside.

He closed his eyes, silently scolding himself for losing control so soon. But the feel of her under his hand was so overwhelming, that it took all his strength not to move. His mind was at war with his body. The sensible part of him was telling him to remove his hand, to maintain some control. But the primal, animalistic part of him wanted to explore further, to claim what he had been denied for so long.

Jacaerys nearly groaned as his hand squeezed her. It took all his willpower to keep his sound silent. The sensation of her firm flesh beneath his palm was sending his mind into a frenzy. He repeated the action, squeezing her once more, enjoying the feel of her body even through the thin silk.

She stirs slightly once more,

his heart thudding in his chest. But she doesn't wake, her soft, sleeping breaths continuing undisturbed. Emboldened by this, he begins to allow his hand to wander more, He knows he should stop, but he can't bring himself to do it. The feel of her body, even through the silk sheets, is too pleasurable to resist.

Y/n stirred a little more but stayed in the embrace of sleep

Jacaerys' movements became more daring as he watched her stirring. Squeezing her a little more The feeling was exquisite, and it took all his restraint not to press his body against hers. He couldn't understand why the gods had made her so beautiful, so tantalizing, and yet kept her just out of his reach. He had dreamed of this moment for years, and now that he had her so close, it was more torturous than he had anticipated. His fingers traced lazy circles over the silk, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh under his hand. He took deep breaths, trying to steady himself and maintain control. But it was becoming increasingly difficult, her proximity and the feel of her body sending his mind into a dizzying tailspin. He leaned over her, his breath hot against her neck. He could smell the faint, floral scent of her skin, and he suddenly found himself desperately wanting to taste her, to run his tongue over her flesh and mark her as his own.

He leaned even closer, his lips hovering just inches from her neck. His hand, still on her backside, gripped the silk just slightly, pulling her body just a little bit towards him. The animal inside him was howling, demanding that he claim her as his own, to take what he'd been denied for so long.

Y/n stirred again this time she muttered in her sleep "jacaerys…"

Jacaerys' heart nearly stopped as he heard his name fall from her lips. Had she just said his name? Even in her sleep, she had thought of him, whispered his name. The realization sent a wave of tenderness and desire through him. He wanted to answer, to tell her he was here, that he would never leave her side. But the words got stuck in his throat, and he found himself holding his breath.

Y/n stirred a little more adjusting herself in the bed so she pressed her body flush against his own her hands resting on his chest and her nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck "Jacaerys…"

Jacaerys' heart raced wildly as her body pressed against his, her hands on his chest and her nose nuzzling his neck. He could feel the heat of her body through her silk shift, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to pull her closer, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. He found his voice, his whisper low and shaky. "I'm here, Y/n… I'm here…"

she smiled seeming so content snuggled up to him, “Hello Jacaerys,” she muttered

“Hello Y/n,” Jacaerys wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent, holding her as though he was afraid she would disappear.

“Have you come for cuddles?”

“I have, if I can stay tonight?”

“You may,”

“And… for other stuff?”

“Mhm,” she nodded,

He was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. Desire, love, tenderness, contentment. All these years, he had yearned for just a moment like this, and now that he had her in his arms, it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

"Uummmm jacaerys…" She muttered sleepily peppering little sleepy kisses on his skin

Jacaerys felt his heart swell with each sleepy, sweet kiss. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he held her closer, his body responding strongly to her touch. He nuzzled his face into her neck, leaving a trail of gentlest kisses across her skin. "Y/n," he whispered, the sound of her name like a prayer, "You don't know how long I've wanted to hold you like this…"

He held her tightly, his arms encircling her form. His lips continued to trail kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone. Every inch of her skin was soft and warm, and he ached to feel every inch of her, to memorize the feel of her body against his. His hands found their way to the ties of the silk shift, He untied the laces with shaky fingers, his heart racing as he revealed more and more of her skin. The silken fabric slid open to expose her chest and stomach, and Jacaerys' breath hitched at the sight of her bare skin. He leaned down, his lips and tongue trailing kisses along her collarbone, down the valley of her chest, tasting her body and savouring every inch he exposed

she squirmed a little “Jace,” she whimpers

Jacaerys relished the sound of her whimpers, the small, sweet sounds fuelling his desire even more. He moved his kisses further down her body, his mouth finding the curve of her breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nipple.

she gasped and moaned arching her back a little,

Jacaerys followed her movement, crawling over her, his body now hovering over hers. He looked down at her, his eyes taking in the sight of her bare torso, the soft curves and slopes of her body. He leaned down, his lips finding her breast again, his teeth nipping her skin and his tongue now swirling around her hardened nipple,

she arched her back and rubbed her thighs together impatiently, “Jacaerys…”

he groaned against her chest, He began to move lower, his lips trailing down her stomach, leaving a trail of kisses and softly nipping her skin with his teeth.

she whined and whimpered at each all nip her body squirming under him her fingers twisting in her sheets "Jacaerys…" She gasps

Each gasp and whimper from her lips sent a jolt of desire through him. He found himself wanting to pull more sounds from her, to see just how much pleasure he could give her. He continued his path down her body, his lips and tongue finding her hip bones, his teeth gently biting into the soft flesh. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them apart to give him access to her.

"jacaerys…" She whines her hips squirming,

He couldn't take it any longer, the sound of his name on her lips, the desperate squirming of her hips. Jacaerys needed her, needed to hear her say his name again, needed to taste her. He moved his head lower, his tongue finding her clit, tasting her for the first time.

Y/n threw her head against her pillow, her back arching high off the mattress, her hips squirming against the bed, her legs trembling as she let out a animalistic moan of pure pleasure, her toes curling on the sheets,

The sound of her moan and sight of her body arching against the bed set fire to his blood. Jacaerys groaned and began to explore her with his tongue, tasting her, feasting on her as though he was a starving man. He gripped her thighs, holding them open, his fingers digging into her flesh as he continued to drive her to ecstasy.

"j-j-jace…" She gasped between her breathy moans her hand finding his dark curls,

He felt his hair being seized by her trembling hand and it only fueled his fire. Jacaerys glanced up at her, seeing her flushed and writhing against the bed, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. It was a sight that would burn into his memory and never leave him. He responded to her call of his name by driving his tongue even deeper leaving no inch of her without his tongue's touch tasting her every inch as she drips her wetness, his hands now grabbing her hips to hold her in place against his mouth.

she screamed her fingers knotting in his hair,

He could feel her fingers gripping his hair, her screams driving him wild. He continued his assault on her, his tongue moving faster, tasting and exploring her with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of. He wanted to push her over the edge, to see her lose herself completely in pleasure. His grip on her hips tightened as he drove her closer and closer to the edge.

"jacaerys… Please… Please…" She whimpers out like a wounded animal,

He looked up at her, his mouth still against her sensitive flesh, the taste of her on his lips. He could hear the desperation in her voice, the pleading in her words. He couldn't deny her, and he certainly could never deny her when she said his name like that. He pulled back from her slightly, looking up at her with a feral look in his eyes. He licked his lips, savoring her taste, before speaking in a gruff, hoarse voice. "What do you want, my love?"

"… You" she gasped her eyes half-lidded as she desperately strained herself to speak

Jacaerys felt a rush of possessiveness at her words, and he growled low in his throat. He rose up over her, prowling like a wild animal as he positioned himself between her legs. He leaned down, his body covering hers, his weight bearing down on her frame. He looked down at her, his eyes fixed on her flushed face, his hands holding her legs apart. "All of me?"

she nodded holding his hands in hers intertwining her fingers with his and laying their connected hands either side of her head "I have been… More than ready for all of you, since we were betrothed. We have waited long enough jacaerys."

He felt a wave of emotions at her words, at the realization of just how much she had been aching for this, aching for him. The thought that she had been imagining this night as long as he had was almost his undoing. "By the gods, Y/n," he breathed, his voice thick with desire, "You have no idea the things I want to do to you. The things I have wanted to do to you since the day we first met."

she giggled and pushed herself up enough to met her plump lips to his, kissing him with all the energy and neediness of their time apart, but with all the love and devotion of his future bride, she kept her hands intertwined with his against the sheets so he could press her hands into the sheets Their bodies touching in every inch they could

He kissed her back with an urgency and intensity that surprised even him. His lips moved hungrily over hers, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth, as he pressed her into the bed with the weight of his body. He could feel the heat of her skin against his, the softness of her body pressed against his own. He let out a guttural moan as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping hers tightly, pinning her wrists to the sheets.

His tongue tangled with hers, the taste of her setting his body on fire. He let out a low moan against her mouth, his body pressing even closer to hers, his hands gripping her wrists tightly as he held her down.

He broke the kiss, his face hovering above hers as he panted for breath. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire, his voice a rough whisper. "I want you, Y/n. I want all of you. Every inch of you."

"you need not want. It is yours." She gasped "By law you are my betrothal by right all of me Is yours, and I give it… Willing" she smiled "and… Excitedly"

He looked down at her, his eyes dark and possessive as he took in her words. She was his, by law and by right. Every inch of her belonged to him, and she was giving it to him, willingly and excitedly. The thought filled him with a rush of power and desire. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke: "Then let me take you, my love. Let me claim you as my own, in every way possible."

she nodded and wrapped her legs around his waist

He groaned at the sensation of her legs wrapped around his waist, his body pressing against hers. He could feel the heat of her against his clothed lower body, and it took all his control not to lose himself completely in the moment. His hands released her wrists, and he moved them to her hips, gripping them tightly and pulling her body flush against his. He shifted, his hips pressing against hers, his body between her thighs, his need for her growing harder and more desperate by the second. He captured her lips in a hungry, passionate kiss, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth once more. He broke the kiss, his lips leaving hers to trail down her jawline, nipping at her sensitive skin as he made his way to her neck, his tongue swirling over the pulse point.

she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged his hair a little as she kissed down her neck

The tug at his hair sent a jolt of desire through him, and he groaned against her skin, his teeth gently biting into her neck in response. His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her body even closer to his, his hips now grinding against hers in a slow, deliberate motion.

she gasped and whimpered at his moments

He could hear her gasps and moans, and it only served to fuel his desire further. He continued the slow rhythm with his hips, his body pressing against hers, his mouth working its way down to her chest, his tongue trailing over her collarbone and the valley between her breasts. His hands slid up from her hips, moving up her body to cup her breasts,

she squealed and squirmed her hips a little as he took her breasts,

He felt her squirm against him, her hips moving in a way that only served to drive him even more wild, and he couldn't help but moan against her skin at the sight of her reactions as he caressed her breasts with his hands. He looked up at her, his eyes darkened with desire, his voice a low, guttural growl as he spoke "You're so responsive, my love… So sensitive. I can't get enough of you."

she whimpers and moans the more he touches them arching her back so he can touch them more

He groans at the sight of her arching her back, her body begging for more, for his touch. He continues to caress her breasts with his hands, his thumbs gently circling her nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. "You're so beautiful, my love," he whispers, his breath hot against her skin, "So perfect. I can't get enough of you. I need more of you. I need all of you."

she screamed and squealed throwing her head back with animalistic moans as he circles them her body trembling "jacaerys please im-"

Her screams and squeals, the sound of his name on her lips, drives him wild, and he can feel his self-control slipping further and further away. "Please… What, my love?" he growls, "Tell me what you need. Tell me what you want." He rolls one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the pad of his thumb circling the hardening tip, as he watches her body tremble beneath him.

she screamed "jacaerys… I'll… I'll come if you don't stop my darling.."

Hearing her words, the realization that he can bring her to the edge like this, just with his touch, makes his blood burn with desire. He growls, and a possessive, primal part of him takes over. "That is exactly what I want, my love," he whispers in a gruff voice, "I want you to come for me. I want to see you lose yourself in pleasure. I want you to feel my touch, my body against yours, and give yourself over to me."

she screamed arching her back once more and squirming under him her eyes rolling back and his trousers slightly dampened as she squirted slightly in her closeness

Seeing her arch her back and squirm beneath him, her body responding so wildly to his touch, is a sight that he knows will never leave his memory. And when he feels the slight dampness on his trousers, he lets out a guttural moan, his control hanging on by a thread. "By the gods, Y/n…" he groans, his voice ragged, "You are so incredibly sensitive, so responsive. You drive me wild, my love."

"please… Please… Jacaerys" she begs twisting her fingers in his hair pulling his head to her neck lingering in the edge "Please say it…"

He feels her hands in his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, and he lets out a guttural moan against her neck, his lips finding her pulse point and sucking on the sensitive skin. "Say what, my love? Tell me what you want to hear," he whispers, his breath hot against her skin, "What do you want me to say?"

"tell me you love me" she begged in a whisper as she tightened her thighs around him and her body began trembling

He groans at her words, his body shuddering with desire and want. He can feel her thighs tighten around him, her body trembling against his, and he knows he is on the edge of losing all control. "Oh, my love…" he says in a rough, guttural voice, "I love you. I love you more than anything. More than life itself. You are everything to me. You are my heart, my soul, my very being. You are my everything, my love. My beautiful, perfect love."

she screamed clawing her nails into his head and back, her body shaking pressed against his own, she soaked the bed and him, her eyes rolling back as she let out this pure scream and moan of utter pleasure screaming out his name between the moans, She then collapsed her body on the bed and gasped fast her chest bouncing with each gasp her eyes still closed as she tries to relax

Seeing her come undone beneath him, screaming his name in ecstasy and arching her body against him, is a sight that he knows will forever be burned into his memory his body shakes with desire and a primal need to claim her as his own. He looks down at her, watching her gasp for breath, her chest heaving with each breath she takes, her eyes still closed. He can see the exhaustion in her body, but he is far from done with her yet.

"… I love you too jacaerys…" She gasps out

He smiles down at her, his eyes dark with love and desire. He lowers his body down beside her, pulling her in close against his chest, his hand moving up to stroke her hair. "I know you do, my love," he murmurs, his voice gentle, "I know you love me. I can see it in your eyes, in your touch, in your very soul." He leans down, his lips finding her ear, his voice a low growl, "But I'm not done with you yet. Not by a long shot."

"I'm sure you have a plan for me?" She giggled,

He smiles against her ear, his hand moving down to caress her hip, his fingers tracing circles over the soft skin there. "Oh, I have many, many plans for you, my love," he purrs, his voice low and filled with desire, "And I plan on taking my time with each and every one of them." his body pressing hers into the bed as he looks down at her with a possessive gleam in his eyes.

[lxndonorris]

his clothes - Carlos Sainz Jr

Y/N x Carlos Sainz Jr Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Touching helping Carlos change after the FP2 word count: 5140+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of engines reverberates through the paddock as the second free practice session of the Italian Grand Prix comes to a close. The Ferrari garage is a hive of activity, with engineers and mechanics swarming around, checking data, adjusting parts, and conversing in rapid Italian.

It is an environment you grew familiar with over the past few months, and it never fails to make your heart race—especially now as you wait for Carlos to return.

You stand at the edge of the garage, just outside the halo of bright lights that bathes everything in an almost ethereal glow. You are wearing Carlos's black Ferrari shirt, a subtle nod to the special racing suit he is wearing this weekend. 

The suit is a deviation from the usual red, a tribute to something special, and it makes him look incredibly sharp like a panther ready to pounce.

The monitors above you flicker with final standings, but you can't concentrate on the data. Your eyes are glued to the pitlane, waiting for the moment when Carlos would return.

The rumble of his engine is familiar, a sound you can pick out even amidst the cacophony of F1 cars. And then, there is is—the sleek, scarlet Ferrari rounds the corner into the pit lane and rolls to a stop right in front of you.

Carlos sits in the cockpit for a moment, his hands still on the steering wheel as the mechanics swarm the car, placing cooling fans on the brakes and handling the car with the care one might show a precious artifact. 

His helmet turns slightly, and though you can't see his face, you know he's taking a deep breath, savoring the rush of the session, the speed, the adrenaline.

As he pulls himself out of the car, your heart skips a beat. The black suit clings to his body, highlighting the strength and athleticism that he honed over years of racing.

He moves with a grace that belies the intense physical demands of driving an F1 car, and as he shakes hands with his mechanics, exchanging a few words in Spanish, you can't help but smile.

This is his world—fast-paced, intense, and exhilarating—and you love being part of it.

Finally, he turns toward you, and even with his helmet still on, you know he is smiling. 

He walks over, the visor of his helmet reflecting the bright lights overhead, and stops just in front of you. You feel the heat radiating from his body, the energy still coursing through him from the session.

With deliberate slowness, Carlos removes his gloves, one finger at a time, and then he reaches to unlatch his helmet. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he lifts it off, his beautiful eyes on display, before he takes the balacava off with one hand, revealing his flushed face and the mess of dark hair that is sticking to his forehead.

His eyes sparkle with that post-session glow, a mix of satisfaction and the lingering adrenaline that always makes him look so alive, so vibrant.

He tosses the helmet and balaclava onto a nearby table, then reaches out to you, his hands slipping around your waist as he pulls you close. The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of your shirt—his shirt—and you melt into him, inhaling the familiar scent of sweat and motor oil that clings to his skin. 

It is intoxicating.

"You look good in my shirt," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

You smile, feeling a rush of affection as you lean into his firm chest. "I thought I'd surprise you."

"You definitely did," he replies, his tone laced with approval. 

Carlos pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over the shirt before meeting yours.

"I think I like you in this even more than I like it on me."

A laugh bubbles up from your chest, and you steady yourself against him, feeling the residual tension in his muscles, the power that has just been exerted behind the wheel of his Ferrari.

His fingers tighten slightly on your waist, as if he senses the effect he is having on you.

"Careful, Carlos," you tease, trying to keep your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. "You'll make me blush."

He chuckles, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

"That's the idea."

You stand there for a moment, the noise of the garage fading into the background as everything else disappears, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

His hands move from your waist to your back, sliding up under the hem of the shirt to rest against the small of your back, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Carlos is close enough that you feel his breath on your cheek, and for a moment, you forget about the busy garage, the race weekend, everything that isn't him.

But the world around you comes back into focus as one of the mechanics walks by, giving Carlois a friendly clap on the shoulder. 

He responds with a nod, his attention still on you, though you see the remnants of that professional focus lingering in his eyes.

"Come on," he says softly, pulling away just enough to grab his helmet and balaclava. "Let's go back to the motorhome. I need to change out of this and cool down."

You nod, the thought of some quiet time with him making your pulse quicken again. 

The walk to the Ferrari motorhome isn't long, but it feels like an eternity as you trail behind him, watching the way he moves, the powerful lines of his body still taut with energy. 

Every so often, he glances back at you, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he knows exactly what is running through your mind.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he holds the door open for you, and you step inside, the cool air a welcome relief after the heat of the paddock.

The space is small but comfortable, a private sanctuary amidst the chaos of the race weekend.

Carlos closes the door behind you, and the noise from outside immediately dims, leaving a soft hum that is almost soothing.

He sets his helmet down on a table, then turns to you, his eyes dark and intent. You see the slight flush in his cheeks and the balaclava lines on his skin, the lingering heat from the session still clinging to his skin, and it makes him look even more irresistible.

Your eyes are drawn to Carlos as he moves around, still dressed in his racing gear. 

There is something about seeing him like this—fresh from the car, hair tousled and skin flushed—that makes it impossible to look away.

The way the black racing suit clings to his athletic frame, highlighting every muscle, every line, is mesmerizing.

He walks over to the small fridge in the corner, grabbing a bottle of water. The simple action draws your gaze, and you can't help but let your eyes wander over him, drinking in the sight of his strong, toned body. 

There is grace in his movements, a confidence that comes naturally to him, whether he is behind the wheel of a car or just standing in a motorhome.

Carlos turns to face you, and you quickly lift your gaze to meet his, though you can tell by the slight smirk on his lips that he noticed you staring.

His eyes linger on the shirt you are wearing—his shirt—and you see the amusement flicker in his gaze. He walks over to you with that easy, deliberate stride that always makes your pulse quicken, the bottle of water still in his hand.

"You know," he begins, his voice tinged with a playful reproach as he closes the distance between you, "you have a habit of stealing my clothes."

A laugh escapes your lips as you look up at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his teasing.

"Can you blame me? They are comfortable, and they smell like you."

He raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he reaches out to gently tug on the hem of the shirt.

"Is that so?" Or is it just that you like seeing me without them?"

His words send a rush of warmth to your cheeks, but you don't back down. Instead, you grin, biting your lip as you look up at him, enjoying the game.

"Maybe it's a bit of both."

Carlos chuckles, the sound low and rich, and he takes a step closer, his free hand slipping around your waist to pull you against him.

The warmth of his body seeps through the thin fabric of the shirt, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the lingering energy from the session still humming beneath his skin.

"I have to admit," he murmurs again, his lips brushing the top of your head as he speaks, "you do look good in my clothes."

His words send a thrill through you, and you lean into him, feeling the familiar comfort of his embrace. 

There is something so intoxicating about being this close to him, surrounded by the scent of his cologne mixed with the subtle notes of sweat and motor oil, all reminders of the man he is—both the racer and the person beneath the helmet.

"You don't mind, do you?" You ask, your voice soft as you rest your head against his chest.

"Mind?" he echoes, his tone full of affectionate amusement. "How could I mind when you make the look better than I do?"

You smile, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a blanket. He pulls you back just enough to look down at you, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of affection and mischief that always makes your heart skip a beat.

"But," he continues, his tone shifting to something more serious, though the smile remains on his lips, "you might have to start sharing your wardrobe with me. It's only fair."

You laugh, reaching up to run your fingers through his still-damp hair. 

"Deal. But only if you promise to keep leaving your shirts around for me to find."

Carlos grins, his eyes lighting up with that boyish charm that makes your knees weak.

"Deal," he agrees, then leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, slow and tender, filled with all the unspoken words you don't need to say.

When he pulls back, his gaze softens, and he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"Let's sit down," he suggests, his voice soft as he guides you toward the small sofa in the corner of the motorhome.

You settle down side by side, and you curl into him, resting your head on his shoulder as his arm drapes around you.

The cool leather of the sofa is a contrast to the warmth of his body, and you feel a deep contentment settle over you as you sit there, the intensity of the earlier moments giving way to a quiet intimacy.

Carlos traces patterns on your arm with his fingers, the motion soothing, and you let your eyes close for a moment, simply enjoying the peace of being with him.

"Are you nervous about tomorrow?" You ask quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He tilts his head slightly, thinking for a moment before answering.

"A little," he admits, his voice thoughtful. "But it's a good kind of nervous. The kind that keeps you sharp, focused."

You nod, understanding. 

You saw him in this state before—the way he channels that nervous energy into determination, into the drive that makes him one of the best on the grid.

It is one of the things you admire most about it—his ability to balance the pressure with a calm confidence that always shines through when it matters most.

"You'll do great," you say, lifting your head to look up at him. "I know you will."

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that makes your heart flutter. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, the noise of the paddock a distant hum that only occasionally intrudes on your quiet moment.

After a while, Carlos shifts slightly, his hand moving to tilt your chin up so you are looking at him.

"You know," he starts, a teasing note in his voice, "I think I might start leaving my shirts out on purpose."

You laugh; the sound is light and carefree.

"I wouldn't complain," you reply, matching his playful tone. "Just as long as you don't mind if they mysteriously disappear."

He grins, the mischievous glint in his eyes making your heart race.

"I wouldn't mind at all," he says softly, his gaze holding yours, full of warmth and affection but also something else.

Carlos's grin turns playful as he shifts on the sofa, his hand sliding down to rest on your thigh.

"Do you want to help me change?" he asks, his voice laced with mischief, though there is a genuine warmth in his gaze.

You feel a flutter in your chest at the suggestion, your heart beating a little faster as you catch the subtle invitation in his tone.

"Of course," you reply, matching his playful smile as you move to sit up a bit more, closing the distance between you.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his racing suit. His breath hitches slightly at your touch, his eyes following your fingers as they begin to trace light, teasing patterns over his chest.

There is something incredibly intimate about the moment—the way his heartbeat thrums beneath your fingertips, strong and steady, the way his gaze never leaves yours.

Carlos watches you, his expression softening as you take your time, letting your hands explore, your fingers dancing lightly over the contours of his muscles.

His breathing deepens, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more pronounced as he leans back slightly, giving you fill access.

"Enjoying yourself?" He murmurs, his voice low and a little rough, though there is a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Maybe a little," you tease back, your fingers moving to the zipper at the front of his suit. 

You tug on it lightly, not enough to pull it down just yet, but enough to make him hum in anticipation. The sound is soft, almost a purr, and it sends a thrill through you, knowing that you can evoke that reaction from him.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes darkening with a mix of affection and desire as he watches you.

"Tease," he mutters, though there is no real reproach on his tone—if anything, he seems to be enjoying every second of it.

You grin, taking your time, letting the moment stretch out as you slowly pull the zipper down, revealing more of his chest inch by inch.

His skin is warm under your touch, even through his tight nomex shirt, still slightly damp from the exertion of the session, and you can't resist brushing your fingers along the newly exposed chest, feeling the slight tension in his muscles.

Carlos's breath hitches again, his head tilting back as he closes his eyes, savoring the sensation. You feel the way his body responds to your touch, the subtle way his muscles tense and relax, the way his breathing deepens with every stroke of your fingers.

"You're enjoying this," you say softly, more of a statement than a question.

He opens his eyes, looking down at you with a lazy smile.

"Can you blame me?" he replies, matching your tone from earlier. "I think I'm the luckiest man alive right now."

You feel your heart swell at his words, and you lean closer, your hands still working the zipper down, exposing more of his toned chest, down to his stomach. 

His muscles flex slightly under your touch, and you see the way his eyes darken further, the desire clear in the way he looks at you.

You let your fingers linger on his chest, tracing light patterns over his abs, feeling the way his breath stutters at the touch. 

His hands move to rest on your hips, holding you close as if he can't bear to let you go, his thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric of your—his—shirt.

"You have no idea how good this feels," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches your fingers move over his body. 

"I think I do," you say, a smirk playing on your lips, feeling the way his body starts trembling slightly.

Reluctantly, he gets up from the sofa, pulling you off at the same time. Letting out a deep sigh, he turns to you, his hands now firmly on your waist.

With the zipper fully undone, you gently help Carlos shrug out of the upper half of the suit. The black fabric slides down his arms, revealing more of the red Nomex underneath.

The sight of him takes your breath away. 

The fire-resistant material clings to his body, outlining every muscle, every curve. His physique is incredible, sculpted from years of training and the intense physical demands of racing.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, still firm from the adrenaline of the session. But it isn't just the way he looks; it is the familiar, intoxicating scent of him that makes your head spin—motor oil, the faintest trace of sweat, and the subtle warmth of his cologne—a combination that is uniquely him.

Unable to resist any longer, you let your hands run over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. Your touch is light at first, just the barest brush of your fingers over the smooth, taut fabric of his Nomex.

Carlos hums in appreciation, his eyes closing again for a moment, as he soaks in the sensation, the tension in his muscles easing as he relaxes under your touch.

His skin is warm beneath the material, still radiating the heat of the car, and you can feel the slight dampness where the sweat soaked through. But it only makes him more real, more grounded, a reminder of the incedible physicality of what he did on the track.

You stroke his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the way his body responds to your touch, the way his breath hitches as you move your hands over him.

"So good," he sighs, his voice low and filled with affection and amusement as he opens his eyes to look at you.

"I'm glad," you reply with a playful smile, your hands continuing their exploration.

You can't help it—there is something deeply satisfying about being able to touch him like this, to feel the strength and warmth of his body, to know that he is yours.

Carlos grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he casually slips out of his racing shoes, kicking them off to the side without breaking your connection.

His movements are relaxed, easy, as if he is completely comfortable in this moment with you.

Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he reaches out and grabs your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies are pressed together. His hands are firm on your hips, grounding you; his touch a heady mix of strength and tenderness. 

You feel the solid warmth of his chest against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the way his muscles flex subtly under your touch.

Your hands move down to his sides, tracing the defined lines of his torso through his Nomex. 

Carlos's smirk deepens, his muscles tensing again as you explore him, his skin warm and slightly slick under the fabric. His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense, filled with a quiet desire that makes your pulse race.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you're making it very hard to concentrate on anything else right now."

You smile, feeling a surge of affection and desire as you press a kiss to his collarbone, your hands continuing their slow, deliberate exploration of his body.

"Good," you whisper back, your voice filled with playful intent. "That's exactly what I was aiming for."

Carlos chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through his chest, and he tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer until there is barely any space left between you.

You continue to stroke him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the way they tense under your touch, the way his breath deepens even more.

As you tug the racing suit further down his legs, the fabric slides down his thighs, and Carlos steps out of it with easy grace, leaving him standing there in just his red Nomex underwear.

The sight of him like this, stripped down to the bare essentials, is something else entirely.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in—every inch of him toned and strong, his skin still flushed. 

The excitement is visible in the way his chest rises and falls with each deep breath, and the way his eyes sparkle with a mix of desire and affection.

He looks so good—almost too good to be real.

You can't help but marvel at the sight before you, your heart pounding in your chest as you take in every detail—the way the underwear clings to his body, outlining every muscle, the way the fabric leaves nothing to the imagination.

He is so hot, and the realization sends a shiver of anticipation through you.

Carlos seems to notice your gaze, a smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out, his hands brushing lightly against your arms as he begins to undress himself further.

Together, you work in quiet, unspoken harmony, your fingers grazing over his skin as you replace his shirt with soft, lingering strokes. Each touch is met with a deep, appreciative growl from him, the sound rumbling low in his chest like a purr.

With a fluid motion, Carlos slips off his pants, leaving him standing there in just his boxers.

The air between you seems to thicken with a charged anticipation, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

He is utterly captivating, and you find it impossible to look away.

The muscles in his arms and chest flex subtly as he moves, every inch of him radiating strength and raw appeal.

Carlos stands there for a moment, just in his boxers, and you can see the way his hand moves absently over his stomach, his fingers grazing lightly over the hard planes of his abs, almost as if he is lost in thought. 

The gesture is slow, deliberate, and it is impossible to miss the way his body responds to the touch, his muscles tensing and relaxing under his fingertips.

There is something so mesmerizing about the way he touches himself, so csaually and confidently, as if he knows exactly what effect he has on you.

With a playful wink in your direction, Carlos turns and walks over to the cupboard, his movements smooth and fluid. 

He reaches inside, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and his favorite jeans; the simple, everyday items somehow make him infinitely more appealing by the fact that he is the one wearing them.

As he does that, you bend down to pick up his discarded racing suit, feeling the cool fabric in your hands as you fold it neatly. It is a small, simple act, but it feels like an important part of the ritual, a way to help him shed the intensity of the day and transition into something more relaxed, more intimate.

As you carefully fold Carlos's suit and place it neatly on the nearby sofa, you feel a shift in the air, a soft rustling that makes you glance up.

When you do, you find him approaching you, a playful grin lighting up his face. He already slipped into his jeans, the denim hugging his hips perfectly, but he didn't bother to put on a shirt yet, leaving his chest bare and slightly flushed from the earlier teasing.

There is something undeniably captivating about the way he moves toward you, his bare feet making almost no sound on the floor, his eyes glinting with mischief as they lock onto yours.

Carlos's grin widens as he reaches out and playfully tugs at the hem of your—his—shirt, the fabric sliding through his fingers as he eyes it appreciately.

"I have to say; I love seeing you in this," he teases, his voice low and affectionate.

The way he looks at you makes your heart race; his gaze warm and a little possessive, as if he can't get enough of the sight.

You feel a flush creep up your neck at his words, your heart pounding in your chest as his hands move to your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of the shirt. 

His touch is gentle yet firm, and it sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you as his hands begin to roam over your body. He traces slow, deliberate patterns over your waist, his fingers moving up to your back, skimming over your spine with a featherlight touch that makes you tremble in response.

"Feels like it was made for you," he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with a playful edge as his hands move to the front of your shirt, sliding your to your chest.

It is a warm, electrifying touch, and you find yourself leaning into him, craving more of the connection, more of the warmth and intimacy that only he can provide.

Every brush of his fingers over your skin sends little sparks of pleasure through you; the sensation of his hands on you almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Your breath now hitches as he continues his slow exploration, his touch reverent, as if he is memorizing every curve and contour. You feel yourself melt under his touch.

Carlos leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he dips his head to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck, right where your pulse thrums widly.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion as his hands slide back down to rest on your waist, holding you close.

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his mouth warm and insitent against yours.

The kiss is low yet filled with passionate intensity, and you have to steady yourself against him, your hands instinctively reaching out to press against his frim chest.

His skin is hot under your fingertips, his chest solid and reassuring as you cling to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Carlos's hands tighten on your waist again, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matches your own.

There is something almost desperate in the way you cling to each other; the kiss a reflection of the love and longing that have been building between you all day.

You feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his muscles as they flex under your touch, and it makes you want to lose yourself in him completely, to forget everything else and just be with him.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together as you try to catch your breath.

His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as he gazes down at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"I love you," he says softly—there is no teasing in his tone now, just pure, unfiltered emotion.

"I love you too," you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you lean into his touch.

Carlos smiles, a soft, genuine smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and he leans down to press another gentle kiss to your lips, this one slow and sweet, filled with all the love and tenderness that you both feel.

He then pulls away from you with a soft smile, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment longer before he turns and walks over to the cupboard.

You watch him go, your heart still pounding in your chest, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. His movements are relaxed and unhurried, every step filled with an effortless grace.

As he reaches the cupboard, he grabs a fresh pair of socks and a spare shirt—another black Ferrari shirt that you know will fit him perfectly.

He turns back to you with a casual ease, his eyes catching yours for a brief moment before he focuses on pulling on the socks. 

Even in these small, everyday moments, there is something about him that draws you in.

Carlos slips the socks on with practiced efficiency, then picks up the shirt, the fabric rustling softly as he pulls it over his head.

You can't help but admire the way the black shirt molds to his body, the material stretching snugly over his broad shoulders and defined chest, emphasizing the muscular build that always leaves you in awe.

He smoothes down the front of the shirt with his hands, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly as he does so, and then glances over at you, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks playfully, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous spark.

You feel a smile spread across your face as you take in the sight of him, standing there in his jeans and that beautiful black shirt, looking every bit as incredible as he was in his racing suit.

"You look amazing," you reply honestly, "but then again, you always do."

Carlos chuckles softly, his eyes filled with warmth as he crosses the room to stand in front of you again.

He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and affectionate.

"You're too good to me, you know that?" he murmurs.

You shake your head with a soft laugh, reaching up to rest your hand on his chest. 

"I'm just telling the truth," you say softly, your eyes meeting as you speak. "You really do look good."

He smiles—that warm, genuine smile that always makes you feel like you are the only person in the world that matters to him.

"As long as you think so," he replies.

With that, he leans down and presses another gentle kiss to your lips, his hands resting lightly on the small of your back, holding you close.

[iluvangel]

yoyo! req- haikyuu characters reaction to finding yn sleeps always hugging a pillow 🙈

please feel no pressure/rush for this and look after yourself :)

Sounds cute! Here u go <3

⌌┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

┊.˚ 🍰 ༘┊͙Haikyuu boys finding out you sleep while cuddling your pillow

⌎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

They think it’s cute :

You had just gotten home from work, the thinking and the people were starting to get to you, when u walked through the door of your apartment you slipped your shoes off and went straight to your room and dropped to your bed. It wasn’t that you were cold but your body was missing a warmth that the blanket wasn’t giving you. You reached out your arms and grabbed the first thing you could, one of the pillows that was about to fall of your bed. You cradled it towards your body. Perfect.

“Y/N im home!” The man’s voice echoed through the apartment. he took off his shoes and let them fall directly next to yours. He looked around for a second and saw the bedroom door open. He walked over and peeked inside his eyes immediately fell to your sleeping body. The ends of his lips curled as his eyes fell to the way your right hand held the pillow to your chest , your left arm thrown up straight. His eyes shot back up to your face and he watched the small stream of drool. Score! He scrambled to find his phone as fast as he could, he opened the camera and in that moment he became a photographer. Moving to every angle he could until he tripped and fell directly on top of you. You let out a yelp and your eyes shot open. “How was your nap?” The man smiled at you and you closed your eyes slowly “amazing until a bolder fell onto me” he adjusted his body so that he was directly on top of you torso and all. “But look how cute you look! I wanted to get a closer look” he smiled and shoved his phone into your face

Hinata, Yamaguchi, Aone, Nishinoya, Kenma, Sakunami, Sasaya, Kindaichi, Fukunaga, Yamamoto, Lev, Ojiro, Goshiki, Asahi, Ennoshita

Wishes it was him :

You had been hanging out with your friends all day, well your friend and their other three friends. You had fun but you were exhausted, you interacted with more people than you had initially thought. You got to your home and went directly to the couch, not taking your shoes off, nor your jacket or anything. You grabbed the small pillow that was behind you and held it tightly in your arms. The living room was cold and you were already to far gone to grab a blanket the warmth of the small pillow against your body made you curl into a ball.

He reached for the door it’s u locked.. y/ns home! He slammed open the door and fling his shoes off, “y/n!!” He waited when you didn’t respond and got ready to shower again till he saw you on the couch. Oh my god. “You couldn’t wait for me to get home?” He pouted as he looked at your body with sad eyes, he stood for a second thinking about what to do.

He ripped the pillow from your arms, the sudden force waking you up. Before you could say anything the man was wrapping your arms around him

Kageyama, Tanaka, Daichi, Atsumu, Ginjima, Shirabu, Tendō, Bokuto, Kuroo, Kai, Inuoka, Futakushi, Kyōtani (mad dog), Sakunami, Kunimi, Sugawara, Oikawa, Ukai

So confused he dosnt know what to think :

You stretched at the table and let out a loud yawn. I think that’s enough for today you thought . You glanced up at the clock he’ll be home soon maybe I can get a small nap in you dragged your legs to your bedroom and got under the cold covers that were hugging the bed. Just a small nap you thought once more as you cuddled the fluffy pillow that was thrown to the floor in the chaos of the morning

“Yo y/n! Sorry im late I got kinda held up, you ready for the movies?” You have no response maybe their in the shower. he walked closer to the bathroom and heard silence. Hm he walked to the bedroom thinking he’d find you getting ready, instead he saw you sleeping comfortably with not a care in the world, your hair above you in a messy halo, the bottom part of your face covered by the small fluffy pillow you were gripping to for dear life. A.. pillow? He stood by the bedroom door confused at our age really? “did you miss me that much?” He kneeled next to the bed and pulled the pillow down, he planted a small kiss on your forehead. Then without a warning he shook you as fast and hard as he could. You woke up in a shock and smacked him “OUCH! Y/N what the hell!” “Oh god babe don’t do that!” You yelled back. He held his cheek in his hand and looked at you with sad but annoyed eyes “you’re so mean. And your such a child who still sleeps while cuddling a pillow” you grabbed the pillow and threw it at him “I do you jackass!” The pillow flew into his face “why are you being such a bully all of the sudden?!” You looked at him confusion written all over your face “what do you mean why? YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME” the man rolled his eyes and stood up grabbing your arm to sit you up, “whatever you big crybaby, get ready so we don’t miss the movie” ”crybaby?” You laughed “says the one who got teary eyed when I smacked you” you stood and gave him a smug smile as he looked back at you and rolled his eyes “that’s all in the past.” He batted the air with his hand “hurry up and get ready pretty, we’re gunna be late”

Tsukishima, Yaku, Yahaba, Hanamaki, Koganegawa, Kita, Suna, Semi, Ushijima, Washio, Sarukui, Osamu, Akaashi, Matsukawa, Moniwa, iwaizumi, Konoha, Onaga

• sorry for any spelling errors my editor isn’t feeling good and I don’t want to reread and edit right now..

[hihomeghere]

Little Things | Arthur Morgan / F!Reader

Word Count : 2k Warnings/tags : Slight somnophilia (reader wakes up), dubious consent, reader gave consent at an earlier time, unprotected piv, cursing, creampie, undressing Summary : Arthur returns from a successful job, and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you

Arthur couldn’t help but enjoy the little things in life. With the life he had, he didn’t have much to enjoy. Coyotes yipping across the plains, Violet snowdrop growing along the side of the trail. The serenity of an early morning sunrise, when the golden rays peak above the horizon, slowly catching everything aflame with its bright light.

On the other side of the coin, he was equally taken by the gentleness of the night sky. Stars speckled across the black expanse like they were left by a flicked paintbrush.

Riding home had also become one of his most treasured times. The anticipation of seeing you again, after being on a job for who knows how long. It didn’t matter if it was only a couple hours or a couple days. The thought of returning to you always sent a pleasurable tingle up his spine, and butterflies fluttering in his gut. Maybe it was because he knew how much you enjoyed the little things as well. How you’d greet him once he returned to whatever camp they currently resided in. Open armed and more likely than not, spread legs. To say it was always a warm welcome would not be doing you any justice.

You were so eager, pliant as he towered over you. Your hands, so soft and gentle as they removed his hat. Then moving to his suspenders, sliding them off his shoulders. His shirt was next, pushing the buttons through the eyelets, before it too was pulled off his body. The gun belt followed, set carefully off to the side, he worked on slipping out of his boots as you did this. The way you two moved together was like a well oiled machine. There was no need for words between the two of you. You knew each other so intimately, inside and out. But working together for years will do that, even if you had mainly given up on pulling heists. You were more than content to stay near camp, or whatever town was closest.

Although Arthur had to admit he missed when it would just be the two of you on a job. The thrill of a job well done flowing through your veins, sleeping naked under the stars, not having to worry about staying quiet.

But he didn’t blame you for not wanting that part of the life anymore. After a too close call which had left you nearly bleeding out as he rode as fast as he could back to camp, you had all but retired. Dutch would never have allowed a full retirement.

Arthur could see the line of trees leading to Shady Bell, that familiar tug in his stomach as he spurred his horse forward. If he had any dignity left he would have felt like a fool with how big of a smile split his face as he hitched his mare. Slipping her a sugar cube for a job well done before heading towards the house.

The fire was slowly dying, hot embers sizzling out. The only other noise was the snores of the other gang members. He made his way into the house, slowly shutting the door behind him. He tried his hardest to creep quickly and quietly up the stairs to your shared room. The door hinge whined as he pushed it open, wincing slightly as he shut it behind him.

There you were. Laid out in the bed, fast asleep. Your hair spread out against the pillow like a halo. Your chemise riding up your thigh, showing off a delicious amount of skin.

By now, Arthur was painfully hard, palming himself through his pants as he stepped closer. He toed off his boots, setting his hat down on a table nearby. He would have much rathered you undressing him, but he would have to settle for doing it himself. He shoved his suspenders off before his gun belt fell to the floor with a thud.

You stirred slightly, your brows pinched in an adorable expression. Obviously annoyed by the noise disturbing your peaceful slumber. He felt a twinge of guilt, he shouldn’t disturb you. It wasn’t often that you were actually at peace, only when you were asleep. You had been sleeping deeper ever since the gang settled here. The walls of Shady Bell offered you and its inhabitants more security than the canvas of a tent.

But you were so pretty, so soft and all his. You wanted this, his cock twitched at the memory. You had told him that if he ever returned when you were asleep, to take what he needed. He had never done it yet, something about it made him feel wrong, dirty. He would never do anything to take advantage of your trust or to harm you.

Your leg slid up further on the bed. Almost like you were subconsciously spreading your legs for him. His eyes went straight to your core, his knees almost buckling at the sight of your wet cunt. No bloomers. If that wasn’t a silent invitation he didn’t know what was.

He moved quickly, stumbling out of his pants. He was surprised he hadn’t ripped the buttons off his shirt with how hard he had janked them through the eyelets.

He was painfully hard, standing over you with his cock in his hand, red and leaking precum. You let out a soft sigh, your lips parting slightly. Any resolve that he had been holding onto was long gone. He knelt down on the bed, crawling towards you. His calloused hands moving up your calf and thigh, lifting the bottom of your chemise over your stomach. He slid his hands back down your belly to your core, running his finger through your folds before settling on your clit. He didn’t necessarily want to wake you, and if he did, he wanted you to awake to pure pleasure. He gave the slightest bit of pressure with his thumb, gently circling it. A small huff leaving your lips. His eyes flicked from your face to your pussy, unable to decide which one he wanted to watch more. He slipped one finger inside your heat, his lips quirked up as he watched your brows pinch together. He curled his index finger, rubbing up against your walls. A small moan left your lips, his cock twitched against his belly. He let out a small groan pressing his hips down onto the sheets, looking for any source of stimulation he could find. Not wanting to touch himself just yet, wanting to drag out your and his pleasure as long as possible.

He added another finger, licking his lips as he inched closer to you. If only he could move you to your back and bury his face into your cunt. But right now he needed you. He started to scissor his fingers inside you, making sure you were stretched out enough for him. Although with how wet you were and the soft sounds of pleasure leaving your lips, he was sure you were ready.

He withdrew his fingers from your cunt, smirking as you frowned, moving your hips up to try and follow his hand. “Give me a second darlin’.” He whispered, coating his dick with your slick. Pumping himself a couple times before spreading your legs a bit wider so he could fit between your legs. He bit his lip as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance, trying to stifle the groan working through his chest. Slowly he pushed in, your wet warm heat enveloping him.

Arthur was sure this was the closest to the pearly gates he’d ever get. His eyes squeezed tight as it took him everything not to blow his load right then and there.

“Arthur?” You gasped, a soft noise that had him squeezing your hips with a vice like grip.

“It’s me, sweetheart.” He said, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned over you. Sheathing himself inside you completely, his pelvis pressed against your ass.

“Arthur.” You preened, pushing back against him.

“Missed ya, girl.” He huffed, withdrawing his cock before thrusting back inside you. You let out a cry as his cock pressed up against that delicious spot.

“Ah-“ Arthur reached forward, covering your mouth with his hand to quiet your moan.

“Hush,” He groaned, leaving open mouthed kisses down your neck. You were trembling under him. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he snapped his hips into yours. “Can ya be a good girl and stay quiet?”

You nodded, whimpering against his palm. The smell of gunpowder and leather filling your senses, only heightening your pleasure. You bit your lip as he moved his hand lower, gently applying pressure to your neck. You whimpered as your body buzzed with pleasure, his cock rubbing up against your silken walls.

“Yeah, my good girl.” You could practically feel the way his chest puffed up with pride. You were dangerously close to the edge.

“I’m gonna-“ You whined, fisting the sheets beneath you.

“Gonna cum?” He smirked, his hot breath fanning against your shoulder. “Go ahead darlin’.”

Stars danced behind your eyes as you gushed around his cock. Your whole body trembling as your orgasm washed over you in waves. “F-fuck!” You hissed, biting down on your lip as you tried to keep quiet.

Arthur’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle as he looked down at you. Before it was replaced with a groan as you clenched down on him.

“Shit- I ain’t,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “ain’t gonna last long if ya keep squeezin’ me like that.” His breath fanning across your cheek. You mewled pathetically, unable to stop the whine that left your lips.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. You gasped at the sudden change in position. Your breath being thrusted out of your lungs as he pounded into you. The rickety bed frame whining under the movement of your two bodies. His large hands dug into your hips, bruises would no doubt be forming in their place by tomorrow morning.

“Take it-“ He huffed, sweat dotting his brow as he bit down on his lip. “That’s right- fucking take it.” He laid his hand between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress. He can feel your pussy fluttering around him, making him groan again. “Yeah, ya close girl?”

“Uh huh!” Your cry muffled by the blankets.

“Go on- go on and soak my cock.” He pants, his hips stuttering as he nears his own release, “Ya go and I’m goin’ with ya.” He warns, slamming his hips into yours over and over.

You fall over the edge, not worried about staying quiet anymore. Tears blur your vision as you tremble under him. Your whole body went limp as you clenched down around him.

His head fell forward, pressing his forehead against your back as his hips stuttered. Rocking into you one, two, three more times before he’s gone. Groaning out your name as his cock pulses inside you, his hips giving tiny jerks as he empties into you.

You let out a soft sigh, turning your head to look up at him. Pride swelling in your chest as you take in his disheveled appearance. His honey brown hair, like a curtain in front of his eyes. He shudders as he withdraws his hips, his release slowly dripping out of your puffy cunt.

You roll over onto your back, reaching up to brush his hair back. He takes in a deep breath, lazily smiling down at you.

“Job go well?” You asked softly, running your thumb over his cheekbone.

“Very well.” He chuckles laying down next to you. Wrapping his arm around your waist as he lays his head against your breast. Listening to the rapid beat of your heart.

“Good.” You smiled, running your fingers through his locks, “Good night honey.” You said kissing the top of his head before closing your eyes.

“Night darlin’.” He said softly, the sound of your thumping heart the perfect lullaby.

[belphegorey]

⌜corruption, satan⌟ angels were such lustful creatures ships ⎯ satan x gn!angel!reader tropes ⎯ subtle blood kink, sex, degradation, poetry reciting, literal corruption, scenting, implied master/pet thoughts

To watch as darkness sunk into the pristine feathers that made angelic wings was glorious. He gorged himself upon the sight as you mewled above him. The blackness began right at the base of your wings, growing and tainting each layer with his every thrust inside of you. 

And never had Satan felt quite as powerful in his life. Your perfectly white attire tore beneath his talons, the hidden halo above your head stuttered in its glow. Every noise you made had his body curling upward to you, pushing himself deep enough to have you crying. 

Such sweet tears. Angelic tears. Only made better due to his knowledge of the cause. “Oh,” your body shuddered as you pushed your ass against him. It left him fully inside of your heavenly sex. The bare skin of your thighs stuck to his pulled down pants, just as flushed as the rest of you, “oh my!”

“You can do so much better than that,” like a true monster, his talons curled around your hips to control your pace. Such eagerness; it was almost as delicious as the taste of your blood that sparkled on his fangs. The bite mark would last a week at most. Satan was already smiling at the idea of watching you stutter and attempt explanations for what caused it, “or are those the only things you angels can say?”

The whimper you cried had his spine tingling in wicked glee. It took no effort to push your body against the table in front of you both. Your wings fluttered as another row of feathers tainted themselves black. He ran a claw down the skin of your ass, chuckling at the small beads of blood that slipped out. 

The only response you had was a desperate clenching around his cock. Such vile creatures. Satan couldn’t stand angels. Simeon was tolerable at best, the chihuahua was a noisy little thing and Raphael… not even demons would enjoy hearing Satan’s opinion of him. But; you. There was something so deliciously sinful hiding behind the pristine gowns and feathered wings. 

Temptation and desire. His (partial) Father would be so disappointed. “Please,” your tears slipped onto the book beneath you. The very one he found you reading. Its pages were already weathered from the countless times Satan had read it — the tear stains would become his favourite addition to the poetry within.. He teased his hand around your spine, making you moan as he crossed over the roots of your wings. Sin grew like vines beneath your skin, stretching around your back as it took over you further. The most blissful sight, “harder!”

Harder. 

It was pure comedic irony. 

He wrapped a large hand around your throat and squeezed, pushing you back against him as he thrust further inside of you. “What was that?” The tone of his voice was pure saccharine as he moved your body with ease. Your head lulled back and he could see your eyes — clouded in pitch black sin that had your skin glowing in the firelight. Sweat beaded at your forehead as those vines grew down your cheeks. Satan twitched his fingers tighter and you moaned through the shaking of your body. “Repeat it for me.”

“Harder, please!” Your hand stretched out to the other side of the table, nails clawing at the wood in pleasure. Both your legs shook around him as he thrusted in and out of you. The clapping of your ass against his hips formed the beat of your rhythmic moans. “I need you to fu… use me.”

An angel swearing, Satan could have sworn he felt the chill of ice wind brush through the entire Devildom. Your nails dug into the wood and your palm, he could smell the copper of blood drip onto the table. Satan couldn’t help his own need grow. He forced himself deeper inside of you at a faster pace, but not so fast that you would enjoy it completely. No. Satan wanted to hear more of those whimpers and pleas for more. 

Maybe if you say the right one he can let you cum and he would even fill you up, as a little reward. How funny would it be? An angel returning to their home, dripping in the seed of a demon lord. You’d be lucky to not be cast out immediately. 

That’s okay, Satan was sure he could find a use for you in that scenario. 

“Yes!” Your hands moved to touch around his own, fingers curling around his palms for air while also pushing them tighter. Such an oxymoron — did you want his pleasure or not? It wasn’t as though you weren’t enjoying it, he could see just how much as the tips of your wings finally shed to the slick black oil. Not a single moment of white goodness was left. “Fuck! So good, Satan!”

An angel with a penchant for dirty talk, too? Satan had to chuckle in your ear as he squeezed your body in his hands. Your halo tipped and fell from your head, clattering on the table with no fanfare. You didn’t even care. Your soiled mind was too focused on screaming more perverse words and feeling his touch. 

With a hand on your hip, Satan pulled you nice and close, your back flush to his chest. Your praise fell quiet beneath your whimper of confusion. Slow. The pace was torture even for himself, but Satan couldn’t help but revel in that delicious cry for more you echoed over and over. 

“Kiss by kiss,” he inhaled at your neck, grazing the bloody fangs on your shining skin. It no longer held the glow of angels, rather a faded darkness that he found himself tempted toward. You moved a hand back to fist at his hair, thrusting your ass against him for more. The shiver of your body against him was sheer delight, “I cover your tiny infinity,”

The words fell with ease as he moved down your neck. Blood and harsh kisses inked out his journey of your skin. Satan wondered if you realised what he was saying, or whether you had already gone too dumb to recall the very book you were reading. You weren’t meant for the Celestial Realm — no angel should read such words. 

And yet, as Satan recited them to you, your only response came as moans of bliss. “Your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,” the stuttering of your hips let him know that you finally realised. He smiled against the vines of desire growing beneath your skin, sucking at the concave of your collarbone.

“Satan,” you whimpered and clawed at his scalp. The fingers that he had found journeying beneath your cloak messed with his blonde hair, thumbing at the horns. You had to have been expecting some form of punishment, an angel to touch themself in Satan’s library? Unforgivable. He gleamed as you curled back to him further, sparkling tears pooling around your eyes, “Need you —“

His pace was near brutal, he realised. The slapping of your joined skins was blissful but the bruising against his hips would be a pain. The black feathers that now made your wings itches at his chest and made him rumble a growl. “And a genital fire, transformed by delight, slips through the narrow channel of blood,” 

With a sharp talon, he pressed against your stomach. He could smell the sweet iron tang in the air as it beaded out. Two short horns protruded from the top of your head, settling where your halo once occupied. What a beautiful sight. You suited black horns far better than any stupid halo. “Please,” such a cute begging voice you had. It captured pure innocence and lust in such a way he was sure his brother would grow envious. 

The clenching around him was almost intoxicating. It sucked him in tight and refused to let him pull out entirely. As if he would. “To precipitate a nocturnal carnation, to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.” Satan was already entertaining the idea of locking you in his room for eternity, it wasn’t like the Celestial Realm would take you back anyways. You were soiled goods. You were tainted. 

You were his. He let you collapse into his chest as you rode through your high. Light sobs left you, but you still moaned for more. What a good angel, but he would ensure you became an absolutely perfect demon. 

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟

notes ⎯⎯ if you know what poem it is ily, and ignore the slightly wonky timeline satan just has a lot of internal thoughts blame him :)

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Time Loop Headcanon

Glasses clink for a toast. The sour taste of whiskey goes down Fox's throat with a smoothness he doesn't feel. Laughter rings around the table as Rex spills his drink down his shirt.

White teeth gleam in the dark bar from clones all around celebrating the death of the Sith and the start of a new beginning.

Fox watches his brothers with detached delight and wonders why a piece of him feels missing.

He sets his glass down, a small clink clouded out by the music pouring through the place.

He slides out easily with a comment of "getting some air" towards Cody to prevent him from following. He exits 79s with more than one shove, wiping at a stain on dress uniform. It shouldn't matter but still he grimaces at the sight.

"Stupid shinies," he mutters, shaking his head.

A clatter from the side of the building has him pausing. Fox tilts his head and debates. It's his day-off; he's not technically on duty and therefore, whatever is there is not his responsibility. A phantom crushing on his heart, a ghost breeze to his hand: it has curiosity building in his veins.

"Hello?" Fox calls out, walking slowly towards the sound. His hand goes to his belt and he inwardly curses at the lack of a blaster there.

"Who's there?"

In for a credit, in for a mile.

The shadows of the alleyway does little to hide the body standing there. His cloak however doesn't. It covers the person's face and a glance down shows his hands nowhere to be seen. Fox swallows and chances on the hope that he won't be killed immediately.

"Are you okay?" Fox can tell by the leaning of their body weight on the wall that they must not be in the best of shape. "Do you need help?" He's sure there must be a medic somewhere in the bar. Would they be sober?

Probably not but better than nothing, he supposes.

"Kot'e." Fox stops at the word. The head raises just a bit for a line of gold to pass through. "That was your brother's name before he changed it."

Fox's heart skips at the words. At the non-Vod voice that emitted it. Only the Vod'e know about that, and even then, it's not many who remember it.

"Ruse," he starts again, "was the name you wanted but-"

"Who are you?" Fox doesn't ask so much as demands.

The natborn grunts, their steps unsteady. The urge to reach out has Fox's fingers twitching but he holds back. He doesn't know this man.

"You told me," he stops. Starts again. "I thought-" he mumbles before huffing. Huffs then lets out a choked laugh. "Doesn't matter." he says loud enough for Fox to hear. "It never matters."

Fox isn't fast enough to stop his fall when he crumbles to the ground. His hood comes off, dark locks spread in a halo. For a darker man, he's pale and it surprises Fox to see blood when he lifts his hand back up.

He presses against the wound and the man grunts in pain. Fox opens his mouth to yell, call for a medic or help, or anything, but the man shakes his head.

"No." The word has Fox's teeth clinking together in a shut. "Please."

Fox can't move his hands to do the actions needed to stop the bleeding, to make it better.

He knows basic first aid and yet...his mind is blank. Completely blank. Except for the dark eyes that meet his.

It's the most beautiful color he's ever seen.

A tear slips down his cheek and the man chuckles. "'I've never seen you cry before."

Fox shakes his head slowly. "We've never met before." Despite the anonymity of this natborn, grief squeezes Fox's heart like a vice.

The man smiles slow, half-formed almost.

"Now that’s a lie." He swallows a cough, his chest rising in protest. "We're meeting right now." Fox hates the blood that splatters his teeth.

"Besides," he starts up again. "I know all about you." Fox raises a hand to the man's cheek when he coughs again and he leans into it as though he's been deprived of touch. "You're Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. Best soldier the Corries have and worst cook to ever step on Coruscant."

The chuckle that Fox lets out does nothing to stop the sob that comes after. Only his batch knows of his disastrous skill.

"Who are you?" He asks again and the man breathes through his nose.

He doesn't answer for several moments and Fox wonders if he ever will.

"If I tell you, will you promise not to leave?" Fox furrows his brows but nods nonetheless.

The man smiles. "Quinlan Vos. I married you three time loops ago."

Fox blinks. No clone has rights to their own body much less to marry. He's never met this man before tonight; nor, with a quick glance to the man's hand, does the man carry a ring.

Thoughts rush through Fox's head, question after question despite his analytics to the phrase.

Yet the only thing Fox can think to ask is "what's a time loop?"

The man laughs. Coughs again, blood staining his chin and Fox's dress uniform. "Hopefully, nothing you'll be caught in."

The man curls into himself as the next wave of coughs leave his shaking, and blood pours from the unknown wound.

It's this that snaps Fox out of his thoughts and he grabs the cloak to press against where he thinks the blood is coming from. "Medic!" He screams, and the man bitterly laughs at the call.

Fox's continuous yells gather enough clones to create action. A medic who's stupid drunk chugs water in an attempt to sober up but all it causes is puking and shouts.

Desperation digs into Fox's veins and he tries to stop his cries from being frantic. He can't crack.

He has to be calm. He has to help.

Why did he not call for help sooner?

"It's no use," the man says despite being crowded by useless clones. He pulls Fox close, hands shaking on his collar. He pulls Fox close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm glad I got to love you, Ruse."

Fox's hands don't stop shaking for days.

[leighsartworks216]

Get Up Goddamn You!

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I still have not played the game yet nor watched any playthroughs (I need to watch Neil's but I just haven't gotten around to it yet) so idk how accurate some of this is, I just sort of went for it so yeah

Based on this post by @jamesdeniscouldnever

Warnings: death. blood, heavy angst, swearing, bittersweet ending

Word Count: 1,139

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A shock of ice stabbed through your chest and you stilled. Stopped frozen in your tracks. And then it was gone. Torn from your body.

It hurt to breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You gasped and your mouth filled with liquid. You were drowning. But no matter how much your brain screamed, you couldn’t fight it. Your lungs filled up until your ribs ached. It’s okay. That soon faded.

Maybe you were under water after all. Maybe this was all just a dream. Maybe it was river water you choked on. Maybe you couldn’t hear because everything was muffled underwater. Maybe… maybe…

Everything felt so heavy. A jolt shocked your system as you fell to your knees, but it faded with everything else. You thought you heard a scream. A voice, pressing just there at the edge of… the edge of something. Who was that? Why were they screaming?

Your vision spun and jostled and twisted and turned until you were staring up at the sky. A face, haloed by fluffy clouds. His hair almost blended with them as they floated by.

You tried so hard to focus… If you could just know what he was saying. His lips moved so frantically. Too fast. Too…

He looked so scared. So afraid. You wanted to hold him, tell him everything was okay, but your arms remained leaden at your side. No matter how much you fought, they wouldn’t budge. Or, you couldn’t feel them moving, anyway. You tried to tell him instead. It hurt to see him so distraught - if you could just comfort him-

The words got trapped in your throat. You needed to cough. There was too much water in your mouth, in your lungs, in your everything. You needed to breathe. His hand brushed your hair back. It felt so nice. So so nice… So……

You try to remember this man. He’s so beautiful. Was he a god? He had to be. And what were you? Just……

You can’t keep looking. You fight to keep your eyes open, to keep looking at his white hair and red eyes and beautiful, beautiful face. But you’re so tired. And you’re so weak. And a nap sounds so good. And when you wake up, you can find him again, and look at his face, and tell him it’s okay. You just needed a nap. Just a quick nap.

He jostles your body as your eyes slip shut. You can feel the liquid trailing down your neck and down the collar of your shirt, but the darkness calls to you so sweetly. Cold and warm and sad and happy and so, so easy. You fall into her arms without a second thought, as they fade with your life.

Astarion stares at the corpse in his arms. Your corpse. Drenched in blood, most of it your own. A gaping hole in your chest and blood pouring from your mouth. He’s disgusted by how sweet it smells.

His hands are covered in your blood as he cups your face, rubbing a thumb under your eye and begging for you to open them again. Please, just this one favor for him and he’d never ask for anything else. Just please open your fucking eyes. He doesn’t hear the words spilling from his lips, begging over and over and whispering your name like a spell. All he succeeds in doing is smearing blood over your skin.

They have magic - back at the camp. If they just carry you back, lay you down, you could be brought back. The hole would be sewn up, you wouldn’t have blood pouring down your chin like a vampire who gorged himself to an ecstatic death. It would be okay, it had to be. You had to be okay.

He’s inconsolable as he carries you. Your head is limp against his shoulder. Your arm hangs down and sways with each step. There’s blood all over him and all he can smell is you, you, you. The iron lingers in the air and hits his tongue and he wants to be sick. He keeps a brutal pace, everyone struggling to keep up behind him. Your cheek is cold against his skin and he wants to scream. Never in all these weeks knowing you have you ever been colder than him. And with each step, the warmth evaporates from you and the chill sets in.

He lays you down reverently in your bedroll. You cannot feel how gently he treats your body as he tucks your arms by your sides and brushes your hair from your face. And then in the blink of an eye he’s tearing the camp apart.

He digs through every bag he can find, every chest and pocket. He searches for just one fucking scroll. If he could just bring you back, then it would be okay again. He could stop feeling so fucking awful. And you’d be there! Warm and breathing and- and…

And he finds nothing. Withers is missing - wandered off or who fucking knows. Wyll goes to find him and Astarion can’t keep pacing around or he’s going to collapse. So he sits by your side. He can’t breathe. His chest is constricted. His eyes have burned for the last hour and it’s only now he realizes he’s been crying. Your blood dries and cracks on his hands. It’s already beginning to turn brown. He hesitates at first, but then he grabs your hand and pulls it into his lap and gods why did he have to feel so awful.

He doesn’t leave your side. He can’t. You’re already dead, but he fears that somehow you’ll disappear if he looks away for even a moment. If he so much as thinks about slipping between the trees for a bite, he’s consumed with fear and guilt and anger.

So he stays. Your hands get so cold before the sun’s even fully below the horizon. He can’t stop himself from holding them between his own and blowing the warmest breath he can manage, massaging the brief heat into your fingertips. It never lasts. Even the fire does not seem to touch you.

When Wyll finally drags Withers back, the sun is rising, and Astarion is too exhausted to shout. All he can manage is a glare as he tosses a bag of coin at his feet.

And when you at last open your eyes to the bright rays of morning, you’re pulled into his chest. You shiver and weakly wrap your arms around him. He can feel the heat slowly returning to your body. You try to pull away to ask what happened - it’s all a blur - but he holds you tighter. He presses his face into your neck and just breathes you in. You barely manage to whisper that it’s okay, that you’re okay, and he sobs.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis

@hypopxia

@flsalazar

@beverlybeav

@angelofthorr

@emiemiemiii

@marina-and-the-memes

[marvelmusing]

Set In Stone

Part Two

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: As the sun sets, your new life as a statue begins and you struggle to find your place in this strange and unfamiliar world. The more you learn, the less you understand, and the feelings you’re experiencing regarding Aleksander and Alina only adds to your confusion.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dub con, fingering, nudity, somnophilia, discussions of sex, mild violence towards the reader (physical and magical choking), angst, references to emotional manipulation with magic, object insertion, human to statue transformation, consumption of magical potions, very brief mentions of pregnancy, Aleksander and Alina have been alive for centuries and they don’t know how to have normal relationships

My Masterlist • Part One

As sleep fades from your mind, you turn your head and end up face to face with Alina. Her pale hair casts a soft halo over her features, the bright strands ruffled erratically by her slumber. A heart stopping smile spreads across her lips when her eyes meet yours.

“Good evening,” she whispers.

After scouring your surroundings, the plush pillows and soft sheets, you blink at her shyly.

“How did I end up in your bed?”

She brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing over your cheek to trace along your jawline.

“You were fast asleep when you turned human again. I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you. Aleksander carried you to bed.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She beams at you, her hand snaking its way down your body before it settles on your bare mound. Heat spreads over your cheeks as you ask nervously, “Are you checking for stone?”

She shakes her head, her fingers slipping between your folds. Each stroke is casual and languid, as if she’s simply enjoying the feeling of your arousal building beneath her touch.

“You’ve been so good,” she coos dotingly with a rather adoring smile. “I think you deserve a reward. Don’t you agree, Sasha?”

Aleksander’s hand smoothes over your hip as he presses a kiss to your collarbone. The smile that touches his lips is softer, more tentative, yet he agrees immediately.

“I do.” His answer is low and raspy, his voice thick from sleep and it makes your stomach flip.

Alina’s thumb encircles your clit and you whimper at the sudden burst of pleasure thrumming beneath your skin. It spreads through your muscles, soaking deep into your bones until you’re shaking with the need for more.

Their voices are low as they murmur encouragements and praises that make your cheeks burn, heat diving down to where your pulse is pounding. After the last two days of being edged and toyed with, your nerves are fraught.

The pressure of Alina’s thumb remains steadfast, confident circles that make you writhe between them both. In a direct contrast, Aleksander’s fingertips are deceptively light as they dance over your bare body. They leave you aching for more and less at the same time, which has you approaching your climax at a frightening rate.

Even after you’ve come undone over her fingers, the shaking doesn’t stop and your heart continues to pound as you attempt to catch your breath. Overwhelmed, you close your eyes and press your head back into the pillow beneath you. Before you even realise it, you’re thinking of Alina wrapping her arms around you while Aleksander strokes your sides.

Emotion blooms heavily in your throat as you realise how much you want to be held by them both. The urge makes your chest ache, but the thought of asking your captors for cuddles makes you feel ridiculous. Zoya’s words immediately spring to mind. You’re too soft for them. Much to your dismay, hot tears begin to slide down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand to quickly hide your tears and prevent any further embarrassment. Alina curls her fingers around your wrist, halting your movement, which allows your tears to fall in earnest.

“Whatever for?”

For a brief moment, you want to admit how much you want them both to care for you, and tell her about the doubts Zoya had placed in your mind. But you bite your tongue.

Zoya might not have given you the warmest welcome, but you don’t want her to get into trouble. Not to mention that you feel insane for feeling so much for them in such a small space of time. You shouldn’t feel anything for them besides anger and hatred for what they’ve done to you.

“Nothing,” you concede weakly. “It’s nothing.”

Alina tightens her grip on you.

“Don’t lie to us.”

Her voice isn’t overly stern, yet her eyes are your downfall and you relent quickly at the sight of them so fixated on your tears.

“Zoya said I’m too soft for you, and I’m scared she’s right.”

To hide from their reaction, you close your eyes. Until Aleksander says,

“Alina used to cry after sex.”

Shocked, you look up at Alina. Her head turns quickly to direct an accusatory look at her husband.

“Aleksander!” Each syllable is drawn out with mock fury and she swats at his bicep in retaliation. He ducks his head, attempting to make himself a smaller target.

“You did,” he protests with a playful smile which softens as he adds, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She clasps her hands in her lap, appearing shy for the first time since you met. Her gaze moves up to you from the ring on her finger - a polished piece of black onyx simmering in the candlelight.

“Aleksander was my first,” she admits.

Her eyes flicker up to look at him, a fond smile spreading over her lips when their eyes meet. It must have been centuries since they first met, yet in this moment you can see how they must have been when they first fell for each other. It warms your heart, yet there’s an ache of longing there once again.

Alina ducks her head down, capturing your lips with hers which catches you completely unawares. A small sound of surprise hums in your the throat, which soon dissolves into a quiet moan of pleasure as the ache in your chest eases. She cups your cheeks, her hands a soothing balm to the distress that had been burrowing its way into you.

She settles on top of you, pushing you firmly onto the bed, and you grind your hips upwards mindlessly in search of some friction. She breathes out a soft laugh, her smile widening which she sees your lips chasing hers.

A shocked little “oh!” escapes you when she slips a finger inside you which she mimics teasingly.

“I think you can give me another one. Can’t you, my little statue?”

Halfway through shaking your head, your body tenses with the force of nearing another climax. Each muscle in your legs quivers and you dig your heels into the plush mattress as you lose control over your body. The pleasure makes you shake even more than before, your chest heaving rapidly.

“You really are a work of art,” Alina murmurs appraisingly, her fingers dancing up your bare body. Unable to acknowledge her words, you keep your eyes closed as Aleksander tilts your head backwards, revealing your neck for him to kiss. His teeth drag over your pulse point and you moan softly.

Then Alina slips her arms around your waist, pulling you against her chest - away from Aleksander’s lips.

“Don’t damage her, Sasha.”

He grips onto your hips, tugging gently in an attempt at dislodging you from Alina’s hold as he argues,

“She’s my statue.”

“But I made her.”

An aroused little gasp slips from your lips, which draws their attention back onto you. They both grin. Alina strokes your cheek fondly.

“Do you like it when we fight over you?”

“A little,” you admit shyly.

They both laugh, appearing to settle on a compromise as they both begin to kiss you lazily. When Alina claims your mouth, her husband nibbles along your pulse point. Then they trade places. Aleksander sucks on your lower lip, while his wife digs her teeth into the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

There is barely a moment between each kiss for you to recover. It leaves you breathless.

“What kind of Grisha do you think you are?” Aleksander murmurs against your lips. That makes you withdraw slightly, though they don’t let you go far.

“I- I told you, I’m not Grisha,” you insist. “I’m not powerful like the two of you, or beautiful like the other statues.”

Alina sighs heavily but Aleksander smiles at his wife.

“Now you know how I felt about you.”

“I wasn’t this bad.”

“You were worse.”

Their discussion of you - and your non existent power - has nerves settling in your stomach and you gnaw on your lower lip in agitation. What will they do when they figure out that you’re nothing special? They won’t want you anymore. Aleksander draws you into his lap.

“Don’t worry yourself, my gem. Alina has always had a shorter temper than myself.” That makes her scoff lightly, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation at her husband. “Even after a few hundred years, she struggles with the art of patience. But I can wait. Reveal yourself whenever you are ready.”

Alina gives you a soft smile. It’s clear she agrees with Aleksander’s sentiments, but that doesn’t fully ease your anxiety. After all, you don’t understand what they want from you. Surely, if you had some sort of power it would have revealed itself already.

The covers slip from Alina’s body as she stretches, yawning rather adorably. Then you notice the scar on her left shoulder. It’s small, but gnarly, stained black from some sort of dark magic.

Hesitantly, you brush the knuckle of your index finger against the ridge of roughly healed skin. She smiles softly, before explaining in a low voice,

“A gift from the Darkling.”

The sound of Aleksander’s former title makes you glance at him quickly. A wicked smile spreads across his lips as he leans over to kiss his wife, which has your stomach flipping with surprise. You had thought neither of them would want to be reminded of when they were enemies - though it seems to be quite the opposite.

They both grin into the kiss, Alina’s teeth nipping at his lower lip during a brief interlude when they part for air. In response, Aleksander curls his fingers around her throat, squeezing the vulnerable area against his large palm.

A rather dreamy sigh escapes you, as you stare in admiration of them both looking so breathtakingly beautiful. The sound attracts their attention and they turn to look at you. Alina leans over to you, kissing you softly before she slips from her husband’s grasp.

Aleksander props himself up against the headboard, his bicep flexing as he curls his arm behind his head. The two of you watch Alina as she moves towards the wardrobe at the side of the room. The dimples at her hips crease as she shifts her weight from side to side, considering the clothing hanging in front of her.

She turns with a white lace robe draped over her arm and heads back towards the bed. She places it over your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll call for Genya to keep you company today.”

Self conscious, you fidget with the hem of the robe, drawing it closer to yourself as you lower your gaze.

“You don’t need to bother her. I’d be alright by myself.”

Aleksander reaches for you now, fingers grazing the side of your neck before they curl around the nape. He kisses you leisurely, his lips moving slowly as he steals each second of precious air from your lungs. When he finally withdraws, your chest aches as you gasp in a series of shuddering breaths.

“You aren’t a bother,” he insists. Then he kisses you again.

Hands curled into weak fists, you press them against his chest, unable to figure out if you want to push him away so that you can breathe or bring him closer to drown yourself in him. Bright sparks dance beneath your eyelids as he pulls away and your head spins as oxygen floods your system.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Genya grins widely when she sees you standing outside Aleksander and Alina’s door.

“I take it you’ve had a good night so far?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you duck your head bashfully to escape her gaze as she loops her arm around yours. The two of you walk side by side through the corridors, moonbeams and flickering candles lighting your way.

Genya pauses when you reach a set of double doors. She pushes them open and immediately a rush of humidity hits your face. A shudder rolls through your body, as the lingering cold inside you flees from the heat. There’s a light sheen of sweat glossing over your skin as you enter the room, squinting in the bright moonlight that spills from the large window carved into the ceiling.

In the centre of the room, there’s a pool which seems to be the main source of heat. Steam curls over the surface of the water and you look at the people lounging around the room.

“Most of the statues spend their nights here,” Genya tells you.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever you want. Relaxing. Sleeping. Pampering one another.”

The sight of one particular group catches your attention immediately. Three women and one man. They are seated amongst a mound of velvet cushions and plush fabrics. All four of them are in varying stages of undress. The woman in the middle is wearing a sheer red robe, her bare body openly on display. Her eyes lock on yours and recognition dawns on you.

“Is that Zoya?”

Genya nods.

“Beside her are Nadia and Marie.”

The two women are fawning over Zoya, their hands wandering over her body. The man is draped between her thighs, his head ducked down as he licks leisurely at her cunt. It makes your core tighten.

“And…?”

Genya scoffs lightly in amusement when she sees where your gaze has stopped.

“The one between her legs is Nikolai.”

She takes your hand in hers, tugging you towards the side of the room.

“Here,” she says. “Let’s clean you up a little.”

The two of you find a quiet corner where you can sit undisturbed. There’s a number of smaller pools, that remind you of rock pools, where water bubbles cheerfully.

Genya finds a seat, settling down on a velvet bench that sits low to the ground. She scoops up a handful of water, splashing it over her face. Her fingers smooth across her cheeks, droplets clinging to her eyebrows and lashes. When she sees you watching her, a smile spreads across her face.

She dips her hands back into the water, shaking them lightly before she removes them and sweeps her wet hands over your face. The moisture makes your nose crinkle and Genya laughs softly.

“This water is enchanted.” You hum questioningly and Genya explains, “Being turned into stone so often takes a toll on our bodies. The water helps our muscles and joints stay healthy.”

She tilts her head, eyes tracing down your body while you consider this information.

“Should we clean off your legs?”

Looking down at your thighs, heat rushes through your body as you realise that the mess of your arousal has dried on your skin.

“I can do it, thank you.”

“Sit at the edge of the pool,” she suggests. A frown creases at your brows and she smirks with mischief in her eyes. “Zoya will be able to see you properly there.”

The temptation is too much to resist. It’s hard not to be aware of the eyes on you, as you sit down at the edge of the pool. But, after spending the beginning of the night with Aleksander and Alina, you feel a little thrill of pride as you lower your calves into the warm water, scooping up handfuls to clean your thighs.

The water is soothing against your skin, a comforting caress that clears away the evidence of your earlier climax.

At the far end of the room, a door opens and Alina steps inside. Almost everyone turns to look at her, as her eyes scour over the sea of faces until she lands on you. Unable to stop yourself, you smile and glance down at your bare toes, splashing them in the water beneath you.

She walks casually around the pool, her eyes rarely straying from you. When she reaches where you’re sitting, you tilt your head back to look up at her.

Alina sits down beside you, taking hold of your chin so that she can press a chaste kiss to your lips in greeting. A shy smile quirks at the corner of your mouth.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, your legs hanging down in the water as you watch the other statues lounging beside the pool. Then she turns to ask you,

“Has Genya told you why I make my statues?” With a frown, you shake your head. “Aleksander and I aren’t complete together. There’s a missing piece - another person to balance us.” She glances around the room, gesturing to all the people relaxing in the heat. “Every one of my statues is someone who I hoped might have been the one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aleksander’s mother was a prophet. She told him that our future partner will be a powerful Grisha. Someone capable of breaking my statue spell.”

Immediately, you think of the book you found in the library and attempt to remember how the spell could be broken. Before you make any progress in your recollection, you’re distracted by thoughts of how Aleksander had pressed you against the bookcase, leaving the hint of a kiss on your lips.

A flustered heat spreads over your cheeks and you look down shyly at your knees, hoping she can’t tell you’re thinking such thoughts about her husband. She traces her fingertips over your shoulder, drawing little patterns on your skin.

“The spell I placed on you is exceptionally hard to break. Do you know why?” You shake your head. She smiles. “Because you love me - and you like being my statue.”

Caught off guard, you’re painfully aware of your heart pounding in your chest, hot blood rushing to your cheeks and down your neck in response to her words. The feelings you have for her are still difficult to decipher and you’re mortified at her brazen acknowledgement of them.

She looks down at her knees, her feet swaying lightly in the water.

“All my statues love me - I created them - they can’t help it. That’s why you haven’t ever considered hurting me, even after what I’ve done to you. But the love you feel for me now… it isn’t real.”

Stunned by her words, you can only stare with parted lips. Something sharp twists in your chest. Strangely enough, it feels a lot like betrayal. The blossom of your feelings has been plucked, its petals tattered by the storm of emotion currently threatening to choke you.

She smiles sadly, reaching out to stroke your cheek. The ache inside you deepens at her touch. A tear spills down from your eye and you shake your head which causes her to drop her hand.

“No.” The word wavers on its way out. She tilts her head, frowning slightly as she tries to read your current emotions. It takes a moment for you to settle on one in particular - anger. “You don’t get to take my entire body away from me and then tell me what I can and can’t feel for you.” She leans closer, her hands reaching to comfort you and you recoil backwards. “Don't touch me.”

Alina freezes and for a brief moment you think she looks hurt. Guilt stings at your chest. Then her brows furrow together, her features darkening.

“I don’t appreciate that tone.”

Usually, you would be terrified of angering her, but in this moment you’re too upset to care. Tears blur your vision as you pull your legs from the water.

“Well, I don’t appreciate being a plaything to amuse you until someone better comes along.”

Her eyes widen, her expression dropping as you stand. Her voice is a near whisper that you barely hear as you hurry away.

“That’s not-”

The idea of your feelings towards them being artificial, something created by Alina’s magic, has you feeling foolish and eager to get away. They haven’t allowed you a moment alone since your second transformation into a statue and the heat that had initially been comforting is now strangling you.

A shiver runs over your wet skin as you walk through the corridors mindlessly by yourself, with no destination planned. Genya’s tour yesterday hadn’t been extensive and you soon find yourself in an unfamiliar area that looks like an entry hall.

As you walk towards the large oak door, your heart rate quickens in anticipation. There isn’t much hope in your thoughts when you reach for the handle, twisting it cautiously.

The door opens.

Stunned, you look back into the house, almost expecting someone to appear and stop you from leaving. But there’s no one there. From where you’re standing the house is silent, aside from the frantic beat of your heart.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your feet are bare. You’re only wearing a thin robe. But you aren’t escaping. A short walk in the gardens might help you clear your head.

The paths are winding, the route concealed by the tall bushes that line each side of the walkway. It’s almost like a maze. The thought of wandering until sunrise makes you worry. Would Aleksander and Alina look for you?

The sight of someone in the corner of your vision makes you halt in your tracks, stepping back behind a bush out of sight.

“You’re new,” she says.

Her accent isn’t the refined Old Ravkan that you’ve grown accustomed to hearing in the house. Rather naively, you stay still in the hopes of losing her attention.

“I can see you, little miss.” She laughs bluntly. “Not to mention that I can hear your heartbeat.”

Stepping forwards, you move away from your hiding spot.

“You’re a heartrender.”

She tilts her head, studying you for a long moment with her pale blue eyes before she nods.

“What’s your name?”

Genya had told you that only the statues that fall out of favour with Aleksander and Alina end up in the gardens. Even with your feelings hurt, you don’t want either of them to be upset with you. As a result, associating with someone in the gardens might not be the best idea. After some hesitation, you give her your name. She nods in acknowledgement.

“I’m Nina.”

“Why are you out here?”

She grins.

“I could ask you the same thing, little miss.” There’s a teasing spark in her eyes and you lower your gaze bashfully. When you don’t speak, continuing to wait for an answer, she sighs and explains,

“I fell in love. Aleksander didn’t approve.”

“What happened?”

She turns her head and you follow her gaze as it lands on a rather weathered statue in the centre of the neatly cropped lawn. The man is sitting on the ground, his expression fond as he looks at no one. Then it dawns on you.

“You’re one of Alina’s statues.”

She nods.

“As my punishment, Aleksander turned Matthias into stone. When one of us is a statue, the other is human.”

You can’t imagine how upsetting it must be, being separated from the person you love like this. Never able to talk to them, or hold them again. Yet so close. From what Genya has told you, Aleksander and Alina seem to care for their statues. But Alina’s admission has made you wary of your thought regarding them.

“I’d get back to the house if I were you,” Nina advises you. “Before they realise you’re missing. You don’t seem like the type to misbehave.”

Immediately, you shake your head at the thought of getting into trouble with Aleksander and Alina.

“I don’t know the way back.”

Nina raises a brow at you. For a moment, you feel like a lost little lamb. Helpless. Then she points down a pathway.

“Keep following that path until you reach the fountain. Walk through the rose garden, then you should be able to see the house from there.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugs.

“Don’t mention it.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Lost in thought, you wander aimlessly through the house. As you’re turning a corner, Aleksander appears out of nowhere, pinning you to the wall. His hand curls around your throat.

“You’ve upset my wife.” His words are cold and calm which sends a shiver down your spine.

“She upset me,” you protest, gasping in his hold as tears fill your eyes. “But neither of you care about that. You don’t care about me.”

“We don’t care?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the sound of the words on his tongue. Panic claws at you when you realise the skin beneath his palm is turning to stone. “You think we allow any of the others into our bed?”

Unable to stop yourself, you remark,

“What about Zoya?”

His anger sharpens, his grip tightening as he tilts his head aside to watch intently while your airway becomes restricted by marble.

“I have known Zoya for centuries. She helped me stave off the loneliness until I met my Alina.” With each word, his magic creeps over your skin, hardening your throat into marble. Dots swim over your vision, as breathing becomes even more difficult. “I don’t care which one of you started this petty rivalry but it ends now. You want to take Zoya’s place? Earn it. Is that understood?”

Only once you’ve nodded weakly does he finally release you. Without the pressure of his hand to keep you upright, you collapse. Instantly, you place a hand to your throat, rubbing the tender skin there as you heave in a flurry of shaky breaths. Teary-eyed, you stare up at him. If he regrets his actions, you don’t see it in his expression.

He strokes your cheek, ignoring how you flinch.

“I expect an apology before sunrise.”

There’s a hoarseness to your throat when you attempt to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you state shakily.

He grips your chin, tilting your head back to meet his darkened eyes.

“Not to me.”

A faint nod is all you’re capable of, but it seems to satisfy him and he strides away down the corridor.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you stumble back to your room. The only emotion you’re capable of feeling is utterly distraught, the shattered pieces of your heart digging into your lungs.

Once you reach the safety of your room, you close the door, slumping weakly against it as you tuck your thighs against your chest so that you can hide your face between your knees.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Genya. She smiles gently.

“Aleksander sent me. Are you alright?”

Immediately, you crumble in on yourself, bursting into tears. She wraps her arms around you, drawing you close as she steps into your room.

“I know,” she murmurs sympathetically as she strokes your hair. “He scared you - didn’t he?”

Genya guides you over towards the bed, setting the two of you down as you continue to cling onto her. She lets you sob, only stepping in occasionally when you forget to breathe. In this moment, you are so upset that you forget how self-conscious her beauty makes you, even when she wipes your runny nose until the skin is raw.

It isn’t long before you’re exhausted by your emotions.

She lowers your head onto her lap, so that she can smooth over your hair soothingly. The tears fall slower now, sliding heavily down your face. The two of you remain silent for a long time, the only sound being your tearful sniffles as you slowly begin to calm yourself.

“Genya?” She hums softly, encouraging you to continue. “How old are you?”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“We don’t really keep track of the days here,” she says lightly. “I used to count the summers, but gave up after so long. It doesn’t really matter to us.” Fresh tears bloom in your eyes, as you realise you are trapped here forever. Nothing can take you away from them, not even old age.

After a discrete sniffle, you ask,

“Were you one of the first ones?”

Her hand halts in its petting.

“What makes you think that?”

“They trust you.”

She pauses, before admitting,

“I was Aleksander’s first statue.”

At the mention of his name, you sit up to face her.

“Aleksander’s?”

She nods, stroking your cheek gently as she sweeps the tear-soaked hair from your face. You frown.

“But, doesn’t that mean you should be a statue now - at night?”

She shakes her head.

“As a wedding gift for Alina, he removed his magic from me, so that Alina could have me as hers. He did the same to Zoya.”

“Zoya?”

Saying her name, even in a whisper, makes you feel as though Aleksander and Alina are about to descend upon you for a scolding.

“Alina and I were friends almost instantly when she arrived here. Zoya has always been possessive - I think she and Alina are too alike - they bickered and fought from the moment they met. Belonging to Alina is a gift for me, but it’s a punishment for Zoya.”

Genya shuffles across the bed, until her feet are touching the ground. Then she tilts her head, studying your face.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Why don’t we freshen you up and head downstairs?”

The thought of sitting at the dinner table, in front of Aleksander and Alina and all the other statues, makes you want to hide in the wardrobe or under the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

A light frown crinkles at her brows.

“They won’t be happy if you skip a meal,” she warns you. Something must shift in your expression, because she softens her tone as she adds, “After dinner, you could speak to Alina about what happened between you.”

“I don’t want to, Genya,” you protest pitifully, your voice wavering as you wipe at your tearstained cheeks with agitation. “They hate me.”

“They don’t.”

Staring down at your hands, you admit rather brokenly,

“I think they do.”

She places a hand over yours, cupping your cheek with her other hand to guide your eyes upwards so that they meet hers.

“Neither of them are truly angry with you - maybe displeased but not angry. Trust me. If they were, we wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“I’d be out in the garden.”

She hums quietly, not an outright agreement but you know you’re right.

“Come on, let me clean you up. How did your feet end up so dirty?”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Aleksander’s expression is sombre as he enters the dining room. His eyes scan over each person at the table, and you avert your gaze when he gets to you. He sits down at the head of the table, the same seat as the other morning when you had eaten breakfast in his lap.

Everyone seems to be waiting for him to speak.

He adjusts the position of his cutlery, straightening the knife closest to his plate. Then he looks up directly at you.

“Alina won’t be joining us for dinner this evening.”

You feel sick to your stomach.

Unable to focus on anything but the storm of emotions swarming in your chest, you push your chair backwards, uncaring towards the scraping sound that attracts everyone’s attention.

Genya murmurs your name quietly, a comfort or a warning - you don’t know. Her hand tugs lightly on your dress, but you pull away easily, shaking your head to dismiss her sympathy. You don’t deserve it.

The weight of Aleksander’s eyes presses on you all the way to the doorway. You still feel watched, as you walk through the winding corridors towards their wing of the house.

Once you reach their door, nerves twist at your stomach but you force yourself to knock. The silence afterwards has you wringing your hands together. The sound of Alina’s voice makes your heart skip.

“Leave me be, Sasha.”

Drawing together your courage, you call out,

“Alina? Can I come in?”

There’s a pause. Then the door unlocks with a quiet click. The handle creaks lightly, before it glides open.

She’s sitting on their bed, wearing one of Aleksander’s shirts. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a velvet cushion and there’s twist in your chest when you realise it’s the same cushion she placed beneath your head when you were in your statue form.

Her eyes are lined with red, and guilt stirs in your stomach. She uncrosses her arms as you approach the bed. Some of the tension in your body eases when she pats the spot beside her rather amicably. Relief softens the frown creasing between your brows. She doesn’t seem displeased to see you.

When you sit down cautiously, she strokes her hand over your cheek.

“You look like you’ve been crying yourself sick,” she observes, her lips puckered into a sympathetic pout. Her concern makes your tears return.

“Alina,” you whisper brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

She regards you solemnly, her expression unreadable.

“Did Aleksander tell you to come apologise?”

Her question catches you off guard.

“I-” The thought of lying to her makes your throat tighten. The memory of Aleksander’s hand squeezing there causes a phantom ache. “He did, but I really am sorry. I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“You got upset.”

“Yes. I did,” you whisper shamefully, lowering your head to avoid her gaze.

She hooks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can meet your eyes.

“I understand,” she concedes. “I’m sorry too.”

You blink at her, confused.

“Aleksander was the first person to want me,” she says quietly, her thumb circling your lower lip. “It’s been such a long time, I will admit, I forgot how much it hurt thinking I was unwanted. But I saw it in your eyes, and it… surprised me.”

She tilts her head, considering her next words.

“Most of my statues don’t care that their feelings were created by my magic.” She traces over your cheek with her fingertips, stroking along your hairline tenderly. “You’ve fallen a lot harder than the rest of them.”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks. It’s ridiculous, falling for her so quickly, especially after everything she’s done to you.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiles and your stomach flips at how painfully beautiful she looks with mirth glistening in her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

There’s a small pause.

“Genya said that belonging to you is a gift,” you state. Alina hums in confirmation. Her eyes flicker between yours as she acknowledges your unspoken question.

“Aleksander made Genya his statue to keep her safe from her parents. Even though she loves him like a brother, being tied to such a powerful man always made her somewhat uncomfortable. Becoming mine freed her.”

That makes you pause, titling your head as you think. Their displays of affection might be unconventional, but Aleksander and Alina do seem to care for their statues.

“I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me.”

She shakes her head.

“I’ve explained it so many times - to almost all the newest statues - I don’t know why I got it wrong this time.”

“How can I make it up to you?” you ask shyly. “I’ll do anything.”

She blinks hopefully at you.

“Anything?” There’s only a brief moment of hesitation, before you nod. “Take your dress off.”

Her request doesn’t surprise you, though you still feel shy as you slip the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pushing the fabric over your hips before you drop it to the floor. She smiles widely, playing with a strand of your hair before sweeping it behind your ear.

“I’ve been thinking of a place for you, in the house.”

The thought of being moved out of their bedroom so quickly makes your stomach twist. Nervously, you fidget with your fingers.

“You have?”

She nods, tilting her head to gesture towards the centre of the room.

“Do you see that table?”

Hope enters your heart.

“Yes,” you whisper.

She places her hands on your hips, steering you backwards until your lower back hits the edge of the table. Slowly, she slides her hands beneath the crook of each of your knees, lifting you up onto the furniture. The surface is cold against your bare skin and a shudder rolls through you.

“Stay here,” she commands softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

She moves over to the side of the room, stooping down to open a cabinet and retrieve a bottle of dark liquid. After lifting the stopper, she pours a glassful and brings it over to you. With unsteady hands, you hold onto the glass, staring down at the contents.

“Drink it all.”

Not wanting to be seen as disobedient, you take a plentiful gulp before asking your question.

“What is it?”

She waits until you’ve swallowed another mouthful. The sharp fruit flavour quickly softens as it slides down your throat and the tension leaves your shoulders as you lick over your lips.

“It should help relax your muscles.” She smirks deviously. “So, I can push you into whatever position I want.”

The sweet taste lingers heavily on your tongue.

“What position are you thinking of?”

She takes the glass from you, licking the rim at the spot where your mouth had been. Arousal burns in your core. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, drinking in the sight of you growing so flustered and she grins.

She pushes you back further, your feet swinging off the floor, and your stomach flips at the sudden sense of vulnerability. Then she keeps pushing, lowering you down onto your back so that you’re lying in the centre of the table. A shiver runs over your skin when the cool surface meets your bare body.

Alina hooks her hands beneath your legs, lifting them up onto the table. She bends them, until your knees are pressed up on either side of your head, your cunt bared to the crystal chandelier directly above you.

“Can you hold your legs like this?”

Surprised at your own flexibility, you turn your head to study each of your legs.

“Yes.”

She beams at you.

“That’s my girl.”

Every inch of you burns delightfully. Hers.

She lowers her head between your legs. Her tongue slips through your folds, licking a stripe over your open cunt. A squeal and a moan converge in your throat at the sudden sensation and your face burns with embarrassment at the sound.

Alina lifts her head, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Stay just like this.”

She moves over to the side of the room, standing on tiptoe to reach for the decorative light fixture attached to the wall. The flame flutters as she grips the base, loosening it from the attachment that keeps it fixed there.

Her fingers are curled around the base, which acts as a slim handle as she carries it over to you.

She traces a fingertip lightly over the curve of your buttocks, a contemplative expression dancing in her eyes.

“I’d like to slot this inside you.”

Utterly taken aback, your mouth drops open.

“The candle?”

She laughs.

“No, silly girl.” She tilts the candle holder, gesturing to the handle. “This end here. Do you think you can hold it for me?”

“I-” You falter.

“It would make me very happy.”

Slumping your head back, you stare up at the ceiling, eyes wandering over the sharply cut gems as they reflect the low light of the chandelier.

“You’re coercing me,” you mumble in protest.

She grins, amused and proud.

“Yes.”

Closing your eyes, you push your embarrassment aside.

“Will you go slowly?”

Her expression softens.

“Of course.” She offers you the candle holder which you take with an unsteady hand. “Wait a moment.”

She moves over to her dressing table, opening a drawer which she searches through with a small frown on her face. With Alina busy, you take a moment to study the candle holder. The material is smooth in your hand. There’s a substantial weight to the metal and your core tightens at the thought of having the handle pushed inside you.

Alina returns with a small tub of cream which she scoops up with her fingers on one hand. Then she takes the candle holder from you, and you watch as she smears the cream over the handle.

She then slips her hand between your legs, tracing a firm circle over your sensitive cunt. The cream is cold and you twitch at the change in temperature. Her fingers delve inside you, curling as they search for the spot that makes your hips buck upwards with a startled gasp.

A deep moan catches in your throat as she begins to push the handle inside you. In your hand, the metal had felt almost room temperature but it’s like ice as it meets your red-hot cunt.

“There we go. Good girl. Take it all for me.”

She slides it further into you, so that the wick of the candle is pointing upwards towards the chandelier above you.

“With some practice, you might be able to hold onto a more weighty candlestick, one with several arms.” It’s hard to concentrate on anything while she’s twisting the base inside you. “A pretty little candelabra,” she teases.

A familiar stiffness enters your body, and you inhale sharply when you realise the sun must be rising. Alina strokes your thigh soothingly with a smile.

“It’s okay. Remember, you just need to relax.”

The idea of turning into a statue doesn’t scare you as much as it did the first time, but you still aren’t comfortable as the heavy sensation fills your body. Suddenly, you realise that she intends on keeping the candle holder inside you during your transformation - that during the day she will be able to use your body as a light fixture.

“Alina?”

She stills and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve spoken her name aloud in front of her. Her dark eyes fix onto yours.

“Yes?”

“What would happen if…” Embarassment makes you pause, as you struggle to gather your words. “…if I reached my climax the moment I turn back into a statue?”

She grins widely.

“Then you will stay in that blissful state for the entire day.”

“The entire day?”

She nods.

“It is a rather intense experience. The pleasure could break you.” She tilts her head, her eyes locked onto your soaked cunt as she continues to twist the handle inside you. The urge to squirm coils inside you, but with your body transforming all you can manage is a shiver.

“If I continue like this, you will stay on edge for the entire day.” She blinks at you. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your throat growing hoarse and dry as the skin of your neck turns to stone.

She hums, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You handled a day of edging rather well last time. I think we will stick to that until you’re better trained to withstand pleasure.”

Thoughts of how she might train your body to endure such pleasure has anticipation prickling up your spine. She smiles, releasing her hold on the candle holder so that she can lean over and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Pure bliss warms your body as you wake, a pleasurable fullness in your core that tempts you into sinking back into slumber. But the sound of voices keeps you somewhat awake.

“She thinks far too much.” A familiar voice. Aleksander. A firm hand strokes down your bare back.

“Well, I know how to remedy that.”

“And what do you suggest, my darling wife?”

“We spend the entire night in bed, passing her between one another. She can’t think if she’s drunk on pleasure.”

After blinking some of the sleep from your eyes, you shift your body slightly and realise you’re lying on someone’s bare chest - Aleksander.

His dark eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips, and your heart pounds violently as you attempt to remove yourself from him. Involuntarily, your cunt tightens around his cock - as if protesting the mere thought of your sudden exit. He settles both his hands on your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“Easy, little gem. I’m not mad at you.”

You blink at him.

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head, breathing out a soft,

“No. I’m not.” He rolls his hips upwards, drawing a low moan from you. “Alina told me you apologised.” His hips grind against yours, the head of his cock nudging the sweet spot inside that makes your skin tingle. “Therefore, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you gasp.

He breathes out a laugh.

His cock is so big inside you. It stretches you open with each thrust, nudging at your most sensitive areas which has your toes curling with pleasure.

Alina rests her hand against your stomach, stroking the skin there as she presses the area where her husband’s cock is. Her name is slurred as it tumbles from your lips. She laughs.

“Yesterday was a long day for you, little statue. You must be tired still. Get some more sleep.”

She kisses your temple and a fuzziness fills your head as her magic creeps into your mind. A delirious moan slips from your lips as you succumb to her spell.

Despite being asleep, you can still feel everything happening to your unconscious body, while your mind wanders through a medley of fantasies featuring Aleksander and Alina - which blur with reality until you don’t know what is actually happening.

Grinding your naked body into Alina’s, her hands grasping at your most sensitive areas. She slips her fingers inside you, prying your cunt open.

Kneeling between Aleksander’s thighs with Alina by your side. The two of you trade wet, open mouthed kisses. She takes Aleksander’s cock into her mouth, pretty pink lips stretched. The next time she kisses you, the taste of her husband clings to her tongue.

The head of Aleksander’s cock gliding over your dripping cunt.

Alina’s teeth grazing your nipple.

Her tongue licking up the length of your inner thigh.

The pad of his finger, rubbing your clit.

The sticky softness of Alina’s cunt against your tongue.

Distantly, you hear Aleksander curse in an ancient language you’ve only ever read on yellowed pages. His fingers dig into the soft plush of your cheeks as he grips your face while fucking into you relentlessly.

“Alya. Where do you want me to-” He groans sharply.

“Inside, Sasha,” she insists with a breathy sigh. The sound of her slick coated fingers, playing with her cunt makes your core tense. Her back arches as she whines softly. “Finish inside her.”

With a stifled gasp, Aleksander presses his forehead against your collarbone, as he nears his climax. His teeth dig violently into the hollow of your throat, the pain causing you to tighten around him, your cunt now strangling his cock.

The two of you moan in unison, grasping tightly onto one another as you both reach the peak of your pleasure, your bodies writhing in the throes of a violent, synchronised orgasm. Aleksander’s grip on your hips is tight, squeezing you as he groans.

Alina isn’t far behind, her frantic movements and moans registering distantly through the clouds of bliss fogging up your head. It takes quite some time for you to catch your breath. Even when Aleksander eventually pulls out from inside you, there’s a disconnect between your mind and your body.

Their magic hazes over your thoughts, dulling your awareness while she plays with Aleksander’s spend as it leaks out of you. The wet sound of her fingers and your unsteady breathing fills the room. She smears the creamy mess over your thighs, before ducking her head down to lap up the streaks with her tongue.

The three of you remain in bed, lying side by side. Unable to stop yourself, you look down at your hand, watching your thumb move slowly over your abdomen.

“You won’t end up with child,” Alina says quietly.

Startled, you look over at her with widened eyes.

“I won’t?”

She shakes her head.

“My magic stops your natural cycle.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes wander slowly down your body, settling on where your hand remains on your stomach.

“Besides, Aleksander and I can’t…” Her voice trails off into nothing and sadness traces its way over her features.

“Alina, I’m so sorry.”

She attempts a casual shrug.

“It’s probably for the best.”

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it softly.

“I’m still sorry.”

She slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your hips are pressed flush against hers, your legs tangled together. Her nose brushes against yours before she kisses you softly. Aleksander’s arm curls around the two of you, drawing you both closer to him.

He leaves a kiss on your shoulder, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck as he inhales a deep sigh. Another kiss is pressed against your pulse point as he murmurs in a voice so quiet you scarcely hear it.

“Thank you.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

[da-shrimping-station]

I really liked your headcanons about the seraphim’s!

Please tell us if you have more, no need to rush, take your time answering this. You can reply once you get new ideas ☺️☺️

hiii! im glad you appreciate the headcanons 💕

you're in luck cuz i had a longer list and just posted some of it first cuz i wasn't sure if it will be well received

lemme post the rest of it here!

and i got some angst lmaoooo

Part 1

more sleepy seraph cuddle pile headcanons:

at first they each had their individual mattresses and they pushed it all right beside each other but in the end they got one big mattress to accommodate everyone (especially Raphael's wiggling around)

at some point they all got tired of Raphael's moving around that they burrito'd him in blankets (he does not like it unless Lucifer is the one doing it)

if Lucifer catches Gabriel getting up to pray, he offers to have a quiet conversation instead until they both fall asleep (Gab would get carried away talking and not notice that Lucifer had already tapped out but he just smiles and goes to sleep)

there are times when those little angel mochis come up to add to the cuddle pile

RIP any angel mochi that end up in Michael's arms (most of them don't survive his death grip of a hug)

they've tried tying Michael's hair when he sleeps but it's too soft and silky that whatever scrunchie they use slips off during the night

Raphael rolling off the mattress is considered normal (honestly im glad they sleep on the floor cuz have y'all heard how a body drops from a bed onto the floor? that shit wakes me up in a panic no matter what)

since they can't always stop Gabriel from his nightly bullshit, Michael gave everyone sleeping masks (but it's still no match for Gab's halo especially when he makes it shine brighter on purpose because fuck you Michael)

whenever Lucifer is the last one to fall asleep, he goes around tucking everyone in properly (loosening Michael's grip, making sure Gabriel is fast asleep, untangling Raphael from the blankets and righting his limbs and wings) before going to sleep himself

HAVE SOME ANGST!

everyone had trouble sleeping after Lucifer fell

so much so it took a long while for the three of them to sleep in the same space together again

at that point, they swapped out the big mattress for the individual ones like before

they all get pissy and snappy towards each other (Michael especially) whenever the mood is particularly sour that night

they fall asleep out of exhaustion more than anything, barely acknowledging each other before going to bed and after waking up

their nightly habits didn't stop but they don't do it as much since they aren't that comfortable when sleeping anymore to the point it kinda mellowed out

in the end they slowly got used to Lucifer's absence

sometimes Michael drapes his wings over the others like how Lucifer used to (they notice but won't say anything and it's not like Michael will admit to it when confronted)

[euphoricfilter]

pt 3 smut for yandere mafia yoongi please!

consumed by you:

pairing: yandere! yoongi x f. reader

genres: fluff || smut || non-idol au || mafia au || yandere au || established relationship

summary: yoongi is finally home and you have a special way of showing him how much you missed him

word count: i wrote on tumblr for once so idk 🕺

tags/ warnings: fluff, pwp, smut in the forms of; hand job, fingering, oral (very brief: m. receiving), titty sucking, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid, this is fiction), creampie, cum play,

notes: im somewhat getting back into writing, so finally here’s the third installment of the yandere yoongi drabbles!! it’s months late but it’s my page so what are you gonna do about it ‼️

this can be read as a stand-alone!!

other drabbles for this series: how time has changed you || it’s all in your head

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

a week.

it had been a whole week, seven wretched days, and 168 full hours since yoongi had seen you. and even then, when he’d gotten home, and taken a slow peek into your room, you’d been asleep. ever so soft, curled up beneath an array of blankets, edges of your bed bordered off with pillows and plushies and all the soft things you loved.

soft things that built up a wall to protect you from all the bad that awoke when the sun would set, and laze in the darkness.

and maybe that’s why yoongi chooses to close your bedroom door, and decides that he’ll let you sleep in your own bed tonight. because some days he thinks you forget that he’s worse than the monsters you fear sleep under your bed, or the beady eyes that peek through the cracks in the closet.

he’s sluggish as he showers, lethargic, irritated, and ready to sleep for most of the morning before he wakes and smothers you with a weeks worth of love.

it’s when he’s sat up in bed, there’s a light knock at his door. heart rate skipping at the flitting sound.

“come in” he calls out, running a hand over his face.

his gaze falls onto you, head peeking into his room; hair mused and eyes heavy with lingering sleep. but even then, yoongi thinks he sees a halo surrounding you, a warm little glow like a precious little angel toeing past the lines of sin.

“yoonie?” you slip past his door, pushing it shut with the tips of your fingers.

“hmm?” he hums, beckoning you closer with a cock of his head.

the velvet blanket you have tucked under your arm drags across the carpet as you slink closer.

you barely make a fuss when his fingers wrap around you wrist, tugging you down until you’re laid belly down over his lap; legs hung over the edge of the bed.

his hands trail up the expanse of your back, gentle motion tugging your night dress further up your thighs. an unintentional tease that has him changing his motions.

the tips of his fingers explore further down your body, skimming over the backs of your thighs, easing over the swell of your cheeks.

you wriggle, soft whine barely making its way past your lips when his hands drag up the hem of your dress over the curve of your ass.

something feral— something raw claws it’s way through his chest when he sees you’re not wearing any panties.

“don’t tease” you turn your head, cheek resting against the sheets as you try and catch a glimpse of your boyfriend. the scar across his face illuminated by the light of the lamp.

he’d always been so pretty. so pretty and rough, and soft and rigid. a living contraction it had your mind spinning, spiraling so fast really all you could think of was him.

yoongi hums when your fingers dip below the sheets, tracing the waistband of his underwear. nails tickling the bare skin of his stomach before dipping that slight bit lower.

“now you’re the one teasing” he inches his fingers closer to your pussy, thumb parting your folds. already so wet and slick, awfully amusing considering he’d barely had his way with you yet.

“sorry” you murmur, eyes flitting across his face as you dip past his underwear. tips of your fingers nudging against the base of his cock.

you trail up his length before pulling the sheets down and then his underwear, hard cock slapping wet against his stomach.

yoongi’s head tips back, uncoordinated as his thumb dips ever so slightly into your cunt; your thighs twitching at the unexpected intrusion.

you spit onto the palm of your hand, eyes meeting yoongi’s as you wrap your fingers back around his shaft.

“good girl” a smile pulls onto his lips, reward coming as two fingers slipping into your pussy, curling over your sweet-spot.

you squeeze his length, hips rutting back into his fingers.

“hold on” you bat his hand away from your cunt, sliding off his lap onto your knees on the floor.

yoongi cocks his head to the side, “you don’t know what you do to me, when you get on your knees like that, my love”

you wet your bottom lip, a smile toying at the corners of your lips. balancing your elbow on the edge of the bed, your free hand takes hold of yoongi’s hard cock.

he simply watches you, watches as you trace the tip of cock over your bottom lip. how your gentle tongue slips past the petals of your mouth, swallowing down his precum and then letting your saliva dribble down his length.

his hand covers yours at the base of his length, tapping the tip against your bottom lip.

your jaw falls open, blinking up at yoongi through your lashes. his free hand tangles into your hair, pulling you down to feed his cock into your awaiting mouth.

your fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, eyes falling shut as you sink further down his length.

he pulls you up, tip resting on your tongue. barely having to guide you as you take him back into your mouth.

your lips close around his cock, sharp intake of air filling your lungs through your nose as his cock-head pushes into the back of your throat. squeezing it’s way into your windpipe.

you hum, thighs squeezing together, clit throbbing with an incessant want as you drool over yoongi’s cock. the mere act of being stuffed so full of him sending you reeling.

he groans, a little mean as he tries to get the last few inches into your mouth, your throat swallowing as you try and take him further.

you pull off with a dry heave. “s’ too much” you whine, kissing over his slit.

“yeah?” he murmurs, pushing your hair from your forehead, “all your holes are too small for my cock, huh?”

you shake your head, “not true” you suckle at his tip.

“no?” he mocks, tone that tinge of condescending that he knows burns under your skin perfectly.

you were a shameless little thing after all. and he watches as your thighs clench, your needy little fingers twitching to sink into your wet pussy and thrum at your clit until your thighs are shaking and nothing but incoherent words slip off your tongue.

you pull off his cock, tongue licking up the precum that clings to your bottom lip.

you shake your head to his earlier question.

“come here” he tugs you up onto the bed, impatient fingers pulling your night dress over your head.

he palms your tits, thumbs running over your pert nipples as you line him up with your cunt.

you drag his cockhead through your folds, hips twitching when it nudges against your clit; unabashed moan vibrating from your chest at the flash of pleasure that flits up your spine.

“no teasing, love” he wraps his lips around your nipple, tongue flicking over soft skin as you nudge his tip over your eager entrance.

your thighs quiver as you sink down yoongi’s cock, tip of his cock splitting you open deliciously.

yoongi’s hands fall to your hips, lips still kissing over your chest, nipping over tender skin; blossoms of red staining your skin with the rawest form of his love— feral art over your pretty skin.

your hands fall to his shoulders, hips rutting forward, messy and uncoordinated as you chase your own pleasure. always a little greedy and pleasure drunk, though yoongi never minded. not when you looked like the epitome of sin, beautifully depraved and eager to please yourself.

weak little moans slip past your lips in quick succession with each jab of his cock over your sweet spot.

“yoon” you whine, nails digging into his skin. dragging down the length of his arms.

his kisses trail up your neck, tongue licking at sweaty skin. traveling upwards to your cheeks, then to your lips.

you let him lick into your mouth, let him consume every little moan and gasp and whine and cry for more more more. a slick mixture of yours and his saliva coating your lips and chin shiny.

you bounce in his lap, thighs starting to burn.

“s’ too much” you murmur against his lips, tongue lax and brain barely there as his fingers find their way to your ass; digging into your flesh.

your hands trail down your stomach, two fingers flicking over your clit as yoongi thrusts up into you. a lewd harmony of both your moans mixing thick in the air.

“i’m close” you pant, stomach clenching as you near your peak. yoongi crashing close behind you.

“me too. be a good girl a play with yourself”

a thick sheen of your arousal coats the length of his cock, thick ring of white clinging to the base with each wet slap of his balls against your ass.

your fingers lose their rhythm over your clit, messy as you climb higher and higher until something inside of you snaps and you’re tumbling so fast; little hiccups of moans catching in your chest as you ride out your high.

you feel yoongi’s cock twitch between your walls, his hands sliding back to grab onto the meat of your hips as he holds you down. cock fully tucked between your walls.

you feel his cum flood your insides, thick ropes of it coating your pussy with his heady release.

“so good” his head tips back, knocking against the headboard, “did so good for me” his hips roll upwards, your cunt milking him. final spurts of his cum stuffed into your wet pussy.

your thighs shake, hands finding purchase over your tender tits as your hips stutter forward.

yoongi groans, pleasure bordering overstimulation as you chase those fleeting sparks that make you feel ever so good.

“no more, darling” he laughs, soft cock slipping out of you.

you make a noise in the back of your throat, pitiful little pout tugging at your bottom lip as you look down at him from where you’re sat on your knees.

your pussy clenches, and you watch down the length of your body; unable to take your eyes away from your pussy. watching as a thick dribble of yoongi’s seed spills out of you, puddling over his stomach.

he closes his eyes, barely opening them to look at you as you scoop up his cum with your fingers. insatiable as you push his seed back past your walls.

he wets his lip at the slick sound of your cunt.

“how greedy” he laughs, breathy and gruff. another wave of arousal licking down your spine.

your fingers stay buried within your cunt, curling and unfurling.

“go on” he nods his head towards you, “put on a show for me. and then we’ll wash up”

a devious little smile pulls at your lips, a third finger joining the other two already stuffed inside your pussy. a newfound vigor unraveling in your chest.

“okay” you chirp, fingers slipping out of your pussy. already hell bent on grinding over his cock until your legs gave out and the pleasure made your brain nothing more than a puddle.

[kittlesandbugs]

FHR: Animal instincts Pairing: Chargestep Warnings: Canon typical violence and suicide ideation, and Sidestep is not in a great frame of mind fresh out of the Farm Word Count: 1103 Summary: Just a little bit of "Sidestep was found by Ortega shortly after escaping the Farm the second time" AU, Riley is having a great time lol

"Riley?" 

Flinch and freeze and no, keep going, don't falter, don't react, keep walking. Just a twitch you can smooth over feigning ignorance. No one knows you by that name anymore, and if they think they do, you'll fix them. It doesn't take much, you know that now. A tweak, a twist, a pull, you unravel the threads and become less than a memory. Less than a ghost. 

Lower your shield, open your mind, find that spark of recognition and cut the memory loose. It's just a tumor on their recollection, to be excised and—

Hand on your shoulder. 

Static-walled brain. 

Scream. 

Yours. Turn on your heel, throw a fist, soft flesh, startled grunt, pivot and run run run run. They can't catch you again, can’t trap you again. You won't let them, all you have to do is run! 

“Riley!” 

Heavy footsteps run behind you, but you're no rabbit now, you're the fox. You duck into an alley, throw a garbage can, hear the crash and stumble and swear. Good, like that, you'll escape, and if they corner you, well, you still have the gun. 

Use it on them or use it on yourself, either way you get away. 

“Riley, wait!” 

The name makes you flinch again. You, not, not you, you're nameless, name forgotten, number shucked. Riley plummeted to her death, forgotten, betrayed, alone. You're not her. Just no one. You need to be no one, no one at all, nothing, nothing of import, nothing worth perceiving. You need to not be, not until you're ready. 

But your pursuer won't let you go. 

They're gaining again, fuck, they're fast, the footsteps almost loud enough to drown the wet thuds of your own heartbeat in your ears. Your breath wheezes loud in your chest. Your muscles burn as you push through crowds that can't see you because you won't let them. You're a visage of your former self. Not yet fully recovered from years of isolation and wasting misery. The only thing sharp about you is your mind, and your pursuer is immune. 

You dart down another alley, trying to get away from the crowds so you can move and—

FUCK. 

Bouncing off a fresh and new brick wall, instinct recognizes your fatal blunder just soon enough to stop you from concussing yourself on it. You land on your ass, breathless, arms aching from taking most of the impact for your skull. What was a throughway four years ago is a deadend now. 

And now, you are too. Dead. Worse. Trapped. 

You shake your head to clear it, scrabbling around, backed up against the brick like if you pressed hard enough, you could phase through it. You fumble through your disheveled clothes, your hand seeking and closing on cold metal as you fight to free the gun from the holster hidden beneath layers of loose fabric. You're such an idiot. 

A shadow looms over you, features darkened by the blinding halo of the sun slowly sinking into the cityscape behind it. “Jesus, Riley, what's—” 

The voice mercifully stops, as does the approaching figure, as you finally, finally, train the gun on them. Your hands are shaking, unsteady as you feel, but you know where the heart is, and you won't miss it. You can't. 

“Hey. Hey, c'mon. Put that thing down. It's me, Riley.”

The voice is low and soft, like someone trying to soothe and cajole a dog on the verge of biting. Something familiar wiggles in your hindbrain like a parasite, and you refuse to let it latch on. Your hands shake harder as the figure tries to subtly inch forward. Too hyper aware of everything to let it slip by, you cock the gun. 

The hands are quick to come up, open and empty, placating and pleading. “Whoa, easy, easy…” He—your brain admits that now— he says softly, his voice raw like an exposed nerve. “It's just me, c'mon Riley…”

You know that voice. You know that stance. You know him. You lo—  no. You hate him. You pulse thuds louder and wetter in your ears, drowning out his attempt to soothe and de-escalate. Your eyes flood with burning salt, blurring your vision, but you can't wipe or blink it away. You should shoot him. You want to. He didn't try to save you, him or Steel, the other Rangers, the other vigilantes, all the rest of this fucking city. They all left you to rot and scream and suffer in the obscurity of the lab that made you just so it could eat you alive and spit out your bones. 

But he keeps inching forward, talking in that low and familiar tone that was always like novocaine to your fractious mind. Knees bending, he lowers himself down in front of you where you sprawl against the cold unforgiving brick. You train the barrel on his skull with a choked animal noise of distress, unable to put any more distance between you. And he just lets you do it, looking over your clenched and shaking hands with that heavy familiar hound-brown gaze. 

“What happened to you? Dios mio, you're a wreck,” he says, his soft voice cracking as he takes in your sorry state. He doesn't flinch as you press the cold metal to his forehead, cocked and loaded and ready to blow whatever brains he has out onto the street. 

You should. You should put a final nail in the coffin of your past. You see the weight of the last few years in the bags under his eyes and the harder plains of his face, smell it on the heavy alcohol in his breath. Your index finger strokes the trigger. Your hands shake so hard that you just might depress it by accident. Maybe you should just put you both out of your sad sorry miseries.

He just looks at you, that same way he always did. Like he has all the faith in the world you'll make the right call. Like you can do no wrong in his eyes. Like you hold his heart between your sweating quivering palms, and he'd let you… he'd let you… 

The realization makes you recoil like you'd been struck across the face, and the gun clatters to the asphalt. By some miracle, it doesn't misfire from the impact. He swipes it away, out of both your reaches. Before you can scramble away from him like the feral animal you are, he pulls you in tight against his chest. Caught in the trap of him, exhausted and weak, all you can do is bury your face in his shoulder and howl.

[writerfae]

Wow, I wrote something. And it’s even canon!

Well, of course it won’t be in the story word for word, but it’s a scene that somehow like this will be included. Yay!

Takes place after Aiden got freed from the Knights.

The night was full of stars and the surface of the starlight lake, too, was littered with the sparkling reflections of the same bright lights that decorated the dark sky.

Aiden sighed as he lowered himself deeper into the water, the cool sensation a boon for his heated skin.

It felt good to wash off the dirt from the last couple days. And to get a few minutes of quiet to clear his head.

He had always hated to be alone, but after the last few hours he almost found himself missing it.

His head was brimming with all the informations he was confronted with, with thoughts of his mother, his brother, of the insanity he found himself in.

Never would he have expected such a mess when he followed Halea into the other realm to find Henry.

Find him he did, but he also found so much more. It was almost too much to handle.

Aiden wanted to run. He genuinely planned to do so, to leave everything behind and go home to hide from the truth he learned.

And then the Knights had captured him and everything changed yet again.

With what he knew now, he couldn’t possibly leave. He had to warn Henry. To help him and the others.

He lifted his hand and let the water slip through his fingers. The water made his skin sparkle just like the stars above.

Whether he liked it or not, he was now right in the middle of this whole disaster and he had his part to fulfill. People were relying on him to help and stop Morena.

Only he could do it. After all, the sword had chosen him. After all, it was in his blood.

He stared at his fingers, at the starlight on his skin, then he clenched his hand into a fist.

Yes, he would stop this. He’ll warn Henry, stop the madness and when all of this was done, the two of them could talk.

When they survived, whispered a voice in his head, but Aiden decided to ignore it.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He stood a chance. They stood a chance. If only they worked together.

“Aiden,” a voice called to him. As he looked over his shoulder, he could see Talon standing at the lake side.

Moonlight caught itself in his light hair and made it shine almost like a saint’s halo, which was an irony Aiden didn’t miss out on.

He slowly rose from the water, making his way over to the other boy.

When the water barely reached his navel, he stopped, suddenly realizing that he was very much naked underneath the water surface.

Not that Talon would have noticed it if Aiden had broken the rules of modesty, since he still refused to look at him.

Aiden wondered when he’ll ever have the courage to meet him eye to eye.

“You should come,” Talon said, eyes lowered, his voice barely loud enough so Aiden could hear.

“Get some rest before we make our way back to court. Nyx says we are safe here, but we should make sure to leave before sunrise if we want to be there before them.”

Aiden nodded. “I will. Give me a second to uh…” he looked down at himself. “get dressed.”

Talon didn’t say anything to that. He just nodded quickly, before turning around a bit too fast and making his way back to the bonfire.

Did Aiden only imagine it, or did the fae’s ears seem a little red in the light of the moon?

He shook that thought off and made his way to the water’s edge to gather his clothes.

Talon was right, he’d need some rest. They had a long day ahead.

*

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 22- Did it Hurt?

Sorry for the delay, here's a little cutie enemies to lovers vibe

FICTOBER

Patreon

-----

“Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?”

Y/N’s eyes closed as she felt the presence behind her, knowing damn well who it was. Her friend/enemy(?) with benefits, the demon himself, Harry. His fingers curled around her eyes as if to make her guess who it was, like her body didn’t knowingly react to his touch. “Probably the same amount as it hurt your hands crawling up from hell.” Her snarky tone got a hiss from the man, gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him. 

The shit eating grin on his face was all she needed to know about him currently. He was the one being who was able to properly get under her skin- and her panties, apparently. He was devilishly handsome, pun intended, and the most arrogant son of a bitch she had ever met. It was infuriating, and yet she couldn’t escape him. He was everywhere, all the time, and eventually they’d slipped and fell into bed with one another. 

“Feisty, darling.” His lips traveled to her ear, hand possessively gripping her hip as he pulled her closer to him. “Careful. Y’know how much I like that.” That wasn’t a lie. It seemed to get the man off when she fought with him. A game of cat and mouse wherever they went. 

Ignoring the shaky inhale, she rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, grabbing the drink from the bartender she had been mildly flirting with with a gentle ‘thank you’ and her best attempt of a smile. Easier said than done, when the mere presence of the man who had wrapped his arm around her again made her body heat hotter than hell. There was no questioning what would happen tonight. Y/N would go home with Harry and wake up in his bed, they’d fuck again and she would leave only for the cycle to recur whenever either of them got an itch or happened upon one another at a night like this. 

“Alright, mister alpha macho man.” Y/N spun in his arms, looking at him properly with a grown on her face. “Come on. You didn’t even wear a costume? It’s Halloweekend.” Even she had come up with something- a cute little lacy white dress, heeled booties and a halo she had managed to pick up before she got here. She looked hot, if you asked her. 

“Yes I did.” There was that smirk again, pulling his shades down. “M’a celebrity.” 

Y/N wanted to laugh at the sheer audacity, but it wasn’t time in their routine yet for them to get along so instead she blinked up at him with a sigh. “In your dreams. If you were famous people would get sick of you so fast. Y’know people have good intuition. They’d see right through your cute guy act and see the demon in you so quickly.” She was joking, but.. It was comical. HArry? Famous? As if. 

“Well… If you’ve got such a problem with my costume, you are more than welcome to take it off, little angel.” He purred, wrapping his arm around her and snatching her drink from her hand, downing it with a little cough at the end. Her eyes widened, mouth gaped as she relized the fucker had just stolen her drink. 

“H- What the fuck?” She squeaked. “I just paid like, way too much money for that. You ass.” Her complaints only died down when he flagged over the other bartender, asking for one of her drinks and one of his signature as well. As happy as she was that it was being replaced… “Why did you do that? If you wanted to buy me a drink you could have just said that.” 

“Didn’t want you drinking what your little friend made. He was flirting up a storm and I don’t like him.” He said simply, letting her back rest against the bar as he looked unapologetic. Harry did that sometimes- got possessive- but it wasn’t like she was going to sleep with him! Her and harry had an exclusive not dating but sleeping only with each other type of deal, and she wouldn’t fuck with that. As infuriating as he could be, he unfortunately had the best dick she had ever had. Crazy how life worked that way. 

“Harry…” Fingers pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled. “We have an… agreement, don’t we? M’not going to do anything. I was just trying to get a free drink.” Y/N didn’t want him thinking she was going to do that anyways. An agreement was an agreement and she didn’t break promises like that.

“Frankly, babe, I don’t really care. Man thought he had a chance and you’ve been teasing me all fucking weak. It’s my own payback.” He snickered. “Besides, If you wanted a free drink, y’should have texted me where you were instead of daring me to find you. Should have dressed like the little devil that y'are." He grinned.

"Takes one to know one."