#love the crackling markings in the black

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。and my body keeps saying (it's yours) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo thinks this is different, new, almost like it’s the first time for everything.

contains: f!reader in mind but no specifics are mentioned, 18+/mature/soft-slight n*ft/w, sex with feelings (it’s really just vanilla tho!), first time!, there’s an awkward bit but that’s intentional!, lots of nervous feelings! but also lots of intimacy!

a/n: for nonie.🫧 who asked about what it would be like for their first time! title is inspired by an emotional oranges song, devotion (which i used as music inspo for the entire fic too + troye sivan, what a heavenly way to die). this is also my first time writing anything close to n*fw so please be kind! idk if i’ll ever write one again; takes place between tell me about love (show me how) and so this is what it means to be in love!

collection masterlist: conversations on love 02. tell me about love (show me how) <- you are here -> +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

It’s a touch—

—fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw, trailing down his neck, lightly, delicately.

Gojo kisses you beneath the glow of your bathroom lights and he twitches, just a little bit. 

“Sorry,” you stop, attempting to pull away from him immediately. 

His neck is sensitive, always has been since Toji. The mark has faded over the years; what used to be a line running through the shadow of his jawline is now nothing, but you know the feeling lingers, still. You’ve tried to avoid the area as much as you could—while sparring, hugging, kissing; holding him in moments as intimate as this. But sometimes, your fingers slip, and he jolts, so you move away, apologetic—

And he wishes that you didn’t, wishes that he didn’t have to react that way when all he really wants is for you to hold him like this.

He stares at you now, lips puffed and kiss-bitten, and thinks, he shouldn’t even be here—

—at 2:00 a.m., in your apartment, fresh out of a three-day assignment he caught the last train for, just to see you. 

He shouldn’t even be here, bone-tired in a black t-shirt and track pants he couldn’t be bothered with—there just wasn’t enough time to change out of it. 

And he really shouldn't even be here, except, he cut the assignment two days short, rushed through it, restless, eager at the thought of getting back soon. 

All because he missed you. 

Gojo keeps you close, his fingers splayed on the base of your spine, warm and pressing. You can’t read him, his next move, but his eyes hold lightning crackling. He takes your hand and guides it back to where he’s weakest, underneath his jaw, on his neck—healed skin and tissue, his lifeline to you.

“Keep it,” he murmurs, eyes piercing. 

He still twitches when you touch his skin, but it’s always been involuntary. You should know that it could never be because of you, your hands that hold every good thing his heart carries. 

You lean in first, tiptoeing, nudging his nose with yours and your lips hovering. His pulse point rests beneath your fingertips—can you feel how fast it’s beating? Just from having you near him? 

The tips of his hair tickle your forehead and he swallows, throat bobbing. It’s impossible to resist him when he’s this boyish, this charming, so you kiss his lips once, before pulling away, teasing. He bites his lips, red blooming against pink, and you don’t know exactly what you’re anticipating—

But he leans in. 

When you kiss again, the feeling is familiar, a memory of trembling lips and shaky breaths by a bathroom door that isn’t yours. He doesn’t tremble anymore, isn’t as stiff when he has your lips memorized among many other things, but Gojo still flushes the same way your cheeks heat up and your breaths intermingle at the same rate your hearts race.  

You follow where the lights have diffused into your hallway, this dance with him a push-and-pull you’ve done a few times before. He keeps his palm flat on your lower back, pushing you closer, while pulling you towards your bedroom door.  

His hands slide to your waist, dipping you, grip tightening as you bite his lips, tugging. He moans softly, voice low when your hands rake through his hair, the vibrations rippling through your mouth. Your fingers grasp at the short strands of hair at the back of his head, sighing when his lips are released from yours. 

There’s a moment where you catch his eyes, pupils blown a dangerous blue—a sky swallowing you whole before he begins trailing kisses down your neck, nips and licks evidence of just how greedy he is with you. 

A heat builds within you, rooted deep in your belly as you stay pressed against the outline on his crotch. 

It���s hard to imagine a time before all this, how he even struggled to hold your hand when he touches you now like this. 

You stumble over his feet as he backs into your bedroom, steadied only by his hold on you. You chuckle, a small ‘oops’, so sweet, as your collarbone clashes with his teeth. He smiles, lips curled against your skin as he teases, “So clumsy,” 

He’s kissed you this much before, has held you this tight, and touched you much more but this feeling between you now, he can tell—

Tonight is different. 

You lead him this time, to the edge of your bed as you keep him closer, hands all over him. When you lie down, lower lip caught between your teeth, you smile shyly but your eyes burn sinfully, and Gojo wonders if you know that this is what he sees when he’s dreaming. 

He moves closer, your mattress dipping as he hovers above you, arms caging the sides of your face. His head is spinning, eyes zeroing in on the skin exposed by the single button undone on your pajama top. 

When you cup his cheeks, thumb running across his swollen lips—

He thinks he might go crazy. 

You have no idea what you just did. 

He takes a breath before pressing every bit of his longing onto your neck, kissing, sucking, licking, imprinting proof that he was here, with you. It’s red and blotchy, situated right underneath your ear and it’s one too many but still not enough—for him, never enough.

You gasp, tugging at the hem of his shirt, and it’s overwhelming, this feeling. As quickly as it escalated, Gojo freezes, as if you’ve burned him, as if he’s caught up to what could possibly be happening, and it’s—

It’s a lot. 

He pulls away slowly, eyes wide and breath shaky. The air is thick, hot and heavy, and this—where this is going is something he’s never done before, not entirely. 

You sit up, alarmed, hands cradling his face carefully. His eyes are frantic, nervous, blinking at a pace that only makes you worried. 

“We can stop,” you mumble, lowering your hands to take his, gently.

He sees you, hair a mess, marked his, beautiful, and  he just wants to make sure—that you’re okay with this, that you want this, with him. Truly. 

“Do you want to?” he asks, a sky you could fall into, “Honestly.” 

He breathes out, staring. You gulp before shaking your head. “Do you?”  

And he doesn’t have to think much about it, really, because of course, he doesn’t want to stop. 

How could he, when it’s you?

He shakes his head too and you smile.

You squeeze his hand, guiding it to the buttons of your top, “Okay—”

“We’ve never…” he hesitates, trailing off.

It’s weird because it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before; you’ve both done things at the very least, just never all the way. And now, with the knowledge that that very fact is going to change—it feels different, new, like it’s the first time for everything. 

You nod, stroking his knuckles to reassure him, “You said you’re a fast learner, right?” 

The nervous laugh you give is oddly comforting, and he remembers that first kiss and the single thought that if he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 

So he takes it—

—unbuttons your top one-by-one, and he’s a bit shaky, hands clammy, but he gets it off eventually. Then goes his shirt, and your shorts, his pants, a struggle to get past his ankles until you’re both bare, cheeks hot while giggling, like first loves—and maybe it is. 

Gojo sees you stripped down, uncovered, wholly you for the first time and thinks he could die. 

It’s vulnerable and strange as he hovers over you this time, skin-to-skin, but you fit together this way, just right. 

You giggle some more, unable to hide your nervousness. It’s a habit you have—laughing in inappropriate situations, but he thinks it’s cute, so he does it right back. 

Your fingers trace his eyebrows, down to his nose and cheeks, then to his lips, still red and bitten, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. Not fair.” 

He blushes, tips of his ears and neck flushing, “‘Course,” he kisses your nose, pulling away to get a good look at you.

“Have to be if I’m with you.” 

It’s cheesy, and you roll your eyes, laughing full-on but he smiles wider and it feels good knowing that he’ll forever get to share this moment with you. 

“I, uh,” he mumbles, trying to find the words, “have to prep.” 

“Oh, yeah, right,” you move, hands reaching for him between you, but he catches your wrist before you touch him, stopping you. 

“Don’t,” he says, firm, face red as he looks straight at you. “I might not…” he doesn’t continue but you know what he means, so you nod, pulling away. 

His hand trails down your body, inching closer to where you need him to be, and it’s sweet you think, because he kisses your lips once before asking, “Can I?” as if he still has to.

You nod, before whispering, “Don’t ask next time.” 

Next time, you said and it rings, echoes in his head as a promise for more—that this is just the beginning. 

So he touches you, in every way he thinks you should be, in every way he knows you want to be. 

There’s a gasp, then a moan as he leaves another mark on your neck, and you’re so close when he stops. 

You whimper, but you know what’s next, and you see it in his eyes as he prepares himself, fingers discarding a square packet, “You’ll let me know?” he whispers, soft, concerned.

You’ll let me know if I hurt you? he means, and his eyes stare into yours, sincere. 

You nod, brushing your lips against his, and when you feel it—it’s unusual, maybe a bit uncomfortable but he’s there kissing it away. 

There’s an adjustment, a few awkward positions until he finds it, then he goes slow, rhythmic. Your sighs grow louder and he groans, withholding, then you say it—

“‘Toru,”

—by his ear, soft and breathy, and he’s gone, stilling and spilling, a part of him forever yours, irrevocably. 

thank you notes: to nonie.🫧 for asking about this in the first place, and to niku (@stellamancer) for emotional support and for reading this first!! + for helping me go over it!! i love u niku 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[pickingupmymercedes]

My Venus - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

A MET Gala Special

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Famous!Reader

warnings: fashion world, sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Wrap it before you tap it!!!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: I know it's impossible for anyone to wear the original Venus Dior dress, it's a museum piece and it has been for decades, but it's a fic (and my favorite dress, ever) so let's go with it. Y/n is obviously someone really known in the fashion industry, but I didn't specify how, so it's totally up to you to create a back story.

a/n 2: Kind of a request. I was planning something already but anon gave me amazing ideas, thank horny anon!! Also, smut with a plot, what a shocker for me!!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n toyed with a stray piece of croissant, her gaze flitting from the cityscape outside to Lewis, who was deep in conversation with his stylist.

Sunlight streamed through the expansive windows on the opulent The Mark Hotel’s suite, a golden glow on the remnants of their breakfast. Crumbs danced on the crisp white tablecloth, a playful counterpoint to the elegant silver service glinting in the corner.

Eric, a man perpetually poised on the precipice of tranquility, leaned forward trying the nonchalantly posture as his eyes danced with curiosity. "Come on, Y/n, spill the beans! We’re all vibrating with suppressed curiosity."

Lewis, in is crisp white tee and black joggers, shot Eric a playful glare. "Thanks for that, mate. Subtlety is your strong suit, clearly." He turned to Y/n, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Seriously, love. The MET is in a few hours, you can tell us."

Y/n, who had mastered her poker face over the last five months of keeping that secret, took a delicate sip of her orange juice. "Let's just say," she drawled, her voice smooth as silk, "it has a very famous sister."

Eric groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Oh, delightful. Lewis, bro, you're on your own with this one."

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You're a menace, Y/n." He winked, a shiver running down her spine despite the playful nature of the exchange. But the silence that followed held a different energy, charged with unspoken anticipation.

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It’s something that is going to steal everyone breath away, so maybe it needs a security detail of its own?"

Y/n couldn't help but let a sly smile curve her lips. "Maybe." she teased, leaning in even closer. The scent of his signature cologne, a heady mix of wood and spice, filled her senses. "Maybe it'll have everyone whispering about who dared to wear such a legend."

A low rumble escaped Lewis' chest, a sound that sent a jolt of excitement through her. " An archive, huh?! " He said, his voice husky

Just then, Eric cleared his throat pointedly. "Right, right, all very hush-hush. But remember, Lewis, you have your Burberry fitting this afternoon. We can't have you looking too shabby next to your mystery woman in archives."

Y/n laughed, a light, tinkling sound that filled the room. "Oh, I'm sure Lewis will manage to steal the spotlight anyway."

Lewis winked again, his gaze lingering on her lips. "A competition, isn't it, love?"

Their playful sparring continued through the rest of the lunch, a delicious undercurrent of unspoken attraction running through their every word and glance. As they finished their coffee, the tension in the air thickened, a silent question hanging between them. It was time to leave, to face the world – and the MET Gala – separately.

But Lewis wouldn't let her go without a final flourish. He stood, his gaze holding hers, and offered a hand with a courtly bow. "Until tonight, my fashionista. May the best dresser win."

_______________________________________________________________

The air crackled with anticipation as Y/n stepped out of the limousine, a vision as the cameras flashed like a sudden storm, capturing the first glimpse of her enigmatic beauty. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, a palpable wave of awe and recognition as Y/n slowly revealed the legendary Venus dress.

Time seemed to slow. Each step on the red carpet was a carefully choreographed performance, the weight of fashion history settling on her body like a luxurious cloak.

The gown, a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, whispered tales of a bygone era, its every fold a testament to the genius of Christian Dior himself. It clung to her like it had been designed for her. A silent promise of a woman both powerful and breathtakingly beautiful.

Y/n held her head high, a serene and honest smile playing on her lips. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a thrill coursed through her veins. This wasn't just another red carpet.

Lewis, waiting further down the carpet, watched his breath hitch as she came into view. Initially stunned speechless, his jaw dropped in a way that sent the internet into a frenzy.

Here was the woman he knew, the one who matched his every playful jab with witty retorts, transformed into a goddess. He felt a surge of pride, a possessiveness that went beyond what he had felt before with people looking at her.

This was Y/n, his Y/n, stealing the spotlight of the most known fashion event with an audacity as breathtaking as the gown itself.

It was a declaration, a playful rebellion against expectations, most of them that she had created for herself, as she had stablished her style as the non conformative. Still, in The Garden of Time that was the MET, she was bringing one the most known and iconic flowers back to life.

Microphones were being thrusted in her face, a flurry of questions buzzed around her like excited bees, photographers going maniac at the sight of a dress that had been at an exposition for decades months prior being worn.

"Y/n, this is absolutely iconic! How did you manage to borrow this historical piece?" a seasoned entertainment reporter gushed.

Y/n, ever the diplomat, offered a practiced smile. "Let's just say it took a lot of convincing," she replied, the truth a delightful secret she'd keep to herself. "But I believe it was worth the effort."

"Do you feel any pressure wearing such a significant piece of fashion history?" another reporter chimed in.

An understanding glint sparked in Y/n's eyes. "It's a tremendous honour. But pressure is a luxury I don't have time for tonight. It's all about celebrating art, fashion and Christian Dior himself.” Her wit drew laughter and appreciative nods from the crowd, creating a true vision of a woman stunning and intelligent, truly worthy of the Venus.

As Lewis answered his own fielding questions about his Burberry ensemble, he couldn't help but steal glances at her. Her confidence radiated outwards, a magnetic force that drew everyone's attention. He felt a flicker of pride, ever so slightly tinged with a possessiveness that made him want to shout to the world, 'This is my woman.'

"Lewis," a young reporter, eyes wide with admiration, interjected, "What are your thoughts on Y/n's stunning outfit?"

Lewis, ever the charmer, took a playful dig. "Well, let's just say" he drawled, mirroring her earlier cryptic response, "It was worthy of the months of secrecy. She awed everyone as much as she awes me."

As Y/n went up the stairs she found Lewis at the entrance waiting for her, his eyes boring wholes onto her skin. Lewis leaned close, a hand reaching for hers as his voice a huskily murmured "You're incredible, Y/n," his eyes lingering on her "Absolutely breathtaking, love."

Y/n, feeling the warmth of his gaze on her exposed skin, a secret smile played on her lips. There was a thrill in knowing she had surprised him, in seeing the awe and possessiveness flicker in his eyes.

"You know …” she teased, resting her hands on his shoulders as he reached for her waist, a sequence of flashes going off as they showed affection "This was all about making a statement”.

The throng of bodies inside the museum buzzed with an electric energy. As they navigated the crowded halls, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way heads turned their way. Whispers and glances followed them like a second skin.

Lewis, sensing her amusement, leaned in with a smirk. "Enjoying the attention, love?" he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Oh, absolutely," Y/n deadpanned, batting her eyelashes playfully. "It's not every day I get to feel like a museum exhibit myself."

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, you are a work of art yourself. But you’re also wearing one."

Suddenly, a whirlwind of hair materialized beside them. Zendaya, ever the fashion icon, flashed a dazzling smile. "Y/n, girl! That dress. How?!”

Before Y/n could reply, Zendaya dragged her towards the main exhibition, where Venus’ sister dress – Junon – was center piece, photographers already positioned for the Dior reunion.

Lewis, hovered nearby, a playful smile on his face. Even with the constant interruptions, his gaze never strayed far from Y/n.

As she managed to escape the scene, Y/n couldn't help but notice Lewis's gaze burning into her. "You know," she said, meeting his stare with a smirk, "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

He chuckled, leaning closer. "Can't blame a guy for appreciating a masterpiece, can you?" he countered, his voice a husky murmur.

Just as Y/n leaned in to retort, a gaggle of socialites descended upon them. Throughout the pleasantries, Y/n couldn't ignore the heated glances Lewis kept throwing her way. His gaze lingered on the exposed skin of her shoulders, and a playful glint in his eyes hinted at something more than mere admiration.

Finally, as the speeches began and everyone went to their seats, Lewis leaned in close, pulling her towards his side, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. "They can all look, love." his eyes holding hers. "But you're mine."

The speeches droned on, a monotonous hum that Y/n barely registered. Her focus was solely on Lewis, his hand possessively resting on her hand on her lap. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, a stark contrast to the cool of the dress against her skin.

As the formalities dragged on, the air crackled with unspoken desire. Every brush of their bodies, every stolen glance, fueled a fire that threatened to consume them.

"This is torture," he breathed, his breath tickling a sensitive spot on her neck. "All I want is..." he trailed off, his eyes dropping suggestively to the exposed skin of her chest.

Y/n raised an eyebrown, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension in her body language. "Finish that sentence, Lewis" she purred, her voice barely a whisper.

“You, alone." he finished, his voice rough with desire. "Somewhere I don’t need to share."

His hand moved up to her shoulders. His fingers finally grazing the edge of the dress, a silent question hanging in the air. Y/n, emboldened by the setting and the audacity of the dress itself, met his gaze with a playful smile.

"There might be a deserted exhibit around the corner," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "One filled with creatures long extinct."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face. "Hm…" he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. Every glance from him felt like a branding iron, searing the memory of him onto her skin.

When the event finally came to its end, they navigated the crowd, Lewis's possessiveness evident in the way he kept guiding her by the small of her back, a silent declaration. Every so often, his eyes would flick to the exposed skin of her shoulders.

They managed to get by the crowds unusually quickly, ushered greetings and nods a clear sign everyone wanted out. But, as they approached the exit, a familiar face beamed at them. Stella McCartney, a vision of elegance in her silver dress, rushed forward to greet Y/n.

"Y/n, you look absolutely phenomenal!" Stella exclaimed, throwing her arms around Y/n in a warm embrace. "That dress! It's absolutely breathtaking."

Y/n put out a smile. "Thank you, Stella. It was an honor to wear such a piece of history." While Stella gushed about the intricacies of the dress, Lewis tried to exchange a knowing look with Y/n.

The unspoken desire simmering between them was palpable, an energy that crackled in the space between them. Just then, a low chuckle caught Y/n's ear. Gayle King, stood nearby, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Lewis" she started, her voice smooth as silk, "I haven't seen you this speechless in years. Y/n, you've absolutely stolen the show."

Lewis, ever the charmer, offered her a playful smile. " You know Y/n, she has a knack for making an entrance."

Gayle, unfazed by his attempt at deflection, turned to Y/n, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You two," she said, linking her arm in Y/n's, "must tell me all about this later. That dress…and the look on Lewis's face… well, that was priceless”

Y/n, her cheeks burning, couldn't help but steal a glance at Lewis. His gaze met hers, a silent conversation passing between them. They both knew Gayle was right, and that everyone had probably also seen his gaze.

As they reached the exit, Gayle pulled Y/n to the side, their voices dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Keep doing whatever you're doing, Y/n" Gayle said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, leaning in even closer "That boy is absolutely smitten.”

Y/n couldn't help but let out a soft laugh "Thanks, Gayle" she whispered back. With a final hug, Gayle retreated to her own car, leaving Y/n and Lewis to get into theirs. The tension between them thick, a charged silence that spoke volumes as Lewis held open the car door for her.

He slid into the car beside her, wasting no time in letting his hand roam up under the dress, reaching her thighs in no time. A devilish grin spreading across his face, leaned in close. "She's right, love" he murmured, his voice husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers."

The heat of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. He caressed the soft skin, his fingers brushing tantalizingly close to her hips. Y/n, unable to contain a shiver, bit her lip. "Lew" she breathed, her voice laced with a playful warning. "Careful now. We're not exactly alone."

He chuckled but continued his exploration, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin just above the hem of her dress. The driver, through the rearview mirror, couldn't help but steal a glance. Y/n, catching a glimpse of his reflection, couldn't help but feel a thrill of exhibitionism mixed with a playful desire to tease Lewis further.

As Lewis's hand continued its ascent, his fingers brushed against a smooth, unexpected surface. He paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. A beat of silence hung in the air before it dawned on him. No underwear.

"Couldn't risk an underwear line ruining this moment" her voice laced with a playful challenge. The audacity of her statement, coupled with the realization, made his breath hitch in his throat, raw desire clouding his eyes.

He pulled his hand back abruptly, a silent promise hanging in the air. The confined space crackling with unspoken desire.

As Y/n stole a glance at him, her heart pounded in her chest. He was trying to control himself, a clear struggle evident in the way he held his breath and clenched his jaw. The bulge in his trousers, who had been previously concealed by his trench coat, was now a very visible sign to his arousal.

"Not long until we get back, Love" Lewis finally managed, his voice husky with frustration. He leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his braids in a frustrated gesture. Y/n, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, let out a low chuckle.

Relief washed over both of them as they pulled into the hotel. A small army materialized around them. Her team, ever-efficient, whisked them towards her suite, their focus solely on getting her out of the Venus dress.

Throughout the undressing, Lewis hovered on the periphery, his eyes laser-focused on Y/n. He watched with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. Every so often, he would discreetly lick his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of his pent-up desire.

The process was a delicate ballet – a team of stylists unhooking intricate clasps, another carefully lowering the billowing skirt. Finally, wrapped in a plush towel, Y/n stood alone with Lewis, her team discreetly melting away, a knowing smile playing on their lips.

Lewis crossed the room in two long strides, the heat of anticipation crackling in the air between them. His hand reached out, almost hesitantly, to brush a strand of her now loosened hair. The touch, seemingly casual, sent a jolt of electricity through her, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all evening.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Beautiful, captivating, and all mine. Only mine."

His words hung in the air like a promise, the most possessive claim she had ever heard from him. They resonated deep within her, stirring something primal. As her heart pounded in her chest, she couldn’t help but lean into his touch, seeking solace and desire in his embrace.

"All yours," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. Their lips met in a searing kiss, a collision of pent-up desire and raw emotion. In that moment, the playful banter of the night melted away, replaced by a raw hunger that neither could – or wanted – to deny.

Each second ticked by like a whisper of urgency. They had only about twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the after-party. With practiced efficiency born of desire, she threw the towel onto the bed, leaving herself bare before him, a silent invitation hanging in the air.

Lewis's eyes roamed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as she reached down to undress him from his pants. "Don't have time for that, love," he murmured, his hands stopping hers with a swift motion.

With a sudden shift of momentum, he flipped her, his hands tracing over her tummy as he left a trail of kisses along her shoulder. Each kiss sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, her breath hitching with every touch of his lips against her skin.

His hands ventured lower with each kiss, until they reached her folds, his touch igniting a primal hunger within her. A low growl escaped his lips as his fingers delved into her depths, drawing out her arousal with a skillful touch that left her trembling with desire.

Feeling the urgency of their fleeting moments, she flipped around, dropping to her knees to palm him through his boxers. The outline of his thick arousal was already prominent, and she freed it eagerly, the velvet hardness filling her hands. With practiced skill, she teased him, eliciting a delicious hiss of pleasure as she took him into her mouth, savoring the taste of him.

But time was slipping away and they both knew it. Five minutes had already slipped by, according to the bedside clock. His hands gripped her chin, pulling her up "I promise later we can take our time, but I need your pussy right now," he breathed, urgency lacing his words with a desperate plea.

With a hungry nod, she positioned herself, elbows resting on the armchair, presenting herself to him with a silent invitation. The tip of his arousal teased her entrance, collecting her slickness before he plunged into her with a single, deep thrust. A sharp cry escaped her lips as he bottomed out, his hands soothing the skin of her hips as he waited for her signal to move.

"Lew" she moaned, her voice a desperate plea for release. His fingers circled her clit, igniting a fire within her as he began to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge of oblivion.

It didn't take long before she was panting, her body trembling with the force of her climax. Lewis held her close, whispering words of encouragement as she rode the wave of ecstasy, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their shared passion.

As she steadied herself, he resumed his frenzied thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he spilled himself inside her, holding her tightly as their bodies trembled with shared pleasure, the world fading away into a haze of ecstasy.

When he pulled out, she turned into his embrace, cupping his face in her hands as she gazed into his eyes, her heart overflowing with emotion. "They can look all they want, but you're the one here," she declared, pulling him into a passionate kiss, sealing their bond with a promise of devotion and desire.

His hands left her only briefly to clean her up before dressing himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he savored the lingering moments of what had just happened.

As he emerged in his Dior attire, abs on full display, Y/n's eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in her voice. "Guess, you're the one drawing all the attention now," she teased as she admired him.

Lewis chuckled, his gaze lingering on her in the black Dior mini. "You don't look too bad yourself, love," he countered, his voice a low rumble.

He pulled her close, his hand trailing down her back. "But trust me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "tonight, the only eyes I care about are yours."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Love is like the rose thorn

𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲, ℑ’𝔪 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶

Description: The last thing Y/N expected after quite literally falling down the rabbit hole was to wake up in a world where dragons and knights exist. Throw in an incorrigible but undeniably handsome boy called Benjicot Blackwood who won't stop following Y/N around and we have ourselves a regular ol' fairytale.

Disclaimer: Victoria here to interrupt my regularly scheduled Aeron Bracken content with a Benjicot oneshot. This doesn't have any connection with Elizabeth's masterpiece The Blackwood Knight but is an attempt to fulfill a request from @ithilwen-blackwood for a modern reader finding themselves in Westeros. I'm sorry it doesn't match the request exactly as the reader isn't a dragon rider in this.

Loosely based on Beauty & The Beast. There's now a companion Cinderella retelling for Aeron Bracken called Star Crossed

Warnings: swearing, threat of violence, female reader, world jumping reader, Frenemies to lovers vibes, lengthy (I got carried away whoops), Beauty & The Beast vibes.

Y/N woke with a jolt. Dazed, her eyes frantically tried to take in her surroundings. She was disturbed to find she was not in her own bed, but lying on the cold hard ground with ferns lightly tickling her face. She seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of nowhere, not recognising any land marks, just the vast expanse of green fields, rocky paths and off in the distance the treeline of nearby woodland. She remembered she'd been hiking and come across a strange arch covered in interweaving vines and blood red roses so dark they were almost black. She had felt inexplicably drawn to the arch that seemed to crackle with magic. But she knew that was ridiculous, there was no such thing. And yet she found herself walking towards it as if pulled by some invisible force until she stepped through it...and was met with darkness.

Y/N was pulled back to the present by an intense feeling of panic. None of this made any sense. Nonetheless her survival instincts had kicked in and she knew she couldn't just linger out in the open, she had to find help. So she started forward, opting to avoid the eery treeline of the woods, hoping that she'd eventually come across some semblance of civilisation, even better someone who could help her make sense of what had happened to her.

Y/N felt like she'd been walking for hours, perhaps she had, her bones wearied with exertion. A shining ray of hope came in the form of a beautiful man sat atop a precarious pile of stones. He struck a princely figure, dressed in clothes that looked straight out of a medieval fair, a fake sword hanging from a belt at his hips. His soft brown hair, lanky limbs, and dimples gave him a boyish charm. But his broad shoulders were suggestive of a strong build and the small scar on his nose gave her the impression he'd once broken it, perhaps in a fight. Eyes suddenly snapping to hers, his features rearranged themselves into a cocky smirk and she suddenly felt quite strongly that the man in front of her was quietly dangerous.

Unfolding himself from his slouched position, almost that of a beleaguered sentry, he jauntily approached her. Although he did stay at a respectful distance of a few paces. "Good day my lady, I have not seen you around these parts before. And I admit I do not recognise the colours of your house. From where do you hail?" Y/N found herself scoffing at his roguish tone and bizarre speech pattern. "From where do I hail? Are you heading to an expo or something. What's with the cosplay and fake sword?" The man's handsome features pulled into a slight frown of confusion. It lasted a mere moment before his eyes were oncemore alight with a mischievous glimmer that Y/N found equal parts frightening and exciting.

"Do you jest my lady? I bear the sigil and colours of House Blackwood as is my prerogrative as Lord of Raventree Hall." He bowed his head to her, a hand to his heart. Y/n had to admire his commitment to his costume but it was starting to grate on her nerves that he seemed to talk in riddles when she was desperate for answers. "Right, sure you are. Could you please point me in the direction of the nearest town?" Y/n asked awkwardly, hoping to try her luck with someone not dressed like a knight.  "You do not know where you are my lady?"

"Not exactly. Not at all if I'm being honest. I sort of just walked through an arch and woke up in a field and here I am. Where exactly is here?" The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Y/N detected a trace of concern as his eyes appeared to soften. "You tell a strange tale my lady, and I should be pleased to assist you in any way I can. We are in the heart of the Riverlands, in Blackwood land." Y/N felt a fresh surge of panic rise up within her chest as she struggled to understand any of the unfamiliar words the man in front of her had just laced together. Had she somehow time travelled and that was the cause of their mutual confusion? Trying to maintain a semblance of calm she took a deepth breath through her nose. "Can you tell me what the year is?"

The man's lips turned up in an amused smile. "This close to the borders of Bracken land it depends who you ask. In the eyes of House Blackwood it is the first year of the reign of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the 129th year after Aegon the conqueror's conquest." Y/N let out a high pitched squeek, the panic that had settled uncomfortably in her stomach finally bubbling up to breaking point as she began to realise she may be farther from home than she'd first realised. The young man seemed positively alarmed at her outburst, his eyes widening as she started taking small steps away from him all the while trying to regulate her frantic breathing. His brow furrowing, he started to close the small distance between them, a placating hand outstretched as if he expected her to run from him.

"My lady, I can see that you are distressed. If I have done or said something to alarm you, I assure you it was not my intention." Y/N told herself to snap out of it. This was likely all some big misunderstanding. That or the stricken looking man in front of her was toying with her. The idea that he would do such a thing when she was so clearly lost, confused, and vulnerable incensed her. Glaring at him she wordlessly turned on her heels to walk away from him at break neck speed. Hearing footsteps she glanced behind her to see him following at a distance. "Are you following me?" "Yes" He said simply as if it was perfectly obvious that he should. "Brazen bastard" she mumbled, unfortunately not low enough for him to miss. A look of surprise as he registered her insult quickly shifted to one of bemusement before Y/N could even begin to worry about him reacting badly. "That may be, but I'd rather not see you walk into a den of savages. And that is the direction you're going in."

Y/n was quite frankly sick of his cryptic messages at this point. Stopping in her tracks to face him, the young man immediately halted, mirroring her movements. She fixed him with a stern glare. "I don't know what you're playing at but it isn't funny. I have no idea what you're talking about. And I'm not a lady so you can drop the act."

Turning so quickly she was sure her hair must have whipped him in the face she continued on the path she'd chosen. If he wanted to drop mysterious messages of foreboding without telling her anything concrete she'd just as well ignore him. That turned out to be difficult as he resumed following her wordlessly. Y/N broke the silence a while later. "Why are you still following me? I thought you said I was going the wrong way. Headed towards savages as you put it?" Seemingly delighted that she'd finally looked at him and was willingly speaking to him he shot her a dazzling smile that almost softened her resolve to be irritated with him. "To protect you of course. I am a knight and you are a lady in distress. The course you set is a dangerous one but if you choose to walk it then I shall walk it with you." His smile did not match the promise of life-threatening danger he was suggesting.

"I can take care of myself and since I can't understand half of what you're saying I'm not sure I really believe you." His smile growing wider, the young man took a couple of steps towards Y/N to close the distance between between them before gently taking her hand and planting a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't doubt it fair lady, you seem seem have a will of steel but I'd rather not risk your safety if its all the same to you." Momentarily at a loss for words at his actions, Y/N quickly quashed the traitorous fluttering of her heart and cleared her throat as she pulled her hands from his and attempted to put him down gently. "That's quite enough of that. Look, I appreciate your concern... " she stopped realising she didn't know his name and looked up at him questioning. "Benjicot Blackwood. Might I Iearn the name of the fair lady in return?" Ignoring his question, Y/N went on "but there's really no need to worry. I'll be just fine on my own."

Once again Y/N turned from him and continued to walk towards whatever mythical danger the man had portended. When she didn't hear his footfalls following her immediately a smile of self-satisfaction ghosted onto her face before she realised she was almost dissapointed. That was until she heard them at a farther distance this time. Glancing behind her but this time not stopping she shouted back to him. "Are you still following me" He had to shout too for her to hear him though there was mirth in his tone "yes my lady, you still seem dead set on barrelling head first into danger. And you have not yet given me your name" he responded playfully. Y/N groaned audibly "Why can't you go bother some other poor girl and leave me alone?" Y/N fumed to hear him laugh. "Because then, fair one, I might actually have to bother, as you say, ladies who like my company. And where would be the fun in that when I have you to shout at me?"

Y/n gaped at him in disbelief, this man could not be serious. Shaking her head at him, she decided to just go back to ignoring him. Perhaps he'd get bored of following her or, if she was really lucky, fall into a ditch. They walked a little while longer before an arm suddenly shot out around her waist, the young man having hastened his steps to step in front of her. "A step further and we're in Bracken territory. I beseech you to turn back with me. I will take you to my halls and we can discuss your predicament further." Y/N felt a growing sense of fear at Benjicot's seriousness.

Perhaps she'd been too quick to write his warnings off. No sooner had she thought this than she heard approaching footsteps and spotted four other men dressed just like him, except for the golden colour of their cloaks where his was a deep red. She didn't like the angry looks on their faces and was ashamed to find herself cowering slightly. Taking in her fright the young man shot around and positioned himself more fully in front of her, arm lightly outstretched behind him as if to shield her.

"Get back from the border Blackwood, you're in breech of the assize."

"Fuck the assize. This is Blackwood land and you know it." Y/N didn't have a clue what the two men were arguing about as insults flew back and forth, but her ears perked up as the man closest to her red knight levied the next one at her. "Take her with you. Is she fucking stupid, or is she so bold to think she can waltz around wherever she likes? Typical Blackwood bitch." The Lord of Raventree as he'd called himself earlier snarled out a reply, stepping forward to shove the golden Knight harshly in the chest. "You craven bastard. You dare insult a lady under my protection?" Y/N should have been panicking at the impending threat of violence, but her anger at the man's insults, so blatantly laced with misogyny, rose up so fiercely that she heard her own voice among the din before she could stop it. "Don't you dare call me a bitch. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I don't know anything about an assize or why you're so obsessed with rocks and not crossing them but you can't just go around calling people names. Have some respect."

Seemingly stunned into silence, perhaps not expecting her to challenge him so brazenly, the golden Knight just stared at her in stony silence for a few moments before ignoring her entirely and turning back to her red knight. "Control your woman Blackwood." Through gritted teeth, Benjicot bit back "Speak another word about the lady and there will be violence." The golden Knight drew his sword, pointing directly at her red knight's chest. Ok, so not a fake sword then. Surprising her by laughing tauntingly, Benjicot walked right up to the tip of the sword. "You wouldn't dare." Y/N told herself she shouldn't find his passionate defence of her attractive, but in the current circumstances she felt she could be forgiven for being irrational. "Come on, just leave it" one of the other golden knights piped up. After a tense few moments the golden cloaked man lowered his sword and and stalked away, followed by his friends.

Shoulders tense, her defender did not turn his back to the knights until they were out of sight before turning around to look at her, eyes immediately softening from the aggressive glare he'd just been fronting. "Are you alright my lady? I had hoped to avoid such an interaction." Y/N flip flopped between finding his evident concern sweet and being irritated that he seemed to think this was her fault for not listening to him. "You think I'm to blame then? You're the one who kept dropping veiled hints about my impending doom and refusing to clarify what you meant!" Y/N could not for the life of her understand why the infuriating man in front of her was smiling at her. "Why are you smiling at me? Do you enjoy fighting with me?" "You mistake me my lady. I am merely gratified to know that you are well enough to shout at me. I was concerned that you would be shaken and frightened."

When Y/N didn't respond, mouth opening and closing trying to find a response, Benjicot assumed that she must be in some state of shock after all. "Please allow me to take you to Raventree. It would go against my conscience to leave a lady wandering about the riverlands alone when you seem so confused." With that he held his arm out for her to take, an antiquated gesture that seemed to confirm to Y/N she was really not in kansas anymore. Weighing her options, she considered that Benjicot Blackwood had teased her and followed her, but he had not harmed her and had in fact protected her when he could have walked away. Making her decision, she lightly placed her arm on his. "My name is Y/N." Benjicot grinned at her as if she had given him a star rather than her name, placing his other hand atop hers as it rested on his arm and began directing them in the opposite direction "a beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Blushing fiercely with embarrassment, Y/N squeeked out a "Thank you."

Benjicot must have been chasing Y/N around the Riverlands for quite some time, as it took them at least an hour to reach the impressive fortress he called Raventree Hall.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock of realising she had in fact jumped from her world into another, Y/N actually found herself settling in to life in Westeros. It had taken some convincing for Benjicot to believe her story and stop assuming she was mildly insane, but he had all the while insisted she stay with him in Raventree Hall, gifting her with her own room and beautiful gowns in the colours of House Blackwood. She'd only had her hiking gear on when she was unceremoniously plucked from her world into his, and she sought to avoid similar looks of curiosity to the one he'd shot her when they first met. Y/N grew to love Raventree and the people who lived there.

Benjicot had practically forced his friendship open her and as incorrigible and cocky as he could be, encouraging a healthy back and forth banter between them at all times, she could not be anything but grateful for it. Each day he would show her something new, always hoping to amuse her, whether it be a new room to explore in his ancestral halls, a book he thought she might like, or the rose garden tucked away in the grounds, which had become her favourite haunt.

The roses reminded Y/N of Beauty and the Beast, her favourite fairytale from back home which Benjicot had made her tell at least a hundred times, listening just as attentively, a hand cupping his chin and eyes never leaving hers each time. She supposed that her own situation did somewhat resemble her favourite tale, down to her very own castle and beast. Benjicot had always been a gentleman with her, but she had heard the stories of Bloody Ben whispered by his servants and seen first hand his willingness to resort to violence to protect her when they first met.

More often than not it was Benjicot, or Benji as he seemed to insist only she call him, who came to her, always seeking out her opinions. But today it was Y/N seeking him out. She'd been growing more and more homesick of late and wanted to be with the one person she felt could truly understand, eventually finding him in the armoury, wielding his sword in different formations. Hoping to sneak up on him, and having taken fencing lessons herself back in her own world, she quietly tiptoed over to the swords. Grabbing the lightest one she could she walked soundlessly back over to him before he suddenly turned and clashed his sword against hers. "Sorry Y/N but you should know that I'd recognise your footfalls anywhere and you're not as quiet as you think."

"Rude" she huffed back, sliding her sword down his and shoving him away from her. He grinned at the challenge. "You didn't mention you'd handled a sword before." "Only a little."

He parried a fresh blow from her, easily blocking the next. 

"I can see that" He teased, earning a snarl from her though it did not have any true aggression behind it. He continued to block her blows, but seemed reluctant to attack and she used this reticence against him to lunge and place her sword close enough to his neck to refute any delusions he had about her lack of skill. But he was prepared for this and swung his sword upwards to block her again, before taking hold of her waist and spinning her around, her back hitting his chest. His sword hand wove around around her shoulders, as he kept the blade at a distance from her body, while Benji gently trailed his other hand down the side of her bodice, his touch feather light and searing all at once. He leant down to whisper in her ear "You left yourself open here when you lunged."

Y/N had always found Benjicot attractive, even when he teased and irritated her, but she'd tried to quash any romantic feelings for him so as not to ruin their friendship. But his closeness to her now, her body pressed against his, was intoxicating and she struggled to think coherently. Suddenly releasing her, Benjicot smiled widely and bowed. "I shall see you later my lady, I am off to attend to my duties." Throwing his sword carelessly over his shoulder, he turned and exited the armoury, leaving Y/N to stew over the unwelcome feelings their impromptu sword fight had brought to the fore.

Later that night, Y/n could not help the wave of sadness that threatened to crush her under the weight of it from sending her into a spiral of homesickness. Soft sniffles and sobs echoed about the room as she tried to square the new life she now loved with her feelings of guilt over leaving her family behind. The rattling of her bedroom door knob sent her flying from her bed in alarm as she quickly grabbed a small blade form the wooden desk and hurried to conceal herself behind the door. As the intruder entered she wildly swung around to jab the point of her dagger into their ribcage. The intruder stiffened and she looked up to se that it was just Benji, whose brow was quirked up in amusement. How could he act so nonchalant about her nearly spearing him like a fish?

"What's so funny? I nearly gutted you!"

"With a letter opener?" She looked down to find that what she'd thought was a dagger was indeed just a letter opener, not likely to do much damage. She forced out a laugh that ended up sounding much more like a sob, and Benji's face immediately fell once he took in her tearstained appearance fully. Y/N couldn't bear his look of concern, certain it would just make her cry harder and so she broke the silence. "What brings you to my room at this time of night anyway to give me the opportunity to spear you in the first place?" She'd hoped to diffuse the tension and make him laugh but his expression remained just as serious, eyes filled with worry. "I heard you crying."

"Oh." He had come to check that she was OK. His gentle concern for her sent forth a fresh wave of tears and when Benji opened his arms to her she immediately fell into them, her forehead hitting his chest as his hand came up to stroke her hair in a comforting gesture. "What ails you my lady. Whatever you need I will see it done."

His kindness only made her crying worse and he kissed her sweetly on the crown of her head, rubbing soothing circles along her spine. "I miss my family and my home." Benji stiffened as if he were expecting a blow but he let her continue. "And mostly I feel guilty that I'm not sure I even want to go home. Truthfully I love Raventree and your friendship has meant everything to me."

Benji took hold of Y/N's elbows and lightly pushed her away from his chest so he could look into her eyes. "It gladdens my heart to hear that you feel this way about my home. I should like you to consider it your home too. You will always  have a place here with me." Kissing her forehead tenderly, he held Y/N's head against his heart again as if she were made of glass or something truly precious to him he was scared to break. Little did she know how true this was.

Weeks later, Y/N found that her homesickness had begun to dissipate to a dull ache. But her feelings for Benji had grown and spread like the vines of the rose bushes she loved so much, wild and uncontainable. It was difficult to even be in his presence without wanting him to touch her and hold her as he had the night he'd found her crying.

Sitting with her in what he'd come to refer to as her rose garden, he kept shooting furtive glances at her as she read from a tome on his house history. "Why are you staring at me?" "I'm not?" "Try that again without the question mark"

Benjicot surprised her, shifting in his spot next to her to turn to her fully, their knees touching, before taking both of her hands in his. "I have not been able to look away from you for more than a few moments ever since I first laid eyes on you. I must admit that I am desperately in love with you and wondered if, by some chance of fate, you might feel the same way?"

Y/N's jaw fell open in shock. " You love me?"

He squeezed her hands "most ardently."

Her mind spinning, she threw caution to the wind and flung her arms around Benji's shoulders to kiss him. He reacted instantly, pulling her as close towards him as possible until she was in his lap, his hands grasping at her hips to pull her closer still as if he couldn't believe she was real.

Breaking the kiss for oxygen, Benji began to trail a line of kisses down Y/N's neck, leaving her breathless, one hand pressing her back closer to him. "I wish you to be my wife, to become the Lady of Raventree Hall and House Blackwood."

Butterflies erupted in her stomach.

"Future Lady Blackwood am I?"

"Should you permit it, I will protect you, cherish you, and love you for the remainder of my days or for as long as you will allow. I humbly offer myself to you as your husband, with all the love I possess for you."

"And what if I disagree with you and challenge you. What if we argue constantly?"

"We do not argue my love, you scold me and I listen" He shot back with a playful grin.

"And if I decide to change all the tapestries pink?"

Benji sighed, tilting his head to her eye level so she could read the sincerity in his eyes.

"I want all of you, including your thoughts and opinions. They're what made me fall in love with you. I want you to share them with me even if they challenge mine, especially then, even when I hold you in my arms. As to the tapestries, I'm rather partial to my house colours but I would try to bear the change if it would please you."

Y/N giggled at that before planting a tender kiss to his lips. "Then I consent to be be your wife and Lady. You can't take it back though. You're stuck with me now."

Benji pressed their foreheads together, cupping the sides of her face to brush her lips with his. "And how grateful I am for it." He spoke against them before pressing his lips to hers in a kiss he hoped expressed his undying devotion to his lady.

A face I'd go to war for. The title is based on the line 'love is like the wild rose-briar' from an Emily Bronte poem I love called Love and Friendship.

[milqueandsugar]

🌼☕` Wearing His Clothes`☕🌼

Gen / Fluff

Includes / Alastor , Lucifer

| ALASTOR |

If Alastor could spend every evening like this, he would. A warm hellish day, a pleasant breeze that made the usual sulphuric smell that lingered in the air tolerable, and most of all, you by his side. The scarlet parasol you carried over your shoulder sifted the dying rays of the sun into a glorious red. If Alastor could devour an image he'd have this walk on a plate.

"Have I ever mentioned how marvelous you are in red?" The static of his voice crackled to life, so did the blood in your cheeks. "Very, very often." You tease, his grin widens. "Oh so not nearly enough."

You were working up a come back when something heavy dropped onto your shoulders. It smelled of chicory and black coffee, it smelled of Alastor. You poked your head up out of a collar, his collar. You stared up at your lover who twirled the parasol you must have dropped in hid hand. Spinning the red refracted light around the both if you like a kelidoscope.

"You are darling in red, I'll have to ring up Rosie to get you one of your own."

"Matching outfits Alastor? Tattoos next?"

"I was thinking rings, but by the by."

Alastor is definitely a possessive character but I don't think that translates at all to you wearing his clothes

He's actually quite protective of them, he's as particular as he is possessive and it has to be some sort of gesture for him to lend it to you

He especially holds off on lending clothes to you if you make it know you like it, just for teasing purposes of course!

He only truly lends you his bow tie or jacket and only, of course, on his terms

He finds it endearing, how flattered or excited you are at something as simple as a coat, though he holds this little secret close to his chest

It's not as fun if you can tease him back!

Due to his more animalistic tendencies/physicality he is particularly sensitive to smell

If you REALLY want to rile him up use his cologne or soap, it might take a day or two but it's impossible not to notice his increase in physical affection

Once he registers that wearing his clothes is another, far more subtle way of having you smell like him he'll be far more generous with lending you garments.

| LUCIFER |

Every few months you cleaned out the closet, Lucifer liked to buy things, you liked to wear things, both of you were terrible for over filling your closet. He was out for a day out with Charlie, which made things easier. You loved him truly but he made tossing things out difficult, it was too pretty or to cute, to sexy for him to part with. He wasn't wrong, he had an excellent eye for picking clothes you liked, but at this rate you'd need to buy a new home to accommodate for the mass amounts of clothes!

It was when putting the keeps back when you noticed it, his hat. A hat you both loved and hated, the golden snake around its brim gleaned in the light. You snatched it from the shelf at the top of the closet. Your surprised he didn't bring it today, he wore it always, especially when with Charlie. You wondered if she liked it, or if she liked it when she was a kid and bright colours were like moths to light.

You step over to stand in front of the floor length mirror. It felt like a normal hat, of beautiful craftsmanship of course, but just a normal hat. You couldn't see why he was obsessed with the thing. You felt a little silly wearing it, you felt even sillier when a snort sounded from behind you.

"Oh so that's where my hat went"

He thinks it's cute!!

He's confident so he doesn't see any real need to mark or claim you, he knows he loved you, and he knows you love him just as much!

Absolutely pleased to lend you clothes!

If it becomes a habit of yours he even goes out of his way to pick up clothes he thinks both of you will like

Turns into a fun shopping activity!

Be fully prepared for him to start stealing your clothes too though this is a two way street

Maybe it's for the best too he's got no style let's be honest

Absolutely tortures you if he discovers you think it's hot, wears your clothes out, wears your clothes in private, when your on a date

Good luck, they're pretty much his now

No hiding if you dress more feminely either he's not afraid of rocking a mini skirt

The act itself doesn't do anything but seeing you so excited about it?? That does it for him

[actual-changeling]

We always talk about Aziraphale discovering secrets about Crowley's fall in heaven, but have you considered the opposite?

Do you think Aziraphale ever walks through heaven's endless archives, trying to find something, anything to help stop the wheels that have been in motion for millennia? If he does, one day he might find a pile of dusted files, all of them marked with a name that is nothing more than a smudged ink blotch. He knows now that every fallen angel's name is erased like that, their identity wiped away like a fingertip drawn through wet ink; the rough evidence of their existence remains, the shape of a black hole where grace should be.

Aziraphale is alone in the stretching corridors, there is no one else around, and even if another angel were watching by chance, nothing about what he is doing is forbidden.

(He would not care if it was.)

So he opens the file and pulls out its contents, only to find himself surrounded by ink-black darkness. Electricity crackles through him, sharp but oddly familiar, and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Seemingly out of nowhere, an angel clad in white with hair like fire appears next to him. Aziraphale does not remember their name, but he would know this face even if it were wiped from his memory; the elegant features are both fragile and powerful, and so, so loved. When one of his hands reaches out on its own accord, the memory flickers as it goes straight through their face, and with a sense of broken, golden loss, he cradles it against his chest.

They are holding a flickering light within their palm, a proto-star, one of the very first designs, and with a soft blow of air from them, it takes flight. Spinning slowly, its light spreads and spreads, taking most of the darkness with it, yet even as the bleached sterility of heaven begins to shimmer through at the edges, the Starmaker's smile is bright enough to drown it out.

"You're beautiful," they whisper, their hair moving like a flame in the wind as the star expands and nears its collapse.

Aziraphale does not notice the tears flowing down his cheeks as he watches until the star goes supernova, until the Starmaker turns and takes in the glittering clouds of spacedust, their smile and eyes wide and alive, until the memory fades slowly like a dream in cruel morning light, and he is left alone with a scratched-out name and a hollow grief in his chest.

[holybibly]

Hello mistress! I hope you have been drinking plenty of water, eating and resting well. I have emerged from the shadows to present to you a request. I haven’t exactly done one of these before so…yeah. Is it possible if you could do a San x Seonghwa x Reader please? I really love threesomes (double stimulation much???) You don’t have to though, it’s always completely up to you.

<333

It's true that my bunnies haven't shared their unholy thoughts and desires with me. Don't you have any unholy bunny thoughts? You've all been so quiet recently. Should I be a bit meaner to you for the sake of your stimulation?

What a naughty bunny you are, should I punish you for your disobedience or reward you for daring to write me this, hmmm? Either way, I agree with you, double stimulation sounds just so delicious.

"Damn angel, you are so fucking perfect. I want to fuck you so bad. So fucking bad, baby." San's voice is drenched in need and desperation as he moans into your skin, leaving dirty, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His mouth sucks on you greedily, leaving the nasty purple marks on your throat, and his tongue licks the soft skin, making it tingle in a pleasurable way. If he could, he'd bite down on every goddamn millimetre of your body. "Can I really fuck her, Seonghwa?" He asks the long-haired brunet, stretched out in an exquisitely plush armchair in the corner of the bedroom. 

His face is in shadow, but when his dark, almost black, feline eyes meet San's equally beautiful, slanted ones, the tension between them is palpable. It crackles like electrical discharges gathering in the air before a storm.

San's hands slide down your back until the broad, slightly rough palms of his hands rest on the plump flesh of your bare bottom. Fuck, your bottom has always been his weakness—so beautiful, juicy, and thick, just the way he likes it. 

Roughly massaging and squeezing, he pushes his fingers deeper into your buttocks. You moan and arch your back as San spreads your legs so that Seonghwa can get a good look at your glistening, swollen pussy. You were already so damn wet, and that's what Seonghwa liked most about you—you were always dripping wet for him.

"Perfect, so perfect for me." San moaned into your shoulder once more before biting down on your skin until he made you whimper. 

"Why are you asking me? It was my angel's idea. Why didn't you ask her?" There was a bitter note in Hwa's velvety voice that almost made you laugh.

That was the absolute truth. It was your idea to invite San to your and Seonghwa's bedroom. 

Maybe it was a little bit cruel to the gentle, kitty boy, because both you and Seonghwa, and everyone else in Ateez, knew that San was hopelessly in love with you from the moment that Seonghwa introduced you to his groupmates. You were also well aware of Seonghwa's obsession with you and his selfless love for you. If, to you, he was the most beautiful and brightest star, then to him, you were the whole of the universe. 

The thought of being fucked by two incredibly sexy and amazing guys who were madly in love with you made you excited, but even more excited was thinking about how Hwa would react when he saw you getting fucked. Would he be jealous enough to want to rip you out of San's hands and show him how to treat you the right way? Would he comment condescendingly on how clumsy San was eating your pussy when he pushed San's pretty face deeper between your legs, pressing on the back of his head with his graceful hand? 

Hell, if this wasn't a real wet dream, what would you call it?

"Do you really want this?" San asks you, and it is this that brings you back to reality. His hands slide down your legs before he paddles them around his slender, slutty waist. Your hands tangle in his soft, silky hair, tugging lightly at the strands, and you think back, not without regret, to a time when his hair was longer. You are always such a slut for boys with long hair. 

"Yes, Sannie." You whisper as you press your hips against his clothed crotch, gasping when the soft fabric of his grey sweatpants bottoms rubs against your swollen clit. "I want you, baby."

It's enough to make San take action. He tips you onto the bed as he leans over you, hovering over your naked form, greedily studying the seductive curves, and you squirm slightly at how intense and hungry his gaze is. His hands slide down from your navel to your breasts before he begins to knead and roll your hardened nipples between his fingers.

You start to wriggle underneath him, whimpering and arching your back so that your tits are pressed into the palms of his hands. San pushes your legs apart with his knee and finds a comfortable position between your legs, his thigh pressing against your clit. You lift your hips and press against his thigh in search of some relief from the fire in your centre. The way you moan as the soft, designer fabric stimulates your throbbing, sensitive ball of nerves makes San grin at you. 

"Mm, my angel, would you like a ride on my thigh?"

You nod desperately, clinging to his broad, muscular shoulders as he lifts you back up. As San leans back on the headboard and spreads his legs, you climb up on your knees and sit on his thigh. You can feel how muscular and juicy his thighs are, even through the fabric of his grey sweatpants. San is clearly the kind of guy who never misses out on leg day when he is working out at the gym. 

"C'mon, love, have a ride on me. Use me as a toy for your pleasure.". 

You begin to rub against his thigh, moaning out loud and closing your eyes as you head back as the waves of pleasure wash over your body one after the other. Your hips find the perfect rhythm, pressing harder and harder against him, putting extra pressure on your clit as San tightens the muscles of his thigh beneath your flowing pussy. Your excitement is dripping out of you, soaking into the fabric of his trousers and leaving a big wet spot on the grey fabric. Your hips move faster, your fingers grab San's shoulders, and your nails dig into the golden, smooth skin as the pressure of orgasm builds inside you. 

"Slow down, Angel." Seonghwa's voice commands you. You have been so consumed with pleasure that you don't even notice him moving from the chair to the edge of the bed, his dark, predatory gaze piercing you. You can almost feel the way his eyes are focused on the spot where your plump little pussy is rubbing against San's thigh. 

You reluctantly obey your boyfriend's command and slow down to a torturous pace that doesn't bring you the relief you are looking for at all but only adds to your broken, needy state. Because of the change in speed, you feel the pressure of your approaching orgasm slowly slipping away from you, leaving you with nothing. You open your eyes and pout your lips in the direction of Seonghwa, silently begging him to let you come. Even though it was your idea and now you're rubbing your needy cunt against San's thigh, Seonghwa is controlling. 

"This is my beautiful girl." Seonghwa says, brushing your sweat-soaked hair away from your face with his hand. His fingers run delicately along the line of your jaw. "Do you like fucking yourself on San's thigh, my angel?"

"Mmm, Hwa, it feels so good." You moan and press your pussy harder against San. 

Seonghwa crawls across the bed like a big cat until he's kneeling behind you, his hand gently touching your neck. The feel of his fingers against your throat sends shivers down your spine and makes your pussy clench around nothing. He slowly begins to curl his fingers around your throat, closing off your airway.

Your movement on San's thigh stops as the air leaves your lungs. Your eyes roll up as black dots begin to dance at the edges of your vision, and you begin to feel dizzy, gulping air with your mouth.

"Do you like San more than me, Angel? Do you like fucking him more than me, little slut?" He purrs in your ear, his hot breath blowing against your cheek. Seonghwa slowly loosens his grip on your neck but doesn't let go; his fingers are still pressed against your skin, leaving aggressive red marks. 

Your hips quiver as you inhale greedily, and you feel your chest rise and fall as the air fills your lungs.

"I asked you a question, Angel." Seonghwa demands. "Do you think that San can fuck you better than I can fuck you?" Seonghwa's voice is as sharp as glass, and there is jealousy hidden beneath the rough and domineering tone. He doesn't like you whimpering and moaning when San touches you. He hates the way you rub that sweet, pink cunt of yours so eagerly against his thigh, like a cat in heat. It has to be only for him. He wants to take you back to his place, making you moan and writhe, biting you, liking you, and tearing you apart until you realise you belong only to him. And seweety boy San is going to have to watch him do it. 

"N-no, Hwa, it's not like that." You gasp as his fingers start to squeeze your neck again.

"Do you think he can make you cum better than me?" Seonghwa whispers threateningly in your ear.

At this moment, San's hands are squeezing your thighs hard, and he starts to move you along his thigh again. 

"I think I can do it." San challenges Seonghwa, raising his sharp feline gaze. As the boys exchange heated glances, your hand slides down to your clit, hoping they're too distracted to notice. Before you can touch yourself, Seonghwa grabs your hand. 

"Don't you dare touch yourself, angel." He growls. "Get off his thigh. Now."

You do as he says, moving down San's thigh, leaving a large wet spot on the soft grey fabric of his trouser leg. When you sit back down on the bed, Seonghwa wastes no time in spreading your legs and sliding down to engulf your wet, sweet cunt. His tongue begins greedily and quickly to slide down your slit, lapping up the juices pouring out of you.

You squeal as his teeth claw at your clit, the sharp sensation of pleasure tingling your skin and causing a fresh load of slime to leak from your hole straight into your boyfriend's beautiful mouth. Your fingers tangled in his long black hair, holding on to the roots with all your might as his tongue worked you mercilessly. Seonghwa's long, talented tongue has no problem plunging into your hole and begins to lick your silky, warm walls, which contract around him in an attempt to keep the slippery appendage inside. 

"Ah, shit, Seonghwa. That feels so good..." You cry out, wriggling on the bed.

"Fuck!" San swears as he watches you rhythmically move your hips against Seonghwa's face, smearing your juices all over his cheeks and chin as he devours you like there's no tomorrow. And while San guessed that Seonghwa was great with his tongue and could easily fuck you into oblivion with just his mouth, the sight of that long appendage sliding in and out of your cunt made his body tense. A mixture of excitement and envy coursed through his veins like scalding lava. He can fuck you just as well as Hwa, and he hopes to prove it to you.

As if he could read San's mind, Seonghwa grins wickedly into your pussy and accelerates the movements of his tongue. His sensual, plump lips wrap around your swollen clit, sucking it roughly as his tongue mercilessly circles it. 

"Hwa, don't stop." God, you were almost on the edge. Hot pleasure boiled under your skin and curled in your stomach, threatening to explode at any moment. You screamed as a long finger entered you, and Seonghwa continued his assault on your sensitive clit. You wanted to cum so badly, and you had already been interrupted once when you rode on San's thigh. The orgasm that kept building up felt a hundred times more intense now.

"Please, Hwa." You whimper and push your cunt into his mouth.

"Not yet." San says, and you turn your eyes to him. San looks so fucked—his cheeks are flushed, his hair is dishevelled, and his lips are swollen—but the look in his eyes is sharp and hungry. He will take what he can from you, even if he won't be the one to make you cum, not yet. "She can't come yet, Hwa."

Hearing San's request, Seonghwa withdraws completely, pulling his beautiful mouth away from you with a slight "pop" sound before his finger slips out of your hole, leaving you empty and unsatisfied. You whimper pitifully, lifting your hips in a silent plea for him to come down on you again. Seonghwa just smiles lecherously, slurping the remains of your mucus from his sensual, swollen lips. 

"Seonghwa, you can't..." You moan and try to reach up and grab his shirt, but San stops you halfway. He pushes you back onto the bed before taking Seonghwa's place between your spread legs.

"God, angel, you're dripping." San moans softly and leans down to your pussy, so close that you can feel his hot breath against your sensitive folds, sending shivers through your entire body. He slides two fingers along your wet slit, pushing your labia apart to watch your little hole flow and clench around nothing before gently plunging them in. You moan at the new sensation and try to push against his fingers to feel them deeper. San's fingers are thicker and rougher than Seonghwa's, and the stretching stings slightly as he pushes them further in until they're inside you to the very base.

It's only a moment before San starts to thrust his fingers into your cunt, using all his strength to destroy you. Your screams bounce off the walls, mixing with San's moans, Seonghwa's low purr, and the most disgustingly loud squelching of your pussy. 

"Is he better than me?" Seonghwa says it suddenly, pulling you out of the fog of lust. His hand tangles in your curls, pulling your head towards him and demanding an answer. You can't give it, not when San's tongue meets your swollen clit. "Answer me."

"N-no!" You moan, hoping to please your boyfriend.

Hearing this, San becomes even more determined and insistent. He adds a third finger, stretching you even further. His lips circle your clit, sucking the bud into his hot, soft mouth. Damn, he was good. Sure, not as good as Seonghwa or Hongjoong, but that's a story for another time. 

But it was enough to make you squirm. You've long suspected that San has an oral fixation, and the way he sucked on your cunt confirmed it.

Your back arched on the bed as you gasped from the excess of sensation. Your pussy squeezes his fingers, feeling your stomach tens up as the fire passes through you.

"I'm so close." The spiral in your stomach bursts, and all you can see is white as you cum on San's fingers and tongue, a sharp scream in the form of his and Seonghwa's names coming from your lips, sounding like a garbled mess.

San quickly replaces your fingers with his lips and drinks everything you give him. Purring like a damn cat, he slides the tip of his tongue inside you and licks the stretched edge of your hole. You shudder as you begin to feel overstimulated as his mouth continues to lick and suck you even after your orgasm begins to dissipate. Seonghwa intervenes as you start to squirm and tears start to form in your eyes, grabbing San's hair and pulling him back.

"You're so delicious, angel, so sweet. I want more." San licks the remains of your slime from his lips. "I can't wait to feel your tight little cunt wrapped around my cock. I promise I'll stretch you so much you'll feel like you're in heaven."

"Do you need a break, my angel?" Seonghwa asks as he leans down to kiss you. His lips are so soft and plump, and damn, it sends a new wave of excitement through your body.

"No." You say it, still out of breath but loud enough to be heard when Seonghwa pulls away from you. "I want you both. And I want it now."

[perpl3x]

Late Nights - Logan Howlett / Wolverine

Summary: Logan has phoned you on numerous occasions for a late night hook up. Tonight is no different. Pairing: fwb!reader (afab) x Logan, sub!reader x dom!Logan Words: 5,889 Tags: explicit filth 18+, praising, dirty talk, sex, begging, mentions of alcohol Notes: sorry for the long word count, I got a bit carried away. whoops.

The apartment door pulled open, and a rugged Logan stood before you. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and a shadow of stubble covered his chin, nestled between two sideburns. He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and some well-worn bootcut jeans that had clearly seen better days, frayed at the hems and faded at the knees. His eyes, a piercing shade of navy, seemed to look right through you, carrying both warmth and a hint of mystery.

He glanced down at you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a dimple that softened his rugged features. His eyes glinted with a mixture of mischief and warmth, a playful sparkle that seemed to invite you into his world. He gestured for you to step inside with a casual flick of his hand, the movement confident and familiar.

His voice, rough and gravelly like gravel underfoot, held a teasing edge as he drawled, “You gonna stand there all night, bub, or are you gonna come in and keep me company?” The words rolled off his tongue with a lazy charm, the kind that made you feel both welcome and intrigued.

As you stepped inside, you were immediately met by the amalgamation of smoke and worn leather, intertwined with his own natural musk. The air was thick with it, creating an intoxicating and familiar scent that enveloped you like a warm embrace. The aroma of his favorite brand of cigars mingled with the rich, earthy scent of old leather, emanating from the cracked, well-used sofa and the leather jacket draped casually over a chair.

The faint sound of music, now more distinct, filled the room as the vinyl quietly spun on the record player. The charming crackle of static added a nostalgic touch, the slight imperfections of the analog sound giving it a warm, authentic quality. As the melody emerged, you quickly recognized it as Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows, revealing the rugged charm of the room. The atmosphere was unmistakably Logan's, a blend of nostalgia and understated sophistication. The walls were a collage of eclectic posters, showcasing his love for gritty rock bands and iconic classic films. A large, flat-screen TV dominated one corner, perched on a sturdy, timeworn wooden cabinet that bore the scars of age and use. The cabinet was flanked by a powerful stereo system and a vintage DVD player, each piece meticulously maintained, evidence of Logan's appreciation for quality and craftsmanship. The TV's faint glow was the room's primary source of light, casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls. On a small table nearby, a few records lay scattered, their worn covers hinting at Logan's enduring love for the warm, rich tones of vinyl.

Logan sauntered over to the makeshift bar tucked into the corner of the kitchen, the battered wooden countertop bearing the marks and scars of countless years of use. He reached for a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, its label worn and peeling, and poured himself a generous measure. The amber liquid caught the dim light as it splashed into the glass, reflecting a warm glow. Without a word, he poured a glass for you, the gesture casual but welcoming.

As he did so, you discarded your shoes and coat before settling into the couch, feeling the weight of the day sinking into the cushions along with your body. "I've been thinking about you today," you call out nonchalantly.

Logan's eyes flicked to you over the rim of the glass, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He took a swig from his glass, the whiskey burning a trail down his throat, leaving a familiar warmth in its wake. A satisfied sigh escaped him, the sound low and gravelly. With a nod, he ambled over to the couch, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, each step resonating with the weight of experience.

He set both drinks down on the coffee table with a practiced ease, the amber liquid glinting softly in the low light. Next to the glasses, an ashtray held a freshly stubbed cigar, its fragrant smoke lingering in the air, adding to the room’s hazy atmosphere.

He sat down beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he settled in. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the soft crackle of the music playing in the background and the faint hum of the city outside. Logan's hand found its way to your knee, his fingers gently tracing circles, the touch light and teasing, yet grounded in a comforting familiarity.

"Been thinking about me, huh?" he asked, his voice low and husky, the words a seductive rumble against your ear. His breath was warm, a puff of air that sent a shiver down your spine, mingling with the intoxicating scent of whiskey, leather, and cigar smoke that clung to him. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes slightly as the warmth from his breath lingers on your skin, a comforting sensation that sends a gentle shiver through you. A small smile plays on your lips, the corners lifting in a mixture of contentment and affection. Your hand instinctively reaches to cover his on your knee, fingers brushing lightly against his. “Mmm, I might have,” you admit, your voice soft and breathy, almost a whisper. The words are wrapped in a hint of playful intrigue.

As you pull your hand away from his to take a sip of your drink, your gaze lingers on his, the room's dim light casting deep shadows across his rugged features. You lean in closer, the warmth of your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver through the space between you. Your arm falls back to its previous place, lightly grazing his side as you whisper, "You know, it's been a long day. I could use a release." Your hand trails up Logan's arm, your fingers dancing along the defined muscles, feeling the subtle strength beneath his shirt. As you pull away, your touch lingers just a moment longer, leaving him with a smoldering, sultry smile.

Logan let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending shivers down your spine. "I think I can help you with that, bubs," he said, his voice heavy with innuendo as his hand snaked its way to the nape of your neck and gently tugged you towards him, fervently kissing your lips.

His tongue sought entry, and as it met yours, it danced with a hunger that mirrored the desire in his eyes. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding down from your neck, to your back, pulling you closer, the heat between you both intensifying. Despite his hands being large and rugged, he somehow managed to touch you like fine china that he didn't want to break, even despite the lust and desperation.

He pulled away, his breathing heavy, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. "You know, I've been thinking about how I'm going to bend you over this couch, your pretty ass in the air, just begging for it," he said, his voice thick with lust. A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on your body. You nodded, biting your lip in response, the anticipation of his touch making your heart race.

"Would you like that, sweetcheeks?" He asked softly, his hot breath fanning against you neck as he gruffly whispered into your ear, still keeping a firm grip on you as his hands burried into the sides of your hips.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on your body. You nodded, biting your lip in response, the anticipation of his touch making your heart race.

Logan's fingers dug gently into your sides, urging you to verbalize your desire. "Say it for me, bubs. Tell me you want that," he uttered, his voice a sultry rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air in the room. He pulled away slightly to look at you, to drink you all in.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat as you looked up into his intense gaze. His eyes, deep and piercing, seemed to hold you captive, the world around you fading into insignificance. "Yes," you finally breathed, your voice dripping with desire. "I need you Logan. I want you to fill me up until I can't even think straight - until I'm nothing but a moaning mess begging for you to let me cum."

Logan's eyes darkened with satisfaction as you gave in to your desires, a satisifed and carnal smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasted no time in acting on your words, pushing you back into the cushions of the couch laying you down on your back, his body towering over you as he propped himself on his forearms, the muscles straining as he leaned in. His lips eagerly worked on the skin of your neck, the stubble of his beard scratching your delicate skin in a way that sent shivers of both pleasure and discomfort down your spine. You let out an airy breath, your head falling back against the cushions as his mouth trailed lower, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

As Logan's lips traced a path down your neck, his words grumbled against your skin. "I'm going to worship every inch of your perfect little body," he growled, his voice thick with lust. The intensity of his touch made you squirm under him, the anticipation of what was to come building within you. You could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of him, as he loomed over you, his presence commanding and intoxicating.

Instinctively, your body reacted to his touch as you arched your back towards him urging to close the gap between you - needing every inch of your being to physically be connected. His fingers began to work on the buttons of your blouse, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment. As the garment fell open, revealing the lacy bra that encased your breasts, he leaned in to nuzzle your cleavage, the scratch of his beard a sensation that mixed both pleasure and discomfort.

Logan continued to lavish attention on you, his large hands cupping your breasts through the lace, his lips tenderly sucking and nipping at the skin of your exposed chest, hot breath causing goosebumps to flare over your skin. "I can't wait to hear you moan for me, bubs," he uttered with the usual gravel in his voice, lust laced in his words. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sensations overwhelming as he continued to worship your body.

As he helped you slip out of the blouse, now unbuttoned and sliding effortlessly from your shoulders, his gaze shifted downward, drinking in the sight of you. His attention lingered on your bare legs that just peaked out of your skirt, his admiration evident in the way his eyes darkened with appreciation. His large hands moved to your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, a gentle squeeze that sent a thrill coursing through you. The warmth of his touch spread like wildfire, igniting every nerve, as he explored the contours of your skin with an almost reverent focus. His grip was firm yet tender.

"You're so fucking beautiful, bubs," Logan murmured, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in to nip at your inner thigh, his beard grazing against your skin. The mixture of pleasure and discomfort from the stubble had you gasping, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch as you arched into his touch. His capable hands traced higher, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt, the fabric tight against your curves. He pulled it down slowly, his eyes never leaving your body as it was revealed.

As Logan pulled down your skirt with ease, revealing your matching lacy thong, his gaze lingered on the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire. The lace of the thong hugged your curves, the material sheer enough to offer glimpses of your arousal, the dampness evident against the fabric.

The sight of you, laid out before him, your body flushed and eager, was a sight that turned Logan on immensely. The flush of your cheeks, the way you bit your lip as you squirmed under his touch, the way your breath hitched with each touch, were all sights and sounds that fueled his lust. It was clear that you wanted him just as much.

You began to toy with the hem of Logan's dark t-shirt that hugged his physique, your fingers tracing the fabric as a subtle signal for him to remove it. Logan took the hint quickly, reaching up and sliding it over his head. His muscles flexed in the dim lighting, the shadows accentuating the chiseled contours of his abs and the broad expanse of his chest. The light highlighted the dark body hair that spanned his torso, a rugged trail enticingly leading down to the waistband of his jeans.

Veins stood out on his forearms, their prominence accentuated by the strain as he wrestled with the shirt. His pelvis, with a few veins visible just peeking above the waistband of his jeans, bulged with the effort, adding to the raw, masculine allure of his figure.

You couldn't help but stare, admiration and lust mingling in your gaze. Logan's body was a sight to behold; every muscle was defined and sculpted, each curve and ridge a result of relentless training and perseverance. "Fuck..." is all you could mutter, drinking in his rugged appearance that only fuelled your carnal desire for him.

With a cocky grin, Logan chuckled softly, clearly reveling in his own chiseled, god-like presence. "Do you like what you see, bub? Don't worry darlin', it's all yours." The confidence in his expression was palpable, a mix of pride and self-assuredness that only added to his already commanding aura. His amusement was not just in his smile, but in the way his eyes sparkled with a sense of satisfaction, as if he were fully aware of the effect his imposing physique had on you.

Logan's large hands continued to roam, his fingertips grazing the edge of your thong. He trailed his fingers lower, the pads of his digits pressing against the fabric that covered your clit. His touch was gentle, yet firm, as he began to rub in slow, deliberate circles, feeling the heat emanating from you through the thin material.

"Look at you, bub. You're dripping for me, aren't you? Can't wait for me to fill you up, can you? Aren't you such a good girl for me, hmm? Your pretty pussy all ready for me. That's what you want, isn't it darlin'?"

Logan didn't give you any time to respond as he dove down to you again, he captured your lips in another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as his fingers continued to tease you. The sensation of his fingers against your clit, combined with the warmth of his kiss, had you moaning into his mouth. Logan loved the sound, his own arousal growing with each moan that escaped you.

His fingers continued to expertly rub against your clit, teasing the sensitive nub as he leaned in. Fervently, he pulled away nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. With a wicked grin that you couldn't see, he pressed his lips to your neck, sucking gently, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted in a silent plea for him to return, your body craving the warmth, the moisture, the intimacy.

"You're so desperate for this cock, aren't you? Beg for it, bub." His head still buried into your neck, you couldn't see the carnal desire that you knew was laced in his expression but you could hear it in his gravelly uttering. "I bet you'd do anything for it, wouldn't you? Tell me how much you need it, and I might just give it to you."

For Logan, there was no greater pleasure than hearing you admit your need for his cock, the raw, visceral desire in your voice. The thought of his thick, member filling you, stretching you wide, your wet, tight walls gripping him with every thrust, sent a jolt of satisfaction through him. He imagined your face flushed and contorted with pleasure, your moans and cries growing more frantic as he pounded into you, your body arching to meet his every thrust, your voice stuttering out his name in a primal cry of ecstasy.

Logan's own arousal was a tangible thing, a throbbing, insistent presence straining against the confines of his jeans. The outline was stark and unmistakable.

Your breath hitched in your throat as Logan's fingers continued to tease your clit, the sensation overwhelming. "Please, Logan, I need your cock. I need you to fill me up, to make me yours. I'll do anything, just please, please fuck me."

The plea for Logan's cock spilled from your lips, the words tumbling out in a desperate, ragged rush. Your voice shook with a raw, unabashed honesty, the vulnerability and need in your tone leaving no doubt as to the depth of your desire for him. You were painfully aware of how pathetic your begging might sound, but in that moment, you were utterly helpless before him. Logan was your undoing, the one who could strip you of all sense of control, reducing you to a quivering, desperate wreck in his presence.

"Is that all you've got, bub? I want to hear you really beg, show me how much you want it. Tell me what you'd do to have this cock inside you." His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, as he continued to torment you with his fingers, the cruel tease driving you mad with lust. He brought his teeth to the tender skin of your neck and gentle nibbled at it.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and desire. Logan's demand for more left you squirming beneath his touch, your body aching for release. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you tried to gather your courage. The thought of submitting to him, of groveling, made your core clench with a heady mix of lust and shame.

"I'll do anything, please, I'll worship your cock. I'll bend over and take it deep and hard, let you use me however you want. Just let me have you, Logan, please, I need you."

The words were a raw, unfiltered expression of your desire, a testament to the depths of your need for him. You knew you sounded degrading, but in that moment, it was the only way to express the urgency and intensity of your desire. You were willing to do whatever it took to have him, to finally feel the blissful fullness of his cock inside you.

Logan withdrew his hand, a smug grin on his face as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbow. He gazed at your flushed, disheveled form, taking a moment to savor the sight of your desperation and need for him. Your eyes, heavy-lidded and sultry, bore into him with a yearning that was both intoxicating and exhilarating.

"You'll let me use you, huh? Just how I want?" His voice was thick with lust as he considered your offer, the image of your eager, submissive body a temptation he found difficult to resist. "Well, bub, if you're offering yourself up like that, I think it's only fair that I take what you're offering."

He pushed himself up from the sofa, his skin was flushed, heat rising in his cheeks as the intensity of the situation and his own desire became apparent. His sinewy muscles seemed to ripple beneath his skin, the light catching on the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

As Logan fumbled with the buckle of his belt, the action slow and deliberate, his broad chest heaved with each breath. The dark, piercing eyes that met yours were fierce and intent, seemingly trying to undress you with their heated gaze. The air between you grew thick with tension, charged with the electricity of desire as he practically eye-fucked you, leaving you squirming in your lingerie on the couch.

Once the buckle was undone, Logan took hold of the belt, beginning to carefully unthread it from the loops of his jeans. With each smooth, deliberate motion, the tension in the room grew. He discarded the belt to the floor, the metal hitting the hardwood with a soft clink.

Taking a momentary break from his task, Logan reached for the glass of whiskey that still sat untouched on the coffee table. He downed the amber liquid in one smooth gulp, his throat working as he swallowed. A satisfied hum escaped him as he licked his lips, the sensation of the whiskey warming his insides. With a heavy hand, he placed the glass back on the table, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Logan's hands moved to the button of his jeans, slowly sliding it through the hole and popping it open. He began to lower his pants, the fabric resisting his movements, bunching around his thighs. As he freed himself from the confines of his jeans, his hand found its way to the bulge in his boxers. His fingers brushed against the hot, rigid length of his cock, rubbing through the fabric in a slow, teasing motion. The sight of him pleasuring himself, even through the barrier of his underwear, was enough to make you squirm on the couch, the need for him growing more insistent with each passing second.

Logan's voice, deep and gravelly, filled the room as he spoke, the teasing lilt in his tone sending shivers down your spine. "Do you want me to show you what you've been thinking about all day, bubs?"

He continued to toy with his cock, the way his fingers moved over the fabric a tantalizing dance that left you aching for more. You could almost feel the heat radiating from him, the thick, veiny length straining against the confines of his boxers, begging for release.

You nodded eagerly, your eyes locked onto his hand as it continued to stroke over his cock. The pulsing, throbbing need between your legs grew more and more unbearable, an insatiable hunger that demanded to be sated. You fought the urge to start pleasuring yourself, knowing full well that Logan enjoyed making you wait, enjoy the anticipation, before finally giving in to your desires.

Logan's smirk deepened, a sly glint in his eyes, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Use your words, darlin'. Let me hear that pretty voice of yours. Put those lips of yours to work."

Logan's teasing continued, his tone alluring as he urged you on. "Come on, you've been such a good girl already. Say 'please'." Instead of simply stroking, he now gripped his erection, the outline of his cock now painfully obvious through the thin fabric of his boxers. The sight of it, combined with Logan's relentless teasing, was enough to push you to the brink of insanity.

Finally, you found your voice, your words shaky and desperate. "Please, Logan, show me what I've been thinking about all day. Please, please, show me your cock."

Logan's lips curved into a satisfied grin, his teeth flashing as he bestowed praise upon you. "Good girl, bubs. I knew you had it in you." He took his time, moving deliberately and teasingly as he slid his boxers down his legs. The fabric caught on his thick, erect member, the sight of it being released, springing free and smacking against his abdomen, was pure torture. Once it was fully free, his cock bobbed, standing proud and upright, the head glistening with precum.

He didn't linger any longer, sliding both his jeans and boxers off of his legs, which had been pooling around his knees. He stood before you, fully and completely naked. His body was a sight to behold. The veins that bulged at his pelvis continued to run down his rigid length.

His large, calloused hands wrapped around his shaft, the grip firm and confident. Logan began to stroke himself, the slow, deliberate motions drawing out the pleasure. As he moved, he made his way back towards the couch, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. Logan's approach was both eager and gentle, his large hand wrapping around your wrist with a tenderness that belied the raw power and strength he possessed. With surprising ease, he dragged you gently, positioning you so that you leaned over the arm of the couch. Your body followed his lead, naturally conforming to the position he wanted, your ass now raised in the air, presented to him, ready for his taking.

A satisfied hum rumbled in Logan's chest as he took in the view, his hands moving to explore the curves of your ass. His fingers traced the lines of your cheeks, the pads of his digits pressing into the soft flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Logan's hands continued to roam over your ass, his voice a low growl in your ear as he uttered dirty, filthy words. "You're a good girl, coming over here tonight, begging for my cock. You're just aching for me to take you, aren't you, bub? To fill you up, to claim every inch of you as mine."

Logan's hands squeezed your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh as he kneaded and massaged you. His touch was firm, possessive, as if he were claiming you through the physical connection. With a slow, deliberate motion, he used his thumbs to slide your underwear to the side, revealing your wetness to him. Two fingers slipped inside, the warmth enveloping them as they slid in with ease. A contented murmur escaped him, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

The sensation of Logan's fingers inside of you, the way they delved deep, was almost too much. You couldn't help the breathy moans and lustful exhales that escaped your lips, your face pressed into the leather seat of the sofa as he pleasured you from behind. Your body arched, your hips rolling back to meet his touch, encouraging him to go deeper, to claim more of you. The way he talked to you, the filthy words that rolled off his tongue, only served to fuel the fire of your desire, making you squirm and writhe against his touch.

Logan's grip on your hip tightened, using it as leverage to push you down into the cushions. As he withdrew his fingers, they were slick with your arousal, the evidence of your need for him. He used that same hand to grip his cock. He spat onto his hand, the warm saliva mixing with your arousal, creating a makeshift lubricant. Logan rubbed the wetness onto his cock, coating it in the mixture before slowly edging the head of his cock against your entrance, the wet tip teasing you, making you whimper in anticipation.

Logan's voice was a low growl, the words dripping with lust and dominance. "Is this what you wanted darlin'? My fat cock fucking into you, huh? Is this what you've been thinking about all day? Have you missed this bubs?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge, a confirmation of what you'd been fantasizing about. Your body trembled, your breath hitching in your throat as you finally found your voice, your words thick and needy.

"Yes, please, Logan. Yes, I've missed this. I need you. I need this. Fuck - I need your cock so bad."

Logan's response was immediate, his hips bucking forward ever so slightly. The head of his cock dipped into your entrance, the slick tip teasing you, making you moan into the couch. Logan's praise was laced with satisfaction, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "That's a good girl. You're so eager for me, aren't you, bub? You're just begging to be filled by me, to have every inch of you claimed by my cock. I knew you'd be a good girl, always wanting me, always craving my dick."

Your promise was fulfilled as he bucked his hips forward once more, this time not stopping at the entrance. His cock filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you, making you gasp and moan into the cushion. Your body gripped the material of the couch, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to hold onto something, anything, as Logan claimed you. Your core clenched around him, the wet, slick walls of your pussy adjusting to the size of his cock.

As if sensing your need, Logan's primal instincts took over, his rhythm quickening as he began to fuck into you deeply and with unrelenting force. The head of his cock brushed against your sensitive spot with each thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Your body arched to meet his, your hips rolling in sync with his, encouraging him to go deeper, to claim more of you. Your moans grew louder, your body quivering with each thrust, the pleasure building within you, threatening to consume you whole.

Logan's grunts filled the room, the sounds of his satisfaction mingling with your own moans. He used both hands to grip your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as he sought the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot, to make you writhe and squirm beneath him. "You're such a good girl, bub. Look at you, taking my cock so well."

Your body tensed, your core clenching as Logan's cock continued to thrust into you, the subtle pressure overwhelmingly nice. Your breathing hitched, your voice strained as you managed to utter, "Fuck - L- Logan-"

His voice was a husky growl, his words a promise of what was to come. "Mm, that's it bubs, my name sounds so pretty coming from your lips." His hands moved to your back, the firm grip pushing you down into the couch as he continued to take control, to claim you fully.

Logan's thrusts grew more forceful, each one driving deep into your core, his girthy cock stretching and filling you completely. Your body surrendered to the sensation, your hips arching to meet each powerful stroke. The sound of your moans, breathy and pleading, echoed through the room, mingling with the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the rhythmic symphony of your shared passion.

Logan's face contorted with his own pleasure, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you fall further under his spell. His voice rumbled through the room, a deep growl of satisfaction, "You like that, bub? You like how I own you like this?"

The question sent another wave of pleasure coursing through your body, the heady mix of submission and dominance pushing you closer to the edge. The tension within you coiled tighter, the sweet torment of Logan's edge play threatening to tip you over the brink. You nodded, your body trembling, your nails digging into the couch as you fought to hold onto the last threads of coherence.

"That's my girl," Logan praised. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you tightly as he continued to thrust, the rhythm of his movements a relentless march towards your climax.

Leaning down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Tell me when you're ready to cum, bub. I wanna hear those pretty little words leave your mouth." His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.

Logan's keen senses, honed by his mutation, allowed him to detect the most minute changes in your body, the subtle shift in the pitch of your moans, the heightened surge of oxytocin that coursed through your nervous system. He reveled in these signs, knowing that you were nearing the brink, the culmination of your pleasure. Yet, there was something else he enjoyed even more. He wanted to hear the words spill from your lips, to witness the undoing of your composure, to have you become a blubbering, breathless mess as you confessed your impending climax.

His grip on your hips tightened, and he increased the tempo of his thrusts. The walls of your sex clenched around him, and you could feel the pressure building, the familiar coil of tension that promised release. As your body tensed, the tell-tale signs becoming more pronounced, Logan's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The sight of you, flushed and writhing beneath him, was a sight he could never grow tired of.

Your whispered confession, "I'm… I'm close, Logan. I'm gonna cum…" sent a jolt of pure satisfaction through him. It was like a trigger, igniting the fuse that would lead to the explosion of your pleasure. "That's it, bub," Logan encouraged as he continued to thrust into you, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "You're doing so good. Let it take you. Just a little more, bubs. You're so close. I can feel it."

His hand slid down your body, slipping between your legs to find your swollen clit. With a gentle yet firm touch, he began to rub in circles, adding another layer of stimulation to your already heightened senses.

The combination of his words, his touch, and the sensations of his cock buried deep within you pushed you over the precipice. Your body arched and squirmed beneath him, a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure escaping your lips. The sound of your ecstasy was accompanied by the soft crinkling of the leather sofa beneath you. Logan continued to stroke your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as he rode out your climax with you. "Good girl, bub," he praised, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Logan felt his own release drawing near, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more urgent, his breath hitching in his chest. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fought to maintain control, to prolong the agonizingly sweet edge he found himself teetering on.

As Logan felt the telltale signs of his own impending release, he pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. With a growl, he aimed himself at your back, releasing his hot seed in thick ropes onto your skin.

The warmth of his cum cascaded down your spine, the sensation both arousing and exhilarating. Logan's gaze followed the path of his release, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he watched the evidence of his pleasure. "I've always loved the way you look when you're spent, bub."

Logan's chest heaved as he caught his breath, the afterglow of their passion washing over you both. "I'll go and get a towel for you, bubs," he stated softly. He gave your ass a gentle pat before heading towards the bathroom, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I'll run you a nice hot bath. You're going to need it after all that."

Link to the rest of my work!

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Pride and Pigeons

masterlist

pairing: harry potter x any gender reader

warnings: fluff, kissing

summary: a fluffy imagine of you and harry - requested by anon

a/n: you ask for harry fluff, you shall receive harry fluff :)

song: moon - siggerr

Sitting on the couch in the common room you glance at the fire as it crackles.

It was the holidays and most people were home. Harry told you he was staying, so you decided to join him. He gave up trying to convince you that you didn't have to stay for him awhile ago.

You look down at the book in your hands and then turn your head to look out the window, getting a wonderful view of the snow falling outside. Hogwarts was so beautiful when it was covered in snow.

Harry walks out of his room and heads down the stairs quietly. He spots you cuddled up under a blanket by the fire with your book and he smiles softly.

He heads over to you and plops down next to you on the couch, places a kiss on your cheek, and puts his head on your lap. You instinctively run one of your hands through his hair, "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, love," he looks at your eyes scanning the pages. He watches how your facial expressions change ever so slightly as you get to certain points of the novel. "You are so pretty."

You feel your cheeks warm and you look at his grinning face. "Thank you." Flipping the page, you glance back at him, "For the record, I think you're also pretty."

"Why, thank you. What book is that?"

"Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorite classics," you beam.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Pride and Pigeons?"

You laugh and lightly wack his head with the book. "No you daft dimbo."

"I'm only joking!" Harry laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Mhm. Anyway, it's a beautiful book. You should read it some time, I can lend you one of my copies."

"One of your copies? How many do you have?"

You look up and think as you count to yourself. "Nine. I think."

"Nine?! Who needs nine copies of the same book?" Harry looks at you with bewilderment.

"There are just a bunch of different pretty versions," you shrug. "I'll give you one of my favorites, with annotations- which is very generous of me because I don't let people borrow my books."

"Except Hermione."

You nod, "Except Hermione." You look back down to the page and continue reading, but you feel Harry's eyes studying you. You look and meet his adoring gaze, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so... perfect," he sighs dreamily.

You sigh with a smile and pick up your bookmark. You mark the page you're on and put the book down on the table.

Harry pulls himself up a bit and you reach him halfway down, placing your lips softly on his. You feel him smile against your lips and you run your hand through his hair and put the other on the back of his neck.

You pull away after a bit and he drops back down onto your lap and closes his eyes in bliss. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you m-"

You put your hand over his mouth, effectively shushing him. "Every time we do this we just go back and forth on who loves each other more."

"Yeah," he grins, "you're right."

"When am I not?"

He scoffs, "Would you like me to make a list?"

You gasp and put a hand on your chest, "Why are you calling it a list if nothing is going to be on it?"

"Ha ha, very funny." A moment goes by as you enjoy each other's presence in a comfortable silence. "Question," he says.

"Shoot."

"Did you want to go to hogsmeade with me tomorrow? We can get some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and wherever else you want."

"Can we get a pet?!"

"No."

"Oh, please, Harry!" you beg him with your best puppy dog eyes. You learned how to do them from the best, Sirius Black. Who better to learn puppy dog eyes from than a dog himself.

"No," he says but you can see he's starting to give in. As he looks at you pleading he has to do everything he can to hold himself from saying yes.

"Harry. Pretty please? With five cherries, whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, and caramel on top?"

"Treacle tarts on the side?"

"Treacle tarts on the side."

He looks at your pouting mouth and brings his lips to yours for a quick peck. "How can I say no to that?"

You jump up in excitement and accidentally knock Harry onto the floor. "Oh, Harry! I'm sorry!" You pull him up.

He rubs the back of his head, "Thanks."

"I'm going to get a kitten! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're most very welcome, darling. A kitten though?"

"Well, I would get a dog but I don't think Snape would be happy if I sent it to chew on his shoes- which I would totally do."

Harry laughs, "I would love to see that."

"Harry! Do you know what this means?!" you bite your lip with exhilaration.

"We're getting a kitten?"

You roll your eyes, "Obviously," you say in your best Snape impression. "It means we are going to be parents!"

"O-oh! Parents!" Harry stutters at the thought of being a parent with you. He would love nothing more than to have kids with you one day.

"I wonder if they sell clothes. If not then I'll make some. Hm, do you think that Molly will know how to knit clothing for a cat."

"Probably."

You walk to Harry and bring him into a tight hug. He rests his head on your shoulder and places a sweet kiss to your neck. "Thank you, Harry."

"If getting a kitten makes you smile at me like that, then I am more than happy to buy you one," he trails his finger up and down your back, enjoying every second of your warm embrace.

"That's very sweet... I think we should name it Harold Jr."

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey there! Just found your profile and I really love your content, and since I saw your requests were always open, what about a Deadpool x Fem!Reader were their first encounter is during one of Deadpool's battles, and once the reader takes up an offer of rooming she saw on the newspaper, she finds out she's roommates with him now and has to put up with his antics? I noticed the CRIMINAL lack of Deadpool fanfic and it hurts😭🙏

Unexpected Roommates

The sound of gunfire echoed through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable crash of metal hitting concrete. You peered cautiously around the corner, heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before you.

There, in the midst of the wreckage, stood a man in a red-and-black suit, dual katanas in hand, surrounded by a small army of mercenaries. It was like something straight out of a comic book, except it was happening right in front of you, in the gritty underbelly of the city.

“Alright, who’s next?” the man—Deadpool, you realized with a start—quipped, twirling one of his swords with a flourish as he eyed the remaining thugs. Despite the danger, there was an almost playful air about him, like this was just another day at the office.

You had only heard of Deadpool in passing—rumors about a mercenary who was as unpredictable as he was deadly—but seeing him in action was something else entirely. And yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

One of the mercenaries lunged at him, but Deadpool was faster, sidestepping the attack with ease before dispatching his opponent with a quick flick of his wrist. Blood splattered across the alley, and you winced, pressing yourself against the wall to stay out of sight.

Unfortunately, your attempt at stealth was in vain. The last of the mercenaries fell, and Deadpool, now apparently free of distractions, turned his attention to you. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, sheathing his swords as he sauntered over, “what do we have here? A damsel in distress? Or just an innocent bystander with a bad sense of timing?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his masked face tilting slightly as he examined you. Up close, he was even more intimidating—taller than you expected, with an energy that crackled in the air around him.

“Uh… neither?” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky. You cleared your throat, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I was just… passing through.”

“Passing through, huh?” Deadpool echoed, leaning in slightly. “Interesting place for a midnight stroll, but who am I to judge? I mean, it’s not like *I* ever do anything reckless.” He straightened up, giving you a mock salute. “Well, don’t let me keep you. But if you ever find yourself in need of a charming, devilishly handsome mercenary, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he spun on his heel and started walking away, whistling a jaunty tune as if he hadn’t just left a pile of bodies in his wake.

Shaking off the encounter, you quickly decided it was time to get the hell out of there. You took one last glance at Deadpool’s retreating figure before ducking out of the alley, eager to put as much distance between you and whatever mess you had just stumbled into.

A few days later, you found yourself standing outside a dingy apartment building, clutching a newspaper ad in your hand. The headline read, “Roommate Wanted: Cheap Rent, Great Location, No Serial Killers (Probably).”

It was, admittedly, not the most reassuring advertisement, but you were desperate. Between the sky-high rent prices and your recent run of bad luck, you couldn’t afford to be picky. Plus, you figured it couldn’t be worse than your last living situation.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and made your way up the narrow staircase, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You reached the door marked “6B” and hesitated for a moment before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by the sight of the same red-and-black suit you had seen in the alley. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Midnight Stroll!” Deadpool exclaimed, his voice laced with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Or, you know, ever.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “*You* put out the ad?”

He grinned—or at least you assumed he did, given the way his mask crinkled around the eyes. “Guilty as charged. Didn’t think I’d find a roommate this fast, but hey, the universe works in mysterious ways. Come on in, make yourself at home!”

You stood frozen in the doorway, struggling to process the absurdity of the situation. “You’re Deadpool,” you finally blurted out, stating the obvious.

“The one and only!” he replied, stepping aside to let you in. “But you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or hey, Roomie! I’m not picky.”

Part of you wanted to turn around and run, but the more practical side of you— the one that knew how hard it was to find affordable rent—reluctantly stepped inside. The apartment was a bit of a mess, cluttered with weapons, comic books, and various other oddities, but it was surprisingly homey.

“So,” Wade said, closing the door behind you, “what do you think? It’s got charm, right? Or, at the very least, it’s got four walls and a roof, which is really all you need.”

You glanced around, taking in the chaotic but oddly inviting space. “It’s… something,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re the one who put out the ad.”

“Why, because I’m a world-famous mercenary with a questionable moral compass and a penchant for breaking the fourth wall?” he quipped, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, turns out even world-famous mercenaries need someone to split the bills with. Plus, the last roommate bailed after, like, a week. Something about too many explosions and not enough peace and quiet.”

“Shocking,” you muttered under your breath, but Wade caught it and laughed.

“Hey, I can be a great roommate when I want to be!” he said, holding up three fingers like he was making a pledge. “I’m clean, I’m considerate, and I almost never bring work home. Unless, of course, it’s convenient. Or funny.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the absurdity of the situation starting to wear down your initial reservations. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” you said, shaking your head.

Wade leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. “Look, I know I’m not exactly a normal roommate, but I can promise you this: I’ll always have your back. Plus, if anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to answer to me. And trust me, they don’t want that.”

It was strange, but there was something oddly reassuring about the way he said it, like beneath all the jokes and bravado, there was a real person who genuinely cared.

“Okay,” you said finally, the decision made. “I’ll give it a shot. But no explosions inside the apartment.”

Wade’s eyes crinkled again as he gave you a thumbs-up. “Deal! Welcome to the madness, Roomie. I have a feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked around your new home, your mind already spinning with the possibilities of what living with Deadpool might entail. It was going to be wild, unpredictable, and probably more than a little dangerous.

[naeverse]

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

      ◽preview: 

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary: 

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw:  Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel,  Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤  Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

     ◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K 

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.' 

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it. 

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves. 

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you. 

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor. 

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin. 

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!” 

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor. 

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff. 

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.” 

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you. 

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors. 

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk. 

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag. 

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking. 

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?” 

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously. 

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo. 

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv. 

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. 

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more. 

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower. 

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

..

.

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes. 

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance. 

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter. 

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl. 

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look. 

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice. 

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words. 

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor. 

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before. 

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose. 

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”  

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again. 

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature. 

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’ 

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun. 

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed. 

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being. 

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless. 

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation. 

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous. 

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun. 

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more. 

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering. 

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table. 

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back. 

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about… 

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area. 

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant. 

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric. 

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes. 

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.” 

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding. 

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands. 

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you. 

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary. 

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words. 

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on. 

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him. 

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts. 

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position. 

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself. 

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so. 

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were. 

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo. 

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair. 

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you. 

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down? 

It felt utterly impossible… 

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell. 

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands. 

“Let me relax you.” 

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you. 

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. 

"I'm going to give you a massage." 

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair. 

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself. 

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass. 

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good. 

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot. 

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes. 

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body. 

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.” 

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things. 

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken. 

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

 “Here, it needs my attention.” 

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires. 

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin. 

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.” 

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate. 

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good. 

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything. 

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react. 

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger. 

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting. 

He chuckled. 

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you. 

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped. 

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything! 

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear. 

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.” 

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

 You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words. 

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core. 

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.” 

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

It felt surreal. 

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise. 

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you. 

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist. 

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter. 

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal. 

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition. 

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air. 

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed. 

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with. 

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair? 

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.” 

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot. 

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs. 

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver. 

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca 

Your desires.”  

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin. 

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time. 

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction. 

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more. 

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him. 

That you couldn't lie about... 

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.  

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding. 

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back. 

If you desire something, you go through with it...” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct. 

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise? 

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time. 

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter. 

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp, 

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…” 

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds. 

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you. 

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth. 

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue. 

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end. 

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter. 

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more. 

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy. 

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release. 

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold; 

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again. 

It was like music to your ears. 

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high. 

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more. 

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened. 

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more. 

Just one more taste” 

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next… 

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state. 

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried. 

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-” 

“Let me relax you, chica.” 

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever. 

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan. 

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle. 

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand. 

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed. 

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy. 

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself. 

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you. 

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time. 

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.  

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest. 

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.” 

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.” 

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.” 

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary. 

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone. 

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore. 

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek. 

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved. 

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding. 

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. 

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own. 

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it. 

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day. 

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right. 

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether. 

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist. 

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo. 

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind. 

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[elegantsplendour]

Once Upon A Time, A Dragon Met a Swan

Summary: After the Greens have won the war and Aegon’s passing, Aemond is crowned king. You, a high born lady he fell in love with during the Dance when he served as Prince Regent, became his queen. Years after your marriage, you’re still in love with each other as ever. One day, you discover age had a surprise for you.

Contains / warnings: fluff, king! Aemond, queen! Reader, smut, pregnancy, brink of death, happy ending

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💌

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @theroyaldixon @buglyberry @aemondx

Word count: 2k

Amidst the grand feast held in honor of your first born son Rhaegar's nomination as heir, the King and Queen of Seven Kingdoms adorned themselves in opulent attire, captivating all eyes. You wore a gown that sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand stars, its black and white hues revealing the elegance of your bare shoulders. Aemond's robe, a tapestry of red and black, was meticulously embroidered with golden thread, each stitch a testament to the Targaryen dynasty's resplendent might, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon.

As the solemn ceremony unfolded, the weight of destiny hung in the air, but it was the magnetic pull between you and Aemond that whispered a more primal truth. With each step on the dance floor, a current of enthralling energy surged through your veins, igniting a passionate flame that only grew stronger as the night wore on.

As the final notes reverberated through the hall, Aemond drew you into an embrace that spoke of a deep longing. His voice, low and husky, caressed your ear, "I need you tonight, my queen," A sly grin curved on your lips as his plea awakened a burning ache inside you.

The mighty Aemond Targaryen, pleading for your touch.

Not that the king and queen were not intimate in the privacy in their chambers.

Whispers have it that the queen has an insatiable appetite for her king.

You leaned close, the warmth of your breath grazing the skin of his neck, "There hasn't been a night when I haven't yearned for you," you teased, "Your Grace."

The air crackled with anticipation as Aemond caught his breath, captivated by your formality. Leaning his head against yours, he murmured, "You are insatiable as ever, my queen." A seductive glimmer sparkled in your eyes as you whispered back, "Then chase me to our chamber, my king." Leaving him burning with desire, you gracefully slipped away from his grasp, your sway like a seductive siren's call.

As the grand feast approached its final moments, Aemond hurried to your chamber, his heart pounding with a mix of longing and urgency. There, he found you standing near the balcony, the moon casting a gentle glow upon your exposed back. Slowly, he closed the distance between you, his hands encircling your waist as his lips found the tender skin of your neck. A smile curled your lips, radiant with adoration and a hunger that mirrored his own. "Is that a wrinkle, Aemond?" you playfully remarked, planting a soft, teasing kiss where the mark of time would be.

Aemond cupped your cheeks, his deep chuckle resonating through the room. "Unfortunately, I lack the immunity to aging that you possess, my love," he confessed. Undeterred, you drew him into a fierce kiss, the intensity of your love blazing like a wildfire. "Nonsense," you purred against his lips, the fire in your eyes mirroring the heat between you. "Your Valyrian blood grants you such… an eternal grace."

With a surge of passion, Aemond's hand ripped away the fabric of your gown, leaving you gasping in delightful surprise. He swept you into his arms, carrying you to the bed with a mix of tenderness and urgency. His kisses trailed a scorching path down your body, igniting every nerve with searing pleasure. "Fear not, my love," he assured, his voice laced with raw desire. "Age brings with it a wealth of experience." As his lips traced down your neck, your breasts, your belly, and eventually down your core, your lips quivered with restrained moans as you pleaded, "Aemond, seal my lips with yours, otherwise I’ll lose control!”

You heard a barely audible chuckle before an overwhelming pleasure incited a loud moan, “Gods, Aemond.” His tongue worked expertly between your folds, his movements demanding yet tender.

“Beg for me, my love. I will give you what you want and more.”

“I want you inside me,” implored as you arched your back, showing him shamelessly how your body longed for him.

“Hmm,” Your king lifted his head, his good eye and sapphire piercing through you with amusement, “Here I thought my insatiable queen preferred some more torment.”

You left out a gasp as his rough movements transformed into a series of soft kisses around your most intimate parts but never really reached there.

His strong arms held your thighs in place as your body trembled and squirmed under his magic.

“Your Grace, please,” this time, your voice laced no more with desperation, but seductively while feigning innocence, “Spoil your poor queen.”

With a satisfied grin on his face, he hovers over you while giving a tight squeeze on your buttocks, “Is that what you want, love? To be so thoroughly ravished that you can’t even walk tomorrow?”

“No,” you breathe, uttering each word clearly,“I want you to make me unable to sit tomorrow.”

With that, Aemond finally crashes your lips, muffling your desperate moans as he thrusts into you forcefully.

Hands pinned by his muscular arms above your head, all you can think of is the sinful slapping of your skins, his growls amidst the mind-blowing pleasure crashing your core.

As Aemond felt your walls convulse, he grinned, “Let it out, my love. Let them hear you. Let King’s Landing know that the blood of the dragon runs hot.”

With a loud cry, you reached your peak together.

As he collapsed on your body, you didn’t waste a second to roll yourself on top of him, tantalizing him with your gentle yet teasing kisses.

Bathed in the exhaustion of love-making, he held you in his arms. Silence reigned over the bed chamber, the moon light casting an ethereal glow on both of you.

“I am the happiest Targaryen ever lived,”he pressed a kiss on your forehead, “If not the only one, thanks to you, my love. Before we met, I never thought a life like this was possible. With my father’s negligence and the Dance, I convinced myself that power was my only way out. For a time, I felt I was beyond redemption,” he confessed, hands tracing your jawline.

You held him tighter, cupping his cheeks, “Aemond, you are not like that anymore. You are strong. You have become a man your father never was, a man Aegon never was,” your unwavering gaze full of conviction, “You carry people, you carry the realm, our children, you carry me.”

He planted a kiss on your cheek with a contented sigh, “You are my life.”

After a peaceful silence, Aemond hovered on you again with a mischievous glint, “Ready for round two, my queen?”

You burst in laughter, “And here you said I was the insatiable one.”

The next morning, Aemond and you, hands tangled together, sneaked into the garden with a book in hand; the fresh moments before the Small Council’s meeting have become your morning ritual, reminding you both of the liveliness of your younger days.

Your children, unknown to you, gossiped while observing you from a distance. Baelon, the most mischievous of them all, rolled his eyes and whispered, “I am glad that our parents still behave like two newlyweds, but I simply wish that they would make their methods of maintaining their youth…” he paused in suspense, “Less audible.”

Elaena giggled uncontrollably. Even Rhaegar, the ever dutiful and serious son, couldn’t help but to chuckle, “It has been a long time since the realm has seen the king and queen so fiercely in love and devoted to each other.”

Just as the siblings giggled in secret, they heard a loud thud.

“Y/N !” Aemond screamed as you fell on the ground, “Call the maesters!” He picked you up and rushed to their chamber. As the royal family gathered nervously at the bedside, the maester turned around, smiling, “Congratulations, Your Grace, the queen is with child, again.” Aemond’s eye opened in surprise and joy but quickly it was quickly replaced by concern, “Is her health strong enough for delivering another child? I do not wish to risk her life, ever.”

The maester nodded, “Her Grace’s condition is impeccable for pregnancy. It is a rare thing for a woman her age.”

Relief washed over Aemond’s face as he traced your unconscious features. Elaena, fascinated by Aemond’s devoted gaze, whispered to Rhaegar, “If my future lord husband doesn’t look at me the way father looks at mother, I don’t want him.”

Rhaegar smiled, his eyes shimmering, causing Elaena's cheeks to flush. "I have absolute faith in you, my dear," he whispered.

Ten moons went by as fast as a wheel, but your labour was not nearly as easy as the maesters had described. You screamed in agony as the maesters informed Aemond regretfully, “Your Grace, Her Grace most likely may not survive, but there might be a way for the child to survive.” Aemond's eye blazed with fury, understanding the implications behind their words, "What you speak of borders on treason! I want her, the queen. If she dies, I will have every one of your heads."

The children trembled at their father ‘s roar, they had never seen him so much in despair and anger. their innocent hearts shattered by the sight of his despair and anger. They wept, clinging to one another, seeking solace in their shared fear and sorrow.

Aemond gripped your hands, tears falling down like a torrential downpour, “Fight for me, love. You are my life. It’s all my fault, I should’ve given you the tea…. ” You manage a painful smile , “It’s not your fault, Aemond. I… I had a wonderful life. You are… you and our children are at far the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve never believed in destiny before, but… this is my time.”

Aemond held your hands desperately, “No, don’t you dare leave me, y/n! Don’t condemn me to an eternity of misery.”

In that moment of agony and farewell, the door to the chamber was forcefully opened.

“Rhaegar, you’re here,” You sobbed, the staggering pain muffling your words, “I thought… I thought you were at Highgarden visiting your betrothed.”

Rhaegar clasped your hands, his gaze fixed on you, “Mother, I have faith in you. Fight for us, please.”

Your boy, your first born, has grown into a fierce warrior, future protector of the realm. As you locked eyes with his violet gaze, a rush of distant memories flooded your mind, intertwining with the present moment.

The Dance had just concluded with a realm ruled by ashes, uncertainty and the Targaryen line shattered.

Where was the Prince Regent?

Pentos, in the arms of his beloved lady.

Amidst the blood-red dawn, a dragon and a swan sought refuge from violence and destruction, swirling on the shore of the Narrow Sea. Their laughter and love filled the air as if no one else existed in the world, with only the gods as witnesses to the passion of their love. Under the watchful eyes of the Seven, their bodies entwined, sealing their destiny until the end of time.

It was at that moment your first little dragon, Rhaegar, came to you.

Clinging onto the most cherished memory of your life and clenching your fists in the sheets, you let out a primal scream that seemed to reverberate through the entire Keep, pushing with a ferocity that defied your destiny, your determination burning like a flame refusing to be extinguished.

Your husband clutched you in his arms, his body seemed like an anchor to your life. Aemond gritted teeth as yours sank into his skin, his shoulder bearing the imprint of your bite, almost drawing blood. He longed to share your pain to shoulder the burden in your stead.

In a miraculous moment, you gave birth to a fragile little infant daughter. Tears streamed down your face like a river. You laid on the labour bed, trembling with both relief and agony, cried like a child while Aemond held you with all his might, “Aemond, it hurts.”

“It’s over, love. You’re so strong, so brave. I love you. I love you beyond everything,” his confession quivered, a testament of close call of losing you.

Shortly after, you drifted to slumber out of exhaustion.

Centuries later, in a scroll of healing account kept in the Citadel, the miraculous birth of Princess Daenyra Targaryen and survival of the Queen Y/N, wife of King Aemond Targaryen I, defied all reason, a baffling enigma to Westeros' maesters. Defying all signs of demise, love and hope emerged victorious even against the gods’ will.

Bedroom scene imagine

(From 1:45 makes me🤤🥰🤭）

“And a lust for life,

Keeps us alive.”

“And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places.”

[bloodygnqv]

Oh Say Can You See

John Price x fem reader

cw: smut!! minors dni!, size difference (reader is described as small but dw there’s no infantilization), uuuh i think that’s it??

A/N: fuck the national anthem it’s a lana song. it’s been a while since i’ve written smut hope you enjoy anyway bless you all xx 🙏🏻

“Are you okay, love?” John asks you from where you’re laying on your side.

He’s all warmth and comfort, musk and tobacco and leather, a stark contrast between the feminine fruits and spring flowers and candy you enjoy wearing.

His voice is a quiet rumble, the crackle of a fireplace, the roar of an engine, the step on snow.

“Mhm, yeah,” you reply, sleepy and pliant, “Just really missed you.”

John lays on his side as well, cuddling you from behind. He’s always been the bigger spoon, arms and hands so large, so strong he can fully wrap them around your waist, cup your breasts in his palms, keep you to himself. His greed for you and your affection lodges in his throat.

You can feel him hardening against your back, and you stifle a small smile. “Go ahead, John, I’ve been waiting all day,” you whisper, your own desire sparkling in your belly, black milk and rose red and the veil of longing.

“God, you’re soaking. That needy pussy just needs some attention, huh?” His fingers slide against your slit gently as you whimper an affirmative and lift your leg a bit to give him access.

“I can take you, John, really, you can just slide in,” you mumble, stroking at his thigh greedily.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You’re so small and I haven’t prepped you, you know it might hurt…”

Concern laces his voice like poison ivy. It almost makes you melt — he’s always been like this from the moment you two got together, soft care and love so strong it almost suffocates you.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I played with myself earlier..”

“Okay then,” he permits. He taps the head of his dick over your pussy, still not going in, syrupy whines escaping your throat.

And then his cock notches at your leaky entrance, slowly going in, and every little nag and annoying pesky thought hide somewhere in the back of your head.

“Oh,” you gasp and look down to where you two are connected.

John isn’t very long, but he’s thick, thick enough that you feel the stretch every single time you have sex. He carves out a place for himself in you, Galatea and Pygmalion, gentle marble across your legs (his large hands completely envelop the expanse of your thighs, leaving galaxy marks in his wake).

“Yeah,” John breathes, heavy, grunting out a response, “That’s it. Almost there, love, you can take it. Shit, you’re tight…”

You mewl, hands scraping for purchase against the duvet as he runs his fingers through your hair, his beard tickling your neck, whispering cotton candy filth in your ear. You know he’s already pushed in as you feel his heavy balls snug against your ass.

“There you go. Feels good, eh?”

“It does,” you whimper. There’s the slightest touch of too much, tiniest specks of pain, but they’re quickly chased away by the time John starts thrusting lazily. You’re not gonna last long, and if John’s satisfied grunts are anything to go by, he isn’t, either.

You grab his thick arm from where it’s perched over the gentle curve of your waist, delicate wrist teasing the underside of his palm and intertwining your fingers.

You’ve never felt more at home. You’re exactly where you need and want to be, ballad-like moans and late comfortable nights, devoted eyes and lust as a virtue. John’s filling you up just right, quenching the thirst that has simmered in you all day, pushing you off the edge.

John’s other hand reaches around and starts playing with your clit, just enough pressure in circles to bring you over the edge. He always goes the extra mile when it comes to expressing his love through pleasure, making your legs shake, newborn fawn, you are, seeing constellations and new planets beneath your eyelids.

“I’m gonna cum,” you murmur.

“Go ahead, baby. I missed you so, so much, my beautiful girl,” John rasps, peppering small kisses on the canvas of your neck.

There it is — the explosion of feeling and love and pleasure in your tummy, crawling down your legs and up your arms, making you moan and fist the sheet under your body.

Your orgasm pushes John to the edge, and you can feel his spend spilling in the crevice of your cunt, loud groans echoing in the corners of your ears, arms tightening around your small frame. That’s his favorite place to cum in, warm velvet around him, all that love that burns like a motor in his skin.

John pulls out slowly and lovingly cleans you up as your consciousness slips away from you. It’s been a long, long day, and the great sex is but your favorite way to release tension and put you in that space between wake and sleep.

The afterglow sneaks its way in your vein as you lay across John’s thick, hairy chest and close your eyes. This is your favorite time of day, all warm and snug and happy.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

His caress always feels like a blanket, a balm to soothe your wounds, a hazy morning dream you don’t want to wake up. It makes you all the more grateful, lying with the man you love in a space you two made.

[jinx-xxed]

Protected

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I love characters protecting their too-stubborn partners

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Kylo Ren does the worst thing imaginable in order to save you—he forces you off the battlefield.

Content; Angst to fluff, Supreme Leader Kylo, Commander Reader, original characters, bonded to Kylo through the Force, reader gets seriously injured, very protective Kylo, Kylo doesn’t want you to die, Kylo’s scared of losing you, and you’re scared of losing him, mention of Kylo dual wielding after he takes your lightsaber (he’s crazy), battlefield Kylo (my favorite), reader gets sentenced to the infirmary, talking about feelings, cuddling

Wc; 2.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“You can’t do this!”

Your boots slip in the mud as you’re dragged backwards, you struggle against the hands that hold you. Rain pelts your body, drenches the entire battlefield, is illuminated in its fall to the ground by the ship headlights. Your infuriated gaze is stuck on the man before you; dressed in black, form eerily illuminated by the crackling red light of his saber and the blue undertones of the world around you. The silver around the visor in his mask seems to absorb the fluorescent lights of the ship, reflecting them back towards you. His steps sink into the skid marks you’ve left in the mud, walking in front of you in stride with your restrainers.

“Let me go!” You yell, thrashing as best you can, ignoring the screaming agony reverberating through your left side, hisses spat from between your teeth. You try with everything in you to free yourself from the members of your personal fleet that have a hold of you—Eera, Chief, and Rankou—your own comrades being used against you to keep you down. You’d expect your authority over them to work in your favor and for them to release you but considering the order came from Kylo, you’re sorely overruled.

“This is for your own good!” Chief says over the rain and thunderous noise of the battle happening just beyond the mountains that surround you all in this hidden alcove. She grunts as your elbow manages to fly back and hit her side, though her grip doesn’t budge.

“I can still fight! You can’t send me away like this!” You shout. Your captors pause briefly, allowing you to fall to your knees, mud and freezing cold water soaking into your clothes, chilling your war-heated body. Your chest heaves, puffs of your breath visible in the air. Every inhale hurts, every twitch of muscle aches and sends lightning bolts of pain across your limbs.

“I can, and I will.” Kylo says definitively, voice spat through the vocoder within his helmet. “You’re injured and in no state to be on a battlefield.”

“Bullshit, so are you!” You snarl, giving one last thrash of your arms, your strength already weakening. Your anger explodes, and you know he feels it along the bond you share. He can probably taste it in his mouth. It’s like he’s undermining you, underestimating your ability to fight right alongside him. But beyond that, you’re angry at him for making you leave him here alone. This fight is not easy, and it will continue to get harder, and he’s sending you away to deal with it on his own. Sure, he has the soldiers, but they’re just fodder in your eyes. He’s the one your enemies are after, he’s the one at the forefront, he’s the one who takes the brunt of it all. And you’re supposed to be there to be his shield. Sword and shield, that’s what you two are.

His own emotions along the bond come forward to combat yours, clashing in a similar fashion to the way lightsabers might. His are born from concern, for a need to protect you after he saw you be a direct victim of an explosion, after he had to drag your half-concious form off the field while your blood created a trail along the ground.

Your left side remains gaping still, red mixing with the rain and being washed away. It stings, it hurts like hell, but it still hurts less than being forced to leave him.

“Mine are minor. You will die if you stay out here.” He says. His injuries are a few mere scratches and wounds from blasters grazing his arms, nothing nearly as severe as your own. Your struggling has made it worse, torn it further at the edges, caused more blood to spill. He sees as such, and his disapproval is palpable. “You need to leave.”

You begin to get pulled again. The ramp to the ship is less than a foot away. “No! No, no, you can’t! Ren, you bastard!” You scream. You spit, you curse, you snarl—you act like a raging, rabid animal. In your flailing attempts at freedom, your lightsaber comes loose of its place on your belt, audibly falling into the mud. Theres a brief second where everything seems to freeze as your eyes land on it, and so do Kylo’s, his thought process easily following your own. You both go for it at the same time, both reaching out for it desperately with the Force, eager to be the first to grab it. Since it’s your own weapon, naturally it should have more affinity towards you and you feel that invisible grip on it, but in your weakened state, Kylo overpowers you with infuriating ease and it feels like he shoves you aside to take over. He yanks it from your grip as you yell, the metal handle flying into his outstretched hand and well away from you.

“No! Give that back!” You demand. It’s your own damn lightsaber, he has no right-

He clips it onto his belt, safely out of your reach. “I’ll give it back once this is done.” He then closes the distance between you at last, his gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb wiping away a raindrop that falls from your eyelashes. He leans forward, presses the cold muzzle of his helmet against your forehead as if to kiss you. His voice is low when he says, “I’ll find you again. I promise.”

You feel a pull against your mind, a tug in the direction you were already heading. It’s supposed to be simple like falling asleep but it feels more like getting the floor ripped out from under you. Kylo uses his ability to lull you into unconsciousness, taking advantage of your waning strength and sucking away more of it to make you less of a difficulty for the rest of them. Darkness swims at the edges of your vision, your body goes slack and your head lolls.

He straightens, looking to the Fleet members who hold you. “Get her on that ship and get her out of here.” His order is final, and then you can just barely see him as he walks away, his black-robed form swimming and blending in with the world around him.

“N-no, no…” Emotion cracks your voice, tears mix with the rain until they’re indistinguishable. You don’t know if the tears are from your own fear or your anger or both. You feel your comrades pull you onto the ship like it’s secondary, like it’s happening to someone who isn’t you. You feel the ramp close and the engines come to life. You feel a final despair as you’re taken into the warm embrace of the darkness.

» ☆ «

The door to your infirmary room opens. It’s followed by the familiar thudding of boots, the swish of a cape, until it all stops and Kylo stands next to your bed. Your back is turned to him, body curled up as best it can be without irritating the wounds wrapped in generous gauze. Your shoulders hunch as you feel him staring, you curl up just a bit tighter. Your stubborn attitude keeps you from facing him, so you ignore him in a futile attempt at pretending he’s not there. It’s an impossible task when his presence is so obvious and imposing, especially when you’re bonded to him.

“Love,” he says after a moment; his helmet is off, his voice clear. He waits another moment, silence stretching between you both. “Look at me.”

As much as you want to keep being stubborn, you can’t ignore the relief you feel at having him there, knowing he’s okay after not seeing him for four days—even if you were unconscious for half of that. You roll over, meeting his gaze at last. His face visibly softens when he can look at you and he sets his helmet that had been tucked under his arm aside. He settles himself on the edge of the bed next to you, making a significant dip that has you sliding closer to him. Kylo reaches forward to brush the backs of his gloved fingers against your cheek, then holding his hand there and leaning to kiss you. It’s gentle and easy against your lips, more of a greeting than anything. He pulls away and his eyes fall towards the bandages covering the entirety of your left side, visible beneath the tank top you wear. A healthy amount of bacta is smeared along the gauze, already fully healing a majority of your injuries.

His attention doesn’t lift from them as he says, “the battle was won.”

“I expected no less.” You reply with nothing but honesty. Your victories are almost always assured, your enemies being no match for the First Order. Though of course, some are harder to win than others.

There’s another silence between you as he idly runs his thumb along the back of your hand. He’s considering his next words, thinking of what to say. You get the general sense of his concentration along your connection, mixed with the colors of muddy blue and purple and gray—colors of uncertainty. “I’m sorry for what I did.” He says finally. An apology was not what you were expecting to hear from him, but it’s welcome nonetheless. Apologies from him are always rare, and it’s clear this one still took him a good amount of effort.

Your chin dips in the slightest hint of a nod, a sigh blowing through your nose. “We’re supposed to be partners. We fight together.” You say. “I could’ve done more.”

His free hand clenches into a fist. “I did what I had to to save you. I was not going to let you die trying to protect me.” He says roughly. “When I saw that explosion hit you I… you have no idea what that did to me. You were barely conscious, I thought that you…” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching at the memory. You have a faint recollection of the emotion you’d felt from him in that moment, so fierce and clear along the bond that you could still feel it even in your state. He was beyond furious, ready to kill each and every last person who harmed you, to unleash infinite hells upon the enemy forces. But above all, he was scared. He was terrified that he was going to lose you as he watched your blood seep out in a steady stream, mixing with the mud beneath you.

You take his hand into your own, drawing him out of the dark cloud he stuck himself into. “I know. I know you were just protecting me. It’s just hard to accept that when your entire life has been dedicated to being a war commander. You never want to get taken off the field.” His hand is warm, blissfully so against your cold ones. The leather of his gloves is familiar. “Thank you.”

You can tell he’s not sure how to take being thanked, he never has been, so he changes the subject. “How are your injuries?”

“They’re better, almost fully healed. It’s just some of the major ones that need more time, perhaps another day, the medics said. Not sure what the scarring situation may look like.” You say, pondering the idea. You received severe burns and cuts from shrapnel, but the bacta is quick to reverse damage, so who knows if you’ll sustain any reminders of the wounds at all. “What about yours?”

He shakes his head. “They were nothing to be concerned about. A brief touch of bacta on the worst of them and I’m fine.”

“That’s good to hear.” You say with a brief smile. It seems neither of you can ever come out of a battle uninjured.

He reaches over to his belt, unclipping a familiar item and depositing it into your hands. “Here, as promised.” You stare at your lightsaber handle, feeling that sturdy weight and all the different notches and engravings. It feels like an old friend, a companion through thick and thin. However, embedded into that metal is something else, a recent memory that doesn’t belong to you. A brief scene flashes through your mind, of hands that aren’t yours gripping the saber, both ends ablaze with red fury, twisting and thrashing it.

You look up at Kylo, astonishment clear on your face. “You used my lightsaber? I can’t believe you.” You say teasingly, raising a brow. He avoids your gaze, seemingly embarrassed to admit anything. You chuckle. “So, how was it?”

“It was… fine.” He bites the words out before he composes himself. “I can see why it requires such skill to handle one like yours. Your abilities are impressive.”

You smile again. “Thanks. I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself with it.” He rolls his eyes at that and you laugh as you set your lightsaber safely aside.

When you do, your eyes catch on the clock positioned on the wall that reads how late it is. The crew of the Steadfast is probably preparing to power down for the night and those taking the night patrols are getting ready for their shifts. You tap your fingers in thought, debating what you want to ask instead of just saying it like a wimp.

“I’ll stay here with you.” Kylo says, before you can manage to get it out. He saw the question formulating in your mind, felt the desire for him to keep close. He doesn’t want to leave you either.

“Are you sure? It’s a tight fit.” You point out. “I understand if you’d rather sleep in your own bed.” The infirmary beds are always small, sometimes even smaller than standard dorm beds, though this one is a just a tad bigger than usual because you’re the one sleeping in it. Sometimes your status can be useful.

“Of course.” He responds, like it’s the easiest decision in the world.

You scoot over to make as much room as you can for his hulking form. Kylo gets in behind you after kicking his boots off, about an inch away from falling off the bed, and pulls you close. He’s so very careful of your injuries, his arms snug around your body, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His steady breathing tickles your skin and his warmth bleeds into you, chasing away the chill of the infirmary as the lights dim to darkness.

The bond between you becomes relaxed, producing a mixture of warm colors and happy feelings that’s cultivated easily by the two of you in your state of peace as sleep is quick to claim you both.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Sixteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Jealousy, Angst, Possessive Behaviours, Syltherin!Boys, asshole!Berkshire, Kissing, Threats Of Violence, Weaponizing!TomRiddle, Dirty Talk.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As darkness shrouded the castle on the overly-anticipated Saturday evening, Tom guided you into the lively heart of the Slytherin common room, a space pulsating with carefree energy and laughter. Students adorned in their finest attire swirled around you, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices mingling in a chorus of revelry. The air crackled with the tang of burning embers, and the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow emanating from countless floating candles overhead.

Amidst the joyful chaos, Tom's friends sat at a secluded table, an oasis of calm amidst the storm. Their demeanor was poised, their laughter soft and controlled, setting them apart from the exuberant crowd. As you stepped closer, you felt like a solitary figure navigating the maze of social intricacies. Emily, who had promised to join you shortly, was notably absent, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

Tom's hand in yours provided some semblance of comfort, grounding you in the midst of the lively chaos as he introduced you to each one of his friends individually. Every introduction was a meticulously choreographed ritual, marked by the graceful dip of heads and the soft rustle of silk against polished leather. Their smiles, though polite, held a hint of calculated charm, concealing a labyrinth of secrets beneath their composed exteriors.

In this enclave of refinement, Tom's circle stood apart from the rest of the common room. The casual revelry of the other Slytherins felt distant, their laughter and chatter forming a separate backdrop to the sophisticated symphony of Tom's world. The room seemed to bend to the will of this select group, accentuating the stark contrast between their cultivated refinement and the more carefree atmosphere of the rest of the room. Here, every gesture and word was carefully curated, preserving an aura of exclusivity. You could tell this was not something they did very often, so when they did, it was absolutely noticed--the rest of the room seemingly more tame in response, a stark comparison to the last party you had ventured in on.

This group represented everything you had ever dreamed of being a part of, all the aspirations you had ever hoped to achieve. Yet, your focus--or rather, your entire fucking mind--was elsewhere.

And the very reason it was elsewhere was seated amidst a circle of his elite friends-- Nott, Berkshire, Black, Zabini, and Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson at his side--Mattheo's intense gaze bore into you from across the room. His dark eyes, like orbs of obsidian, were sharp and penetrating, dissecting the scene meticulously, and no matter what the fuck you tried to do, there was absolutely nothing that could distract you from the feeling of his gaze, burning flesh wounds into your skin with each passing second.

While his friends engaged in lively conversations, Mattheo's attention was solely fixated on you and Tom. His focus, both laser-sharp and predatory, traced every movement, every touch, every nuance of your interactions with his brother. The air around him crackled with an unspoken tension, his lips pressed into a thin line, a manifestation of the restrained emotions churning beneath his composed facade. It was as though he was dissecting the scene before him, his mind processing every detail with the precision of a master strategist, all while his dark eyes remained fixated on you, as though he was scared that he'd miss something if he looked away.

As the night bore on, you began to grow more comfortable amidst the sophisticated chatter--getting to know a few of Tom's friends fairly well, discussing ambitions and graduation plans without even being offered a single drink. You honestly thought things had been going well, almost far too fucking well--until Tom excused himself momentarily, his eyes meeting yours from the seat next to you as he prepared to make his exit.

"I need to handle something," he said, his voice low and confidential, his eyes flicking to his brother across the room, before returning to you. "I noticed Mattheo watching you...why don't you go say hi? I should only be a few moments, I'll join you when I'm finished."

"Oh, no-uh..." you hesitated, knowing that Berkshire was present, a fact you couldn't ignore. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom, me and-" you began, attempting to voice your concerns, but he cut you off with a soft, reassuring kiss.

His lips pressed against yours, brief yet meaningful, before he pushed up from the table, leaving you in the midst of the party, alone.

As Tom's figure disappeared from view, you caught another glimpse of Mattheo from across the room, his gaze intensified, his stormy eyes ablaze with a potent mix of irritation and complete fucking fury--something you've seen in his eyes a few times before, but never like this. He sat slumped in the chair, his form swallowed by the shadows, his tousled curly hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The dim light caught the sheen of frustration on his sharp features, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his mouth. His fingers tightened around his drink, the muscles in his hands flexing with the effort to suppress the simmering anger bubbling within him.

You knew him all too fucking well at this point to know that he was not bloody happy, and you weren't entirely confident that approaching him was at all the right move at this moment. Yet, you weren't sure what else you were supposed to do.

But before you could dwell any further, Blaise's eyes, a glimmering shade of obsidian, met yours from across the room. His lips curled into a playful smile, beckoning you over to his group with a subtle yet irresistible gesture. Despite your inner turmoil, the unavoidable feeling of dread pooling in your stomach, you excused yourself from the table and began to hesitantly make your way through the crowded room, every step feeling heavier as you approached the circle of Slytherin boys.

Mattheo's presence never relented, slouchily seated in the love seat, legs spread far too fucking wide, his intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes, like twin storm clouds, seemed to dissect every movement, scanning every inch of your body as you moved, as if he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, and you fought to maintain your semblance of composure.

As you drew closer, Berkshire, always the instigator, couldn't resist the opportunity to unleash his venomous tongue. "As if you're going to call her over here," he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Didn't know our circle was open to charity cases."

The rest of the Slytherin boys, visibly inebriated and riding the wave of arrogance, chimed in with smirks and condescending remarks, reveling in their camaraderie at your expense. It was a calculated display of power, a reminder that you were the outsider in this exclusive circle, a pawn in their powerful game.

Suppressing your frustration, you took a seat next to Blaise, your eyes darting briefly to Mattheo, who watched your every move with an intensity that sent your heart racing. The air crackled with tension, and you felt like a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves, each one waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Yet, amid the arrogance and hostility, Blaise's charm provided a temporary shield.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody amidst the discord. "They're always like this. Besides, you look stunning tonight, little raven. Don't let them get to you."

Despite Blaise's efforts to calm you down, to deescalate the situation as best as he could, Berkshire persisted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"I hear you're quite the favourite of the prodigy," he sneered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Must be thrilling, being the chosen one for a night."

Malfoy, ever the arrogant asshole, added his own twist. "Or maybe she's just a distraction," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "You know how Tom likes to keep himself occupied, especially when the stakes are high."

You parted your lips to say something, to defend yourself in any sort of way, when another voice cut through the air, cutting you off before you could even attempt to force out a syllable.

"Tom's little plaything, isn't that right?" Regulus’ words were laced with arrogance, his voice like a low growl. "Who would have guessed."

Blaise shot Regulus a warning glance, his eyes urging him to rein in his hostility, but the damage was done. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their words pressing down on you, threatening to crush your resolve, and you couldn't hold your tongue any further--if they wanted to play with fire, you were going to make sure you were the one holding the matches.

A derisive chuckle escaped your lips as you assessed the Slytherins before you. "Jealousy, gentlemen, is a rather unflattering shade on anyone," you remarked, your gaze settling on Berkshire. "I'd refrain from it if I were you, Berkshire, you're already hard enough to look at as it is."

Berkshire's lips curled into a sneer, his arrogance on full display. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a little spitfire, haven't we?" he retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone really needs to fix that attitude of yours...perhaps I'll let Tom know, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to fuck it out of y-"

Mattheo's eyes turned icy, his rough voice slicing through the air like a blade of frost. "Berkshire, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut before someone decides to shut it for you," he said, his tone frigid and devoid of any warmth. "Let's start the fucking game, yeah?"

Mattheo's attempt to restrain his anger only made his words sharper, emphasizing the dangerous edge lurking beneath his composed exterior--Blaise, seemingly sensing the danger rolling over the horizon, nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat as he scanned around the circle.

"Absolutely, let's get on with it," he chimed in, his tone more playful now. He turned his attention to Nott, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Nott, truth or dare?"

Nott, appearing unfazed by the tension that had just unfolded, raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Blaise.

"Dare," he replied confidently, his demeanor cool and collected.

Blaise's grin widened. "I dare you to snog the next person who enters this common room."

Nott chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the challenge. "Piece of cake," he said, leaning back casually, his eyes scanning the room for potential targets.

You caught yourself smiling at his causality, but when you noticed a familiar blonde haired girl walking in, her eyes scanning the room as though she was looking for someone, your heart stalled.

Blaise's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." You said, raising a hand to wave her over as her sight finally landed on you. "It is..."

Emily hurried over, her eyes widening in curiosity as she settled into the seat next to you, giving you a small greeting. The room seemed to hold its breath as Theodore stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," Theodore said, his voice smooth and confident. "Emily, was it? Lovely name. I've been dared to kiss the next person who enters the room, so I must inquire, do you have a boyfriend, and would you be amenable to participating in this little game?"

Emily blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Um, no boyfriend," she stammered, her gaze shifting nervously between Theodore and the expectant faces around her. "I guess...I mean, if it's just a game, sure, I guess that's fine."

The tension in the circle seemed to heighten as Theodore closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips. The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath as he leaned in, his hand finding her chin, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. The atmosphere crackled with a strange mixture of anticipation and awkwardness, your eyes meeting Mattheo's for a fleeting moment--one that felt as though it lasted forever, noticing his jaw tense and his eyes darken as he glimpsed your mouth, and then, as Theodore pulled away, a sly smirk played on his lips.

"There we go, a perfect dare fulfilled," he said as he reclaimed his seat, leaving Emily looking slightly dazed. "And that's how it's done, boys."

Theodore's triumphant tone hung in the air, echoing his satisfaction at successfully completing the dare. Emily, looking slightly embarrassed but surprisingly amused, exchanged a bewildered glance with you. It seemed like Theodore had a natural talent for both charm and mischief, a combination that made him rather unpredictable.

Blaise let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well played, Nott," he said, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and approval. "I think we could all take some fucking notes."

Theodore's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat back, looking unfazed despite the intensity of the situation.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" he asked, his voice dripping with calculated curiosity.

Malfoy, never one to back down from a challenge, arched an eyebrow. "Dare," he declared, his confidence unshaken.

"I dare you to serenade the group," Theodore proclaimed with an impish grin after a few moments of thought, his eyes flicking toward Pansy. "And Pansy here gets to pick the song."

You couldn't stifle the smile that crawled its way across your face as Malfoy's expressions dropped, Pansy sitting up straighter against the back of the couch as though she'd just been abruptly woken up from a slumber. As she pondered her thoughts for a moment, a sly smile crawled across her lips while she turned her attention to Malfoy.

"I heard this charming Muggle song recently. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' by Elvis Presley, do you know it?" When Malfoy groaned, reluctantly nodding, her grin widened. "Perfect. Sing it, Malfoy, let's see if you can capture the essence of a true romantic."

Malfoy, never one to shy away from a challenge, dropped the grumbling act and accepted the dare with a smirk. He stood up gracefully, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with an air of confidence. The room fell into a hushed silence, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a deep breath, Malfoy launched into the Muggle love ballad, his voice slightly off-key but filled with an unexpected sincerity. Each word spilled out in an earnest attempt, and despite the imperfections, there was a genuine effort in his performance. The room was soon filled with laughter as Malfoy's melodramatic rendition took an unintentionally humorous turn.

His eyes, though, couldn't escape the challenge in Pansy's choice of song. As he sang, they occasionally flicked toward her, acknowledging the audacious choice. The laughter and amusement echoed around the room, mingling with the bittersweet undercurrent of emotions that danced in the air.

Amidst the laughter, Mattheo remained as serious as ever, his eyes continually locking onto you. For a brief moment, your gaze met his, and in that exchange, a torrent of memories flooded your mind--past moments shared in secret, a connection that had once felt unbreakable. The juxtaposition of Malfoy's performance and Mattheo's unwavering stare stirred something deep within you, a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and an unspoken longing that lingered in the pit of your stomach, leaving you both captivated and unsettled.

As his show finally came to an end, Malfoy took a bow, the circle erupting into a laughter-filled applause. As he returned to his seat, Pansy wore a satisfied grin, clearly happy with her choice, and Theodore looked especially pleased, reveling in the success of his dare.

"Quite impressive, Malfoy," Theodore remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Your secret talents never cease to amaze us."

Malfoy simply shrugged, his usual arrogance back in place. "Naturally," he replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a subtle smile. "Now, who's next? How about you, Ravenclaw, truth or dare?"

You felt a sudden knot tighten in your stomach as Malfoy turned his attention toward you, his silver eyes sharp and calculating. The weight of the room seemed to press down on your shoulders as the spotlight shifted onto you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more precarious than the last. Truth might lead to questions about Tom or Mattheo, both topics you desperately wanted to avoid.

So, with a forced nonchalance that barely masked your anxiety, you replied, "Dare."

You hoped against hope that the dare he gave you wouldn't plunge you into deeper waters, although the mischievous glint in Malfoy's eyes suggested he had something particularly devious in mind--and of course, you most definitely were fucking right.

"I dare you to go into the broom closet with Berkshire for fifteen minutes."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at Malfoy's audacious dare, your voice laced with incredulity.

"Are you completely mental?" you scoffed, glancing at Berkshire, who seemed equally stunned. "There's no way I'm voluntarily locking myself in a broom closet with him for fifteen minutes. We will undoubtedly end up tearing each other's heads off."

Berkshire, never one to miss an opportunity to mock, chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not signing up for a murder-suicide pact tonight, thanks."

"What's the matter, Raven? Afraid of a little close quarters?" Malfoy, clearly enjoying your discomfort, taunted, "you two certainly have no problems running your mouths at each other in public. I think a little private meeting might be good for you."

You clenched your fists, trying to rein in your irritation. "I promise you, I'm not afraid...I'd just prefer not to be expelled a few months from graduation."

"Fine, fine...you're a bloody baby," Malfoy retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you're so picky, how about Mattheo instead. He's not scared of a little closet, are you, Riddle?"

Your eyes darted to Mattheo, his expression stoic, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. The room seemed to tighten around you, a sense of foreboding settling in your bones as Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his eyes glittering with concealed anger as he put down his cup and stood up. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken hostility. His voice was low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Fifteen minutes," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the broom closet. "Knock when it's up."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his determined stare. There was a whirlpool of something in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher--anger, frustration, or maybe something entirely different. As he gestured toward the closet, you felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

With a deep breath, you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. You walked toward the closet, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back. The door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the darkness enveloping you as it closed shut behind you with a soft click. Inside the closet, the air was close, your breaths mingling in the confined space as you stood facing each other with hardly enough room to turn around if you tried to.

The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the tension between you almost suffocating. It was a daring game, one neither of you had expected to play, and now you were trapped together, the world outside the closet slipping away into nothingness, the tense energy in the room vibrating through your bones as the  silence grew to be unbearable, neither of you daring to speak.

Finally, Mattheo spoke, his voice rough like gravel underfoot, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. "You let him kiss you."

His words weren't a question, but weren't really a statement either--it was as though he was repeating something, reading something off a sheet of paper, trying to make sense of it, each syllable carrying a weight of disbelief, as if he was grappling with a reality he couldn't quite accept. Your pulse increased, your lungs stalling, his tone laced with something you couldn't quite place--accusation, curiosity, or maybe a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," your throat felt tight as you admitted your actions. "I did."

It was a confession, a truth you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to. The darkness seemed to amplify the weight of your words, and you could almost feel Mattheo's gaze piercing through the shadows, seeking answers. And even though you could hardly see Mattheo's face in the darkness of the closet, you could smell the hint of alcohol radiating off of him, not as strong as it usually was, but still enough to make your head spin. Mattheo's breath, warm and laced with the remnants of the party, washed over your face. His next question sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, echoing with frustration and confusion. "You said you don't-"

"I don't." You cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Not at fucking all."

The words spilled out, tinged with defiance, but beneath that was a current of vulnerability. You knew the truth of your feelings, but convincing Mattheo seemed like an insurmountable task in the darkness.

"Then why?" he pressed again, his tone more insistent, as though he needed you to unravel this mystery for him. "You're playing him...you're playing him like a fucking flute, yeah?"

His accusation hung in the air, a challenge, a plea for an explanation that made sense of the tangled web of emotions between you, and for some reason, all it did was further your anger.

"Does that bother you, Riddle?" you hissed, your voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. You shifted your weight, locking eyes with him, your gaze narrowed and intense. "Did you think you were the only one capable of playing games? Or maybe you think it’s only okay when you do it?"

The words carried a raw edge, a blend of defiance and accusation, challenging him to confront his own actions and hypocrisy. Mattheo's throat worked as he swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raven, you're playing with fire-" he began, his voice a low warning.

"Don't even go there," you cut him off, your words dripping with venom. "I am the shape you made me, Mattheo...filth teaches filth..."

Your voice trailed off, the darkness of the closet adding weight to your words. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of his parted lips and furrowed brows, a mix of frustration and barely-restrained anger etched on his features.

"And even still," you continued, your tone biting, "I could only dream to be as skilled at it as you are."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite place, as your words hung in the air like a heavy fog. The anger and dread that had gripped you moments ago seemed to dissipate, replaced by an almost palpable tension. His energy shifted, seeping out of the closet through the cracks in the door, leaving a lingering, painstaking atmosphere in its wake.

You stood there, anxiety coiling in your chest, completely unaware of how close the two of you were until this very moment. His presence loomed over you, a silent force that you couldn't escape, and yet, a part of you didn't want to. His chest rose and fell with each intense breath, the confined space amplifying the weight of his proximity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there were, you found yourself rooted to the spot, knowing that not even a fucking fire could force you to move.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either." He whispered.

You paused. “You-“

"You haven’t left my mind…not even once." His words hung in the air like a sinful confession, catching you completely off guard. “Do you know how fucking annoying that is, Raven? Having to act like you’re not haunting me at all seconds of the fucking day?”

Utter shock seized you, your body tensing involuntarily. You stared at his face, desperately searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.

“The mind works in funny ways,” he said. “Memory…memory taps a fucking gun to your skull and demands you bring back the dead…meanwhile, the dead is out kissing my fucking brother in front of me…”

His gaze bored into yours, raw and unguarded, leaving you utterly defenseless against the truth he laid bare.

“I know we called things off, I know I used you in the beginning, I know I was a fucking asshole to you, and I’m…I’m fucking sorry..." his body seemed to vibrate with restrained emotion, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he was waging a war within his mind. "There’s so many girls out there, Raven...so fucking many that I could distract myself with, but it would do nothing...it's your body, it's your fucking pussy on my mind..."

Each word hung between you, heavy and charged with unspoken longing, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. "Matt-"

Mattheo stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his chest almost brushing against yours but not quite daring to touch. The tension between you crackled in the air, your every nerve on edge. His eyes, dark and searching, drilled into yours, seeking answers to questions you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

"Were you thinking of me?" His voice was a low rumble, an undercurrent of intensity underscoring his words. "When you're with him...every time you close your eyes, who do you see?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembling at your sides. The room seemed to spin, the air growing thin as your lungs struggled to draw in oxygen.

"You." The word escaped your lips, a fragile admission that hung between you, heavy with the weight of truth. "Always, always you."

Mattheo exhaled, his breath rushing out like a dam breaking, as though he had been holding it in, afraid of your response. His lips parted, wetted by a tongue that seemed to have forgotten how to form words.

"That's right..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the racing of your hearts. "You know I'm your best-kept secret, Raven...why don't you show me like you know and believe it..."

His words lingered in the charged atmosphere, a challenge and a plea, leaving you suspended in the moment, torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could be.

Your voice wavered with a mix of concern and disbelief. "You're drunk, aren't you, Mattheo..."

"I'm not drunk." His reply was swift, like a crack of lightning. "I've barely had one fucking drink, I'm as sober as I've ever been...and even if I hadn't quit all that shit, there'd be no way I could drink tonight anyways."

Your breath hitched, your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. "Why?"

Mattheo emitted a low chuckle, but it lacked any warmth, carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down your spine. "Because, if I was drunk, I wouldn't have been able to control myself...I would have knocked my own brother out fifty fucking times over without even a second thought…not a fucking soul in that room would have been able to stop me..."

His words hung heavy in the air, an ominous promise that draped over you like a suffocating cloak, leaving you with a chilling realization that the tangled web of your past was far from unraveling.

"You fucking ruin me, Raven..." his voice was a low, guttural whisper, dark and haunting, sending a shudder through your limbs. "That stare...it makes me fucking want things..."

Your eyes widened, his words wrapping around you like a vice, constricting your thoughts.

"Things...like what?" you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible.

Mattheo ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, the veins in his hands standing out in stark relief, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were now clouded with a raw, primal desire, a longing that had been hidden for far too long.

"Things like my fist in your hair and my cock in that pretty fucking mouth..." he growled, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Things like bending you over in the middle of that party just to show every asshole out there who you belong to..."

Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning out of control, unable to comprehend anything except the burning desire that consumed you.

"Holy fuck..." the words escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. "Mattheo, I...."

Mattheo's eyes, darker than you'd ever seen them, searched yours desperately. "Can I touch you, Raven?" he pleaded, his voice a raw, heartfelt plea. "Please, let me fucking touch you."

In response, you barely managed to nod, your throat tight with anticipation. And then, his lips crashed onto yours with a fervor that made up for all the lost time, all the weeks of distance and silence. His kiss was passionate, demanding, a fiery reunion of lips and souls that ignited a wildfire between you two. His hands, warm and possessive, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, sealing the gap that had kept you apart for far too long.

In that moment, every wall you had built around your heart crumbled, the fragments falling away like ash in the wind. You surrendered to the storm that was Mattheo Riddle, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his kiss a tempest that swept you off your feet. He was your drug, your haunting addiction, an irresistible pull that defied reason and logic. No matter how far you tried to run, no matter the crazy measures you took to stay away, you always found yourself right back where you started--entangled in his arms, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of his presence.

Mattheo broke the kiss, his hands gripping you as if he feared you might vanish into thin air. His lips trailed down to your jawline, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. "I can taste your fucking pain, Raven...is that because of me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you admitted, your vulnerability laid bare before him. "Having experienced both, I'm not sure what hurts more...intense feeling, or the absence of it..."

"The absence...without a fucking doubt," he whispered, his touch on your skin sending electric sparks through your veins. His presence felt overwhelming, his breath warm against your neck in the dimness of the closet. "I know he's good for you...I know he's every fucking thing that you need...but I-"

"No." Your hands tightened around his neck, nails digging into his skin. "He could be fucking everything and more...he's just...he's not you."

Mattheo's teeth grazed your earlobe, a shiver running down your spine as your words spun in the silence between your bodies. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Better men could have you, Raven...I won’t deny that," he admitted, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. "But they'll have to get through me, now...I will leave such a fucking imprint on your soul that anyone you entertain after me will have to physically know me in order to fucking attempt to understand you..."

His declaration felt like a promise, an unspoken commitment that bound you to him in a way that transcended mere words. In that moment, you realized that you were not just giving in to desire; you were surrendering to something far more profound and all-encompassing. Mattheo wasn't just another flame to be extinguished; he was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and a desire that defied reason.

You pulled him closer, sealing the unspoken pact with a fervent kiss, letting the intensity of your emotions guide your actions. In that dim closet, amidst the whispers of Slytherin secrets and the echoes of your tangled past, you found solace in Mattheo's arms, embracing the chaos that came with wanting someone you shouldn't, knowing that in the end, the heart wants what it wants, regardless of the consequences.

The air in the closet felt charged with a potent blend of desire and desperation as you pulled away, gasping for air. The intensity of the moment coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. Your eyes locked onto Mattheo's, your voice raw and unsteady, yet laced with conviction.

"You might be bad…so fucking bad for me, Mattheo," you whispered, your words hanging in the small space between you, "but I fucking want you...there's no one else..."

“Fucking hell, Raven…” Mattheo let out a low, guttural groan, his hand slithering up to grip your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His stormy eyes bore into yours, his voice a gravelly murmur, carrying the weight of his emotions. “You’re my little devil, aren’t you?”

You smirked. “Yes…I am…”

"I'm in deep, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm and sweet. "Merlin knows we both feel it...you hold my fucking fate, so seal it…”

With those words, you closed the distance between you yet again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, his hands slithering down to grip your backside with enough force to make you groan into his mouth. And just as things began escalating, just as your hands were trailing their way down the front of his body, reaching for his belt, there was a knock at the door.

"Fifteens up."

————————

Find seventeen->

[another-lost-mc]

Weather the Storm

When Satan gets angry, you have your own way of helping him blow off steam.

SATAN x afab!Reader 3.1k words | NSFW | Smut | Hurt/Comfort Content warnings: Dom/sub undertones, rough sex including marking/biting, jealousy and possessiveness, brief discussions of safeword usage and boundary limits.

Loving Satan is like being wrapped in the softest blanket on a cold winter’s day. His sweet words and gestures are like a soothing balm for your soul, and his whispers and promises against your skin warm you from the inside-out. 

The inevitable part of being with Satan is coping with his sin. His anger is a monstrous thing. He becomes a single-minded entity that delights in causing havoc and pain for others. It scared you when you first knew him. Sometimes it still does.

There are times when he desperately wants to hurt someone, to feel their bones crunch in his fist and to taste their blood on his tongue when he rips out their throat with his teeth. Satan doesn’t want to be that way all the time anymore. Not when he has family and friends to help keep him grounded. Not when he has you. 

Those that don’t know Satan very well might think you’ve tempered him a bit. He seems more relaxed, he’s happier, he’s less dangerous. What they don’t realize is that his anger is never gone, not completely. He tries so hard to keep it buried, but it’s an inevitability.

When, not if, the rage inside him bursts open like a dam, he tries to warn you before it’s too late.

School ended nearly four hours ago, and you’ve been stuck at RAD helping Lucifer and Barbatos in the student council chambers. Lucifer insisted the task was too important and it just couldn’t wait.

You had to excuse yourself so you could call Satan and let him know you weren’t going to make it for the date he had planned for you. He acknowledged your message with a single monotonous word and hung up.

You haven’t heard from him since. His silence is your warning to stay away.

By the time you get home, you’re irritable from everything going so wrong.

Maybe if you weren’t struggling with your own conflicting emotions that make your heart ache, you’d stop yourself from walking towards his room.

If you weren’t as frustrated and disappointed as he is, you’d stop yourself from knocking on Satan’s door when you know what to expect.

At least, you think you know what to expect.

He doesn’t answer, and it’s your final warning.

You let yourself inside and close the door behind you.

His room is dark, lacking the light and warmth of the lanterns and candles he likes to use when he reads. Without them, his room feels like a dungeon, cold and empty and hopeless.

You can navigate the stacks of books easily and you slowly walk towards the middle of his room. You haven’t seen a trace of Satan yet. You haven’t heard him yet either, but you know he’s here. He’s luring you into his trap, a tantalizing torture to show you that you shouldn’t have come, that it’s too late now. 

Behind you, there’s a faint metallic click of the lock on his door sliding into place.

He doesn’t use the lock to keep out would-be interrupters. The lock is meant to keep you in, to delay your escape should you try to run. It’s another reminder of your foolish choice to come here tonight.

His bed should be in front of you, just a few more steps and—

You freeze when you feel a hot breath on the back of your neck. 

You didn’t sense him approaching you, but now you feel him all around. You’re suffocated by his presence, like he’s a black hole determined to pull you down into the abyss with him.

His aura thrums with power the same way that air crackles with heat before a storm. The storm that rages inside him threatens to destroy you both.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low and rough, gritty. The words are coarse with bitterness and disappointment. It’s not a warning, it’s a mockery. He’s a monster gloating to his prey, warning you that your foolish human emotions led you down this dark path.

Maybe it’s not too late?

“Satan—“ you plead quietly, your voice a hushed whisper is the eerie quiet of his room. The only thing you can hear louder than the rumbling growl in his chest is the sound of your own frantic heartbeat.

But he’s not going to be merciful tonight. When you try to turn around and face him, he grips your arms and holds you in place. You wince when his fingers dig uncomfortably into your skin.

“You had your chance,” he reminds you, and you can hear the sneer in his voice. “You made your choice.”

He shoves you forward and you grunt when you land on his bed. You manage to roll onto your back before the mattress dips under his weight. His knees bracket your hips and his hands fist the sheets above your shoulders, effectively trapping you in place.

The demon straddling your waist and baring his teeth above you is beautiful in his anger. You love him, and you know he loves you. He’s staring at you like you’re the most scrumptious morsel, and you know he likes to play with his food. 

You offer your body to him to use, a conduit to channel his rage into something a bit more pleasurable. Will he use his claws on you tonight, or his teeth? Will he murmur his praise for you against your ear while his fingers take you apart, or will he roar when his cock fills you so full that you’re left dripping after? You don’t know. 

He’s close enough so you can see your face reflected in the inky green-black of his eyes, and he bends even lower as his weight pushes you deeper into the mattress.

“Tell me your word,” he growls into your ear. It’s not a suggestion, it’s a demand - he knows how serious this is for both of you.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Whiskers.” His chest rumbles against yours, and he acknowledges your choice  by licking the shell of your ear and pulling at the lobe with his teeth.

Satan’s not the first lover you’ve had, but he’s the first one who insisted you needed a safeword if you were going to be intimate together. He was concerned about his anger issues putting you at risk when you’re most vulnerable. It’s for your protection, something that will draw him back from the ledge before he goes over.

You’ve never had to use your safeword with him before. But when Satan drags his teeth along your jaw and moves further down so he can sniff at your neck and lick over your pulse point, you wonder if that might change.

The warm puff of air on your neck when he exhales is the only warning you have before the tethers snap and he begins. 

It feels like you’re floating in space, teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. Satan shreds the clothes away from your body with his hands and his teeth, exposing inch after inch of skin for him to claim as his own. The sounds he makes are animalistic as he drags his lips across your body, sucking marks into your skin while he groans with primal satisfaction. 

Your own sighs and moans are quiet compared to his, but you don’t hide them - he wants to hear you. You keep your hands raised above your head and grip the blanket so you’re not tempted to touch him; that’s not what he wants, and he’ll restrain you if you try. You want to be good for him tonight and give him what he needs. You know your own needs will be satisfied later.

One of his hands curls around your shoulder and his nails are digging into your skin so he can hold you still beneath him. Your shirt is in tatters and his lips are latched onto one of your nipples, sucking the hardened bud between his teeth and biting with the slightest bit of pressure. His other hand slides down the valley between your breasts, dragging his nails across your skin so pink streaks mark the path of his greedy fingers.

You arch into his touch when he smooths his hand over the sensitive skin of your soft belly, and you jolt when he doesn’t hesitate, going under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear. His fingers cup your soft mound possessively and then his fingers creep even lower–

“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs when he lifts his head from your breast, but you freeze at the tone of his voice because something is wrong. 

He’s not praising your readiness for him - he’s furious, but you don’t know why.

Before you even realize what’s happening, he’s prying your legs wide apart so he can kneel between them. You raise your head but all you can see is a messy tuft of blonde hair. You hear a growl that’s so close to your skin it almost vibrates inside you. Your mind goes blank and a pained scream rips from your throat when he bites the soft, meaty flesh of your inner thigh.

He’s muttering to himself when he finally unhinges his jaw and he lets your leg fall back onto the mattress. You tilt your head back and blink rapidly, but you can’t stop the tears leaking from your eyes. You whimper when the painful throbbing makes your body twitch all over.

You don’t think you can move right now, but he doesn’t need you to. He tears your pants away so he has better access, and he grabs your hips and rolls you onto your belly. He drags you back and raises you to your knees, and the only thing holding you up are his hands keeping you where he wants you.

He doesn’t give you warning when he plunges his cock deep inside you and it leaves you gasping against the sheets. You tilt your head to the side and breathe while your body relaxes around him. The rough glide of his cock isn’t painful, but you can’t come like this - and he knows that. The angle’s not quite right and the pace is too fast; you anticipate having some difficulty walking when this is over.

“Does my brother try to seduce you with that silver tongue of his when he keeps you to himself all night?” The words are punctuated by his powerful thrusts. You don’t answer because you know he doesn’t really expect you to - he’s seething, venting his frustrations to you and exposing the cause of his anger tonight.

He’ll talk to you properly after this, and you’ll work it out together like you always do. Right now, he’s using every ounce of his strength to reclaim your body and your love for himself.

“I see the way he looks at you, but he can’t give you what you need,” he snarls over your shoulder. “You’re mine.” He buries his cock as deep as he can, and you choke on air when he fills you in the most perfectly agonizing way.

Tonight’s not the first time you’ve seen him rage with jealousy before, but he doesn’t usually bite you like that. You consider using your safeword because it feels like your thigh is on fire, and the rough movements of his cock splitting you open while his hips grind against you is starting to take its toll.

The word sits on the tip of your tongue, but you recognize the telltale signs that he’s close: his pace is faltering and the rhythm is sloppy, and the noises he makes are getting louder, breathier, and even more desperate.

You think you can bear a little more.

It only takes a few more greedy thrusts before he grunts from the force of his release and he whispers your name like a mantra. You gasp when he pulls out unexpectedly and he coats your folds and the tops of your thighs with his cum. It’s sticky and warm when it dribbles down the inside of your legs. He lets go of the bruising grip on your hips and you finally collapse onto the bed, exhaling shakily with relief.

When Satan slumps over onto the bed beside you, his demonic horns and tail have gone and his naked body glistens with sweat. His eyes are bright and clear now, and they’re shining with love and warmth and concern rather than the anger from before. He puts his hand between your bodies and you lace your fingers together.

He rolls on his side towards you and nuzzles his face against your shoulder. He peppers a few quick, soft kisses on whatever skin his lips can reach before he whispers an incantation that fills the dark room with light. Your eyes sting and you groan dramatically when you hide your face in the blanket.

He chuckles and leans forward to kiss your shoulder again. “I’m sorry, love, but I need to make sure you’re alright.”

His hands glide over the smooth skin of your back, pausing over lingering scratches or hints of bruising he left behind. You can feel his lips brush over the marks he made. He murmurs to himself and you know he’s making a list of potions or healing spells he thinks might help.

He nudges your side gently and helps you roll onto your back. You throw your arm over your eyes - the light is still too bright for your liking - and you hear his breath hitch. Most of his marks were left on the front of your body, but he seems surprised by his own enthusiasm. When his hand lingers on your leg, you know what he’s looking at.

“I don’t remember biting you this hard,” he says quietly while he inspects the mark gently with his fingertips. His voice is sad, and you lower your arm so you can meet his gaze. There’s regret lingering in his emerald eyes.

“It’s the only one that really hurts,” you tell him, kindly but honestly.

He gets up from the bed and looks for his clothes. There’s a healing potion in another room that he says will help heal your bite wound and dull the pain.

He picks up some of your clothes by accident - what’s left of them, anyway - and his mouth drops open in shock. “Oh, I think I owe you a new pair of pants.” He holds them up for you to see, and he sticks his fingers through the holes his teeth made in the fabric. You both laugh when he wiggles his fingers towards you.

“That pair was getting worn out anyway,” you say with a lazy grin. “All I ask is that the replacements you buy me have pockets.” 

“I’ll buy you whatever you want,” he promises. He tosses the ruined clothes aside and slips out the door to fetch the supplies he needs to treat your leg.

Only seconds after he’s left, a muffled buzzing noise on the floor distracts you from Satan’s absence. You lean over the edge of the bed while you look for your D.D.D., hissing at the pain when you accidentally put too much pressure on your leg. 

Lucifer: I don’t need the details, but do let me know whether or not you’re alright. I heard you earlier.

He must’ve been waiting for Satan to leave the room so he could check on you discreetly.

You: We’re both fine.

You: But you owe him an apology tomorrow.

Lucifer: Very well.

You drop your phone back on the floor, and Satan returns a few minutes later with a bundle under his arm. He hands you a potion to drink and a bottle of water. He even brought your private stash of human world painkillers, though he’s not convinced they’re very helpful. Within minutes, the ache in your leg is barely noticeable and he assures you there should only be a small bruise left by morning.

He sits on the edge of the bed and starts washing you with a warm, damp towel. His touches are gentle and he takes his time. By the time he’s finished wiping away the mix of slick and cum that stained your folds and thighs, you’re sleepy and in desperate need of cuddles. He must feel the same because he dims the lights and crawls onto the bed to rejoin you.

“You didn’t come tonight,” he mentions off-handedly. He rests his head on your chest so you can play with his hair. Your legs are tangled together, and every once in a while his arms around your chest hug you just a bit tighter.

Even though you’re not usually in the mood for more once he’s done, he always makes sure that he’s not leaving you wanting. “I’d rather stay like this right now. Surprise me with something sweet tomorrow.”

You’re both too tired and emotionally drained to have a longer conversation about what happened. For now, you do tell him that you’re sorry you had to cancel plans with him and you’d like to make it up to him later. He apologizes for the disappointment and jealousy that set him off and caused tonight's outburst.

“I nearly used the safeword,” you admit quietly after a few minutes of silence. He tilts his head up so he can see your expression more clearly.

“The bite?” he guesses knowingly. Your pants are what probably kept him from drawing blood, but he startled himself with the viciousness of it.

“It was tolerable at first but it hurt more the longer it went on.” You smile and brush his hair back. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me on purpose.”

He sighs quietly and doesn’t speak for a moment. “No, even during the worst of it, I never want to hurt you that badly. In the haze of it all, it’s easy to underestimate the power I use but I try not to get carried away.” He squeezes you tightly. “I love you. Please stop me if I do something like that again. I don’t want you to suffer with that sort of pain.”

After a few minutes of whispered conversation and featherlight kisses, you nudge him off you and roll onto your side. He clings to your back and puts his arm around you so he can hold you close and nuzzle into your neck.

“Maybe we should get you a mouth guard?” you ask him with a hint of amusement, stifling a yawn as you close your eyes.

“I’ll add it to the list along with your new pants,” he quips, chuckling into your hair. You don’t respond, but he smiles when he hears you snore not long after.

He lays awake and holds you close, pressing his ear to your back so he can listen to your heartbeat until he falls asleep.

➤➤ Obey Me! Masterlist

[impala-dreamer]

Blind Faith

A Supernatural Story

~What if the cure was never really a cure? What if the curse was too strong and her love was too weak?~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester. 

9,760 Words

NSFW, Dark Fic, DbCn, NCn, Extreme Violence, Blood, Extreme Angst, Major Character Death.

A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo - my prompt was "He gave her 36 hours"

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

She hadn’t been there when he died. 

She hadn’t seen the blade disappear into his chest, didn’t watch the blood bubble up around it like a geyser. She hadn’t heard his painful cry; hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. 

Y/N stood frozen next to the glowing table, her eyes wide with disbelief as Sam carried his brother’s limp, broken body into the Bunker. 

He wasn’t safe, but he was home. 

“Sam- what-” 

Her voice was a distance crackle in the grief surrounding them both and Sam couldn’t find an answer that would soothe the break.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at her with red, tear-soaked eyes. His lip quivered and he sucked in a quick, aching breath. 

“I don’t- I don’t know what to do,” he said. 

Shock crept through her bones and twisted every vein until the blood stopped flowing. She felt her heart stop short as if it had been slammed into a wall, crushed by an anvil, or trampled by a herd. 

Time slowed. She shook her head, unable to process the sight of Dean’s left arm falling from his chest as Sam’s knees buckled. Blood dripped from his fingertips and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his watch. Of all things, she focused on that stupid black watch. She could hear it ticking over the lack of breath and each click brought her closer to insanity. 

Sam’s balance shifted and Y/N broke free of Chrono’s paralyzing curse. She rushed to his side and put her hands beneath Dean’s cold form. 

He was heavy but she insisted on helping. 

She kept her eyes on the watch as they carried him through the hallway. 

“I wanna clean him up,” Sam whispered. “I… I gotta clean him up.” 

Y/N could barely breathe as they laid him down on the icy bathroom tiles. She couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t believe that it was Dean. She regarded him as an object while wiping the dried blood from his face and carefully dabbing his lips with a damp cloth. She gazed at the wound in his chest with vacant eyes as if it were merely a tear in a shirt she needed to mend. 

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. 

She smoothed out the beige blanket on his bed; fluffed the pillow and placed it in the middle, just as he would have. Dean always liked a tidy bedroom.  

Sam carried him in and gently laid him down. 

Standing back, Sam gazed at his brother and broke. Tears swept down his cheeks and his entire frame shook with tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors. 

Y/N touched his arm, gingerly reaching for her friend while the world shattered around them. 

He jerked away from her touch and turned, leaving her alone with the body. 

With his body. 

With Dean.  

Finally, she let herself look, really look at his face. His skin was bruised and broken, sliced open by Metatron’s fists. For a moment she worried that the cut above his eye would scar, but it never would. The flesh would never heal; the marks would never fade. 

“Dean…”

His name had left her lips a million times before but this felt like the last. Her breath caught deep in the back of her throat and her body crumbled. She fell beside the bed and grasped his hand, tugging it to her lips. She kissed his bloody knuckles, cradled the stiff joints, and left her tears on his palm. 

The Mark was there, forever tattooed on his arm, looming over her like some sinister warning. But it meant nothing. The threat was gone. Without Dean, it had no power. Without Dean, it was nothing more than an ornate laceration. 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually, she got up. Somehow she released his hand and placed it at his side. By some Grace of Heaven, she managed to turn her back on the man she loved and walk out of the room. 

Sam was drunk. 

Y/N found him sitting in the dark at a table in the Library, a bottle of whiskey slowly emptying into his veins. 

She tried to say something, to make her presence known, but nothing came out. Her words were trapped, and her thoughts were a mess. 

She sat down next to him at the head of the table and reached for the bottle. 

The cheap whiskey was poison and she wanted it to do her in. 

“What do we do?” 

Sam stiffened at her question and scoffed. “We?” He turned and snatched the bottle out of her hand. “We do nothing. I find a way to bring him back.” 

The offense tightened in her chest. “I can help,” she whispered. “I want to help. I have to.” 

Sam filled his glass to nearly overflowing and drank it down in two swallows. “No.” 

“No?” 

He wouldn’t look at her. The wood creaked as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out, purposefully turning away. 

“You’re not part of this family.” His voice was soft but the tone was viscous. Drunk and distraught, he aimed to take his pain out on anything he could. Y/N was the only one there. 

“Sam-” 

“You’re not.” He poured another drink and lifted it with a shaking hand. “Never were.” 

Y/N’s stomach cramped. “Don’t say that. I’m as much a part of this as-”

“As what?” Sam turned, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocked the chair over. Hazel eyes narrowed on her face; pink lips formed words she’d only heard from the mouths of demons. “As me? As Dean? Cas? No. You’re nothing. You’re not family. You’re not even really a friend. Just some girl Dean picked up on the side of the road and forgot to drop back off. You’re here by accident. By circumstance. Not because we want you here.” Licking his lip slowly, he dragged a drop of whiskey into his mouth. “You’re here because he was too nice to tell you to leave.” 

It was everything she thought to herself when the nights got bad; when trauma and depression worked together to try to bring her down. 

She held her breath in a feeble attempt to keep her voice steady. “You don’t mean any of that, Sam.”

He laughed. “Wow. You’re as dumb as you are useless.”

A sharp pain spread up her arms and Y/N realized she’d been gripping the armrests of her seat so tightly her nails had dug into the wood, forever marking her presence and Sam’s evil words. 

She stood up with fists and jaw clenched tight. “You’re drunk and you’re in pain.” 

“Oh, I am drunk.” He shrugged and took a long sip. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” 

Her palms suffered the same fate as the armrests. She cringed at the sting. “Why are you doing this?” 

Slowly, he stood and stumbled a bit as he turned to look at her. He towered over her, a giant blocking out the light and all hope. 

“I want you out.” His tongue was slow but his teeth were sharp. “I want you out of the Bunker, out of Kansas. Out of my life!” 

Y/N couldn’t move. A tightness inside was forcing a disconnect between her mind and body. Her legs felt like dead tree logs, her arms like lead weights pulling her down. Unable to blink away the tears, she turned her eyes towards the rows of books on the walls, the artifacts gathering dust on the lower shelves. 

“Sam…”

He would not be stopped by a display of tears or the meekness in her stance. 

“I said get out!” he roared, arms waving as his voice boomed through the empty rooms. “Now!” 

Y/N flinched, sure that he meant to strike her. 

When he saw the fear in her eyes, he stepped back, but not down. He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, chugging down more than he should have. 

“Just go,” he sighed. “Please.” 

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, needing a little pain to help her do what she needed to. 

She nodded. 

He turned away and slumped back into his chair, giving up on everything but the whiskey. 

She walked up the short steps and pressed her hand against the stone archway, saying goodbye. 

“You’re gonna regret this, you know.” 

He laughed bitterly. “Doubt it.” 

It didn’t take long to pack. Most of her stuff was already in her car, ready for a case or an easy escape. What she did have in her room, she crammed into a backpack. 

Leaving behind the place she’d called home for three years was hard. 

Leaving him behind was worse. 

Y/N stood in his doorway and said her silent goodbye. 

Dean was right where they’d left him; head on the pillow, bowed legs slightly bent, sleeping forever. 

When her eyes began to burn, she wiped them with the back of her hand and turned to leave. Sam was right. She was never really part of this. 

It was time to go. 

How long had it been? A month, two? She’d stopped counting after two weeks. It seemed pointless by then. Dean was gone, and Sam had kicked her out. There was nowhere to go, no place to call home. With no one waiting up for her, time didn’t matter. 

Y/N could tell that the summer was close to beginning its descent into autumn as she tracked it across the country. She drove relentlessly, pushing her beat-up white Tucson from its namesake to Annapolis and back again. The roads were too long; the future so unclear. 

She needed a plan for the rest of her life. Should she keep on hunting? Maybe try for that picket fence life she’d only seen on TV? A passing dream brought her to Costa Rica, but her Spanish was rusty and the Expat life seemed lonely. 

She needed to stop and figure things out. 

The only problem was, when she stopped, she had to think. And thinking was something she wasn’t too fond of. 

Whenever she closed her eyes she was met with beautiful memories of her time with Dean; of late nights cuddled in the back of the Impala, talking about life and counting the stars when they came out. If she tried hard enough, she could feel his calloused fingertips drag across her cheek, taste his bourbon-stained kiss. 

But, even the sweetest memories faded into blood-soaked dreams. She watched Dean’s death on repeat. Each time was slightly different, tiny details shifting and expanding here and there. She hadn’t seen it, she didn’t know the truth. She’d only seen the aftermath, so her horrible imagination filled in the blanks. 

Sometimes he reached out for her, screaming her name as Metatron plunged the blade into his chest. Other times, he was racing with her toward safety when she let his hand drop, losing him to the Scribe’s murderous intent.

She never slept much anymore.  

The third week of August found her sweating in the muggy heat of Savannah, a city she’d always loved to breeze through but never had the chance to visit.

Now, she was falling in love. Walking the brick-laid sidewalks of the historic district made her feel at ease. The dense air seemed to warm something frozen inside, and the weeping willows mirrored her heart. 

She breathed a little deeper, walked a little slower, and took her time exploring. 

She rented a tiny apartment in the attic of a little house on the border of town by charming the owner into a week-by-week lease. There was no way to tell how long she would stay, but the city was as haunted as any she’d seen, so if nothing else, there were a few weeks of cases she could work.  

Days were spent napping and pondering the existence of a real life out of the shadows and nights were draped in them. When the sun sank below the trees, she went out, walking the streets without fear or obligation. She followed the heavy wind and the sounds of music that pulsed from bars and clubs late into the night. 

One Tuesday evening, a mournful blues riff pulled her into a bar and she sat at a table in the back, nursing a cocktail that made her nose crinkle up after every sip. 

“Looks like you’re not a fan.” 

Y/N swallowed a bubbly sip and shook her head before looking up. “Not really,” she answered. “But hey, when in Rome.” 

She set the glass on the little square napkin and sighed as the band hit a crescendo. The music was blaring and it was hard to hear below a shout. 

“You should try their bourbon. I hear it’s amazing.” 

The voice tugged at her brain and Y/N finally looked up, nearly jumping out of her skin when she did. 

Dean Winchester stood before her, alive and well with a sparkle in his eye and a smirk upon his lips. 

Her heart pounded, her limbs tingled. 

“What the fuck-” 

Her entire being tensed and her feet prepared for a quick escape. 

The door was forty steps to the left- she always counted when entering a room. There were three tables in the way that she’d have to weave through, and only two people in danger of being knocked over. She could make it quick.

Dean smiled softly and placed his hands on the back of the chair closest to him. He leaned down a bit and sighed. 

“It’s good to see you, Y/N/N.” 

She flinched at the sound of her nickname and reached for the knife in her jeans. 

His eyes went right to her hand. 

“Come on, babygirl. You don’t need that.” He laughed sadly and licked his lip. “It’s me.”

She laughed sarcastically. “You’re dead.” 

Comically, Dean looked down at himself and then stood up straight. He patted his chest and shook his head. 

“I don’t appear to be.” 

Wide eyes studied his face and scanned his body for anything out of place. He looked a little bigger than last she saw as if he’d been working out or at least eating a little better. His hair was longer and stuck up on his head a little higher, but he moved the same; smiled the same. His voice- 

“Look, I know this is insane, but- come on, kid. It’s me.” 

She shivered. Everything she knew, every part of her said to run. But somewhere, deep in her heart, she held some blind faith that said Dean would never hurt her. Even if at his worst, he’d never raise his hand against her, never do anything but keep her safe. 

She prayed that her heart knew best. 

“I can’t-” She paused and looked around at the crowded bar. “I can’t do this here.” 

He nodded in understanding and gestured towards the door. 

“You first,” she insisted. 

Dean smiled and led the way. 

“How are you here? You… you died, Dean. I washed the blood off of your face myself,” she asked once the music had faded and the crowd had vanished. 

They stood in an empty lot behind the bar, two old friends amongst broken bottles and thriving weeds. 

“Thanks for that,” he said with a gentle laugh. 

“That’s not funny.” 

He sighed. “I know.” Dean kicked at a shard of glass with the tip of his boot, searching for the words she needed to hear. 

Impatient and brimming with nerves, Y/N took a step away. “Talk. Now. Or I’m out.” 

“OK. OK.” He held up a hand, begging for patience. His eyes were sad, his voice cracking. “It was Sam,” he said slowly. “Sam brought me back. He uh- he made some deal with Crowley and-” He looked off into the darkness and chewed his lip as if worried. “I don’t know the details, they wouldn’t tell me. But- I woke up in bed and… not even a scar.” The Mark burned his forearm and he covered it with his left hand, rubbing the ache beneath his shirt. “Well, except that one.” 

Hesitant, she moved closer. “How can I believe you?” 

Dean shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t even know if I believe it. But, I feel fine. They- Sam and Cas- they did all the tests. Holy water, silver… Fuck- Cas even did that reach into your chest and feel your soul thing… It’s all me.”

He sounded so sad, like her disbelief was breaking his heart. She took a breath and then another step in. 

“Dean, I-”

Green eyes filled with tears, and Y/N held her breath. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” he whispered. “Why did you run away?” 

Sam’s hurtful dismissal echoed in her head, but she didn’t want Dean to feel any worse than he already did. 

“I uh…” She looked down at the broken concrete, unable to watch his tears fall. “You were gone,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t see any reason to stay.”  

When she looked back up, he was impossibly close, his lips drawing ever nearer. She held her breath and wished for the strength to run away, but it was Dean. He was alive. He was really fucking alive. 

He brushed his fingertips over the apple of her cheek and she closed her eyes at the touch. It had been too long. Her soul was reaching out to him and she knew she was stuck. 

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” he breathed. “So fucking much.” 

She kissed him before he could get there, popping up on her toes to press herself against him. His hand came to rest on her cheek and his thumb massaged her temple like it used to. His tongue was just as warm and needy, his taste was still the same. 

When she let him go, she smiled and the tears came. When he kissed her again, that old familiar heat returned.

“Dean…” 

She led Dean to her apartment, too drunk on the moment to do anything but revel in the fact that he was alive. 

“What was the deal, do you know?”

“Crowley’s been kind of a dick lately, are you sure there’s no catch?” 

“What did Cas say when he soul-scanned you?” 

Dean laughed sweetly as he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her attic rooms. “Calm down, Y/N/N. I’ve already told you what I know.” 

When they reached the top landing, Dean grabbed her by the waist and tugged her to him. She gasped as her back hit his chest and his lips found her ear. 

“Why don’t we just focus on us for tonight?” he breathed. The tip of his tongue shot out to trace the shell of her ear and Y/N’s eyes rolled back in pure arousal. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Us…” 

Begrudgingly, Y/N pulled herself away long enough to unlock the door. Stepping into the dark living room, she flipped on the light and tossed her bag onto the kitchenette counter.

Dean was hovering outside the door with hands on the frame, pondering something. He scanned the room and cocked a brow. 

“What?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. “Did Crowley bring you back as a vampire? Do you need to be invited in?” 

Dean laughed darkly and licked his lip. “No. Just, uh-” 

Y/N’s nerves kicked up. “What’s wrong?” 

“You stay here all by yourself?” 

She laughed and let out a calming breath. “Yeah. And? I’m a big girl, Dean.” 

He nodded with a smile. “Oh, I know you are. I’m just… worried. Ya know, about…” His face darkened slightly. “...Things. I don’t see any safety precautions.”

Y/N felt her cheeks blush. “Aww. You worried about me?” 

He grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s my job.” 

With the movements of Vanna White, Y/N moved about the small room, showing off her hidden stash of supernatural weaponry. A silver knife tucked beneath the couch cushion; a bag of goofer dust in a decorative box on the bookshelf. A spare gun in the corner top cabinet of the tiny kitchen; a spray bottle filled with holy water by the aloe plant in the window. 

“Impressive,” he admitted. 

Y/N beamed with pride and then held up a finger. “Oh! And… so I don’t lose my security deposit by fucking up the hardwood…” 

Rushing to the door, Y/N lifted the small, brown welcome mat and flipped it over. On the underside, crafted in bright orange spray paint, was an intricate Devil’s Trap. She winked up at him and tossed the mat to the side. 

He seemed impressed. “Smart.”

“I got it all covered.” 

Dean smiled and stepped inside. “You absolutely do.” He reached for her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m glad. I don’t wanna lose you. Not again.” 

Her heart ached for him, for the months they’d lost. “I’m so sorry I bolted, Dean. I just - I didn’t know what to do without you.” 

Gently, he framed her face in his big hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ll never have to find out, OK? I’m not going anywhere ever again.” He kissed her softly. “And neither are you.” 

Each kiss was like magic. Every sweet memory was birthed into life and every nightmare faded away. 

They fumbled in the living room, kissing like teenagers while stripping layers of clothing away. He kissed the redness her bra strap left behind and pinched each nipple in turn. She dragged his jeans down to his calves and licked at his boxers, covering his clothed dick with her hot mouth. It swelled against her tongue and she hummed hungrily.  

Dean swayed above her and dropped a hand to her head, massaging gently. “Fuck, I missed you.” 

She looked up with wide, innocent eyes and wet lips. “I want you,” she mewed. “So, so bad.” 

He held her chin between two warm fingers and urged her to stand. “You’ve got me, babygirl. Always.” 

She fell forward against him and went limp, her mind swimming with shock and desire, love and hope. He kissed her slowly and lifted her in his strong arms. She gasped as the floor fell away and looked at him in awe. 

“I’ve got you.” He grinned. 

Her bedroom was small, nearly filled wall to wall by the full-sized bed. 

Dean laid her down and fell over her in one motion, suddenly between her thighs and rocking slowly. 

Y/N moaned into his mouth and drew her hands over his body. Warm, solid. Alive. 

He tugged at her panties and she shimmied herself free as he kicked his shorts away. 

“I’m so fucking hard for you, babygirl,” he moaned, staring at her soft body, her vulnerable position spread open wide for him. 

Her eyes fluttered, her nipples hardened. She arched her back and reached for him, but he had other plans. 

Instead of returning to her arms, Dean slid down onto the bed and grabbed at her hips, tugging her close and locking her pussy against his mouth. He licked a hard stripe up her slit and her jaw dropped. He nudged her clit with his nose and her vision blurred. He dipped his tongue into her cunt and her hips bucked. 

“God, it’s been too long,” she cried, squirming against him, desperate for him to devour her. 

He took his time, expertly using all his knowledge of her body to drive her insane. Each breath, movement, flicker, kiss: it was all designed to edge her to the point of breaking. Up and down, like a coaster, he drove her need higher and higher only to drop it back down again until she was shaking and sobbing his name.  

When he had licked every drop of will from her soul and her lips could no longer form the words her mind was screaming, Dean crawled over her trembling body and pressed his cock against her slit. 

“P-plee-”

Dean thrust gently and circled his hips. “What’s that?” 

Y/N shivered and licked her lips, desperate for some moisture to return to her mouth. “Pleea-”

“Try again.” He grinned. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.” 

Clenching her teeth, Y/N lifted her shoulders from the bed and clawed at his broad shoulders. “Fuck me. Please.” 

Her begging made him growl and Dean dipped down to suck at her mouth as he pressed into her. 

She screamed into his mouth as the fullness of his cock buried deep in her cunt spread pleasure through her system. She tightened around him, dug her heels into the dimples of his lower back, and nipped at the thick muscle of his throat. 

“Missed… every… part… of this…” Dean's thrusts quickened with each word and Y/N broke, cumming hard and milking his cock with her pulsing muscles. He grit his teeth and let out a deep grunt as he came, flooding her cunt and settling against her.  

“Jesus, Dean…” 

They lay in quiet bliss, her back curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around her body. She traced the lines in his left palm with a delicate fingertip and sighed at the warmth pulsing off his skin. 

It felt like Heaven to be back in his arms, so close once more.  Safe and smiling, she started to drift off next to him, each rise and fall of his chest against her lulling her to sleep. 

“So glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

Dean kissed her shoulder and dragged his hand down her arm. “Me too.” When he reached her elbow, he moved down to her knee and lightly scratched up the side of her thigh and into the curve of her waist. “I would have come sooner, but I had some things to take care of first.” 

She hummed happily at the tingle radiation from his touch and snuggled a little closer. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.” Another kiss on her shoulder, one on her throat. “Some things couldn’t be avoided…” His nails ran down her thigh and back up again, the pressure increasing slightly. 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “What were you doing all this time? It’s been months… you could have called or something.”

His touch hardened and she cringed as his nails scraped hard against her hip bone. 

“I told you, I was busy.” Another scratch over her belly, a jab on her ribs. “People to see, places to burn.”

She stiffened. “What?”

Dean sucked hard on her pulse and clawed at her leg. 

“Hey! Ouch!” Y/N squirmed and tried to pull away, but he kept her there, held captive by his strong arms. “Dean!”

He hissed into her ear and cut the skin on her hip with the blunt nail of his index finger. “Stop. Squirming.” 

“What are you doing? Stop!”

She thrashed against him and his hand clamped down into the meat of her thigh and tore until she felt a gush of warm blood.

“Dean!” 

Y/N slapped at his arms, bucked her hips back, and fought against his hold, but he wouldn’t be moved. 

Annoyed, he sank his teeth into her shoulder and broke the skin, forcing a cry from her lips. He licked the wound and swirled his tongue into the grooves he’d made, laughing. 

“You stupid cunt. You should know better than to invite a dead man into your bed.” 

Pain and fear flashed through her and Y/N managed to get away and turn over. 

Blood dripped down his chin and he moaned in ecstasy as he licked a drop from his lips. 

Her heart pounded. Her skin crawled. 

“What are you?” 

In a flash too quick for her to register, Dean was on his hands and knees, stalking toward her like a lion. 

“What am I?”

He grinned as she cowered and set his hands on either side of her hips. He leered down at her, upper lip twitching and breath heavy. 

“I’m Dean 2.0, bitch.” 

He blinked and her world shattered. 

Icy black ink flooded his gorgeous green eyes, eclipsing every bit of him, body and soul. 

Y/N sucked in a terrified breath and he laughed wildly. 

“You thought I was back from the dead? I never died. This- thing- this mark on my arm- it kept me alive. It gave me a new life.” 

“It made you a monster,” she spat, determined to go down swinging if she was indeed headed that way. 

Dean exhaled hard and his glee turned to devilish anger. His face turned as dark as his eyes and he sneered. “It made me better.” Reaching down, he cupped her left breast and circled the globe with his fingers splayed out. “All the fun, all the charisma, and sex appeal… None of the pesky guilt or morals…” His hand flexed and each nail ripped deep into her flesh, opening new wounds and drawing fresh blood. 

He covered her scream with a kiss and Y/N tried with all her might to kick him off, bite his tongue, anything to get him to back up. When he jabbed his tongue down her throat, she gathered up every ounce of strength and brought her knee to his crotch, smashing his sack upwards. 

Demon or not, he felt it. 

Dean let out a roar and released her, rolling onto his back and grabbing himself in pain. 

“You bitch! I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out!” 

Shaking, she bolted, running through the closest door she saw. 

The bathroom was old and ill-lit, but the cabinets were deep and filled with supplies. 

Grunts echoed behind the door as she quickly wrapped a bandage around her shoulder and poured a painful ounce of alcohol onto her chest. She hissed at the sting and held onto the edge of the sink to catch her breath. 

“Did you really just run into the bathroom? I can break down that door with my pinky finger.” 

He was closer, surely stumbling through the messy bedroom. Y/N looked at her reflection and held back a stream of tears. 

“Just leave and we’ll forget this ever happened!” She shouted at the door. “I won’t tell if you won’t!”

Laughter answered her. “And who the fuck do you think you’re gonna tell? Everyone you know is gone!”

Her stomach flipped. She froze. “Sam?”

Dean jiggled the doorknob. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Casually, he turned and leaned his back against the door. “Sam’s out of commission. Permanently.” 

“You… you killed him?” 

“Nah. Just put the fear of God into him. Sent him off for a little me time in the I.C.U.” 

Y/N yanked open the cabinet under the sink and pulled a worn leather toiletry bag from the back. 

“See, he and Cas, they got stupid. They thought they could cure me. Rip the demon outta me.” 

She swallowed hard. “Oh? How’d that go?” 

“How do you think?” 

Just for fun, he jiggled the locked knob again, making her jump. 

“Tell me all about it. You know I love a good ritual!” Trembling, she pulled a pistol from the bag and loaded it with bullets from the medicine cabinet. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow him down. 

Dean knew she was stalling, trying to keep him talking while she regrouped. Hell, he’d taught her that. Still, he enjoyed fucking with her, so he played along.

“That whole closing the Gates of Hell thing? The last trial was curing a demon. You remember. You were there, cheering Sammy along.”

Y/N shivered at the memory of the dank chapel and Sam nearly collapsing with each syringe of blood she extracted from his veins. “I remember. So what, it didn’t work on you?”

Dean turned and pressed his palm to the door. “Not. Even. A little.” 

“Huh. Weird.” 

“Oh, don’t misunderstand. They tried.” 

Y/N withdrew an old metal canteen from the bag and shook it. A tiny wave of holy water sloshed inside. It was enough, she hoped, to get her out the door and down the stairs.

Dean ran his finger down a groove in the door and pushed his ear against the wood, listening for her racing heart. 

“Did a good job of it, too. Tied me up in the dungeon… big Devil’s Trap on the floor. I was stuck for a while, I’ll admit that. Good old Sammy coming in for the save. But ya know something, Y/N/N? I just couldn’t let him do it. I like what I am now. It’s fun. Hell, I feel like I’m on a permanent fucking vacation! This is great!”

Ready to attempt an escape, Y/N tugged on a dirty shirt and a pair of shorts from the floor and braced herself. 

“So what happened? How’d you get out?” 

He laughed. “Oh, you know me. I always find a way out. And trust me, when I did… Sammy was not happy. Neither was I. Not until I bashed - his face in - with my boot.” 

Every pause was a punch against the wood and Y/N felt each in her gut. 

She swallowed hard. “And what about Castiel? You said he was there.” 

Dean sighed. “Oh, I sent his ass packing. Little graffiti on the wall and bam! He got sent off to wherever the fuck angels go when they get blasted off the Earth. Sayonara, auf wiedersehen, good riddance.” 

“And-”

The door shook as Dean slammed his hands into it, cutting her off. 

“Can we just get to it, please? I’m bored with this monologue.” 

She unscrewed the canteen’s cap. 

“Actually, it’s a dialogue. If it was just you talking, it would be a monologue.” 

Dean clenched his jaw and growled. “Oh, I am truly going to enjoy biting that tongue out of your mouth.”

Another slam on the door and the wood splintered. The cheap lock gave way and Dean pushed inside, grinning. 

Not a second was wasted. With a nearly perfect mix of dexterity and core self-preservation instinct, Y/N lunged forward and swung the canteen, dousing Dean’s face with the blessed liquid. His skin burned instantly and he let out an aggravated roar as she spun around him and leapt for the front door. 

He caught her before she reached the couch, roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her up off the floor. Her shriek echoed through the small attic abode and she grabbed at his forearm, desperate to hold herself up and relieve some of the pain spreading across her scalp. 

Dean laughed and lifted her higher. 

White flashed on the edges of her vision and Y/N swung her legs back hard, kicking down into the top of his kneecap, making him stumble. 

His ire was evident. Effortlessly, Dean tossed her down and Y/N slid across the old hardwood floor as if she were a ragdoll. Her bare legs skidded on the thin planks, stopping her before she slammed into the wall. 

Dizzy and aching, Y/N withdrew the gun from the waistband of her shorts and took aim. Heels dug into the floor and shoulders tight, she flipped off the safety and took a deep breath. 

Her finger tensed on the trigger, but Dean was fast. A swift kick had Y/N screaming again and she felt the bones in her right wrist snap. 

The gun flew from her hands and landed on the rug by the kitchen sink, too far out of reach. 

Dean cocked his head, looking down at Y/N as she cradled her arm. “A gun, Y/N/N? Really? What were you gonna do, shoot me?” 

Panting, she sneered up at him. “That is generally what one does with a gun.” 

Dean sucked his teeth in annoyance and shook his head. “You’ve always been a witty bitch. It’s very annoying.” 

“I seem to recall you liked it.” 

Onyx washed over his green eyes again and her pulse quickened. 

“Not anymore,” he whispered. 

Her body was rigid with fear; her veins throbbed with panic. Dean shifted and bent down at her feet. Y/N jolted back, kicking at him while pulling herself toward the door. He grabbed her calf and yanked her back, nearly dislocating her hip. 

His voice was steady, too calm, too sure. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I didn’t say you could leave.” 

Shaking, she thrashed in his grasp, trying to twist her leg free. He held tight. 

“Let me go!” 

Dean laughed. “Oh… come on. You really think I’m just gonna let you walk out? Sweetheart, you’re not leaving here. Not breathing anyway.” 

Knowing what was coming, Y/N took a deep breath and tensed her body inward. 

His hands were impossibly huge, wrapping nearly entirely around her neck. His palms pressed hard into her windpipe and his fingertips dug in deep. 

She slapped at his arms and kicked at his shins. 

“Just stop,” he whispered. “It’ll be easier if you just stop.” 

Going back to the playbook, Y/N brought her left knee high, but missed his crotch entirely, jabbing into his thigh instead. 

Dean groaned and removed his hold on her throat.

She gasped in relief but the moment was short. Tangling his fist in her hair, Dean lifted her head only to knock it back down with a hard punch to her jaw. Sparks littered her vision and Y/N could feel the broken blood vessels under her eye leak. 

Defiant, she blinked until her head was clear, and spit. “Fuck you.” 

Another punch nearly knocked her unconscious and the third broke her cheekbone and shifted her nose out of alignment. Dean heard the snap and smiled viciously. He leaned in close and watched the bridge of her nose swell. Blood dripped from a cut above her eye and he pressed his tongue flat against it, licking up the mess. 

“So fucking sweet…” 

Dean let go of her hair and Y/N’s head crashed back onto the floor, her neck limp and useless like a crushed flower stem. 

“Why?” 

He sat back, pinning her legs beneath him, and pondered her question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you eat too much sugar…”

His laugh made her cringe and Y/N shook her head. It felt as if her brain was both swollen and sloshing around in her skull. It was hard to think; her thoughts were disjointed and fleeting.

“W-why are you doing this?”

Dean took a deep, satisfying breath and leaned forward. “Freedom,” he whispered, caging her head with his arms and moving in close, brushing his nose against hers. His eyes were still dark and he never blinked, looking deep into her aching soul. “Because I wanna be free from all the drama and responsibilities. Free from all the goddamned whining and guilt and love crap. I took out Cas, nearly killed my baby brother, and now it’s your turn. I can’t leave loose ends, Y/N. Don’t want any of you coming after me and putting an end to the fun.” 

Darkness was gathering around her like a vignette closing in on the image of her life. She fought against it, ignoring the searing pain in her bones and the growing urge to let go and sleep. 

“Someone will,” she moaned. “Might not be me, but someone’s gonna stop you. Cas will. Sam will. They won’t let you live like this. Not like a filthy fucking demon asshole piece of shit!”

Dean grabbed her throat again, squeezing tight with one large hand. “Knight of Hell, actually,” he corrected with a slick smile. “But that’s quite a potty mouth you’ve developed. I approve.” His thumb and index finger pressed into her artery, blocking the blood and making her head spin. She clawed at his wrist but her body grew weaker by the second. 

Desperate, she looked up at the man she used to love with tears flooding her eyes and whispered his name with her last breath. 

“Dean…” 

The air returned in a rush as if someone had opened an airplane door mid-flight. She gasped and the color around her brightened, including the emerald of his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m having too much fun with you, Y/N/N. Way too much fun.” He slid a hand slowly down her body, enjoying the look of revulsion painting her broken face. “I was planning on killing you outside that bar, but- I saw this… body again…” He grabbed her unmarred breast and kneaded it hard. “Saw these curves…” His fingers trailed downwards; his touch feasting on every ample curve. “I just had to have you one more time.” 

“Get. Off. Of. Me.” Her words were clipped, her throat raw and bleeding inside. 

With a smirk, Dean reached into her shorts and grabbed her pussy. His nails pinched the delicate flesh of her labia and Y/N grit her teeth at the pain. 

“No,” he answered. “Don’t think I will.” 

With demonic strength, he flipped her over in a split second and slammed her onto the floor. He held her down with a firm palm pressed between her shoulder blades while the other yanked her hips up high. He tugged down her shorts as she cried; slicked up his cock with a handful of spit while she struggled. Sharp, hot pain spread up her spine and down into each nerve. She screamed and he laughed, thrusting into her tightness without hesitation, violating her body without care. Her entire being revolted and fought, but it was no use. 

She closed her eyes and tried to pray but the words were fading, her vision blurring. She held her breath, trembling while he finished, covering her lower back with a thick rope of his evil seed. 

Momentarily satisfied, Dean dropped down on top of her, his full weight crushing her deeper into the unyielding hardwood floor. He licked the line of tears from her cheek and nibbled delicately on her ear. 

“Ya know, I’m having so much fun with you, I may keep you around.” 

Y/N shuddered. “I’d…I’d rather you killed me, thanks.” 

Feigning compassion, Dean rolled off of her back and onto his side. He pressed his face to the floor, mirroring her position, and softly brushed the hair back from her eyes. 

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet.” He winked and pressed his lips to hers. 

It took all her strength not to scream. “Please,” she choked, “just… end it.” 

With a sigh, Dean popped up onto his elbow and debated. “I could. Very easily. Just one… little… twist of my wrist around your throat and you’d be dead. Clean. Easy.” 

“So, do it.”

“No.” Again, he ran his fingers lightly through her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear. “I think we’ll keep playing.”

Tears ran freely from her eyes. “Please, Dean-”

“How about this…” He laid back down and moved in closer so she could feel the breath of every word against her lips. “We’ll play hide and seek. If you can hide well enough, I’ll let you live.”

“W-what?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll give you a head start. Thirty-six hours to hide and then… I’mma comin’.”

Before she could answer or even absorb his words, Dean pulled her head up and slammed it back down, shutting out the lights. 

She was sure an alarm was going off. A high-pitched shriek pulled her out of the darkness and Y/N peeled her eyes open only to realize that the ringing was in her head. 

Sunlight broke through the shabby window blinds and stabbed her eyes. She groaned at the pain and tried to sit up, but her head was throbbing, her body bruised and covered in scabs of dried blood. 

For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. The apartment looked strange, the air foreign. A rotten, metallic scent filled her nose. She cringed and sat up, instantly regretting it as pain gripped her body. Her ribs were cracked; her wrist shattered. Confusion tickled her mind like drops of acid rain. She closed her eyes and the blackness there brought it all back. 

Coal eyes. 

Ruddy lips. 

Leather, and smoke, and cheap cologne. 

Dean’s evil, blood-tinged smirk flashed in her mind and Y/N broke. Tears welled and fell without permission and her stomach emptied, washing the antique hardwood with hot bile. 

When her body calmed and she could shift the pain enough to think clearly, his words came back to her.

“I’ll give you a head start… Thirty-six hours to hide…”

Thirty-six hours to run and try to hide from him. Thirty-six hours to figure out how the hell to come out of this alive. 

For a moment, all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until zero hour, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

It took her twenty-two minutes to grab her Go Bag, pull on some clean clothes, and leave. 

She left her interim life behind and headed out to meet her fate. 

The roads were long and her body betrayed her at every turn. The face she was in the rearview mirror wasn’t her own. It was broken and flushed; her gaze devoid of hope. 

Just outside of Alpharetta, she stopped for gas. She ignored the looks of concern from strangers and declined an offer of help from the station attendant. Breezing through, Y/N slammed two bills on the counter and left as quickly as she came, accompanied by a symphony of chimes that rang above the door. 

Twice, she had to pull over to vomit. She retched onto the dusty roadside, heaving fluid and burning her throat. There was nothing left inside of her, nothing keeping her going but pure, dim-witted faith that everything would turn out fine.  

She called Sam every few minutes, timing her attempts with the passing exit signs. There was never an answer, never a ring. Her calls went right to voicemail and after the twentieth try, she gave up. 

When the pain was bad and her body cramped up, protesting the old car seat and the constant pressure of her foot on the gas, Y/N took a breath and closed her eyes. She prayed to Cas, begging him to help, to show up and heal her, to find Dean and…

She wasn’t sure what she wanted for Dean. He’d ripped her to the core and there was no coming back from what he’d done, but still- it was Dean. He needed- deserved- to be saved no matter what his slick black heart wanted. 

And what he wanted right now was her limp, exsanguinated corpse at his feet. 

Outside of Dalton, she changed course. Dean was a midwestern boy and most likely to keep to the west, so she headed east, aiming to land as far from the Bunker as possible. 

Time was ticking away and her hope was fading. 

Miles stretched on forever and her eyes grew heavy. Watching the sun begin to sink behind the lush mountains of New York State, Y/N felt as heavy as the sky. Struggling to keep her eyes open and consciousness with her, she dug her fingers into the wound on her shoulder, clawing at the skin his teeth had ripped. The surge of fresh pain pulled her awake long enough to get to the next exit, and the next.. and the next. 

Sam never called her back. 

Cas never showed. 

Dean’s dark laughter and poisonous words echoed in her soul, haunting every moment.

Somewhere near Rockport, she collapsed. The blackness peaked around her vision and overtook her, knocking her out as the lights from oncoming traffic reflected on the windshield. She came to at the last second, pulling at the wheel and jerking the car away from the blue minivan headed straight for her. The vehicle left the road and slid across the rain-slicked shoulder into an open lot. Tires skidded on loose gravel; the air was silent as she held her breath. 

She gripped the wheel tightly and slammed her foot onto the break, nearly busting through the floorboard. 

The crash was quick. Silence was shattered by the sound of metal hitting concrete as the Tucson's front end crumpled against the corner of a building. The impact knocked her back out and Y/N slumped in the seat, her body held up by the seat belt, not will. 

Ringing woke her again. Heavy head lolling on her shoulders, Y/N managed to quiet the noise as she yanked her cell from her back pocket. The screen was cracked but she could still read the message: 

‘Time’s Up. Ready or not- here I come.’

Ice ran through her veins and she shook herself, desperate to clear her vision and think. There was no way he had followed her. Pointless turns, random exits, and twelve hundred miles left a mere dusting of breadcrumbs. It would be a hard path to track, even for a demon. 

Another ding made her jump. 

‘Better run 😈’

Every joint protested; her flesh screamed. Y/N bit back a cry as she forced the door open and fell onto the damp stone ground. A light mist began to fall, peppering her bloodied face with cool droplets that offered a moment of relief.

‘I’d get away from that wreck if I were you - the engine could blow…’

Y/N fell back onto her ass when the text came through. Shocked and terrified, she scanned the open lot for any sign of him but she was alone. The only tracks were her own, the only sound was the busted radiator hissing behind her.

“Dean?” Her voice was weak. Fear leaked into every inch of her but she clutched her phone tight and struggled to her feet. “You don’t have to do this, you know!” Grimacing, she pulled open the back door and dug through her bag. “We can just- I don’t know- call it even and walk away.” She tucked a flask of holy water into her right back pocket and tucked an anointed silver knife into the left. “No harm, no foul.” She withdrew her pistol and checked the magazine. “What do you say?” 

“I choose harm.”

He was close. 

Y/N fumbled with the gun; hand shaking as her broken wrist sent white-hot shards of pain up through her elbow and beyond. Swinging around, she readied herself for the fight, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

“Dean?” She swallowed hard and dug deep. “I thought I was the one doing the hiding.” 

His laugh wrapped around her. 

“Oh no, sweetheart. That’s you. And you should hop to it.” 

His voice was coming from every direction at the same time. Left, right, behind her, below her. It was like standing in a fun house full of mirrors and Y/N felt her stomach churn. 

“Go on!” He clapped his hands and the sound thundered around her. “Run!” 

Instinct drove her to the left and quickly she fit herself through the rotted planks of what used to be a door. She stepped inside and blinked into soft darkness. 

A shadowed silhouette in the dim light, Y/N rushed through the ruins of the abandoned fishery. Thick steel columns rose from the concrete slab beneath her feet to high overhead. Wind hissed through gaps in the roof, slithered through broken window panes, and whirled around her like the icy breath of death. The stink of seawater and fish lived forever locked into the essence of the building and Y/N gagged as she ran through the space. There was nowhere to hide safely and the ache of pain and exhaustion threatened to pull her down.

Dean broke through the pitiful door with one swift kick of his right leg. He stepped inside, his shadow reaching across the gray stone floor. 

In a panic, Y/N dove behind a stack of wooden crates and crouched down. She readied her weapons.

His boots fell like anvils and his steps echoed loudly. 

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty…” 

Y/N shuddered. Her breath was ragged and loud. She bit her lip to try and hold it in.  

“Give up, Y/N/N- There’s nowhere else to go!”

He was right. She was fucked. 

“H-how’d you find me, anyway?” she asked, lifting her voice and projecting to her left. 

Dean turned towards her words. He walked slowly but deliberately and every step made her heart beat harder in her ears. 

“I’ve got my ways,” he called back. 

She could hear the smirk on his lips and it made her sick. “Oh? Do tell…” Carefully, she crawled to the right and slipped around another pile of boxes. 

Dean searched for her around each column and stack, taking his time as if eternity was his to play with. 

“I honestly thought it would have been a little harder,” he confessed. “But as it turns out, Little Miss Clever forgot to turn off her phone’s GPS.” 

Y/N’s heart sank. “Fuck.” 

“It’s OK. We all fuck up sometimes. Some of us more than others.” 

He sounded far away, so Y/N stood up to peer over the crates. She saw him on the other side of the massive room and let go of a breath of momentary belief. When she turned back, her heel slid through a puddle of slimy muck and she faltered, tumbling into the crates. The topmost box careened off the pile and smashed onto the floor. 

Dean’s head snapped towards the splintered mess and his green eyes flickered black. “Gotcha.” 

They both ran. It was hardly a proper chase. Dean leapt across the floor with demonic speed as Y/N stumbled, her body too broken and twisted to perform beyond a halfhearted sprint. 

Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair and whipped her backward, tossing her to the ground. She hit the concrete with a gut-wrenching crash that sent a shockwave of numbness down her spine. Her head bounced off the stone and she swallowed a scream. 

“Wow.” Dean stood over her, looking down with a narrow, curious gaze. “You really look like shit.”

Blood pooled on her tongue and Y/N rolled onto her side to spit it out. “Me?” She laughed, pained but brave. “You should see yourself. The Hellfire’s not doin’ you any favors.” 

A wide grin broke out across his freckled face and the demon ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on,” he teased with a wink. “I make this look good.”

The walls were spinning and Y/N was sure her time was up. She grit her teeth and pushed up with her hands, ready to spin and run if she could. “Hey, Dean? Fuck you.”

His grin morphed into a sneer. “Been there. Done that. Not lookin’ for a replay.”  

“Yeah,” she agreed, rolling onto her hands and knees. “It wasn’t that great for me either.” 

Irked by her nerve, Dean lunged for her but Y/N had other plans. His fingers curled around her shoulder, and as he jerked her back, she pulled the blade from her hip pocket and swung, burying it deep between his ribs. Dean lurched back, teeth clenched with a roar. 

“You bitch!” 

The blessed silver burned his flesh but he pulled it free and the skin closed easily. 

It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave her time to get away. 

Offices sat at the back of the building, their doors promising a moment’s reprieve. Y/N tried door after door in a panic, but each was locked. When she heard Dean’s approach, she gave up and slipped around a corner, doing her best to keep quiet as she pulled another trick from her pocket.  

Dean grabbed her before she could get far, his nails breaking the skin on her left forearm as he hauled her back into the open. She spun to face him and spit a mouthful of holy water into his eyes. The water soaked into his demonic skin and burned him deeply. Steam rose from his cheeks, singed his lashes, and pulled a terrifying cry from his burning lips. 

“Keep running!” he dared, doubled over as the flesh on his brow healed. “I’m enjoying this!” 

Back into the night, Y/N ran from the building and down a long wooden pier. The derelict packing plant was situated on the edge of the Atlantic, with slips for fishing vessels still seated in the cold water. The gray ocean slapped at the aged wooden posts and the spray mixed with the rain, chilling Y/N to the core. 

Hopping over broken planks and discarded hunks of metal, nets, and empty bottles, Y/N ran until there was no place left to run. The pier ended in a steep drop off with nothing below but the sea, and Y/N finally lost faith.

The pain was too much, the path too broken and pointless. 

Looking out at the horizon, she prayed one last time. Not for herself, but for Him. She prayed that Castiel would return from wherever the hell he’d been blasted off to. She prayed that Sam would wake up and fight. She prayed that Hell would spit Dean out and Heaven would take him back. 

She heard his footsteps; felt the danger on the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” she whispered. 

He sighed. “You’re right. I don’t have to…” 

A tiny spark of hope burned in her chest and Y/N turned around with a small smile percolating on her lips.

“But I want to.” 

The First Blade cut through her like she was nothing. Dean pressed the bone deep into her stomach and lifted his arm, dragging Y/N up off of her feet. Her body tensed and then went limp, her eyes wide with shock, her lips parted with a dying breath. 

“Dean…” 

He caught her against his chest and cradled her head on his shoulder. 

“Sorry, kid. I can’t leave loose ends…”

He kissed her forehead and then pulled back quickly. Her body fell at his feet and he wiped the blade on his jeans, smearing the last of her blood on his thigh. 

Rain fell freely, washing the blood away and pooling it like a halo around her body.

Her phone rang, but the sound did not wake her. 

Sam’s name flashed over the screen.

‘Y/N I’m so sorry. Stay away from him. He got away. We tried to save him but he got free. Please. If you see Dean-

Stay Away.’

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