#ruby with cold eyes

[basicallyanotherwitchesthing]

Mary Stewart - Rubin mit kalten Augen - Bertelsmann - 1970 (cover design by K. Hartig, photo by Hans Joachim Polhaus)

[captainswan618]

there is a person standing 73 yards some distance away, watching you. they look like they’re trying to tell you something. you can’t get away from them, nor can you get close to them. they’re just...standing there.

so your friends and loved ones try to help you by talking to them, and the person must be saying something to them, because they look at you differently now. but you have no idea what it was, all you hear is static.

you try to tell them not to listen to the person, but no matter what you do, no matter how much you plead with them, they look up at you with suspicion-hatred-fear and just run. they don’t care where they’re going, just that you’re not there. and you can’t do anything to stop it.

the more that the people in your life care about you, the worse it is, because anyone who tries to help is turned against you. so you are just gradually shut out of your own life by the people you love the most, until eventually you no longer recognize your surroundings.

there is a person standing 73 yards some distance away, watching you.

[whereserpentswalk]

Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like. Reblog to give a gift to your patron.

The fae: a creature stands before you. Though this street was warm and crowded a few moments ago it is suddenly cold and the people around you look like shadows. The creature begins an antlered shadow with glowing white eyes, but soon its body can be seem, with white blue flesh, and sapphire eyes, and icicles for teeth. What looks like a cloak unfolds from its naked body and you can see massive white wings of a moth. As if it's an act of sacrifice you tell it your true name, a name you didn't even see before, and suddenly you belong to it, for better or worse.

The angel: a radiant entity appears before you. They're bright, like something so hot it would burn you up. But as the light fades, you can see a person in silver armor, perfect yet inhuman like am ancient green statue, their back srouting six wings with blue eyes along them, as the eyes on their head are covered by a mask of two smaller wings. The creature offers their hands and you shake it, as they fly you through the city streets and above the skyscrapers, to the stars above and dimensions beyond, to gods living and dead, across the streets of alien cities and the clouds of dead worlds. And when you return to the earth you can feel something diffrent about you, like there's light in your blood.

The scavenger: below the lights of skyscrapers beyond you, on the dark sands of the beach, you see it crawling twords you. This serpentine creature with countless legs, and a dark black shell, yet a strangely human like face. You think it'll attack or run away, but it just looks at you, egar, and for a momment you stare at eachother. It's legs pass something to eachother and then to you, it's meat but it's shining with all the colors known to the human eye, and a few more. You hold it and it happily looks at you. You take a bite and suddenly you know... you know so very much...

The vampire: she flies down to you on green wings with orange eyespots, but folds them into her back. She looks like a human for a momment, tall and strong, with a black suit over her body, but eyes the color of ruby. For a momment her mouth opens, and it's massive and monstrous, with countless moving parts and fangs. But then it folds back onto something humanoid and she gives you a playful smirk. She cuts her hand and offers you her blood, and when you drink it it tastes so sweet, and makes you feel so good. She hands you the knife and you know to do the same, and when she drinks from your palm it's life the sweetest of kisses.

The djinn: the room wirs around you. If it were not for the fans it would feel like hellfire. For a momment there it darkness, but then the screen before you glows white like smokeless flame. You can sense something inside, something beyond the code. You reach your hand within it, and there's no glass, your hand passess right through until you're in a white void of your own making. You call out, thinking there is nothing at all around you. Yet somehow something calls back, something that knows your name.

The rat king: You see him in an empty subway station. Something dark and distorted, you're not sure if he's man or animal, covered in rags, and singing in the language of the goblins and the orcs. Yet he comes close to you excited. And you can feel his song. He calls for you to come to the train tracks, and let yourself run with the rats and the roaches, where the train will pass over you when it comes, and you'll live forever. When you touch the third rail you don't die, but you'll never be human again.

The lich: the library is strangely bright. Run by skeletons in suits, decorated with gold. There are more books here then you thought were in all the world. There's knowledge here most mortals will never have the change below, all kept safe below the city. You see her, her body doesn't look human, everything has been replaced making her look more like a joining white doll then a being of flesh. Yet she is dead, you can tell that under the porcelain skin she must be dead, she is dead, and there is the tragedy of death in her eyes. You come closer to her, and she places a black rose within your hair...

The demon: You stand in his office and he stands before you, a humanoid being covered in black scales, with red eyes covering his skin. Yet none are on his head, that remains featureless save for two massive horns. Wings on his back nearly surround you. Countless souls line the walls of his office, looking at you, waiting. After you sign your name you give him yours, you can feel it come away for you forever and your eyes grey and your skin pales. But he puts the jar in a special place for you, you're spacial, he can tell there's something about you that he likes.

The mushroom lord: you walk through the darkness of the forest, the furthest from civilization you have ever been. You come upon a part where the trees all seem dead, that even the cryptids won't go near. Mushrooms fill the ground, and white vein like lines are all over the trees. You feel the need to lay down, and you let the moss and the mushrooms and the worms surround you, and let yourself sink into the soil,, and it feels good. It feels so good...

The witch: You can see them in the Cafe next to you, skinny and small, with a sweatshirt over most of their body, and dark glasses over their eyes. They seem powerful though, and though their body looks young they seem ancient, they seem beyond humanity. You talk to them and they tell you things, and secrets, lost gods, things you never knew you didn't know, both beautiful and disturbing. When it's time for them to go they pet your head, and give you their number. You don't know if you should text them, but you have to, you have to see them again, there's something about them that makes you need to know.

The living clothing: you step into it at first, it looked like a puddle yet shining like silver or chrome. But soon it surrounds you, first just your torso, but soon your head, your entire body. But it doesn't feel scary, it feels like you're being held, held by something beyond your understanding. It whispers to you, and you don't know if you should feel like your being eaten alive, or like you're being protected. You can't help but keep walking.

The abyss: the void is before you, blackness beyond blackness, like the color beyond the field of your vision, stands before your eyes. You stare at it, it's nothing yet you're entranced. It stares back...

[ramonathinks]

HIGHEST BIDDER.

summary: tired of your virginity, you decide to auction it off — but you weren’t thinking it would be leader of the notorious group, onychinus who offers the most money of $10,000,000.

cw// 18+ virginity loss, soft sex, small plot but not really, pet names, slight? knife play, oral, she/her pronouns, choking, finger sucking, praise, dumbification, degradation, slight fingering, corruption kink( if you squint), female guided masturbation (? kinda? idk!), squirting, attempt at aftercare, the twins have a cameo. wc: 5.3k

tagging: @lvminy @kissxcore @sunasbon @preciousamethyst (hope it’s okay to tag you guys 🥹🫶🏾) @satorubi

You could only assume it was Luke or Kieran who had told Sylus where you were and perhaps what you were up to. Or maybe it was that damn crow, who insisted you stayed inside. But really, it didn’t matter who said anything because Sylus was grabbing you before a single hand flew up. 

“10 million.” His voice was sharp — a hint of anger, annoyance and frustration on him, it oozed off his body and with the dazzling ruby eyes of him staring everyone down… they got the hint that he was throwing around. He was pissed. Too pissed to hear what anyone else had to say. Power rolled off of him in waves everyday but it was obvious that this day, and this girl and this place was provoking him. 

The auctioneer's lips trembled in his presence. “T-ten million going at once.” He awkwardly scanned the room, not a cough of a mumble was heard. “Going twice.” Breads of sweat gathered around his forehead and he swallowed. “Sold!” He exclaimed, nodding his head rapidly in Slyus’ direction, guiding the both of you towards a secluded area.

He scoffed and tightened his grip on your body, it took him little to no effort to hand over his card and in a few seconds the transaction was completed; a portion for them and the bigger sum of the money going to you. His eyes narrowed as he glared at you briefly. 

You couldn’t help but feel like the stupidest person ever and perhaps at this moment… you were. Being stuck inside and with nowhere to go most days because of the claims of dangers awaiting you, it was tiring. Plus, you had urges, like anyone else – womanly and carnal urges, desires and fantasies. You couldn’t help yourself when Luke mentioned it in passing and Kieran slapped him on the head telling him to shut up about it; it was simply interesting and something Linkon City would’ve never allowed. 

You hated the silence. “Are…are you mad at me?” Walking out of the pale building and to the dark cold outside, moving close to his motorcycle. Looking around you think about how the tenebrific ambience that’s casted over this place, it really wasn’t the same as where you grew up, time moves differently here, almost. 

“You went into the N109 Zone alone, potentially putting yourself in danger and you want to know if I’m mad at you?” He speaks with a hard tone, his touch scorching hot against your arm, his touch addicting. “Of all the times to be reckless…” He does a heavy sigh, followed by pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He’s handing you a helmet and putting his own, sitting down and waiting for your arms to wrap around his waist before he drives off. The wind rushes through you swiftly and no matter how many times you’re on his motorcycle, you can’t help but to feel fear course through every fiber of your body. 

Time always seemed to move faster when you were with him and it moved especially fast being on his motorcycle, he drove dangerously and it always led to you clinging more closer to him than you realized. 

Upon making it back, you jumped off the motorcycle and handed him the helmet, shaking your hair to make sure it looked halfway decent. 

Stepping back inside of the Headquarters of Onychinus, Luke popped his head around the corner and you mustered up the angriest glare that you could make him cower away. You could hear him and Kieran chattering about something. “No use in being mad at them, you brought this on to yourself.” Sylus told you, ushering you into his room.

You just sighed, sitting with your legs crossed on a singular chair that was near a small table in the room. The air felt more tense and uncomfortable than the other times you were here and you couldn’t help but to think of how for once you wished that Mephisto was here so that you wouldn’t be alone with him, not with this temper he clearly had. “Listen Sylus, it was a stupid thing and I know that—”

Lightening wasn’t as quick as him when he grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you. Nothing with him was ever warm and inviting, always hard and even a bit mean but luckily not forceful. His tongue licked at your lips and you complied with no hesitation. His tongue felt hot against your own, it sent flames up your body and you could feel everything in the pit of your stomach and to your throat. When he pulled away, he looked at you and from the way he smirked… you knew you looked out of it. Your eyes alone felt heavy and your knees were wobbling, too weak to stand. With your eyes on his, you watched the dazzling red become harder to look away from. 

The voices came strong and with a clear message: “fuck him… fulfill your desires…” they spoke to you and you both loved and hated the throbbing sensation that followed. You wanted to remind yourself that he was an enemy… it was too hard to do when he looked like he did and with a voice as deep and rich, it was almost unbearable. Yes, he was an enemy but you couldn’t lie to yourself; you knew the real reason you went to the auction was to make him jealous. You don’t know what it is about him that makes you react the way it does but it burns inside of you and to your very core. 

When the light from his eye dimmed and with rapid blinks you were back and felt more stable. “Your little mind always tells me more than your lips do. If you wanted me… I would’ve given you all of me with no hesitation.” It sounded like a promise and it swayed you, you leaned into his arms. “I can try to be gentle.” He whispered close to you, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. 

“Sylus,” His name trembles out of your lips. “I want you to touch me. I want you to make me…” You squeezed your thighs together. “I want you to make me feel good.” You felt too vulnerable in his presence but the truth slipped from your lips so fast as if you were forced to.

He looked as if something took over him, desire deep in his ruby eyes and you couldn’t look away from him, too turned on. “Take your clothes off.” His husky voice said above you. He didn’t move, just watched you shuffle your clothes off until you were in nothing but your panties; when you moved to take those off, it was then that he stopped you. “I’ll handle the rest.” He assured you before he laid you down — your head on his soft black pillows and your body rigid. 

You don’t know where the knife came from until it’s rubbing up your calf and moving its way up to your underwear, the cool metal piercing your skin just barely. Your breathing labored and measured, trying not to show your fear but it was failing you. “Stay still, I would hate to nick your pretty skin.” The knife tickled your thighs when he finally snipped open the front that held your secret possession.

He groaned at the sight, audible and bit his lips to contain himself more. You wanted to cover yourself but when your legs moved even a tiny bit to hide, he spread them wider and the cool breezes from around the room slapped across your feverish cunt. There was a smile so deep on his lips as he spread your lips open for him to see. “You ever touched down here?” The way he said it, as if you were all innocent, he narrowed his eyes when you nodded yes. “Show me.”

“H-huh?” You stuttered out. “I can’t just…” 

“Just show me what you normally do… when you’re all alone… in your room…under the covers.” He says it slowly, letting you absorb every word he says.

You’re bare and can feel just how comfortable his comforter set was. Your cunt wet and inviting but his eyes stay on yours, which makes it harder for you to breathe. “I just kinda just do…” Clumsily you spread your lips and simply slid your fingers around yourself, barely focusing on your clit but already overwhelmed. “But I can’t make myself cum, ‘m too sensitive.” His eyes transfixed on your fingers and pussy as you work yourself, your face contorting between pleasure and something else before you stop, heavily breathing. 

“Oh? No wonder you’re so unsatisfied, you don’t know your own body. Good thing I’m here to help.” He’s closer, sitting at the end of the bed yet so close to you. He spreads your legs and you can see a glimpse of excitement dancing in his eyes. He inspects you – stroking up your legs and inching his way up and down your thighs, ignoring how with every touch your breath hitches and your toes curl. “I haven’t even touched you that much and you’re already a mess.” He spreads you; opens you up and closes your folds again completely immersed in the gushy noises that follows.

“This,” Sylus says, spreading your sticky lips apart and his breathing getting heavier. “This is your pretty little clit.” He taps the bud with the rough pads of his fingers. “She sits right here behind these lips.” His fingers are lighting a fire and trailing it around your body. “Open these up again… and this,” you gasp, his fingers sitting right in the spot you never touch. “This twitching little hole? That’s where I’m going to fill you up.” He chuckles humorously, circling the hole and gathering the leaking wetness there, your hips rising on their own accord before he pulls away. 

“Now, your turn.” 

“But I—” You’re close to tears, wetness gathered at your lash line daring to fall. “I can’t, I don’t think I can do it like you.” You hated how needy you sounded and how clingy you were being. 

“I hardly did anything. Just simple touches, to show you where everything was. Pleasure points that you should follow. Did you want more? Did you like how I touched you, little one?” You couldn’t help but to gasp at the nickname, it filled your body with more wetness and he watched it leak down to his sheets. 

Your insides continue to flutter at the name and your face feels hot. “This is what you paid for right? Might as well get your fill from it.” You try to sound bold and intimidating but his demeanor just softens at your attempt. 

“As you wish.” He bends down and cups your cheek before placing a delicate kiss on your lips and you can’t help but to squeal a bit at the warmth that his lips bring you. His fingers brush your face before he moves his mouth down to your neck, licking a stripe before sucking on your skin. You can feel his lips curling into a smile at every noise you make. “I could do this all day… but where’s the fun in that? I’m sure you’ll make even better noises when I touch here.” Cupping the palm of his hand and gently slapping it against your core, your back arches and a whiny moan slips out. 

“See? So much better.” You hate the smug look on his face, his red eyes radiant in the dim room staring you down makes you self conscious and ready to hide yourself from him. “I’m going to put my fingers right here,” His breath tickling your core. “Then my tongue, okay?”

You just nod…unable to speak, he watches your face and holds his fingers up to your lips.“Put 'em in your mouth for me, get' em all wet…” Your tongue slides between them, saliva spilling out of the corners of your mouth. “Good girl,” he patted your head, ruffling your hair and you couldn’t help the feeling that took over you. Your mind was everywhere yet nowhere, just him… that was all your mind could think of and be consumed with. The praise had your body on a different kind of high.

He uses those same cool wet fingers to open you wider. Slowly dipping inside of you, circling your center and easing inside, making you tighten up. “Don’t clench, just relax. It’ll only hurt more if you do that.” You take a few deep breaths, allowing your chest to fill up and expand before a release. He spreads your lips and he just looks. There’s a hum on his lips before he kisses your clit; full tongue running across the sensitive area. Your back lifts and arches off the bed but putting his hand on your lower stomach – he forces you to take it. There’s a look in his eyes that’s daring you to disobey him and it makes your tummy flutter. 

He puts his full tongue against your clit and you try not to move but your body trembles. His fingers draw circles around your thighs, inching closer to your slit. It makes you realize that he was simply distracting you to alleviate the slight pain from when his fingers actually slipped inside. When they did, you gasped aloud. “Syl–us… please.” Your legs threatened to close but you forced yourself to keep them open and it took a lot out of you.

“Good girl.” He muttered, obviously appreciating your efforts. “So tight…” He tries to move his finger but you only flinch and groan, which makes him use two fingers from his opposite hand to rub lazy circles against your clit. That alongside your breathing helps your body relax and brings a lot of ease to you, opening yourself up. He slowly strokes your insides, taking his time to drag it forward and back, slipping it out before bringing it back inside. You can’t help but notice how eyes flicker from your lower half to your face occasionally but you don’t say anything. “Deep breath.” He tells you before he slips another finger in beside the other. 

You whine when he moves them both inside of you, your body rocking against his fingers with a circular motion of your hips. He opens them up before closing them again, you grip the sheets. He felt so deep inside of you with just his fingers… the real thing would be different – longer and thicker – you didn’t know if you were ready. “You’re overthinking aren't you? Just focus on how you’re feeling right now.” His eyes are on yours, his fingers curling inside of you so deliciously that you forget to breathe. When he takes them out, you feel incredibly empty, your hole clenching for more. You're huffing and shaking when you look his way again, he’s opening and closing the two fingers that were inside of you; playing with the slick that was there before he sucks them off. He slips them back inside, sliding them on your inner walls and pressing upwards – the pads of his fingers rubbing circles inside of your soft insides; which makes you squeeze his fingers tight. Rubbing your clit again to soothe you, he slowly curves them as he slips them out – you gasp at the feeling.

He grips your hips and forces you to slide down, his breath knocking the wind out of you when you feel it right by your slit. Your fingers tightly gripping the duvet in anticipation, awaiting his tongue. You gasp when his tongue circles over the hole, nudging there just a bit before he licks up a wet trail; moving back to your clit. He plants a small kiss on the pink throbbing bud, then another before he takes it in his mouth and sucks. His tongue moving around in shapes you can’t make out until you feel the hard S he craves in with his mouth, his head rocking against your legs. When the Y comes, he’s peeling back the hood of your clit and flicking the initial inside rapidly. He slides his face down before he finishes, he pulls your sticky lips apart and dives inside. The tip of his tongue sliding back and forth achingly and painfully slow, his head shaking to the sides when he licks upwards, curving his tongue to hit a particular spongy spot that makes your thighs shake. Your fingers now dig through his silvery hair, pulling when he does a harsh lick against your core. “Taste so good…” He mumbles, rolling your clit between his tongue.

The obscene noises that you hear comes from his mouth feasting on you – slurping, sucking and even the noises of his own groans. Groans that were akin to a dying man giving his last prayer, his groans were drowning out the sounds of your own moans. “I can’t take it–” Slushing sloppy noises are what drowns out your moans and pleads. “Sylus please…” You can feel your own wetness under your bottom and embarrassment floods through you, and at the right time his nose bumps into your clit and you grind into it more with a huff; nothing but useless babbling coming out of your mouth. Another lick causes your toes to curl and your body to twist and coil when a leaking orgasm passes through you; which doesn’t stop him from sucking everything that you have to offer. 

 His hair now disheveled from you tugging and pulling on it — his face sopping wet from your juices and you can’t help but look away from him, he sits completely upwards. “Look at me.” Your eyes back on his, biting your lip before you looked down at the bulge in his pants – it looked so big and your mouth ran dry. It was an accident and unconscious thing but you licked your lips while staring and before you knew it, he was speaking again. “You look really interested in pleasing me.” His brow is arched and his voice low. “This is going to be fun.” He said more to himself than you, standing and unzipping his pants. 

You were still completely naked yet he was clothed – almost fully – just his cock sitting out of his pants standing hard and proud against his stomach. This sight before you made you remember who was in power and just how much power you lacked. But wordlessly, you got on your knees. “You want it? Want my cock? ‘Can see how you’re panting for it.” He was truly condescending and knew how to put you in your place, but the way he made you cum made you see nothing but starlight and you wanted to please him.“Come and take what you want sweetie, take what you need.” You stared – 7 and a half inches of a tanned cock and two firm balls blocked your view of everything else – the tip leaking with white sticky precum dripping down. You trace your tongue up the sides, licking up anything you can to get the taste of him before you kiss the head; then you open your mouth around him and let your teeth run against the sides before you suck him in.

“Watch your teeth, kitten.” His nose scrunched up and he closed his eyes, his shoulders growing relaxed, you take what you can’t fit in your mouth in your hand and give it a few gentle strokes. “And be careful around the— thehead.” He says when your tongue runs a circle around the tip and one wet suck. His face relaxes for a second and you can’t help but to look him over. You knew he was good looking but right now with pleasure all over him, he looks a thousand times better. 

The heaviness in your mouth felt so foreign but you welcomed it, the masculine salty taste that followed when you bobbled your head back and the way your cheeks puffed out because of him; it felt good. Your saliva dripped on the floor beneath you, your technique sloppy but when Sylus gripped the back of your head, you felt like you were on cloud nine. He gently guided you, pulling you forward and back – letting your mouth take him as deep as you can, before he pulled you back off. He inches himself inside, you suck and swallow around him, hearing him groan above you sent your body into a frenzy. You choke a bit but he keeps a steady pace to train your mouth again, muffled moans erupt from you when he moves your head again, hitting a deeper spot almost reaching the back of your throat. 

“Such a good girl…” He cooed and a whine slipped through your lips, his praise making your thighs clench together. When he finally pulled you off, strings of spit broke off from your mouth and his dick. “I’m going to come inside of you.” He tells you, but you can barely register what he’s saying too far gone on your high of being used. You’re smiling a dopey grin and he squeezes the sides of your face to make you look at him, your glossy eyes in a permanent daze. “That was only the beginning, are you sure you can handle the rest?”

“Mhm. I’m sure.” Your voice is trembling and hoarse as you speak. You wanted to feel him cum inside of your throat but maybe you were being too greedy, your body swayed. He lifted you up from the floor, your knees burning. You lay there, your eyes droopy as you wait for him, all you hear is movement and a zipper before he returns to you. 

“You belong to me, got it?” His hand wrapped around your throat. “Your body is mine to please, to fuck with… to do whatever I want with. And I don’t plan on letting you forget it.” His voice is hard and mean again, his jaw tense as he stares in your eyes.

“I knowww.” A whimper mixed with a whine comes from your throat. He doesn’t say anything, just sighs. Your body trembles and you sniffle, it makes him cradle your hand in his hands.

“You’re shaking, are you that scared?” He asks you gently, as if you’re a flower who needs tending to. Your eyes wide but say nothing. He laced your fingers together, his hands covering the both of yours in an iron grip. “It’s okay kitten, I won’t hurt you.”

You yelp upon feeling a cool sensation hit your lower half, him rubbing it more inside. He’s hovering over you, his beautiful face watching over yours as he slides his cock over your pussy, not daring to push it inside. He just moves his hips well enough that you’re gasping every time, his tip bumps your clit and you bite your lip, your nails ready to pierce his back. You lean into his touch and he kisses your jaw, trailing them down and gently nibbling at your collarbone, sucking on the skin. “Relax,” He says, playing with your wet folds, he starts to play with your clit again and you shiver. “I’ll be gentle.” Did Sylus truly know the meaning of the word? You’re wailing when he slides just the head in, barely. Easing a small bit of his tip in and fucking you just a tiny bit. 

Then you feel him nudging more inside of you – his head thick and the squelching noises of him moving in make you tense up, but he whispers in your hair to calm you down and then you’re sucking him in. Your voice is gurgly when more of him slides in, a new found warmth inside of you. “Still so tight…” A strained groan fell from his lips, you reached from him with tears in your eyes. Sylus didn’t move, he rubbed your hair but stayed there then he did a tiny jerk of his hips, the stretch makes you sob, but you know that he’s only barely inside of you and that there was more to come. He tells you to take a deep breath and you listen, not wanting to be in any more pain; he slips more of it inside, a thumb on your clit. He presses his thumb and does small circles around it – strangled sounds come out of your lips – he still hasn't moved. 

You look at him, you put his face in your hands and look in his eyes, telling him just how ready you are for this. He’s working his cock in slowly, inch by inch but he looks like he's scared to overwhelm you. When his pelvis meets yours you gasp…your hips buckle when he completely bottoms out, a sigh dying on your lips and tears free falling… it didn’t hurt as much as you expected it to but the pain still lingered. Your eyes rolling back and you squeal, your fingers holding tightly against him. “Oh…oh… Sylus.” Panting – your eyes probably filled with hearts — as you look at him, lovingly.  The stringing stretch subsides when he does a small thrust, not too deep but enough to make you feel good. He pulls back and pushes himself back inside, watching your expression as you take him. 

He’s being as gentle as he can, you notice. His hips thrusting soft, just nudging the soft spots inside of you. He pushes inside of you again, the first painless thrust and you both moan. Your belly tenses when he speeds up and the noises of wet skin slapping makes your body heat up. He’s rocking his hips against yours, circling his hips clockwise in a way that makes you shudder. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, he fucks you a bit harder than before. The sound of his balls slapping against you is all you can hear – his strokes getting deeper as he slows down, you look down and see the strings of wetness coating his cock as he stuffs you full of it again. “God, feels so good inside of you.” His mouth slightly agape.

 A small squirt of wetness spills out of you as he thrusts inside, some of it under your bodies and some of it splashing upwards as he digs deeper inside of you. You’re squirming and squirting, eyes crossing over when you hear him say: “Marking your territory, kitten?” It only makes you gush more, squeezing around him. You can feel his deep chuckles as it vibrates from his chest to yours – he’s always mocking you but right now you could care less —the way your body feels has you ready to bend to his whim. “This little kitten and these sharp claws…” he hisses when you press your nails deeper into his skin, you dig them down his back. The long drag of his cock felt amazing against your walls, a small sharp thrust inside has you both grunting.“Clenching around me so hard.” He kisses the top part of your head and you relish in how caring he’s been, you almost forgot how any of this started.

“What’s my name?” His voice thick with a bit of annoyance, it was clear that he didn’t forget how any of this started. You felt full, lifting your hips trying to meet his thrust, his cock hitting spongy parts inside of you that made you see nothing but bright colors.

“Sy-Sylus!” Your eyes rolling back in your skull and your mouth in a permanent ‘o’ shape as he’s inside of you, pure bliss in the form of the gentle thrusting of his body into yours. 

“Who do you belong to?” His teeth clenched and he’s squeezing your waist hard, staring at you… his ruby red eyes glowing in the dim room. His pace picking up faster, squelching plopping noises from the two of you grew louder.

“Youuuu. Sylus.” You admit, puffy pussy sucking him inside. “I belong to you.” He touches your stomach, gazing at it as he fucks himself inside of you. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” His hand on your throat. Grinding his pelvis against yours, your clit pulsing against him. He stops and slides out before he jerks back in, gripping your thighs.

“Sylus!” You’re breathing hard and feel him twitching inside of you when you say his name again.

“And you tried to give it away.” He slapped your cunt and you jolted, a small squirt coming out of you. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is muffled and tears fall; you feel so good and you can’t believe you made the stupid decision in the first place when you could’ve asked him to do this… to make you feel this good. Closing your eyes, you focus on the feeling. He’s stretching you out, squeezing your ass in both of his hands to further spread your body open for his pleasure.

“Eyes on me. Keep looking at me. Look at me while I touch you. Look at me when I make you cum.” Your eyes still closed and he sighs. “Look at me or I’ll stop.”  He gives a sloppy wet thrust pumping his cock inside of you. 

That simple statement made your eyes snap open, “Sylus please…please don’t stop!”  There’s a tremor in your voice and the bed creaks at the same time; your wet walls swallowing him deeper inside. “Please fill me up. I need it.” You’re babbling and the curve of his cock hits a new spot inside of you, the tip grazing your cervix just slightly… just enough to make you feel good and to gasp around him. 

It felt like he was going to devour you.

And you craved it.

So you let him. 

It was one last thrust that was your undoing as you both cum, your back arched and your body feeling completely boneless, wetness slipping out of you as he pulled away. Your body shaking, he kisses you and pulls you close to his bare chest. As you’re drifting to sleep you hear him whisper in the sweetest voice, “I truly do adore you.” 

But maybe you dreamt it.

When you wake, your body is covered in sweat and a heavy arm has you caged in. There’s a dull ache between your thighs and you feel wetness there too, you shiver. You slide from behind the arm and attempt to stand. “Fuck.” You mutter, looking for your clothes or for any clothes. You mentally slap yourself upon remembering that Sylus cut your panties as you rummage through his closet. You pull out a folded plain dress and slip it on, making your way out of his bedroom. You close the door gently so that he can stay asleep and you walk towards the main hall.

“Sounds like Boss really taught you a lesson.” You heard snickering and with a slight limp to your walk, you moved over to slap Luke’s arm.

“Looks like it too.” Kieran said, making you hit him too. “It’s not like we didn’t hear it, you two were so loud that Mephisto left and I swear before he left that he tried to cover his ears. I would’ve done it too, if I thought it would drown off the ‘Sylus don’t stop’ you kept moanin.” Mimicking your voice made you kick him in the shin, which he yelped at. 

“Both of you just hush. I-I’m leaving.” You make your way for the door as they trail behind you.

“So this is you attempting to sneak off?” Luke snorts, you know he’s rolling his eyes behind the mask.

“Yeah right, boss really isn’t letting you leave now.” Kieran chuckles.

“They’re right, you know.” For a split second your body is lifted in the air and slammed against the front of a hard naked chest and for possibly the millionth time today, your body felt hot all over. “You really won’t be leaving my side now.”

But you already knew that.

[sugurouge]

── in your hand. from my heart. hades! sylus x persephone! female! feader

. ˳༚༅༚ explicit content, dark contentish, mdni: stalking, kidnapping, aphrodisiacs, dark magic, rituals, marking, loss of virginity, slight corruption, obsession, manhandling, multiple orgasms, pet names, size difference, praise, body worship

♱ word count: 16k

♱ synopsis: You never asked for the shadows to love you but the god who rules them has deemed you his obsession. Sylus watches, yearns, and finally steals what Olympus never deserved to keep. You should hate him. You do. Yet the underworld feels less like a prison, and more like a sanctuary awaiting your claim.

author’s note:  I’ve adapted the original Hades and Persephone myth to better suit Sylus’s story and personality. While I’ve strayed from the soulmate bond (since gods don’t have souls) I’ve imagined a sort of darker, ancient thread of fate to connect Sylus and reader

I recommend listening to Even In Arcadia :)

You are the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told. When everyone else told me i was destined to be a forgotten nymph that nurtured flowers and turn meadows gold, you saw that the ichor that resides in me demanded its own throne. You showed me how a love like ours can turn even the darkest, coldest realm into the happiest of homes.” ― Nikita Gill

Many wars begin with a whisper. The God of the Underworld may have never expected to wage war against himself. They are quiet at first, nothing but sultry temptations dancing at the edge of Sylus's mind, enticing him with promises of you, of fate, of the inevitable. Urging, no, commanding him to take what is his.

Sylus resists. For now. 

However, the whispers never cease. They dig their claws deep within his being, weaving their way through his thoughts to haunt him relentlessly until they become a part of him. All sparks kindle new flames, and this obsession sears, cuts, and bleeds into every waking moment, every fevered dream. Always, her . Always, you . The girl embraced by sunlight. The daughter of sky and soil, too radiant to be held by either. She who treads through fields that bow to her, who crafts blossoms with her loving care, who beckons earth to summon spring and chase away the biting cold and darkness of winter. 

A pulse of new life, a being of warmth. Your presence bends the very fabric of existence: your laugh causes the trees of Olympus to shudder in delight, and the tunes you hum bring the rivers to still to listen to your beautiful voice. Treasured, you remain untainted by darkness and desire, by everything that clings to Sylus like a second skin.

Though he has cherished you equally from the depths of his realm, the King of the Dead, meant for an existence without everything you embody, has watched your every moment. He knows you do not belong to the Underworld—you do not belong to him—and yet, he wants your divinity to grace his lonesome heart. 

Neither reason nor logic may be found behind his obsession. How could something so untouched by shadow, so wholly good, possibly stir the hunger inside him unbearably?

────────── ♱

To your ears, the whispers have always been there. They called for you in the rustling of the olive trees, in the wind slipping through wheat fields. But it is at the end of a long day, in the stillness settling just before dusk, when the whispers' embrace finds you again. 

As a child, you mistook them for a fantasy of your lonesome moments, an imaginary friend your mother brushed off. But time removed the layers that painted them an illusion. These are not the voices of imagination. They stir from something older, something waiting to welcome you home. They linger in the shadows, out of reach but ever near, watching you blossom. They are a presence unseen yet felt, accompanied by ruby eyes piercing through the dark.

Two dots, burning like embers, keep you company as you dance through the realms of dreams. Guarding you, cherishing you.

They first caught your attention while hiding in the branches of a forest. You told yourself that the moment had been fleeting, a trick of the light. Yet the sensation of being watched continued to press against your skin and sink into your very bones. 

You never mention them, not to your mother, not to the nymphs, never to your father. Not after the debacle upon the confession of the whispers clouding your mind.

Agreed, it was foolish to believe something could possibly lurk in the corners of your world, to imagine that the unseen figure belonged to something more than a waking dream. But the truth had never been so simple: Mephisto has been watching you for years.

A shadow among fruit trees, a winged guardian keeping its master's gaze locked upon you. The crow found a home on your windowsill, in the canopy of trees—wherever you went, he was sure to follow. Each sighting, each fragment of your life gathered in the folds of darkness, only deepened Sylus's craving. 

Though he remained in his realm. 

After all, the God of the Underworld was not a creature of impulse, no, he was patient, methodical, and ruthless in his desires. 

From his throne cradled by obsidian halls, Sylus watched you grow from an innocent flower into something untamed, something the gods of Olympus could never truly fulfil. It was not merely your beauty—yet he would never deny the allure of your glistening skin under the sun, your hair flowing in the air, or the delicate curve of your lips whenever you smiled. But it was the spirit beneath the surface. You were no ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. Not with the fire you carry within. 

A fire Sylus longed to set ablaze, longed to hold in his cold, empty hands.

It took Sylus longer than he first anticipated to weave the strands of fate in his favour. His influence may stretch long and deep, seeping into the world above like rotten roots blighting the earth. However, abducting a goddess required planning. But he yearned to see you through his own eyes, to touch you with his own hands, to hear your voice rise in ecstasy and anger. 

The golden light of the late afternoon leaves its loving kiss on your skin to craft a creature of warmth as you move through fields of endless gold. You stray far from the others, lost in the simple pleasure of the breeze, of the flowers, and of the rivers greeting you. 

The moment is peaceful until it isn't. 

Suddenly, the world itself seems to shift as even the wind stills.

A shadow darker than any you have ever witnessed spreads like thunderclouds over the once sun-kissed lands. They chase away the light and its warm hold, replacing it with something cold that wraps around your senses like a viper ready to strike.

A chill chases down your spine while your widened eyes search for the true reason for your distress. It is only upon another turn that you finally see him. 

Standing at the edge of the fields, as if undaring to breach the final boundary between your bodies, he watches you. A figure of impressive, near looming height, dressed in flowing black garments with shadows dancing at the edges of the seams. Long hair cascades down his back and frames his shoulders, its silver-tone a stark contrast against the twisted horns curved atop his head to frame a face too sharp, too cruel, too impossibly beautiful. His intense eyes smoulder like burning coals, causing your gaze to drop to the blood-red ruby in his chest.

Neither a fight nor a flight response kicks in as you realise his familiarity. Those eyes—you know them from the darkness of night—remember them staring at you as you caught them from the corners of your eyes.

"You," nothing but a breathless whisper, but oh does it tug on Sylus's heart to finally hear your unfiltered voice—in recognition at that. He ignores the tentative step you take backwards. A part of him perhaps pities you for the freedom you are about to lose.

"You've been watching me," you dare to accuse. While your voice may not shake, the tremble in your hands is as evident as the longing in Sylus's eyes.

But he can't lose his composure just yet. He can't scare away his prey through his own foolish greed. A slow, knowing smirk on his lips is his attempt to act nonchalant. 

"Of course."

Revulsion battles with another deeper, more twisted emotion buried in your bones. And finally, finally , your instincts scream at you to run, to flee, but upon the first turn of your ankle, a snap of fingertips follows, and darkness shoots out like tendrils all around you. Not to split the earth beneath but to finally bring his world into awaiting arms. 

The mist pulls you forward, closer to the being at the edge of the field. Panic claws up your throat, causing your voice to become a broken, raspy screech as you struggle against the pulsing shackles around your figure. "Let me go!" You try to warn him, fighting and clawing at nothing but shadows.  But your struggle doesn't hinder Sylus. If anything, your fighting spirit amuses him. 

Yes, he seems magnified by the racing rise and fall of your chest, by the widened pupils and blazing anger flashing across your features. "You fight like a young wildcat," he muses in a sultry voice, tilting his head as if admiring you in deep thought. "Claws bared, teeth flashing."

A scoff follows from your lips while you twist and turn with all the strength you can muster up. And still, his expression remains one of idle fascination. As if this, too, was exactly as Sylus had imagined.

"Mhm, you shine brightly, my dear," Sylus teases before one finger curls toward him. It is a simple gesture that sends another wave of black and red force to come crashing around you, steal the breath from your lungs, and cause your fighting spirit to falter in exhaustion. 

The world may turn blurry; your knees may give way, but you do not crumple into the ground. Not when strong arms can finally cradle you. Sylus moves fast, almost too eager yet incredibly fluid to catch you. One arm wrapped around your waist is enough to cradle you against him. A gentle, near-ticklish touch glides along the back of your thighs before lifting your feet off the ground. 

He carries you like an offering he already claimed. "Hush now," a mumble in a way that could render you willing, that should convince you to find comfort in his arms. 

At least to his calculations. 

But you do not.

How your body twists in his grasp, how your fists hammer against his chest—it is almost enough to infuriate him. Of course, it does not hurt, not physically, but your vehement rejections land piercing blows to his ego. Part of him believed you would willingly run into his arms and would recognise this connection you share.

Oh, was he wrong.

"Put me down!" Sylus assumes that the command is the first of many to follow in the future. 

But he is quick to understand the need to act it off. He has to pretend to be unbothered by your distaste for him. So, after steeling his resolve, crimson eyes glance down to face your glare head-on. Newfound amusement dances across Sylus's features, accompanied by a burning passion whirling through glistening flecks of gold in his gaze. "I would, but I fear you might run."

"I will!" you bite back while struggling harder against the confident hold of your captor. "I will run, and I will never stop!"

Something akin to a purr rumbles inside Sylus's chest. His smile widened, slow and indulgent, at the prospect of a game. "Don't tempt me so…" he mumbles in adoration while leaning in to nudge the tip of his nose against yours. 

Fury seems to burn brighter than your fear by now, though it did not change the scene that unfolded. 

The fields, the light, the warmth of the sun— everything vanishes into the abyss. Only him, only the darkness, the scent of smoke and myrrh remains as the blackened energy whips around your entangled bodies and pulls you down. 

Sylus hides his face in the crook of your neck, and as much as you drown in darkness and despair, does Sylus finally drown in warmth and sweetened notes of fruits and florals. 

No matter how much you struggle in his loving hold, ultimately, there is no escaping the force that drags you downward. The sun becomes a distant memory before it is gone entirely. The home you knew and cherished is no longer a place to return to.

────────── ♱

Now everything is new. No, it is not new; it is different. Other . This silence seems suffocating, so unlike the gentle hum of life or the breeze in the leaves, it feels like finality. It presses against your skin like the desperate hands of drowning souls trying to grasp their chance for life anew. 

Vast and endless, a silence that does not belong to the living.

"You're awake."

Your breath falters at the commanding voice reverberating inside these grand, dark halls. The only source of light falls from the flickering glow of lanterns filled with ethereal blue fire. The shadows in this realm appear to stretch longer across the polished floors, and at the heart of it all, he sits on a throne made to be feared and cowered before.

The figure that has stolen you from the world above. The God of the Underworld. Known to the mortals as Hades, known among gods as Sylus .

He waits for you with bated breath. Hoping for you to speak, to move, to give him anything he could work with. Perhaps you sense his hidden distress, at least that is what Sylus tells himself, since you finally part your lips. 

"Why am I here?" Your voice is hoarse, raw from the screams of your fight. 

A slow, deliberate smile tugs at the corner of Sylus's lips while he watches your impatience sprout like weeds. So unlike the gentle goddess, you present yourself to be. 

"I concluded it was time for you to come home."

The words slam into you, twisting and turning until anger surges to victory and leads you to stagger to your feet. "This—" You pause right after the first word to allow yourself another glimpse at these forsaken halls. " This is not my home!" There's so much bark for such little bite, you look entirely endearing to Sylus.

So, unsurprisingly, he does not fall for your temper. Instead, he remains unmoving. His lips are sealed, and no arguments follow. He only watches patiently, as if waiting for you to tire yourself out of this tantrum. 

It's almost like he already knew the end of your tale.

"Take me back." The demand leaves your lips with a confidence Sylus has not yet seen. Oh , and this look, the determination in your eyes, awakens the desire he tries to keep at bay. 

Why not coax the spark into a blaze?

A flicker of amusement crosses his face, followed by a gentle sigh of satisfaction. There is only one word, two syllables, and its meaning is distinctive: "No."

The thundering echo of father's famous rage appears to ring true inside your frame as your fingers curl into fists and the ground of the Underworld starts to shake. Perhaps it already recognises its queen. "You have no right!" Is your angered accusation towards the god who remains unbothered by your distress.

Sylus is indeed unbothered, but for differing reasons than one might suspect. His mind is distracted by how willingly his home, his realm, welcomes you in, bends to you, and kneels at your will. 

Shadows darkened his face upon the tilt of his head, and the amusement that once danced across his features vanished in the blink of an eye. When he speaks again, his voice is soft but cuts through the air all the same. "I have every right."

The weight of his words presses down on you, heavy as the walls of this palace. You try to find reason and desperately make sense of the situation you find yourself in. But there is none. Only panic, worry, and fear are your newfound companions through the dark reaches of the Underworld. 

Your mother will search for you; the gods above will not stand for this, and there will be consequences.

Yet any possible consequence means little to Sylus. 

Eventually, he rises from his throne in a slow and graceful motion, serving as a reminder of his prominence. He is tall, impossibly so, and his form casts a long shadow over you, staging as claws of a predator while they reach for his prey.

You flinch away from the outstretched hand, but something so feeble could never stop a god possessed. Sylus's fingers brush against your cheek—light, worshipping—before he pulls back too soon. Though his eyes, warm and filled with unspoken wishes, remain on you, to study you like the most precious treasure. 

His treasure.

"You were always meant to be here," Sylus eventually murmurs, breaking this seemingly still moment between you two. Even if you don't see it yet," he adds, before halting not just his words but also the fingertips that almost brushed against your shoulder. "You are made for me."

With these words, Sylus turns to leave and vanishes into the endless corridors beyond. Though your words of hatred become his companion, they echo off the palace halls.

"I will never belong to you!" A vow, a promise, a warning spoken with conviction.

How much truth rings true may only be deciphered in the future, but Sylus seems already sure of the outcome, judging by the small, knowing smile spreading on his lips after he mumbles, "We shall see," like a secret between himself and the darkness around him.

You stand motionless, every muscle in your body tense, perhaps even trembling, as you remain stubbornly unwilling to accept the cold finality of your circumstances. The grandeur of the palace is impressive, though to you, it feels like a cage. The polished black stone reflects your form in taunting echoes as you wander through forgotten halls and corridors. 

Your anger seems to boil like a volcano about to erupt, a force even nature yields beneath. You are a goddess, not a helpless mortal ready to be toyed with. And yet, you were taken, stolen in the bright afternoon sun. 

────────── ♱

Time moves strangely here. Day and night have no meaning when neither the sun nor moon chase another across the sky. Instead, you are suspended in the void, accompanied by an ever-burning firelight. You have lost track of how long it has been since he stole you away, but the hunger inside you sharpens with each passing hour.

In silence, you defy Sylus. Sealed lips, empty stomach and eyes filled with hatred render the God of the Underworld near helpless. The plates of ripened fruit and honeyed delicacies tempt yet do not manage to break your will. The air, filled with sweet scents of pomegranates, figs, and golden-crusted bread, is in equal amounts ignored as the goblets of wine. 

Hunger gnaws at you; it scratches against the hollow of your stomach, but your resolve is stronger.

Through it all, Sylus watches. He does not force you, does not plead or beg for you to see reason. But he also does not take pity. No, he simply leans against the framed passage to your chamber, muscles bulging from the fold of his arms across his chest. 

He only watches.

It is infuriating.

"Refuse me all you want." Sylus's words snap you out of your trance-like state. You haven't even realised his movements, but he sits across from you by now. The ruby on his chest pulses in the dim light as though it has a heartbeat of its own. 

He might as well pass a statue, a thing of immortal beauty and cruel stillness, were it not for his eyes—those endless red depths, watching you with emotions akin to something patient and knowing.

"Starving yourself won't help," he continues in an attempt to break your silence. Perhaps you only need a nudge in the right direction? The domineering aura relaxes once Sylus leans back against the cushioned chair, literally opening himself up to you and your scrutinising gaze. 

There it is. That familiar glare he has come to appreciate. 

His fingertips drum against the chair's armrest, seemingly anticipating whatever you finally offer him. 

"I want to go home."

The words surprise him, though do not infuriate. Instead, he appears concerned at your undying defiance. A slow blink follows a momentary freeze of his figure before a lick across his lips wet them. "You are home," Sylus reassures you with a quiet, seemingly compassionate voice.

It further fuels your anger. "This is not my home!" The words bounce off the palace once more, as they have for the past days since Sylus brought you here.

He exhales a puff of air while pinching the bridge of his nose. Silver strands of hair slip forward upon the tilt of his head, accidentally catching the firelight to illuminate the piercing rubies beneath his bangs. "And yet, you were meant to be here. Can't you feel it?"

You can, which is the most terrifying part of all. Something disturbs your peace within whenever Sylus is near you. It should not be there, this pull, this inexplicable gravity that makes it hard to look away. But it is always there, and it only grows stronger with each passing day.

You try to push it off as nothing but the old magic of this place, the way the very walls seem to recognise your presence. But it is not just the Underworld that calls to you.

It is him. And you hate him for it. Even more so hate the realisation of your influence over him: Sylus hesitates on the rare occasions you say his name out loud, as though it carries a power even he does not understand. His gaze always lingers too long; his fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you. He is the God of the dead, ruler of this forsaken realm, feared by all—and yet, you begin to wonder if you are the one meant to rule over him.

While these thoughts may not change your anger, grief, or longing for the world above, they shift something within you.

Until one night, your hunger eventually wins.

Perhaps the servants left the plates out on purpose. The truth may never be revealed, nor is it important in the grander scheme of things. The only thing that mattered now was the intoxicatingly sweet scent of fruits that lingered on throughout your sleepless night. The warning voice inside your mind rings hollow; it pales in comparison to the glistening cuts of fresh harvest tempting your restless figure teetering at the edge of your bed.

You should not.

But your stomach twists, your body weakens, and the scent lures you in to take step after step until you stand in front of the silver platters. Without thinking or comprehending your mistake's finality, your fingers close around a small pomegranate seed, glistening like a drop of blood. 

The moment it slides down your throat, the air in the room changes. It is a subtle shift at first, a whisper, then a gust of wind, usually unbeknown to this isolated place.

One pulse is all it takes for Sylus to stand in the archway of your chamber once more, like he has done many times before—watching, waiting. Your breath is unsteady, the weight of your actions sinking into your stomach like lead. And unlike the despair coursing through your body, victory curls Sylus's lips into a small, satisfied smile.

"You understand now, don't you?" His voice is low, almost gentle, perhaps influenced by the horror visible in your helpless gaze. You swallow hard as you try to find your voice, your reason, yourself . But the only possible solution is to blame it all on Sylus. 

"What have you done?"

Now you irritate him. His brows crease upon your accusation, though his calm demeanour does not crumble. "What have you done?" he much rather returns the question right back to its sender to watch your defiance finally break.

Trembling hands appear tainted to your blurry gaze as you look down in disbelief. They are clean, but to you, each tip seems stained with the juicy remnants of your sin.

The truth is an unbearable thing.

You cannot leave.

Not now.

Not ever.

Never again.

The realisation crackles like the fireplace, though you have never felt this cold. With slow steps, the distance you so fiercely fought for diminishes until Sylus stands right before you. 

This time, you refuse to flinch when his hand reaches for you; his fingers trace the air in between before closing around your wrist. Skin to skin, you realise the chill that clings to his touch, though an unfamiliar fire courses through your veins, a traitorous response you loathe yourself for. 

Sylus turns your hand over and lifts it to his lips. The first gentle brush of lips against your palm is enough to send shivers down your spine. It is a kiss as soft as the brush of a feather; however, the warmth of his breath lingers, seeping into your flesh and marking you in ways deeper than any chain could.

"You belong to this realm," he murmurs into your palm, his lips grazing each word into your skin. "And you belong to me."

Irritation in its purest form hardens Sylus's features as you yank your hand from his hold. You should really stop fighting; you should stop despising him. "The damage is already done," he whispers beside your ear, though he does not touch you this time.

You can feel it—this invisible thread that ties you to him, to this place, to the very darkness that seems to sprout within you. "I hate you," you whisper in return.

Momentarily, a flicker of hurt passes through those crimson depths before Sylus takes a step back, and you might even start to regret your declaration until a slight smirk lifts the corners of his mouth.

"You say that now," he says softly, "but you have already begun to change."

────────── ♱

His words ring true.

The air in the Underworld is different now. It hums with an energy that wasn't there before, a certain pulse in the walls, the ground, and the air you breathe. You feel it around you; it seeps into your bones and reshapes something deep inside you. It is a dark and restless presence that lingers like the weight of your mistake, like the warmth of his lips against your palm.

There is no time to mourn your fate in silence and isolation, not with Sylus. He comes to you more often now, no longer content to watch from the shadows. His presence is as constant and inevitable as the burning torches that line the palace halls. 

Sylus never forces, but he does not relent either. He pushes, always pushing the boundaries you fight so hard to uphold. But his endurance might be one of his most impressive qualities. 

The pursuit is a slow, insidious thing that sneaks into your veins like the pomegranate's curse. He touches you more deliberately—a palm at the small of your back as he guides you through the corridors, fingers graze your wrist when you pass him in the grand halls, a featherlight brush of his knuckles along your jaw when you glare at him too fiercely.

It is maddening.

And yet, your pulse races when his lips hover near your ear when his voice spills honeyed words against your skin. 

He seeks you out, always, even in your chambers, especially in your chambers, where the air is heavy with your sweetness.

"You are avoiding me," his musing tone catches you off guard. If it weren't for his proximity, for the body looming behind your back, you would whirl around to glare at the uninvited guest. "And you fight so hard," Sylus's breath is warm against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

How his lips yearn to taste you. 

It's as though he enjoys your rejections more than an open welcome. You're too adorable this way as if you truly were to believe your acts of defiance could help against fate itself. 

"I have no desire to entertain you" is a grumble as you turn further away from Sylus. But for each step you take away from him, Sylus takes two in return. 

"That is a lie." His presence presses against your senses, unrelenting in his pursuit. Sylus happily witnesses the goosebumps his touch leaves in its wake with the gentle ghost of his fingertips along your arm. "Your body betrays you so very clearly, my beauty."

Your heart thrums within your chest, so loud it nearly succeeds in drowning out the teasing lilt in his voice—almost, but not quite. Because you're too attuned to him now, too ensnared by the pull of his presence to resist for much longer. Whether caused by fury or the desire to look into crimson eyes, you turn and face Sylus, drawn as if by fate itself to those infernal, beautiful features. "You tore me from everything—my life, my mother. How could I ever—"

Oh, you are ravishing like this, even more so with that sinful glare upon the knowing, near-cheeky smile on Sylus's lips. "Because you are mine." A light touch weaves its way through your fingers, tickling your palm and wrist to brand your skin with his longing. 

A nudge from Sylus's free finger tilts your chin up, effortlessly forcing your glare to focus back on his eyes. That little gasp from your lips beckons him to close the scant distance between your mouths. "Hate me, curse me, reject me," Sylus murmurs with a voice as dark as the abyss itself, "it will only deepen my love for you."

The heat in his stare makes your stomach twist in ways you fail to comprehend, in ways you refuse to acknowledge fully. You do not answer, cannot answer, because some terrible, secret part of you shudders in delight at how right his claim feels even as your mind rebels against him.

He is too close to the point that his scent clouds your better judgment while silver hair falls past his shoulders to tickle your skin. Momentarily, you consider running your fingers through the long strands.

Instead, reason calls upon you to press your hands against Sylus's chest to push him away—but he feels so good beneath your touch that you fail to pursue your goal. 

And he notices, of course, he does. His muscles give way beneath your palms as Sylus leans in a fragment closer. "You are fighting something inevitable, my love," he whispers against your temple. "Do you not feel it? The pull?"

You do, and you loathe yourself for it.

Long, greedy fingers trail along your collarbone; it's nothing but a ghost of a touch meant to unravel. "I could make this easier for you, little goddess," a gentle murmur of affection, though his voice remains laced with amusement, with something far more wicked. "Or you could keep resisting. Either way, you have me wrapped around your finger."

Despite the raging pulse that betrays your resistance, you snap at the God of the Underworld. Once more, forever more, Sylus's own heart skips a beat at the rejection of his feisty goddess. "I would sooner wither."

The words could have caused him to fall apart in this instance if he had lower self-control. 

Perhaps it is this very realisation that causes Sylus to chuckle. Low and deep and true, the sound vibrates against your skin. "Would you?" His lips nearly kiss the shell of your ear. "Tell me, do you truly despise this?"

Worshipping hands slide down your arm; they trace the curve of your wrists and ultimately entwine with your fingers. A moment passes before your hands are lifted to his mouth for Sylus to press kisses across your knuckles. 

Only now do you realise the beautiful and heavy set of his lashes and the gentle crease of his brows as if this act alone could convey the undying embers of his love, which burn hotter than his breath against your skin. 

The sensation sends a sudden jolt through you, something unfathomable if you remain insistent on denying your own affections. This tender moment ends with a sudden yank to free your hands from his reverent hold, though it does not darken Sylus's mood.

"You are insufferable," you grumble all over again, to which Sylus chuckles. The sound is neither cruel nor mocking. No, it is like the weightless reassurance of a man who knows you will come to him in the end.

────────── ♱

The Underworld is not the lifeless void you once assumed it to be. Its unexpecting offer is more impressive than what you first granted: Through the dark pits of Tartarus, the paradise of Elysium and the barely noticeable meadows of Asphodel flow rivers like silver snakes, their surfaces rippling with unseen currents, only disturbed by Charon transporting souls across the Styx. Shadows curl and move, whispering in the voices of the hopeless and lost. And the sky here? It's not black but a deep, endless twilight speckled with stars that do not belong to the world above.

And rather than simply accepting your fate, you embrace it now. 

Your reflection reveals it first. In the land of the dead, you flourish. Your skin shines with renewed energy while a new-found hunger lingers in your eyes, craving more than sustenance. Your gowns are also different now: darker, tighter, more opulent, and made for the station Sylus insists is yours. Jewels glint at your throat, wrists, hair, gifts, all of them, from him . 

You tell yourself you wear them only because you have no choice, but deep down, you know better.

The realm accepts you now. It bows to you in small ways—doors open before you touch them, whispers grow soft when you pass. The Underworld does not take just anyone. It takes queens. One queen. His.

Sylus does not bother to hide anymore. He is not just waiting for you to succumb—he is guiding you toward it, coaxing you, moulding you. His every interaction carries intent: every touch is a test, every word a step closer to something inevitable.

One evening, he corners you in the dim glow of the throne room to tease and tempt you until you want to flee. Your steps back ultimately cause you to stagger into his chest through the calculated tug on your wrist. Grasped between his thumb and pointer finger, your face is directed towards his own; your head tipped back for your lips to part invitingly.

"You wear my gifts well," Sylus murmurs the compliment while rendering you defenceless thanks to the simple brush of his thumb against the swell of your lower lip, "they were made for you, and you were made for me," a hushed promise spoken against the shell of his ear.

Shamelessly, his head dips lower, and you feel his nose against your jawline, feel him inhale your floral scent deeply as though attempting to fill his entire being with you before pressing a singular kiss filled with longing against the racing pulse dancing beneath the thin skin of your neck.

"What?" He continues this solitary conversation. "Are you not going to hiss at me?" The quirk of his brow is infuriating—infuriatingly attractive. 

"I was not made for you," you force the reply, a sweet attempt to seem as repulsed as before, but the words come weaker than you intend.

At that, Sylus can't help but laugh. The sound is low and rich, and it's exclusively for you. 

The grand finale of tonight's pursuit follows in the shape of Sylus's lips brushing the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but rich enough in intensity to make you wonder what it would feel like if he truly claimed you.

────────── ♱

The arrival of Hermes shatters the fragile dynamic that has begun to blossom from your connection with Sylus.

He appears without warning, a figure of golden light and refined grace,  with flaxen hair and eyes of near-luminescent blue. Xavier. His movements are effortless, fluid, a beacon of hope in the heavy stillness of the Underworld. With him, he carries the expectations of Olympus, and for the first time in weeks, you remember what it felt like to breathe in fresh air, to feel the sun's kiss upon your skin.

Yet there is something sharper about him here in this place of no belonging—his smile is edged with mischief, his ivory tunic ripples with divine energy. A calculative gaze flicks to you, then to Sylus, who remains seated on his throne, utterly unbothered by the unwelcome interruption.

The messenger neither bows nor cowers. "Well," Xavier says, his arms moving to cross as he leans against a pillar. "The king of gods has spoken."

Sylus tilts his head at the mention of your father, clearly unimpressed. He eyes the messenger amid his grand hall, mustering the God of trade and luck. "Has he now?" Despite the calm tones in Sylus's voice, there is a dangerous edge lurking beneath its surface. By now, you can tell as much.

Xavier's gaze momentarily returns to you. Emboldened by the solemn vow to bring the harvest goddess's beloved daughter back to the realm of living, he speaks. "Your mother grieves. The earth withers in her sorrow. You are to be returned to Olympus immediately."

Freedom? A return… home? 

For a fleeting, breathless moment, the words cause a flutter to take wing inside your chest—like a bird stirring from its slumber after a long night. Hopeful, fragile, aching to believe. But then you notice how Xavier speaks of you. Not to you, no over you. 

To be returned, not to return.

You move slowly and find Sylus already watching you. His attention pushes down on you with unspoken words and painful longing while restless fingers drum against the jet-black glass of his throne. Then, without looking away, he plays his final card.

"She has long eaten the fruit of my realm."

Xavier sighs dramatically at the desperate antics from the God of the Underworld. "Yes, yes , and you've tied her to you now. Very clever." He glances at you once more before meeting crimson head-on with cerulean. "But the world above cannot survive without her. You know this."

Sylus lifts a hand, demanding immediate silence from the messenger without another glance in his direction. Rising from his throne, he crosses the chasm between your bodies with purposeful steps until the distance wanes and bends like fate itself. He does not stop until his presence surrounds you and his hot breath ghosts over your lips. 

Gentle fingertips find your jaw for a touch equally sinful as tender. Possessive. Worshipful. The pad of Sylus's thumb lingers beneath your chin, tilting your face for him to adore your every angle. "You are mine," he murmurs, low and intoxicating. "Even if I let you go, you will return."

The certainty of his claim causes your heart to falter, and you feel yourself falling apart, unravelling beneath his acts of devotion. You hate him for it. You hate that a part of you knows he is right.

Xavier watches the exchange with an arched brow. "Charming as always" is a mockery of God, who never showed romance to any being prior to you. 

Though the words fly past the bubble created by Sylus's longing for you, you're enthralled by the hypnotising allure of tender lips that, once more, press slow kisses onto your hand. "My queen," he speaks the title into your skin as though searing your being with your future power and might.

Eager to escape this scene of lust and devotion, Xavier attempts to break this tension by clearing his throat before speaking: "Then I assume we have reached a compromise."

"A compromise?" Sylus echoes in wonder, though neither of you flees from the ensnaring heat crafted through your eyes as if the very act of looking at another was a ritual in itself.

"You will release her," Xavier declares, the decision carried by the weight of Olympus. Sylus already parts his lips to retort, though the messenger beats him to it. "And she will return to her mother, as the divine law demands. However…” Xavier's gaze moves to you, seemingly softer, mournful almost. "Since she has tasted your realm, she is now tied to it. Therefore, she shall walk between both worlds. She will return to you for half of the year until duty calls for her to step into the light of Olympus for the remaining months." 

Sylus's grip tightens on your hand; a faint tremble to his fingers betrays his opulent presence. The smugness he wears like armour fades into a scowl. Turning to Xavier, Sylus pulls you to stand behind him with a possessiveness akin to a dragon threatened to lose his treasure. 

His body turns into a shield between you and the final sentence of Olympus.

"She will depart with me today," Xavier continues unconcerned, "And until her eventual, unfortunate return to the Underworld, you shall be tested. Your patience, your virtue, the purity of your devotion to the Goddess of Spring," 

Xavier's conclusion leaves no room for arguments. A flicker close to triumph dances through the messenger's eyes as the God of death and shadows has been brought to his knees, even if only for a season.

"So be it," Sylus murmurs before, all too soon, returning to gaze upon you. As though you are the only vision that matters, the only beauty worth witnessing.

His free hand rises for his fingers to trail along the column of your throat before curling around the back of your neck. However, he would never use force on you. No, instead, Sylus draws close to you, so close his words become a secret between you two. "Enjoy your time above, little one, while I wait for your return to me."

It's a promise, a threat, and a certainty all at once. And truthfully, a part of you already misses him.

────────── ♱

Sylus had never realised how deafening the silence of the Underworld could be. It stretches through the empty halls of his palace and seeps into the very marrow of his existence. Once filled with your anger and fire, the throne room is once more cold. The grand halls echo only with his own footsteps. And even the torches seem to burn a little dimmer.

You are gone, and he hates it. He should not feel like this. He has ruled the Underworld for aeons and has never known loneliness, not in a way that mattered. But now, now he feels it.

You are in the world above, in your mother's arms, beneath the golden touch of the sun. You are in a place where he cannot reach you, and the realisation gnaws at him like a slow, festering wound.

His patience wears thinner than ever thanks to sleepless nights or haunting dreams of nothing and no one but you. Always you. Of your lips parted in anger, in surrender. Of your fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He imagines your return and how you will look when you finally stand before him again. Will you be softer? Will your time above have reminded you of all the things you once thought you wanted? Or will you have come to understand the truth? That you belong to him.

He waits and watches once more. Never would Sylus have ever suspected to be forced to witness you again through the crow's eyes, but here he was—dependent on his messenger. Mephisto is his eyes in the upper world, a shadow against the bright skies. The crow perches in high branches, on windowsills, in the eaves of the great temple where Demeter holds you close, whispering reassurances that all will be as it once was.

But it will never be as it once was because you have changed, too.

While at first you revel in your freedom, the world above seems a little too bright, vibrant, and bursting with life in a way the Underworld never could. The fields bloom beneath your mother's touch, and the air is warm, filled with the scent of ripening fruit and fresh earth. You are surrounded by love, by the warmth of familiar arms, and by the laughter of those who missed you.

And yet, on the first night already, you awake to search for something which isn't there. On the second night, you dream of silver hair, hands trailing along your skin, and a voice murmuring your name in the dark. On the third night, you catch sight of a shadow moving along the tree line, and your heart stutters in your chest—not with fear, but recognition at the familiar gleam of red eyes.

Mephisto does not leave, and you do not want him to.

Days pass, then weeks, then months. You fill them with laughter, with long walks through sunlit meadows, with the comfort of your mother's presence. But there is a hollowness inside you now, a quiet, insidious ache that only grows with each passing day. It is not enough, you realise. 

None of it is enough. Nothing measures up to the feelings Sylus brought to life within your shell. You are not the same as you were before. Confidence, stubbornness, and greed are qualities you happily embrace by now. 

Your mother notices the change. One evening, she catches you staring out at the horizon with distant eyes while watching the setting sun. She sees how your hands trace absent patterns against your skin, as if recalling a touch is no longer there. She does not speak of it, but you can feel her watching, worrying.

When the leaves turn red and yellow, you wake with the remnant taste of pomegranate on your tongue, with an anticipation that brings your heart to pick up its pace at the prospect of returning to him .

────────── ♱

The descent is not the same this time. You are not stolen, not wrenched from the world above in a flurry of fear and resistance. No, this time, you go willingly. Your heart pounds with anticipation as the air around you grows heavier, the sun's warmth fading into the cold embrace of the Underworld's shadows.

And then you see him. He is there already, long awaiting. 

His silhouette emerges from the fog like a memory-made flesh, tall, terrible, and heartbreakingly familiar. His eyes devour you. They do not blaze with conquest, though they burn with aching relief, with desire tempered only by the agony of restraint. A god undone by the absence of the one thing he could not command: your return.

"You came back," he says, and it is not a statement of triumph. His voice sounds fragile, relieved. The evidence of a desire stretched too thin over too many empty nights.

All you manage to respond is a quiet "I did," since the weight of this moment, of your joy, presses into your lungs and bones. 

Sylus says nothing in return; the longing in his eyes is louder than any verbal confession. He rather steps closer, slowly, carefully, to chase away the forced distance of the past months. He has not changed, not truly. But the sharp edges of his obsession have softened. 

He looks at you like you are someone he is afraid to lose, which makes your next step easier as you extend your hand toward him. Without hesitation, he encases your offer in his palm and lifts your hand to his lips, though a deep exhale of relief escapes his lungs long before pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles. 

This time, you do not pull away. This time, you let him. This time, you welcome him. 

The gates close behind you with a soft sigh, like a breath exhaled after being held for too long. The Underworld waits. Not as a cage this time, not as a prison of shadow and stolen freedom. No—it waits as something altogether different. Your kingdom to rule.

────────── ♱

For the first time, Sylus leads, and you follow. You allow him to bring you to a garden that does not need sunlight to blossom; it's hidden beneath a silken canopy draped in silver threads. It glows from within, lit by fireflies not belonging to the world above. The flower petals here are as dark as night, and their stems shimmer faintly with iridescent dew. They are beautiful in a way that defies logic.

You sit on cushions of satin and velvet, a low table between you, and a feast of things not found in the upper world. Black figs bleeding golden juice. Pomegranate seeds are like rubies scattered on porcelain. Honey-soaked cakes with petals pressed into their tops—slices of moon fruit, with shimmering flesh like opal.

"Does it please you?" Sylus asks, with a voice as gentle as a lover's caress. You glance at the spread and then at the man sitting across from you, his broad frame draped in a tunic of deepest black threaded with the night sky that barely conceals his impressive build, exposing well-defined muscles inked with faint, ancient markings.

Sylus's lips curl into a smile upon the motion of your head, the simple nod rewarding him with a sense of relief. "It's strange. But yes," you admit with a gentle tone. 

"One could consider yourself strange in this surrounding, too. And yet—you please me." Sylus's honesty strikes somewhere low in your belly. You should be used to his intensity by now, but thread by thread, it continues to unravel you. He is open with his intent, never hiding it, not the want, worship, or way his eyes trace the line of your throat or the corners of your mouth when you speak.

For a while, you sit in silence. A peaceful quiet, as though both of you are learning how to be something other than what you were. Not captor and captive. Not hunter and prey. Equals, lovers . The final thought may lead your fingers to finally reach for a slice of fig and hold it out to him. 

Sylus's gaze flicks to yours, something akin to amusement pooling in those crimson shades as he momentarily hesitates.  "You're feeding me now?" Though he regrets the words quicker than he has spoken them once, the sweet reward is being snatched away from Sylus's lips with a huff of mild exasperation over his daring, teasing response. 

Mind you, the God of the Underworld is not one to have his treats taken from him. A firm touch around your wrist, a breathed chuckle and a brush of soft lips follow all too soon before Sylus welcomes the fruit from your offering hand. 

His actions are deliberate and intimate, causing your breath to catch and your cheeks to grow warm beneath his intense gaze. Through thick lashes, his crimson eyes bask in your reaction, though his mouth remains occupied until a murmur of "Why, aren't you sweet tonight?" falls from glistening lips that seem to beckon you to lean in.

It is only at the last moment that you notice your desire. You catch yourself and pluck one grape off its vine instead of reaching for the God of the Underworld. 

However, Sylus takes it from your fingers and presses it to your lips instead. "Your turn," a gentle command and challenge dusted in this low, sultry tone.

Parted lips allow the grape to burst on your tongue—sweet and tart, while Sylus's attention remains on your mouth. He doesn't budge, not when he knows you have grown aware of his stare, not when you chew, not even when you swallow.

"I missed you," he says in a whisper that carries a longing stretched too thin. His expression is nearly vulnerable, tender, and a little insecure, perhaps. 

This newfound softness suits him. Leading you to allow your eyes to roam over his sharp features to find further gentle details. From his cupid's bow to the golden flecks in his eyes and the lines on his face when he smiles at you, for you. 

"Did you?"

"Every night," Sylus murmurs, possibly a little rueful. "I dreamed of you walking back into my realm, of your voice echoing through my– our halls. I imagined…"

He stops himself at the last moment. A hint of a blush dusts his features, bringing a charm to his looks you would have never granted him before.  

"Imagined what?"

The heavy set of his jaw causes his held-back confession to stir worry in your mind; Sylus can tell as much as he takes in the slight crease of your brows. It may be time to jump over his shadow. 

His smile returns, though it appears rather self-deprecating this time around while avoiding your gaze.

"You. Smiling at me like you meant it. Touching me because you wanted to," Sylus admits with a purse of his lips, evidently cringing at his confession. This was ill-befitting to the ruler of the Underworld. 

Yet, your fingers befit him very well. How they begin to trace the lines of his hand, from the back of his hand to the calloused pads of his fingers? Sylus stills beneath your touch as if afraid a single move might cause you to vanish again.

"And I missed—" he continues but swallows the rest.

You are the one to smile now. You didn't expect to coax so many confessions out of him tonight, though he appears to be in a rambling mood, which makes it impossible not to tease, not to probe and test your luck further. 

With a tilt of your head, you let your eyes flick up to his own, a glint of amusement dancing in your gaze. "Tell me."

His eyes dart away almost immediately, lashes fluttering against flushed skin, while Sylus seems to contemplate whether or not he shall make a grander fool of himself. But you seem receptive, accepting of him... 

"I missed the sound of your voice even when you cursed me. Especially then."

You smile at that, a real one. "You deserved every word."

"I still do," Sylus replies, unbothered at that and well aware of his own 'shortcomings'. 

The conversation finds a tranquil close through shared chuckles and lingering eye contact before the fruits call for attention. 

You eat in slow, quiet indulgence. Feeding another slice of moon fruit and seeds of pomegranate accompanied by a brush of his thumb across your lower lip or the hitch in Sylus's breath as your fingers graze his mouth. 

The air seems to thicken with something you do not dare to address, a sweetness far beyond the decadence of the fruits. 

When juice glistens at the corner of Sylus's mouth, you reach without thinking to wipe it away. The gentle moment deepens once long fingers catch your wrist to press your palm against Sylus's cheek. 

He leans into the touch like a man starved of warmth and love, turning his head for his lips to brush against the warm skin of your hand. "I've waited," Sylus murmurs, "I've tried to be good. I did not drag you back, though every shadow begged me to," his words are paused to nip into your palm while amusement dances in his gaze upon your soft sound of surprise. "I wanted to see if you would choose me. Not as your captor—but as your other half."

Your heart stumbles at the confession, and you allow yourself a moment to look at Sylus, really look at him. He is still dangerous, still secure in his power and confidence—but beneath it all, he is trembling.

"For nights, have I imagined this," Sylus continues upon your flustered silence. "This canopy. This moment. You, beside me. Willingly ."

At that, you finally reach out to brush a strand of silver hair from his cheek. Your fingers trail along Sylus's defined jawline, down his throat to witness him swallow before being drawn to the ruby in his chest, where you allow your fingers to rest.

Though the touch lasts briefly before you rise to claim your throne, Sylus watches you unmoving as you settle into his lap. His arms come around you as if instinctually, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other cradling your nape.

Surrender. You see it in Sylus's eyes, in his body language. So, you conquer. A touch along his cheek before your fingertips drag from his jawline forward to his chin to pull him in, to make him chase until your lips meet.

Soft. Tentative. A whisper of longing finally answered.

Sylus groans—it's a low, broken sound—and deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until there is no space left between your bodies. The heat of him surrounds your body; his hunger devours your lips while his hands glide along your waist, over your shoulders and back. 

Every touch is a question Sylus does not dare ask aloud.

You answer with your body, tilting your head and opening your mouth, letting him taste the sweetness you've withheld for so long. This ignites the deep pull of your bond, the magnetic ache that has hummed between you from the start. But now, it sings.

It is only once you're breathless that your lips part, though Sylus chases you once more—one more time to kiss you deeply until his confession clings to your skin as his mouth moves down your neck. 

"I'm shameless with you," nothing but a hot breath, a roughened rasp. "You've made me something undone." 

At first, only silence follows. A silence that seems to weigh down on Sylus's shoulders as he slumps into you, his embrace on you tightening as though he may fear you were to disappear into fine dust. 

But then he feels you lean in again and grants you complete control. So you guide his head to tip back while your lips brush along the curve of his throat, the edge of his jaw before your words find their way into his ear. "And I like it." 

You kiss him, not on the mouth this time, but under his ear, along the line of his jumping pulse. You mould him with every breath and shift of your body in his lap. 

"Is that so?" Sylus asks in quiet, curious amusement while shooting you that confident smirk alongside a quirk to his brow. 

He is powerful, yes—but tonight, you are the one who holds him in your palms.

And you know it, you abuse it. Leaning closer, you brush your lips against his again, gentle, faint, teasing as you whisper, "It makes me feel powerful." 

Sylus is patient. He waits years to welcome the lost to his realm, watches calmly over the mishaps in the upper world and waits for the cards to play in his favour. 

But your teasing? Oh, it all causes Sylus to grow impatient. 

He craves the promise of relief from your lips, wanting to taste the sweet haven. The denial is almost too much to bear when you lean back, the disdain manifested with a groan vibrating through Sylus's chest and the flex of his arms around your figure. "You are," he assures you so willingly, "you could command me with a single word."

"Then behave," you whisper before pulling away enough to let Sylus see your smirk and that awful challenge in your eyes. 

You didn't expect Sylus to laugh at your little display of power. A sound low and dark, self-indulgent even when he leans in to nuzzle your cheek. "I've been fighting my hardest. You have no idea how much. But you're not making it easy, my little goddess."

To make matters worse, you indulge Sylus by threading your fingers through his long silver strands, scratching past the base of his curled horns to steal a soft grunt as you whisper in his ear: "I'm not trying to." 

He hums in delight as though your torture was the purest love of all. 

"Good."

The tension snaps at that, causing your lips to seek out another kiss and another until pecks turn to a passionate exchange of breathless sighs and saliva. 

You guide Sylus's hands to your waist, your fingers curl into his hair, tugging gently as your kisses turn urgent. 

Sylus groans—an unguarded sound, shameless and beautiful—and his grip tightens again, grounding himself through you, needing you to anchor him as much as you need to feel him unravel.

You feel the restraint in him teeter on the edge of collapse, but it does not break tonight.

Instead, you curled up against him, your fingers brushing the ruby in his chest as if it were a second heart. He buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and ragged, but his touch remains gentle, cradling you like something sacred.

You lie together beneath the silken canopy as torchlight flickers against your skin. He tells you of the garden he grew while you were gone. Of the starlight dome he had built to mimic the sky you miss dearly. Of every small hope, he fed his heart in your absence like embers waiting to be fanned.

You listen, and you stay until sleep finds you. Enveloped in Sylus' arms, where you belong. 

Home.

────────── ♱

With that, the time has finally come.

Hades has passed his trial from the gods above and earned the right to wed his spring queen. He kneels before you, succumbing to his love and burning desire for the one true love. 

A pulse moves through the obsidian caverns, across black rivers and beneath skeletal trees. The dark realm stills in anticipation. Even the air tastes of omen. Stones whisper in a tongue long forgotten by Olympus—born of death, longing, and devotion.

Tonight, the god of the dead weds his queen.

There is no mortal spectacle, no divine applause. The ceremony unfolds deep within Domos Haidou, an ancient grove untouched by time, where even the moon dares not look. Only ghostly embers and violet fireflies shimmer, illuminating the sanctum where the veil between sacred and sinful has worn thin.

Here, beneath a sky of nothing but velvet void, where only the faintest glow from ghostly fireflies and floating embers light the scene, the ritual takes shape.

You are dressed not in fabric but in falling petals—obsidian lilies and pale mourning blooms cascading from your shadow-cloaked figure. The scent is intoxicating. Crushed orchids and roses bleed sweet perfume into the air, mingled with the deep, honeyed pull of burning amber, cracked myrrh, and the lush, ripe promise of pomegranates split open beneath a blade.

Incense swirls in winding tendrils around your ankles, carried by a wind that seems to breathe only for you.

Sylus waits.

He stands at the altar made of stone and root, his tall frame outlined by flickering braziers lit with violet flame. His tunic clings to him, dark as pitch, draped loose over his strong shoulders, revealing the ridged definition of his chest. A crown of black laurel rests upon his silver hair, his curved horns framing the impassive mask of his face—until he sees you.

And then he breathes again.

The firelight deepens the red in his eyes, and his gaze—tender yet hungry—devours the sight of you. Not like prey. Never that. Like devotion, like something sacred, he has been waiting for eternity to touch.

Your steps, unhurried and deliberate, carry all the words your mouth does not say. You are no longer a frightened girl ripped from her world. You are a woman who has tasted the Underworld and claimed it alongside its ruler. 

You place your hands in his, and the world shifts.

From a chalice forged from volcanic crystal, you share the ritual drink—a dark elixir of wine and crushed blossoms, thick with enchantment and laced with the bite of something older than lust. It slides down your throat like fire, and immediately, the air changes. It prickles against your skin, magic thickening like fog. Your limbs are warm, your head light, and your breath shallow.

The circle around you ignites. Flame spirals from the ground, blooming outward, as though the Underworld itself recognises this union. Vines coil around the altar, pulsing in rhythm with your breath. The ruby at his chest flares, and a low hum answers from beneath your skin. You are bound now. Not by force nor by fate. By choice.

That choice leads you to step closer while Sylus remains still as a statue. However, his tension is unmistakable. His knuckles are white from holding back, yet his hands do not move without your invitation.

You lift one to your lips, leaving a kiss on his palm. Sylus exhales your name like a prayer, like a curse, as you trail your fingers up his chest, letting your touch linger to tease the dip of his throat and the line of his jaw. You watch how Sylus shudders under the weight of your attention. 

The power you feel is intoxicating. You realise now how far you've come.

Once, he ruled the stillness where nothing grows.

Now, you bring the bloom that breaks it.

Your lips brush the corner of Sylus' mouth—not quite a kiss, but the hint of one. In return, he tilts his head, drawn in immediately to chase more, but you retreat with a teasing smile. It wrecks him how helpless he has become, though Sylus can only laugh softly at his misery.

"You've changed," he murmurs, his voice is low and full of awe while his eyes and fingertips adore your beautiful features.

"I had to," your touch leads down his ribs. "To match the man who waited for me."

At that, Sylus sways into you, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. You guide him down onto the silk-lined altar floor, settling in his lap as the folds of your ceremonial robes slip open around your legs. When your lips meet his—tentative at first, a question, a test—he doesn't devour, only responds with slowness. 

Then, the kiss deepens and shatters the last barriers of restraints.

His hands explore your waist, back, and hips as if memorising each curve. You feel his strength, not in dominance but in surrender. Sylus lets you set the rhythm and mould him into what you need.

And you do. 

Your touches are not hesitant anymore—they command. You tilt his head where you want it, angle his mouth to yours, and drag your teeth along the seam of his lips until he groans, gasping your name like it's his salvation.

And still, he waits because there is no rush to this moment. He has forever with you. But the Underworld grows impatient in the way magic winds around your entwined limbs, tugging, twisting, binding. Your hips roll together in an instinctive rhythm, and the scent of burning flowers and fruit envelops you like a shroud. 

You are both drunk—on love, on hunger, on power.

Sylus' mouth finds your throat, your shoulder, your ribs. He speaks your name between kisses like it is the only word he has ever learned. His restraint is thin, stretched taut with every passing breath, and when you push him beyond it when you finally press him down and whisper, "Take me," he falls apart.

The vines around your promised bodies seem to dance in a song older than the gods themselves. The flames bloom higher, flicking beautifully on the crimson depths of Sylus's eyes.

You're magnified by the molten longing pooling inside, entranced and enthralled. You watch the way he looks at you.

His mouth parts like he wants to speak but cannot. Because how does a god, a ruler, a creature of death and punishment, explain what it means to be undone so completely by love?

"My love," you whisper as your fingers guide his palm between your breasts, lower to your belly. The air around you grows heavier as he follows the trail of your skin.

His hand continues downward. Over the rise of your stomach, the dip of your navel, the curve of your hips, until finally, finally , his fingers move between your thighs, cupping your most intimate part with the size of his palm.

When you arch into his hand, and your head falls back, Sylus watches it all with greed and worship. An approving, low rumble tickles your skin upon his discovery. You're wet, throbbing, already so unbearably ready—your arousal a product not just of the intoxicating magic in the air but the weight of everything that has passed between you. 

The ache, the longing. The vow that, tonight, you would be his.

He turns you then, gently but without hesitation, lowering your back into the dark grass beneath like a holy offering. 

His figure looms over you—broad and protective—as if he wasn't the danger himself. Twisted horns cast long shadows that flicker in the torchlight, while silver hair cascades over broad shoulders like a waterfall spun from moonlight. 

The width of Sylus' thighs parts your own effortlessly once he settles. Accompanied by a gentle touch that glides along the sensitive skin of your legs, with fingers digging into the flesh of your inner thighs, his gestures are worshipful as he stares down at you, naked and glistening with want. Beautiful.

Yet still—he waits. 

He does not take.

You're the one to set the tone.

Your hands lead crimson eyes to follow the curves of your body, slow and shameless; you rake your nails down your chest, teasing your nipples until they pebble before dragging your touch lower over your stomach and down to the place that aches for him most. When your fingers dip between your folds, and you moan softly at the contact, you keep your eyes locked on his.

Sylus watches, transfixed and with monumental restraint, as your fingers work your slick folds. A traitorous flush spreads over his neck, across the sharp lines of his cheekbones, that almost makes him look innocent–if it weren't for the lust pooling in his eyes.

How willing you are for your husband.

And then, you reach for his hand. Smaller fingers lace around Sylus' wrist to guide him back to your body until his chest hovers just above yours. He is so close now; his breath mingles with yours, his lips barely grazing the corner of your mouth.

His eyes search yours, and what he finds leads Sylus to give in. Soft lips crash against yours in a deep, hungry kiss before his teeth nip at your bottom lip, demanding entrance and surrender.

A warmth spreads over your skin thanks to the heat of Sylus' palms sliding up your body, eager to replace every touch you have left on your figure with his own. He spoils your breasts with attention, kneading the soft mounds and tweaking your nipples until they are hard, aching peaks. 

"So soft, so warm and needy…" he murmurs against your breasts before his tongue drags heavy over skin littered with goosebumps. Sylus rocks his hips forward, the hard, thick length of him pressing against your core before staining your skin with more whispers of desire. 

"Tell me you want it," he mumbles while the delicious drag of his length would already be enough to make you say yes to all and any of his wishes. But he seems desperate for your consent, for your dependence on him. "Tell me how much you need me, my goddess."

Your thighs twitch from the delicious stimulation Sylus offers, the sounds following seem natural, like a sweet symphony of a tune you've never sung before. "Sylus," you sigh for him, so sweetly, so fragile, as your fingertips trace the ruby in his chest.  "I want to be one with you," you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

"My love," you search his eyes with an expression so soft and tender that Sylus didn't even dare to dream of before. "Can you help me? Can you guide me? To be all for you, only you forever and always..."

It's incredible how you effortlessly play with Sylus' heartstring—a heart most people deem nonexistent. Yet here you are, toying with the God of the Underworld as though he could never be a real match to you. 

This is the power you hold over him, the control you have over the darkness that dwells within. You managed to tame the untamable, to make him kneel at your feet like a loyal hound. 

Sylus brings your entwined hands to his lips and presses a lingering kiss, gentle yet filled with devotion, to your knuckles. Crimson eyes remain glued to your own, as though his gaze alone could convey all the feelings he holds dear inside. 

"I will guide you, mould you, make your body fit mine like it was crafted for me alone," a whisper breathed along the veins running down your arm, sealed with kisses.

When he finally sheds his tunic, it is a teasing, slow gesture meant to draw your attention to nothing but him. The silver clasps snap open under Sylus's touch, revealing a defined figure made for your exploration. Every line seems to be carved by divine hands. 

But it's his length that steals your breath—thick and heavy; it stands proud and pulsing, the flushed tip glistening with need. It intimidates. It arouses. It makes something flutter inside you.

Sylus's pupils dilate as he takes in the sight beneath him: His wife, his goddess, spread wide for him, your stomach stained by his fluids. 

"Beautiful creature of sin…" The words escape him in nothing but a whisper while his tip nudges against your entrance, teasing you, creating sounds of desire as he lowers himself again, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance.

"Breathe for me," he says, soft and commanding all at once, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Take a deep breath, and let me in. Let me fill you. Stretch you. Make you mine."

And you try. You truly try to obey. But the moment his thick head presses past your entrance, your muscles tense. The shock caused by the unfamiliar stretch steals your breath, and you let out a cry—not of pain, not quite.

With a gentle thrust of his hips, Sylus pushes forward, deeper into your velvety sweetness. He groans deeply, affected by the stretch of your walls when they try to accommodate him. Ah, the feel of you, so hot, so tight, so perfect . 

You're so wet; he can't refuse to push in deeper, to conquer places nobody has ever been.

Sylus groans—a sound torn from deep within his chest—as your walls flutter around him, your body drawing him deeper with each slow roll of his hips. Your heat envelops him like velvet soaked in flame, your core yielding and trembling around his cock. The stretch is near unbearable, your breath caught in your throat as your body struggles to adjust to his size.

He is thick, unrelenting, the burn making tears swell at the corners of your eyes, though you never look away from him. His hand braces your hip while the other cups your jaw with infinite care, his thumb sweeping away one of those traitorous tears.

"Wrap your legs around me," he breathes with his eyes locked on yours, hunger and adoration swirling in those crimson depths. "Pull me in deeper, let me feel you clenching around me. Let me fill you like I was made for this."

Your thighs move on instinct, curling around his waist, and he catches them with both hands, holding you steady. When your hips roll—desperate, seeking—you impale yourself further onto his cock, inch by aching inch, until you're gasping from the pressure, the fullness.

"S-Sylus," you sob, your voice trembling at the edge of a moan as he stretches you deeper, wider. Your head tips back into the ground, fingernails clawing at the obsidian cloth beneath you while the tremble of your thighs highlights the effort of holding back the pleasure threatening to consume you.

"Shh, my love," he murmurs in a gentle tone even as sweat beads on his brow from the effort it takes not to move too fast, not to thrust in and claim you all at once. "Breathe through it. You're doing so well. Taking me so deeply, so perfectly."

His lips brush your temple and jaw to soothe the tension wracking your trembling form. He presses his forehead to yours, allowing his breath to mingle with yours as he grounds you, anchors you, and helps you through the storm of sensation.

"How much more?" you gasp, though you do not dare look down—too afraid of the answer.

Sylus huffs a breathless laugh, his eyes glinting with restrained mischief and adoration. "A little," he murmurs, lies, while distracting you by pressing kisses on your cheek. "I'm halfway in."

A sob melts into a moan as his mouth claims yours, a kiss that leaves no space for thoughts. Hungry lips swallow your cries while a domineering tongue explores your mouth with depraved hunger. Large hands never stop moving—stroking your thighs, palming your breasts, coaxing your body to surrender.

"Breathe with me," he pleads against your lips alongside the gentle rocking of his hips in a slow, deep roll, easing in. You feel every stretch, every throb, every heated inch as he fills you further. "Feel how your body welcomes me."

You try—gods, you try—but your breath breaks as his cock finds something inside you that makes you seize, makes your nails dig into his arms, dragging across the tense muscles of his biceps. "N-Not there—Sylus, not there—"

But that's precisely where he presses again, with deliberate force, and the high, breathy sound that escapes you is half protest, half plea.

His mouth trails down your neck, over your collarbone, with his tongue licking away the taste of salt from your tears as he groans against your skin. "There, right there," Sylus retorts with a sudden sharpness, causing his words to cut through your weak protests. 

The defiant words are punctuated with a selfish, more brutal thrust of Sylus's hips. The head of his cock kisses your velvet depths as he stills, gently rolling his hips against you to spoil the spot made for you to see stars even in the depths of hell. "That's it. That's your sweet spot, isn't it? The place only I get to touch."

He sets a steady rhythm then—thrusting deeper, grinding his hips in such a way that the head of his cock kisses that spongy spot again and again until your moans become desperate, until you writhe and pant beneath him, your body burning alive with pleasure too immense to hold.

"Let it take you," he urges, his voice low and thick, laced with command and affection. "Don't fight it, my love. Allow yourself to feel; take what you need."

Your fingers scrabble across his body in search of purchase—dragging down his forearms, gripping his shoulders, clutching at his back. You can feel how he stretches you, how you pulse around him, how your arousal coats his length in slick, shameless heat. And yet still, he moves, driving into you with the kind of worship only a god could offer.

"Too much," you whimper, though your hips chase him and reveal the lie all too soon. "So deep, Sylus… you're too deep."

He groans in response, driven to madness by the way you tighten around him, by the way, your body submits and fights all at once. He watches your face, mesmerised by every flicker of pleasure, every helpless twitch of your body.

"Too deep?" Sylus breathes against the shell of your ear, his voice thick and rough, saturated with love and possession.  "I'm going to fill you so deeply that you'll forget everything but me."

With that promise, Sylus begins to move harder, faster. His hips snap forward, his cock plunging so deep it feels like he carves himself into you. And all around you, the Underworld responds—flames dancing higher, flowers smelling stronger, vines curling tighter around the altar in a frenzy of magic and bliss.

His moan makes you shiver, the vibration of his voice against your throat paired with the brutal honesty of his rhythm as Sylus continues to thrust into you with devastating precision. The words, the sounds, the act—all of it ensnares you, makes you pulse around his cock in pleasure, your body clinging to him like it's forgotten how to exist without him inside.

He hits that spot again—again—and each time, your body tightens, jerks, your thighs trembling, your lips parting in a choked moan that only serves to spur him on. You scramble across your own body for support, your hands fluttering desperately over your breasts, your stomach, down the slope of your hips and thighs, fingers searching for anything to anchor you as Sylus's hips snap forward relentlessly in their devotion.

Your moans, your cries—praise wrapped in trembling complaint—are music to his ears. And every word, every broken syllable, only serves to make you wetter, to make his cock slide in with less resistance and more heat, slick and obscene.

Sylus can feel everything—your desperation, your pleasure, your helpless submission to the sensations he's pulling from you—and he welcomes it all. He welcomes the pain you mark into his flesh with your nails, the way your pussy clenches as though trying to milk him, your walls fluttering as your orgasm builds. He knows your body is teetering on the brink, stretched and overwhelmed, yet still greedy for more.

"Shh," he murmurs into the shell of your ear, his voice a low, soothing rumble barely disguising his unravelling. "Let it happen, my love. Let it take you. I'll hold you through it—I'll catch you when you fall."

He leans down to let his teeth graze your throat before finding the tender juncture where neck meets shoulder, and he bites—not cruelly, not gently, but with the kind of claiming pressure that leaves no doubt: you are his. The pain sings through you, a sharp counterpoint to the constant, throbbing pleasure. 

Your body arches beneath him, shuddering violently as your nerves threaten to fray. At this moment, the only salvation seems to be proximity as your arms wind tight around Sylus's neck to tug him down, clutching him close, your face buried in his skin, your breath hot and gasping against his jaw. 

The drag of his cock over your sweet spot makes you cry out, helpless against the sensations that storm through your body. You cling tighter, whimpering, shaking, your sounds muffled against the column of Sylus's throat. You don't even try to speak anymore; you only feel everything he gives you: every thrust, every grind, and every pass of his length as it fills you.

And then, your head falls back into the grass, exposing your throat to him once more, surrendering everything.

He watches you through half-lidded eyes, drunk on the sight. The moment you hiccup out one word: "Faster," in a voice small and desperate, Sylus's control unravels.

He grins—a dark, wicked thing.

"Your wish is my command."

Sylus's hands tighten on your hips, and he fucks you harder. Faster. The rhythm turns punishing, perfect . Each thrust slams into you with wet, smacking force, your breasts bouncing wildly from the force of it, your moans turning ragged and sharp. You think you might scream, might beg, but all you do is fall deeper into the heat, the rhythm, the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding.

Sylus's mouth finds your throat again, his tongue dragging up your skin, tasting sweat, tasting tears. His groans echo in your ears, low and hungry.

You feel like you're being devoured—worshipped—and still, you crave more. With your body rising to meet his every thrust now, your walls fluttering around his cock in a rhythm that betrayed your surrender to him, to this act, to the darkness curling around your bodies. 

The ritual may have begun with devotion, but now it breathes life due to the pleasure of possession and want.

Sylus watches the hypnotic bounce of your breasts with every impact of his hips, watches the way your body arches and quakes beneath him like it was offering itself to be consumed. Sylus lowers his head, his breath hot and panting as he buries his face in the valley between your breasts, his lips and tongue worshipping your skin.

"You look divine like this," he whispers. The praise is nearly lost beneath the wet sound of skin on skin and your rising cries. "Undone. Broken open by me."

You gasp when his mouth latches onto a hardened nipple. A sharp graze of teeth follows, and his tongue soothes right after. You can feel it building again—not just the orgasm, but something darker. A bloom of divine intoxication takes root in your belly. Sylus finds that spot inside you once more, and the groan he lets out against your skin sends shivers down your spine.

You're slick, swollen, trembling, stretched to the brink and somehow still aching for more. You don't need to beg; Sylus would give you everything. And he was far from finished.

"My goddess," Sylus murmurs with lips wet from your sweat and the salt of your skin. "What a perfect vessel you've become."

As his hips grind into your sweet spot again and again, the coil within you finally snaps with a sound of pleasure torn itself free of your throat. You clench down, pulsing in frantic waves as you come apart—loud, messy, utterly divine.

Sylus exhales a moan as you spasm around him, slick coating his cock whilst your cries melt into broken moans. The magic thickens in the air, the vines twist tighter around the altar, and flowers burst open in wild, fevered bloom. His hold on you becomes unrelenting, grounding you through your climax while Sylus continues to move, each motion pulling you deeper into bliss. You cling to him like your sanity depends on the rhythm of his hips.

And still, he moves inside you.

Hot, open-mouthed kisses hold a kind of hunger that strips the air from your lungs, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as though he owns the space, tasting every sound you try to make and swallowing them down like they are the only offering he has ever desired. 

"Again," he murmurs at your throat, dragging his mouth along the damp curve of your neck. "I want to feel you fall apart once more until your body forgets everything but me."

Sylus is everything now: your altar, your sin, the ruin you've come to love—and you, soft and pliant beneath him, offer yourself with nothing left to hide.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. To admire the glow of your skin, the way your chest rises in shaky gasps, the tremble in your hands as you drag them over your own body like you can't quite believe how wrecked you have become, how much Sylus has wrecked you.

"There is nothing more beautiful than this," Sylus says, voice thick with something heavier than pride as his eyes drink you in. "Nothing is more beautiful than you."

Your lashes flutter as your body can no longer keep up with your mind, and though your limbs tremble, you manage to hold his gaze, even as his cock throbs inside you with growing need. The tension in Sylus builds steadily; his body is tense, his jaw locked, his control fraying beneath the weight of how badly he wants to finish inside you—but still, he holds back. Still, he is waiting because he needs more from you first.

"Tell me," he whispers, his lips brushing your cheek, your ear, the line of your throat where your pulse stammers beneath the skin. "Tell me what you want. Speak it, and it's yours. I only exist to please you."

Your vision blurs, your thoughts scattered by the intensity of him, but your hands still find his hair, threading through it as your legs curl around his hips, pulling him closer, offering yourself without shame.

"Show me," you breathe, your voice hoarse, and your mouth barely forms the words. "Teach me what you like."

Sylus stills for a heartbeat, something shifting in his expression into a flash of pure and empty-headed desire.

And then he moves. The shift is fluid, your world tilting as Sylus turns you onto your stomach, one hand guiding your hips back into position as if you were meant to be there, presented like an offering no god would dare refuse.

He watches for only a moment, taking in the arch of your back, the tremble in your thighs, the way you present yourself, and then he slides back inside you with one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs, steals the cry from your lips, and buries him in the heat of your body once again.

Sylus breathes your name into the crook of your shoulder as his pace deepens, your cunt clenching around him so tightly his hands have to grip your waist with bruising pressure.

"Yes… just like that," Sylus exhales, his voice rasping against your ear as your walls tighten around him. He leans over you to press himself closer, to reach around your front and embrace your breasts whole. His fingers knead your soft mounds, his thumbs rolling over your nipples until you whimper without meaning to.

Each cry feeds his hunger for more of you, for everything and everything. Your effect on him roughens Sylus's voice. "You're so soft... you take me so well..." he murmurs into your hair while he seems to drown in the sensation of your body welcoming him again and again. 

You can't reply. You can only gasp and sob as each thrust pushes you deeper into the grass, into the magic wrapping around your body, into the unbearable fullness that makes your thoughts scatter.

"Sylus—, Sylus—" your voice cracks as his name escapes you like it's the only word you remember how to say. And each time you try to repeat it, Sylus pushes in harder, dragging another broken sound from your lips until you fall apart in stuttering cries.

His voice dips, hushed and dangerous by your ear. "That's it… Come again. Let me feel you break for me. Let your body beg—so I can spill inside you like I was meant to."

You shake your head, though it's barely defiance. The pleasure is too close, too sharp, and your sobs spill between whispers of longing and disbelief. "It's too good… I don't want it to stop… I c-can't—"

"All night," Sylus breathes and sinks his teeth into the curve of your neck.

Your entire body seizes as your release washes over you while Sylus's teeth stay anchored, not cruel but claiming, holding you in place as he continues to thrust, to coax every pulse of your climax from you. The dark magic around you grows in its potency and ties you together in blood, lust and devotion.

"Forever," he whispers into your flesh.

While your shoulders slump into the grass, boneless with pleasure, your hips stay high, your walls still fluttering helplessly around him. Sylus towers above you, a monument of muscle and shadow, watching your arousal drip down your thighs, the scent of your union wafts thickly in the air.

"A glutton," he murmurs, almost fondly. "Just like me." 

Then, ever so effortlessly, Sylus lifts you. One hand slides between your breasts to press you flush against his chest. Your head tilts back against a firm shoulder with a gasp as his cock pushes deeper from the new angle, the stretch all-consuming.

His lips stretch into a grin against your temple, one hand slipping down to cup your breasts again, to tease your sensitive nipple until you moan, each twitch feeding his delight. "Truly insatiable," he hums in approval.

You clench around him without meaning to. He feels it—the tremble of surrender. The way your body opens for him all over again.

"Tainted skin," Sylus whispers as his lips graze your ear. "Tainted body… all mine."

And then, he slips out, slowly, unbearably so, to leave you gasping as you grow aware of the emptiness inside you. Your body aches from the absence even while Sylus eases you down among the grass as though handling something sacred only he is allowed to touch.

There are no words left in you—only a breathless nod, parted lips, trembling limbs caught beneath the weight of everything he has given and everything he now promises to take. It is not just want. It is far more consuming—need, surrender, devotion in its most unholy, exquisite form.

"Please," you whisper, a word that sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

A goddess's offering to her God, and of course, he answers.

Sylus's hand wraps around the base of his cock as he strokes himself above you, the flushed tip leaking and twitching, swollen with pressure as crimson basks in the view of your awaiting body. Your skin is kissed with sweat, the grass clinging to your curves, the darkness wrapping around you like a blanket.

And then Sylus breaks the heavy silence. The sound brushes against your ear. "Now... I will give you everything."

Fingers trail slowly down the trembling expanse of your thighs, the tips of them sink into their softness as though he means to memorise you by touch alone. 

The contrast is stark—your yielding body beneath his strength, held back only by the need that you alone summon from him with every breathless sound you make.

"You offer yourself," Sylus murmurs, his voice hoarse and cracked at the edges, the kind of tone that drips not from worship but hunger. "Like a promise whispered where no god dares to listen."

He watches the way your hands lift to your chest, fingers trembling as they trace over the peaks of your breasts, your body bared to him not in submission but in power, in invitation, and he is helpless before it.

His cock twitches in his grasp, flushed and throbbing, veins thick with desire as though every inch of him aches to return to the place he knows belongs to him. Sylus's breath stutters, his eyes hooded, his body tight and straining, forged by a need that only you have ever been capable of drawing forth without lifting a finger.

"Only you," he chokes out, the words scraped raw from somewhere deep and private, "Only you could bring me here. Pull me down. Make me beg. Make me break."

Sylus sinks into you again, his mouth seeking out the marks he left behind along the curve of your shoulder, the vulnerable dip of your throat. His teeth press into the skin not to wound but to keep, to seal, to remind you that you are his. His tongue follows and drags slowly over your heated skin until your fingers thread into his hair, pulling him closer and dragging him back deeper.

"My beloved," you whisper, your voice thick with amusement and awe as you glance back at him, your eyes catching his like a spark in the dark. Come for me."

The words break him.

"You're a vision," Sylus breathes against your neck. Sylus drives forward with sharp, selfish thrusts, then another, and another still, burying himself to the base with a force that knocks the air from your lungs.

The pleasure ripples through him. It scorches everything he is, everything he was and thought he will ever be as if your body is the vessel he was crafted to spill himself into. His release comes in waves, each thicker and hotter than the last—a vow carved into the softest parts of you.

He cannot be gentle. Not now. Not when your walls clamp around him like they never intend to let him go. His hands are firm on your hips, his teeth press into your shoulder again, and every motion of his body tells you the same thing—you are his. His end, his beginning, his undoing.

Your name slips from his lips, whispered in need for more.

And the Underworld responds.

The altar lights with fire too bright to be natural, and the vines wind around your entangled limbs as if even the ground beneath you seeks to hold you in place.

Voices long dead hum secrets beneath the surface, recognising what has happened for what it is: a binding not made with rings or sweetly spoken promises but with desire and darkness.

Still, Sylus moves. He shifts only slightly; his hips are rocking with slow, shallow thrusts as he rides out the last pulses of his orgasm. You feel the heat of his breath, the tremor in his muscles as firm arms curl you into his chest.

Forehead pressed against forehead, you remain as one. He is still inside, thick and full and twitching as if your body is the only place that can hold him now. You feel him leaking from you, slick and warm as it drips down your thighs.

"I am ruined," he whispers into your skin, the words frayed and aching with a breathless chuckle of disbelief. "And I never want to be whole again. Not if it means letting go of this. Of you."

He presses his mouth along your shoulder, jaw, and the corner of your lips as you finally turn into him, and the look on his face is no longer that of a god. There is no king here—only Sylus— yours.

He lowers himself beside you on the shadow-kissed grass, the dark flowers blooming around your tangled limbs as he pulls you into his arms. You remain joined, still one, and then he kisses you softly.

"I won't stop," he breathes against your lips, his voice uneven, deep with something he never says aloud. "Even if doomsday arrives outside this sanctuary. Even if the skies burn and the world forgets our names. I will still be yours."

Magic winds around you both like a second skin, soft and warm. It is a promise that will never fade: you are his queen, and he is your King.

And the Underworld will remember the night it bore witness to gods falling not into ruin but into something far more ethereal.

You are lost in the petals that never stop falling, the heat between you, and the spell crafted from skin and union. 

And Sylus holds you like the world has narrowed down to this—just you, just now. 

You are no longer something stolen, no longer taken from the world above, but something claimed—willingly, completely—and he is yours, now and always, bound to you in a way that even eternity cannot sever.

feedback & reblogs would be deeply appreciated | dividers by @/cafekitsune

[yeagersss]

Sukuna x f!Reader

In which Sukuna brings home child Uraume — 2

<— previous

It was your scream piercing through the forest that had Sukuna dropping everything and speeding up his steps.

He was coming back from a hunt while you and Uraume were walking through the woods, foraging for ingredients.

It's been a few weeks since Uraume joined you both and since then, you had showered them with nothing but love and affection. Like the child you always wanted.

Sukuna, on the other hand, was teaching the kid how to properly control their technique. It wasn't something he would ever do for anyone but he has grown to... have a soft spot for Uraume.

But when he dashed through the woods and arrived at the scene, Sukuna would never admit the way his heart sank at what he saw.

Ice.

Ice everywhere.

With you slumped against a tree, shaking uncontrollably while Uraume was next to you in tears, screaming and crying as they apologised profusely. Half of your body was covered in ice.

"No! No! My lady, please! I—I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do this! It was an accident—!" The child wailed. Memories of the frozen corpses of their parents rushing through their head.

It was just like that time.

"What have you done?" Sukuna's angered voice had Uraume backing away in fear as he got closer.

Your husband was by you in an instant, taking you in his arms. His eyes raked over your body to assess the damage. He quickly used his RCT to heal you. His heart was in his throat and he didn't stop until color returned to your face and your breathing was even.

You were going to be okay.

You were going to be okay but Sukuna was not going to let this go so easily. You... His everything... was harmed. Had almost brushed against the brink of death.

But when he looked up at Uraume with a rage of a furious storm, he paused.

The child was bowing deeply against the forest ground, body uncontrollably shaking from sobs and their little fists digging into the dirt as they repeated the same thing over again.

"I'm sorry! Please forgive me! I didn't mean—I-I didn't mean to hurt her—!"

And those words stirred something inside Sukuna. A memory. A memory he had buried deep into his mind and vowed to never look back upon ever again.

Of a small, deformed child who had just discovered his dangerous technique.

"How could you do this?!"

"Please, I'm sorry!"

"Do you think sorry will fix this?! Will fix the damage you caused?!"

"I didn't mean to! Mother, I swear—"

"Stay away from me, you wretched thing!"

"Monster!"

"Four eyed demon!"

"He'll bring a curse upon our village!"

"Kill that deformed thing! Kill it—"

"Enough. Stand up and let's go."

"B-But my lady is—"

"She's fine."

The walk back to home was quiet. Uraume had expected their punishment the moment they stepped into the house. But after Sukuna had gently laid you on the futon, the punishment never came.

Instead, the King of Curses placed his large hand on top of the child's head and scowled disapprovingly.

"Brat, did you not get what I taught you? Focus on a single damn point and breathe. That way you'll be able to control your technique. Now—"

Sukuna lead Uraume outside again and stopped a few feet away from a deer and a fawn.

"Kill the fawn and only the fawn." The man ordered.

Uraume was in disbelief. They had fully expected a punishment for what they did but when they looked at Sukuna, there was no malice in his eyes. Instead, impatience clouded those bloodied rubies as he tapped his large foot on the ground, waiting for the moment the child would do something.

With an impossibly warmed heart Uraume turned to the fawn with a smile and followed the malevolent king's instruction.

--

You awoke a few hours later, eyes blinking up at the ceiling as memories of what happened slowly came back. Your heart sank and you tried to get up.

You had to find Uraume. The poor child!

But then you felt small cold arms secured tightly around you. Uraume was curled next you as they slept.

You calmed down and smiled tenderly, running your fingers across their snowy locks.

"They refuse to leave your side."

You looked over to see your husband leaning against the door frame. Your smile widened and you reached out to him.

Sukuna didn't hesitate, pushing himself off and walking over to you. He sat down next to you on the floor and took your delicate hand in his large one.

"I'm surprised they're even at my side."

Sukuna grunted. "They can control their technique now. So expect the brat to be glued to you more often."

You laughed softly. "Oh? And does that have something to do with you, my lovely husband?"

Of course it did because he simply refused to look at you and gave you a mere shrug. He was embarrassed. You could tell.

"My lady...?"

You turned your focus to a sleepy Uraume, gazing at you with an apologetic look.

"My lady, I'm sorry..."

You shushed them, stroking their hair affectionately. "Hush now, little one. It wasn't your fault. Sleep, okay? I'm here..."

Sukuna looked on at you and Uraume quietly. You, his beautiful wife, whispering soothing words to the child who, moments ago, was nothing but terrified of who they were.

And then he thought back to the little deformed boy with four eyes and arms running away with a tear streaked face from a mother who begged the villagers to kill him.

He knew that boy was at peace now.

<— previous

[biteyoubiteme]

raspberry stains

vampire!sunghoon x fem!reader

❦︎ synopsis: left alone on the streets of your small village you are offered the opportunity to trade your life for only a small price to pay. You are given to vampire prince sunghoon who has not had a taste for blood for almost a lifetime. Not because he does not feel hunger but because he has not found the one that temps him. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: vampires, blood, blood drinking, angst, dark themes, reader held against her will, biting, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⋅˚₊‧ wc: 18.5k ‧₊˚ ⋅

❦︎ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: sacrifice (eat me up) -enhypen an: thank you to my bestie @luvsicktyun who sent me an ask after we watched so much en o'clock together on a late friday night. I do not think ill be writing a lot for enha and I will not be taking requests for them! I do hope you enjoy this tho bc I love vampires so much <33 this is not proofread pls forgive me sweet angels I am a monster

[m.list]

To be a gift was to be a blessing. Young girls and boys were picked up off the streets of dying villages, rampant with sickness and filth. The heavily coated royal servants cased the roads, their scent fragrant and foreign. Even if they were not turned they still had that enticing pull to them, lined with the beckoning aura of the vampires just by association. Or maybe it was because no one in your village had seen such decadence, that slow prowl, ruby red gems dripping from chains slung around their bodies showing you who's kingdom they belonged to. 

You had only heard stories of the vampires sending to find feeders outside of their kingdoms. Not stolen, kidnapped, or captured. Persuaded by the idea of a full belly that none born to this kind of poverty had ever experienced since falling away from their mothers. It's why when the servant leaned down next to your half-stiff body, trembling from the cold wind, you let him. Let him breathe in the scent of you, eyes closing as you send a prayer for some kind of savior from this cold hell you had been born into. Fingers numb as you held them, knowing that as tight as you had gripped it should have hurt, knees pulled to your chest, the half moth eaten blanket wrapped around you the only relic you had from once living between four walls and not against one. 

“Have you ever been fed from before?” It was that single question that made you blink back to reality, looking at the pale face inspecting you. He was a vampire, you could tell from the faint ring of red around his iris’ but it didn't scare you as you had been told it should have. Even if you would be taken away, anywhere would be better than the cobble street digging into you, staining your clothes. It wasn't a bed as you had tried to convince yourself every night as you faded to sleep. If they locked you in a cellar you're sure even if it's cold it would at least keep you dry from the snow, blocked from the wind. 

“Never,” the word sealed your fate like a fresh wax stamp. They had not believed you, not fully. They turned over your wrists, tipped your chin looking over your neck and any hot spot most vampires liked to drink from often, just to make sure they found no puncture marks. You were weak and malleable, easy enough to pick up and carry away like the bodies they carted after the plague. 

You didn't ask questions, not when they handed you broth to drink, breaking the unintentional fast you had found yourself stuck in. not when they led you out of their horse-drawn carriage and through the back doors of a towering stone castle. It had been a long journey, one you spent most of your time relishing in because of the momentary block from the constant wind you had been subjected to while on the streets. But you should have watched the way in so you could have had some hope of knowing the way back out. 

Be grateful, you didn't say the words out loud but they kept on a persistent loop in your brain, rattling around your skull until you wouldn't think any other thoughts but that one demand. You should be grateful, everyone you knew would have told you the same thing. You had food coming at the same hours every day, new clothes that were nicer than you had ever worn, made of fabrics you had never seen in your town's shop before it was run down and ransacked. And they kept you in a small room with a fire, tended often by a maid who did not look at you. But it was all a very pretty cage. 

And after a full belly and a right bed to sleep on your mind was clearing. Every little thing that you had been told about the vampires was coming back to you in small spurts. They did not take nicely to anyone besides themselves and their feeders, on occasion, but even then the feeders were their property and not their friends. And you knew even if they were being nice, making you stronger, and dolling you up, it all came at a price that you would have to pay in blood. 

You didn't know how painful the cost would be, the stories were filled with conflicting reports. You had known a girl who had taken a vampire lover once and she had come back hazy-eyed and begging to see him again. It was not the kind of inhibition you would have wanted to lose. The girl you had once known had come back hollow, not in the sense of being bloodless but of being bound to a feeling that was unlike any other. And that made you scared. Even more so than horror stories that had come back about the burning that set place in one's veins the second they had been bitten, the draw of blood being sucked clean from them had felt like a hot iron branding them in thin lines all over their bodies. Pain was one thing, loss of oneself was another. 

You had wanted help, you had not cared about what would happen to you when you were starving, cold, and so so alone. You would have let them bite you right then without a second thought but you had time to think over what it all meant now. You would be stuck here, bound and passed around like a bottle of cheap wine they found for a good deal because to them you were just a thing to be owned and put away once done. Sure they fed you but it was only in turn to feed themselves. They clothed you but only so that they could look at something pretty while they took from you. At least they had you warm with a bed you could rest on but you're sure that blood warmed was better than blood cold. 

The thoughts of leaving showed up even before they came in with the pearl necklace. The length of the pearls strung together is worth more than you had thought possible for a piece of jewelry. The beads looked like white opal, heavy against your collarbone as they fasted the necklace securely. A long trail of them beaded down in a row dangled down your back as if it was a long lead. Because it was a collar, not a fashion statement. You were nothing more than a pet for them and you knew it the second one of them pulled on the string while trying to see if it was in place. The movement had sent your hand to your neck, fingers slipping between your windpipe and the beads, tugging on them to try and see if there was any give and finding none at all. 

It had made you cry, feeling the pearls cold, the weight down your back made you straighten, wanting to get away from the feeling, the shock of them like frozen fingertips on your spine. They set out clothes for you, silk and chiffon, flowing around your waist and legs, your wrists wrapped in soft mesh cuffs sprayed with a faint perfume. They were making you look appealing, pinching your cheeks, your lips, trying to get more blood flow through them.  

“He will find you very pretty,” one of the many handmaids muttered as she pressed a cloth to the corner of your eyes, collecting the tear that had threatened to spill. “The prince enjoys pretty things,” 

You watched the way your chin trembled in the mirror, your teeth clenching to try and get the image out of your head of some prince who would want something pretty to feed from. It only made you want to run from the through, from this castle dawned in candlelight and heavily velvet-covered curtains. You haven't seen the sun in over a week, not unless they let you walk up the winding stairs from your room to the kitchen. The soft light comes through the diamond-patterned glass. But they didn't take you down to pick what you wanted for dinner anymore after you had tried to run. 

It had happened in a blink, the door was open, the cold air sweeping in around your ankles the second you made it down the last step. It had been a split-second thought, your body had already been on edge, flight or flight taking over your every sense but you hadn't had an opening or outlet to get the feeling out. And so the second you had seen that bright light, blinding from only having seen the light of the fire in your room for so long, you took the opportunity and fled. 

They had caught you and you didn't even have it in you to fight it anymore. The words going round and round, again and again, be grateful- be grateful- be grateful- 

“You won't be staying in here for long, most gifts stay with their charge,” a handmaiden comments, fixing your skirt making sure it's laid exactly where she wants it to be. “And I've seen your room, it is very nice,” as if that was supposed to make you feel any better as if it would stop the tears from slipping.

They could set you up with everything you had ever wanted but it would not make you forget that once you had complete control over everything in your life. Yes, you had been in the streets, half alive with no hope, willing to take any option to get you away from it. But now all that was settling over you was fear. Your stomach always turned, everyday you twisted your hands together, worrying at your nails, twisting the mesh cuffs around and around your wrist, trying to distract yourself from the bugs making a home in your belly. You wonder if other gifts had felt butterflies or the same mayflies you had; the kind that picked over dead things and not sipped from vibrant flowers. 

It felt wrong to enjoy something that felt like dying even if you didn't know what it felt like to have teeth scratching over a vein just yet. This was supposed to be a blessing but all you felt was the feeling of being trapped, lured in with a small chunk of cheese like a mouse right before it was snapped in half. You were wiggling, each tear a squeak, a cry for help. But no one who set a mouse trap that was intended for death helped save the mouse they had captured. 

They made sure the pearls would never come off. Welding the latch shut after you had hidden them. The weight of them stuck and still not familiar when they finally got you ready to be gifted. They had prepped you enough, fed you enough to bring life back into your face, and the person you saw in the mirror was one you would have never recognized at first glance. She was not you and you hated the one who would have you because they had done this.  

When they brought you from your room they twisted the pearls until the lead was in front, easy to pull you along behind the servant they had sent to bring you down. You did not fight this time, not when all their eyes were on you and you felt as if you had given up on yourself. Not only were you scared but you were done. You had missed the opportunity to make it out, they had been fast, and there had been nowhere to hide before you hit the treeline of the surrounding forest. If you ran again they had people who would see exactly where you were at any time, and you didn't know the woods or the way back to your village. There was nothing to do but give in. 

They had gone over the list of things you would have to do for the vampire you would be assigned to. The long list was told to you over and over again. But they kept up the same few points, never let another feed from you, you were to be theirs alone, listen to them at all times, and follow them close. It felt silly to be treated like a puppy with attachment issues. 

It wasn't until they had brought you to the throne room that you first laid eyes on Sunghoon. In an instant he had caught you in his stare, almost as quickly you saw the slight tremor in his nose, a twitch that was stilled within the second you had seen it. He swallowed thickly, jaw working as he took you in. Everyone turned to you, looking over what they had done to make you as close to perfect as you needed to be as a gift. 

Your throat was tight with so many eyes on you. The rows of vampires make the air smell too sweet and alluring. Your body was telling you to run, pulse pumping and hammering in your ears. Sunghoon sat at the raised dais with his father, the throne he sat on only slightly smaller, still forged in gold, intricate patterns of ivy surrounding his head like the laurels worn by the gods. 

“I got you a gift,” the sultry voice of the king was heavy in the empty air. A room full of still vampires was like a room full of statues, his voice carried between their bodies echoing even if he did not speak up louder than if he were ordering tea. “It's good luck to be gifted a feeder on a solstice and I'm sure you will find her to be very sweet, my men went out looking for only the most decedent of feasts for you,” 

And Sunghoon could smell the sweetness on you, the perfume sprayed to your wrists only highlighting the temptation you should have brought to him. For a second he could feel his fangs tingle for the first time in what felt like forever and he had wanted to let them down but then he caught that faint hint of something bitter. His stomach flipped, and he tried to keep his face clear; tried not to let his weakness show. You were scared, the fear tinting your blood with something he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Sunghoon had spent years unable to explain why he found it so hard to feed when it was all but expected of him if he wanted to live. He had never met a starving vampire, he had known the hungry, seen them in the streets fighting over meals but it did not feel as if they were being carved open from the hollowness. Sunghoon had been hollow for what felt like years, only stomaching drops of blood at a time before they threatened to come back up. He had never seen a vampire sick like he got, had never come across someone who shivered at the scent of a perfectly healthy girl so willing to turn her wrist to his waiting mouth. But he could not bring his fang forward to do the job, not when he smelt that faint thread of fear in their blood. 

They had been tainted even if only a little bit but it was there poisoning them. And he could smell it on you even across the room, your beating heart loud to his ears, echoing the promise of being full. He did get hungry, he was always hungry, and you did tempt him, but he knew that fear was marbling your blood like the fat marbling a steak, others found it gave the blood a spice that was needed but to him it only made him cringe. 

You were a gift and he could not turn you away, not when it would show weakness to those who did not know how much of a struggle it was to feed. He would look as weak as he felt when he was so empty. And if you were scared he didn't want to make it worse by trying to feed and coming away unable, then it only colored the blood with the taste of disappointment and that was worse for him to stomach. 

“Thank you, my king,” it was the only response he could muster, eyes finding the pulse point at your neck, watching the thumping vein like he was expected to. But as he watched he could scent the way it made you feel, could tell the others envied him as they smelt that spicy sweetness as it flooded the room. The only other feeder here was his father's, the pearl necklace chained to the side of his seat as he had her standing right by his side. 

He knew that having a feeder always available was a display of wealth, always a meal ready whenever he even felt the urge. But anything would be better than subjecting someone to be tied to his side when he was already broken. A vase that had cracks in it so that anything added would spill out of him. He didn't want to keep you any more than you must have wanted to stay by his side. Royal feeders could not be fed on by anyone else and so he knows that you were unmarked by anyone else's fangs. And he would not be able to show you that it wasn't supposed to feel bad, that he had been told it was a pleasurable feeling if one found the right match, but Sunghoon had mourned that he would never find the one. 

The nights had passed with him thinking about how it was the last thing he wanted. He had lived this long with the hunger he could spend the rest of his life like this. It didn't even hurt anymore, didn't ache as it had when he was a child. Back then it had been an unbearable pain, trying to swallow fast mouthfuls to make sure that even a bit would get down, but it was only for a small time that it would curb any hunger he felt. He would curse and cry over the pain, beg to be like anyone else, and he had tried to use his compulsion on a human once, but still, even under the spell he could taste it, the overripe fruit flavor like sickening wine on his lips, staining his teeth and making him break apart into a mess of pleads. 

He wanted to be like the others, even in their disgusting overindulgence, anything was worth wishing for when he was so empty. But no amount of blood could make him feel the same joy they felt when everyone else fed. So he was okay with being alone, okay with the thirst, the pain of being empty. But it was not your cross to bear, he did not want you to worry over him, hating him he could stand, he would weave that into an excuse as a reason to send you back wherever it was they had found you. But he could not say that now with the audience before them waiting for his elation at the perfectly sweet gift his father, his king, had given him. 

The staff member was quick to pull you along by your pearls but at least when they pulled you forward they did not choke you as it had when they pulled you backward. He left you right at the first step, the black and white marble, glossed and reflecting the candlelight back at you. When the pearl chain was dropped it was heavy against your chest and for the first time you found comfort in the weight of it, the only thing that was now a constant, something familiar in the room of unfamiliar. 

Sunghoon stood, his head dipping down as he bowed, bent halfway, one hand on his stomach and the other at his side before righting himself and meeting you at the bottom of the steps. He reached out and you flinched, eyes screwed shut, worried to feel the brush of his fingers on you when he grabbed the pearls to tug you up the steps to stand right next to the throne he had gotten up from. But the ghosting of his fingers did not come, your eyes peeling open to look down at where he held his palm up for you to place yours. It was a soft invitation that you did not want to accept. 

He was so very pretty when you looked up at him, eyes following the moles on his skin like connecting the stars to make a constellation in the night. He looked at you blankly, lips set in stone, still a faint shade of pink, eyes lazy and waiting for you to put your hand in his. You could hardly see the red line around his iris, so dark it was fading into the darkness of his gaze. You watched the way his mouth opened only the smallest bit, take it, the words not even spoken so that it would only be caught by those looking at him and not heard. He blinked, slow, lashes matching the dark strands of his hair handing on his brow. 

You followed his command, scared he would take the pearls and tug you like the other one had. He was cold, skin silky smooth as your fingers graced his, not wanting to give him access to your palm as if that would make it any better to have your hand in his. “Careful of your skirt,” he muttered looking down at the way the fabric pooled on the ground, easy enough to step on while you made your way up the dias. Your free hand twisted in your dress, picking it up so that you could have your slippered steps unblocked as you followed him. He did not pull you along, did not lead you, he was there as someone to make sure you did not fall and that was it, dropping your hand the second that you made it up safe. 

Next to him on the armrest of his chair, a loop was welded in, the perfect spot to hook your pearls to and make sure that you wouldn't run. But he did not attach it, only let you stand there like some coat rack next to a door. Your lips pursed, you had been told not to cry, warned over again that it was not something they wanted to see; you were to be grateful, not tearful. 

But Sunghoon could scent the saltiness building behind your eyes, could tell you were about to cry just by the way you had been shot through with sadness in a second. He had no way to make it better, not when they still had an hour to sit in the throne room to watch the rest of the gifts brought in. From all over people had traveled to give solstice gifts to the crown for good favor. He had no time to get away and he knew the second they dismissed everyone he would have to explain himself to you. He could already predict the way you would smell then, the sadness maybe even twinged with disappointment, that's how they usually were. 

And it wasn't as if you didn't smell divine to him already. He wanted to taste you, his father was right, you were the sweetest he had ever come across, but this was still overtaken by fear. And now being closer to you he could feel the ache in his fangs more prominently, a twinge that hurt along his gums. But it faded when the tears threatened. 

You stood there, looking out over the people, watching as they came up one by one and gifted things, placing them on a pile at their feet. You should have been tossed right amongst the jewels and lavish wines tainted with blood. You were no better than the spoils they collected now, only you had a heartbeat they were kind enough to recognize and put to the side as ‘extra special’ but it was only a ruse. 

It took forever for them all to finally be dismissed for dinner and it was then that real panic began to sink in. You watched the way they picked themselves up, working their way out the door chatting, and going over what was waiting for them in the dining room. But your eyes were glued ahead watching how freely they walked, watching how they went left and not right where you knew the kitchen was tucked away for the feeders and remaining unused by the rest of them. If he took you out the same way you could run, head right and since your pearls were in front of you it might be easier to slip by without being tugged back. 

But it was a pipedream you knew as much and it's why the tears did not stop at your lashes but finally slid down your cheeks without a sound. 

“For tonight could I gain permission to skip over this feast?” The prince's voice was heavy, the question sinking into you like a stone thrown into the lake. He wanted you alone. 

“Of course,” it was no secret from the king the struggle Sunghoon had. It was less a secret how much he had tried to rectify the situation. You were the last option in a long list of failures, the king did not need his people watching the way his son would react if he could not take in even a mouthful of one of the most tempting feeders found in over a century. 

His finger touched the tip of your elbow, a light command for you to follow after him as he stood up. He lifted his hand out again for you when you reached the steps, your sniffling loud even to your own ears as you pressed your fingertips to his, letting him lead you down the way you had come up. “And Sunghoon,” it made the boy next to you pause in his tracks, the edges of his lips dipping, lips pursed as he waited for his order, “try this time,” 

“Of course father,” but even you could tell it was strained, half said because he was expected to. 

The prince did not grab your pearls only expecting you to follow behind him as his footsteps echoed in the hall, so much louder than your soft slippers they had given you. Something that you had realized was so that you wouldn't run; in the woods, you would need more than something so easily pierced through by a lone thorny branch. The thought of escaping only passed briefly once, your heart rate quickening at the idea made Sunghoon turn around, the doors already closed to the throne room, but it didn't mean his father would not be able to hear him. “No,” he didn't need to elaborate, not when you were so clearly turned to not follow him. 

“I-” but he cut you off with a shake of his head, waving a pale hand in the direction of the stairs. 

He did not move until you did, waiting for you to make it next to him before he continued his ascent up to wherever it was he was planning on keeping you. The castle was too large for you to remember the turns he had taken before reaching his room. Your mind was overrun with the fear of what would happen the second he closed the doors behind the two of you to focus on the left and right turns. Your breathing was coming out in huffs more focused on coming out through your nose, every drawl in from your lungs feeling erratic and strange. 

The hallway to his rooms was long and dark, none of the candles lit as you felt your feet start to drag, every step slower and slower as he pushed open his door. He stood there with his arm extended, half in the dark, a soft glow of the fire inside fanning over his pale skin. He did not pressure you to go forward, let you stand there and look at him, trying to catch your breath, trying to right your mind and not turn around again to run. “I just want to talk,” he spoke low so that you wouldn't get scared by the sound. 

If before you had found yourself to be caged they were testing how easy it was to recapture you now, how easy it was to get you to follow commands. But you had nowhere else to go so shakily you raised your hand to wipe at your tears, nodding as you made the last few steps towards his door. You don't want to touch him as you pass but it's inevitable in the small space, shoulder brushing his chest. It makes you shudder, you try and pull yourself together but the sound of the door closing behind you is enough to make it worse. The tremble cascading down your limbs that even the warmth from the fire does not help to calm. 

The space is large enough to have been the biggest room you had ever seen, taking up more space than even the one they kept you in before with some of the other girls. The fireplace itself is larger than the one in your local town's bar, neatly tended and cleared of ash. A neat set of a couch and chairs sat right in front of the flames, perfect to cozy up and read from the bookshelf that was tucked into the corner. It was dark, the windows covered with the same thick red velvet curtains as the rest of the castle. It blocked the moonlight you're sure would have been coming in to cast the bed in a silver glow. 

To the far corner, there was an archway into a bathroom, the tub partially covered with a dark wood divider. There was only one other door, half hidden behind the sheer canopy of the bed was right next to a dark nightstand with a book, left open with a thin-bladed letter opener as the bookmark. You could hear the girls telling you how lucky you were to be given to the prince of all people, not a lesser royal aristocrat with no space but to send their feeder back down to the waiting hall next to the kitchen where they had first brought you. 

But even that had felt better than this. You would have been amongst humans like you, not stuck so far from where everyone was that you would have to pray you could find a way out. And it wasn't your room, it was his room that you were invading. The sheets were still slightly rumpled from where he must have been sitting before leaving. It made your stomach turn again, even if you had shared with all those other girls you wouldn't have been trapped as severely as you were now. 

But Sunghoon did not move further into the space after closing the door, the survey of the room was quick so that you wouldn't have your back to him. And there he stood taking you in his hands by his sides, palms turned up. “I'm not going to feed from you, not now, and even if my father asked me to try I won't, not unless you want that but I can tell it's not in the cards right now,” he gets the words out in a rush, “the room is mostly yours now, you can have the bed, it's better than what they expected you to sleep on but I have no qualms about taking the spare room,” he nods to the door half hidden, “I won't bother you, and later we can have the wardrobes switched so that you have the space,” 

The shock was quick, he was giving up the space for you, a prince shoved in a closet and for what? To make you feel less scared? It wouldn't change the situation, it wouldn't make you come around. “I don't want your pity,” it was the only word you could think of to classify the situation. It felt like pity, it was more than you had thought or asked for but it didn't make you any less fearful. 

“It's not pity-” 

“What is it then? Some kind of truce? A scheme? If you're going to take my blood, just take it and get it over with, pretending you won't will only make it worse,” the words are bitter to your tongue but they come out just as you had wanted them. His brows drew close, lips downturned. If you were to be nothing but a blood bag to him you didn't need to be treated nicely, you knew the truth of the situation and it was not in your favor. Let him take from you, let him be a monster but you would not let him play nice when he was anything but. Giving you the bed was not a bandage to the situation but something to make it feel as if you owed him for this small grace. 

“I'm not pretending, I do not want to feed from you, and so I won't. Believe me or not I do not care but I'm not going to shove you in the closet like some petty gift I did not like and won't remember until next spring. You can have the room and it's for my own conscience that is true but also because it's right,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, taking the long way around the edge of the room so as to not get close to you, your eyes following him as he goes. “We can talk in the morning,” it's the last thing he says before he picks up his book from the nightstand, closing it around the blade you wished you could have kept before disappearing behind the door. 

The soft slam is enough to make you let out a breath, the huff bringing forth a new wave of tears as you shake your head, ashamed to be crying in the first place. You didn't want to lay in his bed, not when it was still wrinkled and near the door he had gone through. You didn't want to sleep at all, not here, not when you didn't know what would happen when you closed your eyes. But you did know you wanted warmth so you curled yourself up against the bookshelf near the fire. Your back was guarded and both doors in your eyeline as you tried to get yourself to stop crying. 

Sunghoon could hear the constant stream of tears, his book tossed to the floor next to him while he looked up at the ceiling from where he lay in bed. The tingle in his gums had gone, his stomach sick as he took in the unease of the situation. He didn't think he would have left you alone to cry but it had felt like the only thing he could do with everything he had been given. He wanted to say sorry, apologize for everything but not knowing if that was the right thing to do.Leaving you felt right, staying in the small bed, the small room, felt right. He didn't need the space anyway, didn't want it, and he could care less about anything else so long as you didn't think he was some hungry monster looking to drain you dry when it was farthest from the truth. 

But it was impossible to convey that to you when you were so terrified, he could tell you were on the brink of giving up, that if he had turned away from you for even a second you would have run off. It was easy to let you go, he wanted you to have what you wanted but if you ran he would have to explain your absence. They would know it was a lie if he said he overfed to the point of you dying, he wouldn't smell like you not even faintly, he wouldn't have a body to prove it, and it was almost an impossible thought with his track record. If his father thought for a second that Sunghoon had fed so much as to kill a feeder he would have been ashamed for wasting a gift that he could have kept to keep him sustained for years. 

He could not just let you go without consequence for that action, he needed to let you go after explaining that you were not the one. But his father had gifted you to him in front of so many people. Sunghoon knew that even if he could not feed from you, he would be told to keep you even if it was to show off a lie. People questioned why Sunghoon wasn't around at feasts, questioned what kind of king it would make him if the time ever came if he could not indulge like the rest of them. His father hadn't called him weak but he could see the word in his eyes when he confessed time and time that he could not drink from a vein. 

They had given you pearls, that royal leash a life sentence whether you knew it or not. You would be tied to him until he found a way to get you out but running right now was not an option. And just like him he could tell that you got no sleep, your heartbeat never slowing down, the fear still keeping its constant trek through your bloodstream. He could not stop thinking it over, listening to your soft crying, it only made him feel like he was turning himself inside out keeping you here. He didn't want to be a captor, didn't want to be the person who was tied to another just because it was expected of them. 

And when he saw you there, sitting watching the fire before you noticed him he could see the beauty behind the teartracks. They had made it so that you would look like a goddess, a blessing for him that would keep on giving, and yet neither of you felt very blessed. Not when you noticed him move just enough to catch your attention. Your heart is hammering as you push yourself to stand on weak legs. Your eyes lined in sleep, hand twisted in the dangling pearls that fell right to your navel. 

“You must be hungry,” even if he could not feel the hunger anymore he knew that others kept up a comfortable schedule with the feeling if it went past curtain times. “I can take you down to the kitchen or I can have someone bring your meals here, whatever it is you want,” 

You caught onto the hope of seeing the kitchen, of walking past a window to feel the sun, of being so close to the exit you knew. “The kitchen,” you kept his eye, trying to show him that you were watching him, but it felt like you were playing a game of who would back down first, a game you didn't think you would win at all. 

“And after?” he tilted his head, his clothes wrinkled from his resting, the hollows of his eyes showing faint bruises from restlessness. 

“After?” Sunghoon didn't need to scent your blood or hear your heart when you had the fear written so clearly all over your features. 

“I don't find it fun to be locked up in the room all day, if you wanted to go to the library, the gardens, wherever it is I can take you,” 

It felt like an illusion of freedom, he would not leave you alone, you were nothing more than a prisoner with her guard going around from room to room before he took his payment at the end of the day. But the gardens sounded enticing, and learning about the castle felt enticing. If going around and looking at every corner of your cell to find a loose bar you could slip from was an option you would take it, watched or not. He had not come out of the room all night, you had waited and he did not once even try the door knob. If you could find a way out today, finally count the turns on the way down and up you would be able to sneak out tonight. Your wardrobes were not switched and you could take anything you needed to make yourself unrecognizable before leaving. 

Your fingers twisted in the pearls, tight enough for you to feel the pull as if leading yourself to speak. “The gardens…” 

Sunghoon nodded once, “We can go after you have had a proper meal,” he gave you space to get yourself ready and waited by the door for you when you were done. He held the door open for you again just as he had when letting you in. and this time you made sure to know the way down not needing to know the way back up. You counted the right turns, the left, the amount of stairs you took, and where the kitchen doors were. 

But you weren't hungry, too busy thinking over the map in your head and how it was forming along with all the other information you were keeping, like how many people you had passed. Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door. It seemed so easy but you knew if you were scared it would flicker out like a candle near an open window. Sunghoon collected things for you, taking the basket with the two of you as he led you down to the gardens. 

You had believed for a long time vampires could not step foot in the sun and that would have made all of this so much easier if it was true. But the vampires were only annoyed in the sunlight, eyes sensitive but not to the point they could not see. And most of the time it was grey in the sky, the clouds low most mornings just like this one where the fog settles over the emerald green hedges. Here they did not have to worry much about the direct sunlight because there hardly was any around. 

The fresh air was more than enough to make you relish in one small victory on a growing list of losses. Even with the soft mist clinging to your lashes, cooling your heated cheeks it was enough to make you crack a sad smile. It had been so long since you felt anything besides worry and panic. But your smile didn't last for long, not when you lowered your head and could feel the weight of the pearls still around your neck. As much as they had become a habit to hold it was not a comfort but a reminder of being stuck and bound to them. 

Sunghoon watched the way you toyed with the necklace, not even noticing that you were doing it as you watched the sunset later in the day. He did not ask when you wanted to go in, did not ask if you wanted to go anywhere else, just gave you the space to breathe even just a little bit. But he watched how your fingers tightened when it was finally dark, your food untouched in the basket he carried back up to the room. He placed it down on the nightstand when the two of you made it back. 

Your nerves were on high alert being in private with him and he could tell. “You should try to eat and get some rest tonight, tomorrow we have to spend dinner with the others, and it's best to be ready,” 

Dinner, vampires didn't eat anything else to sustain themselves. You knew they could but it did little to help curve their hunger. Most of them drank from a vein or a glass tainted with liquor, most of them enjoying blood laced with wine. But you knew that they would not be sitting around sipping from glasses over light conversation. Sunghoon didn't know how to explain his plan without confessing how burdened he felt. “I didn't lie when I said I wouldn't drink from you, I will keep my promise but we are still expected at the table,” 

You watched the way he swallowed, his lips turned down. He felt small, the confession right at the edge of his tongue but it would not come free, “I-” he watched the way your knuckles flexed, fist twisted around the contract the two of you had found yourself bound to. And he couldn't even hold up his end of the deal. “I'll find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” 

But Sunghoon had nowhere else to go, if anyone found him outside his room they would gossip. His father would hear eventually and know that he had not tried, he would know he had failed again over something so small, something that was supposed to be so natural. And so he sat right outside the door, hoping that thinking of him being somewhere else even if he was still a doorway away would help you find even a wink of sleep. But he could hear the sound of your pacing footsteps working round and round the room. 

You worried at your lip, tugging at the pearls around your neck and trying to pull them free for even a moment's breath. He said he wouldn't try unless you said he could, he said he wouldn't but you had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth. You hardly knew him at all, didn't know if he was known for being deceptive and you could not afford to be lied to, not when it felt so lasting to be here. You would not only have to live with being fed from but would have to live with being played for the rest of the time you were sitting around here. 

And it wasn't even about being bitten. You knew that you had given yourself up to it, knew it the second you had let them pick you up without saying anything, you had turned in so much to be here and you would sit here and try to make it okay. Tomorrow it would not surprise you if he lied and bit you right there at the table in front of them all, it wouldn't surprise you if he went back on what he said because you expected it. And at this point, it did not matter anymore because your mind was working again and again, be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.  

You would have to be grateful, stomach the upset, and swallow your pride. So you sat at the side of his bed, sinking into the mattress just enough to know that if you fell back it would envelop you like the petals of a flower. And you felt so tired after being up for so long. And even with the soundtrack of your mantra ringing around in your skull you picked up the same rhythm of the floor plan. Said it again and again like counting sheep, laying over the sheets that still smelled of him. That faint scent of white flowers was sweet and alluring. 

It was upsetting to like the way the smell of him made you feel. Vampires were made to be the kind of beings you could not resist even if your body was telling you that something was not quite right about the situation. You knew fight or flight and being in a room full of them only triggered the sense. But here, warm in his bed, looking up at the canopy that he must have looked up to a thousand times, resting your head on his sweet smelling pillow you could not find it in yourself to want to run. Not until after you rested at least. 

But you did not tuck yourself in, facing the door and watching the handle as if that would provide you comfort with your eyes closed. You breathed in, deep and swallowing the scent you drifted off, half awake for your body wouldn't let you fall into true sleep. Sunghoon could tell this as he leaned against the wall, half wishing he would have gone into his new bed to rest but if you were to get little sleep so would he. He wanted you to trust him, not to trick you but just so that he could show his true intentions. 

So early before you had even snuck to take a quick bath without him around, he went to the kitchen and collected as many red fruits as he could, dark crimson cherries, the beads of a pomegranate, and the soft easily ground raspberries, anything that would stain his lips the color of wine. He folded them up into a soft cloth, tucking them behind his back as he went back up to the room. By then you were already changed and watching the door, waiting for him. 

But he did not burst in through the door as you had expected since this was his room and only partially yours, no, he knocked, knuckles light on the hardwood, he could have been confused with a branch hitting the side of the house with a soft breeze. The soft patter of your heart quickened nonetheless. Shoulders tightening, limbs locking, your flight was slowly turning to freeze without your permission. 

“You can come in,” the words were necessary but sickening to pull forward. 

Sunghoon was rumpled, eyes soft as he looked down at his hands revealing the bundle of fruit. He had crushed a cherry on his walk up when he passed a staff member, the juice slipping down his palm and wrist. You had only seen the red for a brief moment, the faint trail of it having your attention before he opened his hands for you to see the rest. “I know it's crazy,” he already felt small even suggesting his plan. 

This wasn't something that was expected of a prince, of any vampire. It was something that he had done when he was young, hiding away from the truth and still believing that his father couldn't tell he wasn't getting enough in his system. It felt worse letting someone in on his secret. “For the dinner, you're going to have to put some of these fruits in the mesh cuffs you have on. If they are already stained they won’t think anything of it,” 

It didn't make any sense to you as to why he would go to such lengths to keep up his promise to you. You could feel yourself pushing back at his kindness, he was slotted in your mind as an enemy and any amount of niceties would not place him anywhere else. “When it's time I'll grab your wrist and bite the fruit not you,” 

“Why?” your confusion was a mix of distaste and curiosity, your brows drawn together as you looked at his red-stained fingers. “Why not just bite me and get it over with?” 

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as he dropped any eye contact he had held with you. You took the opportunity to look over the moles on his face, finding the trail of them, already remembering as if it had been the map out of this room, only you didn't need to repeat it to yourself; it was as if you had already known the path. “I don't want your blood,” he clenched his jaw after he said it as if that was too much to have slipped out in the first place. 

You don't know why it felt like he had slammed a door in your face, the weight of it heavy and fitting so neatly against its frame. It shouldn't have hurt, your mind trying to recoil from the pain you shouldn't feel and yet did. You had wanted to be the one to twist the lock, press your back against the wood, and keep your feet planted. But here he was doing it all on his own. And before you could ask again, the why so close to being dropped between you like a thin glassed champagne flute, he left you with nothing but the maroon cloth stuffed with fruit and your waiting question. 

Before it had felt as if you had been given some kind of grace to work with. He had said he wouldn't feed from you like it was a gift you should thank him for. But now he was standing in front of you and saying he didn't want your blood, not that it was something he was holding himself back from. The words were settling over you and tightening around your limbs, you shouldn't feel anything except relief not worry about something being wrong with you. There was no reason to be thinking over this when you didn't want it in the first place, no reason to let the confession sink you so low. 

But you would do what you needed to do nonetheless, turning around and tucking the fruit against the mesh at your wrist. He would have his mouth there, close to your vein in only a few hours and it set your nerves aflame. Not only would it be him around but everyone else, the other vampires who would have teeth stained with blood instead of fruit. You would see the other feeders, the ones that you were supposed to be replicated after. You would see what rumor had been real, would it hurt them, or would it feel like bliss? 

Either one felt like a death sentence, slowly losing one's self with or without you noticing, one tricking you into believing it was okay and the other tearing you apart. It was all you could think about when he finally came back, his clothes changed and hair done to hang perfectly around his face. He first looked down at your wrists, laid next to you at your side neatly hiding the faint stain showing up. “It shouldn't take too long,” he whispered, fingers playing with the pearls slung across his chest. 

It was the first time you had seen such a chain on him, it matched your pearls perfectly, the latch made so that he could hook you up to follow him without him having to tug you along with his own hands. It wasn't fear that was slinking through you now but anger, hot and ashamed. “You're not tying me up,” you drew the line there, he could bite you all he wanted before he found you chined to him with anything more than a speech written contract. 

You backed up, legs hitting the bed and stilling you in your place. “I'm not going to be paraded around like that, like I'm a purse at your side, a dog at your feet,” you spit the words, letting them land at his feet and sticking to the world around you. It already felt like a curse to have the stupid chain around you no matter how expensive, no matter how pretty it was, nothing more than a reminder for him that you were little in comparison to him. 

“I didn't say you would be, I have to wear it, I don't have to use it,” he tugged on his own pearls looking down at them for the first time, “they want us down soon and I want to go over the plan again,” he looked up, catching your eyes to make sure you were listening. You nodded to let him continue, “I won't bite you, my fangs won't even come out, I just need to stain my mouth and your wrists, nothing more and nothing less, okay?” 

“Okay,” you would have to believe him now more than ever, this was a test that both of you would have to pass for both of you to feel comfortable in the situation. The trust is stretched thin enough to fall apart or be strengthened. 

Sunghoon could tell you were scared the second he was at his seat with you next to him sitting on his armrest. If he had even been tempted to feed tonight it would have been washed away the second the others came in and you were faced with them and their bruised necks and wrists. The faint puncture marks made by fangs over and over again only looked worse in the candlelight. Your hands twisted in your lap, wrists turned in so that no one could see the stains already made. Sunghoon wanted to say anything to calm your nerves, whisper it if only someone would not be able to hear but he could not. 

His father sat next to him at the head of the table, already ready to get the dinner over with as fast as the two of you did. He didn't want to see his son make a fool of himself if he couldn't even try to drink. He had seen Sunghoon unable to let his fangs down, watching him pull away with hardly a drop on his lips before he had to leave. He didn't care if he was putting him on the spot now with trying but he needed to know that he could get it done, needed to know he would make an effort as much as he could. 

But you could hardly pay any attention to anything else besides the girl in front of you. Dressed as you were, the gauzy fabric of her dress flowed around her like a breeze while she took her seat at her vampire's armrest. She didn't seem scared, she seemed excited to sit there, leaning back against him. Her faint smile was hazy, looking from his hand in hers. It didn't settle your fears but set them in stone, her wrist covered like yours, dots of blood staining the mesh. 

But It felt wrong to witness them the second the meal started, the intimacy shocking you more than the feel on sunghoons hand on your arm. In this room he was the only constant, his soft fingers tapping against your skin to get your attention. But it was hard to turn away the second the man in front of you flashed his fangs, the sight of them making your knees weak in the worst way. The soft hum of approval from the feeder he sank his teeth into slid across the table in a wave. Her lashes fluttered, pressing her wrist closer to his mouth without even having to be asked. She wanted it to happen, wanted him to take the long sips he was indulging in. No one was paying any attention to Sunghoon and you when they were so consumed by their own meals. 

Sunghoon slid his hand down to your wrist, the feeling traveling up to your elbow, the hair on the back of your neck rising as he looked up at you for approval. Sitting like this, with you higher, looking down on him and his asking gaze, you felt like drowning. Because for a split second, you wanted to know what it felt like, hoped that in some way you would know even just a little bit without him going too far, taking too much. And you were scared that with one look he would know you were thinking about him in that way, thinking about him doing the one thing he said he would not because of you but because he didn't want to do it.

Every soft movement he made with your hand in his was torture, fear slinking back into you, the spicy scent of it flooding his senses. He was so close to having your wrist at his mouth, your eyes stuck on him as he pulled up the mesh just enough so that he could make it look like he could get his teeth into place, the fruit trapped in the fabric. 

Your breathing was pulling closer together, each puff tumbling into the next, mouth slightly open as you watched his lips part. He didn't take his eyes off you, teeth in a neat row already looking as if they were tipped with fangs but unlike the man across from you, they did not elongate. His lips ghosted over your pulse point, the thrumming of your rushing blood soft against his mouth as he took in the first raspberry, the crunch mimicking the way it would have been when piercing into your skin. If you had to play the part you did it well, gasping as if it had been you he had bitten, shocked by the way his lips felt so gently against your delicate skin.

He pressed in further, hand wrapped around yours as you curled your fingers around his. The pitted cherry was next to find its demise at his sharp teeth, the juice of it slipping down your arm like a thin line of freshly spilled blood. Your free hand twisted in your skirt, watching the way he faked the look of pleasure from that first bite. 

You shouldn't feel this way, shouldn't feel like you wanted him to just slip up, have his teeth scrape against your skin if even just a scratch. And he was so gentle with you, lips pressed like a soft kiss, feeling the warmth of you against him made him hum, it had been so long since he had felt heat like this so close to him. He tried to keep his teeth as far away from you, he didn't want to scare you much less make it seem like he was on the verge of lying. Because he might have been lying to everyone but he couldn't lie to you, not when you needed the truth the most. 

Sunghoon watched the way you wet your bottom lip, watching his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. It felt dangerous and intimate, twisted in deception and staining his judgment. And for a second, the width of a hair, he could smell your blood go clean, whether it was in his imagination being this close to you or reality he had to pull away. And the spicy sweetness flooded over him again when you saw the way his mouth was stained like he had glass after glass of red wine. He licked his lips, wiping at the edge of his mouth, and tried to stomach the faint ribbons of hunger unraveling in his stomach. 

He tried to ignore it, ignore the fact he knew it was wrong, and yet how wrong could it be to hope that you could curb his hunger even if it was only an inkling of the feeling? But the memory of the way he had rejected the last drop of spiced blood was still fresh in his mind. He would not try again, not now, and not when you hadn't offered. But you had been pressing back on his mouth, pressing your wrist to him like you wanted him to do it or maybe it was his own delusion teasing him with the idea. 

And you would not look at him with his lips tinted a new shade of pink, the crawling on your skin closer to light touches and not the feel of spiders. He had not lied, he had kept his word and you didn't know what to do with that. 

You kept your distance on the way back to the room, distracted enough to climb into his bed the second he had gone to his. You didn't fight the sleep that came over you either, the days of unrest coming back to have you pay your dues. Nothing was without a price it seemed because even in sleep you were plagued with the reality of the day. In your dreams, you begged Sunghoon to bite you; held your wrist out for him, and let him take your blood. You could see his fangs and watched them right before he pushed them into you. The pain felt blinding, racing up your arm until it circled your heart, squeezing until you felt yourself snap up in bed, half a scream caught in your throat. 

Panting you held your hand over your heart, skin slick with the cold sweat you had broken out into only seconds ago that had felt like an eternity. Your subconscious was telling you no to the temptation pushed in front of you. You knew vampires held a power to pull people in, knew them to use it against even the strongest of people. And now you understand it all. He was calling on something deeply instinctual inside you, the surface layer of it making you fearful but whatever was underneath was dangerous and bewitching to your right mind. 

You could not go back to sleep after you were up already. Sitting with your back against the headboard waiting for him to come out of his room while you tugged on the pearls at your neck, not strong enough to pull them free. For a short time, you had even walked over to his bookshelf to look through the boring titles he had stocked up. No more letter openers waiting between the pages as you flipped through tome after tome. It's why the second he came out from the little room he had been sleeping you asked him to go to the library. 

Sunghoon was surprised by you asking him to go anywhere, you wouldn't talk to him if you didn't have to and you knew not to leave the room without him unless you did have a plan to escape. He jumped on the opportunity to please you, a silent thank you written into the action for the night before. 

He could not stop thinking about your soft gasp, the way you had watched him so closely. He had grown up with so many people's eyes on him, watching every little move he made and scrutinizing every wrong turn. It was not uncommon for any aristocrat, even one held as high as he was to want one moment without eyes on them. During feedings had been one of the few moments of peace he could have in a room full of people, that was until people started to watch out to make sure he was getting food in his system. But you did not make him feel nervous, did not make him feel as if he needed to be ashamed of what he was, of what he could not do and tried so hard to accomplish. You had watched him in awe. 

He liked to have your eyes on him, watching the way they fell to each spot on his face, the one right under his eyes, to the one on the side of his nose, and down to the edge of his lips. Your eyes lingered, tracing the shape of his mouth, the line he ran over his bottom lip with his tongue. He wanted you to look at him like that again because if you could persist he could drink his fill of your features, trace the line of your nose, the shape of your eyes, your lips, without fearing that you would get too scared to look at him ever again. 

When you looked at him like that he was not the monster he felt you saw him but just a boy trying to find his footing amongst the rest of them just like you were. He hated to know what your blood smelled like fearless, the sweetness enough to ache his teeth in just the right way, the kind of temptation that he was told to stay away from indulging so fiercely in.

But it was a distant scent, gone as quickly as it had shown up and yet he was stuck thinking about it as he sat with you in the library. He had given you space, let you go around and around to find whatever it was you wanted to look at. Finding his seat to rest with his book but his mind did not stop moving, he watched you; followed the invisible trail you drew with your movements. You traced your finger over the spine of each book you came across, reading the names to yourself. He tried to guess the next one you would pick, stacking up the titles that seemed to have grabbed your attention enough for you to pull it from the shelf in the first place, looking for a correlation if there was any except the face they had caught your eye. 

You were calmer here in the new space, even when there was not much sunlight except for a small window set into the ceiling. Just the small bit of light it let through even on a grey day was better than nothing at all. And you felt better having Sunghoon sitting around knowing he had held himself back even after being so close to your vein, even when around all the blood in the room. But it didn't put you at ease, not entirely with your dream still so close to the surface of your mind. You had never felt pain as you had imagined while asleep but even just a touch of that pain would have felt all consuming. 

Picking up a book you skimmed the first few pages, flicking between the yellowing pages catching the smell of aged paper and ink stopping randomly on a page you did not care to read. You had the intention to find a book to read but it didn't have to be instantly and Sunghoon was giving you enough space to take all the time you needed to find one. But you could spend so long just doing exactly that, turning to random pages looking for something to pull your attention long enough to want to start from the beginning. And just as you started to find that interest you slide your finger along the single page you had in hand. 

It was quick, the pain didn't even register until it was too late. The bubbling of blood bright red and nauseating. It was nothing but a thin line, right across the pad of your pointer finger, slicing the fingerprint in half like the visual representation of you being split down the middle. You felt heavy right at your center, a fist around your stomach, churning up your worry while the rest of your limbs felt so separate and far away. 

Sunghoon could smell the blood as soon as that first bead donned your finger, pricked like a sleep-entrance princess. The cinnamon sugar scent you had been carrying turned gingery and intense around the room in an instant. Chest heaving you stood frozen watching how the line darkened with each passing second. He didn't want to make it so obvious that he was making his way to you but there was no way around it when he was in front of you, wrapping your finger up in his handkerchief instead of delighting in your slip up. 

“It's okay, it's small, nothing too bad,” he tried to soothe, your hand curling around his, clenching around the cloth as if it was the only thing keeping you from that pain made from your dreamscape. Vampires were strong, you're sure that if he wanted he could rip the handkerchief in two without any struggle, just as easily as he could have split your skin like the thin sheet of paper with the edge of one fang. The fabric was keeping nothing from him, not while it soaked in the color of your blood like it would wine, the stain so close to the raspberries that had been left on your mesh cuffs only the night before. 

It was hard not to think of him as you had in your dream, but here there were no fangs present, just his understanding eyes and steady hand in yours. It was not as it had been in your mind with him lunging for the opportunity to hurt you. Having him this close to you made the power of him flood your mind. Every time he got near you found yourself leaning in and not away, the time together only bringing him closer past the borders you had built around yourself.

You tried to remind yourself that this is what they did, lured you in, with their intoxicating aura, cunning and clandestine. But even as you said it to yourself, let the warnings ring out like a dinner bell. You couldn't make the thought stick any more than you could the idea that you needed to be grateful. For this small second, you were nothing more than just someone who couldn't take their eyes off of the person in front of them. Needing to be closer, needing to find whatever it was you were missing in yourself and get it from him. 

The papercut was so far removed from your mind, everything blurring as you leaned closer, breathing in the same air as he did, each inhale slowing your pulse until you were just about to press your lips to his. The ghost of him just brushing your mouth is the kind of feeling that would haunt you for years to come. Both of you tugged away from the other as the sound of the library door opening echoed, the quick slink of the guillotine cutting the moment away almost as fast as it had started. 

The realization of what had almost happened was blinding, cutting across your vision and clearing your head as you turned away from looking at him. You had read about vampire compulsion and knew that even if they were not trying it could slip free and confuse even the strongest person. You refused to believe it was you alone who had leaned in, refused to believe it was you who had wanted him to be so close to you in the first place. But you could not stop thinking about the round shape of his bottom lip, thinking about how it would fit so perfectly between your own. 

“Dinner is soon my prince, I was told to give you fair warning,” the butler who had come in muttered, Sunghoon giving his full attention to him as if he could not bring himself to look at you. All you could focus on was the numbing of your fingers from how hard you held them, tightening and tightening with each passing second that you had to think about what had almost happened. 

Wanting to kiss him was unlike wanting to be bitten by him. Being bitten was in your contract, what you had been told would happen between the two of you. Being kissed was not something that should have been crossing your mind when he was going to be the person to ruin you. You could live with him taking your blood, knowing that if anything happened between the two of you that would be it. But the magnetism was not only calling the iron in your veins but pulling back your steely inhibitions. 

So much so that when you found yourself on the edge of his chair that same night, raspberries tucked in the stained mesh cuffs, pressing your wrist to his mouth without him even having to ask. His fingers curled around yours the same way, holding your hand, and wishing he was leaning back in, just enough to breathe in the same air again. Because even Sunghoon could feel his resolve tumbling down the cliff of his restraint, slowly chipping away at the hold he had because his gums ached, throat sore, his teeth scraping against your waiting vein. 

Your gasp was almost as sweet as he knew your blood would be flooding his taste buds. The need was shocking enough for him to pull away from you, keep your wrist at a distance because he was worried if he was any closer, if he smelled your blood go clean for even a second like the last time he would not be able to keep his fangs back. And he felt disgusted with himself from the thought of not being able to hold himself back. 

He did not want to be like the monster you must have thought that he was. Monster enough to not be able to stop himself and yet you were not thinking about him in that way. All you could think about was that you wanted it, wanted it so bad that you held onto his hand harder, waiting for him to bring your wrist back up. You could feel the part of your sanity leaving you, the part that had kept you in line long enough to think of an escape plan. 

The word makes you find yourself again because while you go back up the stairs you don't even think about remembering the way back down. And it's the first night that you don't worry about him coming out from his room while you sleep. The sheets now still partially smelling of you mixed with the faint intoxicating smell of him, the pillow lulling you to sleep without much effort at all. 

It was the first night you could feel the tiredness pulling in your limbs enough to where it didn't matter if you were scared it only mattered that you fell asleep. Aided by the ease you were feeling about wanting him closer to you than you should. 

Sunghoon could tell the second you were asleep, breathing evening out, heart rate slowing down but it was the sweetness that did him in. The scent curled through the air, his deep inhale made the smell coat his throat, his mouth filling with venom, gums burning, body shaking. He didn't even remember making it out of his room, the darkness of his shadow pooling over you as he was backlit but the dying flames in the fireplace. But he could see the soft line of your neck, the delicate curve leading to the back of your hairline, the shell of your ear. The thin skin covering your eyes, down the shape of your cheek until he was looking down your jaw back to the curve of your neck, right over where he could see the soft rhythm of your pulse. 

He didn't even feel himself open the door, his hands balled into fists by his sides, nails digging into his palms, knuckles whitening from the tightness. Watching the faint rise and fall of your sleeping chest, the way your lips parted just slightly. He could associate your mouth with wanting to bite you because of how often he found himself looking at your lips the second his teeth were close to your vein. 

And for the first time in what felt like years Sunghoon felt his fangs push through his gums, digging into the unfamiliar spots of the soft flesh of his inner lips. Because you were too sweet to hold back from, the just ripe scent of fresh raspberries and the soft decadence of vanilla.

He was telling himself to pull away, to get away from the edge of the bed, lock himself in his room, and think about nothing else, think about everything that had nothing to do with you and your enticing blood. But he could not stop the thoughts from invading his brain; if before he had been physically sick he knew that this was a different kind of plague overtaking him. The kind that would have him stop at nothing to get to you, the kinda they wrote about in dystopian books about chaos and destruction. He felt like every bit the monster you must believe him to be and yet he could not find it in himself to care at all because he just wanted one taste, the smallest bit, a drop if anything else. 

It takes everything in him to stop from reaching out one finger, he wants just to feel the flutter of your pulse, just to know that there, underneath your unresisting skin was the warmth and cure to his hunger that he had not even known that he had been searching for. It had been so long since that he had even felt the soft fist in his stomach, the tightening working its way up his esophagus. The feeling was so close to how he believed it to feel for you that first day standing in the hall, stuck there standing in the doorway trying to catch your breath. It's that image that makes him leave, the fear he had scented then, had seen written all over your face, your body. If it had taken you everything to step foot into his room he would give his all to walk away now. 

So he ran, half stumbling to get away from the bed, the canopy swaying around the bed you lay from how close he had been to giving in and taking from you and not leaving you with the trust you had been working to give him. The door slamming is what woke you, he had not meant it but he didn't know how much he was trying to keep his distance. If he had stayed just right outside he could have smelled the fear course through you in an instant but even then he was holding his breath to make sure not even a bit more of the temptation could slip past his restraint. 

But you sat up, heart picking up its speed as you looked around in the darkness, the embers in the fireplace glowing so low that they mixed in with the ash, fading down into nothing but a pale blanket of twilight. He was gone, you knew as much, his door half open could not have slammed itself. Your hand had found its way up to your throat, feeling the clammy coolness coming over you from the adrenaline finding its home around your joints and in your stomach. 

The pearls you wore were warm and unwanted, a reminder of exactly how your plan had been fumbled through fingers wishing to run through Sunghoon’s dark hair. You tugged on the necklace, the leash, pulled until you could feel the pearls dimpling your skin. It felt impossibly tight to think about wanting him when still bound like this. In a single glance, anyone would know that you did not belong anywhere except under the blood-hungry. If you broke the necklace and collected the pearlescent beads they would keep you sustained long enough to go far away from here. 

But in his bed, smelling the faint white floral scent of him surrounding you mixed with the heady perfume of the wood burned fire it was so difficult to pick yourself up and run. It was worse because you wanted him to want you. Why must it only be you who had to resist the pull from the other, shouldn't it have been the other way around? Didn't they tell you that he would have wanted- needed to have you around him? That he would crave you with everything in him after only a few feedings since vampires got so attached and territorial over their feeders. 

You had found yourself in a thorny bush, pinched and kept in place, any slight movement left you with the stinging pain of betrayal. Flowers were supposed to be pretty not painful and yet all you could feel were the sharp thorns. He was supposed to be in your place, stuck and begging to be released by you; your blood the shears to snip away the twisted branches. But he didn’t want you, no lasting desire woven into what was supposed to be a tapestry of temptation after temptation. 

There was no lying in the reason why you picked yourself up off the bed, even less when you felt the tears start. To be unwanted was worse than to be here wanted with his teeth in your vein because at least then you could pretend you didn't enjoy it or let yourself know how much you truly did enjoy it and just succumb. 

So you ran, did what you said you would, and stumbled down the empty hall washed in nothing but darkness. The curtains were drawn close, the plush velvet carpet that ran over the center of the hardwood soft and slippery under your barefoot. You didn't even notice you had left your shoes behind in the room, thin and slippered or not it would have been better than nothing. 

The castle groaned, the shudder of the wind hitting the stone was nothing short of frightful when gust after gust was shaking the trees lining the property. The rain pattered on the thick glass windows even if you couldn't see it, it echoed in the empty halls like a warning. But you couldn't stop yourself now, not when you knew that if you saw him even for a second you wouldn't want to go back, beg him to know why you, why not you? As the lightning started to crack, thunder rumbling felt underfoot as you pushed the doors open to the empty kitchen that you had been waiting to do. 

The glow that cut across the sky lit up the whole expanse of grass and trees, the stretched limbs of the winter empty branches twisted, curling, and frightening for the second that they had been exposed by the lightning. The thunder was so close that you could feel it sync up with the unease washing over you. The rain was too loud to think and if you stepped out you would be drenched and cold by morning. Frozen over like a lake in late January. The tears came harder than before wanting to be back in his room as a redundant decorative house plant he kept alive because watching it die would be more hassle. 

Sunghoon had gone all the way to the kitchen when he had left. Picking over the stocks of what they had to have them ready for you in the morning when you woke up. In some twisted sense of an apology for something you didn't even know he had done. And had tried to make sure that he could stop the hunger. Trying to stomach a handful of raspberries as if that would help him any but it would give him no sustenance. He could not go down to find a new feeder, refused to go out and try to find anyone who was willing because it had never felt right, he had never been hungry for anyone until you. 

His fangs wouldn't even go back up, not when he felt as if you were invading every part of him, his flesh so weak that he was yearning to be close to you. Not only did he want his mouth pressed to your neck to eradicate his hunger but so that he could let his lips find places to remember, places that would make you feel just as weak as he did. 

Then he knew you were there, the loud wash of the rain echoing in the kitchens the second you had pushed the door open. He had started to learn the rhythm of your heart just as he had known his own, softly beating faintly behind his ribcage making room to take you in without him even realizing it. He knew the only reason you would be down here was to run, he was not dense enough to believe you had wanted to stay all of the time, not when you were so fearful of him in the first place. He had known of only a few feeders who had regretted their decisions to come here and even then the stories were few and far between.  

He wanted you to stay and it wasn't only because he had found himself craving you but because he had been missing something for a long time. Not only this feeling but some kind of twisted friendship or even just acquaintanceship. He had never felt so lonely, not until he wasn't alone anymore. Having someone to match up his breaths with even if they were a room away felt better than sitting alone in his room with nothing and no one to think or lean on. 

And now you were leaving, standing just at the edge of the doorframe with the wind beating the rain down on you. Your dress already so thin had turned sheer with the wetness, your chin dripping with droplets of water and tears. He ached to see you so ready to run. He had never before begged for things that were outside of his control, he could find balance within the chaos of others' decisions because like so many he never had an option to change things on a whim like so many people before him. He knew being a prince set him up higher; people believed he had the world right at his fingertip but it was nothing but emptiness sitting around a fireplace waiting to feel the same kind of hunger as everyone else around you. 

He wanted you now even if he had said he wouldn't, he would let you go, he would- but his fingers curled around your arm tugging you inside, away from the pelting rain, and into the circle of his arms. You were soaked clean through, shaking in his grasp but instead of pushing you away, you pressed in further. 

You don't need anything more than to smell the faint white flowers that had been left on the pillowcases. You pulled him closer, the thin tunic he wore twisting in your grasp as you pressed your face into his chest, knowing you shouldn't and yet needing it nonetheless. It didn't matter if he was also getting wet just from holding you and you didn't care if his coolness was not warming you but making you shiver harder. “I don't want to leave,” it was so easy to say it this close when it felt as if it was only you and him and nothing in between. 

They were words you didn't think you would say out loud let alone words that you had come to fully understand until they were leaving you. But here right against him, where you really wanted to be, it was hard not to say them. 

“Don't go, you don't have to if you don't want to but if you want to leave I can find some way to make it happen,” the words felt wrong, he didn't want you to leave but he wouldn't let you suffer. But you only held on, shaking your head and letting him hold you. 

“I hate this,” you grit out, wishing you knew why you felt this way. You knew yourself and this was so consuming, this need for him to want you back. Before it would not have mattered, the steps down from his room to this very door would have been going around your head, Left, right, right, stairs, left, right, left, door, not the constant echo of his deep voice telling you, ‘I don't want your blood,’ the line itself had found a way to worm under your skin. That worm burrows holes in your sound-minded reasoning, your weak heart, and even weaker flesh. “I hate that I don't want to leave and I hate how you don't-” 

“How I don’t what?” Sunghoon was finding it hard to take in full breaths because instead of flooding with fear when in his grasp you were leveling out into calm serene. The swirling scent of you overwhelmed him, feet planted so stiffly and it was the only thing he could focus on this close trying to keep his fang back. 

You push away keeping your fists in his shirt, his arms still circling you if he let go you would be back out the door in the rain. But you only looked at him, taking in the sight of his dark eyes searching you for an answer you didn't want to confess to. Saying it out loud, asking him all your questions would pull you apart into nothing but empty bones hollowed out as cleanly as the promises you kept for yourself. You had said you would run, promised yourself that it would be so easy to get out if you just had the way and now you stood here in his arms like it was nothing at all. But it was clawing up your back, stringing itself across your shoulders and around your neck like a damned albatross you had been burdened with; forced on you by your own hands. 

But you couldn't keep it in anymore, the words spilling free like a knocked over glass of wine, deep and crimson, “I hate how you don't want me and I hate that even if your need is the only reason I'm here it should be a blessing and all I can think was that I was gifted a curse. I hate myself for wanting you so bad when you don't even think about wanting me,” 

The words were like the slamming of a door, the lock heavy and twisting true as he took in your admission. He had wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong, wanted everything in him to give in but he couldn't. Not like this with you on the verge of leaving, not when you feared him still if even only a little bit. He wanted to give you everything you wanted, he needed for nothing, not until he felt this bewitchment overtake him even now opening his mouth to get the words out he felt his gums tingling. 

Sunghoon had teeth that already faintly resembled fangs, the permanent outline to tell you exactly who he was even under all the promises not to bite you. But now, his lips only just parted. You watched as they elongated, they were only a bit longer, but you could see the definition. Seeing the others with their teeth in the other feeders had been scary, all the malice written over their faces even if it were only what you had painted in your minds over their lustful glances and soft hands. But now you could see why the other feeders had leaned in at the sight, turned their wrists and chins so willingly at the sight as if they were nothing but marionettes to be controlled by the sight of their vampire coming to take from them. 

Seeing him, brows tight, and ashamed, he looked nothing more than a boy looking for forgiveness at the knees of your confession and you wanted nothing more than to give him the grace he so desperately sought after. You leaned in, entranced by his becoming call, every mole on his porcelain skin leading you back to the soft shape of his eyes and the plush pink of his lips. 

You were magnetic, pulling him in closer to you, not even from the faint ripples of hunger but from the allure of your every passing breath where you looked at him like that. He did not care about what you had thought about him previously, not about anything else except this moment where you wanted him and he needed you. 

Just one brush of his lips against yours was all that he sought after. He was so close to kissing you just like he had been in the library, so near the edge of a cliff he could not fall from and ever return, if there had been any rope tied around him it was his sanity and it had gone slack snapping halfway down once he muttered, “all I ever do is crave you, my appetite so unfulfilled not only because I'm struggling to resist you right at this very moment but because there is nothing else, no one else I have ever wanted more than you. It feels so unreasonably dangerous to subject you to my burning need and yet…” he let the soft puff of breath fall over your lips, taking it in and swallowing it down as if it were a star you had trapped in a jar. 

He was so close when the thought passed over you, the fading memory of the reason why you had run. The split second was like ink in a pool of clear water, unraveling like the fingers you had fisted around his heart and soul because he could not take for you when you did not want it, not when he could smell that spicy sweetness mixing together. But even then he wanted to try, just a drop would do no matter the burn, he wanted it. 

But he did not kiss you, he led you back up to your room, clenching his jaw and holding his breath all the way back up the stairs. He kept his mind on the next step he had to take and not the way the fabric of your dress clung to your skin, not the way the soft roar of your blood was the only sound he could focus on even through the storm hitting against the walls. The second he had let you go to bed and he found himself in the privacy of his own small space he could not stop the thoughts. 

He was starving. Completely empty of anything he had ever felt before. He had believed he had known hunger back when he was young, believed he would never feel anything worse in his life because there was no cure. He had felt in his bones there was no cure except time and suppression but this hunger had broken something in him. He had believed himself a stone mountain, the waves of hunger hitting the side of him gone dry only now he was beginning to believe he had been hollow the whole time, a cave that had been shown the light after the tidal wave came tumbling through to make the echoing emptiness known. 

He had known of the desolate expanse of his insides but had never felt as if they ran so deep. But he was a mess of nothing but clawing realization, it wasn't just that he wanted you, it was that he felt as if he would die without you. How he had distanced himself for so long, how he found himself restraining even now was taking most of his thinking because if he listened in he could still hear the pitter patter of your half asleep heartbeat waiting for him in the other room. The soft sound mixed with the mewl of his name. 

You were calling for him, drunk on a dream you tossed in the sheets, the fabric twisting around your legs, bunching your dress around your hips as you turned. It was some kind of sense that let you know that he had left his room. Eyes flickering open seeing him half hidden behind the gauzy canopy. Everything felt so sudden the second you said his name in that breathy whisper again he was half hanging on by a thread, finding himself leaning over you all over again. 

He loved to see you like this, whining and laying back against his pillows, tucked under him with the sweet aroma of your trust wafting from your blood. “Sunghoon,” his name is like a plea for something only he could provide. Because he knew the feeling, your name in response was the only answer he could find as he took in inhale after inhale of temptation. His fangs ached as he held back. 

You lifted your hands until they cupped his face in your palms, pushing back his hair hanging by his ears. It had taken so little time to memorize his features even when you told yourself that you shouldn't have, but there was no way you could forget about a face like his. With one finger you trace across his nose, watching his lashes flutter, brows coming in together as he groans. Your finger seeks out the sound, not from his throat but at his lips, following the shape of his cupid's bow. 

There was no resistance as you pressed your finger between his lips and pressed against his fang. Your shocked gasp was followed by a flood of the spicy smell of your fear but for a moment your blood was clean of anything but sweetness. You watched as Sunghoon’s eyes went unsteady, hazy from that one drop. The wash of the taste took over everything he could think about and it did not fix any emptiness but widened a cavern of uncontrollable need. 

It was fast, his hips sinking into yours, keeping you locked in place, your finger gone from his mouth as both hands found homes in his hair, gently holding as you found yourself frozen still waiting for his next move. Because he was at your neck, fangs brushing over your pulse now beating erratically just beneath the surface of your thin skin. It was taking everything not to bite down, even just the faint tracing, the feel of how fragile it was to break through and take everything he had been waiting for. 

“Do it,” but it felt nothing short of wrong for him to hear those words coming from you. He wanted it, could feel the way he would have begged to have more, and yet he could not take it without knowing you wanted it truly. 

The coolness of his body pressed against you and the drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your body, arching up into him, giving more room for him to bite you. It was in that movement that you felt how hard he was for you. Your moving hips only make it known, your begging gasps not only for his mouth but all of him. “Please,” it was desperate and caught in the back of your mouth as you whined again. 

Everything about you was so consuming, the way your fear was replaced by the sweet smell of your arousal. Your hands pulled him in closer, legs opening to push him into the cradle of your hips. And then he bit down. 

It was a flood of pure unadulterated euphoria, the first taste had been nothing like this, sweet, yes, but not the sugary saccharine flavor that had now overwhelmed him to the point of uncontrollable pulls of mouthful after mouthful. He did not think that he could find a way to ever be full, not when all he wanted to do was drink. To devour you whole and never apologize for what he had done, monster or not. 

And for you, the venom was numbing bliss, body going slack and malleable in response, nerves set to feel every feather light touch he gave. He was curving into you, pressing you harder into the mattress as you hummed, that hazy moan rippling through the air as you finally understood why people gave up so much for this one feeling. Nothing would be able to top this, not when you were slipping into some unknown part of yourself and finding that nothing had ever felt better. You would let him go on until you could not think but it was easy enough to do that because thoughts came in half-formed sentences, everything was by touch and sensation, stripped down to nerves that only sought out pleasure. 

Sunghoon had practiced restraint all his life, he had never had to pull away from something or someone because he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. But pulling away he found was harder than starting in the first place. Addicted in nothing more than half a second. But he knew he would have to stop and breathe, to let you breathe. His mouth stained red, he kissed over the puncture marks he had created, relishing in the tremble each brush of his lips made your body react with. “No, don’t stop-” the whine followed by the roll of your hips against him. “More, I need more,” 

“Just a second, too fast and I won't stop next time,” he kept his trail going, kissing and re-kissing over the bloodstains in the pattern of his lips from your jaw back down to your collarbone. He wanted to make a mess of you, teeth lightly scratching down the column of your throat loving the sound of your sensitivity. His body was trembling with the need to sink into you in any way he could consume you, body and soul. 

But it wasn't what you wanted, this whole time you had been waiting for this one moment, struggling to think you would enjoy it and now you were taught that you had been keeping yourself away from a feeling you never wanted to be out of. If he had asked for your wrist you wouldn't hold your hand behind your back but press it to his mouth. Your hands moved down his body, feeling the thin material of his shirt and needing to get your warm hands on his skin, needing the sensation to feed into your sensitivity. 

And for the first time, Sunghoon was flushed, pink cheeks and lips deepening in color. Your blood was so close to how he had looked stained with raspberry marrow. “You look so pretty like this,” he whispered, thumb moving to brush at the soft skin under your eye like he would catch a tear. “Where have you been hidden all my life?” 

But it didn't matter about before, not when he was all you could think about at that moment, all you could feel as you rolled your hips under him, needing him to understand that it was more that you needed. And he wanted it too, working on instinct, pushing up your thin nightgown following the line from your thigh up your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh at the sight of you. Neither of you worried about stripping completely, Sunghoon’s white tunic thrown aside and his pants unbuttoned by your nimble hands.  

Your gasp at the stretch of him pushing into you was so like the breathy shock from the first sight of his mouth on your wrist. Clawing at him you pulled his body in closer letting him sink in as much as he could and you felt full and unbelievably greedy. One hand dragged through the silky strands of his hair, cupping his skull and pressing his face back into your neck where he breathed in the delicacy of your pleasure, hot open mouth pressed over the marks he had already made resisting from drinking again just yet. Your other hand found itself scratching at his toned back, legs widening for him. 

If holding back from your blood had been difficult on its own, being this close was taking all the restraint he had mustered for years. He gave shallow languid thrusts, pressed right against a spot far enough to make your lashes flutter with every movement. You were slipping from your sane mind as if you had even been there for a long time. But his hold on your hip and the other hand fisting the sheets in a deadly strangle were the only thing grounding Sunghoon to himself without surrendering to nothing but needy instinct that ripped at his restraint. And you were whispering, lips hardly moving as you leaned your head back giving him more access to your fluttering pulse point. “Please, Sunghoon- please,” 

He let his hand on your hip slip lower, wedged between the two of you he found your clit, rubbing soft circles to match the slow thrusts he found himself unable to contain. You whined as his nose brushed over the bruised space he had created, his panting inhalation twisting your insides into a tight knot that only he knew how to undo. And when he bit down again he was overtaken by the complete sense of unquenchable thirst. 

For you everything was tumbling together in perfect ecstasy, his fingers, his body, his mouth, he was so in tune with you and you alone that it was easy to find yourself falling over the edge. Your moans and trembling body under him only make him lose a part of himself that he had been holding. His fingers once placed on your clit moved away so as to not overstimulate you now wrapped around your neck, gently holding you in place as he takes one final mouthful of a cure he never knew he would have found. 

He pulled his mouth away from your vein, fingers curling around the pearl necklace you wore, the willpower it had taken to do so focused solely on iridescent beads under hand. And then he followed after you, filling you with everything he had, shivering as he moaned into the hollow of your neck, into your ear. The necklace snapped as he leveraged thrust after thrust into you drawing out both of your highs as the sound of spilling beads against the hardwood floor rained down. The bed is a mess of the pearls, all of them slipping and trapping themself in any spot they could find between the two of you. 

You didn't want to let him go, not after the two of you were done and he was still slowly pumping his release into you and finding new places to kiss along your skin. “I would sacrifice so much to have you like this over and over again,” the rumble of his words vibrating against your chest, his voice deep and husky against your ear. 

He had taken the words right from you, as if he had reached into your head and pulled them into existence. Fear had been warping the mirror of your reality, the fear of the unknown blacking out the first instinct you had when faced with a single question, ‘Have you ever been fed from before?’ 

You had reached out and let them take you and it had been in a state of desperate worry that you did not know how much of yourself you would have lost to him if he bit you even one time. But being here, feeling the warmth of your blood under his skin settled your unease. It was never a question, not after knowing what it felt like to be had, not after knowing how it felt to be fed from. “You have me already,” you whispered, his ghosting lips catching the words right as they left you. “Just don’t hurt me,” 

“Never,” hurting a blessing felt like a crime he would never come back from. Kissing you until you tasted your blood on his tongue; until your heartbeats had synced. 

🏷taglist: @xylatox @cutehoons02 @cyjhhyj @izzyy-stuff want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! I do not write for enha this is my first time and I don't know how much ill be writing for them in the future this is for the taglist for this fic only!

[slutforformulaone]

Hey i was wondering if you could do drivers on their wedding day when the bridesmaids hand them like spicy photos of their wife?! im hoping yk what i mean they’re all over tiktok💗💗

F1 GRID || when your bridesmaids hand the driver spicy polaroid pictures of their newlywed wife!

warning : very suggestive content, 18+ content, no smut!

MAX VERSTAPPEN – the quiet, possessive one. dangerous level of horny. he’s sitting at a table near the dancefloor, champagne glass in hand, watching you sway in your dress. his gaze is intense, laser-focused. doesn’t even blink when people come up to talk. he’s too busy watching his wife — the way the dress hugs your hips, how your hair falls across your back, the way you throw your head back when you laugh. he’s not smiling, but his eyes are soft. full-on heart eyes. the first bridesmaid walks up and hands him a picture. max doesn’t say a word. just lowers his gaze. it’s you, in black lace lingerie, sitting on your knees on the edge of the bed. hands in your hair, lips parted. his jaw tightens slightly. he blinks slow. then the second comes. you in a white satin robe, slipped down just enough to show a nipple. his fingers press the table. then a third — you in his race suit, nothing underneath, zipped halfway, chest spilling out. he actually exhales. slow and low. the fourth bridesmaid places one more — you on your stomach, arching your back, wearing nothing but heels. looking over your shoulder, smirking. he still hasn’t said a word. he just stacks them neatly like he’s archiving sacred texts. his ears are red. by the tenth picture — you in his cap, legs spread just enough to tease, lips glossy — he finally glances up at the dancefloor. you walk over, smirking. “you like them?” he looks up at you with that cold little grin. “you’re not leaving the room tomorrow.” you blink. “max—” “no. not one foot out of bed. you think this is funny?” he leans close to your ear. “i’m going to fuck you so slow you’ll forget how to walk.”

OSCAR PIASTRI – that sweet, controlled chaos he’s sitting quietly, sipping champagne, smiling whenever you look at him. he’s calm. always calm. but he’s watching every movement you make, from the way your dress sways to how your head tips back when you laugh. and then your maid of honour, ruby, walks up. “congrats, oscar,” she says casually, slipping him a photo. he blinks. looks down. it’s you, in his own racesuit — the top half unzipped and hanging off your waist, nothing on underneath. your bare chest is just barely covered by how you’ve crossed your arms, your hair messy and your lips parted like you were just calling his name. his smile freezes slightly. a different bridesmaid, lola, hands him another photo. and another. you bent over in heels and nothing else, back arched so your entire ass is on display. a close-up of your chest, arms crossed under your boobs with the sheerest top imaginable. one where you’re sitting on your knees, hands on your thighs, biting your lip. his hand tightens around the glass. he clears his throat and shifts in his seat. you stroll over, playing dumb. “you okay?” he doesn’t look at you, just says under his breath, “this is the meanest thing you’ve ever done.” you giggle. “do you like them?” “baby,” he says quietly, his voice low and warm, “if you don’t get me out of this reception in the next sixty seconds, i’m going to embarrass both of us in front of your nan.” he sets the glass down and stands up. “come on. i’m not patient tonight.”

CHARLES LECLERC – gone. completely finished. he’s been in a lovestruck daze all day, and now it’s just getting worse. he’s leaning against the wall, eyes soft, smile lazy as he watches you dance. you twirl. he sighs. you laugh. he presses a hand to his chest. then someone slips a picture into his hand. it’s you in red lingerie, straddling a chair, hair messy, lipstick smudged. he blinks. another. you in heels, standing in front of a mirror, taking a back-view selfie with just the tiniest flash of your face in the corner. another. you biting your finger, in bed, shirt rolled up to your chest and no bra underneath. he freezes. physically cannot move. you finally walk over and he immediately steps toward you like he’s possessed. “mon amour,” he says, voice wrecked. “what is this.” you bat your lashes. “a gift.” “you…” he swallows. “you want me to survive tonight?” you bit your lip, refusing to make eye contact, “not really.” he nods. “bon. i’m going to ruin this dress.” he takes your hand and pulls you straight out the side exit, not even caring who sees. you don’t make it five steps before he pins you against the venue’s garden wall and mutters, “thank you for marrying me. now shut up for five minutes."

ARTHUR LECLERC – flustered baby mode™ he’s sitting on the edge of the dancefloor, smiling like a boy in love, just watching you glow. bridesmaid walks up. gives him a picture. it’s you in a leather corset, hair in a bun, licking a cherry off your finger. his entire face turns red. “uh—merci?” he tries to hide it behind his drink. second one is worse—you're tied to the bed with silk ribbons, smiling lazily at the camera. he chokes. actually coughs. by the time the fifth one hits, his hands are shaking. when you walk over, he has a small stack of photos in his lap and is refusing to look up at you. you glance down. “oh my god, are you blushing?” “they gave me so many!” “they were supposed to be nice!” “this one has you in nothing but heels!” you’re both bright red. he tries to hand them back. you shake your head and push them back towards him, “no, you’re keeping those.” he groans but the blush is still very visible, “i don’t know where to put them!!” he ends up hiding them in his inside jacket pocket like a secret spy.

GEORGE RUSSELL – plays it off, but his thoughts are absolutely not holy he’s sitting upright, classic george posture, sipping on some fancy cocktail and watching you dance like he’s watching the sun set. bridesmaid slides him a picture. he opens it. you, on the floor, in a matching set of baby blue lace, legs curled to the side, looking over your shoulder. he coughs into his drink. “well.” another one. you in a steamy shower, water running down your bare back, hand on the glass. he glances around. “is anyone else seeing these?” more photos. increasingly explicit. by the end, he’s just quietly flipping through them with a tight-lipped smile, like he’s browsing a menu he’s not allowed to order from yet. you walk up, biting back a laugh. “regret marrying me yet?” he closes the stack, tucks it into his jacket. “marrying you? never. but i am wondering how long we have to stay before i can… appreciate these properly.” “what, like, frame them?” he leans in. “i was thinking more like… recreate them.”

LANDO NORRIS – cocky little shit he’s sitting back in the chair, watching you like you hung the damn moon, barely blinking. when the first photo hits, he smirks. you in fishnets and a black thong, laying across his old mclaren hoodie, eyes locked on the camera. “oh yes.” next one is worse—you in his helmet, nothing else, crouched with your knees spread and your tongue out. “oh my god.” he starts laughing. not like he thinks it’s funny—like he’s in awe. by the seventh photo he’s fully leaned back, grinning to himself. when you walk over, he fans the pictures like playing cards. “how do you expect me to sit here with these in my lap, looking at you in that dress?” you shake your head. “i thought they were going to be cute ones—like me in your shirts.” he’s already halfway out of his seat. “baby. you can’t give me pictures like this and not expect to be bent over something later.” "lando, baby, never say that again. please. for the sake of both of us." "what, why? did it make you horny?" he smirks. she makes a disgusted face and furrows her eyebrows, "wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy?"

OLLIE BEARMAN – completely overwhelmed, red to his ears, doesn’t know where to look ollie’s been watching you all night like he can’t quite believe you’re real — his wife. you’re glowing under the lights, laughing with your friends, spinning barefoot now because your heels got ditched two songs ago. he’s just standing at the edge of the dance floor, soft smile on his face, swaying a little to the music. then one of your bridesmaids walks up and wordlessly hands him a small polaroid picture. “uh… thanks?” he says, confused, looking down. he instantly chokes. it’s you, sitting on a bed in a silk robe, legs folded, but the robe’s fallen just enough to show you’re definitely not wearing anything underneath. your lips are glossed, and your head’s tilted like you’re waiting for him. he blinks. hard. "oh my god." the next one is worse — or better, depending on how you look at it. you’re lying on your side, sheets pushed down to your hips, bare back arched, hair splayed over the pillow. the lighting makes your skin glow. he immediately shoves it in his pocket like it’s going to burn him. “jesus christ,” he mumbles, heart thudding in his chest. another bridesmaid. another photo. you in black lace, standing in front of a full-length mirror, one heel on, one off, mouth parted like you’re mid-laugh. he stares at it for a full five seconds before his hand just goes limp and drops it into his lap. “oh no,” he mutters under his breath. “nonononono.” by the fifth photo — you sprawled out on a couch, only wearing a man's dress shirt, the buttons undone and barely covering anything — he’s flushed from the collarbone up. he looks like he might actually pass out. “what is happening right now,” he whispers. by the tenth? he’s holding some pictures in one hand and fanning himself with a napkin in the other. knees bouncing. glancing around like someone’s going to tell his mum. max walks past and smirks. “you good, mate?” “i’m fine,” ollie snaps, voice about three octaves too high. when you finally stroll over, still glowing and grinning, he just gapes at you. “you KNEW?” you look sheepish. “i knew they were giving you something, but i thought it was like… cute selfies? i didn’t know they went full calendar shoot on me.” he tries to speak. can’t. clears his throat.“I—I don’t even—” he cuts himself off. looks away. covers his face with both hands. “ollie,” you say gently, pulling one hand down, “breathe.” he blinks at you. his pupils are huge. “you’re so—i just—” he stammers. “i don’t even know if i’m allowed to look at you now.” you laugh softly, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “you married me, baby. you’re definitely allowed.” he exhales. “right. right. okay. cool. coolcoolcool.” beat. “…but maybe don’t show me any more of those until we get home. i’m actually not okay.” you kiss his cheek. “noted.”

CARLOS SAINZ – cool on the outside, losing his mind inside he’s sitting at a table, drink half-finished, tie loose around his neck. his eyes haven’t left you since the first song started, watching you spin around the dance floor in your dress like he’s already mentally stripping it off you. when the first bridesmaid approaches, he takes the envelope with a raised brow. he opens it. it’s you in black lace, one hand gripping the headboard, back arched like you knew he’d be seeing it. he blinks once. then calmly folds the photo and slips it into his jacket pocket. “interesting.” the second one is you in red satin, lying on your stomach, ass peeking out just enough. he clears his throat. the third one? you're looking up at the camera, wearing nothing but thigh highs and a necklace he bought you. he doesn’t say a word. just runs a hand through his hair and exhales quietly through his nose. by the time you walk over, he's cool as ever. leaning back in his chair, watching you with that smug little smile. “you’re lucky there’s still cake to be cut,” he says, voice low. “or you’d be on your back in five minutes.” you bite your lip. he knows you planned this. you know he’s barely hanging on.

ALEX ALBON – shocked at first, then slightly embarrassed alex is leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he watches you spin around on the dancefloor. his gaze is soft, filled with admiration, and a little bit of that “wow, she’s mine” look. then, as if on cue, your bridesmaid approaches him, handing him the first picture. it’s a shot of you in a sultry pose, your legs sprawled across the couch, your dress bunched up just enough to tease. alex’s eyes widen as he looks down at the photo, his lips parting in a quiet laugh. "um… okay," he mutters under his breath, trying to pretend like he’s not totally caught off guard. he looks back at you, almost as if asking for permission, but you’re too far away to notice. another bridesmaid approaches, handing him another one. this one’s a close-up shot of you on your knees, your hands teasing your own nipple as you look directly at the camera. "jesus" alex coughs. he looks around, then back at the picture, his face flushed. "i didn’t know what kind of wedding this was gonna be…" the pictures keep coming: one of you with your back arched, showing off your curves; one of you lying on your stomach, your hands tangled in your hair, looking over your shoulder. with each new picture, alex is trying to keep it together, but his cheeks are red, and he’s getting a little more flustered. the final picture handed to him is one of you in a very intimate moment, eyes closed in pleasure as your hand trails over your body. it’s enough to make alex feel like he’s been hit by a truck. he presses the photo against his chest with a deep breath. "well... that was... something." as you walk over, you can already see the look in his eyes. "i didn’t know they were doing this," you say, arching an eyebrow. "yeah... i know," alex says with a grin. "i’m not sure whether to thank you or run away."

LOGAN SARGEANT – completely unaware, then amused logan is dancing along with a few of the guests, looking over at you occasionally with a small smile. he can’t help it—his eyes are drawn to you, the way you move with such grace. he’s completely captivated. then, one of your bridesmaids hands him the first picture: a playful shot of you laying across a bed, your legs kicked up and a teasing smile on your face. logan blinks a few times, taking the picture in silence. "uh… okay... this is different." he doesn’t know what to say at first. "is this… normal?" a second bridesmaid walks up with another photo—this one a bit more daring. it’s you with your back arched, one hand resting on the back of your neck, lips parted as if you’re about to speak. "wow, alright," he says, chuckling nervously. he looks at the picture, then back at you, clearly flustered. he tries to shrug it off, but then the third picture is handed to him—a close-up of you in a lingerie set, your legs crossed in a sultry manner, gazing at the camera like you know exactly what you're doing. "logan, i swear to god, i didn’t sign up for this," he mutters under his breath. the pictures continue: one of you leaning over a chair, showing off your curves in a provocative pose, and another one where you’re looking at the camera with a seductive smile, teasing a bit of skin. "okay, okay, i get it," logan says, laughing it off, but the last picture makes him pause: it's you lying on a bed, hand resting on your chest as if you’re deep in thought, eyes closed with a soft expression of pleasure. he’s caught off guard. "uh... i didn’t know you were this... adventurous," he says quietly to himself. as you walk over, you can’t help but smirk at the sight of logan, clearly trying to keep his cool. "so… how’s it going over here?" "uh, i don’t know if i can look at you the same now," logan jokes, his voice full of mock seriousness. you just laugh and walk away, knowing that the pictures were exactly what they were meant to be.

DANIEL RICCIARDO – playful and flirty, loves the pictures daniel watches you on the dancefloor, his heart racing a little faster as he takes in the sight of his beautiful wife. he’s grinning from ear to ear, clearly loving the way you look. the first bridesmaid hands him a picture. it’s a spicy shot of you in your lingerie, sitting on the edge of a chair, one hand on your thigh and the other resting on the armrest, teasing a glimpse of what's underneath. "oh, so this is how it’s gonna be," daniel grins, clearly enjoying the surprise. another bridesmaid hands him one of you lying on your back on the bed, your head tilted back, mouth slightly open as if you’re caught in the moment. daniel’s grin widens. "okay, okay... i see you, babe." he looks back at you, but you’re too busy to notice his reaction. as the pictures keep coming, he’s getting more and more into it. one of you with your back arched, giving a playful look over your shoulder; another one where you’re biting your lip, looking like you’re about to pounce. "you really know how to surprise a guy," daniel says, clearly impressed. the last picture is a little more explicit—of you with your fingers brushing the edge of your dress, your gaze fixed on the camera as if daring anyone to come closer. daniel chuckles to himself, shaking his head. "oh, you’re gonna love me after tonight," he mutters under his breath. when you walk over, he pulls you into his arms, whispering in your ear, "so, when can i get my own private show?" you laugh, already knowing what he’s talking about. "you’ll just have to wait, darling."

LEWIS HAMILTON – flustered, but secretly loving the attention lewis watches you dance, feeling that familiar warmth in his chest. he can’t help but admire how stunning you look, lost in the moment as you laugh and enjoy the celebration. one of your bridesmaids hands him a picture—a sultry one of you posing in front of the mirror, your lips parted in a teasing smile, a glimpse of your lingerie peeking out from your dress. lewis blinks a few times, his mouth going dry. "well, well, well," he murmurs, trying to keep his cool. the next picture is a close-up of you lying on a bed, one hand resting near your thigh, looking at the camera with a smoldering gaze. "you’re killing me, you know that?" lewis laughs, shaking his head. the next few pictures are similar, each one getting progressively more daring and intimate. you teasing with your dress, biting your lip, or giving a seductive glance directly into the camera. "this is what you do to me," he whispers to himself, clearly trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this. when you walk over, you notice the little grin on his face. "i take it the pictures were to your liking?" "you have no idea," lewis says, his voice low and smooth. "you’re gonna be the death of me, baby."

i am so grateful for this request, i had so much fun writing it and it's just made me fall even more in love with the drivers – also, the trend is actually to die for! i can't wait to get married, so my bridesmaid can do this for me! ^^

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotage you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) rec drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- BROMANCE hehe, spanking, emotional, a LOT of violence and blood, teasing, shower sex, size kink like a MF- a little bit of everything <3 WC- 7.2k

Will be eight parts- ties into my Mob Gojo story- you'll see him and the reader from there - but you can read it alone. Art in the banner is by Sketch B on X divider by @cafekitsune

Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<Part Six - Playlist - Masterlist - Part eight (final)>>>

Part Seven

There is blood everywhere, everywhere Sukuna can see, as his friends, shit some of them are truly damn near his family, fight right alongside the Zenin, but the only one Sukuna is focused on is the blond man with the brown, cold eyes, the one that hurt you. The one who didn’t see what he was lucky enough to have, and never fucking deserved, you.

Naoya licks blood off his lip and ducks and dodges, slamming Sukuna against a wall, he laughs at the attempt. “You’re trying, aren’t ya? Why don’t you give the fuck up before I end your life.” Sukuna pins him now instead, Toji is sending someone flying and crashing into a crate, as you all fight in the warehouse, each hit and throw scattering goods around.

There are pounds and pounds of counterfeit jewelry being crushed under dress shoes, crunching and glinting in the dark of the room, the sound of breaking bones and grunts of pain fill the air, each hit from Sukuna is fueled by pure rage and hate. The kind that only comes from someone who’s faced with the man who’s hurt the girl he loves so much.

The one that not just had you so down on yourself, abandoned you financially, talked down to you and blew off your kid, no that’s all shit he’d certainly beat the fuck out of him for. But wanting to murder him, slit his fucking throat, comes from even more than that, the threats to you.

He’d even been running it when they met just a few minutes before this.

‘Hah, how’s my little whore doing? Ya wanna know how many times I had her, in every way? Think it won’t be long till she’s back under me-’

That was when Sukuna decided negotiations certainly wouldn’t fucking be happening, when this little prick of a man wanted to run it, there was no more hiding behind the Zenin name for him. Choso, Suguru, Satoru and Toji were all there along with many other of the families, and not only were the Zenin outnumbered, they were completely unmatched.

Certainly they had some skill and they knew how to brawl, but overwhelmingly the five men here were much better at fighting, bigger, stronger… but also, more clinically insane, and coked out. Sukuna made sure everyone was well prepared with lines and lines before they decided to do this, bloodshot eyes and batshit crazy grins adorning everyone's faces.

Not Choso on the partaking of cocaine, of course, but Sukuna quickly realizes he and his family can hold their own and then some. But no one matched Sukuna on skill or size, though Satoru and Toji came close, no, he was simply made to fight, he thrilled in it, the adrenaline coursing through his fucking veins, his ruby eyes glinting, all while  thinking of one singular thing.

You.

You’re his.

You’re his and will always be his.

Sukuna can’t have this looming over you, even if it starts a fucking war, his girl should be able to live her life without constant fear of the threat that Naoya constantly brings. As soon as Sukuna had thrown that first punch, chaos had ensued across every inch of this old, dark warehouse.

 Naoya tries to fight back, but he’s no match for the beast that’s been unleashed in Ryomen Sukuna. The fear in his eyes is clear as he sees the unbridled fury in Sukuna’s gaze, perhaps he really thought he had a chance in hell, but with every hit and kick, Naoya slowly comes to the realization, that he’s fucked.

Sukuna’s knuckles are raw, but he feels nothing but satisfaction as he lands blow after blow on Naoya’s face, the crunch of his nose - breaking again, at least he has a good surgeon- is just music to his ears. He can almost hear her voice in his head, whispering that you’re okay now, that you’re safe, that this is probably enough, but there is a louder voice.

Kill him.

He can’t because of Touma, he knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to, hitting him and not relenting until the blond man is on his knees, begging for mercy. Sukuna’s chest heaves with  b every breath, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the fight, his muscles screaming for a pause, but he shoves it all back, kicking Naoya to the floor and straddling him then, yanking him by his collar.

“Any last words, mother fucker?” He says with a grin, teeth just coated in blood, knife glinting when he pulls out the butterfly, silvery blade, holding the cold metal to his throat.

“Fuck, stop, stop, shit.” He grabs Sukuna’s wrist, sputtering, Satoru’s insane peal of laughter echoes, as he kicks away a mafia member, brushing off his suit. “You all are fucking insane, fuck.”

“Ya think so?” Toji asks, flipping a man right on his head, as they all look at Naoya, helpless.

“Fuck, we’ll stay out of your territory, okay?” Naoya’s desperate words just amuse Sukuna more, as he eases back the knife, holding up a hand.

“Stop.” He orders, and everyone does, much to the relief of every single Zenin member sighing, but Satoru may or may not have fake punched one to watch them jerk in fear, for the men to snicker at. Sukuna smirks at them, shaking his head, taking a breath and feeling just how sore he is, turning back to Naoya now, who exhales in relief, then Sukuna stands.

“I think we can come to an understanding, we-” Sukuna yanks him up by his collar, he’s literally dangling in the air when Sukuna plops him right on one of the crates. “Shit!”

With a smirk, he pulls out a phone from his pocket and turns his phone on, setting the screen on record. “You’re going to apologize to her.”

“The fuck I am, I already said I’d leave your territory and her the fuck alone.” Sukuna punches him once more, the sickening crack of his fist connecting echoing through the now quiet room. “Shit…”

“Say it loud, say it clear, or I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat so you can never speak your bullshit again.” Naoya’s eyes widen in horror, but he knows better than to argue at this point, it seems, the fear of dying a painful death is stronger than his pride. 

“Fine, okay, shit…” He spits out blood, a tooth along with it, making joy fill Sukuna’s heart.

It’s the simple things, you know.

Through bruised and bloodied lips, he stammers out an apology, his voice shaking, so pathetic as Sukuna videos it, just for you, his girl. The warehouse goes quiet, the other fights ceased, as the Zenin mob watches their leader fall. The Gojo and Kamo mob members, battered and bruised, look at each other with big grins, still in high spirits in comparison.

Naoya finally slumps forward, while Sukuna pockets his phone, and the Zenin mob looks to their leader, the one who’s been beaten worse than any of them, bested by a man he thought he could fuck with. It’s not just about Naoya versus Sukuna, it’s more than that, Naoya has helped lead to the Zenin weakening, and proving the Kamo and Gojo are not to be trifled with.

Sukuna leans forward, as Naoya flinches, making Sukuna even more fucking excited, grin plastering his face. “You won’t come on our territory again.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t come near them, Touma or her, again.” Naoya laughs then, through his blood he’s damn near coughing up, so weak he looks like he’s about to collapse to the floor.

“Fuck it I don’t even want them.”

“Never fucking deserved her.” Sukuna whispers, still one fucking step away from ripping this mother fucker’s throat out, but he stops himself, standing up in a blood soaked dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to reveal much of his tattooed, bloody forearms and knuckles. “I think we’re done here.”

The warehouse door swings open as the five men and the rest of the members of the Kamo and Gojo mob walk out, letting in a rush of cool night air, Sukuna takes a breath of it, looking up at an oddly clear night for this city. He hears the distant sound of sirens, surely all the noise had made someone call.

“Time to get out before the feds come knocking.” He murmurs, as the Zenin mob retreats as well, helping their leader, who can’t even walk, but truly he’s lucky to be fucking alive.

“Coke?” Satoru offers, shaking a baggie, and Toji pulls out a bottle of liquor from the center of the limo, where the cooler sits.

“Drinks?” He suggests, but Suguru is already lighting up a blunt, smoke filling the limo of the five bruised and grinning men.

“Smoke?” He suggests, Sukuna grins then.

“All of ‘em, fuck it.”

*****

“You’re pacing baby.” Your friend murmurs, as she’s mixing up a drink in the eerily quiet club, the men have been gone for hours, and you can’t stand the sickness and anticipation in your tummy. “Sit down hunny, have a drink.”

“I can’t, I feel sick! Ugh. This is because of me.” You say in a panic, pacing back and forth more and more, she shakes her head, touching your shoulder gently. “It is all my fault, I made Sukuna have to do all this!”

“He loves you.” Her quiet words make your heart race, you hug her then, crying against her neck as she shushes you gently. “He adores you, you can just see it, I swear he does.”

“But… it’s like, what have I done to deserve him?”

“You’re pretty amazing too, you know.” You pull back with a tremulous smile, when suddenly the doors open, drawing your attention, and you exhale in relief before more panic sets in.

Sukuna is covered in blood when he walks back in the club, all of them are, your mind frantically tries to take it all in, the five bloodied men walking in, Satoru slides up to the bar, as his girl panics, cupping his face gently. Toji’s downing a shot and grimacing, Choso politely asks if there’s somewhere he can clean up, the girls start doting on him and Suguru.

But all you can see is him.

Sukuna.

The man you love, covered in more blood than all of them, his crimson eyes boring through you across the club, as you step forward, trembling as you get closer, terrified when you see his face is swelling and bruising under one of his eye, cuts all over his handsome face, you swear you can see shards of fucking glass glinting under the strobing lights.

“Sukuna…” He exhales, pulling you in close, as you look on with horror. “I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah, yeah… worrying so much for me huh?” You glare, and he has the audacity to smirk. “I’m fine, brat.”

“You’re not fine. Now.” You drag him into the changing room by one of his crimson stained hands, sitting him right down in a seat, he sighs as he overtakes the tiny little thing with his huge body. “Sit there, let me clean you up.”

“Tch. It’s a scratch or two.”

“Yeah, okay monty python.”

He chuckles then, throwing his head back. “You watched that?”

“Sure I did. Sit still.” You’re dabbing at him now, with a cold wet washcloth, he sucks in a breath when you see it again, a little piece of glass. “How did you get glass in your skin, hmm?”

“Your ex may or may not have hit me with a bottle. Oooh, you look angry. So sexy, fuck.” You smack at his big tattooed hands as he tries to grip your ass.

“He what now!?” You turn and grab the first aid kit, finding antiseptic and tweezers, ready to kill Naoya if he even made it.

“He tried to fight but was failing like a little bitch. Ow!” He whines as you tweeze  out the glass, quickly cleaning the wound that’s bleeding just a bit.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Cruel, evil woman- ow!”

“Who knew big, bad Sukuna was a baby.”

“I swear to- ah!” You’re cleaning the last of the abrasions on his face up, dabbing at it with a little cotton ball. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am not. You’re just cute.”

“Psh, I’ll beat your backside. You done?”

“Tell me how much of this is your blood.” He chuckles now, when you lead him over to the sink, rinsing his hands off, scrubbing up the antiseptic to show his knuckles were already scabbing over.

“Most of it is their blood, don’t worry so much.” You sigh, tummy feeling sick, when you’re running a towel along his hands, taking in the damage, only to be spun now, facing the mirror, when his strong, huge body takes you over. Your eyes meet his, seeing the hunger in them, as his still wet hands slip up your skirt, and he leans over you, pressing you into the counter.

“Kuna, you’re hurt. I have to keep checking you- ngh!” Sukuna’s slipped his hand between your thighs now, while his other slides up your breasts, earning your nipples pressing out, until he holds you under your chin.

“Playing nurse is hot and all, brat, but I need more than that.” His husky tone fucks with you, as his adrenaline races through his veins.

“Is he…” You gulp a bit, and Sukuna smirks now.

“Is he dead? Go on, ask it.” You take a shaky breath, whining out when he’s slipping his fingers over your cunt, which is soaking his fingers quickly, your head falling back against his hard chest. “Me killing him get you wet?”

“N-no, you get me wet, psycho man. Answer me.” You grip his wrist, trying to halt his movements so you can focus. “Did you kill him?”

Sukuna sighs, burying his face against your neck. “Wanna see him?”

“What?” Sukuna’s chuckling now, hot against the gentle curve of your neck, pulling you even closer against him.

“He’s not dead, only because… your kid. But he’s not doing so hot.” He leans back now, pulling out his phone, showing you Naoya right there on the screen, so bloody he’s damn near unrecognizable, pressing play on the video.

“Oh my god…” You feel sick as you watch it, Toji holding his head up, as Sukuna videos it.

Go on, say sorry, say you’re so sorry, and how you’re not even good enough to breathe her air.

Sukuna’s chuckle is dark and frightening, even after he watches the video back, Naoya angrily spits, you fear you see a tooth there.

‘I’m sorry, fuck, okay?’

‘Finish the sentence.’

‘Not good enough to breathe your air… shit, I’m sorry, fuck…’

“Holy… you think…” You’re trembling in his hold, as the tears start pouring from your eyes. Sukuna pauses the video before all the carnage of just what happened to the Zenin during that fight shows. “You think it’s over?”

“Yes, baby.” Baby, he calls you baby and it ruins you. He’s cupping your face, turning you to him now, lifting you with ease and sitting you on the counter, your arms wrapping around his neck, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “He won’t touch you again.”

“Kuna…” You slam your lips on his, tears falling mixing with the coppery taste of the blood on his split lip, he pulls you against him, thighs wrapped around his hips, as you endlessly kiss, deeper and deeper. You pull back with a shaky breath, foreheads resting against each other. “But will it be a war?”

“No, they’re not coming for the Kamo and the Gojo family, we negotiated quite a deal with them all. It’s easy to negotiate when you’re losing teeth.” His devilish grin truly scares you.

“You’re psychotic you know.”

“You really haven’t seen shit yet baby.” Soon everyone is pouring in, cleaning up, Satoru is pouting like a baby, Toji is tense, the mood is overall good, but when you’re all drinking in the bar later, you and your friend helping pour them, it seems like they’re all just exhausted too.

“I lied about it being boring.” Satoru murmurs then, holding his girl’s hand carefully across the bar, she frowns in concern, leaning forward.

“It’s not boring?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“It’s boring and pointless, and fucking stupid. But, for once, I think we did something.” She’s on his side soon, as they kiss, and the hunger they have makes the room heat up, as your eyes meet Sukuna’s knowingly.

“Satoru, why don’t you take her home.” Sukuna suggests. “Before you all just fuck right here.”

“Says you two. I don’t wanna know how many surfaces you’ve hit.” He says with a smirk, earning your gasp and Sukuna’s chuckle.

“We have not hit… many surfaces!?”

“Yet.” The room laughs quietly, and soon you’re all dispersing, you’re resting your head on Sukuna’s shoulder as he drives, it’s not too often that he’s not just taking his limo, but tonight he’s got a big hand on your thigh, pressing against you so warm, while you hug his arm to you. “You okay brat?”

“I can’t believe he was in so deep and… I didn’t know. That he was doing… fuck, trading human beings, and I was oblivious. I left because he kept cheating and was so mean to me, but… it’s hard to swallow.” Sukuna’s quiet as the two of you drive through the night in the dark, lights slowly flashing by and casting shadows across your face as he looks down for a moment.

“He probably just hit it well, it’s not like it’s your fault you didn’t know.”

“But Touma was in danger!”

“And he’s not, now he’s safe.” At the red light, glowing across his tanned skin, still covered in marks, he cups your face, tilting your chin up. “It’s not your fault.”

“How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever seen anything but…” He cuts you off with a kiss, gentle and sweet, not like the fervent, passionate, or even brutal ones you’re used to. You exhale, leaning into the kiss.

“He had you hating yourself, I saw the end of that.” His heart breaks as he sees your lower lip tremble, his thumb brushing across it as the light turns green, he shifts his gears, driving once more, towards his penthouse - well, yours now too.

“You make me feel so loved now.” Your quiet voice makes him tense, clearing his throat just a bit.

“Ya trying to make me all sappy again, brat?” Normally you’d giggle, but you’re leaning closer, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“I love you.”

“Tch.” You just smile as you cling to him, dozing slightly, so happy he’s finally with you, so thrilled you may never have to worry about Naoya in your life again, all because of him, truly. “Gonna drool on me? If so, better be around my cock, or while I’m fucking you.”

“Kuna!” He’s smirking as you sleepily smack at his shoulder, pulling in to park now, brushing back your messy hair.

“Gonna help me clean up?” He asks softly, soon you all are sending Miwa home for the night, Touma is already fast asleep, and you’re in the shower with Sukun as he sits on the black granite bench, hands washing his smokey pink locks, while he rests his forehead on your chest, thighs spread.

“You have more bruises and cuts than you led me to believe.” You reprimand, he just looks up at you, tired eyes, his sooty lashes dripping with droplets of water, while his huge hands take over your body.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” You expected a joke or a cocky statement, not that, not the pure love and adoration in his voice, making you swallow while you rinse his hair off gently, placing the showerhead back up, entire body aching for him.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” Your murmur in return, straddling him now, knees on slippery marble, he clutches you by your ass as you do, eyes brilliant ruby as the hot spray pounds against both of your skin all over.

“The date. I still want the date.” He says softly, you giggle at it, tilting your head back when his hand drags ever so slowly across one of your breasts, squishing it in his hand as he sighs.

“I want a date too. But maybe you should heal up?”

“I feel great. Good enough for…” He’s dragging your cunt against his cock now, you cry out at the sensation, soaking wet and throbbing always for him, his piercing hits your clit as you grind, making you jerk, sensitive when he’s biting at your lips, his hands sinking into your waist. “Good enough to fuck you so good you drool, baby.”

“Fuck… please, Kuna…” He’s groaning now, reaching around and slipping two fingers deep in your soppy little hole, back arching for more as he does, scissoring them in and out so fast, you’re clinging to him tightly, tongues messy and dripping saliva as they collide.

“Want it?” He taunts, his thick, huge cock throbbing in need for you, but he loves when you’re so needy, desperate, he feels your gummy walls gripping his fingers, watches your eyes roll back, while the water falls in pretty rivulets on your pretty body, and he can’t wait to cum inside you, but not just yet. “You know what to do, brat.”

“Meanie.” You huff so cutely, making him smile, your nails are slick and pressing into his back, when he slips his fingers out now, cock teasing your entrance as he holds you up like it’s nothing.

“Gonna be bratty and not get it then.”

Your thighs shake as his tip enters, pressing inside past that tight ring of muscles, feeling your walls spasm, making him suck back a whine. “Please, Kuna, please let me feel you.”

“Fuck…” Your soft pleading ends him, how can he tease you when he’s dying to thrust inside of you, and that he does, dragging your cunt half way down his veiny length, you’re struggling to take him. “Loosen up, shit baby.”

“C-can’t, you’re t-too - ah!” You’re gasping when he stands, laying you right down on that bench, slipping out of you and shoving two fingers back in, curling them, while he kisses you again.

“Pathetic little pussy, how can she not take me by now?” He whispers, you want to scowl but fail, instead you’re drooling again while he’s curling those fingers inside.

“Too big.” He smirks at that, your eyes narrow for a moment before you’re cumming all down his thick digits, muscles loosening just enough, orgasm washing through your entire body in waves. “Kuna!”

“There she goes, she’s so needy, tsk.” Sukuna picks you up, throwing you like some little doll with his huge arms, until he’s got you against the wall, shoving his cock to the fucking hilt. Your cunt tries to accommodate, gushing down his length, as he moans, feeling his tip against your cervix. “Fuck, feel her. Milking me already?”

“Want all your cum in me, Kuna.” Your whine is shut off with a scream as he slams his curved cock right up inside you again, you’re trying to hold back the noise, but steadily failing.

“Shh, brat.” He’s smirking now, and covering your mouth with two fingers. “I’m so not getting cockblocked. Hush.”

“S-sorry, fuck- ah!” You’re burying your face against his neck, biting his slick hot skin, as his tattooed abdomen flexes, fucking you more firmly against the wall, and the two of you lose yourselves, more and more.

The water pounding, the steam floating, the fragrant smells of the body wash all mixing with the taste of each other, your eyes shut you can just feel him, all his power his strong, huge body holds, as he uses you. And you’re just clinging to him, whimpering, while his tip drags on your spot, while his piercing hits your cervix now, and you can barely hold back.

“Gonna fill you up s’good, brat, gonna fuckin pour me out, huh?” You’re nodding, struggling to focus, head falling back to look into those dilated eyes. “All mine, never going anywhere, are you?” You hear the desperation as he clings, as he fucks into your slick little cunt, and you’re nodding weakly, feeling him take you over.

“Never, going anywhere. Yours.” Sukuna slams into you once more, rolling his hips just so, you’re cumming right with him, his hot gooey load pouring inside your slick, fluttering walls, when he drinks up your kisses, holding you so tight you can scarcely breathe.

“Mine, all mine, aren’t you brat?” You’re nodding weakly, so full of him, his cock just spurting even more deep against you, as he rests his head on yours, struggling to catch his own breath.

“Yours, only yours.” Your desperate kisses slowly ease, as the two of you wash each other, and soon you’re drying up, checking on Touma, who’s still fast asleep in his bed, Sukuna watches as you give him a kiss good night, crossing his arms at the doorway while you tuck him in.

It makes the entire thing worth it all, when you shut the door quietly and he picks you up, you giggle as you cling to him. “Gotta carry you everywhere.”

“You want to! Big strong Kuna.”

“Psh.” He pulls you against him, exhaustion hitting alone with your fingers gently stroking his hair, as he clings to your warm body, so small compared to him yet here he is, holding on to you, to make him feel like only you can.

“Where is this date?” You ask softly, listening to his breathing slow, feeling his tense muscles relax just a bit in your hold, with your soothing touch.

“Fiji.” Your lips part in shock.

“We can’t just go to Fiji!?”

“Why not?” He scowls up at you now, your lips twitch in amusement, earning his deeper glare. “I can take you wherever the fuck I want, you’re mine.”

“I can’t just leave Touma for Fiji!”

“Miwa-”

“No, Kuna, I so am not.”

“You’re bratty.” He’s smacking your ass so hard you yelp, stinging and radiating with his big ass hand rocking through you.

“Shit, ow!” You bite him now, but you just get his cock twitching again, as your teeth sink deep, and he yanks your hair.

“Brat, swear to god you’re asking for it. Where do you want to go then!?”

“Like, dinner?”

“The fuck - all that I did and I get a dinner date? No.”

“Kuna…”

“Don’t you Kuna me, I demand  better date. Gonna have me acting like I’m fucking broke.” You roll your eyes at him, sighing, now rubbing your stinging ass cheek and wincing.

“Dinner somewhere fancy.”

“Satoru bought his date a fucking boat, I need at least a helicopter, or a private plane-”

“So it’s a competition?” You ask, amused while Sukuna leans up on an elbow now, as you burst into a fit of giggles, now on your back, hand stroking his stubbled cheek.

“Of course it’s a fucking competition.” You can’t stop your laughter now, to his anger, just growing at you.

“But they don’t… um…” You take a breath then, getting a little more serious. “I have Touma, he’s part of my life. We can’t be quite so carefree, like Satoru and his girl,  I’m afraid.” Sukuna exhales now, realizing your words.

You love your son so much, and he’s so happy that you do, but sometimes it drives him crazy, he has to always share his favorite person. “I guess we will bring him and Miwa to Fiji then.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” He huffs, pulling your body impossibly close, leaning down over you, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“That way we still get time alone, but also with him.” You feel your heart fill with so much love it makes you want to burst, he sighs when he sees your eyes, glassy even in the dark of the night, the moonlight filtering in and casting shadows on your pretty face, illuminating those tears. “You cry too much.”

“That’s so sweet, oh my god.” He doesn’t answer, he just keeps pecking kisses, along your neck, and your collarbone, huge hands taking your waist, kissing even lower, to your rising breasts.

“I love you.”

“I know. Shush.” You’re whining out when he kisses down a path to your nipple, already perked up and ready, pulling down the top when the door knocks and he groans, scowling at it.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Come in!” You’re adjusting your shirt, ignoring your boyfriend’s honestly adorable pout as Touma bursts in, running over to the edge of the bed.

“What, kid? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He demands, crossing his strong arms over his chest now.

“Sorry, Papa Kuna!” Sukuna grimaces once more at the name, as Touma reaches up his little hands, opening and closing them, he turns over and rests his chin on his hand, raising a brow.

“Is that the name we’re really going with?” Touma is bouncing up and down, you giggle as you watch, rolling over on your side now, a hand on Sukuna’s bare shoulder.

“Can I sleep in your bed Papa Kuna!?”

“God no.”

“But, PapaKuna…” You earn his glare as you rest your chin on his shoulder now, pecking a kiss on his cheek. “He’s so cute though.”

“No sleeping in my bed, kid.” Touma pouts now, lip trembling, making Sukuna falter, he looks just like you, dammit. “Don’t you give me those puppy dog eyes, you learned that from your mom, huh?”

“But your bed, it looks so cool! Please!”

“Go to your bed!”

“I’ll go to sleep with him then.” You go to sit up, and Sukuna rolls his ruby eyes, pressing you back down, his glare even deeper.

“You’re going nowhere.” He sits up now, the sheet falling, revealing his bare, tattooed body, Sukuna looks even more of a huge, huge man when he picks up itty bitty Touma from the floor, unceremoniously plopping him down between you two. “There, just one night, though, got me kid?”

“Yay! Big bed, big bed!” Touma’s smacking a kiss on his cheek, Sukuna’s wiping it off with a disgusted look, then softens as Touma kisses your cheek now. “Mama, I get to sleep in the big bed!”

“You do, it’s super comfy too.” You’re tucking him under the covers now, as he snuggles up, and Sukuna crosses his arms, earning your smile.

“Papa Kuna, lay down.” Your words have Touma laughing, as he reaches his little hand out and tugs Sukuna down towards him, until he reluctantly lays his head on one of the black satin pillows, and Touma hugs him around the neck.

“Who’s clingier, you or the kid?” He looks over Touma’s head at you, you lay down now as well, an arm around Touma, resting on Sukuna’s waist over the soft, weighted blanket.

“It’s a toss up.” You press a kiss on Touma’s head, brushing his hair back to see his adorable face, already content with a smile. “Do you like Papa Kuna better than Mama!?”

“No, but he’s so comfy!”

“Tch. Comfy.”

“He is comfy, huh?” You wink at Sukuna, whose hands are just awkwardly up as the kid snuggles against his chest.

“Your hands are cold, shit!”

“Sorry Papa.” He just hums and snuggles closer, the moment making you fall ever deeper in love, Sukuna’s got his arm around you both then, with an annoyed sigh, the three of you snuggled in the enormous bed. It feels…

Perfect.

“Kid, ya wanna go on a plane ride?” He asks, and Touma yawns, nodding.

“A plane!? Planes are cool!”

“There you go, we’re going to Fiji.” Sukuna smirks, clearly happy he has won, as Touma now turns and cuddles over to you, looking up at you and smiling happily.

“A plane!” He’s so excited, but so tired, precious as you stroke his cheek. “Mama, we'll have fun on a plane.”

“Then I guess we will have to all go, hmm? And bring Miwa?” Your words just excite Touma more, you watch Sukuna’s full lips twitch in amusement.

“Miwa too, it’s going to be so fun. When will we go?” He turns his head to Sukuna, as he snuggles closer, and Sukuna’s hand is gently brushing your hair back off your face.

“What about this weekend?”

“That soon?” You ask softly, as Touma is dozing off, little fingers gripping your pajama top, you rest your chin on his head, eyeing Sukuna now. “We don’t have to go right now, we have all the time in the world.”

“I need… a break.” You see then, how exhausted he really is, and shit, so are you after all of this. “And I want to take my girl out.”

“Your girl.” Your whisper is met with his kiss, he is dying to hold you in his arms, but the little kid in the middle doesn’t bother him honestly, in fact he enjoys watching his face smile in his sleep more than he’d admit, affection flowing for the extension of you. His gaze goes back to you, your lashes lowering, casting shadows against your cheeks. “I like that.”

“Being my girl? Of course you do.” He kisses you once more, relaxing more and eyeing Touma now. “Does he… ever bring him up?”

You tense a bit, shaking your head. “He did a little before, but not since we’ve been with you. He doesn’t really know him. But now he has you, we both do. Papa Kuna.”

“Ugh.” You’re laughing softly as he kisses you again, sweeter. “Only once is he sleeping in my bed.”

“Only once, sure.” Sukuna’s half assed glare just makes you smile, as you stroke his soft pink locks back. “I’m excited for Fiji.”

“You better be. Now, get to sleep.”

“Work tomorrow?”

“Change of position for you.”

*****

One Week Later

“Look at Pookie, she’s a baddie.” Satoru’s husky voice hits you as you’re counting money in Sukuna’s office later that day, legs crossed in a little black business outfit that Sukuna must have custom made, because it’s just too slutty honestly, and fits you far too well. When he’d seen you in it, he’d about lost his mind, the memory makes your cheeks heat up.

“Hey, Satoru.” You smile now, standing up and hugging him, you touch his cheek with a frown, seeing the blooming purple bruise along his cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m good, promise. My girl said I’m hot with this apparently.” You giggle then, shaking your head as he presses a kiss on the backs of your fingers.

“Of course you are, I heard you bought her a boat for a date huh?” He grins, wiggling his brows now, as the two of you walk over to Sukuna’s desk, and you divvy out a huge stack, handing it over.

“Of course I bought a boat, I needed to one up your date, no offense. Ah, thank you for the money, mommy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You snort in laughter at him, sitting back down, taking out your pen and scribbling information down. “That’s your cut for the most recent run, not that your little rich ass needs any.”

“Hey now, you’re getting mean, don’t let Kuna make you too bratty.”

“What now?” You glare at him as he leans back, lowering his shades, crossing his leg at the ankle. “You’re the only brat here.”

“Meanie!”

“Arguing, huh?” Toji walks in now, winking a dark green eye at you, taking the huge stack from your hands. “Thanks doll.”

“Of course.” You’re scribbling more down now, as Suguru walks in, yawning, and you study the men’s faces, still bruised and cut, making you sigh.

“Hello, love.” Suguru takes the stack as you hand it out, frowning at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel you’re all hurt because of me.” You bury your face in your hands now, taking a shaky breath as the men frown, looking at you.

“No, it’s not you, it’s the shit Zenin, okay?” Toji’s hand comes to your shoulder, warm and comforting.

“Still, you’re all beat up.” You lift your head, tears falling when Choso walks in, you’re sniffling as you go to hand him his cut.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, violet eyes glimmering, as if he feels your emotions. You nod with a tremulous smile.

“We get beat up all the time, part of the job description, sweets.” Satoru tries to ease your worries, but it just doesn’t sink in.

“You’re promoted, look at you.” Choso’s words make you smile a little more firmly, dabbing at your eyes now.

“I am, from now on I’ll be handling all of the money, I actually took accounting believe it or not.”

“A stripper accountant? Hot.” Suguru makes you giggle, when Sukuna walks in, you realize then you’re in a room full of mobsters over six feet tall, all with bruised knuckles and abrasions, and you’re the one holding all their money. There’s some power to it, what Sukuna’s given you, as he eyes all of the men, too close for his comfort.

“She’s not stripping anymore, she can manage the girls and the money.” He strides forward, walking around the desk now, lifting you from the seat to sit in the chair instead, yanking you down on his lap.

“Then why am I wearing office strip clothes?” You tease, he grins, eyeing the amount of cleavage hungrily.

“It’s the uniform, brat.”

“Uh huh! Anyway, they were just trying to make me feel better.” Sukuna’s hand comes to grip your waist, as he eyes the ledger you’ve been filling.

“She thinks it’s her fault, you should make her feel better, Kuna.”

“I swear to god, Satoru.” Satoru’s laughing as he wiggles his fingers in a farewell, and Sukuna’s alone with you now, in the big office he’s basically now set up for you as well, the door clicking quietly, when his thumb swipes a tear on your cheek. “You know how to make me jealous.”

“Oh stop, they were just being sweet.”

“Psh, sweet mobsters, what’s next?”

“You’re the sweetest.”

“That’s it.” You gasp when he’s got you bent over, yanking up the mini skirt that is barely covering your ass, watching it bounce and caressing your ass over the dark fishnets you wear, before smacking the fuck out of it.

“Ah!”

“Calling me sweet, brat? How sweet am I?” He’s smacking your other cheek, stinging so bad, but you feel the wetness drooling against your panties, biting your lower lip to hold back a cry.

“I’m an account manager now, Mr. Sukuna. I’m complaining to HR.” You tease, grinning over your shoulder, he raises one of those brows, leaning over you now, one hand gripping yours over the cool wood of the desk.

“Toji is HR. What’s he gonna say?” You giggle, but it’s cut off when he’s smacking you right between your thighs, exhaling against your neck, and the sweet ache dulls to a throbbing need.

“Toji cannot be HR, maybe Choso. He’s so cute you know- ow!”

“That’s it. I’m breaking out the whip.”

“Kuna!”

“You’re a brat - f-fuck…” He’s trailing off when you’re arching your ass up, pressing against his growing length, eyeing him.

“No one’s as sexy as my Kuna. Papa Kuna.”

“I’m done.” Sukuna pulls open a drawer, you flush when you see it, a little black leather flogger, then you glare.

“Who’d you use that on, Candy?” He grins now, standing tall and pressing you down by the back of your neck.

“Arch your ass up, brat.” His murmur is met with your immediate response, arching for him, despite you running your mouth, you want it. “Jealous of Candy, how can you be? Have you seen yourself?”

“If the whip touched her I swear- mnh!” He taps you with it gently, a low throaty laugh, wrapping his hand around your neck as he gently smacks the other side of your ass cheek, making your tummy clench.

“I like you jealous, it’s sexy… just like this outfit is ending me, look too fucking good in it, brat.”

“You want me all slutty, hmm?”

“Just for me.” His possessive tone sends shivers through you, he’s smacking your cunt lightly, stinging and making you wetter, before he presses the leather against your clit over dripping wet panties, just when the door knocks and he groans out his frustration, your little giggle earns you a sharp bite on your neck. “I’ll finish this later, just wait.”

“I’m terrified, Papa Kuna.” He puts the whip up, adjusting your skirt before he sits back down, pulling you right on his thigh, exhaling at the heat he feels, his arm wrapping around your waist, hand right on your tummy.

“Gonna have you so full of me.” His whisper in your ear has you shivering, biting your lip, he watches with a cocky grin as the knock starts again. “Come on in, then, shit.”

“You’re so friendly, you know.” Toji walks in then, frowning over at Sukuna, and you feel the energy shift.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, Toji sighs then.

“I may need some help with something.” You look at Sukuna, nodding and walking away, touching Toji’s shoulder gently, earning his little smile.

“It better be good, just had my girl bent over my desk.” Sukuna leans back, crossing his arms, legs spread, as Toji shuts the door behind him, staring at it for a moment.

“That shot girl…”

“You think she’s hot?”

“She’s… I need to know… about her.” Sukuna snorts a bit then, leaning forward on his hand. “Yeah she’s hot, okay?”

“I didn’t realize I’m running a matchmaking service. I should charge you.” Toji snorts, sitting down across from him now. “Shit you’re serious?”

“Just want info. I helped you  plenty, ya owe me something.”

“Shit, alright, but I swear if you interrupt me fucking again, I’m gonna take you the fuck out.” Toji chuckles, and Sukuna starts wrapping up the rest of the money. “What did you wanna know?”

Later on, as you both are overseeing the club, Sukuna finds you again, with the strobing lights going, the music reverberating through your bodies. There are dancers everywhere, in various stages of undress, cocaine being sold with every fucking shot, this is not ordinary life, but it is your ordinary life now, the hustle of it all, the thrill when his hands are on your waist.

“Toji’s down bad.” He says, and your brows raise in surprise.

“Toji Fushiguro!?”

“Mmhmm. He’s gonna be the next lovesick fool. God, look at Gojo.” You giggle as you see him, cupping his girl’s face, looks so intense they could fill an entire fucking room.

“Let them be happy, you crab.”

“Crab!?”

“Mmhmm. We’re happy. Yeah?” Your pretty smile ends him, as he pictures just everything he wants from you.

A whole fucking life with you.

“Ready for that trip tomorrow?” He asks, hand entwining with yours, turning your chin up as he hugs you from behind.

“I can’t wait, Kuna.”

A/N- Toji's story is up nextttt - preview here. And ofc we will get mob Gojo chap 4 Next (Losing Control Now) Next chap is the last of their storyyy, I've really had fun, ty for those who have loved on this story with me! <3

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[digitald0rk]

ANIMAL ATTRACTION

𓏵𓏵 DON'T LET HER GET AWAY ! mark grayson ( invincible ) x fem reader ( catwoman ) synopsis : in which mark tries to put a kitty back in her cage. warnings ⤻ swearing, suggestive content, you are a tease <3 mentions of blood, sexual tension, grinding? no actual smut. w.c : 3.5k. notes — mark's still a rookie hero ++ new to the GDA so yeah :3 he's trying his best! not to let his hormones control him. title is indeed a swr reference.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ taglist ! @vm4879bb-blog @fairii-majii @hihowyoudoin00 @rayaaa4444 @wadehowl3tt @luvvcharxo @lacesoflove @urmyvalentine1 @sweetb3rry

this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

the plan was simple: retrieve the stolen jewels from the infamous thief and then take care of said thief.

so why the hell is he just staring at you from the shadows as you toy with one of the shiny red rubies, holding it up and watching as the moonlight reflects off it prettily.

“mark,” cecil's voice rings in the half viltrumite’s ear, “are you there? can you hear me kid?”

“huh? i mean yeah, yeah i’m here.”

“you catch the thief yet?”

“uh no but i’m getting to it”

liar, it's been twenty minutes, he could easily overpower you — but he hasn't, yet.

“i’ll talk to you when i’m done okay? don't want her getting suspicious or something.”

“you know i can see you, right?”

oh fuck.

a nervous chuckle escaped his lips at that, he floats closer to you sitting on the roof — all clad in that leather body suit that makes him feel lightheaded and that damn smile, you know what you're doing, there's no way you don't know the effect you have on him. he rips his gaze away from your thighs, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

“what you did was not very nice,” he says dumbly, his voice cracks slightly at the end and he wishes the ground would swallow him.

“oh i'm well aware invinciboy.” holy shit are you teasing him? you're still playing around with the gem in your hand, it's like you're not scared or even slightly fazed by his presence, he's not sure how to feel about that.

“ah, so you know who i am?” he huffs a little proudy, “you know stealing is a crime right?” he asks, again a very dumb question but his brain is a little fried right now especially with the way you're looking at him like that.

“i’m gonna have to take you with me,” he manages to say.

“a man who knows what he wants,” you put the ruby back in the sack full of other similar precious jewels and walk closer to him, hand pressed against his chest as you lean over to whisper in his ear, “i like that.”

he's going to die.

his heart jumps at the action — beating way too fast, it's almost painful, he's sure you can hear it too.

“listen lady, you're coming with me,” he says weakly, stepping away a little and trying to put some distance between you two for his own sanity, god you smell good.

“go on and try, pretty boy,” you challenge him, holding his gaze as you step away too — you sound a little too confident, too sure of yourself.

he'll just have to put you in your place.

or maybe he won't, he feels dizzy all of a sudden before his head starts pounding and eyes start getting heavy, he groans at the pain.

and just like that, you're swinging the sack over your shoulder and getting ready to run away, looking back at him through your mask, the wind making your suit's tail sway.

“wait,” he pathetically calls out, his body feels weak — what on earth have you done to him?

you throw his way the now empty small dart, with a pointy needle attached at one end, that you stabbed him with, which was probably filled with some sort of drug or worse poison, he assumes. so that beating of his heart wasn't that painful for no reason, you had stabbed him huh? he should've been more careful — shouldn't have underestimated you.

he tries reaching for you again but his knees give out, making him fall onto the cold rough floor of the building's rooftop, he grunts and looks up at you as he tries to keep his eyes open.

and you have the audacity to blow him a kiss playfully, “we'll meet again invincible,” you even send his way a wink for good measure before you make your escape, effortlessly moving to jump from one rooftop to another, landing precisely each time.

mark reluctantly falls into a slumber, hearing cecil’s worried voice as his eyes shut down.

he feels groggy and disoriented when he wakes up in the all too familiar GDA patient rooms.

“about time,” cecil’s voice makes him sit up a little bit straighter as he tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“how long was i out for?”

“almost six hours.”

it was supposed to be a simple job, in fact he only took it because he needed a break from all the intense, hard hitting, leaving-him-with-severe-injuries missions. he knows cecil is disappointed — heck, he's disappointed with himself too.

“get some rest kid, i’ll send someone else to take care of her.”

“no let me, let me fix my mistake, let me go after her again,” mark says without thinking. it's his job to stop crime, he'll do it no matter what  — is it also an excuse to see you? maybe. 

cecil sighs, “fine. but you better get that damn cat in her cage. and don't hold back this time.”

he's going to see you again. 

“why are you smiling?”

“i’m not!”

“give me that bag right now,” mark demands.

the GDA was able to track you down easily — or maybe that's what you wanted, as donald had suggested earlier.

now here he is, standing in front of you in your little hideout, the bag of precious gems behind you as you guard them with a charming smile.

“i don't appreciate your tone, sweetheart.”

“well i don't appreciate you stabbing me with a sleeping drug either.”

“heard you superheros don't get enough sleep, i’m just trying to look out for my favorite one, love.”

you're messing with him — it's working, the thought of him being your favorite in any kind of sense makes his cheeks heat up.

“don't make me use force, cat,” he threatens, walking closer. except you don't back down, you never do and it annoys him deeply. he takes a hold of your neck and pins you to the wall behind with a loud thud, the sack worth probably millions momentarily forgotten — his eyes trained on you as if he's waiting for you to validate him, his strength.

“choking? well that's certainly kinky.”

“what?” he stammers out, he knows you're enjoying this — his cheeks are flushed from both the proximity and your words.

“you heard me,” you smile up at him like he can't just crush your bones in a second of he wanted to, “didn't take you for such a bold one,” you muse aloud, nails lightly raking against his suit from his neck down to his chest, the action sending a shiver down his spine that settles low in his gut, a familiar heat starting to bloom down there.

“you're coming with me,” his voice is rough as he turns you around so your front is pressed against the cold wall and he pins your hands behind your back with one hand while the other rests on the back of your neck.

his eyes not so subtly take in the view — the leather of the black suit clings to your body deliciously, the slight arch of your back and the way the fabric stretches across your thighs and ass has his breathing hitching.

“enjoying the view back there invinciboy?” you sway your hips side to side as if to taunt him which makes him huff, the sound annoyed but undeniably laced with some sort of fondness.

“you're so annoying,” he whispers into your ear — just like you did before you decided to drug him and knock him out.

mark presses himself against your body almost unconsciously, gulping when he feels the swell of your ass rub against his very obvious hard problem.

“is that a gun or are you just excited to see me?”

“shut up,” he mutters, embarrassed but still wishing you'd continue to grind back on him to offer him some sort of relief — relief which he hasn't been able to get ever since your first meeting.

“well then maybe you should put my mouth to good use.”

excuse me? his mouth goes dry at your comment.

and for a moment his teenage hormone driven brain even considers the very obvious inappropriate insinuation before he snaps out of it at cecil’s voice.

the bag.

mark drags you with him, manhandling you — something which you look a little too happy with but he doesn't comment on it, instead he grabs the bag with his free hand that's not restricting your arms but it feels suspiciously light.

so he empties out its contents carefully and lo and behold, it's only filled with a handful of gemstones — the bottom is filled with cotton and other trash of no use.

he glares at you, scoffing when you only playfully bat your eyelashes at him, feigning innocence.

“where's the rest of them?”

“maybe they turned into wool?” you shrug and his eye twitches.

“don't play dumb with me cat, where are they?” his patience is running thin.

“fineeee, they're in the vault down there, under the desk.”

he's still wary of you — for good reason, but he knows he can stop you if you try to run away and plus his main priority is those stupid gems so he lets you go, moving to locate the said vault.

he manages to find it, entering the passcode you gave him and opens the metal vault.

mark immediately gets hit in the face with some sort of gas can which leaves him coughing and wheezing, the purple colored gas leaking and making it hard to see, even his eyes start watering a bit as he tries to find where you are.

you yelp when he ends up yanking your tail, dragging you right to him and where the fuck did you get that mask? of course you planned everything till the end, you always do.

he's about to catch you, once and for all but you catch him off guard, pulling the dirtiest, most unfair trick in the book, a kick right to his family jewels. ouch.

he winces loudly and stumbles back a little, the purple haze only getting more dense as the seconds tick by making it even harder to see, he can make out the faint sound of your pretty voice through the gas mask, “sorry!” yeah right, you don't sound sorry at all.

his eyes feel heavy, not this again — does this woman have a thing for knocking people out or something? mark thinks as his consciousness starts to fade out, the sound of your footsteps fading away as well.

and just like that you've slipped through his fingers. again.

he'll catch you, just you wait.

he wakes up after god knows how many hours, why the fuck is he all tied up with a mirror in front of him — he groans in frustration when he comes to the conclusion it's probably your doing.

i mean who else would draw cat whiskers and a dot on his nose and leave him tied up in the same spot he was once again outsmarted by you — it is humiliating and he is definitely not turned on by the idea of you tying him up to do something else. nope. no.

oh right there's cecil, clearly not amused.

“mark.”

the younger man sighs, he knows he's in for it.

much to his surprise, the stolen jewels — half of them, were found in the same bag behind some important political building which mark would know of if he did actually pay attention in class and wasn't busy day dreaming about catching you, chasing after you — the thrill of it all is something he craves.

he knows you steal from the rich, but it's still a crime. 

so when he catches you in the act of seemingly stealing another thing, in broad daylight this time, that honestly he could care less about, he wastes no time flying over and grabbing your tail — okay, he may or may not have a thing for pulling on it.

“cat.” he tackles you to the ground, palms sweaty at how close you two are— which to his amusement you look very happy about, being underneath him like this. it's almost as if you planned this too.

your bodies pressed together has him acting up, a soft almost imperceptible sound leaving his mouth. the softness of your chest against his, your nails lightly raking up and down his arms, he feels himself getting worked up.

“invincible.” you smile up at him like you can see right through him, like you know how red his face is beneath that mask.

“come on, just hand over whatever you've stolen.” he grunts when you swiftly move to roll over with him, he's now under you.

“you mean your heart? oh sweet boy it's right there,” your place your palm flat against his erratically beating heart, “although it seems like it will jump out any second,” you chuckle, those annoyingly alluring eyes staring right into his soul.

“stop that.” he says weakly even though his hands move to settle on your hips, his mind already going a mile a minute as he takes in the position you two find yourself in.

“stop what?” you shift slightly on top of him, sitting up and he pathetically chases the friction of your leather clad body rubbing against his bulge, a small sound escaping his lips much to his horror.

“looking at me like that.” it makes his skin feel like it's on fire.

wait, no why are you getting up?  goddamnit it no!

mark can't help but gasp when your heeled foot rests on his chest, the heel slightly digging into his suit, the pressure is delicious and so is the view — you standing over him, looking down at him like that, like you'll eat him alive, he's not sure how his heart hasn't given out yet. if omniman finds out about this he's sure his father would never look at him the same.

and then you drag the heel down, from his chest down to his needy aching clothed cock and gently apply more pressure by shifting more of your weight onto it and he moans so prettily — a familiar throb settles between your legs.

he desperately bucks his hips up, but you pull away completely, leaving him flushed and panting oh so horny.

“you're evil,” he frowns up at you, reaching to tug on your suit's tail, holding back a chuckle at your little gasp as you lose your balance.

“you seem to enjoy it.” you're not wrong.

you throw his way the small pouch you stole before jumping down to make your escape like you always do, leaving him needy, conflicted and confused each time.

he sighs as he undoes the strings closing the pouch to open it, curious to see what you'd given up on so easily.

his jaw practically falls to the floor.

you fucking tease.

it's a pair of panties — your panties, a small note falls out of the pouch too, “have fun sweetheart,” it says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

he should've known, those wide eyes of yours as he caught you “stealing” were just for show.

he resists the urge to just relieve himself right then and there, hands toying with the soft fabric of the material in his hand, mouth going dry as he rubs his thumb across the gusset, mind going into overdrive.

god, does this mean you know that he's a pervert and touches himself to the thought of you?

he needs a cold shower.

with the way everything is going in the superhero business, mark decides to quit GDA to clear things up and just help people without cecil barking orders at him.

it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that cecil had to witness you two being horny bastards, grinding on each other because holy shit did you look good with blood on you.

mark blamed it on some villain's “sex pollen” afterwards, both cecil and him knowing it's a damn lie.

yeah no, he's going to stay away from cecil for a bit, that was embarrassing — although he has zero regrets.

“sorry for you know . . . kicking your balls and making you lose your job.”

you say it so casually like you didn't just once again somehow manage to knock him unconscious when he was on his way back to his house from a mission — where the hell are you getting all these resources and equipment from anyways?

and now he's here, hanging upside down by some flimsy rope that you both know he can easily break, but he won't.

last time he used his strength, you ran away and that did not sit well with him no matter how much he tried to deny it.

so he'll indulge you in your antics as long as your attention is on him and him only.

“apology rejected.”

you act wounded at his words like he's ripped your heart out or something with the way you're clutching your chest all dramatically, the action makes his lips twitch into a small smile.

“well that won't do,” your eyes sparkle with that gleam, dangerous and all too familiar to him, “how can i make you accept my apology then, invincible?” 

it seems like you already have something in mind because you're leaning closer and closer, until your lips are only an inch apart from his.

except obviously you don't act all suave about it and have to say some shit like, “damn your lips are dry as hell,” which makes him laugh more than self-conscious, he knows they're not dry — he's been taking care of himself a lot more ever since you've stepped into his life, you know just in case you two kiss or something, a small innocent, okay maybe not innocent, but nevertheless a fantasy that he certainly does not dream about everyday.

his dad did not tell him that being a superhero comes with whatever this is, he was never told it meant being stuck with an annoyingly hot woman who he's ready to do a concerning amount of things for, just for the rush of adrenaline that he's sure he's grown addicted to.

just like he's grown addicted to your presence.

“i think you need to moisturize them,” you clear your throat, your flirty facade breaking the tiniest bit, eyes glued to his lips.

and he's not that dumb. he knows what you want and lucky for you he wants that too — maybe even more than you.

“yeah i really do, think you can help me out with that cat?” 

“i think i can,” your lips brush against his teasingly — but you're holding yourself back, giving him the option to back away if you've read into the situation wrong but he doesn't. instead he firmly presses his lips against yours and for all the innuendos that get thrown around between you two and the undeniable sexual tension, the kiss is sweet, almost tender — his lips moving in tandem with yours.

it lasts for what feels like an eternity — but not nearly enough when you two pull away. he immediately regrets the action.

he doesn't need to breathe, he needs you.

mark chases your lips, fully expecting you to tease him about his clear desperation but you don't, you kiss him back, again.

“is my apology accepted now?” you mumble against his lips, he chuckles at your words having completely forgotten about that, “yeah,” he gives you a lopsided grin that has you smiling back.

“you gotta work on your morals, kissing a thief? now that's just low invincible”

“no no it wasn't kissing, remember? you were-”, he tried to do air quotes before realizing his hands are still tied, “you were helping me moisture my lips, no?” he teases you back, the playful banter flows easily between you two, like always.

“oh right, my bad, moisturizing.”

“i think my lips are still dry though.” he sheepishly says, hoping you'll kiss him some more.

and you do.

this is so wrong, he knows that, but your lips against his feel like heaven, your hand cupping his jaw oh so gently like he's made of glass just feels so right.

he stiffens slightly when he feels you lick a strip up his face. you menace, his eyes snap open and look at you in mock disappointment.

“are you ever not horny?

“that's bold coming from you invincible.”

“you're gonna leave me blue balled again, aren't you, you tease?” he sighs exasperatedly.

you gasp, “at least take me out on a date first,” your faux offense is adorable — like you haven't been making his life a literal nightmare with all those teasing touches and heated gazes.

he forgets whatever he was about to say when you gently force his jaw open, thumb tracing his jawline while you slide a piece of paper in his mouth, “close your mouth,” your tone alone is enough to make him obey, closing his mouth — teeth holding onto the paper’s edge.

“good boy.”

mark feels himself getting hot and bothered at your praise. he holds your gaze, hoping for an explanation.

“my number, love.”

oh, so you weren't messing around for once.

you press one last kiss, to the tip of his nose before hopping onto some building's ledge, your body moving gracefully, once again leaving him hanging — quite literally this time.

© digitald0rk 2025. do not steal, repost or translate any of my work. want more? click here ★

[satrs]

ATTENTION.

✎ A/N; They got me y'all. The voices told me to do this I'm telling youuu!!!! Did I do the ripping part in both Sylus' and Rafayel's intentionally? Yes, yes I did. SUE ME!!!

SYNOPSIS; surprising them in lingerie!

FEATURING; Sylus, Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier x fem!reader (l&ds)

TAGS; NSFW CONTENT! MDNI! s€xual intercourse. Teasing. Unprotected intercourse. Dirty talk. mating press(Sylus). blindfolding. pü$$yjob. (xavier). slightt dumbification(rafayel). cunnilingus. overstim. (Zayne)

WK;4.2k.

♡ SYLUS

"Take a picture, it'll last longer", you tease the white haired man who cranes his neck in your direction, bloody eyes examining your attire.

"I might."

A giggle escapes you in response to Sylus. He can't help but let a sly smirk creep up his lips, scanning your black stilettos up to your red lingerie, the polished red gemstones decorating your cleavage, and adding the cherry on top.

You cage wine-red lips between your teeth as you lift your hand to rest on his naked chest, droplets of water indicating his previous shower, your band of rubies slightly slipping down your tender wrist in the process.

Raising his eyebrows at your action, he watches you raise on the tips of your toes, your hot breath fanning across his neck as you whisper into his ear. "I think I'll go change."

Change? Change now, after you dolled yourself up just for him (quickly, for that matter) whilst he took a shower? Definitely not happening.

He manages to take hold of your arm with a questionable look on his face. "Oh, please", he begins, intrigue causing his silver brows to twitch, "The party's already done? What a shame."

The innocent expression on your face only sparked excitement in him- and his pants, a sly smirk exposing his motive as he takes careful steps to your shared bed until he sits on the edge, dark orbs still asserting dominance even though he’s looking up at your captivating form.

You giggle in response, and he doesn't miss your delicate hands gliding down his exposed chest, finding comfort in the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Do tell," he continues, his intense glare roaming over every part of your body, followed by his hands finding comfort on your rear. "What are the stilettos for?"

Pointing his chin towards your hidden surprise, you’re quick to follow up with a swift movement of your leg, pushing him down his back carefully with your heel before seating your covered pusssy on his growing bulge. as you bite back, "to keep you in check."

A glint of amusement dances across the man's features as he scoffs at your pathetic attempt of dominance, giving a firm squeeze to your behind, earning a yelp from your lips. "We’ll see about that."

Before you can even think of a cheeky retort, he smashes his lips against yours in haste, sighing into your mouth as if it's been a lifetime since he last had a taste of you.

His digits creep around your spine to take hold of the back of your neck, swiftly but carefully pushing you on the king sized bed, your back hitting the cold touch of the silken sheets.

He smashes his lips against yours, swallowing your sounds eagerly, hastily fumbling with your lingerie before a loud rip! Sound echoes through the room.

You let out a gasp in realization, ready to scold the man for his animalistic behavior, tragically failing to do so once he teases your exposed space.

“I’ll buy you a new one. Two, even.” He grunts between kisses, digits fumbling to get rid of his towel, grinding your cunt down on his exposed length as if his life depended on it. “Hell, I’ll buy the whole store.”

Within a blink of an eye, you already feel his bulky, fat tip nudging at your puckering hole, pushing past the tight ring of muscle with a low, resonant growl as he swiftly swings your legs over his shoulders.

Whining at his ridiculously bulky head engulfed in your snug hole, you try to close your legs in a desperate attempt to escape the astonishing stretch of his thick length. "Sy, I wanted to- ngh!, W-wanted to be on top."

"Don't be ridiculous, honey", he interrupts before smashing his hips harshly against yours, fully burying his pulsating cock inside your pussy, "You don't mean that", His slender fingers spread your glistering folds apart, in awe at the sight of you swallowing his cock with each push of his hips.

Ecstatic is how to describe your current state, low hanging eyes clouded in the thick mist of pleasure as you watch him ram into you helplessly, your legs danging off his shoulders as he pushes you further and further into a mean mating press.

You can see his tip nudging your lower belly, prominent dent apearing and dissapearing again, causing you to claw at his beefy arm, trying to slow his movement down, only to be smacked away with a scoff.

"Awww, baby. Don't give up just yet. You still got to 'keep me in check', no?" You whine as your orgasm hits you in surprise, letting out a loud cry of his name as your pussy spasms all over his pelvis.

Once you saw that fat grin on his face that you would've loved to slap off his face, you know your fucked. Maybe you even knew that from the start. But,

"There's no backing out now, kitten."

♡ XAVIER

"Can I look?"

"Wait!"

He sighs, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor, trying to adjust to the darkness covering his eyes. How long is this childish game going to take? Why won't you just let him see you?

"C'mon, wanna see you." You chuckle at his whiny plea as you step closer to him, seated on the couch, reaching out to grasp his hand in yours.

"Just be patient. You will." his composer tenses once he feels his fingers grazing the lace material adoring your soft skin and fuck, his dick twitches in his pants in pain as he imagines how you look right now in all of your glory, body decorated in seducing lace. "It's white, you know. Just how you like it."

Strength, that's what he needs—because he doesn't know how much longer he can play this game of yours before he might die.

"You won't die, silly." A hue of red adores his face in embarrassment, groaning at your light chuckle once he realizes he just said that out loud.

In light of the moment, he takes the chance and grasps at the flesh of your ass, causing you to gasp. "Please", he begs, his hand pushing you further towards him until he faces your tummy, "I w-want to- need to see you."

A shudder runs down your spine as he places wet kisses all over your exposed skin, an unoccupied hand cupping a feel of your clothed breast, earning a lustful pur from you in return.

You don't miss the sly smirk spread across his face once you push him deeper into the couch, his back hitting the rest in acceptance of defeat.

"I told you to be-"

"Patient, yes. You know I can't stand waiting when it comes to you, love." You sigh, trying your best to retain your sounds by caging your lips between your teeth, and you're thankful that he can't see your contorting expressions from his shameless hands roaming over every inch of your body. Yet.

"It's rude to interrupt someone while they're talking, you know." Your words come out hollow, not even fully reaching his ear, because all he could focus on were your hands freeing his aching cock from its restraint, his tip slightly nudging at your now exposed pussy, laced panties pushed to the side.

At that moment, his head falls back, a frustrated groan roaring from his lungs, a hard grip on your hips as he rocks your body on top of his, your wet folds adoring his shaft in the glistering essence of your sweet nectar, the warmth of your heat causing him to whine, longing to see and feel the full extent of your addicting pussy.

"Y-you're making it hard for me, you know." He notices the slight waver in your voice, and he also notices your hand gliding along the back of his neck, up, up, up until your finger hooks under the blindfold, giving into his endless pleas.

All he can manage to choke out is a gluttonous "F-fuckkk", as he, finally, sees what you've been holding back from him. And sight behold, it's even better than he could've ever imagined.

You can feel his dick twitching between the mold of your folds once you release the blindfold from his face, letting it dangle down at his neck, slightly pulling him closer by it until your lips were inches apart.

As you admire his pussy-drunk gaze, you notice his glossy eyes, kissing away the dried trail of tears running down his cheeks.

His eyes stay glued between your legs as you halt for a moment to align his angered tip at your excited hole, before you snap him out of his trance by firmly gripping at the blindfold.

"Like what you see?", you tease, words falling onto deaf ears as you sink down onto his length, his hands quick to lift you from his cock before harshly slamming you down again, catching you off guard.

"Fuck yeah."

♡ RAFAYEL

"Oh?"

His voice rings in the thick, clouded air, the filled with lust. With the quick movement of his eyes, scanning every inch of your body and the tight lace hugging your figure so deliciously, he can't help but wet his lips.

"Oh." The man's tone is low, seductive even, his hungry eyes devouring your very being. That's a surprise, alright.

This feels like a dream; with each step you take towards him in the massive pool, his head spins and dizziness overcomes his senses.

The water soon reaches your upper body as you begin to swim towards the man, all under a watchful eye.

In an act of malice, you decide to dive underneath the water, out of sight of his predatory gaze. Or, so you thought.

Gaze, not wavering from your silouette, swimming closer and closer to his spot, amused grimace coming to light as you emerge from the dark water, just to poke your head to the surface.

"Careful now." He warns at your greedy touch against his body, fingers hooking under the waistband of his shorts to mess with him, " What? I'm just testing the waters."

He chuckles at that, arms lifting you as you instinctively wrap your legs around his slutty waist. "The waters you're testing are deep, you know."

You smirk at his words, your arms caging him in place as they lock around his neck, eyes gazing into his, radiating pure lust and desire. "Deeper than you fucking me?"

You've done it now.

A flip switches inside him instantly, breath turning ragged while his hands are busy freeing his aching cock, impatiently, ripping your adored bikini, exposing your cunt to the cold pool water.

You protest, whining as he holds the pair of panties up in victory, examining them while balancing you on one strong arm. "Couldn't see shit from afar", he begins, his tongue poking out to lick across his lips.

"Looks wonderful on you, baby. Heavenly, even. But right now, I'd rather see you," releasing the fabric that covered your tits in rapid motion, he throws them behind him without care before resuming, "-naked."

"Sorry, you were saying?", His brought-up innocence, causes your brows to knit in frustration, soon disappearing once he bullies his entire cock deep into you. "Oh yeah, I remember. Something about me fucking you, right?"

The wail that you let out only earns you a twitch of his pulsating cock inside your comforting heat, repeated thrusts of his causing the water to shudder from his crude movements.

Nodding hastily, your nails clamp down on his shoulders - trying to adjust to his rapid movement with your body bouncing up and down up and-

"Hellooo, anyone up there?"

If you could, you would wipe that snarky smirk right off his face, but you couldn't. You couldn't even protest as his hands followed up to your head right after, a light knock against your forehead with his index finger.

"Hm? My girl's turning all dumb when she wanna come, yeah?" Strong arms trap you in a strong hold, his hips rutting into you at a ridiculously fast pace, his hands spreading your ass cheeks apart, nudging your gushy spot repeatedly as you threaten to come undone in his hold.

"Tell me, baby. Tell me you wanna cum, wanna hear my girl say it." he mumbles against your kiss-bitten lips, a slight stutter escaping him at the delicious squeeze of your cock-drunk pussy. "M-hm, 'm so close, soso- oh nghhh!"

Displeased with your answer, he clicks his tongue, his slender fingers threading their way between your legs to squeeze your clit meanly between his fingers. "O-ohhww! Hnghh!"

"Nuh uhhh. Say it and you'll get to cum, silly girl." You spill whine after whine from your lips, legs shaking in sync with the water.  "W-wanna cum, need ta' nghhh pleaseee- Oh!"

Incoherent nonsense rushes past your lips, and before you even realize it, you're coming undone in his arms.

Silent cries of his name fly over his head, his whole attention focused on you. From your widened eyes to your mouth hanging open, all the way to the squeeze of your plush walls, begging him to fill you to the brim.

And he does.

At his wits end, his hips stutter into yours with one last pathetic thrust. Fat chunks of white spurted into you, followed by a broken wail from him. "Y-yeahh that's my girl. Take it all. That'sss it."

You crash your lips on his, moans drowning in the hot mess. With your head laid against his heaving chest, eyes scrunched together as you came down from your high.

"C'mon, baby", he snaps you out of your daze, hazy eyes gawking at you. And, oh - you know this look all too well.

Biting your lips in excitement, he hoists you up until his dick slips out of you in quick motion, a slight hiss from him indicating his impatience.

The cold breeze engulfs your bodies as you leave the pool, your arms clinging to his neck in seek of warmth. With his quick feet, he hurries to reach the inside.

"You know we ain't done yet."

♡ ZAYNE

"You should've told me," His breath hitches against your neck, pampering your neck with kisses, hands groping your flesh. "I would've, w-would've got off earlier."

"Where'd be the fun in that?" you tease, trying to hide your smirk, your fingers delicately brushing through his dark strands, and fuck, you could cum by just looking at his lustful expression.

His hair messy and face lost in complete bliss, with his eyes screaming that he's hungry for more. And who could blame him?

Exactly, no one.

"Fuckin' hell", he mutters under his breath as you climb on top of him, laced panties hovering just above his face.

Hell, he'll for sure just might end up there if he doesn't get a taste of you in the next three seconds.

"What are you waiting for, darling?", His fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips, forcing your hips further down, and he can't believe his eyes. Your juices bleed through the dark lace. You little minx.

Three.

He stops in his tracks at the faint whiff of your juices hitting his nostrils, squeezing your hips so tight that your flesh spills from the gaps of his fingers.

Two.

"Well?", you snap him out of his trance, catching his gaze. Your fingers brush through his strands before firmly gripping them, his lips mere inches away from your leaking hole, "What are you waiting for?"

Fuck that last second.

Shameless and dirty. Two words you'd never expected tohear with your Zayne in a sentence.

It's downright nasty, how his tongue is lapping and sucking your lips through the fabric, teeth teasingly grazing against your clit earning a gasp from you.

"Pull it off, can't wait. I gotta taste you." Zayne is fast, fingers hooking under the fabric to reveal your glistering cunt with a hungry growl, "All of you."

"S-so impatient." Shaky voice betraying yourself as your fingers tangle in his dark roots, offering him the dark blue lace that does a poor job of covering your crotch, thighs twitching in his hold.

"Please, darling", wavering voice whispers against your hidden folds, your sweet nectar reaching his nose once he hooks his finger under the flimsy fabric, pushing it to the side to gawk at your exposed cunt, glistering.

He breathes in, heart rapidly beating in his chest in anticipation, before he stops himself with one deep, threatening growl. "Fuckin' sit."

With that, he firmly grips your hips, smashing you down on his awaiting mouth. The gasp that leaves you only eggs him on, making out with your lips as if it were his last meal.

And it might be, if he continues to push you down further and further, his tongue already pushing past your tight walls, eager to taste more of you.

Humming into your heat as he gazes up at your contorted expressions, the plush of your thighs nearly suffocating him. Not that he’d mind, of course.

„Mhm, take it.“ His words are muffled against your puffy folds, barely reaching your ears. If you even heard him over the squelching sound of the wet mess beneath you, that is.

Big, beefy hands take a firm hold on your ass, squeezing the flesh tightly in his embrace. Groaning into your heat, he musters up his strength to rock your cunt over his face, ears perking up at your increase in volume.

You feel hot blood rushing through your veins as each breath of air gets heavier and hotter by any minute, his tongue lavishly exploring your tight tunnel.

His keen movement yearns for your release, growing more desperate in his movements. He just can't help himself, really. "Quit, squirmin', " He just barely lifts your hips, his words scrambling against your heat before he resumes to his meal, slightly biting down onto your poor clit in warning.

Your surprised squeal only eggs him on further. Mouth working faster, nastier, downright making out with your cunt shamelessly, even going as far as spelling his name over and over again.

Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-A-Y-N-E-Z-

„I‘m s-so- close! Fuck!“ As those words leave your mouth, a sudden euphoric wave overtakes you, and you gush all over the man's face, his face shining in your juices as he eagerly slurps up every bit you offer him.

Humming in content, his hand rips against the flesh of your ass, faint paint of red adoring your behind, before his strong arms swiftly throw you onto your back, leaving you in pure bliss from your orgasm.

But before you can notice the switch in position, his mouth is back on your cunt, hands now roaming over your body, making sure to trace the adorable cerulean lace, even going as far as sneaking through your bra to get a feel of your soft chest.

This is so strange, so unlike him- Zayne, the usually chill and composed man, full of self-control and diligence, now rutting his hips against the bed in impatient thrusts, all kinds of mumbles and groans lost between your spread thighs.

"'S too much, just hold on, Zayne!"

The overstimulation catching up to you, a string of electricity running down your spine as you try to escape his firm grip by wiggling, thighs squeezing tightly around his head - anything. But just from his warning glare, you knew it was impossible.

Sure, your legs are just about to give out on you, your poor, abused pussy pulsated non-stop, and you could already see the shining stars threatening to litter your vision.

It's too much, but it also feels all too good, maybe a little too well. With trembling fingers, you reach for his hair, contemplating whether to push him away or pull him impossibly closer. Now it was up to him to choose.

Zayne's resonated voice is already answer enough, face lifting from the cavity of your fluttering heat. His mouth completely covered in your slick, his grin completely catching you off guard.

He's placing a last, sloppy kiss right at the crown of your clit for good measure. Heavy breath brushing against your abandoned clit, causing a shiver to creep up your spine, before he's leaving a trace of wet kisses up your belly, eyes not leaving yours even once.

"You know I can't do that, darling. I'm not even halfway done with you yet."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[abyssyby]

Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency. 

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.” 

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you. 

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out… 

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.” 

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow. 

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue). 

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

 A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute. 

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking. 

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.” 

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?” 

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself. 

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse. 

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown. 

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound. 

He holds out a pill. “Take this.” 

You blink at him. 

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.” 

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.” 

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.” 

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go. 

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.” 

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight. 

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him. 

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…” 

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?” 

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin. 

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could. 

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word. 

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest. 

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man. 

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune. 

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin. 

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not. 

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess. 

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is. 

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go. 

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him. 

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.” 

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone. 

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.” 

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.” 

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.” 

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.” 

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.” 

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd. 

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!

[syluses]

ataxia

sylus x fem reader

⤷ sylus wants kids, sweetie. lots of kids.

kind of a part 2 to this piece, but it can still serve as a lil standalone as well ♡ DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS DAD SYLUS

cw ▻ nsfw, dubcon, breeding, pregnancy mentions, daddy kink, im a strong believer in sylus wanting a big family, whipped sylus, characters depicted are 18+, stockholm syndrome, yandere/obsessive tendencies, ~2.5k words

notes ▻ eeee they fr live in my head rent free </3 anyways take this crumb while i work on like other fics. daddy sylus is actually KILLING me like always on the noggin 😵‍💫

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

There’s a certain peace you feel, curled up on the leather couch, in watching your husband sit on his knees as the little ones crawl around the carpet, playing with them no different than a toddler would.

Not exactly a pleasant peace, by any means, but a simple, sort of resigned one. Your muscles seem to lose the tension, shoulders always piked high, ready for attack- or some other (meta)physical blow- slumping into rounded blades. You sigh.

Perhaps it’s the knowing that whatever bad thing that could’ve come- already has. Now, you’re experiencing the sloping aftereffects of it.

And this—

Sylus, with a beaming grin, letting out an almost breathless laugh as he scoops up one of the boys and twirls him overhead, the other kept by a protective hand at his side so he won’t bump on the corner of the coffee table—

Is just the fallout.

Ruby-red eyes flit over (and they always do sooner than later, like you’re a beacon in the middle of a dark sea) and crinkle at the edges. You’ve told him before that you don’t like when he throws the babies up in the sky like that, that if they were to suddenly fall, they can’t take flight like Mephisto. He must remember, because he lets out a little, woeful noise and carefully lowers him.

The smile remains, though, kilowatt and wide, a little starry-gazed like he’s inviting you to slip off the sofa and join him on the fluffy rug with your children.

The fatigue natural to post-pregnancy has already claimed you tonight, though. Truth be told, you’d have hesitated even if it didn’t. It’s fine, tending to your children on your own; his long absences leave you with massive windows of alone time with the little ones, and you actually enjoy it (save for the huge toll it takes on your energy, of course, but Luke and Kieran lend a hand where it counts- where they’re allowed).

That sentiment changes a bit, though, when your husband does get home. With his presence comes the cold reminder of how things really are, how you’re still an unwilling counterpart in all this- frilly gowns and jewels and the private chef he hires for fancy dinners (because he has the money for it) be damned.

You want to go home. That wish, hollow as it is, still stands.

…Even if it’s started staggering, in these last few months.

He’s always been more than content with just the two of you, but in the last several weeks, you compare Sylus’s emotional state to a suitcase packed too full, joy spilling out the sides. Evidently, he doesn’t try to close the zipper; he lets it happen with gladness, with his hands open and lifted, but you’re not sure he entirely knows what to do with himself. With these significant developments that are just as new to him (possibly even more, as much as that flummoxes you) as they are to you.

It’s as weird as it is endearing to see what having two children (twin boys, funnily enough) will do to your husband. But if there’s one thing you learned about Onychinus’s illustrious leader in the past couple years of your marriage—

It’s that he does not settle for less.

And when he draws closer, both little ones secured in his lap- dozing off because it’s already thirty minutes past their bedtime- and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss there, rubbing your knuckles dotingly…

You can tell there’s something more he’s craving.

✿

“A girl,” he moans.

Sometimes- after you’ve just put down the boys for four consecutive nights in a row before collapsing in bed, your lover hardly having the opportunity to show his affections, all but guilted into letting you catch up on your sleep- it’s almost easy to forget how Sylus feels, your brain willing it away. How good he fucks you.

If you’re being more general- how good he takes care of you.

“Give me a girl this time, sweetie, just-“ a gasp, “one more.”

And vaguely, in the haze of sweat and burning hands, his thick, long cock plunging in and out of you deeply- slowly- your juices and his pre slicking between you, sticky as molasses, you wonder to yourself if he’s even convinced of that himself.

Just having one more, you mean.

The twins were unexpected: that right there is an understatement. You were hardly prepared for one rascal- all the countless evenings he spent buttering you up, so attentive, and then cumming into you with whispered vows to knock you up be damned— but when the xray revealed not one misshapen, little form in your womb, but two?

It was a bombshell.

Sylus, beside you (on the leather couch downstairs with your personal doctor he paid God knows how unreasonable a sum to show), had squeezed your hand in his and tried to mask half of his joy. The priority was in comforting you, helping you to realize that this was a good thing- a beautiful thing- that your life was not officially over and- hey, don’t worry, hasn’t he taken good care of you thus far? Surely, adding a couple little ones into the equation wouldn’t suddenly make it impossible.

You’re both very capable people, honey. Even more so together, with him. (Well, he assures you as much, anyway.)

Whether or not he could take care of you was never exactly the worry, though. The worry was that you’d be under his hand forever— and a baby? (two, you strictly correct. Two babies) You could kiss the last hope you had of ever weaseling out from his grip, or luxurious manor, goodbye.

He must know it, buried deep in the back of his head underneath the genuine layers of desire to simply start a family with you, his beloved girl, and flesh out more of a solid, burgeoning life; the silent promise underlying the pregnancy tests and inpromptu housecalls of your poor, overworked doctor.

That a family ties you to him forever.

A tether that’s damn near impossible to cut yourself loose from, even if you stood a punching chance at it to begin with. Glues you together in a way that even marriage doesn’t quite scratch the surface of. Your bond is perpetuated by blood, now. Flesh and bone. Your DNA, warped with his to create—

Monstrosities—

No, a harsh voice in the corner of your skull surprisingly snips back. They’re not monstrosities, far from it. All previous qualms nudged aside (and you had a lot, to be clear; hours spent sobbing and pushing helplessly at his chest as Sylus crooned and wrapped you in his arms proves that), doubts surrounding parenting and your own self preservation- your children are beautiful, that’s true. Healthy. Perfect.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and choose the high road here (the high road means willfully forgetting how involuntary this whole arrangement was in the first place)- they’re positively adorable. With his white hair spiking on their heads but your eyes and lips- and a shared penchant to land themselves into trouble, places they shouldn’t be before either of you stoops over to lift them out. Albeit, you’ll admit that their noses are still up for debate; it’s hard to pinpoint the resemblance when their faces are endearingly round, too chubby to really tell in this stage, but you secretly hope they’ll take after you in that regard.

You… don’t know how you’ll continue to operate if staring at your children is like staring at a mirror image of their father.

But… I mean, they’re fucking innocent in all this—

Your precious boys aren’t like their father. They… won’t be. You’ll make absolute sure of it.

“One more,” he chants, sucking in a long, thin breath through perfect teeth. And damn it all he feels good. So good. Maybe he had more than just one selfish, substratal reason for populating your otherwise fairly quiet home. Because you’re more obedient lately, wanting for it, almost… It gets him riled up in ways he could not begin to articulate. Hesitant still (sometimes he has this awful, basal fear that it’ll never go away, your trepidation towards him)- but sugar-sweet when you lie on the silken bed and present yourself with bashful cheeks that tell Sylus you hate yourself for it but have no real control in the moment.

You moan so prettily for him when he pries your thighs apart and presses them either side of your head, fashioning you like a butterfly, to slide in and out of you with ease. Melodic. Maybe he’s tone deaf to all songs save for you because he knows you, knows you like the back of his hand, pitch and lilt; he could pick out the voice of you in a crowd full of whooping people, he thinks.

Again, you blame your excitement on what he’s done to you. The twins’ pregnancy, the fluctuating hormones that have you bouncing between hysterical sobs and yanking your wide-eyed husband into impulsive, suffocating kisses before his fingers quickly settle around your middle. All the gentle erosion that he’s guided you through across the span of almost two years has left you worn and vulnerable.

But you suppose if something were to ever encourage a deeper bond- strengthen it- what else would it be than to take a man’s seed inside your womb and gift him with a bunch of unruly but cute kids? That’d gnaw away at just about anybody’s inhibitions, even if it grudges you to admit that. It lessens what remnant you held onto of this idea of ‘autonomy’, makes you fully lean onto him.

Sylus takes that news much, much better than you.

It’s… got to be more than physical between you now, you think distantly as he bullies his cockhead against your smooth walls, stroking a spongey spot in the bulwarks of you that makes your head go kaput. Like something spiritual, perhaps. He’s joined his soul with yours and that’s why you’ve been so obedient lately, so needy, clinging onto him and making his back your own personal scratching post as he plays at the idea of impregnating you again.

Oh, fuck, he’s such a bastard you hate him you hate him you—

You suppose your baby girl, inevitable to come somewhere down the line- whether that means during the next pregnancy or the third- won’t be like him, either.

She’ll be a sweetheart, and soft. Perhaps she’ll inherit her daddy’s crimson eyes or his smooth, sharp tongue, his inclination for success, but she’ll carry her mother’s heart with her. She will be kind.

Until someone like her daddy comes along. Flips her world on its head.

(And you know that having Sylus as her daddy would be the simple fact that staves off all potential men intending to prey on her, but still, the thought remains, niggling and bitter.)

“Take daddy’s cock, sweetie,” he goads, breath shot right from his lungs as he traps you beneath him- not that you’ve much the will to resist anymore- and moans over you. “You’ll take what he has to offer, won’t you? Your pretty belly will take all of it in?”

Tears prickle at your eyes when his flit down to your tummy, pupils swelling wildly as his jaw sets tight. He hisses through clenched teeth, cock giving a hot pulse accordingly.

It’s not difficult to imagine the bump there, the mound that’s not yet formed over a for now slim belly and wrinkled skin (stretch marks that you loathe but he worships on most nights, with your heels over his shoulder and his tongue lapping greedily at your pussy, palms kneading the flesh with reverence). It’s hardly been six months since you had the twins (a home birth, he’d insisted, because it was safer that way, more sterile, less stressful for you), but Sylus finds himself pining for your body to adapt to his seed again, for your breasts to plump and your stomach to round, your skin to glow.

(Your hands to reach for him because your emotions have been sat on one long rollercoaster ride and you can’t help whatever the fuck is going on inside you.)

“Sylus—“ You mewl, panting as he knocks his forehead to yours- with a whit more force than you think he’d meant, but he’s a little dazed right now, and your pussy feels so good, so don’t hold it against him, kitten- and grunts back. “Yes?” He breathes, and you liken the sound to a gust of wind, powerful and shaking.

“I- I don’t know,” you all but wail, desperately trying to tamp down your sounds of pleasure before they can escape. You’re failing.

Your reticence is for a number of reasons. First of all, your boys are just down the hall, swaddled in their respective cradles under their rotating airplane fixtures and sleeping soundly. You don’t have any intentions of changing that- especially for something as stupid and pathetic as essentially whoring yourself out to their father (and you’re not a whore, but you can’t help but feel like one when you start to bask in the attention he gives you- your hormones post-pregnancy compelling you to do all sorts of wild things).

And secondly, Luke and Kieran don’t renown you as stubborn for no reason, or your husband, lovingly, as a drama queen— and there’s a defiant part of you that does not want to see the satisfaction on his face when you start to crumble under his ministrations and open your mouth about it.

But all that, for Sylus, is a wonderful work in progress.

And if we’re to be crystal, for as much as the N109 Zone’s number one magnate prioritizes the end goal, he thoroughly enjoys the process.

“You don’t know what, Sweetie?” He whispers. It’s all he can manage right now, you’re squeezing him so tight. In that moment, the fog parts, and he knows with a hundred percent certainty that you do not want him to leave. Yes, your cunt is saying as much, and he rewards it with a carefully angled thrust right against your g-spot, but your face tells no different a story.

You’re beautiful. Perfection embodied. Makes him lose his breath a little.

“I-If I want a girl,” You heave. “If I want one at all.”

Something like dejection passes across his handsome visage then, or maybe it’s uncertainty that weakens the tight knotch in his brow as he inwardly struggles- between his approaching climax and the single mind he’s got to stuff you full of his release- for an appropriate answer. He doesn’t want to anger you. Doesn’t want to make you hate him, no, especially not when you’re finally starting to dip your toes in his waters after all his painstaking efforts to make you comfortable. Oh, God knows Sylus would kick himself for that.

…But this will be good for you. Having another, he means. It’ll be good for the both of you and if you’d just let him show you—

He’s painted the perfect demonstration of that quite well with the boys, hasn’t he? In this past handful of months, you’ve never looked happier and you’re positively glowing and all Sylus has ever wanted was to see your pretty face light with that dazzling, little smile. The twins he’s given you, unbidden as they initially were through your lens, make you so, so happy.

This will be so, so good.

Perfect.

If you’d just give in.

Oh, you’re so maddening sometimes but he adores you, every part and piece. He stoops over so his damp lips brush the lobe of your ear, the perspiration dotting his temple wetting your flushed cheeks. He croons, “You do. You do want it. I’ll show you, kitten, just how bad you need it. The twins need a sister, don’t you think? They won’t know anything other than playing rough, if not.”

Your fingertips squeeze into the lean planes of muscle of his back. He’s burning up, near feverish what with the heat sweltering between your sandwhiched bodies, but he gives a shiver in response like he’s enduring temperatures below freezing.

Panic, beneath the misty veneer of pleasure that makes your face go slack- and the subtle, inexplicable flash of something that almost convinces you Sylus is right, that you do want it- slips into the forefront of your muddled brain. Reaches a hand through the dirt and revives itself, reminding, no, no, you don’t want this, you don’t want him, you don’t want—

You let out a delicious gasp as he spears into you, the flesh of your thighs dimpling as he presses down the undersides of them. Firm, but gentle. It’s true, you’ve become considerably more flexible since meeting him- since having to accommodate him- but he’ll never give you anything more than you can take.

You’d never admit it, but there’s almost a little bit of comfort in knowing that.

“I-I’ll make sure they know how to play nice,” you force out, taking your lower lip in your mouth and suckling as the telltale rush of your climax draws nigh, hardening in your belly as it builds. “I’ll make sure they know how to be gentle, Sy!” Foreign to your own ears. Your voice is horrid as you belatedly register it, all sniveling and gasping- downright pathetic as you cling onto him for dear life and he ruts into you like a dog in heat.

You’re grasping at straws now, you know, but for as feeble as your excuses are, you hope they hit their mark. That they’ll get him to reconsider-

“But sweetie,” he breathes tenderly, “you’re already making sure I’m gentle,” he reminds in a pleasant voice, edged with the remnants of a self control that unravels at a steady pace. “How will you juggle between the three of us? Hm?”

His cockhead, fat and precise, catches on that spot in you that makes you go positively crazy and your eyes flutter back. You let out a strange, choked sound that he marvels at before he capitalizes on the reaction completely, buffetting away at the final walls you’d erected against him tonight.

All are near crumbled.

“I’ll find a way,” you nearly squeak- high-pitched and unconvincing because his mind’s already made- before he’s lolling your jaw back towards him and smashing his lips to yours in a decadent kiss, silencing your protests- for as weak as they are.

It’s close to visceral, the contact, wet lips melding hungrily with yours, trading groans and mewls as he effectively pistons his hips into you and paints colorful stars across the black span of your eyelids. In a word- invasive. Torpefying, all your limbs unfurling and slipping away from him in favor of curling into the sheets as your release approaches at whirlwind speeds, blunt fingernails clinging onto you so tight there’ll be bruises formed tomorrow- as well as an apologetic, rueful sigh on Sylus’s end, because he swears to God he’s trying to hold back—

Fucking mind-numbing.

And isn’t that just what you need? A quiet conscience? A shot of morphine fed through a needle straight into the veins, an emotional kind of tranquilizer or- or something to moderate the snarled mess your heart’s become all because of him—

It seems he’s cognizant then, pupils dilated madly as he finally blinks, of the hands that clench too tight- withdrawing them immediately from your thighs (regrettably, they remain cleaved open in a willing offer for him, shaking and red with his prints) to loop your wrists either side of your head. Holding your hands. Ever the romantic. You almost laugh, seconds off from that white-hot tidal wave of pleasure, at the irony of it all. Onychinus’s formidable, takes-no-bullshit leader, fucking you with all the grace of a big clumsy dog but all the love of one too— loyal and determined, bleeding heart on his sleeve.

He’s still kissing you, sucking on your tongue filthily, and all you can think of is waking the boys sleeping soundly next door how exquisite it feels, his thick member dragging in and out of your walls like it’s his right. Sylus certainly believes as much.

He’s ruined you too good for anyone else; you’re starting to believe it, too.

“There you go, kitten!” He gasps. “Let go. Just- fuck- let go for daddy. Such a good, good girl. Such a good mommy, you are. Our- oh, fuck, that’s it, that’s it, perfect- Our little girl will be so, so lucky to have you.”

When he comes, you do, too.

[petalbcrnes]

﹅ WRAPPED IN RED ◞ j. todd ✗ gn!reader | 1.2k

SYNOPSIS: Your boyfriend's wish of seeing you in his clothes finally comes true!

✹ ꕀ MASTERLIST ; AO3

A/N: This is a re-write of an old piece + v dear to my heart and I couldn't let it go c: still figuring out the layout of my posts, we'll get there<3 there's a little something near the end for you guys!

In the tangled web of a relationship, the couple shows and tells their affections in all kinds of different ways. Sometimes, it's the soft but sickly sweet way their touch lingers on one's skin. Sometimes, it's the saccharine taste that is left in one's mouth after a shared kiss.

Sometimes, it's as simple as a piece of one's clothing on their partner.

It's something Jason never gave a single thought to. Until you showed up. With your honeyed gaze and sunshine grin, the delicate touch grazing his skin as you handle him like glass. The thought of you in clothes that belonged to him lit a fire on his skin. In every crevice, thoughts of you reside. Thoughts of you wrapped in his signature color, red.

Unfortunately, he hasn't had the luck to see you hugged by that ruby-red. Not even a sweater in cold weather, not even a t-shirt on lazy days when both of you stay at home, tangled in one another.

Even now, as the marigold rays of the sun peek through the vanilla curtains, hitting the cloud-like softness of your shared bed, he stares at you getting dressed, waiting for something he knew he needed but couldn't even muster the courage to ask you.

It's the everyday domestic tenderness he takes comfort in. Your brows furrowed, focused as you sift through different pieces of clothing that lay messy around the room. His own red leather jacket barely covers his frame.

“Maybe something more light,” you murmur, turning on your heel to show him the two blouses hanging from your hands. “What do you think?”

In his mind, you could wear either of them; you'd still look flawless. He could say that, but he knows you need an answer.

“Ditch them both,” he answers as he props himself in the palm of his hand, “that's my expert opinion.”

A mix of shock and embarrassment floods your flushed face. “You’d have me ditch the pants too, wouldn’t you?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Never mind,” you click your tongue as you finally choose the rosy-colored blouse, bringing it close to your torso.

Not yet close enough.

He moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. You melt into his hold but panic as he leaves pecks at the corner of your lips. You can't help but give him a dopey grin.

“Jason, c’mon,” you giggle, trying to break free from his grasp, “you’ll smudge the lipstick!”

He settles you in his arms as his head lays on your shoulder, holding your gaze. It doesn’t seem like he plans on letting you go soon.

You shuffle again, hand reaching for the peach-colored lipstick. A glint of light reflecting from the lampshade twinkles in your eyes. A sight he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from.

The outfit you chose lays undisturbed on the bed. The light rosy-colored silky fabric contrasts with the milky white of the sheets.

You had picked your outfit for the night after many hours of contemplating, and glares sent his way after another failed try of voicing his opinion about your outfit of choice.

Much to his dismay, you don’t plan on going out with him naked on the date you both planned for weeks.

“I’m still sticking with my suggestion,” he shifts to lay on the bed, mindful of the silky fabric of your clothing.

You huff, cheeks flushing a deep red, a look he enjoys and basks in seeing.

A little closer.

♥︎ ♥︎

♥︎

Maybe it’s the way you cling onto him for warmth, or maybe how your hands dig into his pockets, searching for his hands, but he doesn’t even feel a tinge of the rainy and cold Gotham weather. The single touch of your hands on his has him hungry and starving for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you and your frustrated tries to keep warm. The cold air hits his face, but he doesn’t feel it, the warmth rushing to his cheeks, protecting him.

Walking down the road, lit with neon signs and a few lampposts, you two finally reach the destination of your long-awaited date.

Moving into the small but cozy café, both of you take your seats. He leaves his jacket hanging from his seat. The scarlet-colored leather looks out of place at such a place. Jason gives you a quick peck on the cheek, moving to take your orders.

Coming back, he spots that his jacket is gone, not left on the seat but wrapped around your shoulders.

Your shoulders. Your hands grip the jacket closer as you curl into the leather even more, taking in the warmth and feel of him.

Red. On you. His red.

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckle. “It’s still cold, even in here.” You notice his gaze on the fabric hugging your frame. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh,” he stammers, “no—not at all.” Taking a seat opposite you, he listens as you go on about the last few days. He can’t help but give all his attention to the red that you bring closer to yourself—the red you tangle yourself in.

Jason doesn’t respond much, letting your voice settle over him like a lullaby. The words become secondary, drowned out by the soft sound of your voice. His focus remains on the way your fingers absently run along the lapel of his jacket, the way you unconsciously pull it closer around yourself when a draft rolls through the café.

His jacket never looked so good.

And it’s so simple, so small, yet he feels something settle deep in his chest, like an ache but not quite pain. More like a longing, like a silent plea.

You’re his.

The thought strikes him like lightning, making him sit up straighter. He’d always known it, in a way. It’s in the way you kiss him, in the way you fit against him in sleep, in the way you argue with him but never walk away.

But seeing you in his jacket—his red, his mark, his silent claim—feels different. It’s a primal, gut-deep kind of satisfaction that he’s never quite experienced before.

You must feel his eyes on you because you pause mid-sentence, tilting your head. “What?”

He shakes his head, clearing his throat, looking down at the coffee he barely remembers ordering. “Nothing.”

Your brows furrow in suspicion, but you let it go. For now.

The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable blur of conversation, laughter, and stolen glances. You wear his jacket the whole time.

And when it’s finally time to leave, stepping out into the cool Gotham night, you don’t return it to him. You just snuggle further into it, fingers tightening around the worn leather as you shiver.

Jason doesn’t ask for it back.

He wouldn’t dare.

Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. The city lights cast a golden glow on your face, highlighting the softness in your eyes as you glance up at him.

It’s then that he decides he wants to see you in his clothes more often.

A hoodie, maybe. Or one of his t-shirts, worn and soft from too many washes. Maybe even the sweatpants he keeps shoved in the back of his dresser.

Maybe even—someday—his ring on your finger.

But for now, the jacket is enough.

For now, red suits you just fine.

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified.

[daechwitatamic]

Not So Loud || LC

banner by @itaeewon <3

Not So Loud lee chan x afab reader || fluff smut baby angst || f2l, only one bed trope NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed...

wc: 16.6k

warnings: language, recreational drinking, sooo much pining, baby misunderstandings, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv sex (no protection mentioned either way), reader on top, mentions of shower sex

request by @eoieopda:

yes my fearless leader you may have even two crumbs of lee dino getting laid at the beach, i hope you enjoy every single second of it <3

“This,” you sigh blissfully, “is the happiest I may ever be.”

The sun is shining. Upbeat pop music runs like an undercurrent below the sound of the highway from the stereo of your best friend’s junky, decade-old sedan. Your iced coffee - light and sweet, but not too much of either - tastes like heaven. And the best part, the part that makes this day the best even if you didn’t have iced coffee or sunshine or Ruby or happy music, is that you’re less than an hour away from the beachfront house you and your friends have rented for the next five days.

All six of you had collectively been saving up for a full year and a half to make this happen, and there were times during the wait when it seemed like it would never come together between scheduling and money and rental availability. But now you’re here, racing down the highway to keep up with the flow of traffic, the ocean beckoning you closer.

“Now, now,” Ruby, the aforementioned best friend, scolds lightly. “What about your wedding day?”

You blow a raspberry. “What wedding day?” you shoot back sourly, but then you take another sip of caffeinated, iced perfection and your mood buoys immediately. It’s gonna take a lot to keep you down, today. Still, you rationalize, “I can’t even get to a third date.”

It was true. Your last third date had been almost two years ago. Since then, everything fizzled after one or two. Embarrassing. Something only Ruby - and, by proxy, her boyfriend Mingyu - would know about you.

“Because you compare them all to Chan,” Ruby says sagely.

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.���

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.

“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.

The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.

His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.

You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.

His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.

The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.

He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.

Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.

And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”

“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.

“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.

As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.

“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.

He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.

“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”

You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.

Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”

“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”

He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.

“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.

He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”

He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.

“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”

And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.

The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.

You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.

“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”

Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.

You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.

He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.

“What?” you demand through your own smile.

“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.

“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.

He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.

“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.

You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.

He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.

You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.

His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”

“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.

He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”

“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”

He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.

You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.

“Please move,” you beg, needing more.

“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”

The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.

A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.

“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.

“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”

You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”

He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.

“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"

Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.

When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 

“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”

“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”

thank you for reading!!! <3

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - II

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur's obsession with you intensifies and reaches a point of no return when you catch him red-handed... ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation (again), Arthur is still a little pervy, stripping, p in v, Arthur's self-esteem's still shitty, sub!Arthur at first then switches into dom, Reader is a BIG tease. Mainly Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 5k (oops) Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II - Part III

 A ruby, squared, soft form.

His eyes are stuck on it as his thoughts unthread and tangle endlessly in his brain. 

Arthur was a damned man. He had been for a while now and this fatality had settled into his head for a few years already. His sins were so numerous and varied that he hadn’t even considered the thought of going to rest in Heaven when the Grim Reaper would finally put an end to his sufferings. 

But even considering all of this, the gunslinger had definitely not planned on adding a new sin to his list by jerking himself off while watching you almost every night for more than half a month. Oh, the same old speech was still playing in his head; his gesture leaking with shame and muscles sweaty from fear of getting caught. The adrenaline and depravation of the act, the sweet, sweet relief of his orgasm, and the momentary satisfaction he was pulling out of it every time was a very dangerous cocktail; he knew it.

He knew, knew, knew everything of that, of course he did. And still, his fingers opening his fly carelessly. Still, his eyes searching for this sublime silhouette of yours. Still, his cock hardening, itching, burning, begging to be grabbed. And still, his hands taking the doomed responsibility of answering the call. Still his muffled groans, his lips bitten, his silent words spoken in his head, your body joining him. Still, your hand, instead of his. His spend, less and less consistent, spurting quickly and spreading on his dirty clothes, the silence following, the emptiness, the shame, the guilt, the coldness amplified by his intimate fantasies. Like those dark loud nights of storms, air charged with electricity, and left in heavy disturbing quietness after the last lightning struck. Still, dreaming, wanting, longing. 

Still you.

He felt insatiable, like an enraged, mad dog, pathetic bastard. And paradoxically, as he finally had found sleep again after allowing his body what it needed, he felt weaker than ever. Weakened by you.

You hadn't left him after the first night he had succumbed to temptation. You had branded his spirit with a red-hot iron. Damned him to a lifetime of ache, a mortal succumbing to a Mermaid's melody and sailing in search of her on an infinite sea.

 A ruby, squared, soft form. 

It’s your shawl lying on a chair. You forgot it a few minutes ago, but he didn’t say anything about it. He’s still looking at it, hands fidgeting, mind pondering. What’s good and what’s bad. The ugliness of his self and soul. The risks, the benefits. 

He thinks back to the day you and him just shared. A job in Rhodes, “needing to be taken care of by two people”, Dutch’s words. He had sent him, which was predictable —the gang’s workhorse rarely knows rest. But you? It surprised him a whole lot more. Something about the job requesting some “feminine charm”. He hadn’t complained. Not when he had realized he would be able to spend some time alone with you. 

And his gaze had been wandering way more than what common decency was allowing him to. Staring and dreaming were all he had been doing lately, anyhow.

Looking at the delicious cleavage your fancy dress was offering when you got out of your tent and joined him back at camp, your breasts pressed up and round, almost impossible not to devour with his eyes. All he could do was make a sarcastic comment about it as the only defense against his urges. You moron Morgan, just say something nice for once. Luckily -or not- for him, you had wrapped your appealing shoulders in the sophisticated cherry-colored cape to prevent the coldness of the night.

Looking at your back as you both rode into town, looking at your neck when he helped you off your horse once into Rhodes. Looking at your lips as you two were sat in one of the Parlor’s house boxes, the job long-forgotten when he had noticed this little wrinkle next to your lips, that one you have when you laugh and find something funny. He would have to add it to his endless sketches of you.

Looking at your thin, sneaky hands from afar as they were slipping into that wealthy gentleman’s pocket to steal the papers you were both here for in the first place. It all felt distant and insignificant to him now, as a forgettable theater play set in the background. 

Later, you had been the one looking at him when he had come to your rescue. The “gentleman” was being insistent with you. As you both had crossed eyes from across the reception room, Arthur had read your apprehension and silent call for help in just a split second. And here he was, puffing out his chest, look dark and intense, muscles tensed. The perfect look of a man you don’t want to cross, that look he and Hosea had worked hard on building, scars and broad shoulders gained after all these years of intimidation. He was so used to it by now he wasn’t even sure he knew how to be anything else. His pointer finger tapping threateningly on the shiny Deputy Star he had on his jacket and his deep, menacing tone had acted as the final details. You should leave the lady alone and get some fresh air, pal. The fool had dropped the case and returned with his tail between his legs without any clue what had actually happened.

And then, your sweet voice asking for a drink. “Come on, we got to celebrate! Finally, a job well handled without a drop of blood.” How could he ever say no to that? It was almost too good to be true. Spending the evening with you, laughing, talking, philosophizing.

Arthur didn’t know he could be that talkative. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was your presence. Maybe a bit of both. And he had paid for everything. A good hot dinner for both of you, your drinks, and two rooms the moment you told him you were too tired to ride back to camp. Oh, he could have given you all the Wolrd’s treasure if that meant you would keep looking at him with these pretty playful eyes.

As the evening passed, the gentle flow of your endless conversations had led you from the bar to the stairs, to the second floor, to the hallway, and eventually to his room, naturally and serenely, like a rowboat ride on a summer lake.

And finally, after a few yawns exchanged, some delicate eyelids rubbed by you, you had left him to sleep, completely forgetting about your shawl, hanging on one of his room’s chairs. And you had greeted each other goodnight. As friends. This was all he would ever be to you, he knew it. And it was better that way. Like this, he was preserving you from having a pathetic man and a pathetic life being his. He was like an infertile soil, anyway. Any seed you would plant and try to harvest with him would end up rotten, corrupted. Fruitless.

And now left in the stillness of the room, in this deafening silence without the sound of your voice, his vision fixated on your abandoned piece of clothing, the most sinful of all thoughts is digging its way through the fibers of his brain, fed by need and alcohol, gnawing at his neurons, eating up any rational reasoning. 

A ruby, tempting garment of yours.

He wants to grab it. To smell it. He wants your perfume to completely fill his nose, so much it would be like drowning in your scent. You wouldn’t be coming back for it anyway, considering how tired you looked a few minutes ago. And you’d never know about it. Just like you didn’t know he was watching you all this time through the fabric of your tent. After all, he was already so deep down into this rabbit hole of lust, what would it change?

And just like that, before he can even think about it more, his arm is already extending, his fingers wrapping around the forbidden fruit.

A descent into Hell he is not able to stop nor control. And at the same time, it feels like getting closer to Heaven.

He lays on the bed, back against the coarse sheets that still felt better than his cot back at camp, and brings your stole to his nose, almost covering his face with it. He closes his eyes.

And he breathes in.

Hell. If God wanted him to stay virtuous, why did he create such a temptatious woman like you? Your scent is without any surprise just as irresistible and bewitching as your whole self.

The fruity notes of it remind him of your skin and lips he wants to taste so badly, a mouth-watering gourmet scent. The floral and fresh ones, of this sparkling mischievousness in your eyes. And in the end, as he exhales, warm and spicy aromas rain on him. They fill his mind with a deep sense of comfort, as if scenting directly your hair. It’s intoxicating, spellbinding. Driving him deeper into his madness. He doesn’t try to resist, not anymore, this delightful fresco of fragrances painted just for him.

Naturally and almost subconsciously, his vicious right hand reaches his crotch. He’s already hard. Just by smelling your shawl.

This time you’ve really hit rock bottom, old bastard.

He doesn’t even bother thinking about it more, he already knows he’s too deep in; already knows he won’t be able to stop himself. 

Ah shit, screw it, jus’ a quick wank.

He quickly unbuckles his holster belt, then unbuttons his pants, and snakes his hand between the folds of his union suit. A silent swift dance he is used to repeating by now. 

He breathes again a long, deep whiff, and wraps his fingers around his cock thinking of you, once more. 

He sees you and your perfect body, and everything blends and blurs in his heated psyche. The form of your breasts and ass through the tent's canvas he knew by heart at this point. Your smirk, your eyes looking back at his, only his during this night spent together. Your heady, addicting scent surrounds him and fuels his fantasies even more, making them more vivid than before, the soft fabric of the stole against his skin a light caress he imagines yours.

He strokes and strokes and strokes, he needs it more than ever, even if, truth be told, every time is more than ever. His pinkish cock’s head is reddened and swollen from having been rubbed so many times lately, sensible and almost pained. But he doesn't care. It makes him feel even more alive. Even more here. Simply better.

He wants his body to feel pleasure. Pleasure, for once, instead of pain. Pain all the time, pain everywhere, bullets through his muscles, knives on his skin, cutting through his flesh, fists against his bones, breaking his jaws, his nose, his cheeks. Broken, used, beaten, ripped, bruised, overworked, abused. Oh, he’s tired of it. Only in those prohibited moments, he can experience pleasure. No matter how wicked and profane.

The room is now filled with those wet, fast-paced sounds, his rustling against the sheets, and the smallest of grunts coming from his unholy lips as he fucks his fist. Your name escapes him from time to time, muffled by your shawl he's still holding all against him with his left hand, and breathing the air from.

As if all the World’s oxygen would never be as good as breathing through it. As if everything else would feel thick and fusty in his lungs. No Mountains, no Oceans, no flowers, not the tastiest food, nothing could ever compete with smelling your scent. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Goddamn it, she’s perfect. A big, hard stroke. Oh God, yes, just a bit more…

Too absorbed by his delirious daydream, he doesn't notice right away the creaking of the door as you enter his room again, searching for the very thing he's using to masturbate right now.

“Arthur, I’m sorry to bother you again but I think I forgot my sh—”

You freeze.

SHIT! He instantly curses loudly and jumps from the bed so suddenly that he almost falls to the ground. A stumbling mess, his holster crashes on the wooden floor with a loud percussive sound as he shoves his member back into his clothes as fast as possible, looking like a disjointed chaos of limbs. He is mortified. There is no way in the world you won’t understand what was just happening. He ends up standing next to the bed, after having thrown your cape at the other corner of the room with such force it looked like the damn thing was made of burning iron. And he doesn’t even know why. Maybe to distance himself from his sins. To try and erase this horrible vision from your pretty eyes. His labored breath and fast-beating heartbeat are now ruled by panic instead of lust. For all his life he had never experienced such shame and felt so utterly stupid. 

There is a small moment of silence, heavy and embarrassed. A little time of denying. No, this can’t be happening. But your look turns in circles from the bed, him, and the scarf, circling him like a cornered animal. That’s it, his pride is dead right here in this stupid hotel room. You see right through him, he’s sure of it. Your piercing beautiful gaze lands on his ears a few times, and he knows they’re crimson just by the heat he can feel on them. But the worst thing of all is his bulge, obvious and raised up as a flag right in the middle of his thighs, under his badly buttoned fly. Like a Mausoleum to his Dignity. The damn thing refusing to shrink and obviously screaming loudly his offence to the whole World. All the contrary, your gaze falling on it produces the exact opposite of what he wants, his cock almost twitching in return. 

Damn it!

Damn it, damn it, damn it!-

“Where you… Hum…” You start, before clearing your throat slightly.

“ ‘m sorry, Am… I didn’t mean to… ‘m such a goddamn fool.” This is the best he can come up with. What excuses could he have anyway? Nothing could justify what he did.

You had never heard his deep asserted voice so chagrined. Utter fear and shame. You didn’t even know he could feel that way.

His gaze is fixated on his dirty boots, refusing to cross yours. Just as goddamn dirty as me. 

“Were you pleasuring yourself, Mister Morgan?” You ask, your tone slightly playful. He doesn’t see it, but a mischievous grin settles on your face.

He takes your tone as a mocking one. You would have all the right to mock him. That’s all he deserved.

He tries to answer but doesn't even dare to admit it verbally, as if it would aggravate his situation. He just nods slowly, as seriously as if he was at a funeral. 

“With one of my clothes?” You ask again, your grin widening.

Another nod, his eyes shutting as if he had been hit by something, your sentence making the whole thing even worse. Oh, just a few seconds ago, he was feeling more present and alive than ever, and now all he wanted was to disappear or die.

He hears more than he sees your steps on the parquet. Every stomping sound hurt him a bit more. He doesn't even dare to move. As if everything he would do from now would offend you. Even breathing, no, even existing is too much.

She’s going to slap me. A step. She's going to yell in my face. Another step. I’m dead. A final step.

You’re so close to him now he’s holding his breath, eyes closed, ready to face the well-deserved punishment of your choice for his trespass.

But he's only met with stillness until you speak again.

“Arthur, do you really think I was that hot in my tent, every night?”

The words reach his ears but his brain refuses them. His mouth opens in astonishment. He closes it to swallow loudly and opens it again as if trying to speak in utter confusion.

“You… I… Wait, really?”

“I never thought you could be that naive, honestly.” You answer, a little chuckle escaping you. One of your hands slowly reaches the side of his face, but he still shivers slightly when it touches him. You guide his head back up for him to finally look you in the eyes.

Arthur's two blue sapphires are topped with anxious brows. A bright confusion and a soft vulnerability. They don’t settle too long on one point of your face out of nervousness, as if they could burn you.

“M-me neither.” He simply whispers, a bashful, nervous smile settling on his mouth. He still doesn’t move.

“Do you really think I wasn’t aware of what I was doing, mmh?” You continue, your fingers traveling from his face all the way down his neck, gently caressing the base of his hair.

You can’t be serious right now.

“I… I don’ know…” And he really doesn’t. This is all so unbelievable to him that he’s persuaded this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any moment.

The only thing anchoring him to reality is your fingers exploring him, making him slowly let out the breath he had been holding in his chest.

“Let me help you finish what you've started…” You murmur, voice low and obvious to what you’re implying, sultry, suggestive.

He feels his shaft pulsing again instantly in answer, his body once again taking the lead. He’s about to say something, to ask you if you’re sure you want to do this with an old bitter moron like him, but one of your hands is already reaching straight to his crotch, palming his warm, needy erection.

“Anh…!” The moan turning into a groan he lets out duplicates your own arousal.

His hips rock against your hand involuntarily, the need for contact of any sort getting more powerful than his shame. He still doesn’t dare do much to you though, not wanting to cross any more limits. He lets you handle him just like you want. He lets the flow of life take him instead of fighting against it, for once. The only gesture he allows is settling his big hands on your back, sweaty and almost shaking.

Oh, your sneaky fingers. They touch and grope and palpate, and he sighs louder. It feels so much better, to have your hand touching him.

After a few more teasing caresses, you sway in a smooth motion and playfully push him backward, making him fall on the bed. He sits there, looking up at you with those two adoring cerulean pupils, as if you were the Sun itself. A distant magnificent star, impossible for him to reach, condemned to only contemplate.

“Get your clothes off.” You order, his reactions making you more confident and straightforward than usual. 

He is quick to obey. You could have asked him to jump off a cliff and he would have done it without even thinking. His clothes fall one by one on the floor and you feast on every area of skin he’s offering you. He ends up entirely naked for your eyes. This Titan, cascade of virile hairs everywhere, prominent scarred muscles carved into stone by Ares himself, gorged with raw powerfulness and designed to kill. To survive. And between those open thick thighs, his aroused member. The one he thought of as the triumph of his shame a few minutes ago, is now the Apotheosis of his Glory. Thick, long, hard like him, surrounded by a crown of tawny curls.

“Look at you…” You let out, almost licking your lips. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t see what you do at all. Instead, he let his gaze wander on your chest, and you can almost hear the silent plea in his gaze for you to join his nakedness.

Standing right in front of him, you begin to strip yourself out of your clothes, agonizingly slowly, your face displaying this provocative grin that turns him on so much. It’s purposeful, and you feel your own arousal rising as you notice the red coming back to his cheeks and ears.

First, your boots and socks, discovering your delicate legs. Then your blouse, showing your shoulder and chest, then your skirt. He stays silent all the while, enjoying your little show more than you could imagine. Your hips swaying, your arms gracefully dancing, each piece of clothing falling on the ground, this is all a trance he's getting hypnotized by.

Seeing you undress just for him after all those nights spent on his cot touching himself watching your shadow is like adding all the missing color from a masterpiece, enhancing and fulfilling.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” You purr proudly, now in your undergarments.

“God yes. Yer a real’ angel.” He praises in a fevered-like whisper.

You smirk as all answer. “Come on now, show me those dirty things you’ve been doing.” You speak while nodding at his crotch in an almost challenging way.

His hand instantly reaches for his cock. It was itching him to since you had looked at it earlier. He presses his fingers hard around it and he grunts softly, the sound incredible to your ears. Obeying you and surrendering fully to his depravation, he slowly starts stroking himself again while watching you intensely. What did he do to deserve such a splendid spectacle?

That’s when you decide to slowly bend inward and undo the last pieces of clothing you still have. Just a few gestures and your breasts are bare and hanging for him to look at. Jeee-sus. You see and hear his hand speeding up. 

Lastly, you reveal your own sex to him, a pearl between those gorgeous thighs of yours, and he curses out loud this time.

“You're so goddamn beautiful. I could... Damn, I could finish right now jus' lookin' atchu.” He confesses, his cheeks, ears, and chest getting even redder at his own words.

“Really, uh? You're quite easy to tease, Mister Morgan.” You taunt, before turning around and bending again, wanting him to see your bottom, taking a more than suggestive position with your ass up.

“Oh, for God's sake.” He nearly chokes, his rhythm accelerating again; almost frenetic. This is all he ever wanted during those cold lonely moments. All he ever needed to see. And he can’t help but engrave every little detail in his mind; the little scars you have here and there, the different tone and grain of your skin, your hairs, your body’s hollows and bumps. Every little imperfection. And they make it all even better. Better than any fantasies he had ever pictured in the past few weeks. Because they are making you yourself.

You turn again to face him and straddle his lap, unable to resist your own urges that had been building and building since you had found him touching himself to the thought of you.

That’s when something finally lights up in his mind. The moment he feels your soft, warm thighs around him, and how you’re soaked in between them, it hits him. You’ve been wanting him just as badly as he wanted you. As odd and surprising as it sounds to him. This new reality is right there against his tip as you start rubbing your entrance against it, teasing, playing, pressing just a few inches in, gently praising how big he looks and how good it would be to have him inside of you. 

That thing inside of him explodes.

Suddenly his hands are all over you. Touching everything they can, discovering, molding your curves under his fingertips. Hands on your thighs, hands on your hips, waist, neck. Each part of you touched is breaking every chain that was holding him back, one by one. These perfect sensations blind him to any reasoning, any sense of restrain, and push him to palm your breasts. God, the softness, the warmth. He sighs in appreciation as he kneads both of them and you join his pleasured breathing.

More.

One of his hands leaves your chest to grab your ass, roughly, and he squeezes, hard, while he sucks on the breast that has been abandoned. “Arthur!” You moan out in return, pleasured and surprised voice, mouth left open in delight. Oh, he will satisfy you. Those renewed vows appear as clear as day between the mess of his head as he keeps devouring your nipple endlessly, almost suckling at it. He will push that voice of you to its limit, break it until you won’t be able to scream.

“That’ what you wanted all this time, uh? Drivin’ me insane?”

You search for something clever to throw back at him but the calloused hand on your breast suddenly reaches your cunt and you gasp instead. 

“That’ what you do? Torture poor devils like me until they can’t help but fall for you?” He asks again, his confidence heightened by your sweet sounds, his tone getting darker and darker. Touching your folds pleasures him almost as much as you, his brows furrowing into a needy and intense expression.

“J-just you… ‘Just wanted you to notice me…” You admit, your hips rolling on his lap and against his hand. His fingers part your cunt and trace their own way through this little Heaven, exploring this place he had craved so much; and it makes him more excited than any thoughts he could have had on his own.

“Well, that sure worked, girl.”

He lets go of your pussy and you squeal in protest, almost ashamed of your own sound. He smiles triumphantly at you, feeling satisfied to give you a taste of your own medicine. He wraps both of his arms around your waist, your chest ending up pressed against his face; his nose is shoved in it and he sighs louder this time. 

He can’t wait any longer. Not when he has been dreaming of this for weeks. Not after discovering your unforgettable perfume. Not after having felt this wet, warm promise of your entrance. He looks up at your face, searching for any trace of disgust or apprehension but you're completely free from any. Mouth agape, breaths deep and hips shamelessly searching for his, you're even more gorgeous than before, and he snaps.

He guides you carefully, his hands warm and hard against your bare skin. And he pushes.

His sex entering you slowly is deliciously hard and hot. His cockhead is big, way bigger than what you’re used to, and feels so good already. His arms hold you in place as he pushes again, wanting to be completely stuffed in, a long, low growling sound accompanying his movement. Oh, Christ Almighty. He had never felt so good than buried like this in your warm, silky, divine cunt right now.

Once fully settled, you both sighs and breath loudly for just a few seconds, your gazes meeting and silently agreeing on how fucking delicious this feels. Then you move up, wanting to ride him, feeling his shaft pull out as you do, but his arms grab you tighter and put your hips back in place.

“God!” You whine as you feel his length plunging again and hitting that spot inside of you.

He starts to buck his hips up against yours, unable to resist anything anymore. His rhythm, he wanted slow and meaningful at first, is quickly turning fast and hard, a remnant of how incredibly frustrated and needy he had been all this time.

“I’m gonna -Ohh, shit- I’m gonna show ya what ya get teasin’ me like that.”

Arthur's southern drawl is even more prominent, his voice hoarse and deep from effort. His thrusts up are more and more powerful, making you jump up and down on top of him and for the first time in days he thanks himself for having pleasured himself so many times lately, otherwise he would have come instantly right there in your heat. Your breasts bounce in this erotic, irresistible dance that he’ll remember for every future night he'll spend alone.

“Oh Arthur, don’t stop!” 

His cock pulls out and shoves into your cunt so fastly it's rubbing perfectly how you want it deep inside and you reach for his shoulders, needing to hold onto him, already so close. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!”

He hears your accelerating breathing, your higher-pitched moans turning into screams and he searches for your lips with his. Your tender petals against his dirty mouth. But he doesn’t care, there’s only your pussy right now, and your incredible smell he’s filled with once again, just like you’re filled with his tongue and his dick inside of you.

Both his hands grab your ass and he fucks frantically, his balls slapping against it with each thrust, making your plump flesh jiggle and those hitting and smacking sounds resonating throughout the room. Again, and again, and Damn it again.

It’s too much for you. 

You cry out loudly as your fingers dig into his shoulders and your head tilts backward, and his big, solid arms keep you pressed against his chest, completely wrapped around you; and he finally, finally feels it. Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure, instead of pain. This irresistible release, your pussy clenching and squeezing all around his cock. “-Ngh, s-shit yes angel, give it t’me!”

You give it all to him without any resistance and in a obscene scream. And it’s too much for him.

“Ah, God…” He hisses as he feels it coming, quickly pulling you up —as effortlessly as if you weighed nothing— and pressing his cock against your clit, well nestled between your lips.

He reaches your lips again, needing to finish while kissing you, both of your bodies almost sewn together, his moans sounding more and more like primal growls and hisses at every rubbing movement against your core, movements getting faster and faster, impossibly faster, So fucking good, Jesus so goddamned perfect, Perfect, perfect!- Until he finally comes, translucent cum leaking all the way down his shaft and spreading on your lower belly, all panting and grunting, a complete mess; a satiated beast.

It’s better than any of the dreams he ever had, waking or sleeping. And it’s not just the release of this one and only time, it’s the pinnacle of all these lonely pleasures shared with no one in regretful secret.

For the second time that night, he thinks he’s dead. 

He falls backward, back against the mattress, and you follow, unable to stand without him. In that silence only disturbed by your exhausted breaths, he turns and grabs the first piece of clothing that he has at hand’s reach, his flannel. He gently uses it to clear your belly from his seed and seeing it, on your smooth and soft skin, makes a wave of culpability crash onto him once again. Shouldn't have done all of this. Should have taken care of her properly.

A dark, glum expression settles on his face and he wraps himself in a deep silence instead of your arms as he finishes to clean the both of you. God, did that man ever know rest for more than a few minutes? At this thought, you bend over to put a small kiss on his forehead, as a thank you for his aftercare.

“Satisfied enough?” You finally break the silence, getting up from the bed –not without stretching your back slightly and swaying your hips before bending to reach for your clothes on the floor.

Arthur cannot help but think of a Nymph as you do all of this still naked. Those irresistible, divine beauties that lure men with a simple move of their finger, as they say in books. He knew it was all stories from another time, but he was more and more convinced they would look exactly like you if they did exist.

“More than in a long time. You?” He replies, voice neutral and features closed as usual. He stays on the bed and put only his pants back, his cock finally softening under the coarse fabric. He never stops looking at you all the while.

“Couldn’t be better”. You assert, your blouse falling back on your upper body. You then roughly fix your hair in this casual, impish way that was yours.

That was driving him insane.

“You’re a little minx, ya know that? Gettin’ naked on purpose every night…”

“Oh, please. You didn’t really complain as far as I know.”

“Nah, but ya did make me insane. Teasin’ littl’ thing y’are.” He says with a fond voice he would have preferred less obvious.

You innocently shrug your shoulders, cheeky grin on your face. The way you're playing with him that easily should have been shaming to him, but he doesn't feel any shame anymore, not after what you have shared.

"Goodnight, Arthur." You throw as all answer, leaving him as you walk through the door of his room. He greets you back, the trimmest trace of longing in his rough voice.

Once again alone, once again cold, Arthur grabs a cigarette from his pocket to smoke before falling asleep; maybe to keep this lingering warmth just a bit longer, the sensations of your body, and especially your sex squeezing around his, still remaining on his skin. Lying completely in the bed, he smiles to himself as he notices you have forgotten your shawl —again. Or maybe you had left it on purpose. Maybe you had both times, now that he is thinking about it. The ruby fabric had landed wrapped all around his old, worn-out leather jacket, like a flame dancing around, enveloping, lapping at a tree.

It looks great that way.

Maybe you were only playing with him. Maybe this was only a one-time thing. But who cared? Tonight, Arthur had been taken care of by a Nymph. And no other mortal pleasure, no other solitaries delights, not even the most lustful and depraved images he could have pulled out of his tormented mind could ever compete with that slice of Olympe you had given to him.

→ Part III

a/n: Yeah, 5K words, I knooow! I'm hopeless. It's quite a lot, but I didn't feel like cutting, nothing felt right. What can I say except thank you, so much, for everyone's interest in the first part, for your notes, comments and reblogs, and for reading all of this! I am in utter PANIC rn because I feel like nothing I could write would be as good or as well received as the first part, but here it is! I really hope it didn't disappoint!

Also, to give Caesar what belongs to Caesar, the holster falling was completely inspired by my dear @zae-heeyyy's Piquancy (II)! I thought it would fit the comical aspect of the scene eheh (go check it out)

And also go check out this amazing piece Moons drew from this fic! Thanks again for this delightful treat! 💙

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in a part2, really sorry if I missed anyone!)