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peachesofteal · 3 months

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The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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allfearstofallto · 2 months

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hello, could I pls have A C I U W for Lyney?

I am still not used to writing for Lyney, but I tried!!

TW: NSFW (MDNI), cum eating, finishing inside, teasing, exhibitionism, humiliation

A ftercare - What they're like after sex

With ecstatic Lyney and his abnormally high stamina, it takes a while for sex to even end. He goes for so long, hours and hours and you just have to take him, growing more and more exhausted after each position he puts you in.

Even after he's done, he's still excitable. As he towels you down, cleaning you off, he'll talk to you about whatever he's thinking about. New tricks he's been working on, places he wants to perform, people he wants to meet. You wonder how he's able to be so lively after what the two of you just did, but you yourself are too tired to think about it. Normally you find yourself falling asleep while his words become nothing but a garbled mess in your ears. You'll wake up cleaned and dressed, with water for you to drink later.

C um - Anything to do with cum, basically

Lyney consistency cums a lot. His first load is always his largest, but that doesn't mean the rest after that aren't big as well. To the point where you struggle to swallow it, let him finish in your mouth and cum will leak out of your stuffed cheeks as you try to gulp the rest down.

He'll sheepishly apologize for how much he's stuffing into you, pretending to make an effort to pull out, but keeping himself balls deep inside anyways. Soft moans will drop from his lips as his cum seeps from your cunt, running down your legs while more pumps into you.

I ntimacy - How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect

So sweet he is in moments that are tender, his lips only spewing mumbles of praise and encouragement. Holding your cheeks so you can look into his eyes, he'll start speaking of how beautiful he thinks you are, how perfect you are for him, how amazing the sex with you is. His honeyed words aren't ploys at all, he means every bit of them, and when you say something kind back, his eyes go wide with joy. The rest of the act is just spent with the two of you praising one another back and forth, cumming over and over until you both grow tired.

U nfair - How much they like to tease

Lyney is a shameless tease, a public one at that. Whether it's just out on the town, or even at one of his shows, he'll still find a way to tease you, having you wet and ready for him when it's time to go home.

Such things over the clothes groping are commonplace to him. As a magician, his touch can be easily hidden as he does these things. Reaching down to hand you something, can be quickly followed by the slight squeeze of your chest, a smack of your ass, even a hand between your thighs. All the while, everyone else is none the wiser. Eccentric Lyney makes it hard to tell.

W ild card - A random headcanon for the character

It's a tragic thing that something like humiliation turns Lyney on. Performing everyday means he's not as susceptible to things such as embarrassment. But he knows that when he feels it, his cock grows harder, begging for attention.

This leads to nights where Lyney will make you watch him. It's not the typical performance you'd get from someone like him, but it's something regardless. A small stage would be rented out late at night, doors locked so it was only you and he inside and just like usual, he would walk up on that platform and perform. Only, this time, in the dark of night, he'd be naked.

Lyney would try to get through his set, completely bare before you, your eyes seeming to take in every piece of his body. He knew he couldn't perform without his clothes, but the sight of you out in those seats, with the lights beating down on his nude body made him tremble. He'd cum long before his show was over, spilling his seed all over the floor in front of him, the shame he was feeling only making his dick harder.

#mai<3 answers #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney x reader #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney #lyney x reader #lyney smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #mdni

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

Note

Heya I don't know if you do that but would love to read some Ghoul fluff 🥺 I just need some Aether love, Ive had rough weeks at school with exams and passive bullying. If not, sorry! But I really love reading your writings, dear! ❤️

Hi! I'm sorry to hear you're going through a hard time. I used to struggle a lot with bullying when I was a teen, so I kinda get how awful it is.

Honestly, I'm not really working on requests right now, but maybe I can manage to give a little something.

Hope (Aether ghoul x g/n reader)

He's there, in the hallway, waiting for you.

These little meetups are a routinary deal. Other Siblings have begun whispering among each other, talking about the strange relationship you have developed with the Nameless Ghoul.

A part of you is surprised, also, by his fascination and appreciation towards you. Contrary to what you initially believed, this Ghoul is not a scary and mean infernal creature. He has displayed a gentle, tender side that both intrigues and charms you to the core.

Now, standing in front of him, you start to walk in direction of the garden. It's late at night, and your daily duties have left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. Lately, life seems to be a constant struggle; nothing but a heavy weigh on your shoulders.

Muscles sore and throat tight, you continue. Aether, as fans and Siblings of Sin have named him, follows closely behind. He doesn't speak much, never does, but the silence feels comforting and welcomed.

The air is chill and the bench is cold when you sit down. Letting out a long sigh, you search for your voice. It's hidden deep in your stomach, in a way that makes your words sound strained when you speak up.

"It's been a rough week," you say, after a moment.

The Ghoul nods once, encouraging. His stare is locked in the distance, lost somewhere in the garden. The sky is dark, only illuminated by the moonlight, and in the distance you see a group of fireflies roaming around the flower field, tails twinkling like stars.

As the minutes pass, Aether remains silent, pensive. Then, from the pocket of his uniform, he extracts a single piece of candy wrapped in colorful paper. Without moving his head, he extends his hand in your direction.

You take his offering. The sweet flavor of the candy manages to lift the corners of your mouth in a small smile. Next to you, he imitates the gesture.

"Another week will come," Aether states, after a beat. The moonlight reflects on the glass lenses of his masks, bathing him in an ethereal shine.

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"Aren't humans always afraid of running out of time?" Even if you can't see his face, you hear the confusion in his voice. "Another week will come, and then another. That doesn't mean they will all be rough. Maybe they'll be good, or not. It doesn't matter. Another one will come."

Another piece of candy is presented in front of your eyes. Slowly, you reach out to it, fingers brushing the leather of his gloves. Even so, you feel the heat coming from his body.

It's.. comforting. "That's strangely optimistic," you reply, before putting the candy in your mouth.

Aether only shrugs. "I spend too much time around humans. I'm starting to feel… hope, I think", he confesses, in a hushed tone. It's as if he's admitting something private, almost embarrassing. "If someone like me can hope anything, then I hope another week will come, so I'll get to spend it with you."

His words force you to take a deep breath. They touch something tender inside of your heart, a sensitive nerve that makes your guts feel warm and fuzzy.

At a slow pace, you lean your head on his shoulders. He nods once, head turning back towards the garden. In front of you, the fireflies dance around the flowers.

"I hope that too," you whisper, at last, before closing your eyes.

Ps: I tried.

#aether ghoul #aether ghoul x reader #Ghost band #ghost band fanfic #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul x reader #ghost band fluff #my writing #my fic #ask box

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virgoilluminati · 11 months

Text

Belongings

(Series Masterlist)

Chapter 7: “Leave America, two kids fall in love.”

A/N: (they don’t live in America at any point but I thought this lyric works the best for this chapter). GUYS I LOVE THIS CHAPTER because it’s evolving!!! I’m sorry this fic has been such a slow burn, but don’t worry it’s getting interesting now….

Warnings: Angst, but mainly fluff

Word Count: 2908

_____________________________________________________

Harry's heart raced as he lay in bed, his mind consumed by a vivid dream that had just unfolded. It was a dream unlike any he had experienced before, a dream that centered around a person who had captured his attention and stolen his heart—Y/N.

In the dream, Harry found himself in a picturesque garden, surrounded by vibrant flowers in full bloom. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of roses and the gentle sound of birdsong. And there, standing before him, was Y/N, looking more radiant than ever.

Y/N's eyes sparkled like stars in the night sky, reflecting the moon's soft glow. Her smile was warm and inviting, melting away any trace of unease Harry may have felt. As he approached her, his heart swelled with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

With each step, Harry couldn't help but admire Y/N's grace and beauty. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, and her presence illuminated the garden as if she were a beacon of light. It was in that moment that Harry realized he was falling in love with her, with every fiber of his being.

As they stood face to face, Y/N reached out and gently took Harry's hand. The touch sent shivers down his spine, an electric current that connected them in ways he couldn't comprehend. Their fingers interlocked, and it felt as though time stood still, as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them.

In this dream, Harry felt an overwhelming surge of emotions coursing through him. Love, desire, and an unyielding sense of connection flooded his heart. It was as though the dream was revealing his deepest, most hidden feelings for Y/N, feelings he hadn't yet had the courage to express in reality.

Y/N leaned in closer, her breath mingling with Harry's. Her voice, soft and melodious, whispered words that touched his very soul. "I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice carrying an unspoken promise of love and devotion.

In that moment, Harry's doubts and insecurities melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and belonging. Y/N's presence brought him solace, and he knew deep down that she was his soulmate, the missing piece he had been searching for.

Their lips met in a tender, passionate kiss, and Harry felt a surge of euphoria, a sensation he had never experienced before. It was a kiss filled with longing, a culmination of all the emotions that had been building up inside him. It was a kiss that sealed their destinies together.

As the dream continued, Harry and Y/N explored the garden hand in hand, their laughter echoing through the air. They danced under the moonlight, spinning and twirling, completely consumed by each other's presence. It was as if the world revolved around them, their love creating a universe of its own.

As Harry's eyes fluttered open, he found himself drenched in a cold sweat. The dream had left an indelible mark on his soul, and the thought of Y/N consumed his every waking moment. He couldn't bear the idea of her being engaged to someone else, of letting her slip through his fingers without a fight.

Determination ignited within Harry's heart as he made a silent vow to himself. He would do everything humanly possible to end Y/N's engagement and make her his. His mind raced with ideas, but one plan stood out above all others—taking her to London and showing her the things she would miss if she chose a life without him.

London, a city filled with charm, history, and endless possibilities, was a place Harry knew intimately. Its cobblestone streets, iconic landmarks, and vibrant culture had always held a special place in his heart. He believed that by immersing Y/N in the enchantment of this city, he could ignite a spark that would illuminate their shared future.

With newfound purpose, Harry began meticulously crafting a grand gesture that would leave Y/N breathless. He researched the finest hotels, exquisite restaurants, and hidden gems that London had to offer. He planned each day with precision, ensuring that every moment would be filled with romance and wonder.

Harry's first move was to secure the most breathtaking suite in one of London's luxurious hotels. He imagined surprising Y/N with a room adorned with fragrant flowers, champagne on ice, and a personalized note expressing the depths of his affection. The suite would be a haven where they could retreat from the world and indulge in their love.

Next, he plotted a course through the city's historic streets, leading Y/N to iconic landmarks like Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, and Buckingham Palace. He envisioned taking her hand as they strolled through the bustling streets of Covent Garden, immersing themselves in the vibrant energy of street performers and charming boutiques.

But it was the quieter moments that Harry cherished the most in his plan. He envisioned leisurely walks along the serene banks of the River Thames, where they could share intimate conversations and steal stolen glances. He imagined cozy evenings in quaint cafes, sipping warm cups of tea and sharing laughter that echoed through the night.

Harry's grand gesture also involved immersing Y/N in London's rich cultural scene. He dreamed of taking her to world-renowned theaters to watch captivating plays and musicals, enveloping her in the magic of storytelling and the power of live performances. He wanted to show her the enchantment that could only be found in the heart of the city.

As the details of his plan came together, Harry felt a renewed sense of hope and purpose. But in the midst of his excitement, Harry couldn't ignore the nagging doubts that tugged at his conscience. He wondered if his plan was too grand, too audacious. Would Y/N be willing to leave everything behind for a chance at love? Could he convince her that their connection was worth risking the stability of her current life? And most importantly, would she choose him over Will?

***************

Harry bursts into Y/N's bakery, brimming with excitement. He waves two tickets in the air, a wide grin on his face.

"Y/N, guess what!" he exclaims, barely able to contain his enthusiasm. "We're going to London! I got us these tickets for a spontaneous trip!"

Y/N looks up from behind the counter, her tired eyes widening in surprise at Harry's sudden announcement. She groans softly, feeling the effects of last night's escapades still weighing heavily on her. She rubs her temples, trying to shake off the remnants of her hangover.

"Harry, I appreciate the thought, but... I don't know if I can go right now," she admits, her voice laced with exhaustion.

She avoids making direct eye contact, feeling a sense of guilt about her actions and unresolved issues from the previous night.

Harry notices Y/N's discomfort and concerningly furrows his brow. He takes a step closer, placing a hand on her arm gently. "Are you okay, Y/N? You don't seem like yourself today," he asks, genuine worry in his voice.

Y/N sighs, feeling the weight of her mistakes and the consequences she must face. "No, Harry, I'm not okay," she admits, her voice tinged with remorse. "I messed up last night, and I need to fix things before I can move on."

Harry approaches Y/N with a determined look on his face, understanding the weight of the situation but believing that a change of scenery could help lift her spirits.

"Y/N, I know you're tired right now, and I understand the importance of addressing things with Will. But hear me out," Harry starts, his voice filled with earnestness. "Going to London won't change what happened, but it might provide a fresh perspective and some much-needed distraction. Plus, it could be an opportunity to take care of some important wedding preparations."

Y/N's eyebrows furrow in surprise as Harry reveals his plans. She tries to process the idea, knowing that she needs to face the consequences of her actions but also acknowledging the practicality of his suggestion.

"We will?" she asks, a mix of curiosity and confusion evident in her voice.

Harry nods, a reassuring smile on his face. "Yes, we will. I spoke to the lady at the bridal boutique, and she was kind enough to fit us in for an appointment. You need to find your perfect wedding dress, and we can also discuss catering options while we're there."

Y/N is taken aback by Harry's thoughtfulness and his willingness to help her through this difficult time. She searches for words, struggling to express her gratitude.

"Harry, I don't know what to say," she admits, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and appreciation.

Harry gently takes Y/N's hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You don't have to say anything, Y/N. I just want to support you and help in any way I can."

Y/N looks into Harry's eyes, finding comfort in his unwavering support. After a moment of contemplation, she lets out a small sigh, finally conceding to the idea.

"Alright, Harry," she says, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Let's go to London.”

A couple days later, the pair arranged the details, Harry was already finished with tour, and y/n had gotten Florence and her Father to look after the bakery, until she came home after a impromptu two night stay in London. She had even gone as far as to text Will to let him know of her whereabouts, however he had left her on read.

Y/N: Hey, I know that you are annoyed at me, and I completely understand. I had no intentions on embarrassing you, I just drank too much. And I’m sorry.

- read at 9:06am

Y/N: I’m going to London for a bit, just in case you want to reach me. Don’t worry, all is good- I’m just going to buy a wedding dress, because ps. I still want to marry you.

- read at 9:25am

************

As the train glided along the tracks, Harry couldn't help but steal glances at Y/N, sitting across from him. The morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a gentle glow on her features. She looked breathtakingly beautiful in her ensemble, wearing a short white turtle neck top that accentuated her graceful neck, paired with a brown skirt that hugged her curves just right. Her choice of big black boots added a touch of edginess to her overall look.

Y/N's hair was elegantly tied up in a clip, allowing a few loose strands to frame her face delicately. Harry loved how her natural beauty radiated without needing excessive makeup, making her features even more captivating. He couldn't help but be filled with adoration as he gazed at her.

Harry had planned this trip to London as a way to spoil Y/N and show her how much she meant to him. Surprising her with first-class tickets was just the beginning. He wanted to make this journey an unforgettable experience for both of them.

Caught off guard by Y/N's question, Harry's heart skipped a beat. He had been lost in his thoughts, envisioning a future with her by his side. Her remark brought him back to the present, and he stumbled over his words, struggling to find the right response.

"No! No, you don't have anything on your face," Harry stammered, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "I was just... I mean, you look really nice. That's all," he managed to say, hoping his words didn't betray the depth of his feelings.

Y/N's cheeks mirrored Harry's blush as a soft smile played on her lips. She seemed pleased by his compliment. "Thank you, Harry," she replied, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

As their eyes locked for a moment, Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of affection welling up inside him. He wanted to tell her everything, to express the depth of his emotions, but he held back, afraid that he might overwhelm her. Instead, he chose to savor these stolen glances and cherish the connection they shared.

Harry's face lit up with a mischievous grin as he retrieved a packet of jelly beans from his pocket, a childhood favorite they both cherished. He interrupted Y/N, unable to contain his excitement.

"You'll never guess what I brought," Harry coughed playfully before presenting the jelly beans. Y/N's eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

"Harry, you didn't—" she began, but before she could finish, Harry interjected, "I had to! Come on, it's our first trip away in years."

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, her eyes sparkling with affectionate adoration. She reached out and grabbed the bag of jelly beans, popping a couple into her mouth. The flavors burst on her taste buds, evoking fond memories of their shared past.

With a mixture of tenderness and sincerity, she looked at Harry and said, "Ugh, I love you, you know that."

A wave of warmth washed over Harry's heart at those words, even though he understood they were meant in a platonic way. It was enough for him. It was a reminder of the deep bond they shared, built on years of friendship and shared experiences. It made him feel grateful for having someone like Y/N in his life.

"I love you too," Harry replied quietly, his voice filled with genuine fondness. He cherished these moments, where their friendship shone brightly, and he vowed to continue spoiling her throughout their trip, creating more beautiful memories together.

******************

“Harry, you’ve booked us two rooms?”

“Well, I assumed you didn’t want to share with me.”

“Nonsense.”

Harry looked at Y/N with a mixture of surprise and amusement. He hadn't expected such a response from her.

"Are you sure, love?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Sharing a room with me might mean putting up with my snoring."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "I think I can handle it, Harry. Besides, I'm not about to let you waste all that money on a separate room when we can enjoy each other's company in one."

Harry chuckled, clearly pleased with Y/N's response. "Alright then, love. If that's what you want. We'll save some money and enjoy each other's company."

They headed to the reception desk to sort out the change in their booking. Harry explained the situation to the staff, who quickly accommodated their request. Soon, they were given a room key and made their way to their shared suite.

The elegant hotel room had a luxurious king-sized bed, adorned with plush pillows and silky sheets. The room exuded sophistication and charm, with large windows offering a breathtaking view of the city.

As Y/N took in the sight, she turned to Harry with a mischievous smile. "You know, Haz, this room might be fancy, but it's missing one thing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What might that be?"

"A touch of our personal touch," she replied, slowly walking towards him.

Harry's laughter filled the room as he watched Y/N pull out the unexpected surprise from her bag. He couldn't help but find her spontaneity endearing. "Fairy lights, huh?" he chuckled. "Only you would carry those around in your handbag."

Y/N grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You never know when you'll need a little extra magic, Harry."

They both set to work untangling the lights and finding the perfect spots to hang them in the room. With each twinkle and glow, the atmosphere transformed into a whimsical wonderland.

As they decorated, their fingers brushed against each other, their laughter filling the air. It was a simple yet enchanting moment, as they weaved the lights around the bedposts and draped them across the room.

Once they finished, they took a step back and admired their handiwork. The soft, warm glow of the fairy lights gave the room a cozy and intimate ambiance. It was as if they had created their own little escape from the world outside.

Harry looked at Y/N with adoration in his eyes. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Y/N blushed and nudged him playfully. "Oh, stop it, you. But I must say, our room looks absolutely magical now."

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's all because of you, love. You bring magic into everything."

Their eyes look at each other absorbing all the unexpressed love. But then suddenly, they pull apart. Y/N reminding herself, that she was Will’s. Not Harry’s.

“Yes. Well - anyways - what should we do in London. There’s loads of galleries and restaurants.” Y/N stumbles confused to what has just happened. Harry takes a step back, letting the reality dawn on him once more.

The sudden shift in atmosphere left both Harry and Y/N feeling a bit unsettled. Y/N's reminder of her commitment to Will brought a moment of clarity to her, causing her to pull away from Harry. Meanwhile, Harry took a step back, his mind filled with a mix of emotions and confusion.

Y/N tried to regain her composure, attempting to steer the conversation towards more casual topics. "Yes, you're right. We should explore the galleries and try some amazing restaurants while we're here. There's so much to see and experience in London.

Harry nodded, although his mind was still preoccupied with the intensity of their connection and the unspoken emotions lingering in the air. He couldn't help but wonder if there was something more beneath the surface, or if he had misinterpreted the moment entirely.

Throughout their time together, Harry couldn't shake the confusion that gnawed at him. He wondered if what he felt was merely a strong platonic connection, or if there was something deeper that Y/N was also grappling with. The more he tried to understand, the more conflicted he became.

Y/N, too, found herself lost in her thoughts. She pondered the intensity of that fleeting moment and questioned her own feelings. Was it a sign of something more than friendship? Or was she simply caught up in the excitement of being in a new city, experiencing new adventures with a close friend?

#harry styles #one direction #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles x reader #harrystyles x singerreader #harrystylesfanfiction #harrystyles fluff #harrystyles fanfic #harrystyles angst #harrystyles x y/n #harry styles angst #harrys house

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zoeykallus · 2 years

Note

Hello !!!! Can you do a hot HC with the Bad Batch + Howzer during the wedding night with the reader. Thank you very much !!!!!!!!

Aloha!!!!

Yes I can! Love the idea :)) Oh and Howzer needs more love!

The Bad Batch + Howzer x Fem!Reder Spicy HC's - Wedding Night

Warnings: Suggestive / Lewd /18 +

Not yet proof read

Hunter

He will be all over you on the way to your bedroom. You barely make it inside. Hunter can't believe it yet. You two are married and tonight he will make love to you, to his wife.

There is a breeding kink hidden in that man and now that you are married, it awakes inside of him. You are officially a couple now, husband and wife and something about it makes him feral tonight.

You are already almost naked when you reach the bedroom door. He's all over you, hands and mouth very eager, very busy. Hunter want's you so much, it's almost overwhelming.

Foreplay is hot and intense, he eats you out like a starving man, his hands groping every piece of you he can get his hands on. When he takes you he is louder and more demanding than you are used to. But don't worry he is still your loving man, taking care that you feel not just good but amazing.

Hunter is dominant but careful, he would never hurt you. He's dirty talking a lot, telling you that he want's to fill your pussy with cum until you can't take any more. And he keeps that promise. Something about today is different. He manages to stay hard after he shot his first load into your slit. Hunter keeps thrusting into you, your filled pussy making wet sounds, filling the room, together with both of your moans.

When he is done with you, you are spent, full of his cum and most importantly fully satisfied.

Echo

Sweet Echo, quite the romantic.

He has the bedroom prepared, with rose petals, candles, music and the finest sheets he could find. Echo is soft and sensual but pretty fiery too. You married him, you give him love and today you confirmed that you plan to always do so. His ego has received an enormous boost.

He is proud, in love, happy and real horny.

Echo is an amazing kisser and today it really shows, you can barely take a breath, because kiss by kiss he melts your heart and mind. he undresses you and he loves the satin underwear you picked for today. It's his favorite.

He will be very hands on, very close, very sensual. His mouth will touch every bit of skin on your body. Echo does all the things you love, he spoils you and he enjoys every sound you make in response.

His love is tender but not without fire. When Echo is inside of you, he is close to your body, holding you tight. Every move is a confession of his love to you, he let's you feel all of it.

Merged together you'll here him say, "You are mine and I'm your's, forever. I love you so much"

Wrecker

He's so hyped, super happy and maybe even a little nervous.

"Hey big guy, this isn't our first rodeo", you say softly.

Wrecker smirks at you, "I know. It's still different, though. You are my wife now. I want to do everything right"

"Honey you know me already, I'm still the same person"

He kisses you deeply.

"No", he says as his lips leave yours for a moment "You are my little lady now"

Wrecker is loving, careful, devoted. Every touch is gentle and careful, but also hot. He is playful making you giggle and laugh one moment and the next his touch makes you sigh in devotion and gasp.

He makes you feel that you made the right decision by tying the knot with him.

With Wrecker on your wedding night, you will laugh, you will love, sweat, whimper and let yourself fall. He's so good with his big strong hands and even better with his mouth.

Be prepared to be limp and spent after he's done with you for the night.

Tech

He has a plan, even for your wedding night. Don't be surprised if he comes up with new toys and ideas too. Tech is excited, very much so. He is so happy and proud that he can call you his wife now. By the way- he will introduce you to everyone new he meets as his wife first, before he mentions your name or anyhting else.

Tech took care that you got planty of time just for the two of you. He prepared the room, snacks, drinks, music, candles, sex toys... well everything you could ever think of.

But as soon as you are in the bedroom, he doesn't know where to start. There is so much he want's to do and show you, but he feels overwhelmed all of a sudden. Grab his shoulders, whisper softly to him, tell him to relax and come to bed with you.

"We'll figure it out along the way"

It's not the first time you guys are intimate, but for him it suddenly feels that way in some way. Don't worry he'll warm up to the situation, he just needs a little jumpstart.

Tech's main goal is your satisfaction. He never get's tired of finding ways to make you feel good. Fingers, hands, mouth, toys. He's curious and confident enough to do it all. It's actually a HUGE turn on for him, to see you squirm under his touch.

It's not unlikely for him to cum by pleasuring you. Repeatedly.

Crosshair

This man is pure fire. It's hard not to get burned. Crosshair is intense. He does have a soft side and today you saw it, in the nervousness that had him in it's clutches as you two got married. The little tremble in his hands as you two tied the knot. The look on his face, so warm, soft and a little as if he couldn't really believe what's happening.

But as soon as the formal stuff is done and you are on the way to your wedding night, he is pure fire. You've never seen Crosshair this hungry before. His hands and lips are all over you. Your clothes are shredded, he doesn't take the time to get you out of your dress, he is way too impatient. He wants you naked and he wants you now.

Crosshair knows exactly which buttons to push and he has you begging for his cock in no time.

As he takes you, he talks dirty to you.

"Look at you, you're such a good, obedient woman, taking me so well," he says, giving you a deep, hard thrust.

He makes you cry all night with pleasure and moan his name. But he is closer to you too, you will eventually realize that he never leaves your body, holding on to you all the time, his lips always, on or very close to your skin. As wild and fiery as he may be, he is also very sensual and affectionate.

Howzer

Sensual. Romantic. Loving. Hot.

Howzer carries you over the threshold in the traditional way. He is charm and devotion in person. He almost literally lays you down on a bed of rose petals. Every touch is warm, gentle, yet intense. Your heart beats up to your throat.

Tenderness and wildness can definitely be mixed together and work out, Howzer is living proof. His kisses are gentle, long, intimate, but also demanding and urgent. And that's how every one of his touches feels.

He takes his time undressing you, even now each touch is accompanied by a kiss, a gentle or suggestive word, often both. Time stands still and yet, it passes far too quickly. You wish for eternity with this man.

His way to love you is long, tender, extensive. Howzer is never in a hurry when it comes to loving you. He will love you in sensual, intimate positions. Pressed against him on his lap, lying under him face to face. He wants to see you when he melts into you, he doesn't want to miss a thing.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

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melis-writes · 2 years

Note

First of all, YOU ARE A GODDESS WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING. I love your fanfics and was wondering if we can get a short “alternative” for a piece in MTF. When Sonny makes a move on Victoria, what if Victoria gave in? as a Sonny lover, that twist had me so AGHHH, although we know Vic wouldn’t do that to Michael, what if she herself had a deep curiosity to what the oldest Corleone son had in him? I know we have a small snippet but what if it all just went with the flow from that first kiss?!? 🤭

Ahhhh thank you!! 😭❤😭❤ Pls, you're are so sweet. 🥺 Thank you so much. But also AHHHHHH, THIS PROMPT…!! 😳 WE KNOW MISS VICTORIA WOULD NEVER, BUT… The “what ifs” are leading us to so many places. This is probably the most asked “what if”? Because Sonny had opportunity right then and there and kissed Victoria, wondering if she felt the same or if her absence for Michael would spark a desire for him by her side instead… So what if we did go from that flow just as you requested?! 🥵

Stunned in the moment from the change of tone in Sonny’s voice, his sudden affection and honey laced words, you stare at your brother-in-law as he strokes his thumb gently over your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” Sonny speaks to you softly, giving a loose shrug of his shoulders. “You’re a wonderful role model to your children—yeah, you don’t even need me to tell ya. You’re one of the most kind-hearted people I know, Vic. Yeah, I think you’re perfect too.”

“Sonny—” Your face flushes red as Sonny keeps one hand squeezing over your thigh now, pulling you closer to him.

Feeling as if the room has grown ten degrees hotter, spinning around you and slowing time, you gaze into Sonny’s eyes as he tilts your chin up to face him directly.

Only mere inches away from one another’s lips, you both lock eyes with each other having nothing but this moment, this opportunity—the privacy that allows the deep, hidden curiosity inside of you since Sonny came to see you in New York that yearns to wonder: what does the eldest Corleone brother have to offer you?

All this lust and attraction pulling him to you, sprouting thoughts in your mind as to what kind of lover Sonny could be and what he can give you right here and now in the midst of your loneliness and heartache.

“Victoria,” Sonny murmurs, pressing his body against yours and pushing you gently against the couch.

You place your hand over Sonny’s shoulder, but it’s to hold your balance, not to push him away or otherwise.

Sonny’s eyes flicker up from where your hand remains on his shoulder before he sees the green light of your body language giving into him.

Within his confidence and attraction to you, Sonny swiftly leans up in towards you and catches you by surprise as his lips crush over yours in a deep kiss.

Your eyes widen a bit at first but you easily find yourself lost within the passionate, deep kiss and let your lips kiss Sonny’s back just as insistently.

A bit more rough and tender than Michael, Sonny’s kiss is new and exciting to you and just as needy.

In just a spit second, you find your hands running through Sonny’s curls, pulling at them as you’re both chest to chest, feverishly kissing one another—letting forbidden lust and arousal take over, clashing through every emotion you thought you ever knew.

“Sonny,” you breathe out as you both break from the wet kiss.

Sonny breathes heavily, eyeing you up and down underneath him now on the couch. “I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do that for years.”

‘Years?’ Your cheeks sting hot with blush as you glance down to see both of Sonny’s firm, large hands over your thighs. “We… We shouldn’t do this, but—”

“But?” Sonny raises his brow at you, noticing you reaching out your hand and placing it over the buttons on his dress shirt.

“But…” The curiosity and arousal that are heavily built up within you yearning for affection and attention take over completely. “I want to.”

“God…” Sonny grazes his teeth alongside his bottom lip, inhaling softly as he feels your soft touch unbuttoning his dress shirt one by one.

Teasing him, you’re not even aware of the discomfort Sonny feels in his dress trousers at his bulging erection begging to be freed until Sonny’s dress shirt is fully unbuttoned, hanging off of his broad shoulders loosely.

You maintain eye contact with Sonny, placing your hand now over his belt and noticing his erection but not quite at what Sonny has to offer just yet.

“Let me…” Sonny unbuttons his dress trousers, looking at you for a further reaction and confirmation. “I want you, Vic. Just for tonight, let me have you and then…then you can go back to my brother.”

“Oh!” You gasp loudly, seeing Sonny’s fully erect cock spring free—boasting a full ten inches. “Sonny… Wow.”

Sonny smirks, very much so pleased by your reaction as he pumps his cock in his free hand. “That’s right, baby.”

A deep sense of arousal tugs in your gut, begging, yearning, wanting, desiring and it becomes more and more apparent to you by the second as you feel your pussy tingling and wetness growing between your thighs.

“I promise I’ll be gentle, huh?” Sonny purrs in your ear, placing his hands over the waistband over your skirt. “I’ll get you nice and ready for me, baby, don’t worry…”

“Oh my God,” you whimper, seeing the length of Sonny’s cock going past his own belly button. “I want… I want you.”

“Mmm…” Sonny inhales the sweet scent of your perfume off of your body, pulling off your skirt with your panties in one swift movement. “I could tell you did the moment I got you on here alone.”

“Mm… It’s not going to fit,” you bite down on the corner of your lip, finding yourself spreading your legs further and further.

“Oh baby, believe me—” Sonny looks up into your eyes, trailing his hands down to your inner thighs, “it’ll fit.” His eyes greedily take in your soft, supple thighs in his hands and the dewiness of your pussy—causing you to cringe out of embarrassment and look away.

“Mike’s lucky, isn’t he?” Sonny leans his head down, parting your pussy lips and hearing the wetness speak for itself. “Gets you all to himself like this whenever he wants, you beauty. But tonight, you’re mine.”

“Confident, huh?” You blush, turned on by Sonny’s cockiness.

“I know how to make you feel good, baby. Trust me.” Sonny runs his hands up and down your thighs before placing a sloppy kiss over your clit, breathing hotly over it and causing you to whimper quietly. “Won’t take my word for it? Then I’ll show you and Mike won’t know a thing. This’ll all stay between you and me only.”

#godfather au #sonny corleone #santino corleone #sonny corleone x reader #santino corleone x reader #sonny corleone x reader smut #santino corleone x reader smut #smut prompts #moth to flame fic #godfather x reader #godfather smut #not canon oh no no no #victonny

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sakkiichi · 8 months

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The gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the cherry blossom trees, creating a soothing melody that seemed to serenade you and Kazuha as you made your way to a secluded spot in the heart of Inazuma. The sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm, golden hue across the picturesque landscape. Kazuha had planned a surprise picnic date for you, his beloved, and the anticipation of your reaction filled him with excitement.

As you walked hand in hand through the tranquil meadow, Kazuha couldn't help but steal glances at you. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity, trying to discern the reason for this impromptu adventure. Kazuha simply smiled and reassured you that it would be a day to remember.

Finally, you arrived at their destination - a small, hidden grove surrounded by a sea of wildflowers, with a breathtaking view of the city in the distance. A soft, handwoven blanket was spread out beneath a tall, swaying sakura tree, offering the perfect spot for a picnic. A wicker basket sat at its center, holding an assortment of delicious treats that Kazuha had meticulously prepared.

With a playful grin, Kazuha invited you to sit down on the blanket. As you settled in, he reached into the basket and revealed an array of delectable dishes - delicate sandwiches, fresh fruit, and cold beverages to both of your likings.

But the true cherry on top was the selection of pastries, all lovingly baked by Kazuha himself. He presented a box of beautifully crafted sakura-shaped cookies and a plate of flaky, golden croissants filled with sweet cream and fresh berries.

As you enjoyed your meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, like a gentle stream winding its way through the grove. You couldn't help but be enchanted by the sheer beauty of the setting and the thoughtfulness that had gone into planning this surprise. Kazuha, with his eloquent words and poetic nature, shared tales of his adventures across Teyvat, weaving stories of far-off lands and daring escapades.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, orange glow around you. Kazuha reached for a small, intricately wrapped gift hidden within the basket. With a tender smile, he handed it to you. Inside, you discovered a delicate necklace adorned with a tiny silver maple leaf - a symbol of his home country, so you had a piece of him with you, always.

As the daylight faded and the stars began to twinkle overhead, you and Kazuha lay back on the blanket, hand in hand, gazing up at the night sky. Kazuha pointed out constellations and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his words as soft as the breeze that rustled the leaves.

-🌸(i dont know how to end this help im a bit rusty. also this is aly tumblr doesnt let me send long messages most of the time)

i send drabbles to moots very often so get used to the treatment /lh

WHAAAAAAAA OMGGGG? plsss this- i- i’m- AAAAAAAAAAAA

omg how did you know i love sakuras and silver jewelry? hello? i mean that i love sweets is a given atp gfhdjss but the rest of details? ily <3 picnic as the sun sets w kazuha hfhfhdjsjshhdjd KICKING MY LEGS SCREAMING CRYING SLAMMING FISTS ON BED AS WE SPEAK

“so you had a piece of him with you, always.”

THAT LINE AAAAAAA HE IS SO HFHDHSJSJCHDJSJS 🥺🫶🏻💕 also the comparison w a stream flowing through the grove aaaaaa this piece is so beautiful thank you sm for this gosh i’m honored you took the time to write this 😭💞 I WILL TREASURE IT FOREVER !!

#secret notes #highlights ☾#beloved mooties !#aly 🪄#thank you sm truly <3 #love you mwah #it’s perfect plssss

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sativa-pixxxie · 2 years

Text

Orc's pleasures

Slipping through the thick leaves, a young pixie dipped her toes into the pond hidden there. A shiver went up her back, closing any opening, the young pixie removes her clothing bearing her large breasts and porcelain skin to the sun. Though with the warmth of the sun the water was cold as a winter morning, submerging herself in the crystal water she acclimated to the temperature quick. Little did she know an Orc soldier was watching from the trees and boulders.

Akira was a noble warrior, he had been by this pond many times, silently watching the pixie as she bathed. Her creamy skin beckoned his touch, her full lush figure stood out against other pixies whom were slender. They were all equally pleasing to look at, but this one looked as if she could handle his size. Her breasts looked soft yet firm, her thighs the perfect size for his hands. Akira saw the Pixie's clothes close by, altered to fit her body and hide what he wanted to touch. To lick. To fuck.

Ayesha, jumped at the sound of a deep grunt. Dipping herself into the water she stayed still incase it sounded again. Shaking her head and convinced it was a bear she began cleaning her body. She had made a small loofah out of cloth, crushed charcoal, and honey suckle. She propped her leg up on the boulder close to where, unknown to her, Akira was hiding.

Watching silently, painful as it was, he watched her bring the cloth down the outside of her leg to her small foot and back up the inside. He wanted to follow that trail with his tongue to where she stopped with the cloth. The tender lips of her pussy beckoned his tongue, his cock jerked at the idea. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and could smell the sweet arousal of the pixie before him.

Ayesha checked her surroundings and brushed the rough cloth against her tender lips, letting out a soft moan as the cloth touched her clit. Closing her eyes she went back to washing her legs and then dipping herself back into the waters. Sins of the flesh were forbidden to her, at least that is what she told herself to keep from lusting after the men who would sniff around her skirts. Slipping back into the water, she suddenly felt eyes on her.

Looking around she saw no squirrel, no frogs or birds, she couldn't even hear the bear. Sinking deeper into the water, Ayesha swam back to her clothes and noticed that her blouse was gone. Cursing, she tore her skirt and wrapped it as best she could until she arrived home.

Finally dressed, she opened the leaves back up and faded into the thick lush forest. Akira watched the pixie leave and looked down at his swollen appendage, not even his hand would be able to give him the same satisfaction as dipping himself into her welcoming pussy. Feeling the sleek, silk walls engulfing his cock. His cock began secreating precum at the idea of taking her body and using it as his personal sex toy.

Ayesha stood in her family's store preparing small potion batches, her mother worked with Aphrodisiac potions. Ayesha herself made perfumes to wet the sences while the potions and treats caused a warming at your center. Beings from near and far came for the aphrodisiacs. Ayesha put out the bathing salts when someone entered the shop, she turned around holding the basket to her chest and smiled at the large Orc that walked into the small space.

"Welcome to Sensations. What can I get for you?" Ayesha said smiling.

Akira smiled and pulled the shockingly small piece of fabric from his belt and held it out to the snakl pixie.

"I do believe this is yours." His gruff voice sent shivers up her back and his clutching her clothes made her blush.

"Must have flown off the line." She said, flustered that he was holding her blouse.

Watching the Orc move around her shop she could see the bob of his cock under the cloth he wore around his hips, subtly she licked her lips and bit down to stifle a moan when she watched him pick up a large maney sapote and crack it in half with his bear hands. Ayesha thought to warn him that she had left that peice of fruit in a barrel of her mother's hunger juice, hunger juice worked as an erectile assistant whether you needed help up or wanted stamina. That melon had been soaking in the barrel for two weeks and it was a pure concentration of the juice meant to be watered down or taken in extremely low doses because of its potency.

"A lover you can't keep up with?" She teased knowing full well a male Orc will tire out their partners before they tire themselves.

"You insult me. My lovers can't match me." He said placing half on the counter.

"What you hold is pure concentrate of a juice my mother has perfected meant to both heighten ones stamina or assist with keeping your hammer stiff." Ayesha smiled and pushing her chest towards him.

"What is your name?" He asked with honey in his voice.

"Ayesha." She all but purred.

"Akira of Stonewood." He smiled glancing down at the masses before him.

Akira wanted them, not some peice of fruit, though they did look juicy. He groaned and slammed a handful of coins on the counter and stormed out of the small shop.

Ayesha pouted as she watched him leave, she was hoping for something a touch more, but maybe the memories will be enough when she goes to bathe.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ayesha stayed away from the pond over the coming days since she was more preoccupied working. But Akira made a point to go straight to the pond as a daily visit, his pixie had yet to visit her pond. He was determined to see her again, touch her, taste her.

It was a particularly warm morning and Akira made note to make use of the pond if the pixie wasnt using it. Walking around the boulders, he could hear splashing, looking over he saw porcelain skin. Over on the shore he saw her clothes and she was leaning against a rock. He could hear soft moans coming from her pale pink lips. He kept quiet as he watched her play with her pussy, listening to her moans of pleasure.

"Akira." She moaned softly as she dipped her fingers into her pussy, wishing they were the Orc she had met the other day.

"Such a waste of a beautiful flower." Akira said standing on the shore line, his cloth hanging lower than normal.

Opening her eyes she watched him, still teasing her clit under the water. Growling he dropped his belt and fabric to the ground and walked into the water. Lowering himself to his knees he leaned forward and kissed her lips tenderly as his hand went straight for her generous breast, kneading it like dough while his other hand took place of hers in rubbing her clit. Ayesha moaned into his mouth and let out a squeak when he pushed a finger into her welcoming petals.

Stroking her inner walls, he used his thumb to rub her clit. Ayesha could feel him growing against her thigh, he couldn't tell if her pussy was simply wet because of the water or because he was pleasuring. Her pussy had a vise grip on his finger, he wanted that grip on his cock. Picking her up, he kept his finger in her pussy, and removed his hand from her breast and carried her over to the shaded grass where he lay her down, laying on top of her. Clutching his back, Ayesha opened her legs for him and wrapped herself around him, keeping him close as she felt the head of his cock at her entrence. Akira began nibbling her neck as he entered her, relishing in the sounds she made. She was so tight, he almost emptied himself inside her when he barely had a chance to enjoy her welcoming body.

With each stroke he touched her cervix, each moan was almost his undoing. He had wanted this Pixie for months, now she is beneath him, writing her name upon his back with her nails. Singing the lovers song with his name. Akira left his mark on her body with his teeth and as he thrust into her, he planned to leave his mark inside her with his seed. Sitting back on his knees he quickened his strokes. Her walls tightened around his cock, she was ready and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. Growling, he made a last forceful thrust and emptied his seed inside, there he firmly planted his future child in their mother. Smiling, he made note that his seed was not leaking out, he had planted his seed firmly within her tender walls and to make sure he was secured inside. He would repeat this treatment when ever he saw her here.

The End....for now

#smut writing #18+ content #fantasy

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audreyandeverybody · 6 months

Text

Fall Brisket

Last night’s dinner began the night before. I mixed salt into flour and yeast into water and dosed it with honey and the good olive oil. The Olsen Farms brisket I had received as a birthday gift was salted on all four sides and set into the fridge to begin its long and glorious cooking process.

The bread dough bubbled happily away overnight and in the morning it was delicately transferred to a well seasoned cast iron pan, sprinkled with the chiffonade squiggles of fresh sage and baked until fluffy and golden. The music of Henry Mancini played loudly as the fat of the brisket was being rendered until it was caramelized and crisp, shallots and a whole head of garlic were browned and it was all drowned in a hypnotic mix of worcestershire, white wine vinegar and better than bouillon broth. The roast was sent to the oven where it bubbled and braised jolly and quiet for the rest of the day until it was ready to land on the table and eventually to our satisfied bellies. Parsley and basil were plucked off their tender stems and blended with spicy olive oil and tangy vinegar, (the exact thing you want to embellish any and every bite.) Ricotta was whipped until creamy with bright yellow lemon zest and microplaned garlic dotted throughout. This became the bed for roasted parsnips and carrots of all colors, some pale yellow, others deep purple with a bright orange center, but sweet and earthy all the same. The vegetables were cut long and thin and roasted with salt and pepper and a tangy red orange chili powder. Wine was pulled from the cellar, an array of reds to keep us warm on a crisp fall night, (the Radikon we were all excited about was unfortunately mousey upon opening.) Friends arrived as the sun went down and the wine was opened promptly. They brought with them an apple crisp fresh from the oven with pieces of candied ginger hidden inside certain bites like precious jewels. We ate and drank until our stomachs and hearts were as full as the night sky was with stars, and then we ate and drank a little more.

#food #writing #food writing

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moonlightretriever · 8 months

Note

It's so cute how you're so sweet and innocent and fluffy on your main blog but on this sideblog, you're just begging someone to let your birthday present be a rough, hard fuck. How many other sinfully delicious secrets have you got hidden behind that sweet, tender pastel aesthetic facade of yours? I wonder how long it takes before that soft little cunt is rammed so hard that all that fluffy, innocent little mask of yours just cracks and crumbles away, and the lustful, slutty little beast inside is clawing wildly at the sheets, back arched, hissing and yowling for more like a feral creature denied their heat? I wonder who's going to un-tame you and hear you snarling into the pillows for more, aching and demanding to be filled, digging those blunted nails into my hips like claws, wanting me to skip the sweet talk and go right to the breeding? Have you lost your touch, you sweet fuckable piece of fresh meat? Or are you just hiding how much your primal instincts just want to be bent over the bed frame and furiously, relentlessly slammed, filled to the brim in that soft hot fertile belly, so very pliable like dough in my hands, as I tear the screams of desire right out of that pretty little body of yours? Don't you deserve a true gift, James? Something truly special, to make this year of your life memorable for eternity? Make your wish, sweet thing. You are the birthday boy, after all.

ahhh ahhhh hhhh hhhhhhh... ggggrrrhhh...... need please anon please fuck me please that's my birthday wish please... i can't stop reading this im already humping my pillow.. look at what you did to me!!!.... oh my god the feeling that's in my head right now i think i really am in heat..

#this... this is so fucking hot oh my god...#every time i get an anon like this i legit just. my jaw hits the floor #and my heart beats so fast #and i get butterflies in my stomach...#and i always wanna just thank whoever sent it for taking the time to write something so.. perfect..#for me!!!... just for me... <3 #thank you anon...#i hope it isnt weird to say but i will be thinking about this........... a lot... like a lot a lot #AND ALSO. um maybe it was coincidence but #how did you know my fingernails weren't very sharp... !!#you've got mail!#anonymous

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xiaowhore · 2 years

Text

love at first bite.

premise: most customers visit your cafe for the delicious bread and good coffee, but he comes for the cute barista behind the counter.

info: your parents run a bakery-slash-cafe and as their child, you're naturally expected to help around the shop. unknowingly, you attract attention in the process.

characters: kazuha, thoma, xiao, childe, albedo, scaramouche & ayato !

kazuha, a part-time employee at the bakery

when your grandmother grew too frail to work at the cafe due to old age and had to retire, the shop had a shortage of helping hands thus needing someone to work her shift. enter kazuha kaedehara, a sweet boy in the neighborhood who's always been in good terms with your older brother. having his eyes on a particular game console at the time, he was happy to help while earning some pocket money for himself.

but even after successfully purchasing the item he saved up for, he continued to work at the cafe. it was certainly something your family appreciated, since kazuha was pleasant company and he was skilled in the kitchen. remarkably more efficient than you for the job, actually, despite the fact you're the one who'll receive the business in the future.

“you won't be so troubled if he were to run the business with you,” your mother stated in what you hoped to be in jest, not subtle in the slightest with her thoughts of kazuha being a suitable son-in-law after he so sweetly prepared a cake for your surprise birthday party. your face burned while kazuha only laughed in cheer, perhaps missing the hidden insinuations. (why else would he smile at that?)

time passed in the blink of an eye and he eventually became a face you often saw first thing in the morning, cheeks dusted with flour and hands gripping a tray of baked goods fresh from the oven. rays of shimmering gold bathed him in an otherworldly glow, smile brightening when he catches sight of your figure by the door.

then you'll grab a towel and rub off the dirt on kazuha's face, missing the way his eyes crinkle in mirth. missing the way your older brother rolls his eyes at the action very much alike pda. missing how you've been doing this for the past three years and not once stopped to think about why he had flour on his face all the time, and if he'd been doing it on purpose just to see you in this proximity. an unceasing part of routine that came as naturally as going to sleep at night and waking at morning.

you see him a lot more in the summer when you both share shifts at the same time, you working at the counter and him at the kitchen preparing treats that already sold out. (he reasoned he preferred it that way to avoid getting flirted with.)

“could i get another order?” the customer you noticed have been staring strangely at you for the entire duration of his stay suddenly went up to ask. you paste on a flawless customer service smile regardless of your discomfort, thinking he hadn't done anything wrong yet. “of cou-”

“[name], there's something odd about the hand mixer,” kazuha cuts in, peeking through the door and knocking on the wood to gain your attention. “could you check it for me? i'll switch with you.”

your expression drifts to one of genuine distress, not picking up on the excuse he provided for an easy way out. you rush to the kitchen and kazuha takes your place, much to the customer's disappointment. this does not not escape his attention and kazuha smiles, “what can i get for you?”

one half-hearted order later, the customer finally leaves. the smile on kazuha's face drops as he picks up the piece of tissue the man left on the counter, scrawled with a set of numbers in dark ink.

“it worked just fine?” you return after checking on the fully functional hand mixer, confusion apparent on your expression. kazuha breezily slips on a smile, crumpling the tissue in his hand and shoving it inside his pocket.

“really? that's great.”

thoma, your childhood friend

once upon a time at the tender age of seven, you had a timid disposition and had few names you could confidently proclaim as your friend. however, thoma was an intelligent child who figured out being friends with a person who owned a bakery entailed sharing snacks with each other at breaks.

lured by the mouthwatering scent of your lunchbox, he approached your desk and initiated a conversation. his friendly demeanor had managed to break you out from your shy shell, and from there on, you began to spend time together, him oh-so-generously offering to walk you home so he could stop by the bakery. his efforts were rewarded when your parents were delighted seeing a new friend of yours, shoving a packet of chocolate cornets in his hands.

...well, that's how it started, but it wasn't like all he wanted from you was free food. he wormed his way into your life, growing close not only to you but also your family; your grandfather was especially fond of him. he even became an unofficial employee of sorts, tidying the bakery when the opportunity arose. your parents spoiled him rotten with sweets in return, them often being the cause of thoma's cavities before you grew up...

speaking of growing up, you long left primary school and now attended different schools, but thoma made it a habit to pick you up and walk home together just as you did often before, leading to misunderstandings of your classmates thinking he was your boyfriend. which couldn't be any more wrong.

but it was true that he was the sole receiver of your valentine's chocolate for a long, long time, something that he prided over. which is also weird, considering he received more than enough chocolate to fill his bag close to bursting each year. (it's special, you remember him telling you once. as to why, he wasn't very keen on informing you, maybe even a little shy about it. is it because you're good at baking? it surpassed other people's attempts at homemade chocolate? it had more meaning compared to storebought chocolate? you can only guess.)

so really, he's astonished when he spots another box of brownies stuffed in your belongings, peculiarly wrapped in a more elaborate manner compared to his bland plastic packaging. heart-patterned in a pale pink, topped with a delicate ribbon trimmed with white lace.

he narrows his eyes, fingers ghosting over the box. “who's this for?”

he gets a whiff of a pleasant scent on you, some perfume your aunt had given you on a holiday. you styled your hair differently that day, too, not a single imperfect crease seen on your clothes, lips glossy with a sheen of tint thoma remembered gifting you as a present before.

your cheeks flush in a rosy color, stuttering out an excuse. an excuse that doesn't register in thoma's head because of the buzzing in his ears, but he doesn't really need to hear it to understand; he'd be a fool not to guess this was for a special someone.

a special someone that isn't him, clearly.

xiao, the classmate you've been crushing on

contrary to popular belief, your infatuation with xiao hadn't been established from the start. you belonged in the same class but you weren't especially interested in him at first glance, staying far, far away from classmates fighting over the seats beside him. he had a pretty face, that much was obvious, and maybe you did stare at him a little longer than you had to... but that was the extent of it, an appreciation for things you found pleasing to the eye.

“the inside matters more than the outside” is a phrase as good as horse shit, empty words used to placate the ugly community. even with unread love letters trashed in garbage bins, succinct replies to heartfelt confessions, and other actions that might be considered rude if it was a less attractive man doing them, xiao remained a desirable prospect as a lover. the world just worked that way. you didn't feel particularly envious of him, but you didn't see him in a positive light either.

and his opinion of you... well. it was less than ideal when he saw you at the supermarket going grocery shopping once; he had only vaguely recognized you as his classmate when the moment you laid eyes on him, you gasped “salt!” and ran towards the aisles containing spice.

(to be fair, he was reminded he needed to buy a comb after seeing your messy hair.)

though as the seasons changed with flowers blooming in warm spring and wilting in bleak winter, underneath all that grouch xiao was pretty nice. it was a matter of his apprehension melting away and your presence growing ever more familiar as days passed. his cold exterior warmed into something sweeter, something far less bitter compared to how he appeared at the beginning.

if it were five months ago, if you were to get yourself injured by accident while preparing a meal in home economics class, he would've frowned and said “did you cut your finger?” “yes.” “don't let your blood mix with the soup.”

if it were in the present, he'd frown all the same but the furrow in his brow would suggest visible concern rather than slight annoyance, taking out teddy bear-patterned bandaids he pretends he doesn't carry all the time for exact situations like these because you weren't good with knives. (baking is different from cooking, damn it.) his hands would be frustratingly gentle as he wraps your cut finger, and the soft tenderness that always graced his actions towards people he cared about was more than enough to make you fall hard.

then you remembered your mother's teachings. “the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

the thing is, nobody at your school knew your family ran a bakery. it wasn't something you actively tried to hide, it just never came up at conversations. if you were to act as a romantic “secret admirer” and send baked goods to test xiao's reaction before confessing, you'd at least get an estimation of your chance at success of snagging a hot boyfriend. that has to earn you extra points for bribery creativity, right?

so. that's how xiao came to receive colorful bite-sized macarons, cream puffs piped with custard, glazed cinnamon rolls, and anything of the sort packaged neatly in boxes sent anonymously every few days. the notes greeting him good morning or wishing him luck for a test later that day are all printed, hence not giving away the sender's identity by their handwriting.

as much as xiao appreciates the gesture, however, he also looks guilty. when you ask him why, heart pounding in your chest, he flushes red at your eager expression and quietly admits, “i already have someone i like.”

childe, a troublesome customer

from your numerous years working at the cafe, you've seen a lot of things: the anticipation and nervousness in blind dates, the endearing awkwardness of first dates, the sweet thoughtfulness of friends and family buying snacks for a certain someone, and —

the entire shop broke into collective gasps as the cup of coffee was thrusted towards across the table, splashing the boy seated in that direction. he seemed astonished, pristine white shirt soaked in a muddy brown, and the girl accompanying him made a point to place the now empty glass loudly against the table. “you're the absolute worst!” she seethed, tears rolling down her cheeks. she left in fury, leaving without waiting for a response.

...break ups. not the most common, but they definitely happen. they're mostly not this dramatic though.

the boy left behind attempted a smile. albeit strained, it was enough to stop the other patrons from looking at the spectacle. kazuha seemed hesitant to deal with it, so it was up to you to approach him with a towel. he looked a bit pitiful cleaning his face with tissues. “are you... okay?” you winced at your own question and amended with, “do you have anything else you need?”

he laughed. “i'll have to trouble you to mop this mess on the floor, but i'm alright. thanks.”

you nodded. not one to pry or meddle in someone else's relationship, you only went to do what you had to, mopping the coffee staining the ground. before the boy left, you noticed he left a generous tip.

you couldn't help thinking of him as that one guy who got dumped each time he visited the cafe though. but he never went with his (ex-)girlfriend ever again, only sometimes bringing along what you presumed were his younger siblings. he spoiled them, too, unrestrained as he pulled out his wallet and paid for a large amount of treats his brother and sister wanted to try.

and because he's a treasured benefactor, you thought it would be nice if you showed your appreciation somehow. you handed him a bag of pastries he hadn't asked for, to which he tilted his head in question.

“they're on the house,” you said. “new products. we're experimenting and haven't sold them yet. it would be helpful if you gave your opinion for them.”

he peeked at the contents, seeing they were muffins amongst other things. “thank you. i'll make sure to tell you my thoughts, though i'm already certain they'll be as delicious as everything else here.” he smiled.

it was simple as that. no entanglements that linked you in a personal level, but he found himself gravitating towards the cafe whenever he had free time to be idle. he didn't even eat what he bought most of the time, giving them away to his friends, aside from the time you personally gave him that bag of pastries yourself. he didn't even let his siblings touch them.

and maybe it didn't have to be so complicated. he was striving to find love all this time, only for each relationship to run dry quickly. it was always him not being enough, not paying his lovers enough attention, not giving them enough affection. what he thought was love didn't last for very long.

but maybe this could be. keeping it secret in his heart, quiet appreciation for the dazzling person behind the counter, nurturing the small crush that would only remain small if he didn't act upon it.

“could you try this for me?” you request, offering him a batch of brownies. you seem... shy. bashful. it's a new look. childe certainly have never seen you blush before.

he takes a bite and it's exquisite. “it tastes good. are you going to sell this too?”

“ah, no.” the tips of your ears redden further. “i'm... making them for someone.”

it is then when childe remembers valentine's day is approaching. it is then that he realizes, his heart sinking in disappointment. “oh. okay.”

albedo, the eye-candy regular

people-watching is a habit you pick up on when the clock is beyond hectic morning hours, the cafe that once bustled with cranky swarms of patrons demanding their daily dose of coffee emptying to something that lets you breathe more freely, frenzied atmosphere gradually settling into calm.

in the moments of respite, you find yourself fanning your face, having enough leisure to rest instead of frantically memorizing orders. that's when your gaze steers to the customers residing by the tables, enjoying snacks and sipping on their beverages. one specific customer catches your eye, and surely you aren't the only one who's unwittingly beckoned over by his charms.

beams of sunshine blanket around him in a soft glow, light brown hair almost gold in the bright rays. teal eyes are glued to the paper in front of him, hands smoothing over the surface as the pencil in his deft fingers glide in elegant strokes. his pink lips part when he brings the cup of cappuccino to his mouth, taking small sips and his tongue darts out to catch the foam-

...or so the girl near his table types furiously on her laptop, perhaps taking him as inspiration for a novel she's writing. good for her.

in any case, the face is a familiar one. you have no name to attach to his face, so you began dubbing him as “jeff”. for no particular reason. it's quite inconvenient to refer to him as “handsome window seat dude” all the time. unfortunately, the cafe has coaster pagers and there isn't any need to ask for customers' names so his name remains a mystery. jeff it is.

so “jeff” frequents the cafe during late morning, always bringing a new book with him or a sketchbook to while away the time. not that you see anything he draws. the most you see is other customers interrupting him in the middle of it, either to flirt with him or straightforwardly ask for his number. for politeness's sake, he makes an effort to not let his irritation show, but seeing the subtle shifts in his expressions over the course of several months has allowed you to notice the minute changes in his mood. (were you really staring that hard? or it's just a talent. you can't take xiao's words at face-value because he's a goddamned tsundere so now you've honed a talent for reading people.)

so it comes off as a shock when he strolls to the cafe visibly cross, exasperation rolling off him in waves. dark circles line his eyes, a crinkle in his brows hinting displeasure. fatigue emanates from his very being, and in spite of his impeccable appearance in the past in comparison to the zombies you have as customers before they get their desired caffeine, he doesn't look too different now.

even worse, when he finds his pockets empty without his wallet and he only manages a few coins in the deepest corners of his bag to afford the most bland item in the menu, he looks vaguely murderous.

you cough, driven to help since his expression makes you think your days are numbered if he doesn't get his coffee soon. “i can pay for you this time,” you offer. he stiffens, grateful but tentative. “it's no big deal.” you even slip in a plate of waffles as extra, topped with generous swirls of whipped cream and cut fruit.

“thanks, i'm... not myself today. stayed up all night,” he mumbles, adjusting his backpack strap where it's falling off his shoulders, heavy with textbooks he has to study. “i'll pay you back tomorrow... but i don't need the waffles, really.”

a couple bucks isn't much of a loss and you're not that much of a cheapskate. “it's alright. the waffles aren't even on the menu, it's just breakfast i made.”

“oh.” he seems mildly surprised at that. “...thanks.”

you push the brewed coffee in his direction when it's done, grinning at him. “have a good morning then, jeff.”

he gives you a weird look. “my name is albedo.”

“it's a trick. i wanted to find out your name.”

he blinks, still processing what you said. then for the first time that morning, albedo smiles.

(much much later when kazuha's cleaning the cafe, he finds a worn notebook placed on one of the empty tables. he doesn't like poking his nose into things he doesn't own, but in the hopes of finding the owner's name somewhere, he peruses through the pages of scrawls and doodles and sketches of scenery. he stops at a sketch of a face he knows by heart, surrounded by an embarrassing amount of flowers.)

(kazuha somehow dislikes how he instantly knows who it belongs to.)

scaramouche, a stray looking for shelter

scaramouche despises the rain.

especially when his partner for his project bails on him 30 minutes after their agreed meeting time (by text, no less! without a single apology!), and he wasted half an hour in the campus library for absolutely nothing. then 5 minutes after his departure, the sudden downpour takes him by surprise and further sours his sullen mood.

he rushes under the nearest roof he finds for shelter, the rain refusing to let up and only getting stronger by the second. cold winds nip at his skin, causing him to shiver in his partly drenched clothes. he follows the warm yellow light illuminating what he thinks is a coffee shop of sorts, the bell's chime announcing his entrance when he swings the door open.

the place is empty with the exception of one person behind the counter, storing the leftover baskets of pastries in the fridge. you blink, not expecting anyone else to arrive, and you assume you forgot to flip the “open” sign to “closed” again.

you don't have the heart to correct the customer though; he looks remarkably similar to a stray cat caught up in the rain, wet purple hair plastered on his forehead and cheeks and drenched jacket most likely not enough to give him warmth. his sharp eyes narrow and he's scowling, irritated at his stupid partner and this stupid rain and-

“you're closing?” he notices, and you nod. he clicks his tongue, obviously displeased.

“if you're only here for shelter, i can stay until the rain stops?” you suggest. “i closed early because i had to study, but i can study here since i have my textbooks anyway.”

“that...” scaramouche pauses, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed for coming off as rude. “if you're fine with it, then that would be nice... thank you.”

you nod again, ducking behind the storeroom to take care of other equipment, so scaramouche takes it as his cue to sit at one of the tables, brushing back his wet hair from sticking all over his face. when you return, a towel rests in your grip and you offer it to him kindly.

warmth settles in his chest, gratitude filling his heart. it strengthens when you wordlessly push a cup of hot chocolate in his direction before seating in another table, sheets of paper and numerous books haphazardly littered about. the only noise he can hear is the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside and the mindless taps of your fingers against the table as you practice test questions. the intermittent loud flicking of pages in workbooks and constant clicks of your pen should peeve him, bad habits in the library he finds annoying when he's trying to focus on reading, but it's strangely comforting in the otherwise silence shrouding the pair of you.

(he finds himself sneaking glances, unwittingly stealing a peek at the way your nose scrunches up adorably when you come across a tricky question. the way you worry your bottom lip, eyes sweeping over the contents of the workbook. the way a defeated sigh parts your lips, inevitably switching to another question to answer.)

(then he catches himself being a creep so he pinches his thigh to wake himself up.)

less than half an hour later, the drizzle reduces to gray clouds pierced by rays of sunlight. scaramouche prepares to leave, followed by you scrambling to pack your things. in your haste, your bag tips over, revealing a small umbrella. that prompts a prick of guilt to seep in his skin, knowing you could've left much earlier if he didn't hold you back.

“thank you, again,” he can't help but say. you wave him off, insisting it's not a bother.

the next time he visits, it's a week later. an umbrella is tucked by his side, this time, and the rainy season has discouraged people from coming so you're closing early except you don't have anything to shield from precipitation. you lent kazuha your umbrella when he ended his shift because you thought the rain would come to pass after an hour or so, and it... hadn't.

scaramouche peers inside, the sign still displaying “open” but you're storing away things just like last time. the cursory “sorry, we're already closing for the day” sticks to your throat when you realize who arrives.

“are you staying because of the rain?” you comment, sympathetic. he shakes his head.

“no, but...” scaramouche coughs awkwardly. “i could help walk you to the bus station... or wherever you're going, really. to return the favor.”

his courage exhausted, he's barely able to find the bravery to check your reaction. he stills when you smile at him so brightly.

it was worth his dignity then.

ayato, the friend of a friend

it starts horribly, a stain on your first impression that you can never redeem.

in your defense, it isn't intentional, except it kind of is — you didn't notice the boy with pale blue hair trailing after thoma when they arrived at the bakery, so you engage in your usual light-hearted banter while he walks away to wait at the table. shame was never felt between two friends who've seen both the best and worst of each other, so crass jokes and ill-timed quips are the norm.

hence why you unabashedly draw dicks on thoma's coffee cup sleeve when he pisses you off with some offhand comment followed by a stinging pinch to your cheek, unafraid of the consequences from the small payback.

except it isn't thoma's coffee after all, and ayato is understandbly confused when he spots phallic doodles on his coffee cup.

he should be affronted, angry and disturbed by the childish display and utter lack of professionalism from staff, but instead he laughs good-naturedly as you explain the situation in ashamed stutters heavily sprinkled with apologies.

so yes. you have positively fucked up your first impression in front of a scholarly young man by behaving in the most disgraceful of manners. he must've thought you an idiot lacking all sense of propriety... and a loser who still thinks drawing dicks is funny.

as it turns out, ayato hails from a stinking rich family who isn't quite in touch with a normal person's lifestyle. his life has always been a constant stream of studies and networking, his future laid out for him. he had little time for leisure and friends outside of allies and business partners, and his story of bonding with thoma would be a lot more moving if you weren't anxiously looking at the inappropriate phallic figures artfully drawn on ayato's cup sleeve that he still hasn't removed. it is a jarring sight to see a boy with a regal disposition fitting for royalty holding such a thing in a way that would make you think he was drinking aged fine wine from a treasured goblet.

part of you thinks he might be doing it on purpose, if only to amuse himself peering at your expressions of panic. he likes to pose himself as innocent but as time ticks by the longer you spend time with him, the more you think he may not necessarily be as much of a goody-two-shoes he acts to be. the sadistic streak is worrying and you're beginning to remember thoma's earlier complaints about a certain mischievous friend of his who likes to play tricks on him.

anyway, the point is: he's stinking rich, he's a sheltered young master, and he's trying out new things he has never experienced before. one of them is trying “peasant food”.

“our humble business doesn't have a single michelin star so i fear we won't be able to satisfy your palate,” you say, looking at ayato who's poking at the egg tart experimentally. “...maybe it would do you good to eat somewhere else?”

“he was impressed by the existence of instant noodles,” thoma supplies. “i don't think he's very picky.”

“the price tag doesn't guarantee tasteful flavors,” ayato chuckles. “but i liked the sweets thoma gave to me the other day. what were they called?”

“petit fours?”

“you gave him those petit fours i was still experimenting with for valentine's day?!” you whisper-shout in disbelief. thoma holds up his hands in surrender.

“they were very enjoyable. i'm sure other customers would like them as well,” ayato confesses honestly.

flattery won't get you anywhere, you want to say. but the conversation escalates in that direction. time passes by too quickly and before you realize it, the sun is already setting and they've been chatting with you on the counter the entire time.

ayato tells you he best return home for the day, if only a little unwilling to go. “though i am hoping what i find on the cup sleeve in my next visit would be different,” he teases.

you're actually not supposed to write anything on the cup in normal circumstances, but you decide to humor him. treasured benefactor and all. you know he has deep pockets. “...such as?” you cock up an eyebrow in question.

“something that will help us grow closer, perhaps.” he leaves with those cryptic words, thoma not far behind.

??? something that will help you grow closer??? he wants to be friends??? what kind of thing does he want you to write?

(the next time, to his satisfaction, he finds your number written on his cup sleeve.)

(it's unfortunate you misunderstood his intentions. ayato would hardly be this forward if he just wanted a friend.)

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #kazuha x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #thoma x reader #scaramouche x reader #albedo x reader #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader

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2-dsimp · 2 years

Note

Black Forest Chocolate Torte and Devil cake with Tartaglia?

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Order coming right up! 🛎

(A/n: I loosely based it on Enemies to Lovers hope that’s ok 😅)

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Malewife Childe x traveler reader

Cw: Humiliation, degradation, NFSW, breeding, usage of cunt, exhibitionism, slight yandere mention, Childe being a menace,

🔞MDNI/NO AGELESS BLOGS🔞

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey baby! You’re just in time for dinner, I made sure to whip up some of your favorites so tell me how it tastes mkay~?”

He purred, when you came up from behind to place a big smooch on his cheek. How could you not when you’re explicitly told by the apron to ‘kiss the chef’ so you did it without question. Giving thanks, you slunk into your seat at the table that was positioned as close as possible to his own chair.

Picking up a utensil you began munching on his delicious cooking, glancing to the side where you could only see him with a stupid grin plastered onto his handsome face. He rested on the open palm of his gloved hand, seeming content just at watching you eat his homemade meals.

Quirking a brow you side eyed him only waiting until you were finished chewing and swallowing the bite left on your fork to ask if he was hungry too. To which he shook his head with a low chuckle as he leaned forward close to your face.

“ Just watching you eat is enough for me Sweets, although I am hungry for you if ya catch my drift”

He winked with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, which made you bashfully punch his arm whilst choking on a piece of tasty chicken.

On the inside you and Childe were a happily married couple hidden away from prying eyes, but on the outside yall pretended to be bitter enemies. Since the Fatui is a notorious gang with a bad reputation amongst the people. There may be many who held grudges and would attempt to harm you just to spite Childe. So You both thought it was a good idea to keep your entanglement on the down low.

You of across being strapped with the weight of being an honorary knight couldn’t be seen with the likes of those crooks. But being drawn in by childes boyish grin and devilish charms you were hooked and he didn’t even have to kidnap you.

In the battle against Childe you told your comrades to leave it to you to deal with him while they ran ahead of you. And boy did he love the spunky attitude you had, as y’all traded heavy blows with adrenaline pumping through both of your veins. He couldn’t get enough of how sexy you looked whenever you tried to overpower him.

But it wouldn’t be satisfying for you or him if he didn’t go all out, so he decided to spice things up a bit by opening the finale. Which brought you to where you are now.

“Oh you still seek to challenge me? Wifey dearest?”

In a flash he had his talons propped underneath your chin, as he stared at into your eyes simmering with fraudulent desire. Clad in his signature Foul Legacy form in all its glory.

“If it’s a fight you want then you’d better last at least 4 rounds baby, I’m not goin easy on you~ “

His demented voice growled in your ear.

He stayed true to his word not even giving you a second to breathe as he continued to spam you, with a barrage of his overwhelming arsenal of attack combos. You barely managed to dodge the sharpness of his dual blades, sacrificing your clothes in the process. Winded you couldn’t even register the unbridled hunger swarming in his violet eyes that dilated at your haggard form.

He certainly didn’t miss the exposure of delectable sweaty skin that looked so tender and inviting, suddenly he got the urge to mark you. Almost as if knowing his impure intentions your body tensed and instinctively tried to get away as far as possible away from his sharp predatory grin. Long story short you failed to even get five steps in rounds before he pounced and trapped you underneath his weight.

“Where do you think you’re going? Honey”

He reprimanded softly

While he nonchalantly ripped your pants off and snapped at the bands of your panties, watching your ass jiggle from the force. You could only whine as he toyed with you, before gingerly sliding them off stuffing the damp panties in his pants pocket. So he could add them to his panty collection.

He’s so needy and depraved, when he takes his time to tease your poor little cunt. being mindful of his thick clawed fingers that scissored themselves inside your winking hole. He added in another which made you moan from the added pressure against your hot core. The squelching of your pussy and the slick dripping from his talons made him ravenous. Slipping his fingers out, he licked them clean of your juices with a savory moan.

“Come on don’t be shy, open your tight little hole for me. I promise to be gentle”

He cooed

As he mounted you like a dog in heat with you pinned to the ground on your hands and knees. Grinding his clothed dick imprint against your pulsing heat. Letting you feel his hard member grow against your ass with every rut, until he finally had enough. Pulling down his zipper to release his strained veiny cock that slapped up against his chest.

Trembling from the dalop of precum secreting from his thick mushroom head prodding against your puckering hole. You could help but to swallow dryly, You’ve never taken Childe’s dick in his foul Legacy form. So you were rightfully worried about how he was gonna destroy you with his cock. And couldn’t help but squirm away from him whenever he tried to insert himself thinking it wasn’t gonna fit. And he didn’t like that, not one bit.

“ Oh baby, nobody likes a sore cunt who can’t take dick. So stop squirming and let me fuck you”

He said cruelly with a smirk spreading across his lips. Gripping the fat of your hips tightly he slammed his engorged dick inside your sinewy insides and growled from the heavy squeeze on his cock. You tried to hang on for dear life onto the fallen slabs of marble as his hard ruthless thrusts slammed straight into your cervix.

Don’t get me wrong, Childe was your sweet husband who loved you very much. However when he gets all worked up He’ll fuck you like he hates your guts.

Literally.

“Y-you ahh! You liar! said you’d be gentle”

“I was until you decided to be a little bratty bitch”

You whined from his mean words, whilst fucking back into the meaty slam of his length against your ass. Loving the painful stretch of his girth that felt so pleasant in your taut walls that clamped down on his dick, each time he created friction within your weeping hole. You could almost feel him in your throat with the way his cock be stabbing your battered baby maker.

With glazed eyes rolling back into your head tongue dangling out as drool trailed down from the corners of your gaping mouth. Truly bordering on the sweet edge of release, He left you breathless with the way he rammed into your receptive dripping pussy. Biting his lip at the sight of strings of slick connecting you guys with each long stroke of his dick.

He wishes he could fuck you until sunrise but his sensitive hearing alerted him to the footsteps heading in y’all’s direction so begrudgingly he decided to speed up the process. By running his digits down to your folds to play with your clit, listening to the sounds of your desperate mewls. He huskily whispered Your ear.

“ You’re so messy. Are you about to cum on my dick pretty girl? Go ahead I wanna feel you squirt around me”

With a hoarse cry you gushed on his cock that rocked into the bundle of nerves that made you curl in on yourself. As he in turn emptied his cum inside of your overstimulated cunt. Bucking up into you to spread his seed into the depths of your womb before pulling out, stuffing the excess sperm back into your aching pussy. Giving you a sweet peck on the junction of your heated neck, before fixing himself to make a hasty getaway from unwanted attention.

“I’ll want a rematch when we get home Wifey”

And let’s just say you end up getting pregnant with twins.

#childe x y/n #childe x you #childe x reader #childe x fem!reader #childe smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #childe imagines #malewife #genshinmalewife

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hertzwritings · 2 years

Text

Stable connections

A/N: Here it is, the final part to this lil’, cute story! This has been really fun and sweet to write, so I hope you guys love it as much as me. This was born from the sweet @thorinoakenshieldfan and her reqeuest!

Feedback feeds the soul, my love, and requests are always open!

MASTERLIST

HENRY CAVILL + CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Part 1 and part 2

Stable connections

Three years later

“Darling, have you seen my…?” You held your hand out, a tie dangling from your finger and gave him a smile. He grinned and quickly grabbed the tie, slinging it around his neck and started tying it into a knot. You watched his fingers nimbly dance over the silk.

It had been a whirlwind since the night, he had showed up in front of your door with a smile and flowers. Every moment he wasn’t filming, he was at your place - or you were at his. You’d helped him build his computer, ordering parts for him when he went away for filming, and he always came back with something he had found that reminded him of you.

The first time he’d told you he loved you, it was at night, between damp sheets and the moon casting silver-light on his face. He had smiled widely and his eyes had held the world for you as you stumbled over the words, surprised at his admission.

When he had asked you to move in with him, he had done it casually over his computer. He had been tinking with some small part that had annoyed him - he had damned his fingers, which you had been very vocal about not doing, and took over for him as he sat down in a plush chair in his office, petting Kal. As you got the little piece in place and beamed at him, he’d asked casually, like he was asking what you wanted for dinner. You had squealed, dropping the tiny screwdriver from your hands and turning to him. He had grinned in that way, that made your heart flutter and simply raised an eyebrow at you, silently waiting for your answer.

Of course, you’d said yes.

And here you were, three years and some odd days later tying his tie. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” he asked as you patted the tie down to his chest, smoothing it over once. “Maybe.” You said with a grin. He bent down, grabbing your chin and lifting it until you met his lips in a soft, tender kiss that took your breath away.

“I love the both of you.” he murmured against your lips, his hand falling on your stomach and caressing it gently. You chuckled and rested your hand over his, looking down at the soft swell. “You better, or I’ll lose my shit.” You said sternly. He grinned. “What are you going to do, make me go get blue slush ice at three AM again?” “Or green apples. Good luck finding those in february.” He chuckled and kissed you again before stepping away slightly and looked at you fully. He smiled proudly and his eyes glinted - you’d learned pretty quickly that Henry had something reminiscent of a breeding kink, and the fact that you were visibly pregnant made him, well, lose all sense of inhibitions with you. Not that you complained.

“You look stunning, love.” He complimented warmly. You wiggled a little and laughed before glancing down on yourself. “I feel like I need lube to get out of this dress.” You mumbled as you followed him down the stairs and out to the car. He laughed and opened the door for you. You slid inside the backseat with a grunt, your stomach getting slightly in the way - especially in this goddamn dress.

You sat in comfortable silence as you drove to the event, his hand firmly in yours, a soft song playing on the speakers.

“Are you sure you want to do it?” He asked softly, eyes on yours. You bit your lip.

At first it had been the plan to keep the pregnancy under wraps - both of you enjoyed private life too much to let anyone in on it, but it was becoming increasingly harder to hide the pregnancy from paparazzi, but there had also been some close calls with Henry, who was too excited to keep it completely hidden; many fans had already begun speculating because he kept dropping hints.

You sighed and rubbed the top of your stomach. “Yeah. You know, we won’t be able to hide it forever, I’ll get huge and at some point within the next 4 months, we’ll have a kid. That’ll be stupidly hard to hide.” You grinned. “Besides, I really, really want the world to know. I hate hiding things and this…” You laid his hand on your stomach, small flutters against his hand. He smiled lovingly.

“This is not to be hidden away.” He smiled at the small kicks against the palm of his hand. “No, it isn’t.”

The car stopped and you glanced at the crowd outside, alit under flashing lights and felt your stomach turn with nerves.

“Ready?” He asked. “As I’ll ever be.”You replied nervously. He nodded as the car door opened and stepped out, extending his hand to you - as soon as the door had opened, a roar of screaming voices flooded your ears like a wave. You grabbed his hand shakily and got out, his arm instantly wrapping around your waist, a proud smile on his face as you walked to the carpet under flashing lights.

You paused in front of several cameras, smiling nervously. He leaned into you, his lips brushing against your ear. “Have I told you how wonderful you look tonight? I’m regretting ever leaving the house, my love.” His voice was sultry and sent shivers down your spine as a shy smile reached your lips. He chuckled lightly.

“Come on, all we need is the short interviews, watch the first episode and then we’ll go home.” He waved out to the cameras and you shot them a quick smile and a wave, following him, safely in his arms. The cameras clicked wildly as soon as you stepped into the middle of the carpet, turning slightly sideways, displaying your stomach - as soon as Henry’s hand landed on it protectively,the roar of the crowd was insurmountable.

His name was being shouted from everywhere, a symphony of voices and clicks of cameras - he was courteous and smiling politely as he led you from the carpet to a little area to the side, where a bunch of interviewers stood with microphones ready and smiles plastered on their faces. “Henry, I’m so happy to see you again!” The woman’s voice was chipper and her eyes quickly went to you, nodding quickly and turned to start the interview - but then she turned back to you, her eyes wide at your stomach. “Uh, oh, wow.” She didn’t know what to say, simply pointing in between you and Henry. Henry laughed. Yeah, I’ve gained a few pounds.” You said with a grin. She finally got herself together and smiled at you and Henry. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order!” She said happily. Henry nodded and kissed the top of your head. “You’ve been keeping that on the low down for a while, huh?” She grinned at you. “Yeah, well…” He said. “So, how long… I’m sorry, how far along are you?” SHe asked. You sighed happily and smiled at Henry. “Oh, just passed the six month mark.” you smiled. “Anyway, this isn’t about me.” You gestured to Henry. “Right, sorry. How are you feeling? Third season of The Witcher already!” Henry nodded with a polite smile. “Yes, it’s great. We’ve really been looking forward to showing the fans what we’ve done this season.” “How’s it been to be so far from home?” You chuckled. “Oh, not too bad. Home came with me.” He winked at you and you grinned back at him. “I’d never been to Scotland, so this seemed like a good opportunity.” “Well, and that’s where we realised we might need a bigger home.” He said, his hand on your stomach.

The night had drawn out with all the people who wanted to talk to you and Henry - and congratulate you - and you felt too tired for more. The drive home was quiet, your head resting on his shoulder as you dozed off, his arm around your shoulder, drawing circles on your bare arm.

“Baby, we’re home.” his voice was hushed, not wanting to break the silence. You hummed and he chuckled, and gently let your head rest against the back of the seat, scooting out of the seat and quickly went to your side before opening the door next to you, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up like you weighed nothing more than a feather.

He put you gently in the bed and quickly undid your zipper, pulling the dress off of you, covering you with the blanket.

He stripped down and laid next to you, his fingers dancing on your face. “I love you.” You whispered sleepily.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” He answered, his voice soft and choked up. You found his hand and weaved your fingers between his.

And with that, you fell asleep the way you fell in love with him: softly, and then all at once.

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Aphrodisiac Induced Reader + The Dateables

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!) (all consensual btw!!)

Separated because it was gonna be too long with all of them, the brothers should come out soon

A/N: I had this thought and i really had to get it out of my head (it was org gonna be just simeon cause,,, i love repressed feelings so much but then i gave it to the rest!!)

You really should have known better than to take food that was offered by Beel. You know that he has the right intentions in mind- that him sharing food is a miracle of itself and rejecting him would have his brows furrowed and lips pursed into a pout- but he’s also gluttony. He can eat whatever he wants and as much as he wants without so much of a stomach ache. You, on the other hand, cannot. You should have seen this coming when the cupcake you bite into filled your mouth with such an indescribable sweetness that it made your teeth ache, the flavor otherworldly and leaving you hungry for me, taking greedy bites out of the cutely decorated pastry. There was a sharp pang in your stomach, your body on fire and sex dripping with every nudge that your body made.

You couldn’t be alone right now- or maybe you should have been left alone, maybe that would have saved you from humiliation of your dripping arousal that was leaking past your slit. You’re quick to rise, standing on shaky legs, curled over as your cheeks burn, sweat beading against your skin, only worsening the sensitive state that you are in. It’s fast-acting, making your breaths come out in heated gasps, and everything just feels a bit too much, just too good for it to be normal. An aphrodisiac- a strong one that is making you impossibly aroused. You suck in a sharp breath and go to the person who you know will treat you right.

Barbatos:

Barbatos is simply surprised that you chose to go to him in such a needful state. But soon, he realizes how… stressful it is to have you around. Lord Diavolo was kind enough to give him the day off, stating that he’ll be spending it with Lucifer before closing the door with quite an obvious wink. But now, you follow him around, holding his hand, begging for him to do something- to turn back the clock just a few minutes before you had that pastry. You even promised that you wouldn’t get caught but he remains steadfast in his decision, not wanting to risk another repeat of the last mistake.

There is little that can surprise the butler, but when you push yourself against him, grabbing his hand and placing it flat on your belly, his fingertips above the waistband of your shorts, he can feel his face grow hot. He sputters out for a second before regains his composure, simply pulling his hand away and commenting that he’ll make you something to dim the fire that is your body. But you don’t quit, you push yourself against him, begging for him to help you now, that you’re too hot, that your clothes are melting your skin and your flush against him.

He only has so much willpower when it comes to you. And here you are, pressed against him, begging for him to take care of you, grabbing his hand and placing his index and middle finger in your mouth. He visibly stiffens, and when your mouth closes you hollow your cheeks, the soft, slick insides pressed against his fingers. There’s a crackle of energy around and soon you're gagging on his finger, the manicured nails turning into claws, filling your mouth exponentially, spit sliding between the corners and your eyes pricking with tears.

You are much too needy to stand still, to even rest against him is something that you find difficulty in without resulting in your humping his leg. You beg him, twist your hand in his and remove his glove, holding it tight in your hand and begging for him to touch you- to make the pain between your legs go away and feel good. As quick as a blink of an eye, you’re against the wall, his fingers deep into your mouth, his smile softening for a second. He leans close to your ear, his other hand working on clothes on your back, stripping you with every gagging sound made when he pushes a bit further. His tone is almost dangerous as he tells you that you asked for him to take care of you and that is simply what he’s about to do. He pulls away, his smile still as he leans close to you, his lips ghosting over his knuckles, asking if this is really what you want and if you give him a moment, he’s sure he can make you a tea that can stop your arousal. But when you gag around him, your brows knitting together, looking absolutely like a piece of art with his fingers in your mouth and eyes full of tears, he simply nods.

His mouth is on yours, and he can taste the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac on you- the sweetness, the almost bitter taste that lingers behind, the totality of it all making him feel as if he’s going to go into a craze. You poor thing, no wonder you’ve been so needy. Barbatos holds you up, letting you rut against him, feeling your sex pulse and with a simple slip of his hand, your creaming against yourself and against him, clinging tight to him, calling his name out in such a lewd moan that it pushes away all rational thought and simply release his cock, pearls beading from the slit and you look upon him with doe eyes, kissing him once more as his tail wraps around your torso, the forked end of it teasing at your nipples.

Diavolo:

The Lord of Devildom has always been kind to you, understanding and accommodating to you even when he has always seemed so busy. It would make sense that you would go to Lord Diavolo, who welcomes you with open arms, a gentle hand on your back that makes your knees buckle. He realizes his mistake- his eyes narrowing as he sees your flushed state and it’s a wonder that you’ve even made it to him without a trail of succubi and incubi at your tail. He can smell your heat from miles away. It’s intoxicating, hanging heavy in the air and as sweet as candy itself.

He lays you on the bed and he regrets it all in that very moment. He sees how small you are in his bed, the way that your body curves and how your hands try to find something to grip onto. He has enough restraint to pull himself away from you, taking a step back only to realize that your scent is filling the room, creeping at every crevice and corner, latching onto his clothing. Your hips thrust against the bed and he bites the inside of his cheeks- something bitter and hot filling his mouth. You call his name and he has to remain strong no matter how sweet the sound of it is.

The bed is soundless as he sits beside you and your hands latch onto his jacket, pulling him close to you. He makes a noise of surprise but allows it, watching as you lay yourself on his lap, your back arched over his lap and eyes so hazy and lust-filled that he forgets for a second to avoid touching you. His hand curves and pets the top of your head, smiling when you push yourself against his touch but then you rise and he’s forgotten that you are desperate for the very thing he’s willing to give to you.

You’ve laid him down, sitting above his abdomen, your hand on his chest, as your lower yourself to look him in the eyes. Your fingers squish beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the soft tissue of the breast and he has to admit that it feels divine. Your breath is a phantom above his lips and his hands move to grab your hips. He should pull away, but he finds that his hands are stuck to you, unable to budge from where they rest. He shouldn't be kissing you, he shouldn’t be ignoring the way that your hips are rotating above his, how you’re whining and mewling at the very action of kissing him. But he does, and he lets you kiss him, lets you weave your hands through his hair and push yourself closer against him until you have to pull away, gasping for breath.

Diavolo has to be careful with you- he treats you like you are made of porcelain, because to him, you are. You are a human, weak and gentle, loving and giving, and he is a demon, a king. He holds you with tender hands, letting his lips burn themselves against your skin, until you’re crying his name, begging for him to just touch you. He’s unable to refuse you, kissing your lips and letting his hand wander to your sex, where with just a simple touch, you release against his hand. He pulls his hand away, kissing your tears and raising his head to glance as his hand that is now coated in thick, shimmering arousal. With a promise to take care of you, he kisses your lips and lets his hand play with your sensitive sex.

Simeon:

Possibly one of the best choices to turn to, Simeon is actually quite happy to know that you chose to spend your sensitive state with him- that you trusted him the most. He’s trying to make it as lovely as possible- as least without actually attending to your needs. He won’t try anything- not that he technically could. But he misjudged the situation. He’s heard of people taking aphrodisiacs but the ones he heard of were made by and for people, not by and for demons. And now as he stares at you, trying so desperately to not slide your hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, he realizes he might have been over his head just a tad bit.

You rest on your knees, your face hidden against the comforter of his bed, lower half raised and legs pinched. Pained whimpers come out muffled, your hands clawing at the comforter, knotting and twisting the fabric in your hands. He can actually see the darkening color of your shorts peek from your crotch. His body suddenly feels hot- whether it’s arousal or embarrassment, he’s not actually sure but he wishes that it were because of the latter.

He turns his gaze away from you, clearing his throat and at that moment he knows he made a mistake. You call his name in a breathy tone that is absolutely sinful. Your arm stretches out, fingers trying to grab at the leg of his white pants. He smiles gently at you, his stomach churning when he catches your gaze- lustful and mouth already open in small moans. He can’t touch you. You know that. He knows that. But you’re in pain and even in your aroused state, you beg for him, you call out and promise that whatever he does, it’s out of good intentions. It’s a lie, of course, but he can hear you slick click against your dripping sex with just the softest of movement. Whatever he does- he can lie that he’s doing it to help you, but he’ll know the truth.

He’s unaware of how and exactly what happened. All he knows is that you’re above him, holding yourself tight to him as your face is hidden in the soft curve of his neck, and he can feel exactly just how hot your body is. Your hips are moving above his, the fabric of his clothes creating a wonderful friction that only makes your pitiful humping quicker and sloppier. You breathe against his neck and he has to dig his hands into the comforter of the mattress to prevent himself from falling to sin. Your sex is bare above him, your body curling tighter onto him, as he can feel an orgasm shake throughout your body.

Simeon whispers a prayer under his breath, closing his eyes and muttering an “Amen” as his arms wrap around your body. You jerk against him, acting as if the simple embrace from him is orgasmic, your thrusts quicker than before, calling his name, repeating it as if it were the only thing on your mind and at this point, he’s sure that it is. He promises to you in a whisper that he won’t go farther than what he’s about to do, pressing a kiss against your head and letting his eyes close. His hips meet yours in a thrust, clothed sex against wet, bare sex, and you moan his name and he can feel tears that burn slide down his neck, your words repeating for him to not stop.

Solomon:

It’s difficult for the sorcerer. He couldn’t even get up from the position if he tried. You're on his lap, legs and arms wrapping around him, and you may think you’re being discreet with your humping disguised as itchiness, Solomon knows better. He’s trying his best to find a spell, to find anything that can cure you of your current ailment. But he’s coming up flat. You’re needy, pinching your leg together and pulling away from where your chin rested on his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your face is flushed, your hair disheveled and for the first time since you’ve entered his room, you’ve stopped your humping.

He’s always had an attraction to you- it went further than just finding you pretty, it passed the need for human contact when you both arrived, it was just him wanting to bask in your warmth, to have you fret over him like he was simply just another person and not a sorcerer who happens to be able to command seventy-two demons. And now, he has you where he has dreamed of countless times, imagined behind closed doors and hand fisted over his cock. He has you with a leaking sex, eyes that are on him and no possible interruptions. His mouth is dry and he is unable to think properly. His hands fall and the book he was keeping afloat falls with a thud to the floor.

The way you call his name, a breathy broken moan when you test your hips against his, your body shuddering and he realizes with disappointment that you had orgasmed already while above him. He had missed it. He bows his head, brows knitted and he can’t think clearly when you’re rutting against him, mumbling apologies beside him, your breath a gentle whisper and then in the same breath you kiss his neck, begging for him to touch you. And as much as he wants to, he can’t. He knows the state you’re in, your mind hazy and thick with everything related to sex, and you aren’t thinking clearly, you’re just thinking of having your sex toyed with. It’s a horrible feeling he’s stuck in.

It doesn’t take much to make him crack. You pull away, when he’s still for far too long, silent even as focused as he was, you could hear the muted moans that he refused to sound out loud. But he's silent now, and when you pull away, he looks crestfallen. You hold his face his your hands, your sex pressed against his, and you can feel his cock poking at the inside of your thigh. You try your chances against, leaning close to him, your mouth on his as you beg for him to touch you, your promises of you wanting this so serious in your voice that makes him willing to kiss your lips, his tongue slipping past and the sound that you make is perverse, loud and running your hands against his body.

Solomon looks at you through heavy lidded eyes, feeling your body rise and fall, your lips on him and his hands are moving, leaving your body burning with just the palm of his hand. Thin, calloused fingers sneak under your shirt and rub against your sensitive nipples, your mouth breaking from him, and your tongue peeks out, swiping at your lips to capture the feeling of his against your one more time. But you’re in pain, more than he is, and he’s pushing you against the bed, kissing your body, hearing you call his name with such want that it makes his cock ache. And then he’s staring at your sex, leaking and throbbing, and his mouth is on you, groaning when your hands knit in his hair and his tongue is swirling around your sex.

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