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#silver tongue fic
silverlistenstothings · 8 months
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WHO wants to talk to me about what you think The Teen’s (sans Hermie) worst fears are? Asking this while smiling so innocently and kicking my feet so cutely in a way that is not at all mischievous or suspicious or evil.
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oxygenbefore1775 · 4 months
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My obscure hc about Reiner is that he actually has a good way with words, a result of all the years he spent writing propaganda-ridden essays to engratiate himself to Marley officials despite his lackluster performance as a Warrior candidate
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starfall-spirit · 7 months
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@officialfeysandweek2023
Read on Ao3
Summary: Feyre trusted Azriel and Cassian to keep her work as a Wraith secret. Perhaps they had, but it doesn't change the fact their High Lord knew what secrets were hidden in the shadows they share. Angered by her deception, Rhys sends Feyre home, freeing her from their marriage and bargain made Under the Mountain, all too soon finding that to be the worst mistake he's made in five centuries.
AN: The Silver-Tongued Bride, a Feysand fic based on 1,001 Nights/Arabian Nights, has been discontinued so I can write a book with a similar plot in the future, but UBC brought up the fic and I was struggling with my original project for Mates. So I'm closing this AU with a bang. As I said in a previous post there is a major time skip between Wife or Weapon? and Would You Like Me On My Knees? so reading/rereading STB is not vital, but the link is there if you want to see what the original story idea was and get a better idea of Feysand's history in this AU.
For those unfamiliar with 1,001 Nights, you can read the basic plot here.
CW: Dark!Rhys, Smut
“Feyre, you’ve told me a story every night for months now.”
“I have,” she murmured. “Would you like to hear another this evening?”
He gave her a slight smirk from across the oversized table between them, fiddling with one of the strategy pieces. “No, darling. Eager as I am to hear the ending of this last story, I have one to tell you tonight.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “One about a village girl brave enough to save her people.” She narrowed her eyes, accepting the chair. “Once upon a time a wicked foreign commander took control of seven High Lords’ power, trapping all but one in her perversion of a court.”
“Why are you telling me—”
“Be quiet and listen,” he hissed. There was something in his eyes tonight that for the first time stirred something like fear in Feyre. “For forty-nine years those faeries hoped and prayed for some salvation that never came. Until one day a village girl was just desperate enough to go Under the Mountain to save her sisters, and in her dealings with Amarantha, Prythian.”
Though he’d given her nothing but facts she recognized from her own story, something close to dread was coiling in her gut. “She succeeded, at the cost of her life, but was revived by the seven High Lords when their magic was returned to them. One would think after dying, our heroine would be content enough to keep a low profile and stay tucked away with her sisters.”
“You kept me from that, I’ll remind you.”
“Did I? Or did all of this start when you decided to play spy, Wraith?”
She ground her teeth, holding his burning stare. “You live in such wealth and privilege. Tell me, when was the last time you went days or weeks without more than bread and water? I did what I needed to to make sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, as I always have. Just because it took you three years to look at who you employ doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.”
He stood from his own seat. “You're right.” It took a moment for the words to register. That he had actually surrendered that small victory to her. “You haven’t actually done anything, beyond failing to mention your other duties to the Night Court. Which is why you will continue those duties, unrestrained.”
That dread began to seep back in, coiled and curdling deep inside of her. “Unrestrained? What do you mean unrestrained?”
“You are vital to Azriel’s network. I will not kill you, but you can not fully commit to your duties as my bride.”
Bride. Never wife, though she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about that little technicality during such a serious conversation. Because what his words implied…
She lurched from her chair.“Rhys, you can’t.”
“It is not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Feyre.”
“Rhys, please.” She was begging. Something she vowed she’d never do when it came to him. “Please don’t do this.” Her hand was fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt as if she could keep him there and hold his attention so simply. “They don’t deserve this.”
He cocked his head. “What would you give me, darling, to keep me from looking at another female?”
“Anything.” Dangerous words to offer the fae, especially one so powerful. “I will give you anything so long as these bride killings stop. Name your price.”
“Feyre, did you really think you could stop this, single-handedly? You never had a—”
He grunted as she pulled him down closer, one hand still holding his shirt while the other threaded through his silky hair. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly took control, lifting her onto the table and disregarding the scattering of figures and marking pins so carefully arranged on the broad map atop it. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb just brushing across her jaw. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, holding her in place to deepen the kiss.
She could say the same. Their kiss was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, and that cruel mouth working down over her neck, his tongue flicking that little sweet spot just higher that nearly had her whimpering. Apparently he remembered a few tricks from their time Under the Mountain. Each one left something inside her singing. And aching for more.
And then he was off of her, around the other side of the table before she could even open her eyes or try to assess what was threaded between them.
“No,” he growled, gripping the wood of the table hard enough his skin lightened. “You—we needed that distraction back then. I am not about to let you bargain with your body now, Feyre. You’ll leave in the morning, as usual. This time—” He waved a hand and a fresh horror filled her as the ink on her right arm vanished. “—free of our marriage.” Another wave and her left arm was bare. “Free of our bargain.”
She stumbled around the table. If Rhys was letting her go… “Rhys, wait.”
“It’s done. You’re free. You never have to see me again. What more do you want?” he snapped. She stopped in front of him, nearly close enough to share breath. Even wide and wild, those eyes drew her in. “What?” he growled.
“Promise me it will end.” His brow furrowed. “You’re a better male than this. I can see it. Your brothers can see it. I don’t know the others, but—”
“That’s enough.” He tilted his head as he assessed her, looking every bit the predator he proved himself to the world, any trace of the goodness she’d thought she’d seen just as absent as she ink on her arms. Her heart sank as he tutted, stroking his thumb down her jawline, this time almost condescendingly. “So that’s what you’ve been, little temptress. The martyr bride. One day my lover? My High Lady?”
“I’ll be whatever you need me to be if it saves others who are meant to follow me here.”
Reckless, stupid words, and yet she meant every one of them. She refused to release him until he listened.
Or winnowed.
Or layed her down on that war table and reminded her how easy it was to break a male.
Any other male, it seemed.
His hand dropped to wrap around her throat. One last security blanket, a means of control, even as she watched his resistance fracture. “Gods. Feyre, you don’t know how you tempt me to break the one code I can keep.” At this point she didn’t know how else to express she wouldn’t be as unwilling as he believed. Again, he tore away from her, leaving her cold and aching. What had gotten into her? “Your village and family will be pardoned in the future. If you’d like to take anything I’ve given you home then you’re welcome to pack tonight. As a Wraith, you can leave at your leisure. I trust you’ll be gone before breakfast?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his back to her to repair the map she’d unknowingly torn. She should have felt relieved at the dismissal, but all she could currently think was that this was so wrong. On a scale larger than this sexual chemistry.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It rang in her head loudly enough she double checked her shields. Still impenetrable. Body and mind steeled, she gave him five parting words meant to sting after all this time in each other's company. “As you wish, High Lord.”
And she walked away, gaining her freedom, and losing so much more.
But what was still the question. 
~~~~~
Her sisters were elated. At least, Elain was elated. Nesta only felt the need to interrogate Feyre about what she had done to earn her freedom. “I wanted out,” she lied. “I told him I was a Wraith and he decided that was important enough to the war to release me.”
Neither of them seemed to believe her, especially with her vow to keep telling stories to maintain her position as a Night Bride and save the girls he’d yet to draw into his cruel game. Half of the town had started to treat her like a plague. The other was in awe when they saw her arms were bare of ink and her head was attached to her neck. 
Feyre didn’t have enough energy to care.
That was more frustrating than anything else. That empty feeling that grated against the anger and hurt she couldn’t find a way to justify. The dangerous tumble of thoughts that kept her awake in her bed until she was watching the sunrise. Because Cauldron damn her, she missed it. Missed him. The smirk on his face and the light in his eyes when she encouraged his flirtation. The glide of his hands over her body before that brutal dismissal. The taste of him, endless and all-consuming. The abyss she was too ready to leap into if she’d find him at the bottom.
That desperation scared her more than anything, and opened up a very unwelcome thought when the evenings went quiet. So she locked it away in a little mental box, shoving it behind that wall of steel and stone, down, and down, and down where she couldn’t feel even a flicker of want or worry.
But then, she had never been very good at compartmentalizing. And too many things in the home and village around her brought those feelings back to the surface. What they meant. But if she didn’t give it a name it didn’t have to mean anything. Not after he freed her. And with that mindset, she kept going, day by day.
She kept moving though life, waiting to hear the Bride Killer had returned to find his next target. But he never did. Not for weeks. She didn’t think it was possible for a town or village to simply freeze, but there was a feeling in the air all the same. As if the villagers around her, the birds and bugs and cattle, the very land around them was holding its breath.
It was excruciating to endure.
Still, she made herself go about town. To the market each morning and social functions in the evening. Nodding along as other females tittered about the latest gossip and just how lucky she was to be alive and marriageable again. It was positively disgusting. But she’d endure that too, for Elain and Nesta. It was where they thrived and she could tolerate being labeled the odd ball a while longer. It’s what she’d been her whole life, after all.
She should have known things wouldn’t be left there. That she wouldn’t be given time to heal and pass this strange emotional lull without some grand interruption. And grand it was.
In typical fashion, Rhys arrived at the height of the evening, his announcement by rolling thunder. “What a pretty little party.”
~~~~~
The house cleared remarkably quickly between the families scurrying for the door or flat out winnowing as he commanded them to leave. The only people to disobey were her sisters, frightened as they were by the intrusion. There was something to be said for their improving loyalty, she supposed.
He didn’t speak again until the door snicked shut behind their last guest. “Good evening, Feyre darling.”
“Rhys.” His name was hardly higher than a breath, but its weight did enough to heighten the already unbearable tension. “What do you want?” she asked a bit more confidently, pushing off the wall and shoving the flare between them down as deep as she could. If he wanted the… connection… between them, he wouldn’t have sent her away like he did. “You said you wouldn’t return to this village. Especially not this house.”
“It’s not your sisters I’m here for, Feyre.” The promise in his voice paired with the heat in his eyes sent a fresh bolt of want through her. “The last time we spoke—”
“The last time we spoke, you promised me my freedom, Rhysand. Peace from your games.”
“I think you like my games more than you’re willing to admit, darling.”
She scoffed, putting more distance between them as she moved behind the couch. “What do you want, Rhys? Say it and leave.” Her father coughed pointedly from where he had joined them just seconds ago, some small effort as the technical head of the house. It was a reminder to check her tone, speaking to a High Lord. She snorted. “He won’t touch me.”
Rhys winnowed across the room, his broad figure a mass of warmth against her, his scent flooding her senses. She pressed forward, hips digging into the back of the couch as she focused on taking shallow breaths, pointedly ignoring everything her body was demanding she do. “The last time we were this close—”
“You sent me away. I didn’t beg and plead for you to erase the bargain and wedding vows. I said I’d stay there for good. I’d be whatever the hell you needed me to be and you sent me away.”
“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to beg and plead you come home to me? Do you want to see me on my knees for you? Should I grovel, love?”
“It would certainly be a new look for you, wouldn’t it?” she spat.
Ignoring Elain’s squeak, she shoved at his arm to escape his hold, fiddling with anything and everything that was already in its perfect place to ignore the male behind her as best she could. The next time she turned around he didn’t give her the choice of distancing herself. 
One hand caught her hip, the other cupping her face. Though his touch was loose and gentle, after weeks apart she was helpless against the pull of their bond. She sank into his chest, trembling slightly, finding that thread between them raw and open. “Darling.” There was a tentativeness to his voice she’d never once heard. Not in their most vulnerable moments Under the Mountain and certainly not in their time together in Velaris. “I’m sorry.” His right hand slid up, winding in her hair to keep her eyes level with his. “You need to know, you are worth more than what you thought I needed. I’ll have you as my mate—my High Lady—or not at all.”
She stiffened. “I don’t know a thing about leading a court.”
“You’ll learn.” Before she could say another word about it or explain anything to her family, she felt him start to winnow. 
“Rhys, wait! Don’t—” Her protest was cut off with her air, as they were folded in shadow, surfacing in the dining room of the town house in Velaris, his family already occupying the table. She jerked free of his hold. “You can’t just abduct me from my home,” she growled, ready to send herself right back.
“Just wait. Please.” The house was dead silent. She froze, watching with wide eyes as he sank to his knees. “Feyre.” The vulnerability between his actions and that one word was enough to clear the house, leaving the two of them alone, save each other. “Feyre. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his face. “But this is a discussion we need to have… unmonitored.”
“Tell me it's over.”
“It’s over.”
“Tell me that even if I turn around and go home, no more innocents will die at your hands. By your orders,” she clarified.
“I will never kill an innocent again. I will not call a priestess to an altar unless it is you by my side. You being pronounced my mate. My wife. My High Lady. My Forever. Feyre, my name is a stain on the history of this court. That will not change.” She shuddered as he wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees. “Help me do what I can to pave a better future.”
Because what would the world think when their Cursebreaker willingly married the Bride Killer? When she bore the ink of his court again? What would the world think of her when they realized she’d fallen in love with their greatest evil? 
She sank down to the ground, knee to knee with her mate. “I’ll be your equal? Respected in this court and the others.”
“The other High Lords will favor traditions. Especially those of the seasons. I can't promise you their respect. But no citizen of Night will question your authority and keep their life.”
“And… the other expectations of a High Lord’s wife?”
“One day, with this war behind us I would want to build a family with you. Raise children beside you. But not yet, Feyre. Not with this war upon us. I don’t—”
She kissed him, throwing her weight enough that he twisted his legs, settling on his back to let her set the pace. Though he didn’t object to her straddling him she didn’t think the privilege of control would last long, considering his grip on her waist was already beginning to tighten. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, working them open with an impressive dexterity, considering her mind felt like a muddled mess.
“Wait.” Feyre paused, confused. Then they were winnowing again, this time to a cabin in the mountains. “We won’t be disturbed any time soon,” he promised, walking her backwards through the cabin until she stumbled, only to be lifted upright in his arms before she could hit the floor. She locked her legs around his waist, gasping against his mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, her hands pinned over her head. “I’ve been aching for you,” Rhys confessed, “from the moment you left my bed three years ago, I’ve wanted you back in my arms.”
Years. Not just the weeks they were apart, but since they found freedom from Amarantha. Feyre tried to look back on those days, recalling the vulnerability between the pleasure they shared. Where they had let those careful masks crumble to dust. A single brief moment where she had let herself wonder if Rhys was more broken than he let on.
She pushed those thoughts down. “You sent me away.”
“Love is a dangerous thing,” he told her, letting her stand on her own feet again, his arms braced on either side of her. “And you were offering yourself to protect others, not for your own happiness. You would have come to hate me if I tried to act on our bond. I couldn’t see you reliving my mother’s story.”
“It may have seemed impulsive then, but I wanted it. Even without the mating bond established I wanted you.” 
Now that they’d both said it aloud it felt a thousand times more real. They were mates. A perfect match by nature or fate depending on who you asked. “Oh, and if we’re to do this in some sort of reasonable order.” She parted the panels of her gown. “It has pockets, see!” He was clearly confused about the relevance of her dress having pockets but stayed quiet to humor her. “I was keeping this for myself since they were just about the only enjoyable thing at that party, but here,” she told him almost conspiratorially, unwrapping the small linen napkin holding the cookies she was saving for a snack. “I didn’t technically make it myself, but… Food. Eat. Now.”
Confusion softened to something like awe and she realized for as cruel as he’d been in his time as High Lord, he had grieved the simple pleasures he thought he’d ruined his chance of finding. Like a female offering him food and truly accepting an eternity with him. He had a better future to look forward to, starting with half-crumbled cookies. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his thumb sweeping tenderly across her cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, Feyre.”
She just smiled, nodding to the meager offering again. They were gone in seconds, the napkin so clean she wouldn’t have believed there were crumbs at all if she hadn’t seen the mess of crushed dessert herself. There was something to be said for a newly mated male’s dedication.
“Delicious,” he purred against her ear, tossing the pristine cloth over his shoulder. “But I can think of something else I’d rather taste at the moment.”
~~~~~
Rhys had never gotten a female out of a dress so quickly. He had never felt so close to losing control of himself. Not just that spiral of desire and the need to please his mate and satisfy their bond, but something more. Ancient and dark and primal. The need to claim in every respect. 
He hadn’t felt the cage swing open. Not until the thing within him was stalking out, his skin itching and tight as onyx scales rippled over it in patches. He groaned against Feyre, the taste of her on his tongue was doing nothing to help his attempt at suppressing the creature he worked so hard to hide. He knew it was only a matter of time before his talons would make themselves known and draw his mate’s attention to the steady shift claiming his body. She gasped as one of those obsidian claws nicked her tender flesh and an ugly guilt began twisting inside him at the single drop of blood that bloomed. He released her instantly. 
“Rhys…” He had been bracing himself for horror or disgust, not this quiet curiosity. 
“I normally have better control than this,” he said, jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t lost control of his beast form since he was a youngling. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It's…” Her eyes shared the words her tongue couldn't find. She wanted this. Was hungry for it, even if it would temporarily cost him his sanity. 
He growled as she tried to guide him back between her legs. “As you wish, darling.”
She shivered at the next slow stroke of his tongue, her legs tightening around his head. “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.
A chuckle rasped out of him, even as he felt his control slipping little by little. “So my bossy little mate thinks she knows what she wants, hm? We’ll see about that.” While his body was only half-his own at the moment, he managed to retract the talons that had scratched her a moment before. Beast or not, he promised his mate his mouth, fingers, and cock tonight and he had no intention of disappointing her again. 
He didn’t quicken his pace, not when he had the absolute pleasure of drawing her steadily higher and higher until she was on the precipice of falling, flushed from head to toe and clenching around his fingers. He grinned as he heard her let out another frustrated whimper, her short nails dragging down from his scalp to scratch the back of his neck, bringing about as much pain as a kitten might. 
Do you need something, love? he teased, withdrawing entirely.
She gave a hard shove and he let her flip their positions, folding an arm beneath his head as he watched her straddle him. Seeing as her patience has been rather unremarkable thus far, he had ultimately expected her to take advantage of her position over him and claim the pleasure they were both aching for. It appeared she would once again surprise him.
“You take far too much pleasure in keeping me from mine,” she told him, almost in reprimand. “It’s high time the roles were reversed—” She slid back, wrapping her slender hand around the base of his swollen, scaled length. “—don’t you think?”
“I think, Feyre, that you should be very careful,” he warned her. Both of them knew she had no physical leverage over him. That he had let her turn the tables and could reclaim control the moment he decided he was done with this game. But for now he’d pretend he was a decent male, if only so his mate could feel proud of herself for this momentary victory. “Go on, darling. Do your worst.”
She grinned, sinking down to take the first inch of him in her mouth. Rhys could feel her smugness rippling down the bond, multiplying when his free hand flew to her nape. “Look at you,” he praised her, his fingers carding though her hair as a means of comfort as she took him deeper at her own pace. “So pretty, taking my cock down your throat.”
She wouldn’t be able to take all of him like this, not with him half-shifted this way. But she was trying her best and it wasn’t a sight he would forget anytime soon. She dragged her teeth against him and he jerked forward on instinct, choking her slightly. “Careful, pet,” he warned, the tension in his voice betraying his own state of mind. Her little hum told him she knew he was close to spilling down her throat and he had no intention of letting things end so soon.
He twisted her hair around his hand, pulling her up to face him, “As pretty as you’d look drooling on my cock, I think I’d rather watch you ride me, Feyre.”
She wasted no time, letting him guide her down onto him. “Look at you,” Rhys murmured again, his breath fluttering against her hair. She whimpered. “Slow down, darling. Almost there.” He hissed as she clenched around the full length of him, a new instinct roaring to life within him. Claim, claim, claim. 
For the millionth time that night he found himself grieving the absence of the  ink that clearly tied her to him before he granted her her freedom. He’d remedy that problem after they dealt with the frenzy.
He watched Feyre for a moment, taking in the glaze of lust in her eyes and the love beneath it, And deep down, even under that, the instinct that mirrored his own. He shifted on the bed slightly, preparing to flip them again. “Do you know what it wants, Feyre? Hm?”
She blinked down at him, trying to piece together what he was asking. “Do you know what the beast beneath my skin wants to do to you when you’re taking this cock like such a good girl?” She moaned again, hips jerking against his unyielding hold. “Needy little mate,” he admonished softly. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“I’ve been waiting. Now fuck me.” 
She yelped as he flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “I told you to be careful, little mate.”
“Rhys—”
“I warned you to be careful, Feyre. That I was close to losing control. That there was only one thing the beast in me wanted from you.” She shuddered as he shifted both of her hands under one of his, bringing his free hand down to stroke her clit. She keened. “But maybe that’s what my little mate wants too.”
“Rhys.” A foreign, desperate sound left her as her release rattled through her. Rhys didn’t let her come down from it, refusing to acknowledge how she felt clenching around him as he aimed to bring her to her second orgasm. “Rhys, wait. I need—”
“Darling, I thought you needed to come,” he teased. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to overstimulate her, scrambling her senses and bringing her pleasure over and over. It had been his greatest joy in those moments they stole when they were stuck Under the Mountain. His only joy, actually. But that time was behind them. “So, so pretty like this, filled up with my cock,” he praised her, tensing slightly as the dark scaled patches rippled and spread over his skin. “Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby.”
She let out a low groan that had new pride blooming, a jerk of his hips sending her over the edge once again. “Rhys, need you to fill me up.”
“I know, baby. That’s a good girl.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her neck as his slow drag turned more deliberate, bringing them to the next high together. He ducked his head again, slanting his mouth over hers as they came together. “I love watching you come undone for me,” he murmured. “I’ve missed it more than anything.”
She hissed as he pulled out of her slowly, watching onyx scales revert to brown skin, the possessive glint in his eyes fading to something softer. “What took you so long? The ward on the house was pathetic. Why did you wait so long to come for me?”
“Because I never deserved you. And one day I stopped caring about what was deserved and decided to be purely selfish. So I made you a Night Bride.”
“And then you sent me away.”
“I didn’t deserve a mate either. And I knew you would begin to recognize the bond for what it was. But the weeks apart, knowing it would be final, I couldn’t stand it. So I swallowed my pride and came to grovel.”
Feyre sighed, laying her head on his chest. “I’m very glad you did, Rhys.”
He smiled against her hair, holding her a little tighter. “So am I, darling. So am I.”
~~~~~
Taglist:
@lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog
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voulezloux · 11 months
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It starts, as any great story starts, at a dinner party.
you smile at me and say “it’s time to go.” but i don’t feel like going home.
nights like these (3.7k)
written as apart of the @faithinthefutureficfest
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choface · 1 year
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waking up to the “brother” quote: 😑
immediately after, seeing the silver tongues lyrics: 😏
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ao3feed-larry · 1 year
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Bad Logic and Silver Tongues
by EnoughLightHome
Harry Styles has never wondered what he would do if he was the only hope for the human race.
Usually he was too busy trying to answer the question of how he could stay invisible until high school graduation, despite everyone in town being terrified of his telekinesis. And mind reading. And sometimes yellow eyes.
That is, until the new students move in, the charming Louis Tomlinson and his equally charming family who drop in on Holmes Chapel like a tsunami. Every one of them is more beautiful than the last, even if they seem to court strange happenings everywhere they go. Even if their every smile hides a trove of secrets that Harry is determined to reveal.
But between an ancient battle for domination of the world and supernatural powers, those secrets might be more than Harry bargained for. And first, he'll have to answer the most ominous question of all: why won't they leave him alone?
!!!UPDATING NIGHTLY!!!
Words: 3894, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: One Direction (Band)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: M/M
Characters: Harry Styles, Taylor Swift, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Perrie Edwards, Nick Grimshaw, Gemma Styles, Olivia (One Direction), Simon Cowell, Jeff Azoff, Kendall Jenner, Diana (One Direction)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Taylor Swift
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Immortality, Strangers to Lovers
via AO3 works tagged 'Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson' https://ift.tt/MvZ1pns
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penmeialive · 1 year
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I am. OBSESSED. with this fic. Seriously.
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sterling-canary · 1 year
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(Image ID: a screenshot of a Google doc. The words “Whoever our ski-stealer” is visible, written in Verdana font. “Ski-stealer” highlighted in light blue and underlined by a squiggly blue line, and the correction suggestion above the word reads “skin-stealer”. End ID)
What the fuck, Google???
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socialmediasocrates · 6 months
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i love silver so much he's such peak silly little guy
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tteokdoroki · 6 months
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ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !
୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)
୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.
୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧
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you have thirty days to get married.
being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.
if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy. 
you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head. 
except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.
you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.
satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne. 
especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation. 
how ridiculous is that? 
and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for. 
it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes. 
alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.
all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).
suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too. 
if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever  quitting him.
you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it. 
the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.
perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?
why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?
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your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you. 
“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on. 
before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see. 
except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party. 
you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose. 
“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.” 
he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin. 
satoru gojo belongs on his knees. 
kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you.  mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties. 
there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress. 
instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown. 
but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !
juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark. 
“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand. 
he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…” 
you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be. 
“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin. 
the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick. 
“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull. 
the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did. 
shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.
your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time. 
he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune. 
“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess. 
he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.
but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda. 
you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time. 
dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.
“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.” 
“f-fuck you.”
“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.
his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies. 
“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality  and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt. 
nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“
you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.” 
the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible. 
like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.” 
with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé. 
yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls. 
“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.” 
satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”
“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“
you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.
but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 
“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.” 
he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth. 
“sato—!”
“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”
that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.
shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!” 
you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.
“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru. 
thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth. 
he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.” 
you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!” 
“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”
the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth. 
your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either.  his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again. 
he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with. 
it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.
“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”
the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. 
the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.
lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place. 
your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.
“so about—“
“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic. 
for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint  on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring. 
he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—
“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”
“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”
“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”
throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.” 
“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.” 
you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold. 
the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo. 
but the entire time, you never look back. 
you don’t even look at gojo — and  that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd. 
the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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boomhauer · 6 months
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Dreaming of You
Summary: Plagued by graphic dreams about the Munson boy, you decided to see if he can make them come true.
Word count: 10.3k
What to expect: Virgin!Eddie Munson. Smut/Lemon. (-18 kindly dni)
A/N: This was supposed to be something short, hot, and fun, but somehow turned into a therapy session. So this is for all my girlies who have suffered bad sex, been robbed of their O's, and made to feel like pleasing them was too much work. I’m very much a long fic kind of gal, so this is a bit of a different speed for me. Let me know if you enjoyed it!
Yes, that is a Selena song title.
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It started with a dream where Eddie The Freak Munson made an appearance. You knew who he was. Everyone did. But you never paid him more than a glance or two until your unconscious mind conjured up a peculiar image of his face buried between your legs on top of O’Donell’s desk. At first you couldn’t quite place who it was until he withdrew from you. Even in sleep, you were lucid enough to be shocked that the freak was the one to turn your legs to jelly. He interrupted your thoughts by commanding you to roll on your belly and stick your ass in the air so he could fuck you full right in the middle of the empty math classroom.
After waking up with a sticky situation to remedy, you started to pay more attention to him. Eddie Munson was no longer a loud extra in the backdrop of your day to day life.
Now that he was on your radar, you could spot him anywhere. He towered over almost everyone. Was he always so tall? And kind of built in a scrappy sort of way? You saw him without his jacket once and had the sudden urge to just run your hands up his shirt and feel his lithe abdomen. Maybe even lightly scrape your nails down it just to see the red marks left behind.
Your ogling led to the discovery that he had really nice hands. Even if they were covered with an excessive amount of silver rings that directed the reflection of sunlight from the window into your eyes if you looked his way too long. You wondered if the cheap faux silver turned his thick fingers green, but then forgot to care once you started to wonder what else those fingers could do--if the stretch of them would feel just as good as you dreamt.
You also noticed that he stuck his tongue out a lot. It was like he knew what you dreamt about and was intentionally tormenting you. When he was antagonizing Jason in the cafeteria, you nearly fainted at the sight—tongue so long it nearly reached the bottom of his chin. It didn’t take long for you to imagine yourself sitting on his face, writhing on the wet, flat muscle and thinking about how his nose would probably bump in just the right spot. How you’d love to thread your fingers through the hair at the crown of his head and--
A curiosity soon turned into an obsession. Morning, noon, and night your thoughts were flooded with the boy in the leather jacket. You couldn’t escape him even in your dreams.
You had to have him.
Many hours of the school day were dedicated to coming up with a plan on how to get his attention, but it was more difficult than you hoped. He was always surrounded by people and looked as if he were in the middle of a tirade, which judging by his outburst in the cafeteria—he probably was. Waiting for him to be isolated wasn’t yielding any results, but the thought of going up to him when he was in a group of boys who looked less than welcoming wasn’t what you wanted either.
There was a possibility that Eddie would laugh at you. Turn you into a spectacle and belittle you for asking him out. He was loud, opinionated, boisterous, and quite abrasive if the wrong person approached him. You hoped he wouldn’t do that to you, but you didn’t know him well enough to say for sure.
But then he appeared in another dream that caused a yearning so severe that you decided to risk it all.
He was easy to find in the parking lot after school. As usual, he had some of his friends orbiting around him, though it only seemed to be a few of the younger ones that looked less intimidating than his normal posse. Taking a deep breath to gather your wits, you approached Eddie Munson.
Or at least tried to. The Super senior paid you no mind as you stood beside him. He continued to address the small ring in front of him, not noticing that they were staring at you with open mouths and wide eyes instead of listening to him.
“--You can beg all you like, Wheeler, but the answer is no. Why don’t you ask your buddy ol pal Harrington to get it--what are you all looking at?” Eddie turned to follow their gaze. His face shifted from mild annoyance to confusion as he stared at you.
Losing a bit of your nerve at the way his brown eyes bore into you, you faltered. “H-hey, Eddie.”
His brow furrowed in further uncertainty. “Hi?”
You couldn’t blame him for being uneasy at your sudden attempt at contact, having ignored him for the years you’d been in school together. But it made you second guess yourself all the same. Perhaps the Eddie in your dreams should be the one you focused on.
The thought of Dream Eddie brought on a searing heat that warned your neck and face. If there was even a chance that Eddie in the real world could have the same effect on you that Dream Eddie did, you had to go for it.
Regaining your confidence, you put on a sly smile. “Are you busy tonight?”
Eddie narrowed his eyes at you and tilted his head. “Why?”
Feigning innocence, you shrugged meekly. “Why don’t you invite me over and find out.”
After a few more beats of confusion, something seemed to click in Eddie’s brain as you visibly watched his suspicion turn to understanding. He nodded and snapped his fingers before pointing it at you like a gun. “Right. Forest Hills at nine o’clock?”
All the tension you were carrying in your shoulders melted away. Smiling brightly, you agreed.
——
Nine o’clock seemed to take forever. You spent the time at home pulling out all the stops to make sure that you were ready and presentable. Using the best smelling shampoo and body wash, taking the time to contort in the tub for optimal body hair removal—no matter how much you hated shaving—teeth and tongue scraped to gleam, perfumed body lotion, the only lacy set of bra and panties you owned, and just a small amount of makeup to keep everything smooth.
It had been a while since you had sex, giving up on high school boys completely. The few experiences you had were less than satisfactory, so you decided that getting yourself off was much less of a hassle than dealing with the idiots at school.
Like many of the girls at Hawkins high, you had given your virginity to Steve Harrington. He was sweet, gentle, and took his time opening you up with his fingers before pushing in to you. It was arguably the best night of your life. An orgasm that was provided by someone other than yourself, the giggling, nose kisses, and night full of whispers made you think you were right to choose Steve for your first time. However, as soon as the sun came up, he forgot all about you and moved on to his next conquest.
Things only went downhill from there.
You could feel bile rising in your throat from remembering the way Tommy H flopped around on top of you like he was having a seizure. With all his talk about how great he was in the sack, you were severely disappointed. You couldn’t wait for it to be over with so you could go home and take care of yourself properly. Thankfully, in less than three minutes your prayer was answered.
Then there was Billy Hargrove. He knew how to use his cock, but he was a selfish lover. He didn’t take the time to make sure you were satisfied, and once he was done, that was it. You were to shut up and leave. He made you cum on occasion, but it turned into a bizarre fight because you didn’t ask his permission to do so. You weren’t desperate enough to beg for anything, and for Billy to expect you to beg him to cum when you could achieve it without him…well. Let’s just say you didn’t go back when he brought it up again.
Steve was great but used you. Tommy was terrible and had bad breath. Billy was capable of satisfying you but chose not to. You hoped Eddie would be different.
In your dreams, his attitude varied. Sometimes it was hot and rough, other times it was slow and sensual, and sometimes it was just him worshiping you with words.
As much as you wanted that to be the truth, you were afraid that Eddie in the flesh would disappoint you. Just like the others.
But you tried not to think about it. Instead, you focused on recreating the images your imagination conjured up both in sleep and waking hours. Recalling the way his lips felt on yours. The sting of your scalp when he pulled your hair. The sweet words he’d coo after he made you see stars.
The permanent ache in your belly only intensified the longer you dwelled on your past visions. Before you were even at his place your body was scorching from the inside out, cunt drenched and throbbing, and breathing erratic.
Arousal quickly faded into nervousness as you parked your car next to the familiar van, but you tried to bully it back by taking a few calming breaths before going for gold and knocking on the door.
All that could be heard from the other side was various banging and swearing before the door launched open to reveal Eddie looking quite frazzled.
He held up a few crushed beer cans in his hand and gave a weak smile. “Sorry. Was trying to clean up a bit. Maid took the week off.”
You gave him a small smile. “That’s okay. Can I come in?”
Eddie moved out of the way and bowed low at the waist. “Of course. Castle Munson is yours.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at that display as you walked past him. You’d seen him bow his head to girls at school who either ignored his existence completely or scowled at him, but to be on the receiving end of his chivalry was cute.
His castle was anything but. The trailer was small, very cluttered, and was certainly the home to chain smokers as every countertop had a full ashtray on it. Still, it was oddly comforting with the soft glow of the living room lamp, the rows and rows of mugs lining the walls and the collection of baseball caps to compliment them.
You followed him into the tiny kitchen area. “Do you live here alone?” you asked curiously, taking a closer look at the Garfield mug on the counter.
“Uh--no,” Eddie answered, stuffing his hand in the full trash can to stop the pile from overflowing. “My uncle lives here too but he works overnight at the plant.”
Your heart soared at the idea of having the place to yourself for the evening. “So no one will be home tonight?”
“Nope,” he answered, turning his attention to the fridge. “Can I get you a water? Or beer? I think I have some Kool-aid in here if you want that.”
You shook your head, forgetting he couldn’t see you with his face in the depths of the fridge. Perhaps beer would be a good idea to calm your nerves a bit, but then again, you didn’t want to have horrid breath for this.
“No. I’m okay, thanks.”
“Right,” Eddie mumbled. He withdrew from the fridge and clapped his hands together. “So. What can I get you? I’m out of shrooms, but I have a couple of tabs and some weed.”
“Huh?” you questioned, staring at him with confusion.
Eddie looked equally unsure. “That’s what you’re here for, right? Weed?”
You clenched your eyes shut when you realized what he meant. He didn’t exactly pick up what you were putting down earlier.
Maybe it would be better to accept a beer and a joint. Perhaps get to know him better before pouncing on him like a lioness in heat. But the yearning in the core of your belly wasn’t willing to wait.
“Um, no,” you answered awkwardly. You let out a sharp exhale before looking at him again. “I’m here for you.”
He raised his brows. “Me?”
Was there a way to convey this without sounding like a whore? How were you supposed to tell him you wanted to fuck when clearly the thought never crossed his mind?
You supposed you could show him. You took a few steps to close the distance between you, inhaling the scent of him. True, the smell of cigarettes and weed clung to him, but so did the aroma of Old Spice, cologne, and something you could only describe as man. And boy was it intoxicating in the most alluring way to breathe in.
You placed your hands on his leather clad biceps--which were almost heaven to finally touch after weeks of staring--and stood atop the tips of your toes to whisper in his ear. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Grabbing you by the elbows, he gently pushed you back far enough to be able to look at you.
“Hey, if you don’t have any money, it’s fine. I can just smoke you out,” he frowned. “You don’t have to do any of that.”
No wonder it took him three tries to pass senior year. The guy was really dense. What was it going to take for him to realize you were here to get your back blown out?
Huffing with mild irritation, you leaned away from him and seized the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it carelessly elsewhere.
Eddie’s brown eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as they stared at your lace covered tits. If you weren’t so turned on, you would have laughed at the way his mouth hung open--face frozen in shock. It didn’t even look like he was blinking. Or even breathing for that matter.
“I told you. I came here for you.”
Taking his stunned silence as an opportunity, you crowded his space once again and finally got to live out one of your fantasies: pushing your hands beneath his shirt and feeling the muscles of his abdomen. There were some there, but there was also a little bit of pudge too right at his navel. Lightly gliding your hands upward towards his chest, you leaned to place a small kiss on the side of his throat.
“I’ve had dreams about you,” you said in the best seductive tone you could muster, placing another kiss just a few inches higher on his neck.
His Adam's apple bobbed beneath your lips. “Hua-uhh,” Eddie stammered. “What kind of dreams?”
You smiled to yourself at the crack in his voice. “Oh, I think you know what kind.” You pressed your body flush against his, relishing in the warmth of him and internally cheering at the stiff bulge pressed against your stomach.
Eddie chuckled nervously, his voice much higher than before. “Y-yeah I think I have an idea. Wha--” he cleared his throat in an effort to return his tone to a normal octave. “What happens in them?”
You slid your hands towards his belt loops, hooking your fingers in them and steering him the short way to the couch as you answered. “Which one do you wanna know about? There’s been quite a few. I could tell you about them or—“ you gently pushed off Eddie’s leather jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall before nudging him down onto the lumpy couch. “—I could show you.”
All the air in Eddie’s lungs came out in a huff when he collapsed onto the sofa. Wide eyed he asked, “Is this—is this really happening?”
Taking your time to settle on your knees between his legs, you outlined the tattoo on his forearm, having never noticed it there before. Eddie Munson just became ten times hotter.
“Really happening,” you smirked.
Eddie was nearly panting through his wide open mouth as he watched you undo his belt, button and zipper. The quiet gasps of “h-oh shit” that escaped him only made your confidence grow.
“Cute,” you teased, snapping the elastic waistband of his navy bullfrog boxers.
He may have said something about how they were his lucky pair, but you weren’t listening. The anatomy beneath them was what you were here for, and you couldn’t wait to see it. Wasting not another second, you instructed Eddie to lift his hips and yanked the heavy black denim and boxers to his knees.
Cock slapping against his belly, sticky drops dribbled from the head. Your mouth watered at the sight of it twitching against him in anticipation. It was all you could have hoped for. Thick, long, curved just a little to the right, and with a glistening pink tip—Eddie’s cock was gorgeous.
“Good for you, Munson,” you praised mischievously. It took no time wrapping your hand around the length of him. Heavy, silky smooth, and hot, you gave into the urge and licked a pressured stripe on the underside of his shaft, tracing the protruding vein.
The strangled chortle that emitted from the back of Eddie’s throat only fueled your desire. You could feel your own arousal pooling, more than likely already seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear with how worked up you made yourself earlier. Lifting yourself higher on your knees, you licked the slick slit and relished the salty taste of him before enveloping the entirety of the head with your lips.
Maybe it was weird to be so turned on when giving a blowjob—other girls talked about it like it was a chore and you hated having to do it to Billy. But feeling Eddie’s hairy thighs tremble under your palms, seeing his chest heave as breathy whimpers escaped him, watching his mouth hang open in disbelief with his cheeks sporting a ruddy complexion was enough to make your cunt throb.
Hollowing your cheeks, you lowered your mouth as far as you could without gagging, and pulled back up again to swirl your tongue around the mushroom tip with your fist following close behind.
Eddie huffed and puffed, trying to stutter out half syllables as he writhed in your grasp. Unsure of what to do with his hands, his fingers flexed against the cushions beneath them. He struggled to keep his eyes open—dark lashes fluttering against his pink cheeks with every stroke.
God he was beautiful like this. Why you never thought of him before was a true mystery. Lips pink and plump, strong nose, and eyelashes so long you’d kill for them. Now that you’d seen him blissed out from something you were doing for him—to him—you couldn’t imagine ever going back to ignoring him.
Drunk from the power you clearly had over him and determined to make a lasting impression so this could happen again, you bobbed your head lower and lower, relishing in the smooth glide of his cock against your tongue, opening the back of your throat to accommodate him until you were close enough to bury your nose against the thick dark curls at the base of him.
But Eddie was finally able to gasp out a single word. “S-Stop!”
All the confidence drained from you when you peered at him through your lashes. Eddie panted heavily with his brown eyes wide and glossy, looking as if her were about to cry.
Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you frowned with his dick twitching against your chin. “Is it not good—?”
He quickly shook his head. “Too good. So good I’m gonna bust in two seconds if you don’t slow down,” he answered breathlessly. “Or if you keep looking at me like that. Jesus Christ.”
Your frown deepened at his words. Too busy worrying about your pleasure from devouring him, you didn’t give much thought about what he wanted from this, thinking getting blown was reward enough in itself.
Embarrassed by your selfishness, you decided to make it right.
Ignoring the popping in your knees, you lifted yourself from the carpet to straddle Eddie’s lap, taking extra care to press your clothed core right against his aching cock.
Up close like this you were able to admire his features. Trace his bottom lip with your thumb, the curve of his scratchy jaw. Memorize the pattern of light freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. You outlined that too with the pass of your fingertips, along with the ridge of his deep set Cupid’s bow.
“Sorry,” you said softly, gently swiping the curtain of black bangs to expose his pale forehead.
Eddie blinked. “Huh?”
“For being greedy,” you answered simply.
He chuckled weakly. The corner of his lip ticked in a sideways grin, allowing for a dimple to dent his cheek as you caressed it. “Promise it’s alright, Sweetheart. Just want it to last longer than ten seconds.”
You slowly rocked your hips, letting the sopping cotton of your underwear drag against the hard length pressing so deliciously against you. A sigh rushed out of his parted lips when you moved his hands from the couch cushions and slid them up your body until they rested against the curve of your lace covered breasts.
The audible gulp emitting from his throat made you giggle, but it quickly faded into silence when he kept his hands still. No kneading, squeezing, or massaging. You ceased the roll of your hips.
“You can touch me if you want,” you offered.
Eddie stared at his unmoving hands and licked his lips before his eyes flickered up to yours. “Can I kiss you?”
It was your turn to gape at him. It hadn’t occurred to you that you hadn’t even kissed him during your lust fueled frenzy. Granting permission with a wordless nod of your head, letting him initiate just as he asked.
From your observations of Eddie over the last few weeks, timid is not the word you would use to describe him. However, as his lips gently pressed against yours, that’s all you could think of.
The kiss wasn’t bad, it was just…slow. Gentle. Timid. He made no effort to deepen it--deciding that a few chicken pecks were satisfactory. Eddie also kept his hands frozen on your chest, much to your displeasure.
Trying to relay the urgency of your desire, you took over. Crashing your lips against his, you tried to set the pace. But Eddie couldn’t keep up. He was clumsy, had a little too much spit, and nearly jumped out of his skin when you slid the tip of your tongue against his.
Frustrated, you pulled away from him.
“Are you okay?” you snapped.
Eddie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
You didn’t want to crush his spirit and say it was disappointing, but you also wanted more. “You’re just--you’re acting like you’ve never done this before.”
His cheeks deepened into a harsh maroon. “I haven’t.”
Your hands dropped from his face as you stared at him incredulously. “Haven’t what?”
“This!” Eddie shrieked with frustration. He removed his hands from your tits to pull his boxers over his exposed dick. “I haven’t had a chick dream about me! Or storm into my house with her tits out! Or blow me! Or even--”
The realization hit you like a bag of bricks. Shocked, you blurted, “Oh, my god. You’re a virgin.”
Eddie seized his speech mid rant--mouth snapping shut like a gator’s.
This couldn’t be. Eddie? Eddie Munson? He’d been in high school forever and he never had a girlfriend? Not once? The guy who was like nineteen or twenty? Old enough to go to bars and clubs and--didn’t he play in a band? No girls hung around after the show to try and sleep with the band? Especially now that you’ve seen what he was hiding in those tight black jeans of his.
“How?” you gasped, completely by accident.
Frustrated and embarrassed, Eddie snapped. “It just never happened, okay? No one wants to fuck the freak! Except you, I guess,” he added hastily. “But I think I just ruined that.”
True, you never saw a girl hanging around Eddie at school, but you thought it was just because he was into girls outside of the high school scope. His own age, from bars, from people he knew from earlier years at Hawkins High. With how Eddie carried himself--so sure and in your face--the thought didn’t occur to you that he’d never done anything before.
Your shoulders sagged as the full weight of disappointment sank in. If Eddie was a virgin, he wouldn’t have any idea on how to give you what you wanted. Weeks of dreaming about him were just that--The opposite of reality. Fantasies. Falsehood. The type of rush and satisfaction you got from your dreams would not be received here today, and that was almost devastating. Despite his ignorance of the female body, he probably didn’t want you--someone who barely spoke to him before today--to be the one to champion his first time.
You also felt stupid. So fucking stupid for having built up this guy in your head, only to be so very wrong about him. For as big and bad as Eddie Munson tried to make himself, he was currently the epitome of one of Madonna’s greatest hits.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie grumbled bitterly. “Trust me, no one is more disappointed than I am about it.”
Swallowing harshly, you nodded and tried to smile the ache away. “It’s okay. I’m just surprised. But um--I should probably get going--”
Eddie’s face fell into panic. “No!” he shouted loudly, making you jump at the volume. “I mean--you don’t have to go. We can still do whatever you want. If you want.”
Did you still want to? There was the matter of the soreness in your belly that would only get worse the longer you were left unsatisfied, but you didn’t really have the patience for Eddie to try and figure out how to touch you.
You tried to play it off politely. “Don’t you want your first time to be with someone you care about? I wouldn’t want to take that from--”
“Take it!” Eddie interrupted. “Swear, you’ll be making both of our dreams come true.”
It was difficult to argue with that. You were already here with nothing else to do. And after the hell you went through to make yourself presentable for him? You deserved at least something. The image you curated of him was already shattered to bits. Could any further harm be done at this point?
Eddie took the silence of your deliberation as an opportunity to plead his case. Sliding his large hands up your back, he leaned forward to plant a kiss on your collarbone.
“You could teach me,” he said softly before moving his mouth to attend to the curve of your breast. “Show me what you like.”
Now there was an idea. None of the guys you had been with before were virgins, but they also weren’t very knowledgeable on what it took to please you. With Eddie not having any prior experience, it would be easier to get him to do what you needed so you could both enjoy it, instead of him getting off and you having to take care of yourself after anyway.
Twisting your arm behind your back, you unhooked your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders. “Only if you promise not to use what I show you on anyone else.”
Eddie licked his lips as he watched the lace drop to fully reveal your breasts. “Wouldn’t dare.” Tentatively, as if he was scared to move too fast, Eddie cupped the soft flesh and lifted.
“They’re heavy,” he said with surprise.
You chuckled. “They can be.” Placing your hands over his, you guided him where you wanted him, and told him to squeeze.
“That doesn’t hurt?” he asked curiously.
You shook your head. “You’re not gonna hurt me, Eddie. Just…do what you want, and I’ll let you know if I don’t like it.”
“What if you do like it?”
Your patience was already thinning. “You’ll know.”
There it was again. That tantalizing tongue of his poking out of the side of his mouth as he finally gave in.
Gripping his shoulders for stability, your eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of him kneading your chest. Experimenting with pressure, noting that your breath hitched when he held you a little firmer—the way your head tilted back when he brushed his palms over the pebbled flesh of your nipples. His hands felt just as good as you hoped they would. Maybe even better, as they were rougher than you imagined. The harsh texture in contrast to your smooth skin fueled the fire brewing between your legs. The contented sigh that fell from your parted lips when he rolled them between his fingers. Pinching, tugging, sometimes too hard but he paid attention to your direction, never making the same mistake twice.
When his mouth enveloped the hardened nub, you felt all the breath leave your lungs in a rapid huff as you lurched forward involuntarily from the pulse of pleasure coursing through you.
No one had done that to you before. The most attention your boobs ever got was clumsy groping and a sloppy wet kiss to the tops. Never had anyone swirled their tongue over your nipples, and suddenly you felt very cheated.
“Keep doing that,” you breathed, finally living out another fantasy of threading your finger through his hair at the base of his neck to hold him close. It was softer than it looked--thicker and lush. You wondered what it would feel like tickling the inside of your thighs.
Eddie changed course, going from languid swirls to quick flicks that sent jolts of need through your body. Your hips started to rock on their own accord, gliding your sopping cunt over his cock.
Eddie groaned loudly—the vibrations making you whimper. He dropped his hands from your breasts, ignoring the meek whine of protest from you at the loss of contact, and instead focused on gripping the bare fat of your ass beneath your skirt to move you how he wanted—pulled down flush against him and faster. Your hips sped up to meet his pace, relishing in the way the head of his cock bumped your clit with each pass.
He pulled off of your breast with your nipple gently clenched between his teeth, releasing it with a primal growl. You hoped he would show the same attention to the other side, but instead he directed his mouth to the column of your throat--sucking lightly, nipping and licking his way around.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “Makin such pretty noises for me.”
“Y-you can only leave marks--” you began breathlessly, interrupted by a mouth escaping your lips at the feel of him finding that sweet spot at the juncture of your neck. “--if I can mark you.”
Eddie’s response was indecipherable between the grunt that emitted from him, the way his lips latched onto the soft skin of your neck, and whatever he was trying to mumble. The sting of the suction on your throat paired with the vibrations of his failed attempt at speech was becoming too much.
“You’re soaking me, baby,” he moaned. “Feels so fucking good.”
Grip tightening on your ass, his hips bucked into you, causing shockwaves to roll through the tendrils of your nerves. Finally, the ache you’d been suffering from for weeks was going to be cured. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to subsiding the dull burn in the pit of your stomach with each rhythmic roll of your hips against his. Abdominal muscles fluttering, hole clenching around nothing, blood like molten lava through your veins, moaning and panting with abandon--If he felt this good without even being inside you, you couldn’t wait to find out what like it felt like to be filled with him.
You could just reach down, yank your ruined underwear to the side and slide down the length of him, but you couldn’t stop your movements long enough to do so. You were climbing to your peak and fast.
But Eddie beat you to it. As soon as you opened your mouth to tell him you were on the precipice of seeing stars, Eddie gave one--two more rough thrusts as he let out an animalistic growl in the crook of your neck.
Panic set in. “No. No!” you whined to yourself, trying not to lose impending orgasm by continuing to ride him relentlessly, but it was too late. The tingle had already faded too far to get back without having to start all over.
Disappointed, you closed your eyes to prevent tears of frustration from falling and laid your head atop his in defeat.
Eddie didn’t move from your neck. “Goddamn it! I’m sorry,” he panted. “I’m so fucking sorry. You just--it felt so good and I--fuck!”
“It’s okay,” you replied flatly. If you weren’t mere seconds from cumming your brains out, it would have been hot. Getting him so worked up that he couldn’t control himself? Cumming in his frog underwear while he clutched onto for dear life? Literally the subject of your dreams. But with how sore your gut was getting, it was almost cruel to have lost your well earned orgasm so close to the finish line.
Eddie pulled away from you, looking quite dejected with bits of your hair stuck to his wet lips. “It’s not,” he said breathlessly. “Let me make it up to you. Please? I can still make you feel good. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.”
He looked so pitiful. Big brown eyes shining at you. Lips pouty. Chest heaving as he pleaded for another chance.
How could you say no to that face? To the offer, really. None of the others would have ever cared that you didn’t get yours, if they even noticed at all.
“Okay,” you answered with a nod. “But, can we go to your room?”
“Yes!” Eddie exclaimed with relief. “Yeah. Uh, let me just--give me a few minutes to clean it up a little.”
You untangled yourself from him and stood to your feet, embarrassed by the stickiness of your thighs. You’d never gotten that wet before, not even by yourself.
“Holy shit!” Eddie laughed, staring at his lap.
You were instantly mortified by the sight. Eddie wasn’t joking--you did soak him. Between your fluids and his, the navy blue boxers were saturated.
Panic fluttered in your chest. He probably thought it was gross. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--”
“Sorry?” Eddie repeated. “Sorry for what? This is--this is fucking hot. I mean, not mine so much, but holy shit.”
You stared at him in disbelief. Eddie was downright…beaming. Eyes kissing in the corners from how large his toothy grin was as he admired your joint handiwork. “You don’t think it’s gross?”
Eddie wiggled his brows. “Lucky boxers just got luckier.”
Huh. That was new too. Mostly that aspect of your body was treated as something to be ashamed of.
“Your room?” you prodded gently.
“Oh! Right.” Eddie pulled his jeans up from his thighs before standing, holding them up to his hips in lieu of buckling them. “Don’t leave!” he shouted as he sprinted down the short hallway.
You chuckled to yourself as he disappeared from sight. Who would have thought Eddie Munson was so…dorky? The image he projected at school and the one you conjured in your head weren’t him at all--Brash, tough, something to be feared or avoided, possibly demented. What a crock. He was goofy. Maybe even sweet. And certainly easier on the eyes than you gave him credit for.
You took the opportunity to find your shirt from the living room floor and try to locate your bra that you threw from the kitchen while Eddie did…whatever he was doing in there. More various banging and swearing emitted from the depths of the hallway that made it sound like he was trying to tear the place down instead of clean it up.
At a closer look of the walls within the Munson home, more than hats and mugs stood out to you. A couple of photos bleached by the sun were tacked to the sheet rock. One showed a large older woman with glasses the size of the moon atop her nose sitting at a wooden table with a handful of cards, a cigarette burning between her fingers, and an expression that you’d bet your life was caused by a winning hand at whatever game she was playing. Another with two little boys in matching coveralls outside a wired fence, both grimacing and squinting to protect themselves from the bright light of the sun. The one next to it was of a girl—who couldn't be older than seventeen—holding a baby with a head full of wild curls, bright wide eyes, grinning proudly to show the two tiny teeth cutting above his gums.
“I know that face,” you grinned, flattening the curled photo against the wall for a better look.
Eddie poked his head through the doorframe. “Did you say something?”
You tapped the picture and took great joy in watching his cheeks pinken at the realization of what you were looking at.
“So you were always cute,” you replied happily.
The color of Eddie’s face rivaled that of a tomato. Watching him become flustered was probably your new favorite thing to do to him. Mean and scary Munson blushing and curling inwards at a compliment? Interesting, indeed.
He cleared his throat and pointed his thumb towards his room. “Do you wanna—?”
Absolutely you did. You followed him with a nod into the small bedroom and took it all in. This was certainly what you expected his room to look like, though if this was the clean version you wondered what it looked like a few minutes ago. He did make the bed at least. Posters and drawings that looked like they were cataloged straight from hell lined the walls. Monsters, demons, skeletons, witches—some printed, painted, and hand drawn. The dresser and desk were covered with stuff. Tools, magazines, ashtrays, were those bullet shells? And a light blue box of condoms topped with a thin layer of dust.
You inspected the obviously unopened box and held back giggles. “Don’t Think we should use these. They expired in September of 1982.”
Horrified, Eddie snatched the package from your hand and stammered, “My uncle—when I started high school.” He gulped, comically tossing the offending material over his shoulder into the abyss. “He thinks he’s funny.”
His attention immediately went to your still bare chest, eyes boring into it like he could see the future through your tits. Suddenly feeling quite awkward and self conscious, you crossed your arms to hide yourself from him, unsure of what to do next.
“You’re pretty overdressed,” you pointed out. While you were only down to stringy lace underwear and a black skirt, Eddie wasn’t missing any clothing.
Breaking from his trance, Eddie scrambled fast as lightning to pull his shirt over his head, accidentally snagging a fistful of his hair along with it causing him to hiss. It was so difficult not to laugh, watching him scamper to free himself of his jeans, but when he stood to his full height in nothing but his ruined boxer shorts, you took a step closer to admire his body.
He was certainly taller than you—your eyes only meeting the middle of his tattooed chest. There was more ink there too. A horrible looking skull. A spider. A dagger with some sort of weird writing on it. But it was all so fitting of him. The black dye complimented his alabaster skin nicely.
As did the shadow of muscles on his abdomen. He was a lot more built than you thought he was under those layers of leather and denim. He wasn’t big enough for the football team, but he would probably do well in soccer with those long legs of his.
Toying with the guitar pick that dangled from his necklace, you looked up at him from your lashes. “You should probably kiss me.”
Eddie swallowed hard at the suggestion, making you grin a little at how nervous he still seemed to be despite being in nothing but his underwear.
But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. The way his big brown eyes were raking over you, like he could see through your very soul, made you shrink a little under the strength of his gaze. But he had a sweet smile stretched across his lips--the kind that let his dimples dent his cheeks.
“You really are good lookin’,” you blurted.
Eddie chuckled softly, gently moving the loose strands of hair out of your face with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous.” He moved his hand to caress your cheek, the other delicately tracing up the back of your arms with only the pads of your fingertips, sending shivers down your spine at the featherlight touch.
This kind of attention was something new. Something you hadn’t experienced before except for maybe with Steve, but the betrayal you felt after he ignored you once he got what he wanted left you bitter. Other experiences weren’t as…intimate. Gentle. Soothing, even. And you felt a tad bit guilty for coming on to Eddie so strongly, knowing full well what it was like to only be used for your body.
This was his first time doing anything ever with a girl. And while yes, you were desperate to get some sort of relief from the horrible tension in your stomach, you were enjoying Eddie’s sincerity. That’s what it had to be, right? He wasn’t like Steve with an ulterior motive--Eddie knew he was going to have you. And he decided to be sweet anyway.
You took the opportunity to wrap your arms around his slim waist, holding him close in a tight hug. He was so warm. Radiating heat that you gladly absorbed, taking in a breath as you pressed your cheek against his sternum. “You’re not what I thought you’d be like,” you admitted shamelessly.
Eddie returned the gesture, pressing your bare chest into his as close as he could--scratchy palms sliding up and down your back--occasionally clutching the soft curves. “And what’s that? Mean and scary?”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach that came to life when he kissed the crown of your head. “I’d thought you’d be…rough. Maybe a little mean. Domineering.”
With your face buried in his torso, you didn’t see Eddie frown or furrow his brows. “Is that what you like?”
You took some time to think before answering. “I don’t know what I like, Eddie. No one’s ever asked,” you sighed. And it was true. With your limited encounters, you didn’t have good concrete data on what did it for you. Billy was what you accused Eddie of being, and you could count on one hand the amount of times you actually enjoyed yourself, only to be reprimanded for it later.
Eddie’s grip tightened, and he peppered a few more kisses atop your head, temples, and the edge of your hairline. Each one making your heart flutter faster and the heat in your cheeks rise. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I know what I liked in my dreams,” you added thoughtfully. “We could always give it a shot. If you want to, I mean.”
Eddie pulled away just enough to lock eyes with you--tilting your head up further with the knuckle of his index finger. “I’d sure as shit love to, but you gotta know, I’m not him. Whoever you’ve been dreaming about. I mean, I already disappointed you with being--you know.” Eddie gulped, lightly nibbling at the edge of his bottom lip.
You placed a quick peck onto the corner of his mouth, and another on the other side. “I know. You don’t have to be anyone or anything. Just you. I’m sorry if I’ve made you think otherwise.”
Eddie nodded, the edge of his lip ticking up into a fragment of a smile. “Still want me then? I’ll still die a very happy man if you change your mind.”
“Oh, I still want you, Eddie Munson,” you chuckled heartily.
“Well then,” Eddie grinned, removing your hands from behind his back and bringing your knuckles to his lips for a quick kiss. “You shall have me.”
You couldn’t stop giggling. Giggling for god’s sake. It was so cheesy. Such a bad line. If anyone else had said it, you probably would have snorted and rolled your eyes. But Eddie? Something about him made it work--the way his eyes practically sparkled or the fact that he just kissed the tops of your hands like some Victorian Royal. Why hadn’t you paid any attention to him before? You could almost kick yourself for believing what everyone else said about him instead of finding out for yourself. But you were here now, and didn’t want to waste anymore time. You wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing his face down to be able to catch him in a kiss.
This time was better. Instead of rushing him, you let him set the pace--take the lead--let him be the one to decide if and when he wanted to deepen the kiss. You followed his movements, moving with him and trying to give pointers with your own body language when things got a little…lost. The longer it went, the more his confidence grew. Languid licks into your mouth turned into more adventurous tugging at your bottom lip. And before long, you were on the bed with Eddie hovering over you--skirt and underwear cast aside somewhere in the chaos of his room.
Body practically searing, you held your breath as Eddie traced his fingertips over the soft expanse of your belly. Normally self consciousness of how you looked would cloud your mind with doubt—stretch marks, the size and shape of your abdomen—but with how Eddie gazed at you with a slack jaw and brown eyes almost pleading, you forgot to think too much about it.
“Can I touch you?” he asked carefully, rubbing his large palm against your stomach.
Though you were glad Eddie cared enough to ask permission, you were becoming increasingly impatient as lust clouded your mind. “I might kill you if you don’t,” you answered with a huff.
Eddie licked his lips and spared a glance between your legs. You let your knee drop further, inviting him to explore. He slid his palm down to slide his fingers along your sticky slit. A sigh of relief rushed from your lips at the contact, and your hips instinctively followed his fingers for more.
His eyes clenched shut as he groaned through parted lips. “Oh, fuck. You’re so wet.”
“It’s cause of you,” you praised, threading your fingers in his hair and holding his forehead to yours once again. “You did this to me.”
Eddie audibly gulped, unable to both carry on a conversation and focus on his fingers at the same time. He was being too delicate for your liking, barely able to feel the brush of his fingertips. Desperate to help, you put your hand over his, showing him how you wanted to be touched.
“Like this,” you said, adding more pressure against his middle finger as he traced the path from your entrance to your clit, breath hitching at the tingling sensation when he reached it.
“And just--” your pressed his fingers harder against you, showing him just how you liked to be rubbed. You tried to tell him he could switch it up between small circles or figure eights, but the only thing that came out of you were little squeaks of appreciation. The callus of his fingertips against the delicate flesh there was hypnotizing to say the least.
“That’s good?” he questioned with a furrowed brow.
The circular ministrations he applied to your clit kept you from doing anything other than nod dumbly. But that seemed to be acceptable to Eddie, whose lips twisted into a lopsided grin.
You moved your grasp from his hand to find purchase on his forearm instead. His half lidded eyes stayed focused on yours. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he admitted.
You wanted to tell him you were getting a hell of a lot out of it too, but again, words failed you. Instead, you settled for a breathy “Mhm” and let yourself get lost in his touch.
Within a few minutes, Eddie got more spontaneous. He moved his attention back down to your hole, keeping the heel of his palm right where you wanted. You were surprised when he teased your entrance with his finger without being prompted, but enjoyed the attention nonetheless. When you answered his raised brow with a nod, the delightful stretching around his thick finger paired with the friction on your sensitive button was nothing short of relief. You greedily took what he gave you, rocking your hips steadily to set the pace you wanted from him, and he happily obliged. Swiftly gliding his finger in and out with calculated compression against your clit.
“Yes,” you cooed with a heaving chest. “Jus-just like that.”
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned, hot breath fanning against your face. “Fucking yourself on my fingers. Jesus Christ.”
He never took his eyes away from yours. You wanted so desperately to kiss him, but somehow this was far more intimate. Noses nudging against each other, lips barely brushing to breath in every whine he coaxed out of you. He was so gorgeous like this. Brown eyes dark and hazy, pouty lips open in a silent ‘O’ as his brow furrowed in concentration. He made pretty noises too, panting and groaning along with you like it felt just as good to him.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Eddie,” you whimpered, grip tightening on his forearm. “Eddie, I need you.”
“‘M right here.”
Shaking your head, you moved your grasp from his arm to his cock. “Need you. Inside.”
All of his movements ceased. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Really? Like now?”
“Yes, now!” you whined.
“Right! Sorry! Just can’t--really can’t believe this is about to happen,” he babbled. He made quick work of getting rid of his boxers before adjusting himself properly. He was heavy, but in a way that brought you comfort as he draped his body over yours and caged your head between his forearms. Both breathing heavily from exhilaration, you took a second to revel in the moment.
“Holy shit!” he laughed.
Brushing the long waves behind his ear, you nodded and leaned up just enough to press a tender kiss to his plump lips.
Eddie couldn’t contain his excitement. He moved from your lips, you kissing all over your face before settling for sloppy opened mouth kisses dotting a path from your collarbone up to that mind numbing spot at the juncture of your neck. As soon as his teeth scraped against it, you squeezed his hips with your knees, the craving for him only intensifying. The feel of his breath on your neck, hair tickling your chin and cheek, the weight of his chest pressing against yours was all too dizzying.
“Need you,” you whimpered against his cheek. You dipped your hand between your bodies to grab his length and poise it at your entrance.
Eddie groaned at the desperation in your demand. Sliding the head of his cock between your drenched folds, the torture of him being so close was getting to be too much. Your body jolted with every bump of his cock against your swollen bud. You were getting impatient, and needed him to be inside already.
“Eddie, please,” you begged.
Breathing raggedly, Eddie obliged. He pushed himself in with you guiding him, emitting a groan of satisfaction that rumbled from the depths of his chest. Yours was just as loud as you felt him slide into you, walls stretching with that delicious bite to consume him completely.
As soon as he reached his end, a simultaneous breath of relief flowed between both of you. It was almost intoxicating being so full of him. It didn’t seem like you could feel anything else but him, both inside and out, and you were deliriously addicted to it. You tangled your fingers into the curls of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked him down to meet your lips and a hungry kiss. You wanted him to understand just how much you wanted him. Greedy, sloppy, and feverish—you put all your unbridled desire into curling your tongue around his, roughly nipping his bottom lip.
Breathing heavily, Eddie pulled away. “It’s okay?”
You nodded vigorously, almost begging him with the look in your eye to please give you what you wanted. “You can move.”
Inching back, the slow drag of his cock between your tight walls was enough to arch your back, already missing the feel of engulfing him completely. But when he snapped his hips forward in a powerful thrust, you couldn’t help the wanton moan that escaped your lips.
“Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
You hummed in response, unable to formulate more of a reply than that. Even if he didn’t know what he was doing yet, being stuffed full of him was already a relief of its own.
He experimented with pace and tempo. It took some time for him to find a rhythm that was to your liking. You didn’t want to be too bossy or demanding, so you kept your queues limited to directing his hips with your hands—subtly maneuvering him until you found just the right motion that made your head flop back onto the pillows. It was his first time after all, and you didn’t want him to lose confidence with constant redirection.
“There!” you gasped once he found the spot you could never reach on your own. “Right there, baby.”
“Yeah?” Eddie grunted back. His hips rutted into yours in a steady, fast paced rhythm that kept you bucking into him for more. It was too good to not keep chasing the sensation of him gliding into you with each forceful pump of his cock.
Whatever he was hitting seemed to also be the off switch to your brain. All thoughts were erased from your mind in an instant, only leaving behind an instinctual need for more.
“Yeah,” you repeated, no longer in control of the words falling from your lips. “Yes. Yes!”
He dropped his chest down further, sweat slicked skin sliding against yours as he devoured your breathy moans in a heated kiss. You practically shouted at the new pressure of his pelvis grinding against your clit. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and locked your ankles together to keep him right where you wanted.
“So fucking perfect,” he said thrkigh gritted teeth. “Look so pretty taking my cock.”
Normally dirty talk would have been another eyeroll and possibly get rid of any sexual desire you had. But it was another thing Eddie would get away with. It could be because of how grateful he looked when he said it, or because he felt so good inside you that you couldn’t care less what came out of his mouth so long as he kept his hips moving.
You couldn’t get enough of him—wanting to feel every inch he had to offer. You held him close, letting your hands roam around the expanse of his back. Feeling every ripple his muscles that appeared with each contraction of his torso. The ridges of his ribs. The dent of the dimples on his lower back. The soft fat of his cute little ass that you pressed harder against you to get him as deep as you could.
And there it was. The perfect combination of pressure, speed, and depth.
“Eddie,” you gasped against him. “Eddie, don’t stop,” you pleaded breathlessly. “God, don’t stop.”
He drove into you harder, rewarded with the deafening sound of the headboard clashing against the wall. It was all getting to be too much for Eddie. The squealing of the old mattress springs, your cries of pleasure and death grip your hot, slick walls had on his cock, the bounce of your tits slapping against his chest all were causing his abdomen to contract in a way that could only mean one thing.
“I’m close,” he warned loudly, hips faltering a little.
Instinctively, your legs clenched tighter around him. You didn’t want to lose it. Not again. Not knowing it would just leave you frustrated and sore. “I’m almost there,” you announced. You weren’t far off, but not quite there yet. “Just a little bit more, baby, please.”
Eddie gritted his teeth and willed himself to hold it, losing both the battle and his mind with each high pitched mewl that escaped the back of your throat, each plea to not stop as you hurdled toward your release.
The hair on your arms started to stand on edge as the tingling goosebumps erupted across your naked skin. As soon as the tight coil in the pit of your belly ruptured, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, you lost your vision. Did you black out? You couldn’t say. The only thing you could hear was the roar of blood coursing through your ears. The only sensation you could identify as you convulsed around Eddie was the tingling that radiated through every nerve you possessed. The only word you could pronounce between wails and blissful sobs was “Eddie!”
Finally. After weeks of dreaming, you had Eddie Munson. After a year or so of solo ventures, you had an orgasm that wasn’t by your own hand. After years of bad to mediocre sex, you had the best climax of your life. At fucking last.
When your body went completely boneless and released Eddie from the vice grip your legs had on him, he abandoned his post and collapsed next to you in a breathless, wheezing heap.
You found Eddie’s sweaty hand and laid yours atop it. He flipped it over and interlaced his fingers with yours, clutching tightly. A nonverbal way to say “I’m still here.”
Minutes ticked by as you tried to float back into your body. Eddie’s popcorn ceiling was all you could focus on while your heart stopped pulsing so hard against your face to where you could physically see the rapid beating. And when your lungs stopped screaming for air, you turned your head to see Eddie still struggling to breathe.
“Shit, I gotta quit smoking,” Eddie wheezed.
You giggled and watched as he placed sloppy kiss on the back of your hand. “Glad you think that’s funny,” he jested.
“Want me to get you some water?” You offered, trying to supress your giggles at his red and sweaty face.
He shook his head. “I’ll get us both some in a second.”
You pushed yourself up on your elbow, your hand still tangled with his, and placed your chin on his chest. “Did you cum?”
“Oh hell yeah!” Eddie answered eagerly. “Hard not to when there’s a hot chick screaming my name.”
You hid your face by burying it in his chest, concerned about what you said and how you sounded.
As if he could hear your thoughts, Eddie tapped the top of your head until you reluctantly looked at him. “So fucking hot. Wouldn’t change a thing. C’mere.”
You obliged, crawling up Eddie’s chest and meeting him in a smooch. A quick peck turned into two. Into three. Into one long kiss that stole what little breath you regained.
A sudden sense of dread settled in your stomach when you watched the way Eddie’s eyes raked over you. You could clearly see adoration. Appreciation. Glee. And while the look on his face should have brought you comfort and ease, anxiety took hold. Steve looked at you the same way, and that was a ruse. What if this turned out to be the same? Eddie could easily kick you to the curb now that he got what he wanted. It’s what all men did, isn’t it?
Nervously, you began to fiddle with one of the rings on his fingers. “You know, there’s one part of my dreams that I hope comes true.”
Eddie raised his brow. “Do tell.”
“You don’t forget me in the morning.”
Eddie snorted. “Sweetheart, I’m never going to forget you. Even when I’m old and in the corner of some nursing home, I’ll always remember this night.”
“That’s not what I mean, Eddie,” you said sadly. “I don’t want you to act like this never happened or ignore me.”
Eddie’s smile slid from his face, an expression of concern replacing it. “I’m not gonna do that. I’d invite you to spend the night—shit, the whole damn weekend—but I didn’t wanna scare you. Come off creepy or whatever.”
Your abdomen felt lighter. “You mean it?”
He kissed your forehead with a wet, loud smack. “I should have told you—when I said you have me, I meant it. I am your ever faithful, humble servant.”
Those damn giggles returned. “Then I suppose I’ll keep you, so long as you’ll have me.”
The rest of the night was better than you could have ever imagined. After a shower that left you covering in half a dozen hickies or more, You both talked about everything that came to mind, often getting sidetracked and falling down other rabbit holes of stories before looping back to the initial thought that started it all. Eddie let you see some of the most vulnerable parts of himself, and in turn, you showed him those parts of you. Before you knew it, the front door of the trailer slammed shut, announcing the arrival of the eldest Munson.
Eddie grabbed his alarm clock and showed you the angry red numbers.
You gasped at the time. “Six in the morning?! Eddie, we’ve been up all night!”
He tossed the clock carelessly onto his nightstand, not at all looking concerned when it crashed to the floor. “Stop being interesting for five minutes so we can go to sleep.”
You rolled your eyes at him, but snuggled closer into his chest. This is where you wanted to be. Warm, held, and adored.
Though he wasn’t at all what you dreamt of, Eddie Munson was indeed a dream come true.
————————————————————
Part 2 coming soon?
For more of my writing, I recommend my current series: Disjointed.
Tagging those who responded to the feelers post and those who have been putting up w me the entire writing process!
@eddiemunsonspantschain @pastel-pillows @stayonmars @lesservillain @2clones-1kamino @laura83stuff-blog-blog @katethetank @thruheavenandhighwater @hellfiredarling @mmunson86 @b-irock
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It Couple || Young!Coriolanus Snow x Capitol!reader
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GIF by @youremyvioleta and divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary: just you and Coryo being the it couple at the academy 🤭
Warnings: fem!reader, idk if there’s anything else
Wc: 691
A/n: pls send thru fic requests for Tom!!!!
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In the bustling halls of the Academy, you, the epitome of popularity, gracefully navigate the sea of admiring glances. You weren't particularly sure what factor of you made you so popular, maybe it was your kindness, looks, money, name? Whatever the reason may be you liked to bask in it, not in the cocky manner.
Your perfectly coordinated and confident demeanor were enough to turn any mundane day into a spectacle worth watching. Coriolanus Snow, the charming heartthrob of the academy, with his disheveled yet effortlessly handsome appearance, awaited you by your locker.
As he caught sight of you, a charming smile graced his lips, and he fell into step beside you. "Good morning, my love," Coryo said, his voice a velvet murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Good morning, Coryo," your replied with a playful smirk, your eyes meeting his as you exchange a knowing look.
The chemistry between you was undeniable, and it added an extra layer of glamour to the 'it couple' status you both held. The title for it really came from a joke by Clemmie at the cafeteria as fellow students from younger years would shamelessly stare at you and Coryo doing such simple things, which in that case, was simply walking to your table.
From that day forward, the title flourished and spread around the academy. Instead of referring to you and Coryo in the context of you being together, they referred the two of you as the 'it couple'. It was quite undisputed, turning heads and sparking envy among your peers.
As you and Coriolanus walk side by side through the halls of the academy, whispers of admiration trail in your wake. Your relationship with Snow was the talk of the academy, maybe even the Capitol due to your high statuses. The two of you becoming a symbol of perfection, setting the standard for others to emulate.
"Snow and Y/l/n, they're practically royalty around here,' a hushed voice echoed from a cluster of students, "I wish I could be in their group for projects, It's like a ticket to instant success,' another voice chimed in.
Meanwhile, Coriolanus slid his arm around you waist, pulling you in a little closer with a smirk on his lips. "Do you see the way everyone's looking at us," he remarked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of pride and mischief.
It was undeniable that Coryo loved the attention. Even before the two of you started dating he would get attention, but now, it was different. "You just love the attention, don't you?" You teased, leaning into his touch.
He chuckled, a low, melodic sound that resonated through the hallway. "Guilty as charged. But it's even better when I get to share it with you, dove." Coryo purrs, his grip on your waist tightening as you giggle.
~
The day unfolded with the usual whirlwind of the classes, but it was during the partnered projects that your unity truly shone. In the lab, you and Coriolanus blended intellect and charm seamlessly, leaving your classmates in awe.
"How do they nail it every time," Io Jasper sighs making those around her chuckle, as they agree after seeing the elaborate model you and Coriolanus crafted. Coriolanus, known for his silver-tongued wit, had a way of making even the most tedious assignments feel like a delightful escapade.
~
Most, if not, all of the Academy's social events became your stage without you giving it much thought, and you and Coriolanus were the headline act. A grand ball celebrating the academy's founding anniversary was the the definition of lavish.
Dressed in a gorgeous dress that rivaled the stars, you walk into Heavensbee hall, your arm linked with Coriolanus. People around the entrance elicit gasps as the spotlight found the two of you.
Arachne rolls her eyes, observing the two of you with a group of friends. "How do they manage to look flawless all the time?" she comments, shaking her head. "It's nauseating." She finishes, tilting her head back to savor a sip of posca. Clemensia chuckles softly, "Well, there's a reason they're known as the 'it couple,'" she says, shrugging casually.
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starfall-spirit · 1 year
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The Silver-Tongued Bride Masterlist
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A One Thousand And One Nights AU
See Full, Original Story Plot Here
Summary: Feyre has been selected as the High Lord's next bride, destined to die at the next fortnight's dawning. However, her intriguing retelling of Rhysand's favorite tale has just saved her life.
Until the next Death Dawn, of course.
Read on Ao3
Prologue
Chapter I: The Bargain
Chapter II: Bride to Be
Chapter III: The Wedding
Chapter IV: Wife or Weapon?
Main Masterlist
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aeyumicore · 1 month
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☾ .⭒˚ heartstring symphony ♡ xavier x afab reader
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⋆.˚ ☾ pairing: xavier x afab!reader (very fem!reader)
☾ .⭒˚ genre: smut, pwp, pwf (so so so sooo many feelings like a whole ocean of feelings) 
⋆.˚ ☾ word count: 10.1k (oh lawd)
☾ .⭒˚ content warning: mdni, tiny reference/spoiler to chapter 4 of the main story (grandma and caleb), references to xavier/overall lads lore, first time sex (not virginity loss), explicit sexual content, pure pure filth but also so fluffy and emotional, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving and m!receiving), lots of making out, pussy job, finger fucking, tongue fucking, cum as lube, references to xavier’s evol, slight use of y/n, switch!xavier, slight predator/prey play, somewhat vanilla
⋆.˚ ☾ video link: not necessary to watch in order to read and enjoy, but i highly recommending watching the memory for context and a visual for the fic! https://youtu.be/U-OanLwbSVE?si=Um0NFib7gQOTGrLq
☾ .⭒˚ a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABIESSSSS COME GET YOUR FOOD. oof this one is a doozy. based off the memory ‘heartstring symphony’ with xavier, there’s a lot of small changes to the progression and the dialogue, but its largely on par with the original memory! there’s a lot of ‘plot’ building as this memory is a bit long and i really wanted to incorporate parts from the beginning, middle, and end so i ended up needing to write for the entire thing. the build up is kinda important to the smut but you can definitely still just skip to the smut (ya filthy hoes)!!
100% dedicated to my bestie who is the downest baddest bitch for xavier!
⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾
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the sunlight bounces off the sheen of the strawberries that are finally ripening enough to eat. it’d been months since xavier and you had started your quaint little rooftop garden atop his balcony, and your collective dedicated gardening was finally rewarded with the most beautiful crimson strawberries you’d ever seen. having been tasked with tending to his house plants on his sudden trip away, you found yourself spending a lot of time with the strawberries on xavier’s apartment’s balcony. 
“but even though you’re bearing fruit, your owner isn’t here,” you murmur sadly, stroking the slightly sticky skin of the berries. okay sure, you were undoubtedly projecting your own feelings onto the poor little strawberries, but who could blame you? it’d been ten days since xavier had suddenly left town and similarly ten days since he’d responded to any of your text messages or returned any phone calls. 
and dammit, you missed him. missed his deep groggy voice when he’d pick up your phone calls at 11 am asking if he’d had breakfast yet, his bewildered face when you’d barge into his apartment demanding that he take you to play crane games, the way he’d pretend not to notice when you swapped hands during kitty cards. ever since you’d first met the enigmatic hunter in the abandoned protocore research base on your first mission as an official hunter, you found both your night and day dreams being filled with the thought of him. 
you’d even missed him enough to send a few regrettable late night texts, confessing just that. at 4am. you groaned inwardly at the embarrassment of recalling your deleted messages. really, no one should be allowed to send any text messages after 1am. least of all you, who had so many confusing unresolved feelings for the silver haired man in question.
the sound of keys jingling a door open snaps you out of your thoughts. your heart pounded, he was finally home! excitedly, you scrambled back into xavier’s apartment, to be met with the sight of him struggling to remove his uniform top. the sight of his sculpted torso on display before you like an absolute art piece, had you freezing in your tracks, cheeks heating at the glorious site before you. xavier also froze, his cerulean eyes locking with yours in surprise.
“you’re…here?” his voice was as warm as you'd remembered, the sound of it forever etched in your mind. but it sounded too soft, tired. exhausted even. 
“y-yeah…the weather was good today and i wanted to check on the strawberries,” you attempted to remain calm and collected, turning around to stop from staring at his exposed stomach. but the plethora of injuries on his pale skin caught your eye. instantly, you were at his side, inspecting him and assessing his scars. 
“...you got hurt?!” your heart hammered anxiously in your chest as you reached to touch him. he peered down at you guiltily, pulling his top back down to cover the scars. he gently pried your hands away from his abdomen, letting his fingers linger on your skin far longer than he’d needed to, the touch not going unnoticed by you.
“it’s nothing, let me go get changed,” xavier finally released your wrists and left you to wait on the couch for him. you felt on edge, waiting impatiently, feet tapping anxiously against the carpet. xavier finally reemerges from his room in a fresh set of indoor clothes, a ribbed white long sleeve and gray sweatpant joggers. you’d seen him in this exact outfit many times, but suddenly the way his sweatpants sat against his lap made your mind wander, but you shake the filthy thoughts out of your head. when he finally sits down next to you, you can’t help but fret over him, grabbing his arm to inspect his complexion. 
“you went missing, and now you return all beaten up…why do you always make me worry?” you reprimanded, pouting slightly, “you’re wounded aren't you? does it hurt?” your fingers ghost over the bruises on his forearm, the veins there protruding slightly amongst the bulging muscles. xavier only turns away, unwilling to meet your gaze, but still leaving his arm in your lap.
his refusal to answer only makes you more desperate for reassurance that he’s alright. you try to lift his shirt, but he uses his free hand to grip your wrist, stopping you. you don’t notice the way he blushes at your touch.
“it’s nothing, just some minor scrapes.” while the mere sound of his voice does wonders to soothe your swimming mind, it does nothing to quell the anxiety you have over his well being. over where he’d been these last ten days. with not so much as a single text message to let you know he was okay, safe. that’s all you had wanted, to know he was safe.
“i think your definition of scrape and my definition differ greatly,” you mutter sulkily, trying to get him to meet your eyes. when he doesn’t, you take his face in your two hands, forcing him to level with you. his cheeks tinge a peachy red under your palms, his normally slow and controlled breath rapidly increasing at your touch. 
“if your wounds aren’t treated they could get worse, get infected, and even become life-threatening,” you murmur, almost threatening him, unable to stop the worry from lacing into your words. you can tell he feels guilty, his eyes opting to stare at your shoulder instead of your eyes, “...this is nothing. i’m used to letting them heal without much thought.” 
this does nothing to make you feel better, if anything it makes you feel worse, and you’re unwilling to relent, “the past is the past. this is the present.”
his eyes finally peer into your own, meeting your stubborn gaze. his deep blue orbs are intense, searching for something within your own. while his voice is deep, tired, undoubtedly exhausted, you can still sense the longing heat in them. he sighs, finally caving into your whims, “alright. so, what do you want me to do?”
and so you find yourself in xavier’s dimly lit living room, a first aid kit on your lap, and xavier shirtless in front of you. you try to ignore the fact that he’s very much half naked in front of you, his joggers sitting dangerously low on his waist. so much so that you can definitely see the indentation of his obliques forming a tight ‘v’. it was enough to turn your brain into mush, but you fought those intrusive thoughts away so you could tend to his injuries. 
taking a deep breath to try and calm your raging nerves, you start, “is there a spot that hurts the most? or is really sensitive? i’ll try to be extra gentle when i apply the ointment.” your eyes linger on the way his collar bones frame the muscles on his chest, the skin there pure and untouched from the dark bruises forming on xavier’s shoulder and abs. you bite your lip to withhold the shiver threatening to overtake you at the image of xavier in all his muscular glory before you. his gentle voice brings you out of your filthy reverie.
“my neck.”
“hmm?” your eyes snap to his, cheeks flaming when you realize he’d caught you staring. he smiles gently, but thankfully doesn’t tease you.
“the most sensitive part of my body is my neck,” he says again, his words almost threatening to make you unleash the shiver you were holding back. refusing to let your mind wander more, you lean forward and begin carefully cleaning the wound that’s etched onto the muscles that connect his shoulders to his neck. while you wipe the cut with one hand, you use your other hand to rub comforting circles around the red skin surrounding it, hoping to ease the stinging. 
xavier groans, his voice husky and drawn out. you can’t help but wonder what that sound would feel like under a different circumstance, but repress those thoughts deep deep down. 
“does it hurt a lot?” you keep your eyes glued to the irritated skin, lightening the pressure at which you’re pressing down, not wanting him to feel any semblance of pain, ever.
“kind of.” xavier’s response is clouded in ambiguity, leaving you confused as to what he wants to say. before you can press him further he speaks again, “i appreciate you looking after things while i was gone.” 
you sigh at his persistent nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just up and disappeared and come back beaten and bruised. you knew him well enough to know he’s not planning on telling you what had happened to injure him like this or why he had to leave town in the first place.
feeling childish, you decide two can play at that game, “you don’t need to thank me. neighbors should always look out for each other.” you force down the inexplicable emotions stirring inside of you that threaten to spill into your voice, continuing to tend to the cuts on his neck. 
he doesn’t respond and the room becomes suffocatingly quiet. swapping the alcohol wipe for the ointment, you briefly peer up to find xavier staring at you with his intense blue eyes. you stubbornly refuse to waver from his stare, but he remains silent.
“what? if you have something to say, say it,” you demand, a bit snappishly, unable to contain the hurt you felt at his repeated silence, both now but also on his days away. 
xavier remains gentle even at your abrasiveness, “you’re really close to me. all i can do is look at you.” despite yourself, you blush at his words, chest tightening. he keeps his eyes on yours and you can’t help but squirm under his emotion clouded blue eyes, though you couldn’t decipher exactly which emotion swam through them.
the silence envelopes the air once more as you refuse to speak. xavier speaks up again, his voice low and almost sad, “are you angry with me?”
your heart cracks at the vulnerability in his voice, but you can’t seem to let go of your own peeved feelings, “why would i be? we’re just acquaintances who happen to be neighbors.” you know you’re being unfair, but you can’t help but feel as if you deserve some kind of explanation. you cared about him, far more than he probably knew, and he just up and disappeared without a trace for ten days. and to top it all off, he came back looking like this.
“are the other neighbors like us?” though his words are simple, you can’t help but wonder if xavier is intending to say something else under the veil of those words. 
no, you supposed to yourself, other neighbors probably did not feel the least bit in the way you felt for xavier. your hands tremble at the thoughts you can’t seem to push away, and you accidentally press a bit too deeply as you apply the ointment. xavier winces, his eyes finally unfocussing from yours and his brows furrowed in discomfort. 
instantly you feel bad for being even the least bit annoyed with him. your voice is much gentler now, almost apologetic, “was i too rough? you're…does it hurt a lot?”
xavier smiles reassuringly at you, so warm and gentle despite your attitude and the undeniable pain of his injuries, your stomach can’t help but flutter at him, “sort of, but i’m alright.” 
“that’s good,” is all you can sheepishly say as you find yourself lost in his expression. 
“maybe the pain is so intense that i can’t feel anything,” xavier is smiling so you know he’s teasing you but you can’t help but feel incredibly guilty.
“really? i didn’t mean to…”
the look he gives you is enough to shut you up. though he doesn’t say anything, his facial expression makes you wonder what exactly is going on in his mind. finally he speaks up, “it’s okay. i forgive you, and in exchange you’re not allowed to be angry at me anymore.”
“i told you that i wasn’t angry,” you sigh, “stay still. i’m going to apply the bandage.” xavier smiles and nods, straightening his posture obediently. you want to tease him, but instead diligently apply a bit of gauze to his neck and adhere it with some medical tape.
satisfied with your handiwork, you smile smugly, “all done. keep your wounds away from water and avoid eating spicy food for the next few days.” xavier mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and when you look at him his head is bowed down so low you can’t even see his eyes. before you know it, he’s collapsing in your arms, completely passed out. 
“x-xavier?!” you catch him easily, but his unconscious weight holds you down. xavier only murmurs groggily at your words. you can’t help but smile and rub his bare back adoringly. his skin is soft, and warm to the touch. you relish in the feel of his skin against yours and his presence enveloping you, having truly missed him so much. 
“poor baby,” you sigh, contemplating on how you’ll be able to carry him to his bed. 
with great effort, you’re able to haul xavier to his bedroom. as you bend down to lay him on his mattress, you trip over his feet. with his arms tangled in yours like a little koala holding on for dear like, you tumble onto the bed with him. you flop onto his mattress, and his arms tighten around you, locking you in place, tucked into his chest. you move to push him off you, but instead you accidentally graze his wrapped neck.
xavier moans, still deep in sleep, and his lip pouts as he grips you even tighter. you sigh in defeat at how content he looks with his arms wrapped around you, with his bottom lip sticking out slightly. you can’t help but admire xavier’s sleeping face, his long eyelashes tickling against your cheek. it’s not long before you find yourself being lulled to sleep by the warmth of his strong arms and the slow beating of his heart against yours. 
you awaken to xavier tucking you into his blanket, his movements gentle as to not wake you. your breath hitches but you do your best to pretend to still be sleeping, unable to face him in this compromising situation. with any luck, xavier would get out of bed and you could pretend to wake up when he wasn’t so intimidatingly close to you. 
but instead of getting up, xavier only lays back down beside you, nuzzling into your side. your heart races at the affection, biting your lip to keep from making any noise. his body heat against your own threatens to unleash a shiver of satisfaction across your body, but you force it back so as to not alert him that you are in fact awake. 
xavier is so unbelievably close, you can feel his breath fanning against your exposed neck and his fingers stroking your palm. unable to withstand the suffocating tension, you pretend to wake up, feigning a yawn as you flutter your eyes open. you come face to face with xavier, his eyes, still groggy with sleep, analyzing your every movement. his gaze falls lower, seemingly watching your lips part with the steady inhale and exhale of your bated breath.
you squirm, trying to dissipate the tension, remembering to keep your voice groggy, “are you still tired? it’s not morning anymore, so maybe we should start thinking about what to eat.”
“you’re resting on my arm. i can’t move. at all.” you jolt upwards, and xavier retracts his arm, rubbing the tender muscles, no doubt they’d fallen asleep, up and down. you hid your blush underneath your hair, unsure of what to do next. you became hyper aware of the fact that you sat in xavier’s bed, with him. and he was so very shirtless. 
luckily xavier speaks so you don’t have to, “i saw your texts from yesterday saying you were having trouble falling asleep. did you sleep well?”
“it was pretty good,” you answered earnestly, genuinely feeling more well rested than you had in weeks, but then your heart stuttered, “w-wait, you saw the message i deleted yesterday?!” 
“yeah, i did. but i’m pretty sure it was a small peek,” his gentle smile changes to one of a teasing grin, “xavier, if you don’t respond, i’m going to eat all the strawberries. all of them.” he raises the octave in his voice to mock you. to say you’re mortified would be an extreme understatement.
trying to deflect from the fact that he’d in fact seen your embarrassing late night texts, you counter, “but i didn’t. i saved you a small bowl!”
he continues, deadset on his mission to embarrass the hell out of you, his grin radiant enough to stop your heart. which you might actually prefer to the sheer embarrassment of being called out like this, “the moment i think about you being somewhere else annoys me to the point where i can’t sleep at all.” 
you feel like a deer caught in the headlights, utterly defensive, “well, of course! you can’t just ask someone to look after your stuff and then ghost them. if that’s not being unreasonable then i don’t know what is!”
xavier glances at you, his voice calm but his eyes holding inexplicable emotions that you cannot decipher, “oh, and there's one text that i can't forget.” you hold your breath, already knowing which one it is. undoubtedly the worst, most incriminating one of them all. 
“i think i miss you.” groaning, you cover your eyes with your hands and fall back against the bed. xavier laughs, propping up on his side to face you, his fingers brushing some stray strands of hair away from your cheek, hooking them behind your ear. 
“...you saw every message!” you accused, peeking at him through the cracks of your fingers still covering your eyes. but didnt respond to any of them, you want to add, but hold yourself back. 
his expression is that of pure innocence, “i was going to reply to them, but then i got caught up in something. and you deleted them a second later. i could only pretend that i didn’t see anything.” and then slowly, almost painfully, he adds, “maybe those messages weren't meant for me.”
despite your burning embarrassment, you couldn’t possibly let xavier think those thoughts were for anyone but him. the flicker of dejection in his eyes is enough to have you spilling out the truth, “...okay, i didn’t send them to the wrong person!” your cheeks burn and you’re sure you look just as red as one of the strawberries on the balcony. you prop up on your own side to face him, “i missed you. but that’s not the point!” your lips jut out to pout at him, feeling like an attention-seeking toddler that had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
xavier, the relief and longing palpable in his eyes, reaches his free arm out to cup your cheek in his palm, “and i missed you too.” his voice is low, nothing more than a whisper, making your breath catch in your throat.
his thumb brushes across the corner of your lip, “unbearably so.” his intimate touch literally rewires your brain, making you throw all inhibitions out the window. the tidal wave of emotions you’d had on a tight leash, floods through the dam. unable to control yourself, you firmly push him down on the bed and straddle him, making sure to avoid any of the bruises on his abdomen. 
“why did you leave me?!” you whine, surprising xavier and even yourself with your assertiveness. he rests his hands atop your thighs, as they cage him beneath you. his body is warm under your own, and you feel the heat manifesting in your gut at the intimate closeness of your bodies.
his surprised expression is quickly replaced with one of cool and calm, despite the fact that you were literally on top of him like he’d secretly imagined several times before, “why are you so worried about me?”
“...when there are bad people and wanderers out there, of course i’ll be worried about you,” your voice softens at the very thought. the emotions coursing through you make your voice waver, no matter how hard you try to steel yourself. 
xavier smiles warmly at you, his hands wandering upwards to your waist and then to your lower back. you’re acutely aware of his hands on you and it causes your confidence to tremor, your stomach bubbling in anticipation at his touch. 
“and yet, you’re way more dangerous than any wanderer could be,” his voice is throaty, tinged with need and desire and his eyes find your lips once more.  
“this is different. i would never hurt you,” you counter, your hands resting against his broad chest. confidence returning ever so slightly, you dust your fingers against his delicate skin. you come close to his nipples, but narrowly and intentionally miss them. xavier’s hands on your back grip harder, not enough to hurt but enough to leave you breathless and wanting more. you can feel him squirm beneath you, eyes pleading with yours. for what, you’re unsure. 
“yes, but i don’t have the strength to resist you at the moment.” xavier’s voice is nothing more than a whisper, has hands digging further into the sensitive skin of your lower back. you writhe on top of him, to which he lets out a faint moan, just barely audible in the crackling air around you. 
your voice is but a rasping murmur, as you throw caution to the wind, giving into all the inexplicable emotions your heart held for the man beneath you. at your mercy, “then…don’t.”
at your words, xavier pushes you down towards him with the hands he had on your back. you offer no resistance, fully letting him guide your face to his own. and like you’d day dreamed so many times before, xavier takes your lips into his. softly, reverently, but so hungrily.
your fingers entangle in his pale locks, gripping gently as his lips mold perfectly against yours. you sigh into his mouth as your breaths merge together. you breathe him in, basking in his radiance, all around you. xavier’s hands leave your back to hold the plush of your thighs, kneading softly but so possessively. your thighs clench around his hard torso, and you can’t help but rock yourself into him until you are resting on his lap, on his crotch. his hands tighten on your thighs, the grip a clear message, a wordless command for you to behave.
his tongue caresses your lips, a silent request for entry. you obediently part them, allowing him access to every part of you. when his tongue ghosts against yours for the very first time, you moan so deep and pleadingly that you can feel xavier’s smile against your lips. his hands wander up and down your back again mapping out all the ridges of your spine against your thin shirt. 
you’d imagined kissing xavier for the first time, many many times, but none of those silly little daydreams could amount to this. your imagination paled in comparison to the real thing, so willing, pliant, and tender underneath you. ready to do anything to serve you.
you finally pull away, gasping for air but only craving his breath against yours again, you can’t help but ask meekly, “is this okay?” 
you can see the answer in xavier’s eyes, but he responds still, “more than okay. is it okay for you?” 
breathlessly, you trail your thumb across his bottom lip and mirror his words, “more than okay.” you’re suddenly hit with the reminder of just how much xavier had you worrying these past few days. feeling mischievous, you stare down at him, face flushed pink and lips swollen with saliva. your fingers trail down his cheek, careful not to touch his sensitive neck, and onto his chest, “i should teach you a lesson so you never make me worry like that again.”
between his breathless pants, he’s intrigued, “...what do you want?” his hands flit to the waistband of your pants, playing with the material and letting his fingers brush against the skin of your waist. you hold back a tremble, and instead of answering him, you decide to just show him. dragging your fingers across his muscular chest, you let your thumbs brush against his hardening nipples. xavier’s sharp inhale is immediate and you feel him clench his hands against your hips. you lean your face down to trail a path of small kisses down his chest, over his bruises, all the way to his naval. 
you can feel him trembling beneath your every touch as he grinds out, “is this my punishment?” his hand reaches up to weave his fingers through your hair, collecting the pieces that fall to your eyes as you bend down to kiss his skin. 
grinning, you sit back up, taking his cheeks in between your fingers and squish. you can never help but to tease xavier, his adorable reactions always leaving you wanting more. you release his face from your hold, only for him to mirror your actions right back at you. his fingers are delectably rough as they grip your chin.
“i can do that too. like this.” his face is so full of amusement, making you want to retaliate further. so you let your hands wander back up his chest, slowly moving to wrap around his neck. you see xavier’s eyes widen in surprise as your fingers delicately tickle the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath them. as your nails flicker across the sensitive skin of his neck, xavier lets out a groan that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. 
“ahh, please,” he whines. you notice that his hands have slipped under your shirt now, but not venturing upwards, ever the gentleman.
you giggle at his vulnerability, “you’re injured and don’t know how to take care of yourself,” you hand ventures from xavier’s neck to hold his face in between your fingers again, “you’re like a helpless animal about to be eaten.” your voice is a teasing coo, and you bend down slowly, torturously grinding your core along his crotch. he hisses again, fingers digging into your bare skin as if hoping to slow you down. but instead, you lean into the crook of where his neck meets his shoulder, on the side that’s uninjured, and press a barely there kiss into the skin. even at the faintest touch along his neck, xavier groans and presses his lower half harder into you. to stop your own moans, and maintain the upper hand, you bite into xavier’s neck. he swears and his fingers crush into your sides, and you squeal into his neck but your lips stay latched. 
his skin is so sweet between the gentle teasing of your teeth, his pheromones invading all your senses. as you suckle on the sensitive skin there, you continue to rock your lower half against him, pleasantly surprised at the feel of his bulging erection against you. your filthy day dreams of him paled in comparison to the sheer girth of what sat beneath you now. 
“you’re not worried about me – hah, retaliating?” but you ignore him, instead relishing in the sound of his pants in response to your touch. never in your wildest dreams did you imagine xavier would be this reactive.
he continues his delectable moans at your ear, “h-hah, fuck – w-wait. love please,” your core clenches at the endearment and you detach yourself from xavier’s neck, a flushed bruise starting to form where your lips previously sat. xavier hardens further at your disheveled sight. lips red, swollen, and shiny with saliva, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of red, eyes hazy with lust. he was fighting from coming undone at the sight alone. 
“wh-what? is this not okay?” you pause, worrying you had crossed a boundary, but you can’t help the gentle and uncontrollable tremors your core makes against his crotch, almost like the aftershock of an earthquake. he groans in response, his head falling back deeper into the pillow as his eyes clenched shut.
his big hands squeeze your thighs reassuringly, and his right palm reaches up to cup your cheek. you lean into his touch, savoring the feel of his warm and protective hand against your flushed cheek. he repeats his words from earlier, “it’s more than okay. you don’t know how long i’ve waited to have you like this.” his words are filled with a vast expanse of emotions, but one you can make out is indescribable and utter love. like he’d been waiting an eternity for you to fall into place in his life. 
his hands trails down to play with the buttons on your top, fingers grazing the exposed skin on your chest. you shiver as he says, “but i want — i need to savor this moment with you.” 
in that moment you think about the way your heart has always throbbed at the thought of xavier. you think you’ve loved him for a while, it always felt like your life was destined to intertwine with his, in unexplainable ways. you’d long given up on fate, especially after caleb and grandma. but looking at the azure eyed man beneath you, you couldn’t help but think that that very fate had brought you two here today. so when you intertwine your fingers with his hand that toys with unbuttoning your top and bring your joined palms up against your heart, you don’t hesitate to confess, “you have me, forever.” 
at your declaration, the expression on xavier’s face is a haze of inexplicable emotions. with the faintest sliver of hesitation and something that sounds an awful like sorrow he finally murmurs, “and you’ve had me, forever.”
unable to withstand the intensity of his longing stare and the weight of his words, you dip back down to capture his lips with yours, returning his heavy words with an equally passionate kiss. your hands move to stroke up and down his naked chest, before landing on his neck, using your thumb to feel the thrumming of his unusually erratic pulse. with your free hand you encourage his fingers that fiddle with the buttons of your blouse, urging him to undo the confines. you can tell xavier is holding back, likely doing his best to tread the fine line between careful respect for you and losing all control.
reluctantly, you withdraw from him, whispering through your gasps, “xavier…please. i want this. i want you.”
his eyes are misted with lust and adoration, his body stiffening even further. his voice is as deep as you’ve ever heard it, “are you sure y/n? you have to be sure. i-i’m scared i won’t be able to stop.” 
softly, you use your fingers to trace over the hickey you’ve left behind on his neck. his breath catches and you can see the control slipping from his grasp. slowly, you bring your fingers to unbutton your blouse yourself. painfully slow, each finger taking its time to unlatch each enclosure, and you murmur, “i won’t want you to stop.”
his eyes are locked on you, as you slip the blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in your white satin bra. his jaw tightens at the sight of you and he grabs your thighs, “don’t say i didn’t warn you.” and with those words, xavier’s thick arms are lifting you into the air and throwing you gently underneath him. in a flash, his heavy body is on top of yours, your legs parted to accommodate his unbelievably built stature. you squeal in surprise at his dominance, the sound cutting through the thick sexual tension in the air. xavier smiles down at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes making heat flare between your legs. the slick forming in between your folds is unmistakable and you bite your lip to keep the moans at bay. 
“am i still a helpless animal? since you seem to know everything, you should enlighten me.” the deep purr in his voice edges on a primal growl, like a predator with its prey between its claws. it’s enough to have you submitting to his every whim. how quickly xavier has turned the tables on you, his hand now gently pressed against your own neck, has rendered you a stuttering dripping mess.
“x-xavier…”
but he silences you, placing his index finger over your lips, his other hand moving downwards to stroke the soft satin of your bra, his fingers flitting dangerously close to the skin of the swell of your breasts, “when faced with a hunter that knows my weakness and how to take advantage of them, is there anything i can do?” you’ve never heard xavier so threateningly dominating, so demanding. it leaves you utterly speechless, your previous upper hand gone completely. 
“perhaps i should teach you a lesson.”
you shudder at his words. his hands reach under your back to unhook your bra and you arch off the bed to allow him to slip it off effortlessly. fully exposed before him, xavier’s eyes burn with such intense heat it intimidates you, so you instinctively cover your breasts. xavier doesn’t speak, instead dipping his head down to trail delicate kisses along your arms, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. your breath comes out in shallow pants as he gently pries your arms away, and presses an open mouthed kiss to the swell atop your right breast. 
you shiver uncontrollably under his warm lips, needing more friction, “p-please xavier.”
xavier’s wide grin is uncontainable, “look who’s the helpless animal now?” but despite his teasing, xavier indulges your pleas, capturing your nipple in his warm and waiting mouth. you’re unable to stop the gasp that tumbles out of your lips, your body arching off the bed only to be met with xavier’s heavy body pressing you back down. xavier’s muffled moans against your sensitive skin send your eyes into the back of your skull. as the pleasure threatens to overtake your melting mind, you press your dampening crotch into his erection even further trying to gain more friction. he groans, deep and hoarse, making you peer down at your chest and at him. your eyes meet.
the eye contact as he devours you is enough for your climax to start creeping in, your hand wedging between the two of you to grasp his cock through his sweatpants. your hands are met with the alarming dampness of his pre cum seeping through the gray fabric that frames his bulging erection. you bite your lip at the sheer mass you hold in your hands, your fingers tracing just how thick he was. 
xavier’s tongue continues to flick along your nipple as your hand slowly makes its way under his waistband and under his boxer briefs. with his pubic hair tickling your palm, you brush your fingers against his thick erection. your touch earns your breast a harsh nip which causes you to cry out. the pleasure and pain is so blinding you find yourself needing to grip onto his cock just to keep succumbing to your impending orgasm, rooting you to reality.
“h-hah, y/n, please…ah, not so tight please,” xavier’s voice is a desperate whine, as he pants against the swell of your breast. at his urging you release his manhood from your grip ever so slightly, but keep it trapped in your palm, your hand has a mind of its own, unable to stop from stroking his length up and down, brushing against the single bulging vein alongside it. he leaks so much pre cum that it feels like he’s already pumped his release all over himself. you collect it all, using it to fist his cock in your hands while he ravages your breasts.
“you’re, hah, making me ruin my pants love,” xavier pants against you, descending upon your body until you’re forced to release him, much to your dismay. he slots his lips in the valley of your breasts, leaving a trail of wet kisses slowly down your body. when he reaches your belly button, his hands reach to remove your pants and panties in one fell swoop. the cold air nips at your exposed core, as xavier removes the tangle of clothing from your limbs 
completely exposed before him, xavier rakes his eyes all over your bare body, admiring every inch of you and breathes out a single word, “beautiful.” you blush under his gaze and you clasp your thighs tight in an attempt to hide but xavier keeps your legs open, his grip tight on your knees. with his eyes locked on yours, he guides your calves onto his shoulders, careful to avoid his bandages. you feel nervous as he comes face to face with your undoubtedly soaking cunt, and to your utter embarrassment he notices it too.
“you’re so wet already. is this all for me?” while his words are teasing, his tone is earnest, almost in awe.
“w-wait xavier, you’re injured. i don’t want you to strain yourself. l-let me–” 
his eyebrows arch at you, “you said i should stay away from spicy foods, you never said anything about this. let me enjoy myself.” without letting you protest any further, he lowers his face onto your waiting cunt, his mouth unbelievably warm against your own burning core. you cry out, your back arching to the point it feels as if it may snap. with your legs on xavier’s shoulders, your lower half is elevated nearly a foot off the bed, his hands on your thighs supporting your entire body.
xavier’s tongue is fervent and attentive. he explores every inch of you, mapping out which areas make you sing with the most pleasure. his tongue alternates between dipping in and out of your entrance and caressing your clit while his hands move to prop you up by your ass. as he feasts on you, his hands knead the fat of your rear.
“x-xavier please. so so s’good,” you wail, hands digging deep into his comforter, wishing your hands could reach his hair, his face, anything. your clit feels like it might explode in pure ecstasy under xavier’s tongue, making you unable to control your mouth. your words make him harden impossibly more, still restrained in his soaked sweatpants. he groans into your core, the vibrations intensifying your pleasure. you can feel your orgasm racing towards you, which makes your thighs tremble around his face. suddenly, he stops and lifts his head. you whine at the loss of his tongue and the disruption of your climax, almost collapsing into the bed if it wasn’t for his strong arms supporting you.
“can i put a finger in?” his eyes are pleading, as if he’s worried you might deny him.
your head bobs eagerly, and you have to hold yourself back from telling him he can literally do whatever he pleases with you, “god, yes. just don’t stop, please.”
“you’re so adorable when you beg for me,” he grins as his lips find your clit once more as he eases not one but two fingers into your waiting hole. your moans fill the room at being so suddenly and pleasantly filled to the brim, your eyes rolling into your brain. xavier’s pace leaves nothing to be desired, his movement producing absolutely filthy noises to mix with the sounds of your moans. you can feel him scissoring his fingers in and out, stretching you out against his soaking hands.
“you’re so tight even around just my fingers…” he trails off in wonder, pondering how he’d possibly fit himself inside you, if you’d allow him.
“m’s-sorry,” you pant against his ministrations stretching you to the fullest you’ve ever felt, “xavier, th-think i might cum soon.” 
your words fuel him further, the squelching sounds music to his ears. the pleasure is endless and you’re starting to see white. without stopping his fingers, he murmurs against your clit, “please give it to me. cum for me, love. i need it.” 
combined with his expert fingers weaving in and out of you, his demand sends your hurtling through your orgasm. your thighs threaten to crush his skull as they tremble uncontrollably on his shoulders. you release all over his face, his mouth still latched onto you, gushing into his waiting mouth as you chant his name like a prayer. he replaces his fingers with his tongue, giving your aching clit a much needed break while still working you through your fierce orgasm. you softly scream in response to this warm tongue inside of you, shuddering through the final waves of your orgasm while xavier laps up all of your release, not letting even a single drop be wasted.
as your body heaves, xavier removes himself from your thighs, softly setting you down against the bed. he murmurs, “you taste so good. better than i ever imagined.”
his words fuel you with confidence, and you feel the irresistible urge to return all the pleasure xavier just gave you. your thighs are absolute jelly, but you crawl to your knees to face him. taking his face into your hands, you lean in so your lips are millimeters apart and whisper, “my turn please.” 
xavier’s eyes smolder, and he lets himself be pushed down backwards onto the bed, with you slotting between his thighs like he’d done to you. feeling confident from the aftermath of your orgasm, you lean down and kiss his bulge through his soaked sweatpants. he hisses, as his hands cup the back of his head on the pillow. his reactions only serve to embolden you further, and you lick a strip down his pants, relishing in the salty taste of his pre cum on your tongue. unable to wait further, you pull his joggers and undergarments down together, and his cock springs free. your confidence wavers as you’re met with xavier in all his glory. he was unbelievably thick, and the vein you’d felt earlier bulged deliciously against the pale pink skin. you unconsciously lick your lips at the challenge before you, taking him into both your hands and sinking down to lap up the pearly white beads that had formed on his tip, threatening to spill over.
xavier lets out a guttural groan, his hands leaving his head to thread through your hair. he whines as you take his tip into your mouth, gripping your hair gently. the salty, yet surprisingly sweet, taste invades your mouth as you struggle to accommodate his girth in between your lips. determined to please him, you bob down deeper as your tongue lathers the sides of his cock attentively. 
“h-hah shit.” xavier is a grunting mess beneath you, “my – ahh – beautiful girl. you’re doing so, fuck, s’good.” he hits the back of your throat, tears streaming down your face. you bob slowly, your jaw aching already as you do your best to take him. with your hands you stroke the parts of him that aren’t in your mouth. 
xavier’s hands in your hair are slowly guiding your head up and down, encouraging you take him a bit faster. you gag against him, his moans letting you know how much he enjoys your throat closing around his length. while his thickness threatens to split your jaw, you can’t help but enjoy how he feels inside your mouth, an endless dribble of pre cum your reward for taking him so well. after a few minutes of this, xavier’s hands tighten in your hair.
“s-stop.” you peer up at him through your wet eyelashes. hes propped up on his elbows now, staring at you with an intensity that excites you to your core. 
“i…i need to be inside you. is that okay?” he asks, but it feels more like a command. more than willing to indulge him, you lick the stray beads of pre cum that had found their way onto your lips, and you get on your knees so you can seat yourself on top of him. using your soaked slit, you grind on his saliva and pre cum slicked erection, whimpering while it catches on your clit, still sensitive from his tongue. 
xavier massages your thighs soothingly, his smile is as radiant as ever, “don’t worry love. take your time. i’m yours to use however you’d like.” his words fuel your pulsating cunt, and you continue to grind on him, letting his tip ghost along your entrance, but not allowing him in. your teasing drives him to the edge of madness and you love seeing his undoing all over his facial expression. the friction combined with his reactions to you are enough to have your second orgasm building in your stomach. the mixture of your arousals lets him glide so easily in and out of your thighs between your leaking slit. 
you’ve definitely never tried this before, but the anticipation of using just your pussy lips to pleasure the both of you is so exciting. the sounds of your combined slick so lewd against both your bodies. his cock so close to just entering your waiting hole and devouring you whole. it’s all enough to have you cumming again right then and there, but you know the next time you finish you need it to be with him stuffed deep inside you.
“so big xavier…don’t know if it’ll fit..” you whine, not daring to halt your movements across his cock.
“it will baby, i’ll make sure it fits.” you shiver at his words and finally, you allow yourself to sink down onto him. you wail at the impossible stretch, much more than his two fingers. honestly you’d wished he would’ve used four fingers as that might’ve prepped you better, more accurate to what was stuffed inside you now.
your thighs tremble as you’re able to take his head fully in. the stretch is uncomfortable, but you’re wet enough where there’s as little resistance as physically possible. xavier throws his head back and pants out words of encouragement, hands kneading into your thighs. 
“y’you’re so fucking tight it feels like you’re trying to snap it off,” he grits, eyes glued to where your body connects with his. you lower yourself steadily, and you finally seat yourself fully, his cock pulsing excitedly inside you. you gasp for air taking a second to situate yourself before you can even think of moving again. xavier is no better under you, sweat forming on his forehead from the pleasure alone, his chest heaving up and down rhythmically.
“m’gonna move now, ‘kay?” you warn him breathlessly, surprised your brain is even able to still form words.
xavier is equally fucked out, begging shamelessly, “please. need to feel you.” though xavier is the one pleading underneath you, you’re not a fool. ever the wolf in sheep’s clothing, you know he is the one in control of the situation, even if you’re the one setting the pace on top of him.
his pleas are enough to get your thighs moving, rocking up and down, back and forth. you squeeze your eyes shut, falling forward so your clit can catch on the thick muscles alove his pubic bone. xavier’s hands on your thighs inch up to your waist to better guide you along as your pelvis rhythmically gyrates back and forth to better feel him against your clit and inside you.
“hah, i’ve always loved it when you take control on missions. so pretty – shit – f’me, using my cock like this,” xavier pants, holding onto your body for dear life.
the pleasure of his words swims straight to your head, and you can feel your brain turning to mush as you use xavier’s cock to pleasure yourself in ways you’d never dreamed of feeling. you can vaguely hear his endless grunts and whines of encouragement as your heart pounds in your ears. the earth shattering orgasm creeping up on you builds monumentally, much more intense than the one that’d already ravaged your body. 
xavier’s breathy cries snap you back into the present, “sh-shit slow down. if you don’t–hah– slow down m’gonna–” he cuts himself off, swearing as he feels you tighten even further around him. as if needing something to hold onto to steel himself, he uses one hand to grasp your breast, squeezing forcefully. you yelp at the painful ecstasy, your steady pace faltering and giving both of you a second to slow down your impending orgasms. 
not giving him too much time to recover, you begin rocking again, slowly, torturously, and passionately, unable to stop yourself from chasing the pleasure only he can give you. your hand is planted on his abs to steady yourself. xavier’s eyes lock onto your joined crotches, mesmerized by the motions you make that are akin to the ocean waves pulling in and out of the beach. you pulsate around him wildly and he throbs inside you rhythmically, your bodies meshing perfectly.
as your head is thrown back, your eyes once again inching into your skull, xavier thumbs at your clit. you squeal and contract at the waves of pleasure he induces onto your body with a single touch.
xavier swears inexplicably at your vice grip on his length, knowing your body is pushing him rapidly towards his finish. your slow and intentional bounces have him seeing stars, but he needs more. keeping his thumb steadily drawing circles in your aching bundle of nerves, he uses his other hand to grip your waist and guide you along, faster and harder. 
his eyes admire your naked beauty on top of him, he pants out, “s’perfect, y/n. you’re beautiful you know that?”
at his words, you’re a faltering moaning mess as the rhythm xavier sets has his tip hitting deep in your gummy walls, stroking your sweetest spots at every thrust. at this point xavier’s hand does much of the work, your thighs threatening to give out as the only thing your brain can focus on is the pure pleasure of his cock reaching the most sensitive spots right before your cervix.
you’re reaching a point of no return, unable to stop your babbling mess, “x-xavier you’re s’deep, s’big. splitting me open.” you can feel the mixture of slick against the underside of your thighs, smearing against his pelvis as your bodies slap against each other. 
“baby you’re making such a mess…hah..fuck is this all for me?” 
you whine at his words, “s’all for you xavier..m’all yours.” thighs still burning as you do your best to bounce on him, you grip your breasts with your hands as xavier uses you like a toy. he seems to know exactly where your g spot is, and he hits it every single time, almost as if he knows your body far better than even you. you’re coming impossibly close to your climax, but you can’t fathom this moment between you two ending.
“come here,” xavier whispers desperately, “let me taste you.” with his hands still shoved between your bodies, playing with your clit, you bend down towards him and let him take your lips into his once more. his soft lips are urgent as they take you, and you can almost feel a lifetime of emotions xavier has kept from you. you respond with the same desperation, wanting to show him how much he has invaded your very being. your body, your mind, your heart and soul. it all felt hopelessly intertwined with xavier, and you couldn’t fight it. you didn’t want to fight it. 
his tongue, cock, and fingers ravage you in perfect unison. the blinding tension in your gut threatens to boil over, and you try to warn him, “x-xav, can’t take much more.” 
“you’re doing so good for me, y/n. i can–f-fuck–feel how close you are. please, cum for me,” he pants, his breath mingling with yours. doing your best to maintain your rhythm amidst the climax that descends upon you like a tsunami, you sink your lips into xavier’s neck, careful to avoid his cuts. the moan that he responds with is a deep guttural warning. that he’s as close to coming undone as you are. 
with renewed vigor you bounce atop xavier, absolutely needing to hear him fall apart for you. you spear yourself onto his ever hardening and throbbing erection as his thumb on your clit sends you into oblivion. the bone crushing orgasm descends upon you, and you bite down on xavier’s pulsing neck. You let out a string of incoherent babbles right by his ear,  and he eats up every single cry you make for him. the tsunami consumes you, manifesting in uncontrollable waves of tremors around xavier’s leaking cock inside you. wailing through your orgasm, right into his ear, xavier takes you into his arms completely and bounces you violently on top of him, desperately chasing his own release. 
“fffuck, you’re milking me y/n,” xavier groans through gritted teeth, “makin’ a mess all over my bed.”
you alternate between nibbles and soothing licks against his neck, feeling how he swelled inside you at his sensitive neck being ravaged. you could tell xavier was impossibly close, feeling his heartbeat throb in his cock as he speared your overstimulated core onto him with every ounce of fleeting energy he had left. 
exhausted and completely fucked out, you murmur into his ear, “xavier, please. i-inside. make me yours.” you plant a gentle wet kiss on the deep red bruise you’d etched into his neck. It resembles the strawberries you’d grown together on the balcony.
xavier’s deep and incomprehensible swears ensue, “you’re mine. say it y/n, please.” his thrusts are erratic now, losing himself to the pleasure of your body perfectly wrapped around him.
you squeeze your eyes shut, suckling gently on the hickies you’ve littered across his pale neck, “m’yours xavier, now and always.”
your words send him toppling over the edge, letting out a strangled groan as you feel him release deep inside your cunt, pumping his release as deep as it will go. it’s unbelievably soothing, the warm milky seed relieving some of the ache in your throbbing hole from his intense ravishing.
despite the overstimulation, xavier continues to thrust lazily in and out of you, wanting to keep every drop of his spend sealed inside you, as deep as it will possibly go. it makes him wince, but he can’t bear the thought of any of it being wasted when it belongs inside you. but you tap his pecs pointedly, still laying completely naked and soaked on top of him, and whine, “s’too sensitive xavier.”
he chuckles and brings your face to his, this time pressing a slow and sensual kiss to your lips. you close your eyes, enjoying the feel of his soft lips against yours, your bodies connected in more places than one. with your head still on his broad and muscular chest, you relish in the slowing and soft thumps of his calming heartbeat, absolutely content and blissed out. xavier strokes your hair with one hand, his fingers massaging your scalp, and his other hand rests tightly on the small of your back. as if he’s scared you might disappear at any moment.
inevitably, his softening member threatens to slip out, but you’re much to fucked out to be able to move a single muscle. xavier shuffles gently, and you feel him lifting your body off of him and onto the space beside him. he moves again to shift off the bed, presumably to grab a washcloth to wipe you off, but you clutch his bicep and bury your face into his muscular side.
“please don’t go,” you whisper. he looks hesitant, wanting to clean you up and take care of you like you deserve.
“i can’t fall asleep counting stars. i need them to stay by my side,” you mumble sleepily, not even caring that the mixture of your collective release dripped down your rear and onto the bed beneath you. when he doesn’t respond, you peer up at him, and find yourself in awe of the man before you.
while his face is utterly exhausted, the sleep in his eyes clouding his azure blues, he almost glows. because of his evol, xavier is always incandescent, but this is different. its almost as if his sweat slicked skin illuminates in the soft rays of fading daylight that spill into his bedroom. he catches your stare and he smiles so brilliantly at you that you feel like you’re in the presence of the sun itself. like he’s an angel sent from the heavens to derail your entire life. 
he relaxes back down beside you, covering the two of you with his thick comforter. fixating on the sounds of your soft breathing, xavier softly tucks you into his side, with his arm around the back of your shoulders. finally, he speaks gently and so heartbreakingly apologetically, “i’m sorry. i should've responded to your messages.”
“honestly, i’m not that upset,” you sigh into his warm chest muscles that feel better than any pillow ever could. propping onto your side to face him, worry laces into your voice, “but xavier, you fell asleep after getting injured. aren’t you still tired?”
his voice is thick with sleep, deep and comforting to your ears, “yeah.”
“will a good night’s sleep fix everything?”
with his fingers tracing patterns into your naked back, xavier’s pensive for a brief moment. his answer is thoughtful and earnest, “only if you stay and sleep next to me.” 
the butterflies that erupt in your stomach bloom into your chest and you're incapable of keeping your voice steady while you continue your line of questioning, “is that why you always say everything’s fine and don’t tell me when you’ve been gravely wounded?” 
he hesitates as you stare at him, his arm still wrapped protectively over you.
seconds tick by, “i’m leaving if you don’t answer.” you even make a show of trying to get up, knowing damn well you’re not going anywhere. xavier’s grip on you tightens, quite possessively.
“i promise it won’t ever happen again,” his eyes convey so much more than his words as he stares into your very being. the ardor in his blue eyes overwhelms you with emotions that sting your eyes. 
“will there ever be a day when you fall asleep and never wake up?” the question comes tumbling out of your lips before you can even stop it. there’s really no reason for you to even fathom that this could happen, but something inside you demands an answer from the silver haired man wrapped around you.
xavier is silent for an agonizing moment, but takes your hand into his, placing a warm kiss onto it. you shiver at the feel of his lips against your hand. it feels like much more than just a fleeting kiss, but a promise, “if such a thing ever happens, you – and only you – must remember to wake me up.”
you fall back into the crook of where his chest connects with his arm, satisfied with his response, for now. with your hand still in his, you nuzzle into him, doing your best to avoid the trail of injuries that still stained his beautiful glowing skin.
and it felt so good, so right to be held by xavier like this. xavier wondered how it could be that you fit so perfectly into his arms, into his life. you both knew there was a heavy conversation to be had, about where this left the two of you. as friends, as hunting partners, but especially as two people whose fates were so indescribably interwoven with each other. you both decided you’d save that for later, opting to savor the perfect bliss of this moment. 
xavier’s unable to keep his hands off you, innocently grazing against every inch of skin he can. his fingers trace unintelligible patterns on your back and his right hand rubs soothingly up and down between your thigh and your hips. his comforting touch feels so inexplicably right, like two stars written in the night sky. xavier was your shooting star, after all.
just before sleep consumes you, you feel out for him, “xavier?” you’re unsure if he’s still awake as you await his response.
“yes love?” from his voice you can tell he is on the cusp of dozing off, still with his hands all over you. your heart flutters at his words.
“you better not ever scare me like that again,” your voice, thick with exhaustion, is anything but threatening as you kiss the skin of his chest muscles.
his languid chuckle is deeper than usual, his stroking halts as he grips your thigh tight, drawing you closer to him and pressing an adoring kiss to your forehead, “if this is my punishment, then i can’t make any promises.”
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© aeyumicore 2024. please do not steal ♡
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thegnomelord · 29 days
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Good Dog
CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.
Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat
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The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.
Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.
It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.
Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.
And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.
His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.
Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"
It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.
"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.
Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"
"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.
Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.
But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.
"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."
That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.
You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.
The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.
"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.
It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.
And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.
Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.
He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.
Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.
He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.
After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.
"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.
Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.
You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.
Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.
Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.
"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"
It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.
Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.
His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"
You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."
"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.
You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."
You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.
A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.
His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.
You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.
Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.
But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.
"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"
You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.
You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.
He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.
Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."
A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.
It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.
Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.
You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.
He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.
He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.
You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.
Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.
Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.
You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.
His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."
You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.
Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"
The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.
"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.
"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."
“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.
You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.
Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.
You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."
The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.
Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24
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jaeminvore · 4 months
Text
Young God | L.DH (M)
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SYNOPSIS: desperation had this funny way of skewing one’s perception, and since you were, in fact, way past the point of desperation, it wasn’t a surprise that you jumped the gun without even questioning the absurdly cheap rent price of the seemingly perfect apartment unit. What you failed to consider was the reason why it didn't cost you and arm and a legand it soon came in the form of an incubus in your bathroom belting his heart out on a Sunday morning.
(alternatively: in which you were essentially scammed into cohabiting with a ridiculously clingy demon that lives off of sex. It could be worse. At least he staved off from sucking your soul out in exchange of you sucking something else—among other things).
GENRE: supernatural, urban fantasy, college au, slice of life, humor, rom-com, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut (full warnings under the cut! Please read them).
WORD COUNT: 35K
WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. incubus!hyuck, afab!human!reader, mild horror elements, mild blood and gore, crude language and jokes, some lore sprinkled here and there, none of these people have brain-to-mouth filters, bickering (as a love language or foreplay. you decide), egregious use of the em dash, cooking as a love language, wet dreams, dry-humping, handjobs, oral sex, face-fucking, masturbation, Jaemin, mild allusions to exhibitionism, mentions of edging, squirting, mc gets a little roughed up by another demon, hyuck kills said demon (as he should). unprotected sex (please practice safe sex unlike these two), creampie, tentacles (LISTEN. it’s not that bad I promise! They’re more like glorified ropes made of smoke if anything, but if you’re uncomfy with the idea but still want to read until the end, the passage starts at “Oh that feels weird” and ends with “You weren’t lying when you said you could take it,”)
NOTE: i fought hyuck-shaped demons writing this fic so please please pleaseeee lemme know what you think! do not let the warnings fool you, this is actually cuter and funnier than it should be despite the sexual undertones lmao 😭 All this came to life from pure self-indulgence and some of the dialogues that startled me awake on most of my nights lol.
PLAYLIST: Young God by Halsey — Eyes Roll by (G)I-DLE — Pretzel (♡) by NCT Dream — Galipette (BIBI Remix) by Lolo Zouaï and BIBI — Sunshine Of Your Love by Cream —Tastes So Good — Sabrina Claudio
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“I’m the king of everything and oh my tongue is a weapon. There’s a light in the crack that’s separating your thighs and if you wanna go to heaven, you should fuck me tonight.” — Young God by Halsey
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I.
The first red flag you should have picked up on was the ridiculously cheap rent price.
Which, given the circumstances, was almost unheard of in the current hellish state of the economy and being part of the lower income bracket. Safe to say you were this close to ripping your own hair out when you were notified of your rent’s increase in price. You could barely afford it and you sure as hell won't be able to now.
Life simply picked its favorites and it was unfortunate that you weren’t part of the silver-spooned minority playing the life game on ‘very easy’ mode. Thus began a very desperate search for a place. A dorm? Apartment? Bed-space? Literally anything. Hell, you’d even consider coach-surfing! You weren’t picky, and you sure as Hell weren’t in the position to demand even an ounce of luxury anyway.
So long as you had a roof above your head, you’d take anything.
Though it seemed that the level of desperation rolling off of you in waves was enough to take some sort of effect.
You had no clue what exactly you should call it (divine intervention?), but perhaps there was little power from projecting your urgency along with the rest of the piled up negativity onto the world to the point it pitied you; listened to your misery that a few days later, right when you were on the precipice of calling it quits and leaving your life in the hands of God, a miracle disguised as one of your classmates for an elective brought up a fairly recent vacancy from her apartment complex.
“If it’s anything like the unit Chaewon and I have, I think you’ll like it.” Yunjin reassured, smiling down at you from her perch on the desk. “Plus, it would be nice to have a familiar face around.”
Worrying about whether the place would fit your tastes or not was the last thing on your mind when you were a breath away from filing bankruptcy (could you even afford that?). It had come to a point where you’d be open to anything that all inhibitions and the ever present skepticism you’d usually have hanging around your head were promptly thrown out of the window because:
Huh Yunjin was not only a classmate, but also a friend.
Biases were a thing, so anything Yunjin said was deemed credible on all accounts by you.
You. Were. Desperate. Did you mention that?
And—look, desperation does funny things to your mind. Skewing your perception, for example, or maybe it was a thing exclusive to you because who lets themselves be labeled as ‘colorblind’ (theoretically) after mistaking firetruck red from verdant green?
The answer: you, duh. Though in your defense, promising anyone with a price that affordable would immediately have them fold, never mind the possible consequences that could follow.
Humans were fickle. Humans were simple as they were complex. Temptation came easiest to those who were in a near hopeless state, and you were very human to your core, stepping out of the lecture hall with Yunjin’s landlord’s phone number saved to your list of contacts, feeling heaps lighter than you did this morning.
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Statistics showed that it was less likely for women to be colorblind.
It was also said that women were able to identify more colors than men, so it was quite telling that you’ve managed to consistently ignore every single glaring red-flag so far. Might as well be part of the statistics if this keeps up. Theoretically speaking.
(Family history made it impossible for you to have it. Your recognition of colors was no less than perfect. It was just a ‘you’ problem. Not to mention the non-existent survival instinct).
Though, there were some details that really made you think. And by some, you meant your landlord—correction, landlady, as Ms. Hong chided over the phone.
Ms. Hong was a woman well in her mid forties with a taste for anything glamorous. Slender fingers adorned with rings made of gold and wrists chained with the same metal among a few silver glimmering pieces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when polite greetings weaved seamlessly into pleasant small-talk, lasting long enough until you brought up the newly available apartment unit. Things took an odd turn then, with Ms. Hong skirting around, hesitant and vague when it came to answering your questions about the apartment.
It was all sorts of strange, now that you thought about it. Unlike Ms. Hong, your previous landlords had the tendency to overcompensate for the lackluster charm of their apartments. Promising to improve whatever that needed to be improved and then downplaying all the current issues that could have been classified as a health violation. All for the sake of milking you dry of your savings.
On that note, you couldn’t exactly tell if Ms. Hong even wanted to rent out the unit or not. You were no stranger to money-hungry landlords who would jump at the opportunity, yet the older woman’s tone was rather gravely when she listed down the possible expenses. Her lack of enthusiasm was becoming a bit too disconcerting, to say the least, that you had to cut her off from her tangent as soon as you felt the agitation creep up, emphasizing how this was a matter of life and death for you.
Begging would have been your last trump card if the landlady didn’t budge, but it seemed that the trembling in your voice finally shook her out of whatever bizarre headspace she was in that the sudden emergence of charisma that could belong to a representative trying to scam you into joining a pyramid scheme was strangely comforting.
That was another thing that flew over your head: the complete 180 in demeanor, completely blinded by Ms. Hong’s eagerness having you view the unit at your earliest convenience. 
Ten AM on Sunday morning.
That was your earliest convenience. Also your day-off and the one of many chances spent rotting away on an equally rotting mattress. It was a way to relax, but if it meant you’d be (hopefully) parting ways with your current shitty apartment and the shitty mattress that came with it, then by all means you could forget pretending to not exist for a few hours.
Though you couldn’t say you were optimistic. With your renting history, optimism had no room in your life when all you were left with was disappointment from the barely decent rooms you’ve been in and for sure, Ms. Hong would do just the same. It really wouldn’t be the first time. Certainly wouldn’t be the last either. 
But by some unexplained miracle, the outcome was quite the contrary, actually, and for the first time in your adult life, you were starting to see the light at the end of the longest tunnel you have ever been in.
Citrus and vanilla.
That particular scent was what greeted you first as you stepped into the unit which was already a thousand times better than what horrors you were used to and you thought it fit the earthy palette of cream, beige and green. The most surprising thing was that the unit looked to be fully furnished right from the kitchen to the bedroom and lord—the mattress was actually so comfortable that it took a lot of your self-control and the reminder of your (future) landlady waiting to not actually fall asleep.
But it wouldn’t hurt to indulge yourself a little, now would it?
Rolling over, you press your face into the linen sheets, humming in delight at the pleasant waft of freshly dried laundry. It smelt like home, It felt like home and you would definitely regret passing up the opportunity of moving here.
Years of hopping from one place to another, you never had the chance to feel at home. Not when your mind was a permanent whirlwind of worries that just didn’t seem to end no matter how much you tried to deal with them. It hasn’t entirely stopped, but you liked to think you were getting better at keeping them at bay.
One thing that caught your interest was that the sweet and tangy scent was particularly strong here. It wasn’t unpleasant, but a little overwhelming, wrinkling your nose at the intensity of vanilla. Then came the strong urge to look to your right and there you saw a candle in a glass jar burning away on the end table.
Huh, you never noticed that on your way in.
Ms. Hong sure knew how to give a warm welcome, a scented candle of all things. Although you weren’t exactly a fan of the smokey smell that would later stick to your hair and clothes, you appreciated the small gesture nonetheless. And sweet as it was, you were more cautious than to prolong your gratitude.
Risking the possibility of burning the entire unit before you could even sign the lease was the last thing you wanted and without thinking, you blew the flame out.
There was no time to doubt. This was—”everything I’ve been looking for.”
Ms. Hong blinked as you emerged from the inside.
“I’ll take it, but are you serious about the price? It’s fully furnished. Decorated beautifully too.”
All the cool nonchalance the woman displayed prior disappeared in an instant, standing tall and stiff as you watched her open and close her mouth before settling on a croaky, “come again?”
The reaction was strange, but you answered anyway. “It’s fully furnished,” you repeated. “Wouldn’t that, like, increase my rent?”
“What do you—what does it look like in there?”
“Something close to what you’d see on Architectural Digest,” you joked then went into detail about how everything seemed to fit the Pinterest board you’ve made—affectionately named ‘home <3’—and kept on updating since freshman year. It was a little eerie, now that you think about it. How the unit was catered specifically to your tastes.
It was comfortable and cozy. Cozy in a way that screamed slow Sundays of melting your brain with soap operas and endless looping of your daily music playlist to your heart's content. Comfortable in a sense where you wouldn’t mind being cooped up in here for hours on end.
Like you’ve said, it was no doubt everything you wanted in a home.
Though a part of you was a little rattled by how spooked Ms. Hong appeared. A mass of emotions crossed her face as you talked until her expression flattened into something unreadable, remaining tense with her posture despite the smile pulling at the corners of her full mouth.
“Are you okay, Ms. Hong?” You asked anyway. You figured it would give you brownie points, showing a little bit of concern. There could be some advantages to being the favorite tenant.
“Yes, yes!” She waved you off. “Nothing to worry about. I was just a little nervous that you wouldn’t like the place. Clearly, I thought wrong.” Ms. Hong laughed, maybe a little forced, but your spirits were too high for you to overthink it. 
“Honestly? I wasn’t expecting much, but I love it! I would move in today if I could, but I still have to pack.” Not that you had much to begin with when the apartment had what you needed, furniture wise, but you still had your personal belongings and it was close to sunset too.
Ms. Hong nodded solemnly, tilting her head and appearing thoughtful. “Good… good. And you’re absolutely certain that you want to move in?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”
Going the poetic route seemed to be enough for Ms. Hong, wasting no time guiding you into her office to take care of the paperwork. The price remained the same, even with your insistence of increasing it for the sake of fairness, but your landlady (for real this time!) wasn’t having it and silently handed over the keys with a keychain where ‘66’ was inscribed on the golden plate, matching what was drilled into the paneled door.
You still couldn’t believe it, really. That you’ve managed to score a charming place within your price range and if the mixture of happiness and relief wasn’t already obvious enough from your cheek-aching smile alone, Ms. Hong didn’t dare comment on it, other than the amused huff she let out, watching you shake in anticipation.
Excitement was a rare emotion to feel these days, not when the weight of college and your part-time job rested on your shoulders, and maybe it was that very reason why the said excitement easily seeped into the questions your landlady had the patience to answer. You’ve never felt this light in a long time and something about the twinkle in Ms. Hong’s eyes said that she understood just as much.
However, the sentiment soon faded as quick as it came; you would have missed it if it weren’t for Ms. Hong calling out your name.
“Do me a favor, would you, honey?”
“Sure,” You looked over your shoulder, gaze inquisitive as the door handle twisted. The woman’s face was drawn into something serious, hands folded properly on her desk. “What is it?”
“Be careful.”
You would have laughed if it weren’t for the intensity in her eyes, and with how she spoke, it left no openings for a light joke. Two words that should have been taken at face value felt like there was more to it. You just didn’t know what.
Perhaps it was a customary thing. A reminder to each of her tenants to not cause trouble for her or anyone? Yeah, that could be it.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
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Third time was definitely not the charm because how could you miss another clear warning? Ms. Hong’s nails were red too for fuck’s sake! That should have counted for something!
In your defense, with how well the first week was in apartment 66, no one could blame the carefree attitude now that you had a place that was safe and didn’t check every health violation by the book. Inviting friends over was easier, now that you didn’t have to feel sorry for yourself and your visitors for subjecting them to lounge in a barely habitable space.
Yunjin seemed very proud of herself, being the very reason why you were even here in the first place and she truly deserved the extra volume of wine poured into her glass, much to Chaewon’s chagrin. She quickly perked up when you offered her a variety of sweet treats you got on sale, thanking you with a smile just as sweet.
It felt liberating to come home to a place that exuded the warmth you needed right after a long, grueling day of academics, tutoring sessions and your shift at the hotpot restaurant a few blocks away from campus.
Other than your bed, the couch was another place where you’d occasionally try your very hardest to melt into and not think about your existence. If you wanted to be more productive, the small balcony you transformed into a mini nursery for herbs and smaller fruits and vegetables was there to keep you busy. The little gardening hobby went hand-in-hand with the nice kitchen. You finally had enough space to dance around amidst the prepping and cooking you had to do.
You were, quite literally, living the life.
Life has never tasted so sweet and it took only a week at most to make it look like you had your life together; as if you were one of those people on Tiktok who seemingly had their lives figured out based on their minute-long vlogs.
However, there was clearly a time limit to your peace, it being violently ripped away from you as the second week came around. Then did you start experiencing… things.
Strange things, to be exact and it took a lot to scare you.
There were a multitude of things to be frightened of for sure, but you were someone who’d been able to grow some resistance to them as you got older; thought that it’d be a waste to grow wary of the things that would normally creep people out, living alone. It wasn’t in your nature. Not when you miraculously survived being on your own so far, so what was left for you to be scared of?
That was what past-you would have said but for some reason, the world had this unwavering fixation on going against whatever you stood for because this current situation was an entirely different ballpark. 
And not finding any scientific explanation to back up the sudden disturbance in apartment 66 was what scared you. 
Sure, the smart thing was to raise it as a concern to your landlady, but when it came to weighing your options, you didn’t think the gripes and concerns for the place would be serious enough to be a problem for Ms. Hong to solve. Especially when it wasn’t exactly a maintenance issue.
Let’s be real here, do you think Ms. Hong would be able to do something about the things that go bump in the night? No. You wouldn’t think so. Unless she was able to shapeshift into a cat, going after the rat behind all the thudding, creaking and annoying scratching that woke you up in the middle of the night.
(You realized how utterly insane that train of thought sounded, so that was immediately scratched off. Shapeshifting? Really? That’s one way of letting someone assume you were high on something).
Normally, these hiccups were menial enough to ignore, rolling over to the cooler side of bed and quickly knocking out. Being a nightly problem? It’s a miracle you hadn’t torn down the dry walls yourself to look for the rats and deal with them. Only, you didn’t think the little critters were capable of producing such loud footsteps.
And that wasn’t even the last of it.
Things disappearing and then reappearing at the weirdest of places—house keys in the toilet sink, phone in the microwave and, mortifyingly enough, panties in the cupboards, to which has happened on multiple occasions, leaving you more irritated than scared, actually.
(There were some times where it had been useful though. Like when you were running late to first period and, lo and behold, your house keys and phone were waiting for you on the little nook just beside the door. Or having a fresh pair of socks laid out innocently next to your sneakers. Little things for your convenience for sure that it warranted a hesitantly muttered ‘thank you’ to the air despite being freaked out).
On the same note as ‘things going bump and scratch in the night’, hearing voices became a regular thing, too. There should be a joke written in there somewhere. How it was just your inner monologue increasing volume each night from the stress, but the disembodied voice said otherwise and you knew damn well your daily monologue did not comprise creative threats to your life and soul.
Hearing voices meant that there was, possibly, something else festering in the four walls of your home.
You didn’t feel as alone anymore, and that wasn’t you being all sappy or poetic. You could actually sense that there was an unspecified presence lurking in the shadows of apartment 66, like you were being watched. You could’ve sworn you’ve seen movement from your peripheral too, but for once, from what little remnants of survival instinct you had, you refused to fuck around and find out.
Those were damning signs that told you to leave. Anyone in their right mind would simply book it the soonest they could. And perhaps you had a few loose screws up there, because no one considered normal would manage through all the disturbances, and Hell if you were the one moving out. You fell in love with the place and the hauntings won’t ever change that.
Hauntings. God. You’ve truly lost it. What’s next, a 2023 remake of Casper The Friendly (?) Ghost? Could be. You were still very much alive and that could count as a ‘friendly’ gesture, ignoring the piling grievances.
But then you started having these dreams and you could guarantee that nothing was remotely friendly about what your brain routinely conjured during your slumber: the same dream over and over again.
Same bedroom setting. Same faceless man—seemingly made out of shadows—hovering over you, his weight keeping you from doing anything but squirm each time he leaned in close, whispering—hissing filthy promises as threats of eating you alive after swallowing your soul soon to be damned in Hell with each bite of his words.
And tonight wasn’t any different.
“Not resisting anymore, are you?”
Wait.
That’s new. Not the whole talking thing because the one thing that remained consistent was that this… entity couldn’t for the life of him shut the fuck up, nor could you smother him into silence yourself, minding the Herculean strength he exhibited in having you pinned down.
No, but his voice had character, now that the disembodied filter he had on the majority of the time was absent, leaving you to bask in the high, airy-smooth voice that would have been considered sweet if it weren’t for the fact that its owner showed otherwise through his actions.
How can I when I can’t fucking move? Was what you wanted to say, but it came out as a strangled mess of noises.
It’s always been a gamble. Your dreams, that is and you could never tell which bodily function you could lose in them. Tonight, you were certain that you could neither talk nor move, much to the figure’s absolute delight and this whole thing kind of painted him as your designated sleep paralysis demon.
The demon (maybe) nuzzled into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. “You smell delicious.” You could feel him shudder in anticipation, breath hot against your skin from the shaky exhale as he pulled back to stare you down. Or at least you think he did. You couldn’t tell. Other than the twin ruby red glow from where his eyes would have been, his entirety was bathed in absolute darkness.
“Interesting little thing, you are,” he crooned, “usually, any other human would be out the door the moment they could sense me. They’re so easy to scare, humans.” An icy chill ran down your spine at the laugh he let out. Deceptively soft and breathy if you weren’t reminded of your position—this thing straight out of nightmares being bracketed by your thighs. This was all so fucked.
Something akin to a purr rumbled from within him, pleased at the fact that you couldn’t do anything but lay there, unmoving. “You, on the other hand, stayed. Longer than what I had initially expected and lucky for you, I’m beginning to like having you around.”
Cool. So he liked you. Cool. Great. Amazing even.
What the fuck did that even mean?
Were you supposed to be relieved by that? Because it was the last thing you should be feeling in this compromising position. Which then begged the question: did it mean you get to live to see another day? You’d hope so because dying in your dream and inevitably IRL would fucking suck. You haven’t even stayed for that long and your death would be such a waste of money, really.
There it was again. Citrus and vanilla.
Now that you thought about it, this particular aroma was always present. Muted on some days, like a barely there trace of day-old perfume on clothes, and not so pleasant on others, including tonight—strong as this demon (surely) leaned further into your space. Hips pushed down, down, down with purpose as the sickeningly sweet scent increased in intensity, like he was using it to break your resolve, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 
His determination didn’t seem to wane in the slightest from your display of stubbornness, only spurring him on further as his large, warm palms settled on your waist, giving an appreciative squeeze. As if fascinated by how solid you felt in his grip. You, however, were absolutely terrified of how solid he was. How this felt so real that you couldn’t stand being underneath the blood-red glare of his eyes.
The demon let out a huff of amusement the moment you screwed your eyes shut.
All of this was just a dream. A sick twisted dream—a nightmare. Soon as you get yourself to wake up, he’ll be gone. You’ll be free.
“Is it?” He tittered, “a dream? I don’t know, this feels all too real to me, human. Surely you can feel this?” You gasped. Shit. He had claws, digging into the soft skin of your waist. Apply more pressure and you were sure he’d end up breaking through the flesh and leave you bleeding to your very death.
He leaned in closer. Not like he was already too close for comfort before. “Feel me?”
Oh, fuck.
It’s like a sick fucking joke, really. The fact that the time where you truly had a grasp on your vocal chords, you let out the first sound of the night: a moan—followed by a continuous string of them prompted by the thick and hot something pressing incessantly against your crotch with each roll of his hips.
“There we go,” he drawled, lips brushing against the little space underneath the hinge of your jaw, your pulse at its strongest. “You were easier to play with in all your other dreams before, but it’s not like I don’t enjoy a bit of a challenge from a stubborn little thing like you. Let’s see what other sounds you can make, yes?”
He was dead set on pulling them out of you, too, settling on a rhythm that would let his length—straining against what you could assume was skin-tight boxer briefs—drag over your clit covered by thin cotton panties. He made use of his hands too; leaving warm trails of his touch along your skin, like he was leaving traces of himself, branding you his.
It was maddening, to say the least. That even in your dreams, you were still able to feel the rush of pleasure in its purest form thrumming underneath your skin just begging to be let out.
And if that wasn’t enough to wind you up, the same pair of hands curiously traced the bottom hem of your camisole before pushing it up, up, up and exposing your chest to your audience of one. He lets out this satisfied sound, a groan almost and tapering off into gentle cooing; gentle as his hands were in fondling your tits.
If you could move, then the smack he would have gotten from you was well deserved. Men were so easy. Show them your boobs and it’s pretty much all they care about until you stray their attention elsewhere. His dutifully remained on your heaving chest, however, and if you could see, you were sure he would be licking his lips, satisfied with himself as he bent his head.
Holy shit. You were going to die. You were going to be eaten, and then die.
The cry you let out was enough proof that you finally finally had gotten control of your voice; crying out from the sensation of impossibly sharp rows of teeth nibbling on your right nipple, already sensitive from the demon’s tongue laving around the bud. Taking it entirely in between unimaginably soft lips and suckling harshly that your body didn’t know whether to bow against the bed so he could take in more, or pull away from all of this being too much for your senses to bear.
“Aren’t you so cute?” He cooed the moment he unlatched from your other tit, subjecting it to the same treatment and his cock still rutting slowly but firmly against your clothed slit, earning him a drawn out whine. There’s a hand wrapped around your throat now, and you gasped at the pinpricks his claws left. “You make the sweetest of sounds, darling girl.” He said this as leaned in so close that his lips brushed against yours with every syllable.
“I can’t wait ‘til your soul is mine.” and there was no mistaking it; the drag of sharp teeth just below your jaw raised goosebumps across your skin.
Panic immediately swelled in your chest just as you regained full control of your body, smacking his hands away for your fingers to tangle into his hair and push him as far as your arm would let you, heart beating so wildly that it’s a miracle it hadn’t cracked your rib cage. Oh well, small miracles and whatnot.
It looked like he wasn’t at all expecting you to fight back. You thought so too, with his overpowering scent almost lulling you into compliance and, again, the unimaginable strength he had keeping you in place. Catching him off-guard was the smartest thing you’ve done so far into halting the all-consuming dreams—nightmares that all he did was stay still and it’s exactly what you needed.
“Get out!”
You woke up with a sharp intake of breath.
Your hand was still up in the air, fist clenched and arguably at the same height where it was originally resting stiffly on top of the entity’s head. Knees the same as they were before; bent and parted wide enough to accommodate his figure, and let’s not forget your ‘tits out’ situation because your tits, were in fact, still out. How vivid was that dream exactly?
The entirety of your room didn’t look out of place, minus the duvet, thankfully. Probably got kicked down from how you struggled in the nightmare. It was a rather chilly night—the slow beginnings of autumn, so you pulled it back up (right after you fixed your camisole) and settled comfortably underneath the softness of the covers for the second time of the night.
Your eyes slipped close.
“Oh? Going back to sleep already? How rude!”
Your eyes immediately snapped open.
What the fuck.
Nothing could have prepared you from finding a fully grown man sat like a fucking gargoyle at the foot of your bed. Knees bent with his hands right in between them, clutching the cotton tightly in between his fingers, judging by how his grip pulled onto your duvet. You pulled on it too, not willing to expose yourself at this time, and just because you were still petty enough in your sleepy state. You were cold, dammit.
No words were exchanged. No one moved either, but you did spend a long time just sizing each other up as if daring the other to do something. It was still too dark for you to make out his features, the only source of light being the full moon at its brightest which wasn’t much of help.
The thing tilted his head. “Hi!”
You were too tired for this. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“No, wait!” It took everything to not scream bloody murder when he hastily crawled towards the space beside you and sat on his calves, “I’m a demon.”
What? Like that made any difference.
“This is a dream.” It’s got to be because there was no way the man in your dreams was able to materialize right in front of you, claiming he was one of Hell’s spawn. He sounded like him, hell, he smelt like him, but the sheer ridiculousness of the turn of events made it a little hard for you to believe that this isn’t just a tamer, sleep-induced hallucination.
“No it’s not!”
You stared at him with narrowed eyes. Is it just you, or did he sound… whiny? Anyway, “yes, it is.” You groped around before grasping onto your stuffed bear’s limbs. If he doesn’t shut up right now then you’ll do it yourself.
Again, too dark to see his face, but you can just tell he was scowling. “Says who?”
“Me. Goodbye!” And you smacked him in the face with the stuffed toy so hard that he ended up toppling off of your bed with startled yelp. Your eyes slipped close again, pleased.
What a weird fucking dream.
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II.
There was someone in your home.
In the bathroom, to be specific.
The trip to the morning farmer’s market didn’t even take that long. Thirty minutes at most to get what you needed for a hearty meal, and yet it was enough for someone to break in, apparently (in broad daylight too! Do people have no shame?) So much for living in one of the safest parts of the city. The advertisements were total bullshit.
Though, you actually weren’t sure if this was better. That it was something or someone tangible disrupting the peace and not the occasional, domineering presence you’ve grown used to. You had to admit, it was kind of funny that hogging the shower was next on their agenda after trespassing. Usually, it was followed by either burglary or first degree murder, but hey, who were you to judge?
It didn’t look like they’ll be out any time soon. What with the passionate rendition of Michael Jackson’s (may his soul rest in peace) ‘Rock With You’—complete with adlibs and all—you’d be lucky if they chose to stay in there and raise your water bill up to immeasurable heights.
At least a bunch of knives stuck to a magnetic rack was within reach if all goes to shit, but you still hoped that you wouldn’t have to draw blood first.
Leaving the stew to boil, you plopped onto the couch with as much grace as a newborn giraffe, sitting in a way where you directly faced the bathroom in case of the possible brawl you might push yourself into due to your lack of survival instincts, apparently.
Yet even with the forewarning, you weren’t exactly prepared to face who or what was on the other side of the bathroom door.
Your breath hitched at the sound of the door unlocking, followed by the click of the light switch and, for some reason, you had your gaze set resolutely at the bottom half of the door. The door opened and a tan leg popped out, and then another and—Jesus, how long do these legs go? Seriously, it should be illegal to have legs as long as that, having felt as if your eyes scanned like… miles upon miles of tan—
Right. This was an intruder in your home.
A man to be exact, and he had the gall to mirror your own shell-shocked face as if you were the one who broke in.
Though, you couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous. Inhumanly so as you took a closer look at his face. Sun-kissed all over as if the big ball of fire in the sky decided it wanted a human counterpart. Waves of dark hair fell just shy above his waterline and framing a pair of wide, darkened amber eyes (is that eyeliner?) burning with as much curiosity you had amidst your fight or flight response kicking in. He kind of fit the ‘tall, dark and mysterious’ archetype that BookTok lovers—er, loved, but there was very little mystery to be intrigued by. Not when his thoughts, feelings and intentions bled so opaquely on his face.
Amusement tilted every angle of his features, namely his sleepy eyes and heart-shaped lips. If you possessed half a brain, you would have thought he was harmless, yet the hair-raising grin that broke out on his face told you otherwise, making you bristle.
“Now where’d you run off to this early in the morning?”
You gritted your teeth, feeling a vein pulse on your temple. That voice.
Pretty privilege could be addressed next time because at this very second, you weren’t feeling privileged being graced by the so-called prettiness, but threatened to even fully appreciate what he’s got going for him. Physically wise.
Without thinking, your hand shot out to grab the closest thing to you, an empty vase, and hurled it with all you’ve got, aiming straight for the intruder’s face who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. It was like watching everything in slow motion, how the decorative piece took its sweet time to smack his face and hopefully break his nose (best case scenario).
This was the worst case scenario, with the vase pausing in mid-air as if time just decided to stop being a thing, all in this demon’s favor.
You were actually going insane. That was the only explanation because no law of physics could explain the current state of the decorative vase—it’s still in the fucking air. Holy shit—nor did you think telekinesis could extend beyond the old, generic trick of bending spoons with your mind.
“Hey,” As if you weren’t terrified enough, the stranger peeked from one of the vase’s sides with a disapproving pout. You scooted further away until your back hit the arm rest. “I picked this out for you, y’know? Thought you’d like it.” With a lazy flick of his wrist the vase ended up floating all the way into the kitchen, much to your horror, to sit on top of the refrigerator.
“Maybe we shouldn’t throw things next time?”
Your eyes flickered towards him, dumbfounded.
“You… last night,” There really was no mistaking it. The voice already told you enough. It was all too distinct; the arrogance, the grating inflection that screamed he solely existed to get on your nerves, and it was working. “In my dream. That was you?”
“Wasn’t just last night, little human. I’ve been in all of your dreams since you moved here.” He shrugged, leaning laxly against the door frame with his arms crossed. “You were way nicer in them. Pliant,” he had two fingers up to prove whatever point he was making. “didn’t throw things at me,” and there goes the third finger.
Smoke was practically coming out of your ears as you sat up straighter, tense. “Oh, I’m sorry!” One of your hands flew to your chest, tone high and mocking. “I didn’t know I had to show proper etiquette to a fucking trespasser!” You scrambled for your phone. “Now, please leave or I will call the police—”
It happened all too fast. Too fast for your human brain to comprehend because just a second ago, you were really serious about involving the police in this. Now, you were flat on your back with the wind knocked right out of you and a lap full of the man plaguing most of your nights. The atmosphere felt heavier, now that the kittenish air surrounding him was gone and the very corner of his lips tilted down into a frown as he plucked your phone out of your hand.
“First thing’s first, no police. You won’t get rid of me that way. Second, this is my”— he pointed to himself —“home. My apartment. I was just nice enough to let you stay for how long you liked.”
“I paid for this unit you—you demon!” You didn’t even try to be subtle with the eye-rolling. Of course he would preen at the title. “If anything, it’s my apartment!”
“Okay? I tied a piece of me down to this place. My sigil is somewhere around here to prove it—meaning, I have higher authority.”
A sigil. Of course. This is your life now. Possibly sharing a space with a fucking demon of all things. Exciting, but not exciting enough to stave off your hunger and you were starting to get antsy. You were just arguing for the sake of arguing to blow off some steam and to get in the last word.
“I signed a lease. The lease has my name on it.” you said as if that was on par with whatever he was talking about (probably not).
“Technically, I signed away a part of my life, so.”
Fuck. Fine. He got you there.
“Are you always going to do this?” You resigned, wriggling underneath his weight. “You’re kinda heavy.”
“I mean, if it works, right?” The demon giggled, tilting his head with a coy smile as he put more weight onto your thighs, one hand falling behind to rest on your knee. “It’s not like you complained before.”
“Technically,” (“I do not fucking sound like that.”) “those were dreams—dreams, so they don’t count.”
Which meant that you had full control of your body out of the dreamscape, proven by the indignant yell the demon let out as he was unceremoniously pushed to the ground for the second time within the twenty-four hour time frame. It wasn’t enough to make up for the numerous times he had you under him, but for now, you were even.
“They sure do!” he exclaimed from where you left him still sprawled on the floor.
“Nope. This conversation is over.”
The stew was just about done, soup reduced to the right amount as you switched off the stove and range hood, bathing your apartment in still quietness besides the bustling from outside. The soft padding of feet came in quick succession until warmth hovered just mere centimeters behind you.
Turning your head, the demon was there, his chin just shy of resting onto the dip of your shoulder as he peered curiously at the steaming pot.
“Is that… kimchi jjigae?” he wondered, taking a generous whiff and appearing just as hungry as you felt. “It is kimchi jjigae.”
You snickered, all animosity fading into faint amusement, “I take it that you’d like some?” It was such a human reaction that you couldn’t help but smile, reaching for the ladle.
“Please?” he pressed, amber eyes all wide and imploring. “I haven’t had a decent bowl of the stuff in, like, weeks.”
“Well, make yourself useful. Set the table, yeah? And pass me two bowls while you’re at it. You know where they are…” you trailed off, looking at him in silent question. You haven’t asked for his name, or what he would like to be addressed as.
Somehow, the demon was rather quick on the uptake, curling his lips as he pushed off to do what you asked him to.
“Haechan,” he called over his shoulder, grinning as he reached for the cupboard’s handle. “You can call me Haechan.”
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So.
There was someone in your home, and he was a demon sitting across from you, digging into his second helping of the kimchi jjigae you initially planned on rationing out for the entire week.
Like an actual living and breathing demon—an incubus. A demon dependent on sex, and from what you’ve heard from one of the girls utterly obsessed with the occult and anything spooky, Incubi and Succubi do, in fact, fuck to survive. A fuck or die slowly situation which earned Haechan a dubious look when he confirmed through a mouthful of pork belly.
(You weren’t too sure if you heard right when the mentioned occult-obsessed classmate later added that the human could literally go insane from the amount of life force they’d lost. Or that some incubi and succubi do it for the purpose of reproducing. Hopefully she was wrong because—well—because).
“Okay,” you let the spoon clatter into your bowl. “Okay.” you repeated in a way to soothe yourself before broaching on the topic, prompted by morbid curiosity because hello, who wouldn’t start questioning the ‘monster’ you were stuck with for an indefinite amount of time? “So! What, you fuck anyone that comes to live here?”
“Mm—one second,” he raised a finger and then swallowed. “This is really good and, well, yes and no?”
You hit him with a pointed look. “It’s either yes or no.”
“Nosy, nosy,” he tutted, heat creeping from your neck and up at the sight of his smirk. “Curious about my body count, aren’t you, sweet thing?”
“Uh,” you said intelligently, brain short-circuiting at the pet-name. “Am I allowed to be?”
Haechan beamed. “‘course! Honestly, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t. Humans are naturally curious, aren’t they? Kinda weird that you’re so calm about this though.”
He wasn’t wrong. You were the perfect picture of calm listening to him talk about his origins and any sane person would think Haechan was just talking out of his ass. It was likely due to the fact that you’ve become desensitized to most things and consequently, this was less weird than being offered cocaine right outside of campus.
“I’ve been through worse.” You shrugged and there was something absolutely hilarious about a demon of all beings expressing a mix of concern and confusion when you waved him off. “So what does ‘yes and no’ mean?” You pressed further, curious and maybe a smidge nosy.
Other than the hectic lifestyle you live, things were pretty much boring when it came to experiences outside of your academics and extracurriculars, and your part-time; the latter only holding a modicum of drama that involved teenagers and their own diluted version of pettiness and the occasional entitled ahjummas that were dead-set on making your life miserable than it already was with maintaining an absurdly high GPA to keep your scholarship. Not to mention you were barely scraping by with your savings.
Taking in Haechan and his brazen glory, you might as well live vicariously through him to feel something, right? Like one of those moms who’d force their own kid to live out their dreams. And so you were going to pry as much as he would let you. Haechan was shameless in his own way anyway, proudly so with how he was literally wearing a pair of your sleep shorts that left nothing to the imagination and a zip-up that was definitely his. You didn’t remember having one with horns attached to the hood and you wouldn't wear anything too on the nose if you were him.
(You could have sworn an ass cheek popped out when he was getting a drink from the fridge—Christ, you didn't remember the specific pair being that short—not that you were looking on purpose, no way. His thighs were literally displayed like that).
“Meaning, I don’t limit myself to just my tenant. The risk of them dying is lower that way. They get the time they need to regain the life force they lost while I go out, find a willing soul and… take what I need.” you pointedly ignored the glint of mischief in his eyes by taking a long, generous sip of your water. Haechan snorted at the loud gulp. “We’re not all evil.”
With what your dreams were made of in the past month or so, you highly doubt a singular demon would align their morals with yours. The thought was ridiculous enough on its own and apparently, it translated so well on your face—a grimace that said all that needed to be said—that Haechan had to laugh with crinkled eyes and a scrunched nose, both in which oddly made him look less of the sex-deprived creature etched into your skull, and more human.
“And I don’t really want a human’s death on my conscience. It’s in our nature, there’s no doubting that, but Hell isn’t lawless as you think it is. We have rules to follow. We still have to be kept in line and it just so happens that humans are—ah, how do I say this—precious,” he said with air quotations. “to our supreme overlord. Humans help keep Hell the way it is, and we try not to terrorize them too often.”
“Bit late on that, don’t you think?” you said dryly, being a victim of his terrorizing.
Haechan didn’t even look the least bit remorseful. “What can I say? Frustration is such a cute look on you, darling.” He cooed, a lop-sided grin stretching wide enough that a fang glinted underneath the overhead light as it caught on his lower lip. “I could just eat you up.”
“Please don’t,” You don’t even want to imagine the damage his piercing canines could do. “I’m not really into vore.”
Haechan giggled, resting his cheek onto an open palm. “You’re so funny.”
“Um!” you were beginning to feel like you’ve aged five years from this conversation alone. “That’s all I need to know, really.”
As interesting as it sounded (e.g; the logistics of Hell’s governance, rules Hellian’s had to follow, the social hierarchy and the importance of humans, surprisingly) you thought it was far too early to go into the nitty-gritty details of anything incubi or succubi related. The fact that Hell mirrored human society in a democratic sense with far more nuances than you would expect was all sorts of intriguing, but your curiosity on that could be satiated another time.
You cleared your throat. “Anyways, thank you for answering.”
Haechan hummed in response, going back to demolishing his food.
Right now, you were more inclined to know what this meant for you and your living situation.
Speaking of.
“Is that why the rent is so cheap?” you wondered, eyebrows knitting together. “Because it had you stinking up the place?” The chair creaked as you fell back against it, arms folding above your chest to scrutinize him more.
Haechan gasped, mouth falling open at the jab. “Excuse you! I smell great!” and as if on cue, the scent of tangy sweetness went up right up your nose, making you grimace.
“It’s a little overpowering sometimes,” you confessed, wrinkling your nose and by the strange act of mercy, the smell dialed down and the urge to keel over disappeared completely. “Seriously, is anything normal too much for you? You couldn’t say ‘hi’ to me normally?”
Haechan arched an eyebrow. “What about ‘sex demon’ screams normal to you?” Touché. “And my way was much more fun.” (“it was fun being a nuisance?” you mumbled) “If I was that much of a bother, why didn’t you complain to Ms. Hong?”
You just about mirrored his expression, “what does my landlady have to do about this?”
Like, yeah, Ms. Hong had her responsibilities being a landlady, including the comfort of her tenants and having their best interests at heart, but you didn’t think she’d waste her time with your… special predicament. Ms. Hong probably had better things to worry about anyway, so why did he bring her up? Better yet, why was there familiarity with the way Haechan addressed her?
“She only tried to banish me one too many times,” He huffed as he mirrored your posture. “I got so sick of it that I left my sigil here so she couldn’t do it anymore. She knows better than to tamper with demon magic.”
“Banish—again, what?” Your head was already spinning from the onslaught of information you’ve been fed up until this point. Add Ms. Hong and her involvement in this? It’s a miracle your brain hadn’t imploded on itself.
“You really don’t know?” Haechan cocked his head, regarding you with an unreadable expression for a short moment, just watching you silently process what he said until his face smoothened to show a little bit of sympathy. “Darling, Ms. Hong’s a witch.” He spoke slowly.
“I literally just found out that you, an incubus, exists. How was I supposed to know she was a witch?!”
Though it did make sense. How weird your landlady acted during the first meeting. How cryptic she was in answering every question you had prior to viewing the unit and she essentially begged you to ‘be careful’ before you left. She knew very well that apartment 66 was housing a demon and cut the costs as compensation, leaving you to figure out the fatal flaw of this damned unit.
Haechan shrugged. Okay, so he’s useless. Great.
With a heavy resigned sigh, the table clattered as you clutched your head. “She’s a fucking witch and she scammed me.”
“Can’t be scammed if you’ve gotten what you asked for—an apartment perfect for you.” Unlike yourself, Haechan found this absolutely hilarious. So nice to know that someone found amusement in your suffering. “with an added little something to keep you entertained, yes?”
It was obvious what he was hinting at: himself, looking up just in time to catch him flashing you a cheeky grin as you stiffened at the sensation of his foot brushing up and down your shin—which was a bizarre choice. Bizarre for you, but another Tuesday for him. The clock barely hit ten and here Haechan was, wasting no time shooting his shot so he could have his fun. Just when you thought your life couldn’t get any weirder.
How he knew of your wants, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how he did. With Haechan and his display of freaky ‘demon magic’, you'd assume anything was possible for a Hellian like him, peeking into your head as if it was free real estate. Asshole.
“I don’t remember ever asking for you,” you grumbled, your foot pushing down on Haechan’s to stop him. God, were you seriously playing footsie with a demon?
“Oh? Then that’s too bad,” he said through a pout, mocking. “Unless you find a witch powerful enough to get rid of me and my sigil, I’m staying—and it’s not like you could afford to move again.”
And it’s all kinds of condescending. The way he talked, the way he leered, yet even with all the goading, he was right. There was no way you could afford another down payment for a new place that would surely have a higher jump in price, so you stayed quiet. It was a time like this where you wished there was a reset button to life. Why weren’t you born into money?
“Thought so. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.”
The self-satisfied smile he sported was all sorts of grating, but you weren’t going to risk what he could do to you if you threw a bowl to his head.
Demon magic was an entirely different thing still beyond your human brain’s comprehension, and his black-lacquered nails were like a silent threat on their own.
The scratches on your neck and waist serve as a reminder that Haechan had claws that could tear you apart, hidden in plain sight.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t know supernaturals exist,” Haechan said in slight awe and wonder, lightly swinging his feet from his perch on the counter. “I mean, it’s not like we’re hiding what we are. I’m sure someone warned you, or something.”
With the absence of any self-preservation skills, it wasn’t all too surprising that your Grandma took it upon herself to become the overbearing parental figure in your life.
Grandma was the exact person Haechan was referring to. You told him how she’s as superstitious as they could come and she, with her unwavering belief in anything supernatural, had tried to drill the same into your head. You had practically grown up with her making you do things that could hopefully stop you from going face-to-face with one; would even commission one of her equally insane friends for amulets or talismans to keep the malevolent creatures from latching onto you.
Being who you were, hyper-independent from such a young age to present, those little trinkets you were forced to wear ultimately ended up in the trash and Grandma had long given up on that alternative, fed up with you constantly “losing” them.
Too late now, you thought. When there’s Haechan on your kitchen counter, magic singing with each languid flick of his hand that wound around your wrists like how a cat’s tail would—soft, warm and grounding. Which you didn’t think was even possible when all he used it for was to dry the dishes you hand him, putting them away after with a wave of his hand. If Grandma could see you now, the old crone would likely keel over and die of a heart attack.
“Grandma was kind of insane,” you joked. Paranoid too as she would always call you home the moment the sun went down in fear of you being snatched away by some cryptid. “She was against me going to college, harping on how the city was too dangerous for her ‘sweet girl’. But I wanted different things and I never believed in anything she said.”
If you did, that would also mean you would have let her instill into you the fear of something you weren’t even sure existed. Perhaps struggling to keep yourself afloat wouldn’t even be a thing if you just stayed under Grandma’s roof, but that was another can of worms you didn’t really want to open today.
“Grandma was right, though.”
“Yeah,” you huffed, giving him a brief once over. “Clearly.”
Haechan hummed, preening under the attention. “She really is. Seoul’s infested with all sorts of creepy crawlies. Like, vampires make up most of its supernatural population. You’d usually find them in upscale districts like Itaewon or Gangnam. Bougie fuckers, I know.” he said, matching your own disbelief. “But they’re very generous. Can’t say I’ve had any boring times with the leeches either. Their fangs are really sharp. Sharper than mine.”
You didn’t need to put two and two together to get what he was hinting at. By the lecherous, wide smile that showcased Haechan’s own set of upper fangs, a little shorter than would you’d think of a vampire’s, it was enough to tell you that he’s had his fair share of hook-ups with the bloodsuckers.
You wrinkled your nose at the thought. An incubus and a vampire. That’s a very interesting picture to paint. “I thought humans were the default favorite for you demons?”
“I never said they weren’t,” he said. “Doesn’t mean that I can’t try anything else though. Like, Think of it this way—you have a favorite food to eat, right? Eat too much and you’d def grow sick of it. It’s like that.”
“So, in essence, you put off humans to grow… an appetite? To crave for them?”
“Awe, see? You’re catching on,” Haechan cooed. “Though, slight correction, I always crave for humans.”
He was fucking with you. He’s got to be, yet you didn’t think you were in a place to judge his choices. You were painfully human. You didn’t need to do anything drastic for sustenance.
“Whatever gets your fill, I guess. You look like you have it easy, picking out any willing human to be yours for the night anyway.”
You weren’t blind. You were the farthest from dumb too and just looking at Haechan was enough to tell you that he had it easy. That batting his eyelashes once or twice—three times, for good measure—would get anyone keeling over, scrambling to give what he had asked for before Haechan’s deceptive sweetness turned sour. Threatening. Deadly.
With the way he carried himself, how he talked, how his mind worked—all being from the hours-long observation you've mentally conducted—it was just telling how Haechan wasn’t necessarily a stranger to compliments. He was made to be desired. He was made to fulfill such desires, and you could only imagine how often he hears praises for the way he looked. You didn’t didn’t need to add on the number. It's not like he’d die from not hearing anything from you. Haechan could live.
What he could not live without, you were starting to notice, was to have his fun pushing your buttons. The shit-eating grin just told you as much.
“Don’t let that get to your head.”
“Too late! You think I’m sexy,” he sang. “As you should, actually.”
“I hardly think heavy eyeliner is sexy,” you quipped.
Haechan begged to disagree, letting out a wounded noise. “It makes my eyes pop.”
I hope they pop out from your skull. “Sure they do.” 
Here’s the thing: It did make his eyes pop. The unnatural amber shade was already ‘poppy’ as is, backlit by an incandescent glow, a detail the less educated would surely miss from being distracted by everything else. To you, it was the one damning trait that showed Haechan wasn’t at all human and the smokey darkness intensified that.
Haechan’s eyes were beautiful, hauntingly so, but you would rather gouge your own eyes out than to admit it out loud. You planned on wasting away for the entire day and you weren’t letting psychological warfare stop you.
Clearly, the parasite (see: Haechan) had other plans that involved ruining yours. It was like peace was never an option and here you were, given a demon to make sure you’d never find out what it would be like. Being at peace.
(Going back home to Grandma was starting to become a tempting out from this).
Haechan giggled despite the sarcasm, tilting his head to regard you with a look that was almost fond if it wasn’t for the permanent smirk etched onto his face.
“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun living with you, Y/N.”
You narrowed your eyes, “can’t say the same.”
“Don’t be like that,” he murmured as he poked the tip of your nose with his index finger, chuckling when you went cross-eyed. “I’ll make it fun.”
You scoffed, jerking your head away as if he burnt you. “Keep your hands to yourself, demon.”
Haechan only laughed as you made a break for your balcony with the idea of seeking refuge in the mini-garden that had been set up until the burn in your cheeks faded so no embarrassment, not even the slightest bit, would leave a trace.
“Something tells me you’re gonna want them on you soon,” came his reply as soon as you reached the halfway mark towards the sliding glass door. “and you can trust that I won't ever disappoint.”
He’s so fucking sleazy. You had half the mind to whirl around to pick another fight since ‘flight’ was immediately scratched from your choices, kind of like how the initial fear you had dissipated into nothing now that you were aware of what was haunting your apartment. All you felt was annoyance and my God did you want to fight him.
However, before you could even simulate a play-by-play of ‘Giving the Demon In My Home A Piece of My Mind’ in your head (with the hopeful outcome of Haechan reduced to a pathetic heap on the floor. Poetic, you thought, that an all too powerful entity was beaten down in that state), a surprised squeal interrupted your thoughts of murder, thanks to an invisible force hauling and backing you up against a sturdy, warm, smelling suspiciously of fucking tangerines—Haechan.
Boundaries were non-existent to Haechan it looks like, his arms loosely coiled around your shoulders like a snake luring its prey into a false sense of security as soft lips brushed along your cheek; warm and gentle before settling onto your temple.
“All you have to do is ask and I’ll be yours.”
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III.
Having Haechan as a live-in something, was just.
Well.
Normally, the term ‘demon’ being attached to someone would already have some eyebrow raising expectations dealing with the macabre set in stone (mostly influenced by the very same supernatural dickrider classmate. You can never be too safe). Like him sacrificing a poor virgin on a pentagram scrawled onto the parquet flooring in haste, surrounded by candles as Haechan spoke in tongues. Or him engaging in orgies—also on a pentagram, but bigger for at least five people to pay their tributes to Satan through nutting one too many times. Which was? Good for them?
Only, the floor was spotless; hastily drawn pentagrams absent so there were definitely no virgins sacrificed (yet). No orgies either since the nights became surprisingly still, post-Haechan.
Having Haechan as a live-in something, was just, for lack of a better term, normal. 
Something close to dull if it weren’t for the constant reminders that this was a wretched so-and-so demon you were learning to deal with. The reality of it all was borderline boring that you hinted he was free to go ape-shit with his demonic duties. Many, many times until one odd look from Haechan, a silent prompt for you to elaborate, had you deciding against it and excused yourself to tend the small garden.
(He followed behind a second later, poking and prodding until you threatened to spray him with holy water).
In some way, Haechan had no problem adapting with your lifestyle. It was almost laughable how seamlessly he had woven himself into your routine built from years of being in survival mode. Like he was the cog that you didn’t even realize was missing from the machine and, dare you say it, Haechan has been a pleasant live-in something—a pleasant roommate.
What you liked most though, was that Haechan could cook.
Man, did the incubus know how to cook.
It was a quirk—perk, really—you had discovered after an offhanded mention of you routinely skipping breakfast to maximize time and efficiency (read: you were shit at taking care of yourself).
(“Hi,” you called out as you burst from your bedroom in a rush. “Bye. I gotta go.”
Haechan, who had been standing in front of the stove wearing a Pompompurin apron, turned his neck so fast that a crick was heard. “Wait, what?” His distress went pretty much ignored as you pulled on the sneakers you thrifted two weeks ago. “You haven’t eaten breakfast yet!”
Oh, you knew that. Mourned it really, but— “No time. I’ll take a slice of toast though,” you said just as the toaster went off.
The incubus shook his head. “No, you’re getting an egg sandwich. An Omelet sandwich. More filling than fucking toast.” Haechan scoffed and behind him, the two golden brown slices of toast floated as the spatula flipped a generous amount of the vegetable omelet onto one of them. 
Yeah, that was something you were still getting used to. Magic. 
“How’d you take your coffee?”
“Two sugars and one creamer. Both teaspoons.”
“Finally, a normal coffee order,” he sighed, appearing very relieved as he snapped his fingers to conjure a silver thermos before you could even question the weird reaction. “Go on,” Haechan encouraged, gesturing for you to grab it just as your sandwich hovered next to the thermos.
“Thank you..?”)
… and lunch.
(“Make sure to eat lunch, though.”
“Can’t either,” you sighed, stuffing the thermos into your backpack’s side pocket. “Club duties, tutoring sessions—” you ticked two of your fingers up “—plus, I’m on a tight budget until my next pay. My aunt can only sustain me enough.” That, and you’d rather not ask for help even if she insisted. Auntie meant well. You knew that, but she had her own family to take care of and you didn’t want to hear any of her useless husband’s unsolicited advice. Like, fuck that guy. Seriously.
“... dinner?” Haechan tried, sounding almost hopeful, only to balk at the thoughtful look you get while unwrapping your sandwich. You’ve got to be shitting me. “Damn, you live like this?”
Thoughtful turned annoyed which—yeah, Haechan thought he deserved that. “Not everyone has their parents paying for everything. Some of us do have to work.” You took a rough bite from the sandwich, muffling your next slew of words, “don’t you already know this? You have been watching me ever since I moved here.”
He understood anyway. “Not all the time,” he clicked his tongue, switching off the stove and range hood with a flick of his wrist. “I have a life outside being an incubus, y’know.”
“And what do you do in your spare time?”
He smiled something sinister. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”)
The bar was in Hell, apparently, because all it took for you to soften up was to get Haechan feeding you his food. Cooking was the last thing you’d expect from a demon and wasn’t salt considered the Kryptonite to demons and anything made up of evil and malice and shit?
(“Oh, most of us evolved past that. Hell, even Lord Satan’s immune to it. Some of the Hellians are deathly allergic though.” Deathly allergic. How fitting.
“So salt just picks out the weakest link?”
He laughed softly, nodding. “Survival of the fittest.”)
Whatever. You had no room to question Hell and its people’s lore when you were eating like a king, ironically being fed by one of Hell’s people.
Besides, food was one less thing to worry about. An equivalent to luxury; being sent to college with a full, Sanrio themed lunch box that could feed at least three people (see: YangYang. A blockmate you’ve recently gotten closer to whom you’ had caught occasionally staring hungrily at your lunch) and more often than not, you’ve been coming home to a set table and a man in a cutesy apron. You were starting to sense a pattern here.
“Just to be clear,” you began. “you’re not fattening me up just to eat me, right?”
“I thought you weren’t into vore?”
“Please be serious.”
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Haechan peeked over his shoulder, snorting. “If that were the case, I would have swallowed you whole that very Sunday morning.” The My Melody apron—pink and frilly all over—surely didn’t help his case.
It was like being held at gun-point by a bear; nerve-wracking, yes and you haven’t forgotten for a second that Haechan had the upper hand for simply being not of the mortal plane. Yet it was oddly endearing, now that you took notice of the gray crewneck that definitely belonged to your wardrobe, cinched around a lithe waist.
It still did make you think though. “So there’s no ulterior motive?”
Haechan whirled around to face you with a gasp, eyes widened in feigned innocence with a hand on his chest. “You don’t believe that I’m cooking from the goodness of my heart?”
You arched an eyebrow.
The demon sighed, lips forming into a slight pout. “Fine. Maybe this is more for my benefit than yours.”
“Haechan.”
Haechan raised both of his hands in what you think was placating. “You’re as good as useless when your life force quality sucks from your shitty eating habits. I’m doing myself a favor,” He shrugged. “If you’re eating good, then I’m eating good—that sort of thing.”
Okay, so maybe you still wanted to punch him in the head.
“Wow,” you said dryly, resisting the urge to get up and strangle him. “Way to make a girl feel special.”
There was a coy smile playing on his lips. “If it makes you feel better, you can just treat me as something that warms your bed,” the incubus brought his attention back to what he was doing previously, deciding against magic, weirdly enough. “In more ways than one. I don’t mind.”
The chair screeched along the floor as you stood up. “I’m gonna be late,” you sputtered, face hot to the touch and scrambling to escape.
Life was so much easier when you weren’t reminded of the possibility of Haechan running to you for his… sex thing. Actually, scratch that, life was so much easier when you hadn’t been made aware of him because there were times where you wondered when that would be. Multiple times. It wasn’t ever brought up; not by you, not by Haechan as he had been somewhat cordial, no mentions of anything related to his survival. At least directly.
In some way, this was different. It’s not often you’d listen to him blatantly offering himself for a test drive, and yes you do run away before Haechan could expound on it every time, yet something curls deep within your gut when you could feel curious eyes boring into your back as you ran off.
Haechan and his propensity for testing the lines was bound to get him smacked upside the head one of these days, but today wasn’t the day. He was smart enough on not exactly breaching the boundaries set, backing up before you could even get creative with damning him all to Hell.
“Here.”
You jerked your head up as you tied the laces of your sneakers and found another variation of a lunch bag dangling right in front of you.
“Thanks,” you said as you stood to your full height, still flustered and avoiding all eye-contact as necessary. “I’ll make sure to eat all of it.”
Haechan only hummed as you took your lunch from him, offering nothing else.
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“You know, I’ve always wondered who makes your lunches,” YangYang started, sidling up next to you just as your phone pinged. “They’re all so… detailed. Is it your mom?” 
“Ever thought that maybe I made them myself?”
haechan 👹: hi you: what
Telling YangYang outright that your ‘roommate’ went through all the trouble didn’t sound like a good idea when Yunjin was within earshot. Apartment 66 was a one-bedroom unit and she knew very well that you lived alone, her living just right below you with Chaewon, too. Mentioning the roommate would just raise all sorts of questions that could paint you as mentally unstable if you told her about Haechan and his fucking sigil (that you still haven’t found!) that had gotten you in this situation. You felt mentally unstable just thinking about it.
haechan 👹: i miss you :( you: ?? you: what’s wrong with u
Not to mention your mom was as good as dead to you.
“Okay, fair. I don’t think your mom would prepare something so phallic either, lol.” You’d never have thought hearing ‘phallic’ and ‘lol’ spoken out loud in the same sentence would give you this much of a start, immediately looking up from your phone to catch him already holding your opened lunch box with one hand, chopsticks at the ready to poke and prod in the other. “This looks like a dick—look, cherry tomatoes as the balls—”
“Stop doing that,” you hissed, snatching your lunch from him, only to put it in the middle of you two so you wouldn’t have to see him sulk. “No one else is gonna steal my lunch from you.”
you: srsly you’ve been so weird lately haechan 👹: hungry ʕ>Ⱉ<‧ :ʔ you: ? eat something then lol
“So the dick wasn’t code for a quick fuck in the toilet stalls?” He teased, biting down onto the tips of his chopsticks with a sharp grin. “I’d be down.”
If looks could kill, YangYang’s guts would be splattered everywhere on the table.
“Absolutely not.”
You didn’t feel the least bit sorry when YangYang choked on the egg roll you shoved into his mouth.
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With pleasantries came oddities and Haechan was never short on the latter.
It’s like this: It has already been established that Haechan was an incubus. A subclass of demons that made up a quarter of Hell’s population and his origins was also proven by the unrestricted use of his magic at home, yet he still liked to show off that he was exactly that.
There were times where you would catch him hovering an inch or two—sometimes higher—from the ground which you thought was rather unnecessary. Again, the blatant usage of magic for anything menial (e.g: opening cupboards, switching lights, turning on the TV that somehow materialized from nowhere when the remote was right next to him) and you found out the hard way that other than the claws, he also had horns and a tail.
Let’s just say Haechan had to stop you from calling 112 at three in the morning. Again.
(No. He didn’t have to get on top of you this time).
Still, having him around had been, more or less, pleasant. Except when he was stewing away on the couch, which also doubled as his bed, in this peculiar form.
From how often it happened, it became a little guessing game with yourself whether you would come home to Haechan in the form you were acclimated to seeing everyday: human and rather unassuming when his beautiful face did all the talking, or the form where he was completely embraced by his own darkness.
Literally.
Like right now and you had to swallow back a scream from how eerie this thing—Haechan came off, sitting on the couch with the inky black haze swirling around him. It rose and fell like tendrils made out of smoke, curling in the air and reaching out for nothing in particular. You’ve never felt so creeped out as you did now. For a moment, you expected that one of the ghostly limbs would shoot out and grab you.
“Haechan?” you called as you closed the door with your foot. The void™ looked over, his blood-red gaze making you flinch. Christ, that always freaked you out, but you smiled anyway  to appease him, if not a bit crooked and a smidge wary. “Are you okay? What’s with all… this?”
At that, the smoke stilled before getting sucked into his body, revealing Haechan and all his tan glory, sulking. At least he was wearing his own clothes today, a soft looking shirt and a pair of gym shorts that showed way more leg than you think was considered legal. He was comfortable enough to keep his horns and tail out with black, thick-framed glasses as the newest addition.
It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen him in such a vexed state. Haechan liked to complain. There wasn’t a day where he didn’t voice his grievances that you kind of expected a long-winded rant the moment you walked through the door, but as you looked closer, he didn’t seem to be in the mood for routine.
He seemed subdued. Sun-kissed skin took on a deathlike pallor and devoid of the usual inhuman glow, so unlike the deceptively beautiful incubus, unshakable even against the harshest remark you’d thrown at him. Now, he looked quite the poster-child for pity. Even his striking eyes lacked the ever-present sheen of mischief in them. He looked awfully plain, almost in a sickly way.
His pout took on a more dangerous route, so close to tugging on your heartstrings with how… pathetic he came off. “I’m hungry.”
“Uh-huh. Read your text,” you said, shoving your sneakers into the cubby.
He did know that he lived here way before you, right? This place was his as much as it was yours. A truth he’d always hold above your head to get his point across, which naturally meant that he was free to gobble up anything edible unless you tell him a specific food item wasn’t for his claws to sink in.
“You didn’t start on dinner,” you noted as you stalked into the kitchen for a drink. “Did you want me to cook instead?”
Haechan's face twisted, something a little pained as he let out a soft whine. “Not hungry as in hungry.” he patted his stomach. “I’m hungry as in—y’know.” Haechan made this intricate gesture with a hand. Like you were supposed to know what the fuck that meant—never mind, he was missing one hand. The crude motion he made soon after with it told you all you needed to know. What he was particularly hungry for.
“Ah.” No wonder he was so needy. Why he seemed sluggish; irritable at times as he almost snapped at you for not putting as much sweet chili paste he wanted in the tteokbokki that one time. It was actually kind of cute, that someone who acted like he was above everyone else was reduced to this. “Is that why you’ve been so clingy? Haven’t found anyone to bump uglies with?”
Clingy was one way to put it, but to be specific, for an entity birthed from all that was considered evil and dark, Haechan oddly had a cutesy disposition at times. The clinginess was very apparent though, reminding you of an overzealous cat shadowing your every move, getting in your way sometimes and not quite letting you have space. The apartment wasn’t exactly generous in that area either.
“My dick isn’t ugly,” Haechan scowled, blinking slowly as he slumped against the cushions.
You couldn’t help but to snort as you pressed the bottle’s opening to your lips. “Is it?”
An offhand comment, really, yet Haechan took it as a challenge anyway. Like he did with most things. You blamed it on his Leo placements. “I can prove it to you right now,” He pushed on as he sat straight up, making you freeze. “You’re talking to a very hungry and very desperate incubus.”
Oh. So you were doing this.
Well, it wasn’t like you were not expecting to be Haechan’s temporary object of desire. It’s just, he never outright asked you to sleep with him, making it easy to assume that he got his fix from somewhere else. Sure, there were hints dropped here and there, though you’d prefer if it was spelled out for you to avoid any misunderstandings.
Now it was spelled out for you. Succinctly. No bullshit or riddle-speak to force you into doing mental gymnastics to figure out what he wanted. Nothing could be clearer than the incubus threatening to whip out the monster hiding in his pants just to prove you wrong (as one does).
Also, maybe you should learn how to shut the fuck up next time.
Panic shot through you like an electrical current, choking on your drink when you caught sight of his fingers teasing the waistband of his shorts.
“Wait!” you wheeze after a coughing fit, a hand shooting out to stop him from flashing you. “Can I at least wash up first?”
“Oh,” Haechan actually looked dejected at this as his hand stilled. “Okay. Don’t take too long, or I’ll miss you.”
‘I’ll miss you’. Jesus Christ. Even the text was less weird. 
“I’ll literally be only a few meters away?” You sputtered.
“Ugh, too far.” he whined, slinking over the couch’s armrest like a lazy cat. Haechan gave the bathroom door a brief glance before his attention went back on you, eyes softer around the edges and almost pleading. “Can’t I just go in there with you?”
“What.”
“We don’t have to do anything! You can have your shower while I can just sit on the toilet and talk about my day!” Haechan explained. Like it was that simple. “Or you can tell me about yours!” He added as an afterthought as if that would make him sound less insane.
The long look you gave was enough of an answer before you all but rushed into the bathroom, completely ignoring the indignant yell from Haechan as you locked the door behind you.
This was probably the weirdest shower you’ve ever had.
Actually, this was the only weirdest shower you’ve ever had.
As if you weren’t embarrassed enough from Haechan offering to keep you ‘company’—which, again, was insane and very bold. Mostly insane—he spent the first five minutes pawing at the door, whining about how he “won’t do anything, really! Just let me be with you, please.” and maybe, maybe you did kind of entertain the idea for a good five seconds or so, before you were hit with how fucking ridiculous it sounded.
Though, admittedly, it was a little endearing, hearing just how desperate he can get, but also the fact that he could literally poof in if he wanted to. He just chose not to. A literal demon. In the flesh. An incubus with unimaginable power running through his veins he could use and abuse to get his way. And Haechan does none of that.
He was still outside. Still pawing at the door, all the while recounting his day spent lounging about the house since the lack of sex had depleted his energy to doing anything else, apparently.
(Seriously, what did he do in all his spare time?)
Other than that, it seemed the concept of consent wasn’t at all lost, that it still held some sort of value for the people assumed to not have any morals (the more you know). It could very well just be a Haechan thing, nonetheless you appreciated the rare instance of him not testing his luck against the boundaries you’ve set.
You made a face. Half at the way the lukewarm water sprayed onto your face bringing you out of your mulling, and half at the thought that Haechan could be sweet and considerate when he wanted to (or when it was convenient for him). 
He did have the face for it. That’s something you have regularly thought about—sleepy eyes, cute button nose, petal-pink heart-shaped lips and the array of moles smattered along his face and neck—yet sweet was the furthest adjective you’d attach to him, honestly speaking. You didn't think he was capable of anything soft, unless it was to manipulate a situation. Not when you were antagonized every waking day God forced you to face until you left Satan’s little minion on the couch for the night, just to do it all over again as soon as the sun bled through the blinds.
(With all the thinking time the shower has given you, you still didn’t know what his actual day-to-day schedule consisted of, though you could so tell that he fit ‘bothering Y/N, the boring human’ somewhere in there. It was one of his favorite past times).
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Yunjin once mentioned that your resting face and the intensity of your glaring were the reasons why you were considered unapproachable, scaring off any potential suitor, too.
Like that was a problem. The guys at your university were mid at best and you wouldn't be caught dead with a guy who made getting his daily gains his entire personality trait.
Haechan was a different story entirely, somehow appearing flattered that you were trying to set him on fire with your eyes alone.
Both of you had migrated to the couch with you sitting criss-cross applesauce and a shoulder pressed against the couch’s backrest. Haechan took on a more laxer route; an arm propped up on the armrest to rest a cheek on his fist, torso twisted to face you without losing any of that comfort, and not even flinching when hit by the full force of your glare and furrowed eyebrows.
“So, are you a virgin?”
You glared even harder. “Shut up.”
“I’m just making sure! So I can adjust accordingly. Your first time should always be gentle and sweet, then we can talk about the other spicy shit you wanna try. Christian Grey style.” There was a joke being formulated here. You can literally see him working it out in his head. From the gleam in his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips, you knew you were going to absolutely hate it. “Could I interest you in some nipple clamps?”
There was a version of Haechan in your head that had just died from spontaneous combustion, just like the other Haechans that died from different causes for simply talking his shit.
“I will clamp your fucking mouth shut, demon.”
“Stop,” he grinned, delighted by the reaction. “you’re gonna make me hard.”
“Freak,” you quipped, folding your arms. “and I don’t think Fifty Shades of Grey is a great representation of the B-D-S-M community. Or a reliable point of reference.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d be snooty with your smut choices.”
Please. You’ve read fan-fiction porn written better than what you’ve seen on the market, or (God forbid) BookTok. Obviously. The argument, however, didn’t make it past your teeth, and it was second nature to rebut against every jab Haechan hurled your way. It was a thing. Your thing. As in plural—for both of you, to engage in a back-and-forth until one of you conceded. It was a Haechan and Y/N thing to argue as if it were life or death.
And for the first time ever, none of you attempted to get the first word in. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that bit at the tail end of Haechan’s sentence and all that was left for you to do was to size each other up. Much like the night you woke to the demon sitting at the foot of your bed, gargoyle-like.
“Right,” you started, pushing yourself up to sit properly. Might as well get this over with. And for the sake of precaution, you can just threaten to waterboard him with holy water if he dared tell anyone else (does he even have any friends?) about what went on behind the manicured door of apartment 66. “How do we do this?”
Haechan inclined his head and smiled.
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“Relax,” Haechan stressed as he tried coaxing you into sitting your full weight onto his thighs and then huffing when you couldn’t seem to just… let yourself go. “I’m starting to believe that you are a virgin from how tense you are.”
“Easy for you to say.”
He wasn’t the one who had unwillingly abstained from sex for longer than what was considered normal, and you honestly believed you'd forgotten most of what you've learned from the handful of meaningless hookups you’ve gone through. And yes, perhaps you were a little hesitant. You were pretty sure you have forgotten what a dick looked like too from not getting any on the regular.
Haechan was walking temptation himself. Sex on mile long legs that should be illegal, honestly, and being compared to his gargantuan pool of past conquests was terrifying to think about. What if you became his worst lay to date? That would actually obliterate the last ounces of your confidence and self-respect, and there wasn’t much to begin with.
Unsurprisingly, the incubus didn’t get where you were coming from, judging by the pointed look he gave you. “It literally is. I’m serious. Just sit down.”
And down you went on his lap with an undignified yelp as your fingers dug into his shoulder for balance. Even squirming to get out of his hold was too much work. Like, it was an actual struggle against Haechan’s tighter than tight grip. Fuck him and the abnormal strength. Escaping has never been so difficult until now, and you’d like to think you were rather good at it too.
“Last chance to admit you’re still a virgin,” he teased and sang the word ‘virgin’ just to further annoy you.
You felt your eye twitch. “Not a virgin. Just…” it tapered off into a sigh as you leaned back a bit for more breathing space, staring resolutely at the small, polished black horns protruding from his head. Was it you, or was it getting a bit warm? “It’s been a while for me.”
“Ah. Nervous?” Haechan supplied and the sigh of relief you released when his hands on your hips loosened their grip didn’t go unnoticed, his amusement made apparent with a soft chuckle. “Scared? I won’t bite unless you want me to.” Something told you he’d probably do it anyway. “and I’m not expecting you to like, be a pro or anything. You just sitting on my lap is already doing me wonders.”
Sitting on his lap was doing something for you too. Not quite falling in line with what Haechan was obviously hinting at, but a grounding feeling where all you could really focus on was how unnaturally warm he was. Going hand-in-hand with Haechan’s thumbs trying to meld circles into your hips became a good enough distraction to put the neurons firing off in your brain to a total stand still.
“Will kissing me help you calm down?” Haechan asked after a few beats of silence. “Or is that too much for you too?”
It was a very obvious bait only Haechan knew of to lure you in. The playful tone was too damning to let it fly above your head, yet you didn’t rise to clamp your teeth around the hook. This dragged on long enough and you were actually starting to get antsy because he wasn’t doing anything. He had every bit of power to do anything he wanted with you. You thought you sprawled above his lap was enough of a prompter for him to just take and take, but—
But.
Amber eyes. Striking as they always were even under the dim warmth of the accent lights, were less piercing as they gaze into your own pair. Something else lurked beneath the thin ring of amber, thinned by blown pupils. Something almost balmy and when you started to loosen up, Haechan wasted no time in gently taking both of your clammy hands to place them above his chest. He was warm here too, your palms curving over the slight swell of his pecs, silently marveling at the firm muscles.
Your eyes flickered a moment down to his lips. Haechan huffed softly with a wry smile. You looked away.
He was quick to catch your chin with a hand, however. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” He warned, moving closer and closer—
And Haechan takes.
Pillowy soft lips slot in between your own trembling pair in a gentle dance. Tentative almost, which you knew was your doing while Haechan remained patient in matching what you have set for your own comfort, surprisingly. Haechan was many things, and patient was less likely to be related to his person, yet it was all he was when he changed the angle and deepened each succeeding press of his mouth.
Technically, this wasn’t the first time you shared a kiss with him (them being in dreams), but this was the first time you shared an actual kiss, lucid. Mind ever present and attuned in the moment to feel and act upon Haechan’s lips. So very unlike the fleeting drag of his mouth from your own and down the length of your throat and Haechan kissed like he just knew what to do. Knew what would earn him a sigh, an appreciative hum, or even a airy moan you had just let out from a teasing bite on your lower lip.
And as expected, Haechan forgot what it meant to be patient.
Haechan cursed low under his breath as he pulled away, ripping his glasses from his face and throwing it onto the coffee table with a loud clatter before capturing your lips again, tongue slipping right past the seam of your lips to taste more of you. His hands were just as impatient, leaving his warmth everywhere and everywhere until he sets them onto your thighs encasing his own. Haechan wasted no time feeling you up, squeezing and rubbing the soft flesh as he went higher where one missing detail halted his movements.
He pulled away from you with a wet sound and pressed his lips to your throat, “Just panties?” He asked, voice low and hoarse.
“Easy access,” you murmured, running your fingers through the unruly, but soft head of jet-black strands and pulling him back by the hairs on his nape to take a good look at him. Pulling his hair seemed to do something, or maybe it was the fact that you’ve been hot and heavy with the way his cheeks glowed a faint rosy hue. You didn’t know an all too powerful demon could be reduced to a debauched version of himself through kissing alone.
It’s made clear to you again that you still have much to learn and at this point, you couldn’t even deny the feelings that conflicted with your head.
“Less talking and more kissing.”
You wanted him. You wanted Haechan and all the oddities that may come with him.
“Oh, darling girl,” He cooed. “I’m all yours.”
The gradual descent from soft and measured to desperate and graceless was an all-consuming sensation of the incubus pulling your chin down so he could easily lick into your mouth. Like this was his personal way of sucking the soul out of you, through the languid drag of his tongue against yours. It was hot, wet, Messy. So messy and the slick sounds of smacking mouths wasn’t enough to alleviate the raging fire burning underneath Haechan’s golden skin and with the way he was holding you so close to him, you would think he was trying to fuse your masses together from sheer willpower alone.
Kissing soon became a forgotten art form, becoming less invested in the sweet taste of him and more inclined to draw out rough, dragged out groans with the slow rocking of your hips. It was a heady feeling being able to have the upper hand, even just for a short moment because if there’s one thing that was painfully obvious about the demon, it was that he hated losing.
(It’s beyond you how he’s able to make anything into a competition).
And the shiver that wracked throughout your entire body from Haechan sneaking his fingers underneath the flimsy garment of your panties was all sorts of rewarding, gripping the bare skin of your hips to guide you into pressing impossibly closer to his hefty bulge. An almost perfect fit in between the apex of your thighs. He wasn’t done, however, because an arm wound around your waist to keep you in place, and an unprompted moan tumbled from your mouth from jerking upwards to match the languid circling of your hips. 
“Like that,” Haechan said, breathless and mouthing wetly against your neck and still keeping up with the pace. “Like it when I know you feel good.” As if your brain wasn’t scrambled enough already he just had to say something like that and so easily too.
“Me too,” you said in spite of yourself, coming out as a whine. Almost delirious from the constant bouts of the incubus marking up your neck, gasping at the playful bite at your collarbone like he was demanding more from you. “Pretty. Your voice. I like how you sound.”
Haechan soothed the bite with kitten licks, letting out a sound, high and incredulous as if it was squeaked out from him. It was a funny kind of sound and you would have laughed if this situation took a sharp left. “You’re awfully honest tonight,” he noted. “got something to tell me?”
There’s a lazy grin tugging at his lips when he gets pulled by his hair again, akin to a cat getting caught in a place he wasn’t supposed to be at. Not even a grain of guilt could be seen on him as Haechan looked particularly smug. All too knowing of an inside joke you were ignorant to. It pissed you off.
It showed easily on your face as you scowled down at him.
“It’s probably your freaky magic forcing me to be.” Sure you were just as bad as Haechan not finding it in himself to shut up when it truly mattered, but you couldn’t say the same when it came to honesty or vulnerability. There was a faint trace of the citrusy scent you’ve associated with him too, especially when his magic was used. Yeah, that’s got to be it. It’s his magic doing all this brain scrambling thing.
Haechan doesn’t fight you on it, surprisingly, still maintaining that smug exterior despite how much of a hot mess he clearly looked with blown-out pupils and kiss-swollen lips. 
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
Although It did sound like he was conceding (a rare feat on its own, really since Haechan loved to argue as well. Like he gets a kick out of hearing you go off on a tangent. Almost like it was foreplay to him), you can never be too sure with him, and the next course of action was purely motivated by getting him to stay quiet. Keeping your lips on his did the trick, of course. An occupied mouth promised you absolute silence, save from the noises you managed to pull from him.
Pulling away, you began your descent; open-mouthed kisses mapped around the tantalizing bronze of his neck, something he deeply appreciated if the pleased hum was anything to go by. Hands dragged lower and lower to feel the firm planes of his stomach barred by his smooth shirt, until you were off of his lap and kneeling in between his legs.
And the tent in his shorts looked just as impressive as it felt pressed against you. You didn’t want to assume, but some crazed part of you had occasional ‘what ifs’ centered around his power being a direct reflection of his size.
Was it crazy? Yes. Was it as crazy wanting his cock deep inside your mouth that it could possibly puncture your esophagus? Definitely. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and you sure as hell will be milking it for all its worth.
It was always such a treat catching the demon off-guard, preening at the precious sight of a rosy blush coating his cheeks. “What..?” The absolute bewilderment was cute, actually, and you just knew he was going to be even cuter when you reached out, grabbed a hold of his cock and—
“Oh, fuck.” Squeezed.
You leaned in close with your other hand on his thigh and asked, “Can I?” as you batted your eyelashes once, twice and lips pressed against the cockhead strained against the material the third time. Haechan’s own pair of lips parted to let out a soft moan, whether it was from the sensation of you gently trailing your nose up the length of his dick, or just at the mere sight of you doing so, it was rewarding all the same—that Haechan was at your mercy.
“You can do whatever the fuck you want,” he breathed out, clearly trying so hard to keep his composure.
This was it. Morbid curiosity conjured all sorts of images relating to what could be possibly doing a ‘is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just excited to see me?’ rendition. It couldn’t be just a normal looking dick, right? The idea itself was boring and it’s pretty obvious that boring wasn’t exactly exclusive to the demon. He was anything but boring. Well, you were about to find out anyway and with an encouraging nod from Haechan, your fingers hooked on the waistband and pulled to reveal—
“Why are you glaring at my dick like that?”
You blinked, glancing from the supposed monster that almost took your eye out from how it sprung out of its confines and slapped against his smooth stomach, to a frowning Haechan, clearly taken aback by your reaction.
“No underwear?”
“Easy access,” you should have expected that his shamelessness knows no bounds. Whore. “Seriously, stop glaring at it, hello? It’s not gonna bite you or anything.”
“I’m not,” you were squinting, leaning in closer and not minding Haechan’s squirming as you carefully assessed the shaft, marveling at its length and girth by giving it another squeeze and watching the precum bead from its head in mild fascination. “Just observing—I don’t know, I was expecting something else and not an actual penis attached to you.”
“An actual—what were you expecting?” He demanded, voice high, incredulous and sounding all too judgmental for your liking. “Something ribbed? Monstrous? Like those Bad Dragon toys? Tell me, are you a monster fucker?”
“Not a monster fucker,” you grumbled and then perked up, peering at him incredulously. “you know about those?”
He scoffed, like he was offended that you didn’t think he was up-to-date with current trends. “I have an iPhone. I use Google like everyone else, dude. Google is amazing.”
“Did you also know that you’re not supposed to call me ‘dude’ before I shove your dick in my mouth, dude? Or did Google not tell you that?” You paused.
God, maybe bickering was some kind of foreplay for him.
“Can you just suck me off, please?” he whined. “I feel like my dick will explode if you don’t. Actually, I’ll even burst into ashes and die.”
“… really?”
“Baby, please.”
“Fine,” you heaved out an exaggerated sigh, not acknowledging the word ‘baby’. “if I have to.”
“You’re the one who got on their knees!” Haechan squawked, “and don’t make it sound like a chore—”
You didn’t let him finish that complaint, quickly taking the sticky head of his cock into your mouth and sucked. Salt and the barest of sweetness hits your tongue just as Haechan choked on his own spit.
“Oh. Oh shit.”
Haechan properly moaned as a hand gripped on your nape when you took him deeper into the slick heat of your mouth, minding your teeth, and pumping what you couldn’t fit for now punched out a groan from him. Loud and guttural—mostly loud. Unabashedly so—that you just had to take a peek to see what he looked like, completely losing himself in the haze of pleasure you brought up on him.
His head had fallen forward, eyes shut and breath turning shallow the more you take in his cock with each bob of your head. This wasn’t exactly your first rodeo, going down on someone, but with the ache you were starting to feel in your jaw, you might as well be inexperienced because of his sheer size. Haechan wasn’t obscenely big to the point it was going to be an impossible fit, though he was definitely the biggest you’ve had in your mouth (about to have in your pussy. Maybe. Hopefully?) so far and somehow, as if letting his spirit possess you, you took this as a challenge.
Your eyes were still on him when you released him with a pop, licking a stripe from his balls up and digging the tip of your tongue into the slit when you reached his tip to gauge his reactions. What made him tense? What was the likely trick to pull every lewd sound from him? What could you do to make him lose all grip on his control and let him take the wheel? It was meant to be a sloppy job, sure, but this wasn't just having Haechan’s pleasure as your priority, it was yours too.
And watching him fall apart just from your hands and mouth alone was doing something for you, something for the dampness you were starting to feel in between your thighs.
You’ve settled on a rhythm that seemed to tick off almost all three from your blowjob checklist. The grip on your nape was tighter and the sounds falling from his lips became all sorts of harmonious. Haechan had such a beautiful voice, a unique tone that would have been such a waste if you hadn’t stepped up to make use of such a gift, and satisfaction curls from within you knowing you were responsible for creating such a wonderful song from having power over a monster.
“Fucking Hell,” Haechan whined, stuttering as your name rolled of his tongue. The hand that wasn’t occupied held onto your jaw, your cheeks caving in beneath his thumb and fingers for a tighter squeeze around his cock and making you moan and gag as drool seeped from the gaps and down his remaining length. “I—I wanna try something. You up for it?”
His hand left your nape, letting you pull away with a sharp intake of breath, eyes wet.
You definitely looked like an absolute wreck right now and yet Haechan stared like you were anything but a mess. It made your skin crawl. It made you feel so seen, but you didn’t really have the strength to push back against whatever ignited behind his eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” Jesus, you sounded so wrecked already.
Haechan looked relieved. “I want you to relax for me,” he said, the same hand that held your jaw now cupped your cheek. “I want you to trust me.”
“Okay.” He hasn’t done anything to make you not trust him so far. “I trust you.”
“Okay,” he repeated and his hand was back on your neck again, nudging you forward until your swollen lips pressed against his frenulum. “Relax.”
The faint citrusy sweetness increased in its intensity, so overpowering that it usually meant that a headache would soon come along, but it never did. Instead, there was a calmness that washed over your feverish skin, seeping into your muscles that unwound all the tension in your body and making you sag forward. While this—whatever this was—was happening, Haechan lazily flicked his wrist to jerk himself off, minding your face before squeezing the base of his dick and moaning softly when catching your eyes.
Strange. Everything felt so floaty. Like there was this sleepy haze encompassing your mind that numbed all your senses and rendering control over your own body next to non-existent, leaving Haechan to do all the work himself; one hand still remaining a heavy presence on the back of your head with the other guiding his cock into your mouth.
“Open up, sweet girl,” then fucked in the entire thing in one swift go.
It was an instant stretch for sure, but you didn’t gag. Not even a bit. It was like that particular reflex had been numbed into nothing as Haechan wasted no time settling on a brutal place, fucking up into your face, blatantly using you—your mouth like a cocksleeve with each rut of his hips becoming rougher after the other.
“Look at you just taking it, fuck.” Haechan groaned, pleasure just as visible on his face. From the faraway look in his eyes to his slackened jaw, freely letting him run his mouth. “You talk too much, y’know that? Always bitching about something and all I could think of was shutting you up with my cock.” He hissed. “Now look at you. So fucking pliant. Knew you were gonna be so good for me. ‘s like you were just made for it. Made for me.” you couldn’t help but whine as his fingers stroked your cheek full of cock.
It was a tight fit. So tight that it was the only thing you could think about, holding on to one of Haechan’s thighs to keep you anchored amidst the overwhelming fullness in your mouth. How you managed to keep up with the almost frantic thrusts, you had no idea, though it looked like you were faring well with pulling off every trick in the ‘sucking dick’ handbook if he was throwing his head back and gasping when you sucked particularly hard on the upstroke.
The sight was something else entirely. Pornographic almost, in a way the front row seat of the demon getting himself off left you squirming, hyper aware of how damp your panties have gotten that it stuck to your skin. All from watching and being used to get his fill.
You were so horny that you could cry.
You staved off your own pleasure to be of service to Haechan and you were just hit with how much you needed to be touched. A whimper broke out from you, garbled and broken when you couldn't even ask him to do something. Anything to make the ache go away.
“I know, darling.” Haechan gritted. You hadn’t even realized your eyes fell shut when they snapped open and met his pinched expression. “Just a little bit more. You can take more, can you? For me? I’m going easy on you for your first time. You should be thankful I did. Next time, I won’t be so merciful. I want to see you gagging for it. Choking on it. You’d do that for me, won’t you?”
All you could do was hum, nails digging into the meat of his thigh when he pressed your head forward until your nose digs into the nearly trimmed hair surrounding his groin. Still, you didn’t gag, but swallowed, still numb and the weight on your tongue was pleasant if anything. Your mouth felt so full and the pronounced ache in your jaw had tears brimming along the edges of your eyes.
You didn’t think you could wait that long, not when it clicked that you had both hands free. You made quick work of sliding your one hand down and into your panties, legs parting wide enough just as Haechan resumed his roughness. Your body burned hotter than ever, cheeks being the warmest, exponentially embarrassed by touching yourself in front of Haechan, whether he was aware or not.
It was quite the arduous task too, especially with the effects you were starting to feel when you remembered the tangy scent was there for a reason, like something was being taken away from you. This was probably the life force the demon was talking about, seeping through every pore to be taken and consumed until you were fit to do it all over again.
You were beginning to fall into delirium from the onslaught sensations of Haechan incessantly rubbing against the flat your tongue while chasing your own release by the quick work of your fingers along your clit. Delirious to a point where you felt things that weren’t even there, winding around your thighs and waist. You had thought it was the demon’s arrow-headed tail that somehow lengthened, but when you checked, it remained wrapped around your wrist, the one laid across his thigh.
The discovery wasn’t exactly alarming. Kind of weird, sure, like the many oddities of Haechan, but you just chalked it up as his magic keeping you in place. Invisible ropes coiling and uncoiling around your legs as their way to caress your skin, grounding you, and acting like they were an extension of him and his subconscious. Almost like they were t—
“Fuck. fuck,” Haechan whined, following up with a, “gonna come—gonna come!” with his grip growing tighter and tighter. You were close too. On the brink of it, admittedly, and that was from being so wound up, simply watching that you were kind of surprised you hadn’t cum all over your fingers the very moment they slipped in between your folds.
On a surprising act of chivalry, Haechan did try to pull out from being buried in your mouth in what felt like hours of being reduced as some hole he’d get to use, though the moment he warned you again, you silenced him with a tearful glare and sank until your nose crushed into his pubic bone again, all the while holding onto the hand that never seemed to leave the back of your neck just to prove a point.
Blunt nails dug into the skin of your nape as Haechan shoots thick streaks of his cum down your throat with a choked off groan just as you moaned around his length, falling apart just shortly behind. Thighs shaking in exertion from kneeling and the orgasm that jolted through your veins that, in return, dissipated the fog of the spell? Magic? that acted as a numbing agent for your throat. It was then that you gagged. Almost violently as the sound wasn’t at all pretty, nor sexy, given the current setup.
You were fine though, albeit teary and out of breath as you took Haechan’s thick cum like a champ, swallowing every single, tartly sweet drop with the cockhead pressing at your soft palate. Once he slumped against the couch did you then pull him out of your mouth, sliding your tongue  back-and-forth at the underside of his cock to tease and bring him to the beginnings of oversensitivity.
Haechan could only whine, lazily trying to pull you away, to no avail.
You let up, snickering at the withering glare he gave you.
Out of everything you tried, this was probably your favorite way of shutting him up. Granted, Haechan was mostly the benefactor from getting his dick sucked, it was loads better hearing an artful mix of his moans and whines than him actively trying to make himself out as the insufferable villain in your story with words alone.
“You’re a peach, Y/N,” Haechan said after gathering the much needed oxygen back in his lungs. “The sweetest peach. I could eat you up. C’mere.” You damn well hope he won't. Being eaten is like the worst way to die, even if you knew it was a little jokey-joke he’d often tell just to see you squirm  “Let’s take care of you.”
Oh.
Oh. Right.
“It’s fine,” you waved him and the offer off. “I—um, finished.” You cringed. What are you? A wench from the Victorian period?
Haechan looked so incredulous for a man who just got his soul sucked out through his dick. “You did? Show me.”
Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, sitting a little straighter and pulled your hand out from your panties. The evidence was quite clear too, coming in the form of glistening fingers that Haechan immediately noticed and before you could even blink, he had you on his lap once again to stick his tongue into your mouth. One hand around your throat, not necessarily choking you, and the other sneaking underneath your top to squeeze your tit.
“Think you can ride me?” Haechan asked in between the rushed push and pull of your lips. “All this just from sucking me off? I could just slide right in no problem,” his fingers slid into your underwear, warm fingers dragging over your clit and shallowly dipping into your hole as he said this. “Fuck, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? You have no idea how much I wanted to fuck you since you first walked into the bedroom. You want that, don’t you? Say yes.”
Burying his fingers deeper into your wet heat, you keened, pressing both your foreheads together. “Yes.”
Haechan’s smile was absolutely degenerate.
“Good girl.”
Just then, the front door slammed open.
The surprised scream that left you was next to ungodly as your arms flew around the incubus’ neck as his fingers pulled out from your panties—
“Honey, I’m home!”
And in walked a man you had never seen in your entire life, apparently ripped all to Hell because of fucking course the first thing you’d pay attention to was his tits. Visible even under the shirt that was meant to be oversized with the sleeves falling past his elbows, and sadly, you were no better than a man. His pecs looked insane and in your defense, they looked at you first!
“Oh. Oh, was I interrupting something?”
“Yes. Fuck off.” Haechan hissed just as you exclaimed, “who the fuck are you?”
The stranger completely skimmed past the demon, more interested in your presence.. “Now aren’t you a catty little one,” at this, Haechan pulled you closer which was followed by a soft laugh. “How cute—and my eyes are up here, sweetheart. Can’t blame you for staring, though.”
Chastised by the call-out, your eyes immediately flicked up to meet—Oh. Damn.
A glossy pair of lips parted to show two rows of perfect teeth. Far too many teeth that you thought were impossible for a human to have, but that didn’t erase the vital fact that this random dude was handsome. So, so handsome to the point your brain was struggling to comprehend that this man was real. Soft and sharp sculpted with such precision it’s as if he was crafted by the gods themselves. A full head of silver hair, one side artfully pushed back to show strong eyebrows and round sparkling eyes, staring right at you.
“Is she another one of your humans you fuck to survive?”
Well, handsome in a way it was better for him not to talk. You know, to keep up the illusion.
Haechan tongued at his cheek. “What are you doing here, Jaemin?” 
“Ah, right.” Jaemin casually strolled further in like he owned the place, the front closing by itself with a wave of his hand. Wait— “Lilith has been bothering Satan who has been bothering me to ask you when you’ll visit home.” Jaemin explained, then followed up with, “when do you plan on coming back home? I think more than five decades of complete radio silence is a bit much even for you, Haechanie.”
Oh great. As if one wasn’t already enough, another demon—by the damning sign of Lilith and Satan and Hell being mentioned—was under your roof.
You felt Haechan go rigid under you and you turned to him, confused at the sight of him slightly panicked. You had never seen him this panicked. “Um, never, actually!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s stated in Hell’s handbook,” It’s a real thing? “that I can’t leave the mortal plane when I’m tied down.”
Tied down? Did he mean the sigil somewhere in the apartment?
“Right,” Jaemin drawled, a thick and strong eyebrow arching in question with a fleeting glance towards you. “okay, so where is her mark then?”
“Here!”
Searing pain immediately bloomed on the inside of your wrist as soon as Haechan took hold of it, making you gasp as you watched delicately curled lines take shape into the sun. A small, inky thing the size of a coin branded on what was once the smooth plane of your wrist. Haechan’s sigil was now a permanent part of you too, a pretty little thing if you only knew what it meant.
“Well,” Jaemin coughed, glancing between you and the incubus. “Congratulations. Haechan is now yours, as you are his. You’re now bound to each other until death.”
Never mind. The sigil was positively the ugliest thing to be tattooed on your body.
Haechan was already looking up at you, terrified.
“I can explain—”
“I’m going to fucking kill you, demon.”
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“Haha… is that plain water in that spray bottle, or is it actually holy water?” Haechan asked, his placating smile waning as each second of you not answering passed. “Please tell me it’s just water.”
Haechan shrieked, falling to his knees and arms coming up to block his face when you all but jerked the bottle towards his direction with a sardonic smile.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It took you three full days to forgive him. After getting on his knees to eat you out against the kitchen counter, of course.
“I’m not against tattoos or anything, but,” you took a quick moment to observe the mark he left on you with little difficulty in understanding just why this was even a thing. “do you have to mark everyone you sleep with? Is this for you to keep track of them?” The thought then immediately left a bad taste in your mouth. Did this mean that you were simply part of the crowd Haechan would entertain only when he needed to?
“I haven’t been sleeping with anyone else.” Haechan confessed, quiet. “It’s kind of the reason why I’m hungrier than usual.”
“Oh.”
That made a lot of sense actually. Venturing out in search of a willing body was a thing for the first few months of being under the same roof. Haechan would always let you know of his plans for his nightly plans out of politeness that nights alone had become routine as well. Then somewhere along the way, it became a seldom occurrence. Twice a week. Once a week. Once every two weeks until you had realized he spent more of his nights with you, but less energized than what you were used to seeing when he was ‘full’.
That still didn’t answer your question though. Why was he keeping himself from taking what he needed to survive?
“Why all this then?”
“This isn’t just binding you to me. It’s more than that,” he muttered, taking your wrist and twisting it upwards to stroke the sun inked into your skin. Tender, as if your wrist was fragile enough to break at the slightest pressure. “And It’s for my own peace of mind.”
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IV.
Naturally, it became a regular thing, being bonded to an incubus aside.
Since his choices had downgraded to a singular source, there wasn’t a day where Haechan didn’t have his hands all over you, or in you since it was an unspoken thing that he liked giving as much as he liked receiving and it was treated as simply an extra thing of routine that you started seeking him out on your own accord, too.
Haechan wasn’t picky when it came to a time and place either. He had you laying on the floor once after betting he could make you cum on his tongue more than once (two was enough, but since he was competitive to a fault, he had you begging—had you crying for him to stop after the fourth time). You gave him head in the dingy stairwells of the apartment after a bad day.
In the storage room. In the shower. The supposed off-limits rooftop. On the poor dining table you had to disinfect two times before Yunjin came over with the incubus disguising himself as a stray, black mainecoone cat. You ate on that thing, yet you spread your legs for Haechan to devour you until he was satiated. It was like an unspoken game of who can out-horny the other with little regard to privacy.
On most occasions, it was beneath you to even think of it, but the memory of Haechan holding you down on top of the working dryer and fucking your thighs in the basement slash laundry room, had you thinking otherwise. It was the most fun you’ve had in a while. Arguably your entire life, honestly.
Fucking around with Haechan was good. Great. Perfect even that all you could do was want him in every possible way you could think of. With every kiss, every touch accompanied by wicked promises breathed into your skin, Heaven was brought to you each and every time Haechan took you into his arms, having a piece of salvation for himself.
It should have been enough, oscillating between having his dick in your mouth and/or hands, or Haechan lapping at the aching center of your thighs until they quivered, or both at the same time. The classic ‘69’. (which almost always turned into a competition on who could make who cum first).
Yet greed had gradually reared its ugly head the longer you listened to your closest friends’ sexcapades that extended beyond heavy-petting and oral, because Haechan never dared to push further. The irony of a creature literally embodying temptation, yet never allowed himself to be tempted by a willing body was almost laughable, if greed and impatience hadn’t put together a simple, yet straightforward question.
“Why haven’t we had actual sex yet?”
The knife slipped from Haechan’s hand. A bloody disaster if magic hadn’t been an inherent part of the incubus’ origins. It paused in mid air before it could even reach the ground and levitated back into his hand.
“Can we talk about my day?” This was the fastest you’ve seen his face go from neutral to exasperated.
“You barely leave our apartment, what is there to talk about?” you pointed out. “and this is serious! Are you, like, trying to abstain? What’s the vegan alternative of taking my life force without actual penetration? Porn?”
Dead eyes stared right at you. “You’re not funny,” Haechan said, “and if I was abstaining, I wouldn’t have let you sit on my face last night.” Okay, fair point.
“Then what gives?” You groaned, acting as his shadow as he moved about the kitchen. “We’ve done everything but stick your ‘monster’—“ (Haechan’s eyebrows pinched together. “Why is monster in air quotations.”) “—cock inside me. Am I—” you paused, dread creeping up your system for a plausible reason why you aren’t getting dicked down like you deserved. “Am I not sexy enough?”
That startled a laugh out of him, the previous, bordering on dour front fading completely for his sunny smile to take its rightful place on his lips. “You’re plenty sexy, and cute too, apparently. C’mere.” It was almost easy walking yourself into his space, sighing as his warm palms rested on your hips. “Kinda miss when you were meaner. Did I successfully sucked the attitude out of you?”
“Oho. Didn’t realize I was getting a free show.”
You stiffened at the sound of the awfully familiar voice belonging to the current bane of existence and spun on your heel to find Jaemin on the couch, Switch joy-cons in hand.
The mortification of him listening to you essentially whining at the lack of penis-in-vagina action didn’t even get the chance to settle in when you were more annoyed at Jaemin seeking refuge in your home. Again.
“Don’t you have any other supernatural friends to annoy?”
Jaemin, totally unbothered by the visceral reaction, only gave you a sharp smile, like a shark getting a whiff of fresh blood, that raised all sorts of alarm bells. Terrifying thing, Jaemin. “Hey, sweetheart,” how he made a greeting sound so condescending, you didn’t know. Maybe it was a Jaemin thing. “You’re home early. How’s school?”
He looked to be in the middle of another session of rotting his brain by playing Animal Crossing, a mint green bunny speaking to him—his in-game character—in aegyofied gibberish. It was like looking at two Jaemins the more you scrutinize them side-by-side. One less demonic than the other, but still an uncanny resemblance.
“We don’t take in strays.”
Jaemin barked out a laugh, letting the joy-cons fall into his lap. “That's funny, coming from you.”
“I legally live here.”
“The legality of your living situation is nothing compared to my centuries of knowing Haechan,” Jaemin turned towards said incubus to bat his ridiculously long eyelashes that you held an irrational jealousy for. “right, Haechanie?”
“I hope your human crucifies you, actually.” Haechan quipped. Equal parts unimpressed and disgusted. 
Jaemin gasped, eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s so uncalled for!”
“It’s what you get for giving your human rat heads and all the other weird shit as courting gifts.” You wished Haechan was joking, but it was the truth.
The first night Jaemin came in unannounced was the very same night that he, a demon who took care of striking deals with desperate humans in exchange for what they treasured the most—A Dealer, you remembered Jaemin specifying for you—realized that maybe the feelings he was harboring for his assigned human went beyond what was considered platonic. That then created a domino effect of him asking for advice, you giving advice with Haechan’s own input and Jaemin, a man of tradition, somehow fucking up in the process which revolved around his… questionable tastes in gifts.
(Also, don’t cats hunt for small animals to give their humans as ‘gifts’ too? There’s a joke to be made here somewhere. Something about Jaemin disguising himself as a demon while actually being a cryptid. An Eldritch horror in a human skin suit).
“I’m heading out to get some stuff for dinner.” Haechan said. “Talk some sense into him, will you? He gave his human a bracelet made out of teeth.”
“The entire thing is made of teeth?” He nodded, grim. Then you turned to Jaemin who resorted to whistling a tune as if what he did was socially acceptable. “Jaemin!” You scolded, like you birthed him yourself.
“What? It’s either a freshly harvested human skull for her candles or teeth from the dental clinic I work at, take your pick!” Jesus Christ, this was actually worse than talking to YangYang and he says pretty fucked up shit on the regular. And the dental clinic made so much sense, you know, with Jaemin’s wide smile and many, many teeth.
“I’ll see you in a bit okay? We can have some fun when Jaem’s gone.” Haechan winked, placed a quick kiss to your cheek before turning to Jaemin and it was impressive how the softness he had for you hardened into something stern for the other. “And try not to give my human an aneurysm. You’ve done enough damage to yours.”
And then he was gone, like, he disappeared into a puff of hot pink smoke, leaving you to marinate in the warmth of being flustered by the sudden, but not unwelcome act of affection in the middle of the kitchen.
Jaemin appeared either physically ill, or an outrageous alternative for surprise when you made your way towards him. You didn’t know. Pretty as he was, he made the strangest faces sometimes that you sort of pitied the human bound to him.
“What?”
“What the fuck was that?”
“What was what?”
“That—“ Jaemin then did this poor impression of you: an exaggerated demure curl of his lips, his stupidly long eyelashes fluttering so fast you would think he was having a seizure and the most offending of all, a high-pitched, ear-grating giggle that didn’t sound remotely close to yours. You didn’t even giggle! Not even once! “Dick so good you got domesticated.”
You closed your eyes. “Please never say those words ever again.” Or I’ll kill you myself, you wanted to say. Though, he’d probably end up killing you before you could even attempt dumping a bucket of holy water on him. “and I wouldn’t know. I’ve only had him in my mouth. We haven’t gone further than that.”
“… interesting.”
Your eyes snapped open. “You hesitated. What did you mean by that, you fucking cryptid?”
Jaemin only smiled. Knowingly. Menacingly. You hated him so much.
“So!” He clapped his hands together. “Trouble in paradise, Haechan’s human?”
“Oh don’t you even start.” you snapped, falling heavily beside him on the couch. “This is your intervention. Not mine.”
“We can both have our own interventions.” You didn’t really want to. You usually didn’t do the ‘emotions and feelings talk’ with someone who’d forced friendship upon you if you could help it, but beggars can’t be choosers and Jaemin was stubborn.
So, so stubborn. It’s like arguing with a wall, really.
“You’ve got a heart boner for our Haechanie.”
You gave him a long, tired look. “You are so weird.”
And, well, that’s one way to put it. Heart boner, you scoffed. He could have just said that you were, in essence, in the same boat as Jaemin longing for something sweet and long-lasting that wasn’t in the platonic sense. (And sex. Lots of sex).
You couldn’t pin-point the exact day where things had started falling into place. It was a gradual development, you thought. How Haechan’s habits became less annoying and more endearing as time went on. How you sought out his company more than you did your classmates turned friends. How you laughed at almost everything he said or did that you would have given a certain power couple a run for their money, and how you couldn’t even imagine a life without coming home to an incubus who was very insistent in keeping your health in check, even if it was more for his benefit than yours.
The final piece clicked into place when your body gave out, rendering you sick with the flu.
You weren’t exactly sure what you were looking at.
Maybe it was the medication Haechan immediately made you drink once it became glaringly obvious it wasn’t just a simple cold making you see things because there was no way a splitting image of yourself stood by your bed, wearing clothes that belonged to your incubus housemate.
“I’m dead,” you concluded. “I’m dead and my doppelganger is here to collect my soul.”
“No, it’s your super sexy housemate disguised as you.” The wide grin looked so out of place on your face. Almost uncanny valley. You’ve never used that much facial muscle before, and not to mention your voice. Is that what you sounded like to everybody? 
“That’s even worse.” you croaked after a disgusting coughing fit.
Haechan—with your face and body—huffed. “It’s either you miss class and fail that big test you’ve got coming up, or I show up to your classes in your place, take notes for you then teach you the material.”
The answer was quite obvious already. If Haechan hadn’t existed, you still would have shown up to class and your tutoring sessions and your part-time job, regardless of being sick. Which was exponentially worse, now that you thought about it. You relayed this to the demon wearing your face, and you have never wilted so quickly underneath his intense glare.
“There’s some congee on the stove for you,” Haechan said when you thought he was satisfied with giving you the most disappointed look known to man. “Make sure you drink your medicine after every six hours and drink more water. No wonder you get headaches so often.”
“You sure it’s not because of you?” You argued. Just because you were sick didn’t mean you lost the will to fight.
“I’m serious. Don’t fight me on it,” and gosh, it wasn’t often he addressed you by your name, preferring to use a small pool of pet names he had reserved just for you, but hearing him say your name and with a tone of finality made you feel things you shouldn’t when down with a flu. Even if it was in your voice… and with your face.
“Take it easy today,” Haechan stressed as he swung your backpack over his shoulder. “And call me if you need anything—anything, and I’ll come running back, or—well, poof back.”
The congee was delicious, probably the best you’ve had in your life and it did help alleviate the symptoms, the ginger soothing your scratchy throat, you felt less congested and not a grain was left in the pot. You spent the entire day lounging on top of the nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, the faint smell of Haechan’s citrusy sweet scent soothing as you drifted in-and-out of sleep, the TV humming lowly in the background.
Haechan came stumbling in the apartment, now looking like himself, devoid of the disguise that creeped you out more than it did impress you and with a hefty looking bag of take-away in hand. He looked a bit ruffled, certainly had a long day when you reminded him of your duties as a tutor, a club member of multiple clubs and as an underpaid employee.
(“Your Google calendar is packed,” Haechan exclaimed, staring down at his phone. “what do you mean you have upcoming networking events? You already have clubs committees. How do you keep up with all this shit and keep a 4.0?”
“And how exactly do you have access to that?”
“... I’m not answering that.”)
Nonetheless, a sweet smile kept its rightful place on his heart-shaped lips, his entire frame perking up when his eyes locked on you.
“So, something interesting happened today,” Haechan started.
In no time, the coffee table was filled with food, both of you sitting on opposite sides. A random series which you did not all care about rolled on quietly behind you as you loaded your bowl with tteokbokki and it was when you stuffed the very first, still hot rice-cake into your mouth did you realize he was talking to you.
“Sorry, wha’?” you said in the midst of chewing, delighted by the sweet and spicy sauce.
“Something interesting happened,” Haechan tried again, snorting softly and reaching forward to thumb at the corner of your lips, then sticking said thumb into his mouth. “You had some sauce.” He shrugged.
“Ah,” you rasped. “So what happened?”
He smiled. A private little thing reserved just for you, and maybe a touch sweeter that made your insides fold in on itself. “What’s with this YangYang guy and his hard-on for your lunches?”
“I see why you and Jaemin are friends,” you said, nose wrinkling at the odd phraseology. “and technically, you made those lunches, so…”
“Ew.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Don’t be gross. As if I want to do anything with that—that imp!”
“Why’d you say it like it’s a slur?” The delivery made it sound like it was. Not to mention he did not, at all, sound very excited at the thought of YangYang possibly meaning something to you. Which was. Understandable. “Is it a slur?”
“No,” he sighed. “He’s an actual imp.”
“What?” Something told you’ve been saying that word way too much. “Huh?” That wasn’t any better.
“You couldn’t tell? The way he smiles is a dead giveaway. His teeth looked sharp. Very touchy with me—well, you, too. Imps are literal menaces to society and would latch onto anyone for friendship. Seriously, how did you survive all this time?”
“You keep forgetting I’m human, demon. I don’t know all this supernatural shit. And why are you so bothered? Jealous that you’re not the only man in my life aside from Jaemin?”
Haechan’s face drew into a careful blank. “Eat your food.”
Satisfied, you shoved two rice-cakes into your mouth.
“I quit your job, by the way.”
You stiffened from where you sat on the counter.
He what? “You what?” Did he forget that you were broke as fuck? “Haechan, I need to work! How the hell are we going to survive?” And by ‘we’ you meant ‘you’ because only one of you needed actual food to survive. The other lived on vibes and sex which, okay, would be ideal in this life.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. As if it was that simple and he quickly stopped you from furthering the argument with a stern look. “I’m serious. I’ll take care of it. What I need you to do for me is start taking better of yourself. You’re already overworked from school. I’m surprised you still find time to tutor people.”
“Chenle pays very well, so…”
“Well, you can keep milking him of his money then,” from the looks of it, Haechan was fine with the Chinese transferee that followed Renjun (a friend made from YangYang’s insistence) around, and that was saying something since he did spend two hours tutoring the kid who was so loud you were surprised your hearing was miraculously left intact. “And still keep up with your clubs.”
Haechan flicked his hands above the sink right after closing the faucet, finally done with the last of the dishes, drying them with a tea towel before he stood in between your thighs.
“Should I know how you’re going to make this work now that I’m unemployed?” You joked and you knew very well that Haechan somehow paid his dues. You just never cared to ask how he was able to afford half of your combined expenses since you were more relieved by not getting any unwanted notices from Ms. Hong, or any of your service providers.
Haechan’s eyes glowed something along the lines of pensive and an unnamed emotion that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. All you knew was that you felt shy under his gentle scrutiny, his usual piercing gaze softer. That he was softer now that a wry curl of his lips accompanied the tenderness.
“What you should know is that you shouldn’t worry anymore,” he said, a warm hand cradling your jaw as the other rubbed the sun inked onto your wrist. “And that I’m here. I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll take care of you.”
Looking at Haechan right now, it’s like you were seeing him for the first time and suddenly, it all made sense. Maybe he was onto something, when he had said something so simple. That it was easy. Just like how easy all of this was with him. It was as easy as Haechan completing most of a puzzle and leaving you to attach the very last piece, painting a crystal clear picture of pointing out the obvious.
The sky was blue. The Earth rotated on its own axis, and you liked Haechan. Even with his oddities.
“Oh wow,” Jaemin said, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Your face already says enough.”
You scowled. “Says you.”
He shrugged, smiling softly to himself. “If it helps, I think I do know the reason why Haechan is holding himself back.”
“From what?” Was there a dumb rule in Hell’s rule book that Haechan, as a Hellian, wasn't allowed to copulate with a non-Hellian? Because you were halfway from the actual copulation phase of this arrangement and so far, nothing bad had happened. Yet.
“From you, sweetheart, and the last thing he’d want to do is accidentally hurt you.” Jaemin explained. “He marked you, remember?”
“Yes,” fingers absentmindedly ghosted over the sun on your skin. “I do remember.”
“Then that’s all you need to know.”
“Okay now that just sounds ominous,” and you were starting to get tired of the not very subtle implications of possibly getting injured during sex. "That did not help at all."
Jaemin just nodded, vaguely. Didn’t even try to elaborate on it. He’s so annoying.
The two of you lapsed into silence, looking at each other for a brief moment then averting each others’ gaze with a unionized sigh, one heavier than the other, as you contemplated the gravity of the situation.
“So… what do you think about a tooth necklace to go with the bracelet?”
“Why can’t you be normal?”
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“What did you and Jaemin talk about?”
You could almost sob from being denied yet another orgasm. Apparently, Haechan wanted to find out if he could make you squirt, which then brought forth the idea of edging you so it could be a two-in-one experience or whatever the fuck. You only agreed because he did promise some fun after Jaemin left and you were obviously going to expect him to deliver.
What you didn’t expect was for him to bring up the so-called ‘girl talk’ (as Jaemin had affectionately put it) after what felt like hours of being brought to the brink of an orgasm and denied over and over again.
“Seriously?” You groaned, lifting your head up so you could glare at the demon peeking innocently between your thighs. Though, nothing was innocent with the way the lower half of his face was drenched in a dubious mix of his spit and your juices.
“You wanna do this right now?” Right when you were so close to leaking all over his fingers? “Just make me cum like you were made for, demon.” you grunted, emphasizing it with your fingers tightening in his hair as you rolled your hips, clit bumping against the tip of his nose.
Naturally, when Haechan was presented with a challenge, he’d make sure he’d win.
“Love it when you’re a little mean.”
The demon grinned something a little mean himself and it wasn’t long before you were crying out his name to the heavens. Some kind of bastardized prayer forced out by three of his deft fingers taking on a rough pace. Fucking into your sopping wet cunt and a mouth made of pure sin alternating between licking and sucking at your clit, all the while shaking his head to go in deeper, to have more of you until something builds.
Familiar heat simmered under your skin, body confused whether you wanted to wrench the demon’s insistent tongue away or keep him pressed against your wet heat to the point of exhausting him and yourself. Haechan made the decision for you though because somehow, it was like you were being held down, the same feeling of invisible velvet ropes coiling snugly around your waist, legs and all the way down to your ankles.
The lower half of your body was under his control, and all you could do was take, take and take until you were seeing white. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as a shaky, high-pitched moan falls from your slackened jaw. Your body went impossibly taught, thighs shaking as something more intense than your previous orgasms crashed onto you like a heavy wave, getting swept along the currents until you were certain you blacked out.
Perhaps just a few seconds of you floating about in limbo, then regaining lucidity at the sensation of Haechan petting your pussy, deeply immersed with his own fingers playing with the irregular spurts of liquid coming out of you. It was gross. It was sloppy. It was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
“That’s one.” Haechan laughed, breathless and smug and the wicked glint in his gaze was enough to tell you he wasn’t done with you just yet.
“Care to give me more? I’m really hungry.”
This was going to be a long night.
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V.
Realistically speaking, this was no one else’s fault but your own.
“I’m gonna be late.”
So fucking late that you could give less fucks of how you looked less put together than you normally were with skipping makeup altogether and putting on clothes that you thought was presentable, yet comfortable enough to get you through the day. Haechan wasn’t even able to get a word in with you rushing around.
Really, it was your fault. You could acknowledge that, yet there were times where you thought blaming your misfortunes on others was the way to go to feel better about yourself. Jaemin in particular, because of course he had to say something (read: make you realize a few things) to inflict a milder version of brain damage. And there was also Haechan, a glorified, overzealous leech who drained a smidge too much of your life force last night.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh, right.”
And maybe you were really out of it, mind not being all too present, nor did you really care to ask what it was exactly you forgot because you decided that the expectancy on the demon’s face and his permanent pouted lips were context clues hinting to something. Sleep-addled brain put two and two together, then your body decided to move first, crossing the short distance between you and the demon and pulling him down by the nape to slot your lips in between his. It was a firm press. Brief, yet sweet and smiling against his mouth was as easy as breathing when Haechan returned the warmth in earnest.
Then, it was like your brain decided to do a factory reset. A quick zap to the frontal lobe where you became more alert than necessary, peering up at Haechan with wide, shaking eyes when you roughly pulled away as if the kiss burnt.
“I was talking about your lunch,” he said after a beat, lifting the Kuromi lunch-bag with a coy smile, like he was biting back the urge to laugh. “but that works too.” He’s teasing you, appearing boyish with an arched eyebrow and you prayed for the floor to open up and swallow you whole.
Oh my fucking God.
“Right! Um—” you cut yourself short with a nervous laugh and numbly reached for it, totally ignoring how his eyes—right now, a close color to the embers from a campfire—were boring holes into you. “Lighter. This feels lighter and—smaller?���
“You catch on quick,” Haechan snorted. “Tell YangYang we’re going through a recession. He can’t share with you anymore if he knows what’s good for him.” Then, his eyes narrowed, still a touch teasing. “Should I be worried that you’re kissing him too?”
Your face was burning at this point.
“I’m leaving.”
You had never run away from a situation so quickly.
Breathing heavily, you slumped against a pillar in the small reception area of the apartment complex, heart racing at an unimaginable speed with the last thing you saw before you ran out of the apartment replaying over and over again: Haechan grinning to himself with his fingertips brushing against his lower lip.
He’s so… He. Is. So. You couldn’t even articulate the mess of emotions currently making your chest feel so tight. So tightly wound up like a watermelon with an obscene amount of rubber bands wrapped around it that if you had stayed longer, chances are you would have exploded into a mess of your feelings, splattered right at Haechan’s feet.
He just had to reciprocate the kiss, as if it was a natural response between people who had no exact label to what this was between them; and you fear that there was no way you’d be able to come back from that. Thinking about coming back home was already giving you cold feet.
Just as you were about to leave the building, your phone vibrated.
haechan 👹: babe? haechan 👹: you forgot your socks and shoes lol
Cold. Your feet were actually cold and looking down, your bare feet greeted you. The lack of two crucial items didn’t even register in your head from being so flustered.
you: . you: omw back haechan 👹: ok ! haechan 👹: do i get another kiss 👉🏼👈🏼 you: haechan. haechan 👹: sorry 🫡
There’s a shit-eating grin on the demon’s face.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
You slammed the door close behind you, feet now protected with the socks and shoes and your heart even less so.
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“Um,” Yunjin started the moment she walked into a very peculiar setting of YangYang hovering unsure and awkwardly behind your slumped figure trying to permanently fuse into the table with Renjun seemingly unbothered by all of this, scribbling on his iPad. “What’s up with her?”
YangYang’s eyebrows pinched even further. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He decided that a gentle approach wasn’t gonna cut it when you were about to keel over before any of them could figure out just why you were craving for the sweet release of death. Which, yeah, he could totally understand, but YangYang was nosy as all Hell before anything else and something like death could wait.
“She’s been like that for the past 10 minutes,” Renjun helpfully supplied before the other only guy in the room could wage psychological warfare. “Whining something about embarrassment, some hot guy in her apartment, feeling inadequate due to the pressure women face in society—“
“Hold on, what?”
“Feeling inadequate due to the—“
“No, dipshit, the one before that.”
“Some hot guy in her—” Renjun cut himself short and turned his head at breakneck speed to gape at you. “Since when were you seeing a guy?”
Yunjin’s face twisted, “you’re into guys?”
“A hot guy,” YangYang emphasized. “How big is his dick?”
“YangYang!” Yunjin hissed, bright orange hair whipping around wildly as she smacked him upside the head right when you answered with a resigned, “felt like I couldn’t breathe once.”
Yunjin looked like she had seen death altogether. “I already hate this conversation.”
Despite herself, Yunjin was all ears as you spilled the whole ‘hot guy’ situation; the dire details of Haechan and him being a century-something-old incubus being covered up by a multitude of lies. The most damning of them all being Haechan was an estranged friend you had recently reconnected with which landed you in the position of housing him for an indefinite amount of time.
And let’s not forget the recent development of you harboring real and scary feelings for a guy that had semi-permanently warmed your bed. In more ways than one.
This was sick and twisted. Haechan was supposed to be just some demon you’d occasionally sexualize, and now it felt wrong to do even that. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted to wake up to his face everyday, marveling at the constellation of moles that stretched from neck to face forming Ursa Minor. You wanted to kiss him. His lips. His cute button nose. His cheeks—everywhere on his face until it was Haechan whining for you to stop.
(He’d probably let you continue anyway. You whined at the thought).
“Okay, but I don’t see how it’s a problem when you’ve done worse than kissing.”
“I kissed him before I left,” you whispered. “we aren’t even dating.”
“My condolences,” Yunjin said, gently patting your back.
You moaned, burying your face into your arms. “I wished we were dating.” Or whatever the Hellian equivalent was.
“... my condolences.” Yunjin said again, quieter, as Renjun let out the ugliest snort you didn’t think he was capable of producing. You always viewed him as someone with no flaws whatsoever. At least you now knew that he wasn’t that unreachable.
YangYang was a little more dramatic with his reaction, his eyes almost bugging out of their sockets and looking as if you had killed his first born. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore! I didn’t even know you were seeing someone! What else have you been up to?”
“Well,” you shifted so that it was your cheek resting on your arms to properly talk to the three faces of varying curiosity (read: nosiness). “I’m unemployed now.”
“You quit your job?” YangYang’s eyebrows disappeared underneath his pink fringe. “Why? Aren’t you, like, poor? How’s that gonna work?”
Damn. He wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t need to put it like that.
“I hate being your friend,” Renjun said, on the verge of strangling the guy. “are you socially inept?”
“I mean, I was home schooled until 11th grade, so…”
“Anyways!” you decided to cut in, now sitting up properly to prevent a possible crime scene from happening when you caught Renjun’s eye twitch. “Yes, I quit my job. But I’ll be fine. I—” you also could not say that your expenses were being handled by a demon. “—gained financial support. No, I will not elaborate.”
“Is that the clinical way of saying you got a sugar daddy?”
Technically, yeah. “Please be quiet.”
“No, actually.” YangYang huffed and you tried to make him explode with your mind. “And since you’re, like, jobless now, this means you can party!”
“You barely had any time for us ‘cause of your insane schedule,” Yunjin interjected from the sidelines. “and since once is coming up, it’d be nice to experience our own overachiever throwing back shots.”
You wrinkled your nose. Not that it was a no-no, but when was the last time you went out drinking and/or partying with friends anyway? Drinking became an on-and-off thing with Haechan (Jaemin and his human sometimes joining in) and was the closest thing to a fun night, so you at least kept your tolerance in check. Experiencing Seoul’s nightlife though, you couldn’t say there were plenty of memories, or any that stood out to you.
“Plus, it’s a Halloween costume party!” said YangYang as he sat down beside you. Renjun and Yunjin doing the same across you. “And I know you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of judging shitty costumes.”
“Not shitty ones. The ones barely putting any effort into making it look like a costume, however...”
“Same difference,” YangYang waved you off. “Drinks are on me if you come. Your boy-toy can tag along if he wants. Maybe seeing you slutting it up in a nurse costume would change his mind and actually put a label on you two.”
Okay, one, you were pretty sure that ‘slutty nurse’ was so last season and has been since the late 2010s, and two—
“Absolutely not.”
YangYang’s extended invitation was straight-up refused, and thus the recurring irony of temptation personified resisting temptation, a.k.a, free drinks.
(Putting a label on it was obviously out of the question).
“And I can pay for our drinks just fine.” Haechan scoffed, pupils flashing a momentary carmine in irritation. If YangYang were here, the ‘sugar daddy’ debacle would no less be the topic of discussion and something that would probably get the demon to soften up. “YangYang can shove his money up his ass.”
Never mind. You can already imagine an incubus and an imp duking it out in a dark alley somewhere. You’ve always wondered who’d win in a fight.
“So you’ll come?”
“No.”
“You’re so boring.”
And he was very adamant with his decision of not tagging along. In the days that led up to the party, Haechan’s answers had been firm variations of ‘no’s’. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the incubus was still jealous of the idea that YangYang, an imp, was friends with you (“he’s attached himself to you,” Haechan grumbled to himself. “I’m dragging him back to Hell myself.” You were way too baffled to even say anything) which then festered into immediate dislike.
“Oh, he’s totally jealous.” said Jaemin. Why you called Jaemin to complain about Haechan was honestly a new low for you, but he’s the one who knew the incubus on a deeper scale besides you, so. You made way more terrible decisions than this. “and petty too, I guess.”  
“He literally has no reason to be when I—” you gestured vaguely into the air, “you know…”
“Want him up your guts physically and emotionally?” Jaemin snorted. “yeah I got that.”
“Why do you talk like that—you know what, never mind. Point is, he’s being so unreasonable, and less fuckable the longer this goes on.”
“And you complain about the way I talk,” the demon laughed,  “Listen, Haechanie’s—he’s weird about feelings sometimes, I promise. It’s just… the mark. It says everything.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Ignorance is bliss,” Jaemin said, vaguely, with a charming smile that would usually distract anyone who only knew him on a surface level. You briefly fantasized reaching for him through the phone and strangling him to death. Knowing Jaemin though, he’d probably like it, the freak.
“What—asshole.” Jaemin hung up, FaceTime feed faded with his ridiculous contact image displayed, leaving you to ruminate your whirlwind of thoughts as you fell back onto the sheets.
The sun was almost always spoken with reverence. How its light breathed life into anything it touched. How its warmth was like a kiss from a lover—that sort of thing. Everyday, you wake up to the sun, one less warm than the other and as you lifted up your wrist to scrutinize Haechan’s sigil, its opaqueness against your skin was like facing an insult.
The technicalities of it all were almost headache inducing from how wishy-washy both demons were with it. All you knew was that the sun meant that you were Haechan’s. That was true in every way you could think of, but was he yours in return? You didn’t think he was. Maybe when you were tangled up in the sheets with him, but not when you were your own person anywhere else in apartment 66.
Haechan never did anything beyond imprinting his sigil onto your skin. Sex was just sex. It never went beyond a deeper, emotional scale and you would be lying if you said you were completely content with not having him wholly.
The first thing Haechan did as he burst into your bedroom was to laugh.
“You’re going in that?” he said through his giggles and doing a horrendous job at keeping them back even with a hand over his mouth. “nothing white, silky or lacy will cover the fact that you’ve let a demon corrupt you.”
“Fuck off.” You shot him an irritated look through the full-length mirror. “As if anyone knows I’ve been fucking a demon. An annoying one at that.”
“Ah-ah, angels aren’t supposed to cuss!”
“Get fucked,” you said, bored, and too focused on getting your make up right to pay attention to Haechan essentially eye-fucking you from the doorway. “It’s either this, or I go as a succubus. Turns out, I don’t want to be the very thing I hate.”
Which was, by the way, a total bold-faced lie where you could just tell Haechan wasn’t exactly buying it from the delighted smile he threw your way. Other than that, you looked cuter than if you had somehow settled with a cheap nurse gown. White, silky and lacy. Synonymous to anything inherently ‘angelic’ and something he would have fun in ruining to go with the whole concept of corrupting ‘the pure’.
“We would have matched, then.”
“We would,” you echoed. “But you aren’t even going.”
“I’m not,” he nodded and crossed the room to reach you. “At least I know you’re still coming home to me.”
It’s a mere fact, yet you’d like to think there was something more for you to pick apart. Warm hands perched on your hips and the way he seemed to take your reflection carefully, as if he was committing this dolled-up version of yours to memory with his gaze backlit by a strange amalgamation of emotions that were foreign to you. It wasn’t anything too alarming. If anything, all it did was make your heart skip a beat. A sweet face with eyes so intense you might as well drown in them. How could it not?
“You do live here.” Tilting your head, you gauged your own costume with your mouth drawn into a thin line, steeling yourself before you faced him and took on a coy approach. “Are you sure this is not convincing you enough?”
Haechan hummed.
Well…
If it were up to him, you wouldn’t even make it out of the bedroom, but he did commend your method of persuading him to come. A low chuckle rumbled from within the incubus as he was pushed onto the bed with you climbing on his lap and your lips locked with his. It was more tongue than anything else as Haechan took the reins. Slick, slow, but with purpose like he was speaking through each wet slide of his tongue.
You gently pushed him by the chest, separating with a loud smack and a deep exhale from you, “who’s convincing who again?”
“Me,” Haechan said with no preamble, dragging his lips down from your cheek to your throat. “This is me convincing you—crazy sex with me,” it’s ridiculous to think his proposition was sort of working. A very tempting offer right when his sharp canines teasingly poked at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, making you shudder. It’s what you were asking for, wasn’t it? Now he’s offering it on a silver platter with no hesitation. “or your dumb Halloween party? Take your pick.”
Decision making was the very last thing your mind could do at the moment when Haechan was hell-bent on keeping you where you were, and you weren’t really resisting him because if anything, you were making it a whole lot easier. Fingers tangled in the hair curling at his nape, a leg hooked over his hip, it won’t be long until you give in and spend the long Halloween night with him. 
Then the doorbell rang.
“That’s Yunjin,” you mumbled against his lips. “I really gotta go—are you hard from just kissing? Even that’s a new low for you.”
There’s a flush high on Haechan’s cheeks when he reluctantly pulled away with a pinched expression, his mouth smudged with your lipstick and for a moment, the choice of staying weighed heavy with the benefit of painting cherry red marks on his beautiful skin.
“Can you blame me?” Heachan chewed on his lip before he huffed when the doorbell rang again, a petulant pout sitting on his lips. “The silk looks so easy to rip off and it’s an actual crime that you’re leaving me.”
“You are such a dude,” you laughed, a little winded as you pushed him off and rushed towards the mirror to assess the damage. “Ugh, you smudged my lipstick and like, a bit of my face makeup,” you groaned which was immediately replied with a click of a tongue.
“You’re the one who pushed me on the bed, so… hardly my fault.”
Heat crept up your neck, “semantics.”
“It’s really not that hard to admit that you want me. Your actions say enough.” 
“Maybe it’s just your mag—”
“It’s not my magic, and it’s not my sigil doing it either.”
Well, that excuse was good while it lasted. You couldn’t think of anything else to say and so you settled with rolling your eyes as your version of raising your white flag as you made work with fixing up yourself, ignoring Haechan’s leering.
“You are actually so bad at being honest,” he complained as he got up and trudged towards you. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
You arched an eyebrow, but let him wrap his arms around your waist. “Are you saying I’m just a pretty face?”
“Darling, that’s an entirely different sentence.” He sighed, hooking his chin onto your shoulder as he squeezed. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that you can always tell me anything and I mean anything.”
“Anything?” You repeated and he nodded, earnest. “Okay, would you mind distracting Yunjin for a bit? She gets impatient.”
You yelped when Haechan nipped your ear out of nowhere. “Not what I meant,” he grumbled, but did as he was told anyways.
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“Hey,” Haechan caught your wrist before you were out of the door, Yunjin waiting outside. “Stay safe, alright?”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d just come, y’know.”
The incubus pulled you back with a snort, “you’re never letting me live that down, huh?”
“Never.” He rolled his eyes, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“Girl, you are beyond saving,” Yunjin giggled as she looped her arm through yours right after you pulled the door close. “C’mon, before you start clawing through your own door.”
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Haechan was definitely onto something when he said he was a homebody above anything else.
That’s one of the few things you had in common with the incubus in spite of your busy schedule built around your academics, clubs, committees and your tutoring sessions and coming home to a place that radiated warmth was a great compromise from having, more or less, busy days. Perhaps it was the reason why you felt so attached to apartment 66.
And the one time you had willingly traded comfort for a fun night out was where you found yourself in deep shit.
To be fair, the night started off great. This wasn’t your usual scene as you much preferred something a little more intimate rather than being suffocated by wriggling bodies, but the place was nice; one of the more upscale clubs and you supposed you were getting your time’s worth from YangYang making good on his promise. Free shit was the best shit and in no time, every single one of you drank like everything was water. Even the dubious mix of shots you’d normally avoid were thrown back with little resistance.
At some point in the night, right after you had your fill of dancing with your friends, all of you went your separate ways which you had no idea how that even happened when you had practically stuck yourself to Yunjin.
Now, you were completely alone and maybe you were drunker than you had expected to be, because somehow, the people wearing costumes of the creepy crawly creatures from all sorts of tales and legends looked a little too real for comfort. It’s either these were insanely talented art students dabbling in prosthetics for fun, or the guy that just walked by was actually a troll, since, of course supernaturals wouldn’t shy away from a party that sort of celebrated them and the dead. 
(Also, you didn’t think anyone would willingly consider ‘troll’ as a costume choice, but to each their own).
You were buzzing from head to toe, eyelids becoming heavier by the second as your vision started to blur around the edges, the drowsiness slowly creeping in. You’ve always been a sleepy drunk, chatty at times too, but there wasn’t anyone in close proximity that was deserving of your rambling. None of your friends were in sight and the eerie feeling of being watched caused goosebumps to raise on your skin.
And this wasn’t remotely close to what you’ve experienced back home before you were made aware of Haechan. While the incubus you were essentially playing an R-rated version of house with meant no harm, this—whatever this was—felt sinister.
Everywhere you went, the lingering feeling of eyes stayed on your person. A prey being sized up by an apex predator hidden in plain sight and it was so apparent that some sobriety decided to grace you, pushing you to try and call your friends. Try being the keyword here because of-fucking-course none of them had sober enough braincells to pick up a damn phone call. So you did the next best thing: leave.
Everything in you was screaming for you to leave. Do not, under any other circumstances, look back even if this one guy who you bumped into was dressed as some socially acceptable furry. The dog ears were too real to be a headband, not to mention the wagging tail.
Which brings you back in the present: you being in deep shit.
In your defense, you did run out of there like you’ve never had run before. But obviously, you weren’t as fast as you needed to be. A careless miscalculation and now you were trapped—by the very thing you were warned about.
The brick walls dug into the back of your head and your shoulder blades as you let out a hiss, teeth gritting as this monster wrapped its claws around your throat and pushed you further into the jagged wall.
“It’s like you humans have a death wish.” 
You were barely a step past the nearest alley from the club when you were roughly dragged into the dank space, mind all over the place with an escape plan barely formed. Actually, you don’t think you can come up with one right now. Or ever.
“I’m a little hungry anyways.”
Okay so maybe you took back the whole ‘not being scared of most things normal people were scared of’ thing because you were, in fact, scared of dying. In an alley of all places. Terror. Sheer, unadulterated terror washed over you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Frozen, unable to do anything but let the claws leave scratches on your skin that you might as well be staring Death right in the face.
Death was a burly man—a head taller than you at most. Death was nothing, yet everything where it was kind of hard to discern just what he was. The alley was dark, but he was darker from the shadows acting like second skin as its inky haze rose and fell, tendrils made of smoke reaching for nothing in particular. The very same thing it would do when Haechan took on this exact form. Then it all clicked.
Death to you was a demon.
The kind you were not at all familiar with. The kind you knew had eyes that glowed with warmth, this one burned with the intent to hurt. Maim. Kill. The one you come home to every day greeted you with a smile just as warm as the sunset that peaked through the curtains he bought, this one grinned like the monsters parents would tell naughty children about, teeth razor sharp that were enough to tell you that he’s meant to use them to rip you apart.
The one you would willingly break yourself apart for breathed life into you. This one was about to take yours and then break you apart by his own hands—by his own claws. 
Haechan would never, this monster would and just like Death, it didn't wait for anything and its claws sunk into your side, ripping out a pained scream from your lungs as you struggled fighting back against. The monster only laughed and laughed, and laughed until hot tears streamed down your cheeks from the searing pain.
“That’s right, human,” he cackled. “Scream.”
God, did it hurt. The pain was unimaginable that you couldn’t even think of anything to compare it to and—Oh God. Haechan. How the Hell were you going to explain all this when you’re dead? Knowing him, it’s more than likely he’d avenge you, but how will he when he doesn't even know who had done this to you? It’s not like he could ask Satan for a list of all demons who were out on Halloween night, preying on innocent humans.
You would have laughed right at this moment honestly. Funny that even death could not stop you from thinking of the demon waiting for you at home. Maybe you should have just stayed in with him to save him all the trouble. Maybe this would have been the night where you told him he wasn’t just the incubus you’d call for when you had the extra energy to burn in bed. Maybe this would have been the night where you would confess that you’ve grown to care for him more than you should have.
Your mind called for Haechan. Your heart called for Haechan. Everything in you called for Haechan that you didn’t even realize you were actually calling out for him, much to the monster’s confusion as he stared at the glowing spot on your wrist.
With each second passing, you grew weaker and weaker, yet you still had a stubborn grip on consciousness because 1.) the claws stuck into your side hurt like a fucking bitch that you simply refused to pass out and 2.) If you were going to die, you at least hoped that the universe listened to you one last time and granted you a few extra minutes with Haechan to say your goodbyes.
Then the strangest thing happened.
Call it divine intervention, if you will, because one second, the demon was right in front of you. Tall and menacing and was so close to going in for the jugular where his breath ghosted against your décolleté, then he was toppled over by a blurry mass of smoke the next, like the monster’s burly build was nothing. The biggest ones fall the hardest after all.
It hurt less now. Barely bearable on the pain scale as you sagged against the brick wall, sliding all the way down until you were sitting with a hand pressing tightly against the bleeding wound once you remembered a post online that it would help to buy some time until you were brought to the hospital or something.
The scuffling then caught your attention, followed by curses and shouting in a language you didn’t understand. Though you knew enough to tell that both were angry, Haechan being the angriest you have ever heard him.
“Haechan,” you gasped, taking in the sight with widened eyes of the incubus lowered to a crouch and having the monster in a chokehold.
Both their backs were turned to you and only Haechan had the capacity to peer over his shoulder and there you saw it: pure rage contorting his face with his mouth drawing into an ugly sneer at the state of you. White slowly being stained by the redness of blood just as the shadows rapidly enveloped Haechan’s figure with your attacker struggling to break free from his hold.
“Close your eyes.”
It was demanded by a voice that was not his own, but a myriad of voices of all ranges entangled that left no room for any argument and so you did as he asked. Nothing came after that. A few seconds delay at most before the scuffling against the ground resumed, the same enraged snapping from your attacker as Haechan hissed and fought back with some choice words and expletives you haven't heard of ever.
Haechan spoke again, rage still present in the same unknown language with a level of finality. Almost like a threat and promise molded into one until the monster’s incessant squabbling was put to a stop after a sickening snap, loud even with the Halloween party goers littering the streets at this time of night that it made you flinch, your eyes still remaining closed. You just knew you wouldn’t want to see whatever Haechan did to the thing.
A wet and heavy thump. Followed by an exasperated sound that was somewhat of a mix between a huff and sigh. At the sound of his shoes dragging against the cement, still you kept your eyes shut and it wasn’t until warm hands cradled your damp cheeks did you finally open them.
Even in the dimness of the alley, Haechan still retained that unnatural glow to him. Beautiful, hauntingly so that the splatters of blood across his face did nothing but elevate it all. His eyebrows pinched together in concern as he took your hand that was pressed against the spot where you bled and cursed softly at the gnarly sight.
“Next time, I’m coming with you.” You could hear his voice tremble, but you didn’t comment on it and instead let him gather you up in his arms, minding your side as he pressed his forehead against yours. “Hell, you scared me. I was with Jaemin and out of nowhere, I started feeling anxious. I couldn’t breathe and—and I felt like I was stabbed.”
Your own eyebrows pinched at the information too. Those were everything you felt during that unwanted encounter with that demon that you sure hoped was gone. “How’d you even find me?” You didn’t think he would find you in some gross alley in Gangnam by pure intuition alone.
“This,” Haechan said as the blunt edge of his nail traced the inked sun on your wrist. “My sigil isn’t just for show, y’know. It’s like a warp point. I even heard you calling out to me. You sounded like you were in trouble.” 
Well, yes. That was obvious. “I’m just glad I didn’t become, like, a midnight snack. Thanks to the sun acting as an AirTag, basically.” You chuckled, leaning your head against the brick wall. “With extra features.”
Haechan laughed, softly, and leaned in to press his lips to your cheek. “Yeah, basically.”
That at least improved his mood. You weren’t entirely used to the very rare instances where Haechan had to be serious. It was strange to see him like that when you would always leave it up to him, lifting up the mood whenever you thought was necessary. Perhaps you and your near death experience was too much even for him. That maybe he did care for you just as much as you did him and making him laugh was the least you could do. 
“Grandma was right.” you joked, cracking a smile just as he assessed the damage. “The city isn’t too safe.” 
“It really isn’t, but you have me. You’ll always have me.” and he spoke with so much promise, gaining some distance just enough for him to stare into your eyes, amber trading in for a deep carmine. And it was only right to believe him. “Whenever and wherever, I will be there when you need me.”
“You’re sweet,” you smiled, then winced when reality came crashing with the stinging pain in your side. “but can we get out of here? Do I need to go to the hospital, or can you somehow heal me with your freaky demon magic?”
Haechan then gets this constipated sort of look. “I can’t exactly heal humans. I can only slow down the residual magic that fucker left from spreading and—um…”
“And? Why are you hesitating.” The incubus pursed his lips, eyes straying to the side. “That’s not good. That’s never good. You never hesitate when you talk to me.”
He chewed on his lower lip before answering and you did not like the look on his face. “From a scale of 1-10, how pissed will you be if I tell you that you could die if we don’t get that out of you?”
“A solid 9.5,” you said almost immediately. “Get this shit out of me right now.”
“Right,” the pain dwindled down to something less painful, but still rather uncomfortable as Haechan’s glowing hand pressed against the wound. “Can you try calling Renjun?”
“I tried earlier. Not sure if he’ll pick up now.”
“Damn. How about Chenle?”
“I’m… not actually sure, but I’ll try.” You paused, suspicious. “Why though?”
“You’re not gonna believe this.”
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“I can’t fucking believe this,” you moaned in slight discomfort as Haechan set you on the bed. “You’re telling me these two are witches? How do you even know Renjun?”
“I’ve known him since I moved here for college. He supplies me with the weirder shit I need for my potions,” Renjun appeared like he either swallowed something sour, or he actually felt guilty hiding this from you and leaving you all alone. A stark juxtaposition from Chenle, visibly buzzing with excitement. “You didn’t tell me you were sleeping with an incubus.”
“Aw babe,” said incubus cooed. “you talk to your friends about us?”
You grunted, lifting up your top to reveal the still bloody wound. “Now is really not the time."
“It’s a good thing you called right away, or else you’d be fucked to Hell and back,” Chenle chirped and he looked between you and Haechan knowingly in a way that warmed up your cheeks. “Then again, guess you already have been.” He grinned, almost cat-like.
You stared at the ceiling. It’s like everyone around you had no concept of what a verbal filter was. “Are you gonna heal me or not?”
Chenle got a smack on the head for that, whining softly as Renjun retracted his hand. “Sorry about him. He’s my apprentice.” The older witch said, almost resigned and folded both of his sleeves up. “Explains the whole transferee thing. He couldn’t bother to wait—may I?” Renjun gestured to your wound just as he jerked his head for Chenle to do the same.
“Go crazy. I think it’s catching up to me.”
You were starting to slur your words. Not to mention how weak you were starting to feel that you couldn’t even wiggle your limbs. You were burning up and with the panic on Haechan’s face no less, Renjun and Chenle got to work. Both of their hands glowing a bright green with Renjun pressing his fingertips along the tender skin.
“That is not very pleasant,” you said, grimacing at the sensation of tiny needles poking and prodding along your side. “Yeah, no. I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“Sleep,” Haechan stressed, a hand stroking your calf. “You’ll feel less like shit in the morning.”
“Fine. Don’t go anywhere or I’ll kill you.” You mumbled, fading as the magic continued to cleanse you of whatever vile magic that was. Maybe that’s why it kind of hurts. Renjun and Chenle’s combined magic were technically cleaning it out.
Haechan laughed, smiling sweetly. “Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”
Renjun gagged. “Disgusting.”
That was all you needed to hear, and so you slept.
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Contrary to popular belief, you were never a morning person. Otherwise, you would have done something about it if you weren’t so fixed with the overloaded schedule you had been following since the start of your college career.
This morning wasn’t safe from your contempt either as last night’s happenings came flooding back into your head. The chase, the attack and somehow getting saved in the nick of time. The panic from narrowly avoiding death from weird demon magic then Renjun and Chenle coming in clutch with sucking that shit out with their own purified magic and healing the stab wounds.
All in all, wild night. Never doing that again unless Haechan tagged along to protect you from the elements (see: hungry-for-humans supernaturals).
Though you supposed the mentioned incubus made this morning a little worth waking up. Your body was almost out of commission from how it aches, but your eyes worked perfectly fine. Maybe a little crusty, but even the eye crust couldn’t block how gorgeous Haechan could be underneath the warm glow of the late morning sun. It was almost unreal, like a dream come to life.
Heachan’s bare back was to you, sun-drenched and moles generously kissing his broad shoulders and down the length of his smooth back as if a past lover had done everything in their power to mark the love they had for him in small and permanent little dots. Though your admiration had to cut itself short when you had caught sight of something that you hadn’t noticed before right as the covers shifted downwards to show more of him.
Just at the top of his boxer briefs sat two dark lines that were at least half a centimeter wide and a couple of inches long—the length of your palm perhaps, sitting on the opposite sides of his spine where you’d think the dimples of his back would have been.
Curious, you reached out, only to be stopped by Haechan catching your wrist.
“Getting handsy with me already?” Haechan inhaled a slow breath before yawning as he stretched and shifted to lie on his back, your wrist still in his hand now resting on the bare skin of his stomach. Smooth and warm with sleep that you unconsciously moved closer, his other hand tracing your spine. “Good morning to you too.” He said with a sleepy smile, eyes curved like crescent moons as he gazed down at you simply watching him—adoring him in his sleepy state.
Words simply could not find their way to you at the moment, so you only managed a hum, rubbing your nose against his skin.
He sighed at the feeling, “what were you doing?”
“Just looking. You have lots of moles. Kinda like constellations,” you mused, which pulled out an amused huff from Haechan, letting go of your wrist for you to wrap an arm around his waist. “There are also these… lines above your ass? Cuts? Scars? What’s that about?”
“This is the least sexiest conversation we’ve had so far.”
“Stop deflecting,” you said, placing a hand on his chest for your chin to rest on, scrutinizing the creeping hesitance on his person. “and tell me what they are.”
It went quiet. Silence filling in the spaces seemed to be a frequent thing now as you watched Haechan process everything that had transpired within the last five minutes with his face. Thoughts easily floating up to the surface by each pinch of his eyebrows, or twitch of his lips and then settling with a conceding sigh, peering down at you with little hesitance that soon crumbled into nothing when he was met by your own resilience. 
“Up for a little bit of show and tell?”
That was going to be a bit one-sided. You had nothing to show. Nothing unique in that regard, that is, as you were, in every sense of the word, human. Painfully human. Comparing yourself with the likes of Haechan who had been part of countless tales told throughout centuries was like pitting a diamond (Haechan) against a sheet of metal (you). Like, yeah, both had their own uses, but diamonds were on a higher, more exclusive pedestal and out of reach. 
And Haechan was just that to you. Out of reach, and yet somehow, he had no qualms on closing the distance himself. As if it was natural for him to be this close to the point of considering the idea that you are simply the extensions of each other.
At the very least, you were right in assuming ‘show and tell in the bedroom’ was a one-sided thing. You were also right that Haechan would take this whole thing in stride; being the sole presenter for this morning’s shenanigans involving the very reason why he wouldn’t fuck you until you were a moaning, whimpering and crying mess. A miracle, really, that you’ve managed to survive the unwanted ‘Only Oral October’ challenge the incubus had going on.
Golden skin stretched miles over Haechan’s lithe and slim figure. Moles and freckles carelessly, yet artfully speckled along the expanse of sunshine while you laid on your back—manhandled to do so—simply admiring the incubus sitting on his haunches between the spread of your thighs without the faintest clue of what there was to show. You were already aware of the horns sprouting from his head and the arrowhead tail languidly swishing behind him. What else was there?
“What are you showing me exactly?”
“Just… wait.” his lips pressed together into a thin line. “I’m mentally preparing myself for this one.”
Okay, that was very ominous, much like how Jaemin tip-toed around the conversation pertaining to Haechan’s prior incapability of sticking his dick into your hole and you were kind of getting antsy with the way he was dragging this out, gatekeeping his everything from you.
You ended up pouting and Haechan, who usually would fold at the sight of it, only narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that supposed to be me? You look like you’re trying to take a shit.”
Haechan sputtered, “am not! You’re so annoying.”
“What can I say? To be fucked, is to be changed.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” he shook his head, face settling into absolute seriousness. “You sure about this?”
A click of your tongue. “Don’t make me beg.”
There’s an odd shine to his eyes, but it was gone the moment Haechan straightened his back as he stayed quiet. It was faint, but the hissing sound gradually grew louder just as a cloud of smoke materialized somewhere behind him. The smoke grew considerably darker and darker until it was the same inky black you’ve grown accustomed to whenever Haechan donned it as second skin, gradually becoming corporeal as it took on the shape—multiple shapes of something long, dark as the night sky with a sheen to them as they elongated above Haechan’s head. Writhing and curling in different lengths and girths merely floating about, as if they were waiting for the incubus’ instructions.
Though one of them seemed to have a mind of its own, Haechan appeared to be aware of it, the very picture of exasperation as it wriggled closer to you.
“Oh that feels weird,” you mumbled in wonder, watching a tendril, as thick as two of your fingers combined, wound around your wrist, palm and a finger. The feel of it was strange. Warm, velvety smooth and it was slicked with a viscosity foreign to you, but it made the glide easier against your skin all the same. “What are you exactly?”
Haechan easily chuckled at the question. Probably a frequent subject among his previous conquests. “A nightmare come to life? I don’t think you’ll like me as much for what I truly am under all of this. While this human form gets the much needed attention, it’s also a good distraction from all this too,” he said, gesturing to the rest of the ghostly limbs inching toward you.
You hummed, agreeing with the attention part, and particularly feeling a little honest, “you're a beautiful nightmare, I can give you that,” and you can’t help but laugh at his preening. He knew he was gorgeous in every sense of it, but this was Haechan and you know of him to be a bit of a whore for attention. “As a distraction? I don’t think your face can distract me from these,” and it was then did the tendrils of smoke found purchase around your limbs. 
“It’s just like being surrounded by more of you and—oh.” You stuttered to a stop when another particularly handsy tentacle slithered under your shirt, winding around the fullness of your right breast and pulling a sharp gasp when the slick tip rubbed and flicked at the hardened bud. “Fuck. That’s still so fucking weird. You aren’t even doing anything but—” the thought was cut off by a whine of your own and another one joined the fray, giving your other tit the same treatment just as Haechan bunched up your shirt to reveal the smooth skin being tainted by darkness underneath. “Do they—do they have a mind of their own?”
It took Haechan a beat too long to answer, visibly taken by his extra limbs exploring your bare torso. “Sometimes. But I’m in full control now.”
Right on cue, the tendrils creeped up your thighs like climbing plants with the goal to cover everything in sight, only these acted more as sentient ropes that spread your legs wider to accommodate the incubus. This was a position you were accustomed to as Haechan did try to have you as frequent as you’d let him, yet you couldn’t help but feel shy. Embarrassed at the fact that there wasn't much for you to do in lessening the exposure with the tentacles keeping your legs in place, and you weren’t even stripped down to your barest.
With the way Haechan’s heated gaze raked the length of your body spread across the sheets, you could just tell his own imagination ran the wildest it could be, what with his eyes essentially devouring you. Haechan then leaned forward, close enough that you could feel his breath hot on your lips, as the rest of the smoky tendrils followed and attached themselves to your arms resting on either side of your head.
With how they wound tighter around your forearms, you had a faint idea on what was to come. And it wasn’t like you were against relinquishing all control for Haechan to take over, to do what he pleased. Nonetheless, the thought still had your heart rate picking up. This was new and you were starting to think that maybe you bit off more than you could chew with the subtle insistence of wanting Haechan to fuck you hard enough that you’d cry.
You just didn’t think tentacles would be involved. An unlikely variable you never would have guessed to be the center of the demon’s reluctance. No wonder he was wishy-washy with his reasons, they looked like something out of an all-consuming nightmare that most people would have been put off by. A beautiful one if it included their host.
As if sensing your troubles—his sigil’s doing, definitely—a warm palm cradled your jaw as Haechan dipped down for a sweet kiss to soothe you.
“I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” he reassured, pulling back. “just think of them as extra pairs of arms holding you down.”
“Well, more of you to get used to, then,” you said with a wry smile and finding a little bit of comfort when he puts more of his weight onto you for another kiss, mumbling, “I can take it.”
And so you did.
One, that is. Baby steps, as Haechan put it as one fucked in and out of your cunt in place of his fingers. The feeling was an odd mix of familiar and strange. Familiar as it did the job of pistoning in and out of you like those machines in porn (not that you had any experience besides the demon’s long and knobby fingers doing basically the exact same thing). Strange because it wasn’t what a dildo nor an actual cock would feel like, but fuck if it didn’t feel good. Mind-blowingly so. The considerable length reached places you nor Haechan’s fingers couldn’t within their limits, proved by the guttural groan punched out of you when the tip had accidentally bumped against your cervix.
But even you could run out of patience. This was literally just an elevated version of what you and Haechan had been doing. Time and time again, it was all basically foreplay and you’ve had enough.
This time, you wanted the real thing.
You wanted to be split on Haechan’s cock that hung heavily in between the mouthwatering honey thighs if it’s the last thing you’ll ever have.
“Want you,” you managed to get out between the stray moans and whimpers that fell from your parted lips.
“Hm?” If you were any less than horny, the wicked grin he had would have been smacked off. “But you do have me, see?” He cooed, thumb stopping from rubbing circles on your clit for his fingers wriggling in to join alongside the thin tentacle making work of your pussy. “Are you saying this isn’t enough?”
You shook your head, almost frantic as one of your arms struggled to break free from the tendrils. “Want this,” you stressed, reaching for his dick. The head was almost a deep angry purple from how hard he was and it was beyond you how his self-control lasted this long. Did he even feel pleasure when the extra limb was doing all the work? “Want you.”
“Say that again?” He egged on further, like it wasn’t obvious that he was just as desperate. You knew him enough to see right through the facade he puts up. “You want what, sweet girl?”
“Want you. Want you to fuck your cock in me. Please.”
“You say the sweetest things, human. It’s adorable,” He cooed. “and it’s just right that I give you everything you ask,” and Haechan sealed his promise with a filthy kiss. Harsh and wet that you were certain a mix of your spit drooled down your chin, only for him to lap it up with his tongue and make a mess of your mouth again.
“No more foreplay,” you said as you somehow managed to keep him from sticking his tongue down your throat again. “Seriously, that’s all we’ve been doing before. I can take it.”
And just like the very night things had escalated in the sexual sense, Haechan inclined his head and smiled.
“That night, I said that I wanted you to ride me.”
The nights of all nights. How could you forget? It had imprinted a very clear image into the seams of your brain that you’d occasionally daydream about the various possible outcomes if you hadn’t been rudely interrupted.
“Think you can do that for me now?”
Everything went by so fast that you weren’t given the chance to take a breath. In a blink of an eye, Haechan had both of your clothes removed and traded places with you by the guidance of the pitch black tendrils and the ones winding up the length of your arms loosened to let you bend forward and capture his lips just because. It always felt nice to kiss him, and you wouldn’t shy away from cashing one in at a crucial time to give yourself a little more time to brace yourself.
It took the both of you to get to the real thing. A team effort with you reaching in between your legs to align his cock to your center while Haechan and co. kept you steady with his hands clutching at your waist so tight that you were sure was going to leave finger-shaped bruises to fade over time. Quickly, if and if the demon kept his hands from wandering to the tender spots, but you could worry about that next time when there are more pressing matters at hand.
The sound Haechan made was almost inhuman just as a gasp flew past your mouth the second the glossy thick head of his cock breached your pussy. Inch by inch, you took him in as carefully as you could as it was an uncomfortable stretch for sure, given the experience you had gagging on it one too many times. Most of them being on pure impatience on your part and you weren’t going to risk a possible injury tonight. But just as the many times before, pleasure gradually overtook the discomfort.
“Oh my God,” you moaned, a high sound as you threw your head back. Nails digging into the meat of Haechan’s pecs as you rocked yourself to suck him in impossibly deeper, almost to the point of carving his shape into you and ruining yourself for any other man.
(You already did anyway. Developing real scary feelings for a literal Hell spawn).
“Oh, you’re into that?” Haechan quipped, hissing when you squeezed around him for his cheek. “I can be for you. How many times have you gotten on your knees for me again?”
Did he really have to antagonize you when you were milking him for what he’s worth? “Clearly not enough if you’re still talking.”
Haechan soon lost all sense of eloquence that should have been fit for a century-something-old demon once settling on a pace where the most you would get from was an incoherent sentence or two that you were sure were meant to be praises. Though you figured the pretty picture Haechan painted himself with the pleasure filled contort of his face was enough to say that you were doing something right. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be right behind him feeling blissed out yourself.
It was everything you could ask for really. The delicious girth of his cock stretching your cunt, rubbing against the sweet spots of your gummy walls had you sobbing his name when he would meet your movements in the middle. Skin slapping against skin leaving a mild tingling sensation from each bounce.
The heady pleasure only increased from there as the same pair of tendrils that toyed with your breasts resumed with their earlier ministrations of squeezing their fullness and flicking your nipples. A sneaky one, thinnest of them all had joined in on the fun too. Wrapping around Haechan’s dick like a coil and it wasn’t until you felt the ridges from your descent on his length did you even realize what had happened. Either way, it still felt good and soon enough, something warm simmered beneath your navel.
“Ah—Haechan,” you gasped, your movements becoming more frantic each time the combination of him and the tendril rubbed against your sweet spot. “I think… close,” you slurred, losing all strength as you fell forward, almost breaking your nose on his collarbone if it weren't for the tendrils keeping their steady hold around you. “Can’t,” it came out as a whine breathed against Haechan’s burning skin. “Please.”
That might have just triggered something in him, a visceral reaction of the demon growling—a sound that definitely wasn’t possible for a human to make—as his presence became so imposing, smothering you to the point that all of your senses were filled to the brim by everything Haechan. He wrestled you onto your back as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll with the back of your knees hooked onto his sturdy shoulders and in no time, you were effectively brought to tears by the brutal pistoning of his hips.
You were steadily growing overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations that ignited a simmering fire that spread underneath your skin. Mouth curling around each syllable of the demon’s name as you wailed with your back bowing against the bed when Haechan angled his hips, punching out a loud cry, bordering on a scream.
“Shh,” Haechan cooed as his thumb pressed onto your lower teeth to pry your mouth open, eyes wild and a wicked grin plastered on his face at the incoherent state that you were in. “You’re so loud. Our walls aren’t exactly soundproof, baby. I think I’m gonna have to shut you up if you can’t do it yourself.”
How? Was what you were going to ask if his thumb wasn’t pressing down onto your tongue, drool pooling in your mouth in almost an instant. Something else prodded against your lower lip and as you looked down the same two-fingered thick tendril slid into your mouth to replace his thumb, Haechan delighted as you moaned around the slick appendage shallowly thrusting in and out past your swollen lips.
You felt so full. Both your mouth and your cunt stuffed full that you thought it was a little fucked that you were enjoying the one rubbing against the flat of your tongue. The mysterious slick that coated it was surprisingly sweet, alomst candy-like and matching the citrusy sweet scent lingering around you 24/7.
You’ve never felt so fucked out ever in your life. This couldn’t even be compared to the past rounds of sex you’ve had with humans. This was an entirely different league on it’s own and fucking Hell, you were officially ruined. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to feel the same level of satisfaction from a human anymore, not when Haechan was capable of stimulating you in multiple ways by his own volition. For a brief moment, you couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the people who had had him like this.
It was all so good. Too good, yet so overwhelming in every way and it wasn’t long before you wailed to completion, body seizing up as your vision whitened and leaving Haechan to chase his own release.
“You weren’t lying when you said you could take it,” Haechan chuckled, sounding breathless as his hand pressed down onto your navel to punch out a groan from you. “I’m so sorry for taking so long.” He soothed just as your mouth was freed so he could kiss you in apology.
He stayed that way. Close, ever so close that you were essentially breathing into each other’s mouths as Haechan’s thrusts grew frantic, almost animalistic until he pressed so tightly against your skin to spill thick ribbons of his cum into you, filling you up the brim that it leaked out even through the tight fit of his cock, wincing at the mess your sheets would soon be subjected to.
For a while, the only sounds that filled the bedroom were you both catching your breaths in sync, yours more labored while Haechan was more controlled.
“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly moments later when he thought you had come down from the floaty headspace you were in. “Wasn’t too much?”
“Perfect,” you sighed, tucking yourself closer into him. “Just perfect.”
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“Donghyuck.”
“Hm?”
Haechan’s magic had once again proved to be a useful asset in this home. It didn’t take that much time for both of you to recuperate from being fucked within an inch of your life, though he stuck to more traditional methods when it came to taking care of you. The sheets were decidedly changed with his magic, while he took it upon himself to clean both of you up with a hot shower where you might have fallen asleep once or twice on your feet.
It was a few minutes after noon. Lunch was had and you were sprawled across the couch where you had been made into a human cushion by Haechan, laying on top of him and simply basking in the stillness of the apartment until he spoke.
“Donghyuck was my name as a human.” He said, tilting his head with a smile void of anything that made him devious in nature. Something warm and sweet and reserved just for you. “Before becoming this. There’s this saying that knowing a demon’s name gives you power over it and I—I marked you. Made you mine without asking first and I think it’s fair that I give you my name. Give you me in return.”
That gave you a start, stiffening as you stared at him with owlish eyes and not quite believing the possible implications.
“Does that mean—”
“I am yours, as much as you are mine,” he said, warm palms holding your cheeks as he sat up to meet you in the middle. “As long as you want me to be.”
There was much more left to be said, certainly, but the way Haechan—Donghyuck kissed you so deeply as if you were his only life-line, pouring every thought and possible feelings that paralleled yours into each swipe of his tongue was enough. You had all the time in the world with him, an actual talk could wait.
For now, as you let yourself be wrapped into his embrace, this was enough.
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Special thanks to Aria, Moon and Aeriel for putting up with my ramblings about this fic and sharing their ideas! You have no idea how much of help u have been and I’m very thankful for you guys letting me talk my shit 🫶🏼💖 and thank you for reaching the end of this fic! Especially to the ones who asked to be on the taglist! I know it was a longer wait than expected so I really do hope it was worth it 💖
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