Helping Bucky Practice Kissing Leads To A Whole Lot More

He Feels Everything

Summary: You thought sneaking off to fuck yourself with his metal hand would be enough. You didn’t know he could feel it. Now he’s in your bed—and he’s not leaving.

Avengers!Bucky x Avengers,afab!reader

Warning: 18+ (mdni!), smut, masturbation, voyeurism (kinda), ovulation kink, overstimulation, squirting, breeding kink, use of metal arm, consent is clear even not worded, fluff if you squint, mutual pining

a/n: Hi! this is my second story, once again inspired by one of my steamy dreams. I'm still figuring out how to write, and English isn’t my first language, so please go easy on me. Hope you still enjoy reading it! Thank you so much for being here!! ♡♡♡

➜ Part 2 💜

—

“‘Kay, see you—”

Bucky’s words hung in the air as he turned, only to be met with silence. Again. You were already gone, slipping away from the sparring room like smoke—just like always. He let out a quiet chuckle, but deep down, it tugged at something tender. He wished you’d stay. Just once. He wanted to talk to you when it wasn’t about missions or training or saving the damn world.

—

You were already halfway down the hallway, heat pooling low in your belly, heartbeat pounding like a war drum. Every single time Bucky touched you—even the most casual brush of skin during training—it sent you spiraling. The dark, sticky kind of desire. It didn’t matter how bubbly or bright you seemed around the compound, laughter spilling from your lips like sunlight. No one knew you were constantly battling a wild, insatiable craving inside you. And Bucky Barnes? He was your worst temptation.

Being assigned as his partner was torture on the daily. But tonight? Ovulating. And Bucky had the fucking audacity to wear a tight black shirt and grey sweatpants. Every inch of him was sinful—muscles rippling beneath cotton, his hair messy, lips slightly parted, glistening with sweat.

You didn’t even make it to the shower. Shirt and sports bra peeled off in a frenzy, you collapsed onto your bed, hand sliding between your legs like you were racing against time. Your panties were already soaked, clinging to your skin like a plea.

“Oh, Bucky…” you whimpered, fingers flicking at your nipples, hips rolling like they had a mind of their own.

His face flashed behind your eyelids—those intense eyes, the way his chest heaved when he pinned you down during training. Every non-sexual move felt indecent in your head. You plunged two fingers inside yourself, imagining them as cold, unforgiving vibranium.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you groaned, your voice soaked in filth and need, pumping your fingers until the orgasm hit like a truck. But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

Your cunt was still pulsing, still dripping. Your body still screamed his name. You’d never dared go to him before, but tonight something snapped.

You needed him. Or at least… part of him.

You snuck into his room under the guise of "emergency"—and, well, it was an emergency. Your entire existence was on fire. He’d once given you his passcode in case of danger. This qualified.

He was asleep. Or so you thought. His metal arm was off, lying on the bedside table.

And god help you, you took it.

Back in your room, you positioned the cool metal fingers against your slick folds, one at a time, until you were stretched wide. Three fingers deep and your cunt was clamping tight around the steel.

“Look at me,” you moaned, “taking your fingers so good.”

You thrust it harder, your body shuddering, until—suddenly—it vibrated.

Your breath caught.

What the actual—

Your heart stopped. You felt him. Before you even turned around, your body knew.

And there he was.

James Bucky Barnes. Standing at your door with lust blown wide in his eyes, a tent straining in those same sweatpants you’d mentally undressed a hundred times.

You yanked the metal fingers from your cunt like you were caught stealing heaven, pulling the comforter up in a panic.

But his voice—low and gravel and fucked-out—froze you.

“Don’t stop, doll.” His hand palmed the thick bulge between his thighs. “I can feel everything.”

Your mouth fell open.

He stepped closer. “Even when it’s not attached. Every squeeze. Every wet clench around me.” His voice was a goddamn weapon, slow and deliberate, and your body betrayed you—slicking up again like a prayer.

He sat on the bed beside you, cupping your flushed cheek with his flesh hand. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing yours.

You moaned, repositioning the fingers inside your soaked cunt. Bucky started stroking himself, murmuring your name like a mantra.

You came so hard your vision went white. And then again. And again. Squirting across the sheets, across him.

“Jesus fuck, you’re killing me,” he groaned, spilling hot and heavy across your stomach. He collapsed beside you, kissing you with a softness that nearly undid you.

He lifted his metal hand, licking your cum from the fingers like it was dessert, then pulled you close after attaching it back to its place.

“So you do want me,” he said, grinning against your skin.

“I’ve always wanted you,” you breathed. “For years. But… if you knew what I wanted to do to you…”

He tilted his head. “What do you want?”

You bit your lip. “To fuck you senseless. Ride you until you’re begging. Hear you moan my name while I squeeze every drop from your cock. For you to fill me up.”

He groaned and pinned you down, grinding his thick cock against your wet heat.

“If I’d known, we would’ve started this months ago,” he muttered, sinking into you with one deep, devastating thrust.

You cried out, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. He fucked you like he meant it. Like he’d waited forever for this too.

By your seventh orgasm, you were sobbing—body trembling, completely wrung out. You passed out with his cock still buried inside you.

He smiled, kissed your forehead, and carefully pulled out.

The serum kept his stamina up, but what filled him most wasn’t lust—it was you.

You were his now.

And god help anyone who tried to take you away.

This did wonders for my love of vengeance😈

mercy upon ourselves

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your multiversal duty of punishing perpetrators of infidelity in their afterlife takes an interesting turn when you see that the betrayed party is one of your variants | loose 'sequel' to 'all will be alright in time'

Pairing: Loki (God of Stories/Time) x Reader; Will Ransome x Reader (different Reader)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ | talks of infidelity; steamy moments at the end; (technically) mass murder; Cora Seaborne (yeah she's a warning); Will Ransome (in this case he needs to be a warning, too) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: this loosely takes place in the RTC 'multiverse', but no prior reading of the series is required; Reader is the goddess of fidelity

Dick-tionary: steamy moments (but not outright smut) starts at "Loki let out a low chuckle"

Your duty as goddess of fidelity, in theory, was simple enough. Upon the death of a betrayer, you were to choose their punishment in their eternal afterlife. After your first few thousand cases, they all began to meld into the same old tale, often feeling as if they all even wore the same face.

That was until this particular story. Where the face of the deceased and betrayed wife held…your own.

Before you could even call out to him, Loki was by your side in a heartbeat, laying his hands gently on your shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of your head. "I can sense your unease, little Princess. What troubles you?"

Together you looked through the glowing branches that surrounded you, each telling the story of a different timeline, a different universe. Until you finally found the one which held the case you needed to review. The universe where your echo had died of a broken heart upon learning that your husband, Loki's echo in the form of a Reverend William Ransome, betrayed you to have an entanglement with a newcomer in your quaint village of Aldwinter.

"This is no variant of mine," your husband seethed. "I could never belittle our love like this, the thought alone pains me."

You took his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "I know, husband. This timeline is simply…a fluke. Our echoes, our variants? They are not reflections of ourselves. His flaws and failures are not your burden to bear."

"Failure," he repeated, his top lip curling up in a sneer as he looked upon the faces of his variant and his mistress, living together under the same roof, sleeping in the very bed that your variant breathed her last. "That is precisely what this branch is. Perhaps it should just drift away…to wither and rot."

"Loki we should not punish an entire universe for the mistake of one man. There are still countless lives within this branch--"

"And your variant is no longer one of them because of the mistake of his one man. He deserves to suffer."

"And he will," you reassured him. "His suffering falls within my purview. It is my Norns-given duty to see to it. And while I know we both would relish in watching as this pathetic coward of a man sees the end of days upon him, I cannot in good conscience have it be at the cost of an entire universe. But perhaps the village that was complicit…the village that stayed silent to protect their precious reverend's reputation."

"What do you have in mind, my love?" He pulled you close to him, embracing you from behind, hands caressing your sides. Soothing himself from the unease of seeing how his variant dared take you for granted.

I was made to be yours. Words that resonated so deeply into both your souls. Words he used when he first confessed his love to you. The same words you yourself uttered when your memory spell had broken and you found him that fateful day eons ago.

The same words you both used within your new vows when he returned to you. And used ever since.

And somehow this insipid trifling man thought himself above those words? Dare even spit them back in the face of the same entities that weaved your two souls together so intricately that it bled through every timeline and universe known to him?

All the suffering in the Nine Realms would not be enough for this William Ransome as far as he was concerned.

"Well, husband, we are in a rather…unique circumstance," you mused aloud, a little sound of contentment slipping from your lips when he pressed a kiss to your temple. "I bear the same face as this Y/N Ransome…and they reside in a town that is riddled with a rather superstitious lot. And my variant…she deserves her revenge, does she not?"

Had it not been for the gloomier and grayer than usual state of the sky, it seemed a typical day in Aldwinter. It had been years since the spectacle that was your passing occurred, and the townsfolk had finally began to warm to the presence of Cora Seaborne. Sure, she and William would still get looks out of the corners of their eyes, especially when she would emerge from the house in a dress that people could have sworn was yours, but other than that, no one made any trouble for them.

Not to their face. Not anymore.

The cold heaviness of regret had made itself at home in the pit of your widower's stomach ever since that day, the day that he betrayed you. No amount of rationalizing could have him absolve himself of his sin. Any which way he went with his internal arguments, they would all land in the same place.

The blame fell entirely on him. And he would have to live with the consequences of what he'd done for the rest of his days.

In the form of the tombstone that would steadily erode with the passing of time.

And in the form of the new family he was all but strong armed into taking on, if only to spare himself more scandal and ridicule. He'd already lost the respect of a good number of the congregation, this would smite the number down to a paltry handful if he turned his back on his then pregnant mistress.

Though despite all their efforts at maintaining what they thought they'd found with each other, they had lost the babe. Twice. As if God Himself willed it so that no child would ever result from their treachery. A fitting punishment, as far as Will was concerned.

Love may not have been a weakness, but lust most definitely was. Lust was what drove him to commit the treachery that led to the loss of love.

He should have resisted. Walked away. Ran, even.

Perhaps if he had, you would still be here, serving as a bright ray of sunlight even in the dark gray overcast over your little town. Perhaps your children wouldn't have turned their backs on him and he would be allowed the privilege of getting to see them build their own families, lead their own lives.

Instead all he had was darkness and silence. And he had no one to blame but himself.

"William!" Cora's shriek traveled across the marshes.

Moments like these, he preferred the darkness and silence.

He tried to take in a breath before turning to face her, the picture of a doting partner. "What is it, Cora?"

"The look--the looking glass, I saw--"

Her stammering was cut short by the sound of Matthew frantically ringing the alarm bell. "TIDE INCOMING! EVERYONE GO INSIDE! GET TO SAFETY!"

One of the fishermen in the approaching boats stumbled forward until he fell limp in the reverend's arms. "The waves, they be the size of mountains. Bigger even. God is angry with us."

"No," Matthew wheezed, coughing out sea water. "That wasn't God, out there in the waters. Not our God. That was some sorceress, some witch. Demoness. We must find safety." He began to usher every villager he could find into the church. "She don't look like the type that shows mercy."

"She?" Cora spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the curate. "You…saw her face? Tell me does she look like--"

"Enough talk about the evil looming in on us, Mrs Seaborne!" he snapped, pointing his finger at the Ransome house. "Go home. May this evil, whoever and whatever she may be, have mercy on us all."

"What was that, Cora?" Will hissed as they made their way home. "You look completely beside yourself."

"I could have sworn I saw Y/N's face in the looking glass," she said shakily, gulping for breath, shuddering when she said your name aloud once more. "Will, she looked angry. Vengeful."

"You're not making any sense, Y/N is gone," he said tersely, a familiar lump forming at the back of his throat as he forced himself to acknowledge your absence from his life. He ushered her along, trying to ensure that she at least would not stumble too harshly. "I laid her into the ground myself, gave her eulogy."

"I know," she huffed. "But I also know what I saw, that was no hallucination, Will--"

"I've read texts that there are some pregnancies that alter with the minds, the perception of the expectant mother. Perhaps this is simply one of those cases," he waved off. "Look, Cora we're almost home. We can wait out the storm and then when this is all over you can rest. We all can."

She simply nodded and they cross the marshes back to their home, only to find Francis, pale as freshly pressed cardstock, awaiting them by the door. "Mother, F-Father, there's a woman--" he sputtered out, pointing at the open door.

And then you stepped out. "There you are. Cowards."

William's heart stopped in his chest watching you walk out of your old home, what seemed to be billowing fabric drenched and clinging to your skin, hugging every curve that his hands had longed for since your passing. Even soaking wet, your dress proudly gleamed a brilliant emerald green, and there was a glow that seemed to radiate from underneath your skin.

You were no longer of this earth. You were something…more. Something above them all. And it showed in the way you held yourself, in your gaze as you looked upon the marshes that held your former home. As you looked upon the husband that survived you, your upper lip curling in derision as you saw the bump protruding from Cora's stomach.

"Y/N…" he whispered your name, your sheer presence bringing him to his knees. "Sweet wife, you have returned--"

"Hold that rancid thought," you silenced him, raising your hand in the air as if grasping for something. In an instant, his words ceased, feeling as if his tongue had swollen and became as heavy as lead in his mouth. "You do not get to call me your wife, Reverend Ransome. Not since you sullied your vows and laid with this London whore."

Cora took a step toward you, opening her mouth as if to defend herself, or perhaps her lover. But you put a stop to that as well, raising your other hand in her direction, and suddenly she was forced to sink to her knees as well. "Please, Y/N," she pleaded with you. "Let us take this inside there is a tide coming--"

"Do you mean this tide, friend?" you spat the last word out, as if it tasted bitter on your tongue. Suddenly the tide was steadily approaching the shore, rising to a height that would completely engulf and decimate Aldwinter once it bore down on them. And you rose from the ground, floating well above the roof of the Ransome home, the reverend, along with his lover and her son, looking up at you in sheer horror.

"What do you want from us?!" Francis yelled into the sky, reminding you of how mortal worshippers would look to the sky and beg the gods for explanations. For miracles.

"I do not wish for you to give me anything, young Mr Seaborne. In fact, I wish to offer you all…a choice." You turned your gaze to the kneeling couple. "Get in the water. And perhaps I shall spare this town."

"Y/N please, this town is full of innocent lives, no matter what has happened to you I know in my heart that you would never wreak this kind of devastation upon--"

"What has happened to me?!" you repeated, your shrieking tone piercing even through the deafening sound of the tidal wave still standing tall, waiting to descend. "Your lustful indiscretion cost an innocent life, William Ransome. There is no innocent life in this town. Not anymore. The people here chose to stay silent, to keep your affair a secret for the sake of preventing a scandal. Though that didn't seem to work out the way you'd hoped, did it?" You motioned toward the wave with a jerk of your head again. "Get in the water."

The wave grew even more violent, already taking in the fishing boats and pulling it into its dark abyss.

They both stubbornly stayed still, still kneeling on the muddy marsh ground staying silent. The tramp's hand twitched toward the vicar's, but his moved upward, as if wishing to reach for you.

It was always you, she realized bitterly. She may have him now, but only as a result of his momentary lapse in good judgment where his body chose another's. But his heart…his heart would always choose you.

When presented with any semblance of a choice, Will Ransome would crawl back to you on his hands and knees in a heartbeat. And now she must lie on the bed she made. The bed they both made.

Only when you pointed toward her son, her dear Francis, and he was lifted up from the ground, kicking and struggling in mid-air, did both of them make a noise. Calling out to you, pleading for you to put him down and stop the madness. "This is the last time I will repeat myself, adulterers. Get in the water. Or your boy here suffers first."

"Y/N, stop this," Cora spoke, rising to her feet. "Are you not tired? It has been so long, years, even. Francis was still just a little boy when you last saw him. He is a grown man now, how long will you let anger consume you?"

Even from this distance, you could see the ire in Will's features, clearly ticked off with the words that came out of his lover's mouth. "My darling, please. What must I do to atone for my transgressions towards you? I will promise you anything, do anything. Whatever you wish for, it's yours, please can we just go home?"

You lowered both Francis Seaborne and yourself down to the ground, the young man running immediately to his mother, quivering like a leaf in the wind. The disgraced vicar reached his arms out toward you, every muscle tensing and freezing in place when you rose your hand into the air again. "It is the actions of philanderers like you that make the mortals look down on me, consider me a lesser god."

"God?" Cora repeated in a sharp exhale. "Don't be ridiculous, Y/N--"

"Fools like you don't realize what awaits you on the other side of your mortality, where the fate of your eternal afterlife…falls to me," you cut her off, not bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Adulterers doomed to suffer an endless loop of the consequences of their actions."

"My wife--"

"Is dead, Mister Ransome," you bellowed. From the corner of your eye you could see villagers gathering at their windows, the horror in their expressions as they began to speculate on what exactly had come to terrorize their quaint little town. "You killed her, there is no use in denying it. Your foolish, licentious choices brought her to her grave. For that alone, you will suffer once your feeble human life reaches its conclusion."

"If you are not Y/N Ransome, then who are you?" Francis asked, voice shaking as he held on to his mother. "Why have you come to wreak havoc in our lives?"

You walked toward the town's vicar, tears in his eyes as he watched you move closer. He reached for your hands, looking like a wounded pup when you swatted him away. "I am the goddess of fidelity," you answered simply. "When betrayers like you and your mistress cease your time on this mortal plane, you and everyone complicit in your torrid affair will be at my mercy."

The tide rose even higher, looming menacingly over the town in a dangerous arch, blocking out what little light they once had from the sun beyond the clouds. You grasped William's chin harshly, fear evident in his eyes, heart thundering against his chest.

"But your actions, your infidelity in particular…upset my husband," you spoke, holding his gaze as you  hissed the words inches from his face. "And for that, I am willing to bend the rules and begin your suffering ahead of time. Put forth the events that will thrust your pathetic souls upon my doorstep."

You rose from the ground again, rage for your fallen variant coursing through you as you heard them plead for forgiveness. For mercy.

"P-Please Y/N…" Cora sputtered out. "I will leave the town and no one will ever hear from me again, just please let me leave with my boy."

"No," you droned. "You have asked what you can do to atone, I presented you with a choice. Now I know how capable you both are of making choices, you've made several together, some of them even on the very ground you stand on. Which leads me to believe…you have made your choice. Stubbornly bargaining your way out of my wrath, out of your suffering. At the cost of this town you call home."

"You truly aren't Y/N Ransome, are you?" she spat out, a look of entitled indignance on her face. "The Y/N I knew wouldn't be this ruthless. She would have shown mercy--"

"Oh but I am showing mercy, you unworthy tart," you spat back. "For ruthlessness is mercy. Upon ourselves." With a flick of your wrist, the tidal wave was finally let loose.

And the little town of Aldwinter sunk into the water.

Before the tsunami crashed down and took you with it, Loki conjured a portal and pulled you back to safety, a bit of water splashing into your bedchambers before it closed. With a wave of his magic the water evaporated into the air, and your soaked dress was dried.

"Husband…" you spoke, a wide smile gracing your features when your eyes met his. You both were on the floor, the god cradling you in his arms as he pushed your hair away from your face.

"My darling wife," he breathed out, his own smile mirroring yours as he picked you up in his arms, carrying you to the bed. "Your flair for the dramatic has you reckless as ever."

He sat you on the edge of the bed, handing you a goblet of wine that did a quick job of warming you and canceling out the effects of the damp cold of Aldwinter.

"You should rest, my love," he said softly, moving to position himself behind you to undo the braids in your hair, carefully working his fingers through the wet strands. "This is the first time you wielded your newfound powers as a goddess, I can imagine your body feels overworked…and famished."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, causing your husband to chuckle and press a tender kiss to your cheek. "How did you know when to pull me back?"

"To start, I must admit that I was watching the spectacular show you put on, avenging your variant with such vigor," he whispered into your skin. His hands found their way to your shoulders, working away at the knots. "And our souls' threads are intertwined, little Princess. I can always feel when you need me. I was made to be yours."

"And I yours," you sighed contendedly, leaning against him when he wrapped his arms around you. When he cupped the side of your face, holding you as he pressed his lips to yours, you all but melted into his embrace. "I love you," you mumbled against his lips.

"And I love you," he murmured, continuing to kiss your lips as he maneuvered you to lie down on the bed. With a wave of his hand, the fabric that covered your skin changed to something much lighter, more sheer. One of your sleeping gowns, you surmised. "Rest, dear heart. I shall arrange for food to be brought to us for when you wake."

Your body was all too eager to obey the softly spoken command. The rest of you, however…well, after the ordeal in that despondent village on Midgard, the rest of you ached for your husband's touch. To wash away the muck of the marshes.

Loki let out a low chuckle, kissing along your clavicle as his hand roamed the side of your body. "I can always feel when you need me," he repeated, his tone holding a much more lustful intent than moments earlier. "And much as I want nothing more than to indulge in making love to my beautiful wife, I cannot, should not, be so selfish and ignore her body's need for rest." He made his way to your lips, allowing himself the tiniest sliver of decadence as he licked into your mouth. "You'll need your strength for what I want to do you later tonight."

Your breath hitched as images flashed in your mind of your husband teasing and pleasuring you, claiming your body repeatedly well until after the sun rose the next morning. In multiple places throughout your marital chambers. Constantly finding or making the time to bring you to orgasm in the midst of pampering you.

Suddenly it made sense why he would choose to deny you now…in exchange for a much more delicious reward just a few short hours away.

"Would you stay regardless, husband?" you asked weakly, already feeling yourself succumbing to the exhaustion and the slumber that your plush sheets promised. "Hold me?"

You weren't able to see the loving smile that graced your husband's face from your request. You only felt the soft kiss on your forehead before he positioned you to lay in his arms. "Gladly, my darling." He conjured a book into his free hand, ready to begin reading to you when a stray question entered his mind. "What of their souls, Y/N? What hellscape did you design for them?"

"I gave them what they deserve," you grumbled, shifting your position to hold him closer, your arm draping over his stomach as you laid your head on his chest. "Each other. They are doomed to spend their afterlife together, with Cora knowing that his heart longs for his late wife. And William having to watch from the sidelines as my variant finds new love. You have a stray echo that never found his fated, by the name of Pine. I presume by now they've found each other, starting a story of their own."

A/N: Hang on what's this…? Did I tease a future story at the end there? 😳 Why yes…yes I did 🤭 Ngl this year felt like I didn't get a whole lotta stories done especially in the latter half, but hopefully with everything finding a bit of balance, 2025 will look a bit different and I can set aside more time for story writing 💖

Ooh, and also I def got the idea to make this because of the "Get in the Water" song

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆˙⟡ All Yours.

Short Summary: There is nothing unusual about Tom returning late from his meetings. However today, there is something off, something you only notice when he is pressed up against you, waking you from your sleep…

Warnings: 18+ only! slight somno, unprotected p in v, Tom Riddle needs you, use of parseltongue, possessive!Tom

A/N: found this in my drafts. Perfect for writers block season :D

wordcount: 1,4k

You only faintly notice the door to your bedroom creaking open, bed squeaking as he lays down beside you—carefully, so as not to wake you. Tom returning so late is not unusual per se, he’d gone out with his Knights the evening prior—meetings that usually take until the early morning hours. 

Now, you’d normally ask about his day—however, you are just too tired, and instead, your eyes flutter closed, and you drift off to sleep again before you get the chance to do so.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve slept when you wake again—met with darkness as you blink slowly, the only light source being the moon’s subtle white glow as it shines into your shared bedroom. Only then do you notice that your duvet is somewhere further down the bed, a cool breeze of air having goosebumps rise on your skin. But there is something else—the faint touch of Tom’s knuckles trailing up and down your bare thigh. You don’t think all too much of it—not until he bunches the silky material of your nightgown around your hips, that is.

“Tom? What are you—“ you whisper, turning your head slightly in an attempt to look at him, but as soon as he hears the soft sound of your voice, he closes the space between the both of you, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he shifts closer, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck.

If you weren’t awake before, you definitely are now. His hands explore your still half-covered body, following the soft curve of your hips before finding their way upwards, cupping your breasts, kneading slowly over the thin, silky fabric. Your breath catches at the sudden affection, because yes, you do manage to crack his hard shell from time to time, but this? It’s entirely different from what you are used to.

“I missed you,” he mumbles then, voice low and rough, and just like that he gives you a gentle roll of his hips, letting you feel just how much he really missed you.

“Oh—“ you whimper, attempting to find your voice for a proper response, but a proper response to that turns out to be rather difficult to come up with. “I— missed you too, Tom.” His hand has slipped further upwards in the meantime, tilting your head to grant him better access, sucking purple marks into your neck—and at this point, he’s fully rutting himself against you.

When you try to move just a little, his grip only tightens, practically pinning you against him.

“Mh, stay like this. Be good and stay where I want you.” Tom murmurs, hand wandering to the hem of your nightdress, slipping under the material. His hands are warm, soft, fingertips deliberately grazing over your skin. A soft moan spills from your lips when his hand slips between your legs, caressing the already damp fabric of your lace panties, gently rubbing circles over your still clothed clit. And he groans, groans at the feeling of just how wet and ready you are for him.

He soon shifts behind you, withdrawing his hand as he pushes himself up from the mattress. With a subtle nudge on your inner thigh, Tom has you part your legs for him, and your mind is already caught in a haze, obeying without hesitation. He hooks his fingers into your panties, slipping them down and tossing them aside before he positions himself between your legs.

And then, for the first time that night, his eyes meet yours. Hungry with lust, pupils blown wide, locked onto yours.

“Tom—“ you stammer, hand softly wrapping around his biceps, but he interrupts you with a, for him, rare, passionate kiss.

“Just— take it. Need you to take it for me,” he grunts, his voice still thick with sleep, and you think it might be best if he’d just rest. However, as soon as your lips part to tell him just that, the only sound you manage is a sharp gasp—he presses himself against you, tip swiping through your folds to collect your arousal, cutting you off.

Tom doesn’t wait much longer before he sinks himself into you, slowly, too slowly for your liking, but you cannot get yourself to complain. Not when he stares down at you like he physically needs you, like you are the only one he wants, curls messily falling onto his forehead, lips parted—gasping as he feels you wrapped around his cock so perfectly—just how he has been imagining it the entire evening.

“Tight— fuck, so tight.” He groans, hips now finally flush with yours. His head dips, burying himself in the crook of your neck, and he stills then, granting you the chance to feel all of him—feel the blissful stretch on your walls as he lets you adjust to his size. Though impatience—something Tom usually doesn’t show—gets the better of him, gently rolling his hips against yours, tip brushing against your cervix with every slight thrust.

A feeling that has your walls clamp down around him, eyebrows drawn together, and then finally, finally, he moves, pulling out of you completely just to split you open all over again, and somewhere in between, he must have lost the last bits of restraint he had left, groans spilling freely from his lips, showing you a completely new side of him—raw, passionate, and unrestrained.

“You’d never leave me. I know— you’d never do that to me.” He grumbles, all while he’s pushing into you slowly, hot, ragged breaths against your skin as his lips messily place kisses on your neck.

Now you really don’t know what’s gotten into him, if something happened while he was out—nonetheless, you decide to play along. “No, Tom. Never.” You shake your head, your hand reaching out to brush one of his dark curls from his face.

He gives you a satisfied hum in return, gradually speeding up, one of his hands pinning yours above your head as he thrusts into you from above, brushing against your most sensitive spot with every snap of his hips—the combined sensations so intense you aren’t sure how much longer you can take him like this.

And he knows.

Releasing your wrists, his hand slips between you, finding your swollen clit, tracing the bud in slow, tight circles. Your hips buck into his touch, chasing every single bit of pleasure he’s giving you as you feel the coil in your stomach winding tighter, climax approaching faster than your mind can process.

It’s not only you, though. His cock twitches inside of you, thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release, pushing into you as if it’s the last time he gets to do it.

“Tell me you are mine. Fuck— need you to tell me.” He growls, hips stuttering against yours, and you know he is close, so close—

“I am yours. All yours.” You reassure him, and that’s all it takes for him to break, a low, deep groan somewhere from the back of his throat as he spills himself inside of you, painting your walls white with his cum.

He mumbles something under his breath, dragging out his orgasm, something you make out to be his language—parseltongue, words that have your surroundings fade into a blur. Although you don’t understand him, his eyes tell you all you need to know—fireworks explode behind your eyes as you tumble over the edge, your whole body charged with the high of your release as your cunt flutters eagerly around his still hard length, milking the last remnants of his release.

His chest heaves as he breathes heavily, his body coming to rest on top of yours.

You stay like this for a while, giving him the chance to calm down. Your fingertips trace slow patterns along his muscular back, wandering up to his neck and finally swiping through his dishevelled, dark curls.

When he then lifts himself off you, his expression gentle as he pulls out of you slowly, glancing down at you with a knowing look, you realise it’s better not to ask.

And that’s why he values you more than anyone else.

Because you have learned to understand him.

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3

—

masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

LOOOOVEEEE!!

Tell Me You Hate Me

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Draco Malfoy is insufferable.

That’s the first thing you think when he smirks at you across the Great Hall, all sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, like he knows you’re already seething. His tie is half-loosened. His prefect badge is slightly crooked. And he’s still sitting like he owns the castle.

The second thing you think is that he’s beautiful.

But you hate that thought. You stuff it down the same way you stuff every stupid flutter in your chest when he talks just a little too close. When his voice goes lower just to piss you off. When his fingers brush yours “accidentally” in dueling class and he smirks like he knows exactly what he's doing.

You’re a Ravenclaw, top of your year in Dueling Tactics.

Unfortunately, so is he.

And unfortunately, Professor Flitwick decided it would be “character building” to pair sworn enemies for the semester’s strategy project.

“Try not to cry when I beat you, sweetheart,” Draco had said the day you got partnered. “I only cry when I look at your hairline,” you’d shot back sweetly.

It’s been like that ever since—words like daggers, barbed in silver and blue. And yet, you meet after class. You train. You strategize. You fight. And neither of you ever leaves first.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches you between spells. He pretends not to notice when your wand stutters every time he gets too close.

But you both notice.

The first time he touches you, it's accidental.

Kind of.

You’re in the empty Defense classroom, late again, practicing parry spells until your arms ache. He lunges too close, your wand flicks sideways, and your back hits the edge of the table hard.

He moves to steady you—one hand catching your wrist, the other sliding low on your waist.

Your breath stutters.

His does too.

His hand lingers for half a second too long, his grey eyes darker than usual. And when he lets go, his smirk is half-hearted.

“Don’t tell me I knocked the wind out of you,” he murmurs.

“You wish,” you say, but it doesn’t come out steady.

He doesn’t say anything after that. Just turns, jaw tight, and casts again.

The second time he touches you, it’s deliberate.

It’s a week later. Same classroom. Same tension.

You’re sparring again, and you’re winning this time—your hexes are fast and mean, and Draco’s shirt is untucked, his hair a mess, and he looks absolutely feral. Something in you loves it. Something in you wants to ruin him further.

You back him into a corner with a well-aimed spell, wand tip against his chest. He’s panting.

“Gotcha.”

He grins.

“Do you?”

Then he steps into your space, slow and smug, wand hand raised but not attacking. His other hand slides around your waist again, this time firm, his mouth tilting just by your ear.

“You always breathe faster when I do this,” he says.

You hate him. You really, really do.

Except you don’t flinch. You let him touch you. Let him lean close enough that your noses brush, your wand trembling between you.

“Kiss me or curse me, Malfoy,” you whisper. “Cowardice doesn’t suit you.”

And he doesn’t. He looks at your lips, looks like he’s going to—but then he pulls back.

He always pulls back.

You hate that more than anything.

It all unravels when you start spending more time with Harry.

You’re both Heads. It’s practical—meetings, prefect patrols, patrol reports. But Draco starts showing up at places he has no reason to be. He scowls when Harry laughs with you in the courtyard. He scoffs loudly when you sit next to him at breakfast.

And when Harry places a casual hand on your shoulder after a long prefect meeting? Draco is silent.

Too silent.

Later that evening, he corners you behind the Charms classroom.

You barely open your mouth before he’s there, eyes stormy and voice low.

“You’re getting awfully cozy with Potter.”

Your eyes narrow. “You following me now, Malfoy?”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“You think he sees you?” he says, quiet and bitter. “You think he gets you?”

“Oh, and you do?”

He steps forward, chest almost against yours. “I think I know exactly what you want.”

Your breath catches—but your pride doesn’t.

“I want someone who doesn’t run away the second things get real,” you snap.

He flinches. You don’t miss it.

“You’re jealous,” you whisper, stunned.

He laughs, sharp. “Please. We’re not dating.”

“Exactly,” you fire back. “So why do you care?”

He doesn’t answer.

But his jaw clenches.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You realize then: it’s not that he doesn’t want you.

It’s that he does, and he’s terrified.

It comes to a head in the Astronomy Tower.

You find him there after midnight, arms folded, hair mussed by the wind, and for once—no one else around.

He doesn’t hear you approach.

“Stalking me now?” he says without turning.

“You think everyone’s obsessed with you.”

He chuckles. It's empty.

“Maybe I want you to be.”

You blink. “You’re drunk.”

He turns then, eyes bloodshot, lips chapped. His wand’s beside him, untouched.

“No. Just tired. Of pretending like this isn’t…” he swallows. “Real.”

Silence stretches like a held breath.

He steps forward. Closer than ever. His voice dips, low and broken.

“Tell me you hate me.”

You laugh. Quiet, bitter.

“You already know I do.”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” “Like what?” “Like I’m the only one who understands.”

You don’t answer.

He reaches out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. This time, it’s not cocky. This time, he touches you like you’re fragile. Like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“Because I do,” he whispers. “Understand. You hate me. I hate me, too.”

That’s when you kiss him.

You grab his collar, drag him down, and kiss him like you’ve been meaning to every night since this stupid project began.

And when he kisses you back—desperate, fierce, trembling—it’s not smooth or practiced. It’s raw. Honest.

You pull back eventually, gasping. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, your heartbeat a riot.

He presses his forehead to yours, lashes fluttering shut.

“Tell me again,” he murmurs. “Tell me you hate me.”

You smile. Just barely.

“I hate how much I want you.”

And that? That’s enough to break him.

He kisses you again. Harder. Hands hungry. Like you’re the only good thing left in the world. Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart completely.

Maybe he already has.

But so have you.

And neither of you runs this time.

I loved this so much🤣🤣

Love drunk Bucky! What about a drunk reader?

Yes, we've seen drunk!Bucky in Pretty Girl. A drunk reader could be fun.

Your Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You're very vocal about wanting Bucky Barnes.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Drunk reader with no filter, drunk confession, dirty talk, humor, slight feels, talk of consent and communication, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Raw. Next question.”

You sipped your drink, the room going eerily silent. It was the quietest it had been since everyone gathered in the lounge for some drinks hours ago. Pairs of eyes stared at you with a mix of fascination and shock as your words hung in the air.

Just moments ago, Clint had been going through his phone and showing everyone candid photos he managed to snap of everyone. Most of them were hilarious, but the most recent one wasn't hilarious at all. It was clearly hot based on your reaction.

“What did she say?” Steve whispered to break the silence.

“You heard what she said. Everyone heard it,” Sam whispered back, giving you a quizzical stare. “How many drinks have you had?”

You held up a finger followed by another couple. “Like this many. And water. Hydration is so important.”

“Hold on. Back to what you said a second ago.” Clint turned the phone toward him with a raised brow and slowly turned it back toward you so you could see it again. “You know that’s a picture of Barnes, right? Not some model or actor?” he asked.

Bucky Barnes, the beefy super soldier who was trying not to shatter the bottle in his metal hand as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. Clint managed to snap a photo of him when he removed his shirt after a recent workout, which begged the question of why he was taking the photo to begin with. Bucky wasn’t looking at the camera since his eyes were shut, but his parted mouth, slightly messy hair, and sweat shining off his torso made him look like a thirst trap. The sweatpants only made the picture that much hotter.

“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. We all know he’s hot,” you shrugged. “And I said what I said.”

Bucky audibly exhaled. You had a penchant for being very honest with the team which they appreciated. If someone asked for your opinion or thoughts on something you didn’t hide how you felt. You were careful not to be cruel if you disagreed with anyone, but you still led with honesty. Alcohol didn’t change that.

So, if you said you thought Bucky was hot and you wanted him to fuck you raw, you meant it.

Clint exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before the redhead nodded to the spot beside you. The spy looked like she was having a hard time not smiling. “And you know he’s sitting next to you, right?” she asked.

You downed the rest of your drink and shrugged again. “Yeah, I know. And I’d let him fuck me raw. Every day. Twice on Sundays,” you said unapologetically as Steve coughed. You swung your head toward Bucky with a sultry smile and leaned in a little closer. He smelled your perfume before you sat down tonight, but now the sweet smell combined with your natural scent was making him dizzy. “You’d fuck me raw, right? Maybe fuck me from behind so you can get nice and deep.”

The bottle shattered which only made you smile more. Bucky’s nostrils flared and everyone backed up a few inches, except for you, the newest member of the team. The person who loved to leave little treats and snacks for him to make sure he ate throughout the day. The same person who made a show of bending over and stretching in front of him whenever you two worked out together. The only one who seemed to get a real smile out of him since you showed up like a shining beacon of happiness and sass.

And now you were telling him you want him to fuck you. Raw. He thought about it, of course- how wet and snug you’d feel around his bare cock, how you’d take him like a good girl. He pictured you sobbing his name and squirming as he pinned you down and brought you over the edge again and again. Licking his lips, he imagined the taste of your arousal on his tongue and wondered if he could make you squirt. He sure as hell wanted to try.

Bucky heard Thor’s footsteps, but didn’t take his eyes off you as the God of Thunder took a seat. “Clearly, I’ve missed something.”

“I said I want Bucky to fuck me raw,” you said without missing a beat.

Bucky bit back a groan. He was two seconds away from throwing you over his shoulder like a caveman and taking you away from everyone. There were so many filthy things he wanted to say and do to you…

And your bluntness didn’t seem to bother the blonde. “I thought you two were already having relations. With how close you two-”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘relations’?” Clint asked. “Relations.”

“Is that not what they’re discussing?” Thor asked, taking a sip from his flask. “Though if there is no protection there is the risk of procreating, but they would have beautiful offspring.”

You leaned in a bit closer, but Bucky gripped your arms to move you away from his spot. “I don't want the glass to cut you.”

“You're so thoughtful. And amazing,” you smiled. He adored your smile. “And if a breeding kink is what you’re into, actually breeding me or not, I’m all for it. I’m wet just thinking about it.”

Thor laughed and held up his flask. “That’s the spirit.”

Bucky’s cock twitched in his pants. “I know you’re wet. I can smell it,” he all but growled. He inhaled so deeply he could actually taste it, and he wanted more. And if he could smell it, Steve could smell it.

“Okay then.” Clint removed his hearing aid. “I think I’m done.”

Steve jumped up when his best friend glared at him. “I think I’m done, too,” he said, not wanting to face Bucky’s wrath even though it wasn’t his fault he also had heightened senses.

“Let’s go, boys. I think these two should talk without us,” Natasha suggested, hauling Sam up by the arm and giving both of you a wink. “Be good, okay?”

“No promises,” you replied in a sing-song voice.

“Shouldn’t they get a room? I’m just saying,” Sam said as Natasha dragged him away.

“Breed her well, Barnes. Make us proud!” Thor shouted. Steve hauled him from the room, too, with Clint hot on their tail.

“Alone at last,” you giggled. If you were at all embarrassed, it didn’t show. And now that the two of you were alone, the tension skyrocketed. “You know, this isn't how I pictured saying any of this, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” he said. He couldn't believe you wanted him, but you did.

“I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or weird. I’d never want that.”

“That’s the last thing I feel,” he exhaled, still gripping your arms when you finally moved into his lap and straddled him.

“Good,” you smiled, leaning in for a kiss.

As much as he wanted to feel your lips against his, he stopped you. And as much as he wanted to tear your leggings away and have you then and there, but he couldn’t. “I’m not fucking you. Not tonight.”

The playfulness slipped from your eyes. So did the smile from your face. “Oh. I thought…” you breathed, looking away and quickly blinking. God, he hoped there weren’t tears in your eyes. “You don’t actually want me, do you?”

Bucky hadn’t meant for his words or stopping the kiss to come across as rejection, but that was exactly what happened. “That’s not–”

“Oh, my God. I ruined everything, didn't I? Why did I open my mouth?” You sniffled and tried to move away, but he wouldn't let you. “Six months of friendship and crushing on you and I-”

“Hey. You didn't ruin a thing.” Bucky gripped your chin with tenderness he didn’t think he was capable of anymore, and his heart broke when he saw the tears swimming in your beautiful eyes. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he admitted, brushing a tear away that fell. “But you’ve been drinking, and that means you can’t fully consent, and I will not take advantage of you, no matter how you say you want me or this. I respect and care for you too much for that.”

HYDRA took consent away from Bucky for a long time, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. He’d hate himself for doing anything with you without your full consent. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who did that. The man you deserved would be the one who properly took care of you in and out of bed.

And he’d be the best man for you if you let him.

“So, you do want me?” you asked, your voice uncertain.

“I did say more than anyone else, and I meant it,” he replied. You had to believe him. “But our first time should happen when you're sober.”

However you wanted your first time to be, he'd make it happen. He'd make love to you or fuck you or both. As long as there was clear consent and communication, he’d give you everything you needed and more, and he knew you'd do the same for him.

The smile you gave him repaired the cracks in his heart. “You’re a good guy, Bucky,” you said, snuggling against him. “And it isn’t just sex I want, but, well, I do want to have sex with you.”

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled and rested his chin on your head. “And I know. It isn't just sex I want either.”

Bucky wanted to take you to bed, but he also wanted to take you out on dates. He wanted to make you laugh and smile, wipe your tears and comfort you when you cried, and be the one you confided in. He wanted to be your man, and he wanted you to be his best girl.

“I wanna be yours,” you sighed as if you read his mind, his heart skipping a beat. “Can I be your girl?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes when he kissed the top of your head. “You can be my girl.”

And tomorrow once you were sober, he’d officially ask you to be his girl.

Happy Moanday, lovelies! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) SFW Alphabet

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: You guys voted so I made sure to deliver😉 I hope you enjoy some fluffy Logan content😊

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Logan may not come off as affectionate and soft to others but he sure as hell makes up for it with you. This man will make sure he covers all five love languages when it comes to his girl because you’re one of the only people who truly gets to see his vulnerable and loving side. Words of affirmation? This man will literally tell you how beautiful, strong and intelligent you are whenever he gets the chance. In his eyes you’re the epitome of elegance and you are no less than an angel. Gift Giving? You are constantly surprised with little trinkets that he comes across that remind him of you. One time he bought matching bracelets for the both of you so that you have a piece of one another wherever you go. He may not splurge like crazy for his partner but he’ll make sure each gift means something special. Acts of service? If anyone else were to ask Logan to make them a cup of coffee he’d scoff and say “make it yourself bub”. But when it comes to you, he’ll have a fresh cup of your favourite coffee waiting for you before you can even think of making one for yourself. As a matter of fact, he’ll go as far as stocking up on your favourite coffee beans before you even notice that your old batch is almost done. This doesn’t just apply to coffee though. Your man will literally stop you in your tracks when he notices that your shoe is untied, crouch down and place your foot on his thigh, and retie the lace before you even get to notice that it was untied in the first place. Yup, he’s just that observant and considerate. Physical touch? This man is all over you! He tends to avoid hugs and other forms of physical affection from other people but with you, he finds every opportunity possible to take you in his arms. He’s not big on extreme PDA (unless he’s jealous) but he’ll make it a point to touch you in one way or another. Whether that’s an arm around your shoulders, holding your hand, rubbing your shoulder or even playing with your hair, Logan uses physical touch as a form of self assurance that you’re safe and present with him. And finally, quality time. Between missions and teaching, Logan can find himself quite occupied majority of the time. But he always finds time to be present for his girl whenever possible. This can include going on late night walks where you both share your deepest thoughts and experiences. It also involves a lot spontaneous bike rides to God knows where. Just know that you’ll always be safe and protected with Logan by your side.

B - Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Logan is such a considerate person when it comes to those he loves and cares about. As your best friend he’ll make sure you always have a shoulder to cry on and will be a listening ear if you are in need of one. He comes off as a little grumpy and standoffish when you offer to be there for him during his difficult times but he eventually caves and confides in you. He is also extremely protective and will kick ass if someone even thinks of putting you in harms way. And if someone says something mean about you he’ll scare the shit out of them and defend you all the way. Logan doesn’t let people into his life easily so just know that you’re very special to hold the title of his best friend.

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

This man is like a teddy bear when it comes to cuddling. He’s so warm and his huge frame engulfs you every time he wraps his arms around you. Nothing relaxes him more than holding you and cradling you into his chest during bedtime or during a movie. He also loves when you hold him. Life isn’t easy as the Wolverine so he cherishes those little moments when he can let his guard down and succumb to your embrace and soothing affirmations. You mean the world to him and cuddling is one of the best ways for him to feel close to you.

D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Prior to you entering his life, Logan didn’t really allow himself the luxury of imagining a life where he would settle down and start a family. That changed very quickly when you came along and brought him a level of peace and security that he didn’t know was possible for him to experience. He finally has someone to fight for and so he’ll dedicate his entire being to you. If you want to get married he’ll propose to you within a few years. You’ll have a beautiful home in a quiet neighbourhood and will live your days with him loving you in every way possible. If you want children he’ll be the best father ever (although he’ll be a little worried if he’ll be able to do a good job). Regardless, Logan is open to anything as long as you’re with him.

He’s a decent cook but he definitely prefers to do the cleaning instead. It works out perfectly because you both split up your mundane tasks so that there is a natural order to things.

E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He isn’t the type to break up with you over something petty or superficial. The likely scenario would be that his presence in your life is putting you in danger so he resorts to being upfront and calling things off with you. He doesn’t play games so he uses honesty to present his reasonings. Now will he regret leaving you? Definitely. But it takes time for him to realize that it’s safer for him to be with you instead of without you. So try to reassure him and remind him that his presence matters to you.

F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

I’ll say it again, Logan will marry you if that’s what you want. He’s pretty indifferent to claiming your relationship on paper because in his mind, you don’t need a paper to prove your commitment and love to one another. You’re the one for him and he’s the one for you, PERIOD! That said, if you’ve mentioned that marriage is something you look forward to then your man will make sure to propose to you like the Queen you are. He’ll probably pop the question in about two years into your relationship and will make the occasion as intimate as possible. You can expect something along the lines of a candlelit pathway to the beach or in a beautiful opening in the forest. He may shed a few tears as he speaks his prepared speech and will slow dance with you in his arms when you say yes🥹 This man will forever try his best to treat you like every woman wants with her soulmate. He loves YOU and you’ll never need to question his love for you.

G - Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He is so gentle with you! One of the main reasons is because he is well aware of how strong he is and how easily you could get hurt around him. But despite all of that, you’re the one person Logan will be soft with. You’re the love of his life and his support system so you will always be treated with respect and tenderness. He rarely raises his voice at you because he firmly believes that everything can be solved with a civil conversation. If he gets too heated then you both will spend some time away to cool off before reconvening and working through your differences. In his daily life he’s constantly using violence and anger to make his point but with you, he knows that you deserve his patience.

Now that doesn’t mean you guys won’t play fight or that he won’t corner you and attack you with tight hugs and kisses🤭 But know that it’s all fun and games with him. He could never hurt his favourite person.

H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh my days his hugs are so protective and warm! You could never feel unsafe when you’re in his arms and Logan makes it a point to hug you as much as he can. He loves holding you close to him and you love to hear his steady heartbeat when you’re against his chest. He also loves to sneak up behind you and give you hugs from behind when you’re busy doing some work. He’ll slowly sway you from side to side as he nuzzles into your neck and takes in your comforting scent. He would also love it if you run and jump into his arms when he walks through the door after a long day. It makes him feel wanted and it warms his heart to know that you eagerly await his return.

I - I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows pretty much immediately that he loves you. He could tell right away that you were going to be a significant addition in his life and he was proven right as he got to know you. He takes a bit of time to tell you that he loves you though because he understands the severity of those words. He doesn’t just go around throwing that term everywhere so he looks for the right opportunity to profess his love and commitment to you.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh girl your man is JEALOUS! Well I suppose protective is a more appropriate term but you get the point. He trusts you more than anything and doesn’t doubt your love and loyalty but he’s still a man with a beautiful and desired woman. He knows how lucky anyone would be to have you so he can act a little clingy (an arm around your waist with a scowl on his face when someone stares too long) when you’re out with him. He doesn’t control where you go or what you wear but he’ll leave a few visible marks if you’re going out without him in a scandalous outfit🫣

K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Be prepared for a ton of forehead kisses and kisses at the top of your head (especially since he’s most likely towering over you). These kisses send a message that he’s always going to protect you and that he’s happy to have you near him. He also loves to leave wet kisses along your neck so that he could listen to your pulse and take in your scent.

He’s such a softie when you kiss his knuckles because of his complicated relationship with his claws. But when you show such tenderness towards them he has no choice but to melt and try to view his claws in a more positive light.

L - Little ones (How are they around children?)

Logan is a little hesitant around children so he typically allows them to approach him first. His reasoning is that he doesn’t want to scare them or accidentally hurt them. But if they approach him with curiosity or want him to play then he’ll grow a little more comfortable and indulge in their games.

Now if you both end up having children of your own, Logan will be the most protective and tender father. As tough as he is, you can already see him shedding a tear or two when it’s time for mandatory vaccinations for your babies. If you two had a daughter then Logan would teach her everything necessary to protect herself. He would also sing to her and teach her how to do anything hands-on so she will never need to rely on a man. If you two had a son then Logan would teach him everything he knows so he’ll grow up to be a gentleman and an independent man. He’ll also teach his son that it’s okay to be vulnerable around the right people and that he’s supported no matter what he chooses to do in life.

M - Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If Logan gets up before you do then he’ll spend a few quiet moments admiring you and giving you a few gentle kisses on your forehead. He’ll then get up and get started on breakfast before you wake up. If he has to leave early for work then he’ll leave a little note for you saying that he loves you and to call him when you wake up.

If it’s a free day for the both of you then you can expect to stay cuddling him for a few hours after you’ve both woken up. You guys may engage in quiet conversations as the morning progresses and you’ll cook breakfast together as you decide what to do for the rest of the day.

N - Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It can be a little difficult for Logan to fall asleep but you’ve discovered that having a routine helps him sleep faster. You might get him to follow a simple nightly skincare routine so he washes away the day’s stress and grime. Maybe you’ll read to him for 30 minutes so he falls asleep listening to your voice, or maybe he’ll simply hold you until sleep calls his name. If he wakes up from a nightmare you’ll be there to calm him down. On nights like these you’ll coax him to drink some cold water and you’ll wipe away his sweat. He’ll apologize for imposing on your sleep but you’ll shush him gently and mutter sweet nothings to him as he snuggles into you and slowly falls back asleep.

O - Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s a tough cookie to crack so it definitely takes some time before he tells you everything about his past. But he does reveal small things about himself overtime and eventually he feels ready to speak on his demons. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you (quite the opposite actually). Rather he’s afraid that you’ll leave once you learn how dark his life really is. But he realizes that he prefers to let you in on things so he takes a chance and bares his soul to you. You never once judge him and he loves you more for that.

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

As expected he’s a pretty short-tempered individual. He loses his cool pretty quickly and if anything he’ll find himself frustrated over minor things. But he hardly ever loses his cool towards you. He knows how destructive he can be when he’s angry so he tends to isolate himself for a while until he cools off. He never wants to hurt you with his words so he has a lot of self control around you. Now if anything happens to threaten your safety then he’ll lose his shit and make whoever hurt you pay.

Q - Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

This man remembers the littlest things about you. Whether it’s that random story you told him about an incident that happened in your childhood, or if you prefer pineapples on your pizza rather than mushrooms…he’ll take a mental note of everything. Basically he has a doctorate in everything pertaining to you, so you’ll never feel neglected or taken for granted with him.

R - Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?

His favourite moment is noticing that your eyes light up whenever you see him. You could be having a bad day or even be angry at him but somehow your eyes will still soften when he’s around you. It astonishes him that someone as amazing as you would want him around. But it warms his heart to know that someone looks forward to his presence everyday.

S - Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is very protective of those he loves so you can expect a lot of measures put into place to ensure your safety. He’ll make sure that your windows are bulletproof and that your front door can be double locked. He’s not toxic in his protectiveness but he does know that the world can be a scary place for a woman. He takes his job as your protector very seriously and will never take your safety lightly. But on another note, he’s also very protective of your feelings. If you seem worried he’ll always have a gentle conversation with you so you feel comfortable enough to share your troubles with him. He’ll try to give you the best advice he can and if nothing can be done then he’ll simply hold you so you never feel alone.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Logan isn’t a man of huge gestures but he’ll always do little things to show you he cares. He’ll bring you flowers whenever he sees a bouquet that reminds him of you. He’ll stock up on your favourite coffee or go buy a new face cream because he knows you’re running out. He takes turns cooking and cleaning with you and ensures you never have to do any heavy lifting around the house (with those muscles he better put them to good use🤣).

Of course when it’s a special day like your birthday or anniversary then he’ll clear out his schedule to spend the entire day with you. He’ll pamper you (eg. pay for your nails, give you a massage) and will take you out to a nice restaurant. On any regular day he’ll take you for spontaneous rides on his bike where you’ll ride around for hours on end. Sometimes you’ll go stargazing together or you’ll go for a walk on the beach.

U - Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

You have no issue with him smoking but you draw the line when he lights one up in the house. The smell lingers in the fabric of the sofas and it really messes up the sweet aroma that you create with your candles. You’ve told Logan very early on that you’d prefer if he smokes outside and he respects that. But sometimes he gets stressed and it’s second nature for him to light a cigar in the middle of the living room. You don’t yell at him when you realize what he’s doing but you grab his hand and walk outside to the backyard with him, where you let him finish his cigar and sit with him in silence. When you go back inside Logan gives you an apologetic kiss and lights some more candles plus opens the windows to let out the smell.

V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He’s very particular about how his hair is styled so he takes time taming it every morning (now if it gets messy because you run your fingers through it or play with it then he doesn’t mind at all🤭). He has a few staple pieces in his closet (such as his flannels, white tanks, jeans, boots, leather jacket). His hygiene game is on point but he loves to tease you by forcefully hugging you when he’s sweaty🤣

W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Logan has been a lone wolf for most of his life but somehow your presence is all he craves. He’s never been one for cheesy sentiments but he truly does feel like you complete him in more ways than one. You bring a level of adventure, curiosity and peace that he never imagined he could have. You make him feel secure in himself and somehow your relationship is the healthiest bond he’s ever experienced.

X - Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Logan’s favourite holiday to celebrate with you is halloween. He loves how bizarre everything is about this particular holiday and how lively the neighbourhood gets when it hits October. He loves when trick or treaters come around to your house because he likes to scare them with his claws.

He also loves how passionate you are about decorating the house and doing fun halloween activities with him. You get a kick out of making Logan carve pumpkins with his claws to which he laughs and creates silly designs. He also loves when you insist on watching scary movies with him but then hide your face in his chest when you get scared. He feels a sense of pride knowing your immediate response is to turn to him to protect you.

Y - Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t like a partner who is unnecessarily judgemental and inconsiderate.

There’s a lot of things he doesn’t like about other people anyways so it’s just best for others to stay out of his way.

Z - Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He talks in his sleep sometimes (usually because he’s having a strange dream). During the early days of your relationship you’d wake up confused because you’d assume he’s talking to you. But you quickly realized that he has a habit of talking in his sleep. Now if he’s just saying a bunch of random words you’ll fall back asleep but if he’s sounding distressed you’ll gently wake him up before a nightmare starts.

He also needs to be touching you in some way when he sleeps. His face will rest in your neck or chest, and his arms would be wrapped securely around your waist while his legs will intertwine with yours.

Got me in the halloween spirit and shiiiii🤭😈

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

I love reading this series🥹 Gets me all warm and fuzzy on the inside!

Happy Birthday

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

It's Logan's birthday and you surprise him with a gift. (This is pre-marriage).

read on ao3 or continue reading here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

Logan hated celebrating his birthday. After nearly two centuries of being alive, the day had lost any real meaning—just another mark on a calendar that didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he had much to show for all those years, anyway, and he’d long since grown tired of people making a fuss about it. But the mansion had a way of making sure no one went unnoticed, and every year, without fail, someone would pull him into an impromptu celebration he hadn’t asked for.

So, when he woke up that morning and found the mansion unusually quiet, he figured maybe they’d finally given up. No "Happy Birthday" shouts from Bobby in the hall, no balloons taped to his door, no cupcakes left on the kitchen counter by Ororo. He shrugged it off, feeling a little relieved, even if there was an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.

By the time he finished teaching his second class, Logan’s mood had settled into its usual gruffness. He was just starting to clear off the chalkboard, the faint squeak of the eraser filling the room when he heard the familiar click of heels approaching from down the hallway. He glanced toward the slightly ajar door just as you appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small, secretive smile.

"Hey," you said, a little breathless as if you’d hurried there. "I was gonna stop by sooner, but…" You gave a half-shrug, your eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. "My class got chaotic, and then I had to—well, doesn’t matter."

Logan’s brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you, your arms tucked behind your back in a way that seemed almost... suspicious. "Why are you standin’ like that?" he asked, his tone gruff but tinged with curiosity.

You chuckled, stepping further into the classroom and finally bringing your hands forward. Resting in your palms was a small, neatly wrapped gift—a simple package, the paper a deep blue, tied with a piece of twine. "I know you hate your birthday," you began, your voice warm but a little hesitant, as if you weren’t quite sure how he would react. "But I thought… well, I thought you might like this. And before you say anything, yes, you have to open it. Complaints can wait."

Logan stared at the gift like it was some foreign object, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. He didn’t reach for it right away, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as if trying to gauge whether or not this was some kind of joke. "You didn’t have to do that," he muttered, the words gruff and almost defensive. He wasn’t used to anyone making a special effort for him.

"Obviously," you replied, rolling your eyes playfully as you took a step closer, extending the gift toward him. "But I wanted to."

There was a beat of silence where Logan just stood there, staring down at the little package as if it held some kind of secret he wasn’t sure he wanted to uncover. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he reached out and took it from your hands. The paper crinkled softly as his fingers brushed over it, and for a moment, he just held it there, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

"Well?" you prompted, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. "Aren’t you going to open it?"

He gave you a look, half-exasperated, but there was a flicker of softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago. "You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?" he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his words.

"Not a chance," you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

With a huff, Logan started unwrapping the gift, peeling back the paper with a mixture of impatience and curiosity. Inside was a small leather-bound journal, its edges slightly worn, like it was made to be carried on long journeys and tucked into coat pockets. The leather was a deep, rich brown, and the pages inside were lined, perfect for jotting down thoughts, sketches, or whatever might cross his mind.

He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb running over the cover as if testing the texture. "A journal?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Well, I figured you might need somewhere to put all those thoughts you keep to yourself," you said lightly, though your voice held a touch of sincerity. "Or sketches, or… I don’t know, angry rants about how annoying the kids are." You shrugged, your smile softening. "Thought it might come in handy."

Logan was silent, his gaze still fixed on the journal. His jaw clenched slightly, and for a second, you thought maybe he was going to brush it off with one of his usual gruff remarks. But then he looked at you, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes that caught you off guard—something unguarded, almost vulnerable.

"Why'd you…" he started, then shook his head, like he wasn’t sure how to ask the question. "No one’s ever really bothered to get me somethin’ like this," he admitted, his voice low and rough.

You took a step closer, your expression softening as you searched his eyes. "Well, I did," you said simply. "Because everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday, Logan. Even if you don’t think so."

He swallowed, the words throwing him off balance. He glanced down at the journal again, turning it over in his hands as though trying to understand what it meant. "I don’t know what to say," he muttered, the gruffness back in his tone as he tried to cover up the unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. "I ain’t exactly good at this… 'thank you' stuff."

You just smiled, a warmth spreading through you as you reached out and touched his arm, the contact grounding and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, Logan," you replied softly. "Just… try using it, okay?"

He nodded, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours again, and for a heartbeat, the world outside the classroom seemed to fade away. There was a change in the air, something unspoken passing between you—an understanding of the beginnings of something neither of you had quite figured out yet.

Logan cleared his throat, glancing away with a small, awkward shrug. "You’re somethin' else, you know that?" he muttered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

"Good to know," you said with a playful glint in your eye. "Now, are you gonna keep standing there looking confused, or are you actually going to say 'thank you' like a normal person?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head as if to shake off the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for. "Thank you," he grumbled, though there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice. "Don’t know why you went to the trouble, but… I appreciate it."

You grinned, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "See? That wasn’t so hard."

As you turned to leave the classroom, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching sight of Logan still standing there, his gaze fixed on the journal in his hands. His rough exterior seemed to soften, the hard lines of his face easing as he traced his thumb along the leather cover. There was a kind of quiet reverence in the way he held it, like he was trying to understand the weight of the gesture, what it meant to be remembered in this way.

You didn’t think much of it at the time—just a thoughtful gift, a small moment shared. But later you’d find out that the journal would become something he held onto, just like the lucky pen you had given him. It would stay tucked away in a drawer beside his bed, the pages slowly filling with musings and sketches, the cover worn from use and care.

It would become one of those little things that said more than words ever could—a quiet reminder that he was seen, and more than that, that he was cared for.

I’m sat🥵

Soft and loving sex with Draco

Pairing: Draco x reader

Word count: 1,783

Warnings: smut, oral(female receiving), vaginal sex,

Summary: You meet Draco in the room of requirement for some much needed alone time.

He needed you so so bad right now. He hadn’t been able to focus all day. He’d spent all of his classes day dreaming about you and his cock was so hard it was throbbing painfully in his pants. He paced the room of requirement impatiently waiting for you, resisting the urge to palm himself through his pants just to get some kind of relief. He knew if he started touching himself now he’d barely last a minute when you finally showed up. Finally, he heard the door gently open and close, and saw you.

He was a beautiful sight to see. So clearly worked up to the point of absolute impatience already for you. His hair was slightly out of place, his cheeks were tinged with red, his uniform was untucked, and his pants were bulging so dramatically, you thought he might break his zipper. “What took you so long?” He asked, a hint of irritation and desperation in his voice. Instead of answering, you approached him and immediately grabbed his bulge as you pulled him into a kiss by the back of his neck. He couldn’t stop a moan as he leaned into your touch, bucking into your hand eagerly. You slowly rubbed him as you guided the two of you to the bed in the middle of the room and pushed him back onto it, landing on top and straddling him. “I’m sorry love. But I’m here now.” You said softly into his ear while grinding yourself against him. He let out a whimper as he matched your movements, grinding up into you as well. You held his head by the back of his neck right at the beginning of his skull and stroked the hair there as you pulled him into a slow, passionate kiss. He wrapped his arms around your back, gripped your long hair and deepened the kiss with a moan.

He sat up, keeping you straddled on his lap. “I’ve been thinking about you all day darling.” He said with a breathy whisper while unbuttoning your top. He hungrily wrapped his mouth around your left breast while kneading the other gently with his hand. You moaned and let your head fall back as his tongue flicked your hardening nipple as he lightly sucked. You ran your hands under his shirt and up his back, feeling his smooth, tight skin. You felt goosebumps form on his pale skin as you lightly scratched up to his shoulders. And dug your nails into them as he lightly nipped the bud of your nipple with his teeth. A soft moan escaped your lips and you felt his cock twitch against your heat. You brought his forehead to yours as you started to unbutton his shirt and he pulled you into a deep kiss when your hands made it to the last button, and lowered to undo his belt. Once his belt was off, his breathing grew more rapid, and he began lightly bucking up into your hand as you undid his zipper and button. You moaned softly “someone’s excited” you said into his mouth then bit his lip.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day y/n. I could hardly listen to my lectures.” He says looking into your eyes. You were taken aback by his beauty. His hair was ruffled out of its usually perfect sweep, and his eyes held nothing but pure desperation as they looked back and forth between yours. Your core throbbed as you felt an intense hunger for him at this sight. This boy was such a powerful figure on campus. Between his status and his attitude, no one dared to cross Malfoy in the school. And yet here, he was putty in your hand. He was obsessed with you, and completely at your mercy. He needed you so bad and couldn’t deny it. You couldn’t help but moan at the thought of this as he grabbed your hip and the back of your neck and flipped you over so that you lay under him. He dragged your skirt snd panties down your body and brought his hand to your core. You gasped and let out a shaky breath as he rubbed your clit with his fingers, his cock teasing your hole. He smirked as he felt how you soaked his hand and bucked your hips up towards his cock, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you, clenching around nothing. “It looks like I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about this all day, am I?” He says smirking as he slowly and sweetly kisses your jaw. You let out a moan and grab him by the back of the head, running your fingers through his hair and moving his head to your neck. You begin to answer him, but he starts sucking on your sweet spot and grinding his cock against your clit, and your response gets swallowed in a shaky moan. You feel Draco’s smirk widen

As he moves his cock to tease your hole with his tip. “Oh” you moan softly as you buck up into his cock, trying desperately to get more of him inside of you. “Shhh sh sh” he hushes softly against your lips. “I’ve got you love.” His body lowers as he kisses down your neck, your collar bone, lingers at your breasts, and down your stomach until he gets to your core. His arms wrap under and around your thighs, and his hands come to rest on your mid stomach, just below your ribcage, forcing your thighs to raise a bit and rest on his arms. His thumbs stroke your skin lovingly as he places slow, deep, open mouth kisses on your inner thigh, inching closer to your glistening pussy at an agonizingly slow rate. Finally he reaches your pussy, inhaling your scent before moaning and attaching his mouth to your clit and sucking. You gasp and grab his hair, feeling the soft blond strands bob up and back as he continues to make out with your clit, and rub it with his tongue. You could feel his smirk against you as a moan escaped your lips and you bucked up against his mouth. One of his hands snaked out from under your thigh, and moved to circle the entrance of your hole. He repeatedly pressed an inch of his finger into you slowly, teasing you while his mouth continued to pleasure your clit. You raised your legs and placed them on top of his shoulders, gently squeezing up into his mouth and finger, trying to feel more of him. “Come on love. What’s the magic word?” He said against you, his hot breath tickling your cunt. “Please!” You cried softly, and finally, his finger plunged into you as he once again wrapped his mouth against your clit and licked it at a fast pace. As his long finger repeatedly hit the perfect spot within you, and he sucked and licked at your clit, you grabbed his head and thrusted your hips towards his face. Your breath became shaky as moans escaped your lips “o my God…Draco!” You cried as you felt your release approaching “I…mmh…I-I’m gonna-“ and suddenly he pulled away, leaving you on the edge. “Hey!” You cried in a breathy voice before he grabbed you by the thighs and pulled you down closer to him so that his mouth was level with yours. He moaned as he crashed his soft lips into yours, and grinded his throbbing erection into your sensitive core. He kisses down your jaw until he reaches your ear. He reached down to align himself as he whispers “You drive me crazy y/n.” He takes His cock, rock hard, angry red and shinning with precum, and rubs himself up and down your slit. You moan as you feel him rub against your clit, insert his tip, and then come back up to rub your clit again. You grab the hair on the back of his neck and grip his mid back. “Please Draco!” You cry, looking desperately into his stormy eyes. He couldn’t resist you when you looked so pretty begging for him. He plunged himself into you as deep as he could as you gasped and gripped his body with your nails. He groans and lowers his head to your neck as he thrusts into you at a slow but steady pace. “Fuck y/n” he says as his breath grows heavy against your neck. You moan and scratch lightly at his back and his thrusts start to speed up. You know he wants to tease you by keeping a slower pace, but he simply can’t help himself. He lifts his head from your neck and places his forehead against yours. You lift your legs and wrap them around him, pushing him further into you. His face scrunched as he moans, and kisses you deeply, you feel so completely surrounded by him. His scent completely overwhelming you, his arms on either side of you, resting his body on his elbows while he cradles the base of your head with one hand and brushes some hair out of your face with the other, his breath filling your mouth and lungs as he breathes quickly, his firm and pale body pressed flush against yours, and his cock filling you up so that you could feel him in your stomach. You arch your back as his hips thrust into yours at an even quicker pace. “Draco!” You cry between moans.

“I know love” he says through shaky breaths. “I’m-ah-im gonna cum” he says, you’re moaning so hard you can’t form words, so you simply nod and grab his face, pulling him into a deep kiss while the coil tightens further and further until you hear Draco whine and feel him twitch inside of you, and the coil snaps hard. You gasp and moan as you clench around him again and again. He holds you tight and jolts into you again and again while ropes of his warm cum shoot out of him and fill you up until you’re dripping. He continued thrusting while you both ride out your highs until eventually his thrusts finally slow and then stop. he rolls over and takes a deep breath before pulling you into his chest and placing a long kiss on the top of your head. “Jesus Draco.” You say melting into his body. He lets out a breathy laugh and lies there for a moment longer before reaching for his wand and casting a spell to clean you both up. “You’re incredible” he says while tucking you both under the covers. You raise your face to his and say “as are you” before kissing him slowly and falling asleep.

I’m such a hopeless romantic omggggg🥹🥹 I loved thisssssss!!!

saw u write for harry potter i dont know if u do but could you write something about draco malfoy i find very little on tumblr of draco x reader thank youu

when you know, you know

draco malfoy x reader

fluff

a/n: send more request for harry potter characters pls loves

summary: a rare potion reveals Draco the name of the love of his life, and, after seeing his reaction, you are eager to know more about how he's made it (and who it is).

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It was sad being alone this very day, but you told yourself he would be back home as early as he could. 

You decided to wander through your house as you waited upon his arrival. The thought of seeing his greeting smile already made you overjoyed as you browsed through your messy room.

Your eyes stumbled upon something. It was utter boredom that gave you the urge to open your memories' trunk. It was yours and his secret trunk, filled of things that you didn’t use nor see ever, but you hold them so dear you weren’t able to let go of. 

You opened it and a small wrapped box greeted you. You remembered not seeing that before. But again, it had been a very long time. Curiosity got the best of you, and you proceeded to unwrap it gently. 

And there it was. A simple little flask. A piece of glass so ordinary to everyone. Everyone but you, him, and the walls of Hogwarts potion classroom… 

“What?!” you blurt. 

“I’m telling you, Y/N. Lena from fourth grade has made it!”

“How would a 14-year-old accomplish to make The Curious Hoax? It is known to be nearly impossible.”

Saoirse leans in, a cunning smile blooming in her face. “Exactly,” she whispers in your ear. “Nearly impossible.”

The Curious Hoax. But how?

“Students!” Professor Slughorn cuts your wondering instantly. You and the rest of the students follow his instructions, stepping into the Potions Classroom. “That’s it. Take your books. Careful, Ron!”

Lost in your thoughts, you look around. The room never seems to lose its charm. Cold and old stone walls isolate you from the warm Hogwarts you remember. It is nice, though. You’ve always appreciated the magical spell these shelves filled with all types of jars and potions have on you. 

“But how? I mean - you spoke to her, what are the steps?” you ask eagerly. The Curious Hoax had always been your priority goal since you’ve heard of it. It wasn’t only the rareness of the potion that called you to it. The reason of your interest was far more humiliating.

Your friend knows that. “Ah - you are now so interested, huh? Will you tell me why?” Saoirse asks mockingly. “Come on, let’s make a deal.”

“A deal about what?” You turn to the brusque voice next to you. 

Him, of course.

“Draco,” you say plainly, disgust running your tongue as you speak. 

But he takes no offense. The blonde boy turns to you, pride and sharpness in his piercing stare. “Y/N” You’ve never known if it’s simply the thrill of hearing your name out of his lips that sends your heartbeat to a high, or if it’s the sweetness in the tone he uses that confuses your heart. 

That is not the matter to worry about. Now, the only thing that matters is winning him.

“Oh, here they go again with the staring contest. What are you - eleven?” Saoirse asks, rolling her eyes and making Blaise chuckle. Draco turns to the joyful sound in an instant, giving a stern look to his friend. 

“You’ve lost,” you taunt with a grin once Draco turns to you. 

His eyes kill you with their intensified anger. “Shut up, Potter.”

You bite your lips, trying not to slap him. Or strangle him. 

Or poison him.

Your jaw is rigid with anger as you lock your eyes with him. It is a call to challenge. To defiance.To temptation.

“Oh, here they go again,” your friend complains. “Stop that already, Slughorn is talking.” You both ignore Saoirse. “Guys. Draco and Y/N will you please stop that.”

“Let them,” Blaise tells her teasingly. You take a mental note to gossip with Saoirse about the smoldering glace his given her. She’s been head over heels for the boy ever since you two were sorted to slithering six years ago and took a seat next to him. Him and Draco.

“You looked away,” Draco states, sneering. “You. Lose.”

You breathe deep, holding back the slap your body aches to give him. “Shut up, will you.”

“You shut up.”

“No. You shut up, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, the both of you!” Soirse yells. “You act like kids, I swear.” You watch in shock as the whole class turns to her rants. But she doesn’t seem to care as she angrily turns to Draco. “She was just asking about The Curious Hoax, because she’s spent her whole live daydreaming about the love of her life! Now shut up already!” And she stops right there, her eyes wide open, moving to find yours in instant regret as she realizes what she's confessed. “So that is that,” she mumbles, almost inaudibly.

You know you look visibly flushed as your eyes dart around, trying to hide your embarrassment. But acknowledging every set of eyes on you doesn’t help one bit. 

But what certainly doesn’t help is the obscurity in Draco’s face. “Ah, well - what an even more pathetic thing you turn to be.”

“Watch your mouth,” your friend barks in your defense.

“What? She can be this stupid, but I can’t comment on it?” he says. There’s still in his face a darkness you can’t quite understand. He is not being mean for mere rudeness. He is truly angry. But why for? 

You feel chocked up, your eyes on the verge of tears. No words in your personal defense seem to escape the chains of your throat. 

But someone unexpected is there for you. “Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn says in a scolding voice. “What is exactly so pathetic in the will to make such an extraordinary potion? A potion that could reveal the one true love of the maker. Could you explain to the whole class, please?”

Draco is silent, anger with a hint of humiliation in his stupid face. 

“No?” the professor asks, monetarily turning to give you a friendly wink. You smile slightly, the pressure of before, now less crushing. “Then I take you appreciate its value all the same as your classmate, Y/N?”

“I-” the boy starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Very well. Then, I have great news for you.” He turns to the class and adds, “Today, Mr. Malfoy will be the first to try it.”

Said boy swallows audibly. “Try what?” he hurries to ask. 

“Why - Making The Curious Hoax, of course,” he says evidently. 

“But-”

“Great! First, go take the cherry leafs…” 

… 

It’s been about ten minutes of Draco following obediently every Slughorn instruction in front of the class. A bit of ‘take this, put this, mix that’ and now, “The final step…” the professor said, happiness irradiating from him as a result of his love for this subject. 

You don’t know what surprised you more. How okay, even happy, Draco is with doing this, or that the potion is simple as this. You were told only a few people had succeeded in making it, but there he was Draco, one last step from making it.

You wonder, is he nervous? Excited to know who is the love of his life? 

You are. Of course, not for who is his love. Of course. You are nervous to find out yours.

“I must tell you,” Slughorn says to all. “The last step may seem frustrating to the ones who reach with their hand for the top of the mountain, yet happen to be farther than what they had expected.”

You watch Draco sight at the professor’s enigmatic words. The truth is, you had been watching him very carefully. It is not often that he was concentrated enough to not pay attention to your curious eyes set on him. And it is quite an opportunity and relief to be free to watch him from afar with no mean words coming your way. 

It is simply a relief to look at him, so lost in his inner world. 

“What is the last step, professor Slughorn?” the Weasley boy asks.

“Well,” he replies absentmindedly. “Once the ingredients are mixed, you must write on an ordinary piece of paper the name of the love of your life. Who you think it is. Only the correct answer will lead to the making of the potion.”

Surprised and disappointment fill the classroom and your heart.

“I don’t understand,” you say. “Then the potion makes no sense: You must know the very same thing you want to learn from the potion. If you knew already who the love of your life is, you wouldn’t need the potion in the first place.”

“Exactly.” Slughorn gives you a knowing smile. “The curious Hoax, Ms. Y/N. It is a hoax.”

You look around confused, but stop when you find his eyes on you. Draco immediately looks away, flushed, almost hiding from you.

Could today’s class turn out more odd?

“Then what’s the stupid point in making it?” Blaise asks. 

You realize Draco hasn’t said a word in complaint yet, which is shocking. Is he really interested in knowing his true love?

“Well, even being conscious about this last step, many wizards have spent years trying to make it, trying name after name, and the one’s that have made it claim that the potion is worth everything.”

“Professor,” your friend says. “I’ve heard that if you drink the Potion once it changes color, you will see your happiest memory with your love.”

“That I've heard before - yes. But I fear you shall check it for yourselves. Now, everyone around a table! You know the steps.”

“We are all going to try to make The Curious Hoax?” Ron asks in disbelief.

“Yes, of course, Ron, or do you expect to find out by me telling you who she is?” Slughorn asks playfully as he glances visibly to the girl next to Ron. Nor him or the now blushed girl, Hermione, miss that look. 

Everyone takes place and starts with the making. You try to keep some distance, but your curiosity makes you pick a spot on the table close to Draco. He seems determined to not look your way.

You don’t give much thought to that. The priority now is succeeding in this. You’ve always wanted to know who the love of your life is. Now you have the answer right in front of you. 

The little cauldron is almost entirely filled, every ingredient you’ve meticulously thrown into and mixed have now given their results. But not the ultimate result. The potion must turn blue to indicate it is well. And it will only turn blue if you throw into it the correct name.

Of all the people who could be, how on earth would you be able to guess. You realize soon, it will be impossible to make the potion go blu-

“Look! Draco’s made it! His potion’s turned blue!”

What.

You quickly look up to him. But he’s already staring your way. Eyes wide open in surprise, just like yours. Of course, guessing who his love is must have left him crazy. Making one of the most difficult potions must have left him crazy. 

This time, not like the others, his eyes don’t move. Like your staring games, he’s just there., looking at you as if the world around him was no more. 

“Very well done, Mr. Malfoy!” Slughorn congratulates. “Great! Great.” He grabs a simple little flask and starts puting the potion inside carefully. “And… here you go. Consider yourself a very lucky boy, Draco. Not many in this world will have the opportunity to visit their happiest memory as you do.” And he hands the flask to the boy.

But his eyes are still on you. And yours are still on him.

Eventually, the whispers of surprise and disbelief of your classmates subside, and you chose to seize the calmness to walk to him.

“How?” you ask Draco. Most of the class had given up on the Potion. You were nearly about to. “How have you done it?”

He’s oddly silent, not even looking at you. He stares at the flask in between his hands. He hadn't drunk it yet. Maybe he didn’t want to. 

“Draco,” you call, and it’s almost like pleading. At that, he moves his timid eyes to you. He is acting so weird. Was the truth of the Curious Hoax so heavy on a person?

“I just - I just did it. I wrote a name, and it worked.”

“What? Just one name?” you ask, even more shocked that what you were seconds ago. “How did you - what?”

He sighs, looking down at the flask again, gone into his inner world. 

“Draco, please. It is the thing I most want. To know it myself. To make this potion.”

He looks up, finding your eyes with such gentleness it makes your breath caught. “Y/N.” Again, that sweetness in his tone. But now, more genuine, more vulnerable. 

“What?” you persisted eagerly. “What is it, then?”

He is silent for some seconds, then he puts his flask in a pocket of his uniform and moves to leave. You swiftly grab his arm before he’s able to. 

He says no word as he turns to look at your hand touching his skin. He says nothing as he absentmindedly lifts his hand up to yours, and almost like in a tender caress, traces its knuckles. It’s different from any touch you’ve felt.

Then he closes his fingers over the back of your hand and pulls it gently away. He doesn’t let it go as he takes a step closer to you. He is so close. So close. You watch his dark pupils, realizing you have no need to give a step back. Only an urge to take one closer. But you would be too close. 

You feel his warm breath before he closes his mouth, as if he was trying to suppress words trying to get out of his lips.

So you try to push him. “Tell me,” you whisper, and it’s so tender and soft it seems to convenience him.

“Y/N…”

He doesn’t continue, so you plead,” Please. Tell me, Draco.”

“I just knew exactly what to write on that paper.”

“But how?” you question.

His lips curved into a timid smile. Never had you seen him so… you don’t even have words to describe it. 

“You just know, Y/N.”

“Draco…” you start, still not satisfied with the ambiguous answer.

“When you know, you know.”

And then he manages to smoothly slip away from you, walking away. But then he stops and turns.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you say, trying to understand his odd behavior. Trying to understand the smile on his face. 

“Please, tell me when you know. Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

Tears run through your cheeks once the memories flow back to that little flask. That day. This flask. Draco.

Draco.

“You’ve found it,” your husband says, and you quickly turn to him. 

Draco is at the door of your bedroom, staring at you as if waiting for your reaction. The flask, it was his birthday present to you. 

“And here I was, thinking you would never find it there,” he tries to joke, but you clearly see he is nervous.

“Draco…” you whisper, but you are not able to form words. So you run to hug him. He catches you, firm arms wrapping around your waist. “My love, I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your surprise," you mumble.

“So do you like it, love? And no, you did not ruin anything.” 

“Like it?” You move to look at him, making him see in your face how grateful you are. How much you love him. “Draco it’s perfect. You - you’ve kept it all these years.”

He smiles sweetly. “Y/N, that potion. When I drank it - I saw this. You and me, today. I saw myself holding you just like this, watching your beautiful face like you were the only thing in this world. I saw that when I was at a terrible point in my life, and it gave me strength to keep going. Seeing your eyes watching me as if you loved me, it told me life was worth living, it told me great things were to come. You were to come.”

Tears well in your eyes again at his words. “I was already there, remember?” you joke, grinning despite your wet cheeks. 

Draco smiles lovingly as he wipes your tears. “I remember, my love. You were always there, and I always knew - somewhere in my heart, I always knew it was you.”

-Chacters by J K Rowling

This is not proofread yet, but i wanted to post itttt. now lets talk: IVE JUST WRITTEN MY FIRT DRACO FIC WHAAAAT. im so happy, and expecting to write more harry potter characters yeees. plsss send more requests for harry potter, speacialy for short fics :) hope you like this one, and the rest to come. loveyaa.