For @lyselkatz for the drabble requests :) Hope you enjoy (and that the cut actually works right this time)!
Pairing: Gabriel x reader
Word Count: 909
Tags/Warnings: a little last night on earth fluff with one swear. That is all.
All I want is to sleep by your side.
The answer is automatic, so unconscious it bypasses warp speed as it flies through your mind. You’re suddenly drowning; the thought of holding him, of feeling the warmth of his body curled around yours, his face pressed to your chest as he listens to your heartbeat.
Electricity skitters across every one of your nerves, making them stand at attention to the point you almost miss Dean’s response.
“Is this really necessary?” He gripes, and just like that, your bubble bursts, the brief moment of bliss shattering into a thousand droplets that leave you drenched in reality.
Gabriel will never want you, potential last night on this earth or not.
You shift your focus away to someone else, as you always do to keep your head from going under. You understand where Dean’s coming from. He’s not one to share the cards he keeps closet to his chest, but it’s irritating how much tunnel vision he’s had recently.
You don’t know what you’d do if your mom came back from the dead and became lost within an alternate universe, but you’d like to think you’d have the sense to acknowledge your only plan is one misstep away from a suicide mission.
But this is Dean, and no matter how close to the wrong side of sane he’s stepped, he has to act like there’s only one direction to head in.
Sam, however, doesn’t agree. There’s a sadness creeping into the smile on his face, a weight lingering in his eyes that you picked up on weeks ago.
“I would have said something.” His quietness breaks the tension, stopping Dean’s irritation in its tracks. “If there’s one thing I’d like, it would be to go back and tell Eileen just how amazing she was.”
There’s a shared sympathy spreading across all your faces that says this revelation is no surprise to any of you.
“She was one of a kind,” Dean agrees. He rises, squeezing Sam on the shoulder as he passes by to grab another drink.
“I would have done more. For all of you.”
Cas’ gravelly timbre fills the room, and if you could see his wings right now, you imagine they’d be wilting. He looks defeated, his admission and perceived failures bearing down on him until he’s hunched over the table.
As the closest to him, you reach out, covering his hand with yours.
“You’ve always done enough Cas.” Despite the angel’s mistakes, you mean it, because your friend has always tried to do the right thing.
He’s not convinced, but he appreciates the sentiment, the corner of his mouth raising slightly.
“Can’t dwell on the past, y’know?” Dean says, eyes firmly settled on the floor. “Or else there’d be too much to dwell on.”
You get the feeling his words are meant more for himself than Cas, but they still lift the angel’s spirits. Perhaps because your friend recognizes how big of a step it is for this Winchester to be sharing much of anything with anyone right now.
“So, sugar, I’d ask which one of us, but I think the answer is obvious.”
There’s a bite to Gabriel’s words that jarring, and a prickle of awareness runs uncomfortably through you before you lift your gaze to find him staring at you. Intently.
Amber flicks down briefly, and it takes you a second to realize you’re still holding Cas’ hand.
Dean glances up, looking from you, to the suddenly testy looking archangel, to the completely baffled angel to your right, and back again. “What is he talking about?”
What was Gabriel talking about indeed.
Your eyes widen, color flooding your face as you snatch your hand back to your own lap.
He didn’t… and he wouldn’t...
The measured brow that creeps up his face says he did hear that little stray thought of yours, and he most certainly is calling you out on it.
“C’mon. You know denseness runs in the family. Gonna have to spell it out, or he’ll never get the hint.” He shrugs, so casually it’s almost like he could care less. “Or don’t. Your call.”
Maybe it’s the extra glass of whiskey you’ve had. Maybe it’s that cold feeling of finality creeping over you the closer tomorrow comes. Maybe it’s knowing that any embarrassment would be short lived since, he’s right. What are the chances of both of you stepping back through the rift?
Fuck it.
You toss back the rest of your drink, using the heat of the alcohol to keep you grounded and fuel your courage as you meet Gabriel’s gaze head on.
“You’re right. Denseness does run in the family, and I am gonna have to spell it out, because it’s you, wingman.”
You can’t see the others, not clearly, but you can sense the palpable stillness that’s entered the room at your admission. The way gold freezes, the archangel is just as caught off guard.
It’s always been you.
His shock melts away, infusing warmth, and a touch of cockiness in the smile stretching across his face. He sets down his drink, movements languid as he makes his way toward you. You can’t believe how casually he takes you by the hand, pulling you to your feet and settling you snug against him as if you’ve belonged there all along.
“You’ll have to excuse us, gentleman,” he announces, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I believe it’s past our bedtime.”
ohhh heck they’re all very lovely prompts but uh 1092 orrr 1098?
Here you go Anon and also for @gabereil Hope you enjoy, and thanks for much for sending a prompt <3
Pairing: Loki x reader; Gabriel x reader
Prompt: “My, oh my, you are such a beautiful creature.”
Word Count: 642
A/N: I’d like to think that Loki is enough of a bastard to plan to sell Gabriel to Asmodeus, but he never does. Mostly because I see him as taking his father’s death as a personal betrayal, and he’d want to see the look on Gabriel’s face once he realizes his fate. A personal confrontation ensues, maybe with some sort of charm or weapon that at least weakens Gabriel and makes the fight more fair (because you cannot tell me a fully powered archangel could not easily take a pagan god). Gabriel, however, is still able to beat/talk some sense into Loki while getting his ass kicked enough for the god to feel enough justice had been served. They part on civil terms, albeit with their friendship fractured.
TL;DR: Cannon can go sit on a cactus because both my boys are alive and well.
“My, oh my, you are such a beautiful creature.”
It’s Gabriel, but not. The sultry undercurrent sings false, the familiar timbre undercut by something that prickles with the opposite of what should be there. There’s no hidden embers ensnared within cynicism. No glints of mirth or light. Just a detachedness etched deeply within what should be familiar features.
A tingle of dread forms at the top of your head, trickling straight down your spine as everything about the figure in front of you screams wrong.
“You’re not him,” you manage, despite the crescendo of fear that courses through your veins, ratcheting up your pulse. You want to step back, the instinct to run overridden only by a very unusual, very keen lance of fear that fills your legs with led before starting in on your lungs, and by the time he’s closed the gap between you, you find you can’t even breathe.
“I can see why he’s so fond of you.” His hand is suddenly at your face, touch feather-light as the pad of his thumb traces down the center of your lip. It’s like flipping the switch to a live wire, every nerve in your body standing at attention, and air slams back into your lungs with an audible gasp.
Fingertips slide beneath your chin, a confounding confection of charisma and chaos forming a nexus within his gaze, one that draws you into darkened depths. His eyes blaze bright, gold offset by the center of his eyes that seem to stretch on before you like an endless night. It beckons to you, your previous apprehension giving way to something that tugs, like needle treading through your very being.
The slightest pull beneath his touch has you almost leaning closer, and the only thing that saves your head from going completely under is a perfect (or terrible depending on the perspective) timed entrance of an ally.
“Leave her alone, Loki.” Gabriel’s true voice breaks the spell, and you blink.
The world around you reappears in a startling rush of clarity. You look past the suit clad mimic in front of you to find brown leather and a hunteresque sense of fashion and hand tousled strands of gold swept back away from features that practically scream how alive they are with emotion.
Your breath stalls, power seeping raw from every molecule of grace. In that moment, he is that which Heaven deems him; infinite, and you nearly drown in the sudden vastness of his presence.
“Always with the theatrics,” Loki’s eyes give their own dramatic roll, but he does release you from his grasp. His physical one anyway. There’s a thrum of something still snaking around your senses, one that feels different than the heady rush you’re used to getting around Gabriel.
“Back. Off. Now,” the archangel warns, a flash of light sending a fierce and feathered silhouette dancing along the wall behind him.
“Now you’re just showing off,” Loki teases, a dark but somehow good-natured sentiment winding beneath his words. “Or perhaps just preening for our guest of honor?”
Another round of whiplash hits you, causing the concrete in your frame to crumble and your legs to sway.
There’s a heavy moment where you watch the intensity of Gabriel’s face shift to something else, something just beyond the edge of your understanding. There’s no mistaking the way angry heat drains from the pallor of his face.
“Not her.” The barking command in his tone falters, and your previous dread seeps through the cracks in his confidence.
“Am I in danger?” You ask. Dumbly. There’s so much energy flowing around you, you have to be at risk for spontaneous molecular combustion.
“Depends,” Loki rumbles, a wolfish smirk tugging at his lips. “Do you want to be?”
Also: Special thanks to @archangelgabriellives @meadow-melody and @themistressmaster (oh ffs tumblr, you still haven’t fixed broken tagging??) and a special unnamed amazing and talented lady (who knows who she is) for inspiring and feeding my Loki muse <3 <3
A/N: For those of you who haven’t seen this movie, a fluffy little interlude. For those you have, some sunshine to hit you right in the feels. Just remember, @archangelgabriellives, you asked for him 😬(I love you and I’m sorry)
Summary: James reflects upon his life during a quiet moment.
He had the perfect life.
A beautiful, caring wife who wasn’t just a phenomenal partner, but also an amazing mother. A daughter - something that still blew his mine. A tiny life completely dependent upon him, and he couldn’t be more over the moon to be a dad. To snuggle his little peanut so close and marvel at how small her hands were in comparison to his own.
He had a steady job, a livable income. A quaint house in an equally quaint neighborhood with the type of neighbors that apologized when their leaves fell on your lawn and helped you raked them, along with invited you to monthly barbecues that you wanted to attend.
He couldn’t be happier, a sentiment that had him whistling as he scraped the remnants of last night’s dinner from the grill. Tonight, they would celebrate with a little steak, a little wine, and, with a little luck, a little bit of romance, though he’d be perfectly happy with being awake long enough to feel Amy drift off in his arms. It was a special occasion after all. They were taking their first family vacation tomorrow, where there’d be nothing but sunshine, open seas, and quality time with friends that awaited them.
He glanced up as a familiar car pulled into the driveway, waving and beaming at the sight of his wife behind the wheel. She smiled back, the gesture lighting up her tired features, and he couldn’t think of a time she looked more radiant.
Yes, fortune had certainly smiled upon him and his family.
“Gabriel.” Your quiet hiss remains covered by the casual conversation happening from outside the aisles. Sam and Dean continue to discuss the case you’re on while you track down a specific book, oblivious to the extra company you’ve acquired.
His hand skims along the inside of your thigh, fingertips drinking in the silken contours of your nylons. “Shhh. Unless the plan is to alert dumb and dumber of what’s happening back here.”
Part of you is tempted to, so you can get back to work. The other, clearly more prominent part has you pressing back against him as his fingertips graze along your sex.
“Your mouth says no, but the deliberate lack of underwear tell a different story,” he breathes, a single finger pushing between your folds to tease along your slit, and the moment he discovers the moisture already gathering there he tsks. “You’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.”
He nudges you forward, unceremoniously spreading your legs with the sweep of his.
You manage not to stumble, hands shooting out to grip the shelf in front of you, but there's no masking your yelp of surprise or the scuff of your sole against against hardwood.
The boys conversation cuts off.
“Everything alright back there?” Dean asks.
You open your mouth, and just as you answer Gabriel takes that moment to push not one but two fingers into your entrance.
“Ye-ah!" You squawk.
Your head swivels around to catch the inflated smirk he's wearing.
Ass.
You send that thought to him through prayer, and a moment later his voice fills your head.
Not our usual foreplay, but if you insist.
He pulls back out of you, slick fingertips easing up the crack of your ass. Your eyes widen as you catch on to his intent, hips jerking forward when you feel him press against your other hole.
You flinch, eyes flashing murder at him as the The Annals of Swedish Folklore volumes one and three slam against the floor.
"You sure you're alright?" Sam calls to you.
"Yeah, no, totally fine," you insist, and the only reason you don't slap the archangels hand away is because that would only draw further attention.
"I'm just…"
You fumble for an explanation, mouth parting in exhalation as Gabriel's fingers slide lower again, teasing a slow circle around your entrance before dipping them back inside.
"Such a klutz in these heels."
The excuse flows so freely from your mouth you're fairly certain it's been planted. You'd consider it a peace offering for your boyfriend's blatant disregard for anything, but the hand that clamps over your mouth suggests things are only going to get worse - and oh so much better - from here.
He pushes his fingers into you as far as he can, pumping in and out a few times before twisting his hand around to catch that spot just right.
It's all you can do to bite back a moan.
"Let's play a game," he purrs, as soon as Sam and Dean start talking again, his hand increasing its pace. "It's called how many times can you come before making a sound?"
Summary: An after hunt high leads to something you’ve been wanting for awhile now.
Written for: @authoressskr with the prompt “Move away if you don’t want this kiss” (sorry I couldn’t get the second in there too!)
Word Count: 580
Tags/Warnings: smut, penetration, outdoor sex, sex against a car
Move away if you don’t want this kiss.” Despite the command you can tell he doesn’t want you to. You can feel it pouring off his body, filling the small gap between his and yours. Gold practically glows within the darkness, and despite how firmly he’s gripping your arm, you know if you did keep moving, he’d let you slip right through his fingertips.
You should go. You should get in your car and drive as far from that god forsaken haunted forest as you can. There’s no telling how many spirits are still out there, but of course he has to choose this moment to make his stand.
Your legs are like stone pillars, stiff and unyielding, and no matter how much you try to swallow back the truth that you’ve wanted this for so long, it blooms across your chest in ways that exhilarate and ache.
You stand there, entranced as his eyes sear with an intensity you never thought would be fixed on you.
He leans forward, slowly, painfully so, allowing you the chance to turn away, refuse him, escape. By the time his mouth reaches yours you’re leaning into him, the electrical charge that’s been building between you bursting into a thousand bolts that intensify as they collide with the high of your hunt.
You immediately reach for him, hands on his face, in his hair, body melting against his as he crushes you against him. It’s nothing but months long hunger as you devour each other with lips and palms, fingertips taking ownership of everything they can before he finally pushes you roughly up against the side of your car.
He’s got the button to your jeans open in a flash, hands diving to cup your sex before a solitary fingers feels it’s way to your clit. A single touch sends a jolt of pire need sparking through your system, one that immediately fries your patience.
“Need you in me,” you rasp, reaching down to help free him from his own restrictive clothing
He grunts out his approval as you yank his pants down to his knees, and you pull a long moan from him as you take his length into your hand with a few encouraging pumps. He doesn’t need to be told twice, a snap from his fingers pooling both your pants and his at his feet.
He lowers himself slightly, letting you guide him toward your entrance. You rub him along your folds, coating him with the wetness already gathered before getting him in place. He reaches beneath your left leg, hooking his arm beneath your knee, opening you up to him.
There’s a burning stretch as he finally pushes inside, inch after inch disappearing until he’s finally hilted.
“Fuck.” He stands there a moment, eyes squeezed shut, as if shutting out his sight to savor you through his cock alone.
“Trying to,” you breathe rocking your hips into him.
His mirth exhales in a breathy chuckle. “Then hang on tight, sweetheart, because you’re about to get your car rocked.”
Your brow shoots up. “Don’t you mean world?”
He slowly starts to withdraw, pushing your knee to your chest as his body cages you in place. The angle changes as he thrusts back in, and smugness splashes self-satisfied across his face in a smirk as you throw your head back, a sharp cry of pleasure echoing through the eerily silent trees as he hits deeper than before.
“That too,” he growls, beginning to fuck you in earnest.
Drunk drabble request: The hunt turned out to be not their kinda thing, it's storming so bad outside you'd think Thor and Zeus were having a pissing contest, and the power is out at the safe house Gabriel, the reader, Sam, and Dean are at. Dean suggests whiskey and truth or dare. Reader's Feelings/desires get revealed, she thinks Gabe could never feel the same, but he shows her he does once they are alone.
Word Count: 486
Warnings/Tags: Uhhhh, only warning is i’m drunk? UST, implied sexy times
Special thanks to @blondecoffeecake for the help with the title when I coudln’t English any longer and manfriend for trying lmao
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Gabriel murmured, lips brushing over yours with every word. He had his arm above your head, trapping you against the wall. Heat poured off his body, washing over you in waves and sinking straight down between your legs.
He’d never been this close, this bold, and you had Dean and his little game of Truth or Dare to thank for it.
“If it was the whiskey, say so,” he continued, free hand tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before teasing their way down along your jaw. “But, I don’t think it was just that. Was it.”
His fingers curled beneath your chin, not a single question lingering beneath his statement.
He was right. It wasn’t just the whiskey, and you’d spent the last twelve hours thinking you were a complete idiot.
It was supposed to be a game. One harmless game, Dean had insisted, and you had gone and agreed because what else were you supposed to do?
The storm that rolled in had been biblical, nearly washing you away with the flood of rain that poured down on you. You’d been lucky to find the cabin when you did, before the darkness truly set in and you only had the flashes of lightning and a very powered down archangel to guide you to safety.
Unfortunately, that also meant you were stuck in the dark when you found out you had no working electricity.
It wasn’t supposed to come out. You weren’t supposed to be a little too caught up in the things that made you prefer a certain archangel’s company, but the moment you had confessed to rather being stuck there with Gabriel than the others, Dean just hadn’t been able to let it go.
At the time, it had been humiliating. Now, it seemed to be working out in your favor.
There was no mistaking the electricity that sparked between your bodies, no doubt about the intent that gleamed within gold. All the careful lines you held with each other vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving you pressed against the wall of your room almost immediately upon returning to the bunker.
You nervously licked your lips, accidentally skimming his in the process. His eyes fluttered, body leaning into yours as the warmth of his breath suddenly stilled.
It was then that you realized just how much power you held in the situation.
“Gabriel,” you purred, making sure every letter of his name could be felt against his mouth. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
He smirked, hips pressed brazenly to yours so you could feel his growing arousal. “Why don’t I show you instead?”
Summary: Sometimes the moments you’ve been waiting for aren’t as perfect as you’d hoped, but it doesn’t mean they’re any less real.
Drunk drabble request: Gabriel, red, eye for @nobodys-baby-now
Word Count: 687
Warnings/Tags: A little bit of angst and some bittersweet feels
A/N: Sorry I’m a little slow on these. Manfriend gets a little needy when he’s drunk. Set after “Beat the Devil”
“You could at least have the decency to look me in the eye when you say that.”
The statement comes out hard, and anyone not privy to the context might consider it to be unnecessarily harsh given all he’s been through. But you know better. This is Gabriel. The man you love. The being who has broken your heart a thousand times over. The one a part of you knows you’ll continue to let do so no matter how much pain he causes.
He really outdid himself this time. Getting caught with Rowena in the library is the icing on a cake that’s taken years to frost. You’ve forgiven so much, but forgetting is a piece has yet to take hold, and too much swirls within your mind when he finally gives you what you want.
You know it’s irrational to be this angry. He’s never promised you anything. You’ve never even been on a date. It’s not his fault that he’s been gone for years, but there’s a part of you that can’t let go of the thought of how many porn stars he fucked until Loki betrayed him.
You also know it wasn’t about you. Him leaving, his hedonistic binge, letting Rowena pounce on him because she has a deep-seated attraction for powerful things. It’s never been about you, and that’s what really has you seeing red at this moment, because you can only imagine what it is that’s driving his confession.
Faded tawny orbs rise up from the ground on which their fixed, brightening a little with something. Anger, perhaps? Incredulity? Or is it resistance sparking bright at the fact he’s being challenged?
The uncertainty in his frame vanishes, shoulders rising up. He isn’t the proud, powerful being you remember, but he’s the closest to himself you’ve seen since he’s returned.
“I love you,” he repeats, features all hard lines and stark severity. There’s little of the trickster left, and what it leaves behind you’re not certain even he understands. The important part is it’s genuine, authentic in a way you’re not certain the old Gabriel could ever be.
It’s then that you realizes he actually means it.
You swallow. You’ve dreamed of this moment for so long, begged for just the opportunity to even tell him how you felt. Now that it’s real, you haven’t a clue what to say.
“Talking can be so overrated.” You hear his voice in the back of your mind, memories flooding your veins until you’re so full you almost cannot breathe. For once, you decide to take a page out of his book, throwing caution to the wind and just acting.
You move forward, slow enough for him to anticipate your intent, but steady with intent. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give the slightest indication what you’re doing is unwanted, and by the time your lips hit his there’s so much anticipation you’re not certain you’ll make it. So much from the past and present collides, intertwining with what could be in a way you know that no matter what happens after, this will be a moment that makes it into your heaven.
You’re not certain if it’s a fraction of seconds or actual ones that tick by, but eventually he responds, hand gripping tight at the back of your neck, as his mouth presses back against yours. Before your know it you’re flush against his chest, fingers splaying tight across the small of your back as if he’s afraid the moment he lets go you’ll be lost to him.
The heady moment slips away, leading into something far more meaningful as he draws back and rests his forehead against yours. Both your chests rise and fall, the erratic rhythm mirroring the frantic cadence of your heart.
There’s so much to work out between you. Too much logic tells you, but in this fragile moment, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that does is he’s there with you, really there, in a way he’s never been before, and it breathes life into a hope that this time is different.
This time, he might be ready to stop running.
Jesus christ I forgot the tags. Drunk rabbit is drunk.
Summary: Lines can’t be crossed if they’re too blurry to see.
Written for: @archangelgabriellives
Drunk drabble request: Loki, poison, purple
Word Count: 839
Warnings/Tags: sex pollen, implied smut, dub con
“It’s poison.”
That cold timbre you’re used to doesn’t sound as distant. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost swear there was concern tempering frosted tones and hard chips of amber. But you know better. Tricksters cannot be trusted, never fully if at all.
“Are you certain?”
It doesn’t feel like any poison you’re aware of. Everything screams of magic, from the intense prickling in your veins to the unnatural hum vibrating though your cells.
Pain ripples through your body, lancing straight into your being, your irises flashing once more with tainted purple hues. Then there’s that. You’d think that would be his sign that there’s a little more going on.
Then again you’re just the simple human caught within the highly important squabbles of gods.
Your muscles seize, this round of cramping more intense than the last. It almost sends you to your knees, and the only thing that prevents you from hitting fine, marbled tile is a set of immovable hands.
The discomfort becomes blinding, your eyes clenching shut almost as tight as your jaw as you fight to keep from sinking beneath it.
When you finally come out the other side, you find yourself on the floor sitting between his legs. He has his back against expensive leather, and you briefly wonder why he picked unyielding stone over the couch he’s leaning on. It feels nice, however, the coolness seeping through your clothes and taking the edge off a simmering heat quickly flourishing into an inferno.
“It’s not the kind meant for you,” he clarifies.
You brace your palms against the floor, knowing you should move, but his arms fold around you like a prison, caging you in place. You’re afraid to turn and look at him, knowing the moment you do you’ll drown. You’re too close to golden waters to ever hope of making it back out again should you fall straight into them.
You swallow, voice noticeably quieter. “So how do I get rid of it?”
There’s a moment of silence so heavy when you take a breath you feel it settle deep within your lungs.
He reaches up, tucking your hair behind your ear for his fingers trace down along the contour of your jaw. “You stop fighting me.”
You snort. Sometimes he’s clever. Sometimes, he just thinks he is.
If there’s anything he is, however, it’s very, very persistent.
“You expect me to believe this is some sort of sex spell?”
You should be angry, in the least irritated that he won’t let this go. You don’t know how many ways you can tell him (or how many languages you can learn the word no in). It’s not that you aren’t interested, but you know nothing good can come from wanting anyone who’s spouse could erase you from existence in the blink of an eye.
Except she’s the type of being who’d do it one atom at a time.
“I expect you to know my wife will do whatever she thinks will destroy my happiness and keep me chained to her.”
His touch lands on your shoulder, running down along your arm and you shudder, mostly because you know he’s right. Sigyn would do anything to keep her claws in him, including slip him something that made him think he still desires, wants, needs her, and he might die if he can’t have her.
The rest of you knows he would do anything to wet his own appetites.
He leans forward, breath stirring against your hair and you tense at the unusual rasp to his voice.
“I know you can feel it.”
That hand of his continues to your elbow, and you tense as bold fingers sneak down to your waist.
“Burning through your body. Igniting cell after cell after cell…”
He’s never been this forward, despite having a reputation as a god who doesn’t ask, but takes. It’s always been calculated lines and eroding resistance as he pushes and pushes until you finally give him an inch.
There’s no conceding now, only acquisition as fingertips dance along the hem of your shirt.
“It won’t take long to engulf your system. An hour, two at the most, before you’ll experience the most horrible agony you’ll ever know until it becomes too intense for your body and mind to endure, and you’ll either go insane or simply die from the shock of it.”
There’s usually a kernel of truth to his words. Whether it’s the most horrible agony or death part, you don’t particularly care. You just know you have no intention of finding out just how much of a liar he is or isn’t this evening, because you do feel it, and it’s starting to burn in ways that have nothing to do with pleasure.
You finally look up at him, and the moment you do a new spell washes over you.
“Do what you need to.”
A predatory smile snakes across his lips, and you can’t help but wonder how innocent he really is as he pushes you down onto the floor.
