☆Stay with me☆ @bethanysnow - Tumblr Blog

★Yandere!Hyunjin x Fem! Reader.★

---slow burn, obsession, College AU!, pinning, eventual stalker, Fluff/eventual smut????/there is a sprinkle of angst. ---

4.4k wrds. CHAPTER TWO, CHAPTER ONE

------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thank you again to @7ndipity for being my favorite co author ever.

Tag List: Open

@kaciidubs @itsseohannbin @ldysmfrst @frenchkisstheabyss @daydreams-after-dark @ramadiiiisme @eastjonowhere @luvjini @beewilko

_____________________________________________________________

Hyunjin sat in his usual corner of the stage, watching as the others milled about excitedly, busy with their individual roles. Or rather, watching just one person.

Y/n was too busy taking measurements for Chan's suit to notice his eyes following her every move. The way her lips pressed into a thin line as she focused, the slight furrow of her brow, The carefully delicate movements of her fingers along the fabric-

“Hey, Look at you, all cleaned up today!” Changbin’s booming voice shook him from his trance, looking around just in time to see his roommate coming over to slump unceremoniously to the ground next to him.

Hyunjin was startled out of his visions, looking to the intrusion- pardon me- best friend who spoke. “Huh? Oh- yea! Uh, thought, maybe, I should get it together I guess.” Hyunjin shrugged trying to be casual about the situation. “And, thank you for dragging me here. I genuinely am having a good time” the man smiled shyly. Changbin was beside himself with pride.

“Of course! I care about you, and I know the breakup was harsh, but-” Binnie mulled over his words carefully “-I am glad you are here too.” slapping his hand on Hyunjins shoulder only to get up and replace where Chan had been earlier.

As if planned out, Chan made his way over to sit next to Hyunjin.

“So, have you thought about what song you’re going to audition with?” He asked, leaning back on his hands.

“Ehh. not really, I’m not exactly well versed in musicals.” Hyunjin replied, eyes slipping back to Y/n every now and then as he spoke.

“If you want, I can give you some suggestions that would fit your voice,” Chan offered. “Though you’re pretty good at singing already, so it shouldn’t be too big of a deal for you.”

“I guess,” Hyunjin shrugged self-consciously. Chan had been trying to get Hyunjin to join his band ever since freshmen year, but Hyunjin had always found an excuse to dodge out of it. Now that they were working on the musical together, Chan was finally getting his way and getting to work with Hyune on music. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Of course, happy to help!” The elder said happily, pushing back to his feet and wandering over to break up an argument between Minho and Jisung before they got too loud.

“Hey, Hyunjin?” His head whipped around at the sound of his name, zeroing in on the owner of the voice instantly.

#Hwang Hyunjin #Hyunjin x plus size reader #hyunjin x reader #Yandere!Hyunjin #slow burn #Stray kids #college au #dracula #vampires #plus size reader #chubby reader #fat reader

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0220611

Divination of skin and pulse

—"When my time comes around — lay me gently in the cold dark earth — no grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her" - work song, hozier

[oh he looks majestic in these oh my god]

A/N: hiii! so this is a little... terrifying because i genuinely don’t write things like this. i usually live in the trenches of angst, yearning, emotional ruin, etc etc but this time i wanted to try something softer. lighter. (i'm so full of angst pls someone pull me out of the trenches)

i'm still not sure if this fully escaped the angst allegations because apparently i can’t help myself, but this is definitely me stepping outside of my comfort zone and into unfamiliar territory. hell this isn't even that intense but hey! i'd love to venture out... and go beyond AHAHAHA beyond as in.. beyond.

anyway, i hope you enjoy this!! i took a break from chiaroscuro hihi, will be back soonest!! 💌

★ : masterlist

Heat.

Not sharp, not anything with edges — just warmth, all over, the kind that had built itself into the sheets and my skin and the air over the last however long and settled there like it had always lived there.

My body came back to me slowly, the way it did in these moments, piece by piece, like something reassembling itself after being taken apart.

My limbs first — heavy, that good heavy, the kind that meant everything in them had been thoroughly used and was now done.

Then my heartbeat, still moving faster than usual, still making its way down from wherever it had been — I could feel it in my throat, behind my ears, in the tips of my fingers.

Then the room. the ceiling, the plaster of it, the water stain in the corner I'd never cared about. The lamp on the nightstand throwing its amber everywhere, that warm honeyed light that made the walls look like the inside of something safe, something closed off from the rest of the world.

The balcony door, cracked open, the curtain doing its slow unconscious thing — in, out, in, out. The city beyond it, dark and low and quiet in the way it only got past three in the morning, when even the noise had given up.

I was warm everywhere.

My hair was a disaster across the pillow and I was distantly aware of this and completely unbothered. There was a pleasant static behind my eyes, not pain, just the afterglow of a nervous system that had been thoroughly occupied and was now winding itself down through the lowest possible gear. I lay still and breathed and let myself be exactly where I was — horizontal, heavy, unhurried, the lamp making everything amber and soft — and thought nothing.

It was one of the rare times my mind actually went quiet. He had a way of doing that.

Taking me somewhere past the noise and leaving me there, wrung out and still, like a bell after it's been rung.

The covers moved.

I felt the shift of weight before I saw him — the specific displacement of the duvet, the change in the air — and then he was coming up, slowly, pushing the covers back and emerging into the lamplight.

His hair was completely undone, dark and falling across his forehead at angles it had no business being at, and he pushed it back with one hand in a gesture so absent and unguarded that it did something to me immediately, lodged itself somewhere in my chest without asking.

He was still coming back to himself too — I could see it, the way he blinked once in the amber light, the way he was finding the room again, finding the hour, finding me. His eyes settled on my face and stayed there.

The giggle came out before I had any say in it. Small and involuntary and a little breathless, surprised out of me by the specific sight of him — by his wrecked hair and the particular way he was looking at me, half-gathered, entirely himself.

I pressed my lips together after but it was already out. Something happened at the corner of his mouth.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," he said back.

And then he smiled. Actually smiled — not the almost-smile I knew, not the small controlled curve he allowed himself when something caught him off guard, but a real one, quiet and brief and entirely unguarded, the kind that moved further up his face than he usually permitted.

It was gone in a few seconds. It always was. But I saw it and I kept it, the way I kept all of them, filed somewhere I didn't examine too often because examining it had a tendency to undo me.

He didn't sit back. He stayed close — propped up but close, his face near mine, his eyes still on me, and I reached up and he let me.

My fingers went to his hair first, pushing through it, feeling the specific softness of it, the weight of it falling between my fingers as I moved through it slowly. He exhaled. He leaned into it — barely, just slightly, just enough that I felt it, his head following my hand with the smallest motion, like he hadn't decided to do it. Like his body had made that decision without consulting him.

I moved to his forehead. Traced the line of it, the furrow between his brows that never fully left — some permanent impression of centuries of thinking, pressed into the muscle and staying. I smoothed it with my thumb.

His temple next, the thin skin there, and then his cheekbone, and here I slowed down because the lamp was doing extraordinary things to the angle of it, the light carving his face into something architectural, something from another era, which was accurate, which was something I tried not to think about too directly because it opened into things I couldn't afford at four in the morning.

His jaw — the line of it, sharp in the light, the curve where it met his ear. I took my time with all of it. My fingers were memorizing. I'd accepted this about myself by now.

I kissed his forehead. Felt the cool of his skin against my lips — not cold, just his temperature, the specific degree of him. His cheekbone, slow. The corner of his eye, barely anything. His temple. He was very still through all of it, that held stillness, and I moved to his jaw and pressed my lips there and felt him exhale again, longer this time, through his nose.

His nose. I kissed the bridge of it. He blinked.

The corner of his mouth — not his mouth, just the corner, just beside it — and I felt something in him change, a slight shift in his breathing, a quality of attention that sharpened. His mouth was right there. I was right there.

I stopped.

I looked at him for just a second — his face, his eyes, the full attention of him sitting right there waiting — and I smiled, small and private and completely deliberate, and I turned over.

I settled onto my side facing the balcony, pulled the covers up to my shoulder, and looked at the curtain and felt the smile sit in my chest like something warm and mine.The silence behind me had a very specific texture.

"You," he said.

I said nothing. The curtain moved.

"You were right there."

"I was tired," I said. "I needed to sleep."

"You are not sleeping. You're smiling. I can tell from here."

I pressed my lips together. Outside, a window across the way had a light on. Someone else awake at this hour. I gave them three seconds of my attention.

"No fair," he said, and then before I could respond — before I could fully appreciate the fact that Armand had just said "no fair", like a person, like someone sulking, which he absolutely was — his arm came around my waist and pulled.

Not gentle about it, not rough about it, just immediate, just closing every possible inch between us in one motion, hauling me back against him with a kind of purposefulness that made me laugh again, surprised out of me.

He pressed his face into my neck. I felt him smile there, against my skin. He was smiling. I could feel it.

"You're sulking," I said.

"I'm not sulking."

"Oh, you absolutely are."

"I'm expressing dissatisfaction," he said, into my neck, "with the situation."

"That's sulking."

His arm tightened at my waist and pulled me further in, and I felt the full press of him against my back — his chest, his legs finding mine beneath the covers, tangling with them, one of his legs sliding over both of mine and staying there, the weight of it, pinning gently. His other hand came to my hip.

He was everywhere. He had made himself everywhere, stitched himself to me without ceremony, and the warmth of it — even with his natural cool, even with the specific temperature of his skin — was total. There was no space between us. I didn't think he intended there to be.

"Better," he said, to no one.

"You're unbelievable," I said, meaning it as a complaint, not managing it at all.

"You left me there," he said. Still muffled in my neck. Still completely serious. "Deliberately."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck. Then another one, higher. Then the side, slow, working up toward my jaw — unhurried, making his point without making it, which was how he made all his points. His leg stayed over mine. His hand at my hip pressed slightly, pulling me back into him as if there were still somehow space to close, which there wasn't. He found more anyway.

I looked at the city. The light in the building across the way. The curtain, in and out. My body, heavy and warm and completely held.

"Armand," I said.

"Mm."

"You can let go a little."

"No," he said simply, and kissed my neck again, just below my ear, slow and deliberate, and I laughed quietly and stopped arguing because there was no argument here, really. There was just him, behind me, his leg over mine and his arm around my waist and his face pressed to my neck and his hand at my hip keeping me close, and the amber lamp making the room feel like somewhere time didn't apply, and the curtain moving in and out in the dark.

He stayed like that for a while. His lips moved against my neck without kissing — just resting, sometimes pressing the faintest thing, sometimes just warm and still. His thumb moved at my hip, slow and aimless. I put my hand over his at my waist the way I always did and felt his fingers shift immediately to find mine, lace through them without looking, without needing to look.

Then his lips pressed, more deliberately, to the side of my neck. Not a kiss exactly — more like he was placing something there. And then I felt it. His lips parting slightly against my skin, right over the pulse, and pressing there. Holding. His mouth directly over the heartbeat, feeling it through the skin of my throat, and he went completely still, both of us, like the room had taken a breath and forgotten to release it.

I felt my own pulse come back to me through his mouth. Strange and intimate, this loop — my heartbeat, and then him feeling it, and me feeling him feeling it. His lips stayed. He didn't move. He was counting, or not counting, just receiving — taking in the rhythm of it the way you take in a sound you've been waiting to hear. Beat, beat, beat. Reliable. Ongoing. Mine.

I thought about what it cost him to need this. What it said about all the rhythms he'd felt go quiet over the centuries, under his hands, beneath his mouth, how many he'd felt stop. I didn't let myself go too far into that. But I thought about it, just at the edge, just enough to understand the weight of his stillness.

"Still going," I said, soft.

He exhaled against my neck. His arm tightened around me.

"Still going," he said.

He kissed the pulse point then — actually kissed it, lips pressing and holding, longer than the others, something serious in it, something that had nothing to do with want and everything to do with something else entirely. I closed my eyes. His leg shifted over mine, heavier somehow, more deliberate, like he was reminding himself and me both that I was here and he was here and the distance between those two things was nothing, was negligible, was something he had personally eliminated.

His hand found mine under the blanket and held it properly this time — not two fingers, not the light resting touch, but his whole hand closed around mine, warm-adjacent, his thumb pressed into my palm.

"Don't go anywhere," he said. Quiet. Almost to himself.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "I'm in my own bed."

"I know," he said.

He paused. "I know."

There was something in the second one that was different from the first. I didn't ask about it. I just held his hand and felt his mouth still at the side of my neck, the occasional small press of it, unhurried, like he was just — keeping contact. Maintaining something. His leg draped over mine, heavy and grounding. His chest against my back. His breath when he took it, slow and deliberate, drawn in through my hair.

The lamp held its amber. The curtain moved. The city outside was dark and patient and doing nothing we needed to pay attention to. I lay there in the total fact of him and felt my heartbeat slowing down, degree by degree, the static behind my eyes going gentler, my hand held in his, his mouth at my neck.

His lips pressed once more to the side of my throat — soft, barely anything, barely a kiss at all, just contact, just the reminder of it — and his thumb moved in my palm, slow.

"Sleep," he said. Not a command. Not even a request. Just an offering, something placed gently into the space between us.

I stopped fighting the weight behind my eyes.

I went slowly, the way sleep actually came in moments like these — not sudden, not a drop, but a gradual dissolving, the edges of the room going softer and softer until they were gone. His hand in mine. His mouth against my neck. His leg over mine, keeping me exactly here, keeping me exactly his.

I slept.

He didn't move.

Not once. Not an inch.

i saw a vision and it would not leave me alone until i wrote it down. i wish creation was always this simple AURURHHRRH — a thought haunting you long enough that eventually you surrender to it. god, i love you chiaro.

i soo love the idea of armand checking reader’s pulse every chance he gets. fingers against a wrist, against a throat, like he needs proof. like the warmth and the beating beneath his hands are evidence that this is real and not something he imagined out of loneliness :((

and kissing the pulse on their neck….. oh that makes me feel violently unwell actually

cece693

If you're still doing requests for iwtv could you do a fic on Louis lestat and Claudia with a newly turned vamp reader maybe like Claudia turned against vampire law too young and what going hunting with them would be like or how they would be as a family? 🙈

A NEW ADDITION TO THE FAMILY

platonic! vampire family﹠gn teen reader

authors note: Oh, I haven't written for iwtv in such a long time and I'm loving the way you think. And, with you not specifying which version of the characters you wanted (movie vs. show), I used the show. I also centered this fic more towards how you and Claudia act with each other because the dynamic is just there. A child (who was turned at 15) reaching a stage of maturity she never will, someone who people don't immediately dismiss and infantilize....yeah. Hope you like how this turned out.

You first met Lestat because you refused to be intimidated by him. Most adults found him charming. Others found him unsettling. You, however, found him annoying.

“You keep staring,” you had snapped after catching the blond man watching you from across the street for the third time that week. “Either say something or stop being creepy.”

Lestat had blinked at you in genuine surprise before laughing outright. A loud, delighted sound that turned heads around the busy New Orleans street.

“There it is,” he murmured almost fondly. “That sharp little tongue.”

You were fifteen. Old enough to work. Old enough to wander the city alone after dark if you were careful. But life had not been kind to you, and sharpness was often the only thing keeping people from swallowing you whole. You learned quickly that if you spoke confidently enough, most people backed down before realizing you were still just a child yourself.

Lestat adored that about you immediately.

8nin

"There's millions of Tumblr users" to you. To me There's only about 12 and we all reblog the same five posts from each other

randomgreekfandomspals

Y/N: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired. I'll be fine.

Odysseus: But, darling. We'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in our arms so we can feel whole again.

Y/N: ...are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?

Penelope: Is it working?

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starmo0nlight

blooming flowers !

₊˚⊹ ᰔ pairing: odypen x pregnant reader!

₊˚⊹ ᰔ note: YAYYY MY FIRST ODYPEN FIC I LOVE THEM SK MUCH OMG! i have so much fun writing this and HAPPY PRIDE!!

₊˚⊹ ᰔ warning: pregnancy.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ content: post war! nervous and scared reader, pregnancy , odypen finding out reader is pregnant, crying.. alot.. hurt/comfort, kisses, odypen taking care of reader, love dovy poly. Telemachus approved btw

lovesickletters

💜𝒴𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇ℯ ℰ𝒫ℐ𝒞 ℋℯ𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃ℴ𝓃𝓈💜

(A/N: These are based purely off of the musical canon, and any references taken from the original Odyssey and mythos is purely inspiration 💜)

Odysseus | Penelope | Telemachus (platonic)

Penelope isn’t sure what to think at first when Odysseus brings you home, but she quickly grows attached. She understands Odysseus better than anyone so it’s not difficult for her to see what he sees in you, even if you might not see it yourself. She’s gentle and nurturing where Odysseus is rough and overprotective, teaching you more domestic activities and helping you learn how to live without constantly looking over your shoulder. Odysseus does more than enough of that for the three of you. If Penelope is always at your side then he’s always in your shadow, just a few steps behind you, constantly watching as if he’s afraid he might blink and you’d disappear before his eyes. Slaughter seeps through the palace walls, death pervades the air and you never seem able to scrub the blood free from the marble floors, it follows behind him like a cloak hanging off of his shoulders. You and Penelope do what you can to bring him some peace of mind, however fleeting. When the palace feels just a little bit too quiet and Penelope is preoccupied soothing Odysseus’s night terrors, Telemachus is a constant source of energy when you need it. His optimism is refreshing, and you can’t help but wonder if his father had been more like him before the two of you met.

randomgreekfandomspals

Y/N: I made you a friendship bracelet

Poseidon: I'm not really a jewelry person

Y/N: You don't have to wear it-

Poseidon: *takes the bracelet* No. I'm gonna wear it forever. Back off.

jackiepackiee

Platonic! Odysseus after he returned home becoming close with his son Telemachus’ lover. A silent understanding between them that is hidden from the gentle hearts of Telemachus and Penelope.

Both realizing they’ve done terrible things for their the sake of their family.

Sitting on one of the beach’s of Ithaca is the king, alone, reflecting on the last 20 years. Comrades dead at his hand, gods begging for forgiveness. Until you walk up, the one betrothed to his son.

Eyes cold and hard, just like his. Shaped from the world you’ve grown up in, and you sit next to him quietly. A look of a survivor. Waving crashing on the rocks, you both look out in the ruthless sea.

“Do I look like a monster to you?” Your voice calls out, above the battering of water and rock. Steady and smooth.

“We all do.” Odysseus replies. “But when you’re in love…does it really matter?” For now he is not the king, or a great warrior, or some viscous murderer. But instead your father in law, a man who did what was best for his family. A man who has the same values as you.

You may both be “monsters,” but at least you’re doing it for the same people

an- okay this one was stupid, sorry

holy-moly-dawling

Hermes trying to convince Zeus to make Y/n immortal like-

Zeus: “I forbid it!!”

Hermes: “But daddy I love her!”

Y/n: “…”

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lisalamona

Three Is Company

. Summary: When they realize you are insecure about your place in your relationship, Odysseus and Penelope take matters into their own hands to show you that you are loved and cherished. . Pairing: poly! OdyPen x gn! Reader . Warnings: Insecurity about one's place in a relationship, swearing, physical intimacy (non-sexual), implications of sex if you squint . Notes: Today's a rainy day, and I honestly just wanted to stay in bed all day, so this is kinda self indulgent. It doesn't help that I'm very hormonal and feeling lonely right now, I gotta cope somehow, y'know? Art taken from peachyytown's would you fall in love with me again animatic Hearts devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post small rant at the end

The pleasant warmth of the sun kissed your skin, its soft golden glow coaxing you from your slumber. Your eyelids fluttered open sluggishly, only to immediately squeeze shut again as the light pierced through your drowsiness. A grimace tugged at your lips as you tried to adjust, your body reluctant to leave the comfort of sleep.

Above you, leaves rustled softly, stirred by the gentle breeze drifting in through the window. The air smelled faintly salty, tinged with the scent of the nearby sea and the lingering coolness of the morning. The only other sounds in the room were the slow, rhythmic breaths of those still lost in sleep, accompanied by the occasional faint murmur from someone still deep in sleep.

calypso-apologist

yan zeus and yan poseidon? seperate please

I PROMISE I WILL DO A HERMES THING NEXT I KNOW THE HOES ARE STARVING

Yandere!Zeus and Yandere!Poseidon headcanons ♡

Zeus

His precious little cloud.

That was what he called you ever since he kidnapped you years ago. You no longer had a name, that would make Hera suspicious.

No, you were just one of his humanoid cloud servants and companions. Easy to keep under control.

And since it's been years (or is it decades now?), your mind has gotten... a little blurry by now. Cloudy, you could say. I'm not sorry.

Usually, you're just around, sitting by his throne or whatever he chooses to lounge on, his fingers playing around with the clouds that were once your hair.

And then, whenever he's alone, with no other gods around, he snaps his fingers and your body changes, becoming like it was before, just for him to get to enjoy your body again and again, just like when he first took you.

Although of course, he enjoys more than just your body! He loves talking to you, even if your personality changed over decades (or was it centuries?), you're still his sweet little darling! And you're not trying to run or fight anymore, you're not even crying when he kisses you anymore!

No, you've learned, haven't you? Of course you have, you were always smart. And so you've learned to love him.

You've learned to press your cheek against his palm, to chase his lips whenever he broke a kiss, to snuggle up to his chest after he made love to you.

His. Beautifully, wonderfully, utterly his.

Poseidon

Just so we're clear, it's all your fault. He's so gracious, so kind, just chilling, being a good god... and then there's you, making him crave you under him, crave your body... and it all started with you and your friends going to the beach.

And since it's ancient Greece, you were all nude as you played around, swimming and messing around.

Poseidon saw it, of course, and he saw you.

The sea around your island has never been calm again. He wanted you. He wanted you badly.

And so, the people of your island turned to the Temple of Poseidon, worried about it all. After all, your island's fate depended a lot on trade.

And Poseidon has spoken. He didn't know your name, but he knew you were in the crowd. As he spoke, a few waves that hit the shores turned into beautiful white horses, each of them slowly moving around, looking for you.

Eventually, as Poseidon waited for the King of your island to finish boring him with the prayer he was offering, one of the horses found you and started to gently push your back with it's head, making you step out of the crowd, right in front of Poseidon himself.

The grin on his face makes it clear. He planned it. He wanted you. He wanted you and he announced it, making his "offer" clear.

He'll keep the sea calm, as long as you become his priest/ess and obey him, coming to the beach whenever he'd send a sea storm.

And whenever that happened, he'd get to take you to his palace for three days and three nights. Which was all he needed, really.

For now, at least.

multi-fandom-imagine

Hi! I'm here to feed your Epic fixation per your request~

Could you write Hermes and his favorite places he likes to fuck you? 🥺 I read your Poseidon one, and I absolutely loved it 😍😍

A/n: I thank you for feeding me this delicious requests

Hermes’ Favorite Places to Have Sex with You

(Because, of course, the God of Mischief and Travel has preferences.)

Hermes is fast, charming, unpredictable—and when it comes to you, he is insatiable.

There is no place too sacred, no setting too inconvenient. If he wants you, he takes you.

But there are some places he enjoys more than others.

1. The Clouds of Mount Olympus – The Realm of the Gods, Where No Mortal Dares to Tread

Hermes is a god of the skies, the wind, the air itself.

And there is something intoxicating about having you beneath him, your body arching against his, as you both lose yourselves in the endless expanse of the heavens.

The first time it happened, he had scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you through the skies, his laughter warm against your skin.

“Where are we going?” you had asked, breathless.

His golden eyes had gleamed mischievously.

“Where no one can interrupt us.”

And then—you were in the clouds.

The air cool against your skin, the world stretched out below you, endless and vast.

You had barely processed the view before he was on you, pressing you down onto the soft, weightless mist, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips tracing the line of your jaw.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he had whispered, his voice rough with desire.

And you did.

Gods, you did.

Because even when the ground was nowhere beneath you, even when you were lost in his touch, his kisses, his hands—you knew he would never let you fall.

2. The Shadowed Corners of Olympus’ Grand Halls – Because Hermes Thrives on the Risk

There is no place more dangerous than the halls of Olympus, where gods and goddesses gather, where power radiates from every marble column.

And yet, Hermes lives for danger.

So it was no surprise when he pulled you into a dark alcove, just beyond the grand throne room, where Zeus himself was speaking.

Your protests had been half-hearted at best.

“Hermes, this is—”

“Reckless?” His smirk was sinful, his breath hot against your ear. “That’s why you love me.”

And before you could argue, before you could remind him that anyone could walk past—

His lips crashed against yours.

His hands were everywhere, fingers gripping your hips, pinning you against the cold stone wall, his body a contrast of warmth and tension.

“You have to stay quiet,” he murmured, grinning against your skin. “Do you think you can do that?”

You had tried.

Failed.

And when he finally pulled back, his golden eyes burning, he had pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “I win.”

3. His Temple at Night – When It’s Just the Two of You, and He Can Worship You Properly

For all his mischief, his chaos, his endless energy, there is something almost reverent in the way he loves you in the quiet moments.

His temple, usually filled with prayers, offerings, and the scent of incense, becomes something entirely different at night.

The first time he had taken you there after dusk, he had led you past the marble pillars, through the dimly lit corridors, his fingers laced with yours.

“You always make me chase you,” you had teased.

Hermes had smirked. “Not tonight.”

And then—he was on his knees before you.

His warm hands sliding up your legs, his lips brushing your skin, his golden gaze dark with devotion.

“Let me worship you,” he had whispered, and there had been no mischief in his voice, only hunger, only need.

And he did.

Slowly. Thoroughly. Completely.

4. The Forest, Beneath the Moonlight – Where He Can Lose Himself in You Entirely

There is something wild about Hermes, something untamed, something that does not belong to Olympus alone.

And when he takes you into the woods, beneath the open sky, surrounded by nothing but nature and the whisper of the wind—

He is free.

The first time it happened, you had been laughing, running from him, your heart pounding, the thrill of the chase making your skin burn.

Then, suddenly—he had caught you.

Spun you against the nearest tree, pinning you with a knee between your thighs, his breath hot against your ear.

“Caught you,” he had murmured, smirking, his hands sliding beneath your clothes, teasing, testing.

The moon had bathed you both in silver light, the scent of earth and rain filling your lungs as he pressed you into the rough bark, his body claiming yours, slow and deep.

And when it was over—when you were both spent, tangled together on the forest floor—

Hermes had simply grinned, pulling you close, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

“You should run more often,” he had whispered.

5. His Personal Chambers – When He Wants You All to Himself

There are no distractions here.

No gods, no mortals, no risk of being seen.

Just you and him.

Hermes does not often stay in one place, but his chambers are the one place he always returns to.

And when you are there, he is not the fast-talking messenger, not the trickster, not the god always moving from one adventure to the next.

He is just Hermes.

The first time he brought you here, he had pressed you down onto the bed, hovering over you, his golden eyes dark and unreadable.

Then, softly—almost too soft for a god of mischief—he had whispered, “Mine.”

And this time, there was no rush.

No teasing. No games.

Just him, taking his time, learning your body, making sure you never forgot who you belonged to.

And when he finally collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest, his fingers trailing lazily over your bare skin—

For once, Hermes had nowhere else to be.

Because you were the only thing he had ever wanted to chase.

And he had already caught you.

antiqueanimals

Lives of Game Animals, Volume 3. 1927. Written and illustrated by Ernest Thompson Seton.

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growing-yet-into-magic

Worldcat is my bestie and my one true love!! Not only does it tell you what library a book is at, but it also price compares different used book sites against each other for easy view! It's how I got Tarot For the Master for $10!!

growing-yet-into-magic

Oh, and since I have your attention: z-library (books and textbooks) and sci-hub (gatekept scientific journal articles.) I just ripped a textbook for class off z-library and snatched a required reading from sci-hub. Life is good and education should be accessible at every stage and station of life.

mckitterick

information wants to be free

littlemissminu

hmm i will maybe touch you but i am not committed

littlemissminu

Full Metal Touch You Bitch

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