#{ *. thread / scene: 01 .* }

[writermuses]

There were a million reasons why the Crown Princess of Denmark should feel sick about her stomach about the trip across the Atlantic. Flying with her two young daughters was nerve wracking because small children on a plane, even if it was private, was a nightmare. Then there was the morning sickness, worse than both of her pregnancies with the girls, that had her ill all day. She'd known very early on she was pregnant, visiting a private doctor and confirming the pregnancy. Still, Aurélie had thought that maybe this one was her husband's given how quickly she started showing. Instead, it simply started earlier, the doctor telling her that her body simply 'knew what it was doing now, so it was like pitching a tent'... a concept she found horrifying. No more horrifying than the reality that the timing made this third child Ryker's. The media hadn't questioned that the children had blonde hair or bright blue eyes, chalking it up to Danish heritage and the continued secrecy around her mother, but she knew they were a spitting image of their true father.

For better or worse, Elie couldn't bring herself to stay away from the only man she'd ever loved. While going to see Ryker again was certainly dangerous in its own right because of the MC, she never worried the media would catch them. Her Head of Security, Sirius, made tedious arrangements for privacy and protection of the girls and New York had far more interesting people to snap pictures of and slather over gossip rags than the possible heir to the thrown of a tiny country an ocean away— or so she thought. Little did the princess know, the first snapshot was taken at the private airport as they moved from the jet to their armored SUV that would take them to the hotel, a breeze catching pressing her dress to her curves, making the bump hidden under her jacket a little more obvious for just a moment before she pulled it closed. It wasn't even a thought on her mind when they girls settled into their adjoining room after baths and pajamas with movies and a snack, yawns all around.

It wasn't all that late in New York, but jet lag was hitting the girls hard and it was well past their bedtime back in Denmark, so she'd texted Ryker the hotel and room number, sending Sirius off for the night. Neither of them speaking about who they both knew was the reason for this trip. When the familiar knocking pattern sounded on the door, Aurélie had washed off the travel, changed into a lace-trimmed silk slip underneath a robe, and moved around the living room sipping on ginger ale and humming to the quiet music she'd put on to calm her nerves. Pulling the door open, tugging the robe more tightly around herself, she rested her head against the door and drank him in. "You still came." Her smile quickly brightened and she moved back to allow him in, the door and robe still blocking the view of her stomach. When she closed the door, she didn't turn around immediately, locking up and then resting her forehead against the cool surface. "I'm sorry it took so long to come back."

closed starter for @thereapersmc

[burnishedrebel]

On paper, a footballer and a con artist were strange companions. And yet, Tybalt and Aidan had been friends for years, dating back to their rough upbringings on the streets of Manchester. Over time the paths of their lives had diverged, but they’d remained friends throughout. Confidants and loyal to the last, their deep bond also expressed itself in other ways, not least when they saw a woman they both liked. 

The Chiyonosake granted them a cosy place to drink and chat, but as soon as they’d both laid eyes on Thea, they knew they had to have her. Fast forward some weeks, following flirtation after flirtation to an implicit, tempting offer, Aidan and Tybalt succeeded. A mere week later, floating on the shores of Jamaica on Tybalt’s yacht, the footballer had Thea right where he wanted her. Naked and bent over.

“Such a fucking beautiful cunt…” Tybalt groaned, the words coming amidst his moans and grunts whilst he thrusted in and out of her delightfully tight, warm sex. He’d yanked her bikini off but added a blindfold, all part of the salacious plan he’d come up with alongside Aidan. The other male smirked as he entered the cabin, walking round to sit himself down in the chair on the other side of the table Thea was bent over. As naked as the other two, Aidan’s cock stood hard as he watched Thea. Without a word, he reached forward and gently placed his hands on her head, using his thumbs to lift the blindfold to reveal himself. 

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself, darling,” Aidan murmured, smirking at her reaction to his presence. 

@thechiyonosakenyc

[retracedwill]

THREAD 01 || @schleckermaul

Oz does not stay in the residence that the strangers just... left him at. There wasn't anything for him there. And there wasn't anything implying he was trapped there. Which is good. A gilded cage is, at the end of the day, still a cage. There was the strange device now in his hands to focus on. It's so... Sleek. Shiny. He has absolutely no idea what it is. But it doesn't seem dangerous to mess around with, at least. Small mercies.

After some fiddling around, he manages to pull up some sort of image — he stares at it for a long moment, unblinking, before it clicks. A map. The device came with a map of the strange new area he's found himself in. Current location: Fibonacci Ward. He skims through each of the districts in a counter-clockwise order as he walks aimlessly around.

There. In the district to the east of his current location. He knows this place. He remembers the courtyard — how painfully beautiful it was in that dream the Core showed him. The last time he ever saw it. Rainsworth Manor... What was it doing here? How?

His feet begin taking him in that direction before he could convince himself that it's probably some sort of trap. What's the worst that could happen, anyways? He's already dead. Maybe this is another dream. Certainly a weird one, if so. He walks for hours, almost in a daze, dazzled by the glamor of the city around him so unlike anything he's seen the last time he was in a big city. Perhaps he could've found some mode of transportation, but...

It felt best this way, in order to take in all the new strange and wonderful and horrible sights.

Eventually, he makes his way to the front door step. Marches right up there and raps his knuckles rhythmically against the door without missing a single beat. Three times. He hums to himself as he waits, taking a step back to peer around curiously.

It really does look like how he remembers it.

[midnightsaboteur]

@xwhiskeymuses

At one time, Hunter would’ve detested the idea of having a PA. A progressive, class warfare activist in college, he’d spent years railing against everything the ‘white collar elites’ stood for, including the trappings of the power like a personal assistant at their beck and call. However, several years hence, with Hunter firmly ensconced as a hard-hitting investigative journalist, a PA proved to be a godsend for him. It was in no small part due to how good Selene was at her job. 

So, as she entered his office, Hunter straightened a little in his chair. He met her gaze and mentally steeled himself for what he had to say. He didn’t like the idea of admonishing her when she was so good at her job, nor for what was an obvious mistake. The mistake in question sat on Hunter’s desk - a box of soft pink with a ribbon around it. Lingerie, expensive and classy. Hunter had looked earlier, out of curiosity, and he couldn’t deny how he liked it, both objectively and with the thought of Selene in it. Still, he had to restrain such thoughts for the conversation to be had. 

“Thanks for stepping in, I know you’re very busy right now,” Hunter began, eyes assuredly on her. “This got delivered to me earlier. It has my name on it, and I can only assume it’s for you, but the labels got mixed or something.” He could’ve left his explanation there, but on instinct, Hunter added “Either that or I’ve suddenly developed a taste for wearing the kind of underwear I normally like on a woman.” A smirk followed the words, an attempt to lighten the mood. 

[feminaferitas]

@silencedrage {Shauna} spots Jackie's footsteps in the snow.

Since the cold snap that nearly claimed her life, Jackie had felt like a caged animal inside that cabin. They all had.

For one thing, she was forced into close proximity with Shauna, one of the last people she wanted to be near after their public airing of incredibly dirty laundry (metaphorical laundry which Jackie hadn't even realized Shauna had been piling up for quite some time). She felt defensive, forced to the back foot -- as a striker, that wasn't usually her position.

Jackie had also been humbled by the gruesome recovery of her frostbitten fingertips. She'd submitted to Misty's medical attendance, but her hands were constantly aching and she would have puked the first time she saw them unbandaged if there was anything in her stomach to begin with.

But suddenly all of that sort of paled in comparison to almost losing Shauna in childbirth. Maybe she lost Shauna before that, and maybe a part of her friend did die with that baby. All Jackie knew was that they hadn't been the same since the fight... but now how could anyone ever make the first move required to bridge that gap? Who would bow first in a battle of Shauna's heart versus Jackie's ego? It was an irresistible force meeting an immovable object.

When the snow had cleared enough for them to go back outside, teammates trickled out slowly, each with their own purposes. Jackie loathed the cold (it made her blistered arms burn), but what she hated even more, she found, was the idea of Shauna hiding things from her. Not that Shauna really... owed her anything, after what the girl just went through with her child. But maybe in some stupid way, Jackie wanted to be there. Or wanted to be included. To watch, to guide, to control to help and not feel so fucking useless. Maybe she just... missed the way Shauna used to be so devoted. Jackie had no one out here, not anymore. There was no team to captain, no class to be queen of.

So when she saw Shauna leave the cabin with something in her arms, she thought maybe she should follow. Just in case... what if her friend needed her? But, since when had Shauna needed her out here? When had Jackie been anything but a burden? After a few minutes worth of trudging through the snow, something compelled the girl to turn back, leaving her friend to push forward in snow-muffled silence. Maybe it was the pain of the cold that made her fold, or maybe it was the realization that somehow Shauna had turned the tables on her and now she was following like a puppy at her heels. Desperate for validation, for some sign she was more than dead weight that should have frozen in the ice.

"Shit," Jackie hissed angrily to herself, giving up and headed for the cabin. It was too cold to cry. But she was too restless to wait inside. So maybe she'd just sit on the porch until Shauna returned. If Shauna returned.

[ander-aurelius]

Closed starter | @angelbenningflint

The dim light of the lamp cast a warm glow across Ander's cluttered quarters in District 13. Stacks of pre-war books piled high on the floor, a few pens and spare sheets of paper with hastily scribbled notes strewn across his standard-issued desk. He knew if the district leaders were to conduct a surprise inspection he would fail, but Ander couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The cobwebs collecting in the corner whispered of neglect, but the recent influx of refugees to 13 had tied up his schedule as he prepared his already crowded classroom to accommodate even more students. His supply closet was starting to look a little sparse and they were starting to run out of desks, but he was doing his best with what he had. Tonight, though, he had managed to secure a much-needed night off, and all thoughts of the work he had piling up were left behind.

The cold air of his bedroom was mildly uncomfortable as it hung around them. This far underground, cold was a perpetual state of being, but it was fine. Having grown up in 13, Ander was used to it. 

The two boys were sprawled across Ander's bed, the worn blankets and mismatched pillows providing a semblance of comfort and their bodies close together. The lack of personal space was never weird. He and Ángel had been friends for so long that, if anything, he found their closeness to be natural — comforting, even. 

Their laughter echoed off the wall, melting together with the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed through the corridor, the only reminder of the world that existed on the other side of his door. It was nice. They hadn’t had the chance to catch up like this in a while, and despite the work Ander had waiting for him in the morning, he was thankful for the moment. 

“You can’t be serious,” the man managed to finally choke out as the noise died down and they caught their breath. His shoulders shook with residual laughter. Ángel had been filling him in on the latest news down in Tech. Apparently, one of the district higher-ups had spent at least 20 minutes ranting about a ‘broken’ communicuff that — surprise —  turned out to not be broken, just turned off. “I’m surprised you let him go on about it for that long. I would have paid to see that.”

[lgcjaehwa]

˚ ୧ .˚ₓ  SCENE: 01 !

ft @lgcyein

jaehwa stood at the center of the dimly lit room, her fingers tightly clutching a necklace worth millions. just a few feet away, a gun was aimed directly at her, ready to fire at any moment. but the hesitation in the user’s grip was evident. this wasn’t jaehwa’s first time acting out a scene without a script. as an idol-actress, she had been tested countless times in previous dramas, forced to improvise on the spot. this was just another challenge.

understanding that yein’s character, boah, struggled to pull the trigger, jaehwa miyeon seized the opportunity. her expression remained unfazed, her eyes cool and calculating. at the mention of her ‘father,’ who was supposedly a thief too, she let out a scoff. “who said i’m following in his footsteps? he failed. got caught.” her voice was steady, almost mocking, as she took slow, deliberate steps forward. a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “you said it yourself. we used to be neighbors. can’t you turn a blind eye for old times’ sake?” her tone was almost teasing, her confidence unwavering. “i promise, i won’t be as dumb as him. i won’t get caught twice.”

[asvtrials]

𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒

Emperor Geta x fem!reader, minors dni!

masterlist

summary: Emperor Geta was a selfish lover. He expected you to give him everything, every thread of your being, body, and soul. Yet he refused to do the same. Why would he? He was the Emperor and you were nothing but his concubine, not too long ago you were a common whore that he just happen to take a liking to, just a vessel for his satisfaction. So why was his mind suddenly screaming for him to kneel before you, to let your thighs straddle his face until he suffocates? warnings/tags: smut, mention of an orgy in the beginning, mention of exhibitionism, generally ancient Rome things, Emperor Geta tries to act unbothered but is smitten for his concubine, facesitting, oral (f! receiving), p in v, kind of rough, sub/dom dynamics (obviously), implied abuse, potentially out of character, not accurate to the Gladiator franchise...

a/n: This man is consuming my thoughts. This is me basically pushing my pussy drunk Geta agenda. I love the idea of Emperor Geta being arrogant and selfish but caving at the idea of hearing her scream and moan as loudly as that woman. 'Mae Columba' means my dove, 'Corculum' means sweetheart. Also, this is my first time writing this man

tags: @teechallas-blog @ladynoonwraith @quuinyoung @ghostinhours @slasherflickchick @marn13s-vilewhispers @munsongirl48 @getas-empress @hillarymurray4 @cleo-2345 @lookingformuses @meganfoxismywife @claa-01 @funsquadgoalzz-blog w/c: 3.3k English is not my first language. Sorry for any mistakes I make. I tried present tense for the first time.

── ୨ৎ

Your thin tunic provides you with little to no warmth, yet you weren't cold even on this chilly night.

Your Emperor's hand runs up and down your right side, his fingers keep grazing your nipple but he is too focused on conversing with Macrinus to notice the impact of his action.

Your eyes wander around the room, from the people who drank, smoked, and laughed, too gone to do anything other than that, to the numerous naked, sweaty bodies intertwined with each other in the most intimate way that was humanly possible.

Yet there was nothing intimate about what you observe. It was primal and carnal, most of them didn't even look like people anymore, the scene becoming too animalistic and raw.

These types of gatherings were rather common in the Palatine and you have gotten used to settings like this one. But this time you couldn't take your eyes off of two people. Two prostitutes amongst the crowd of moving bodies caught your attention.

A woman sitting on top of a man, on his face… The expression of pure bliss she had looks like it was taken out of a vulgar painting, a carefully crafted sculpture depicting the most euphoric moment of one's life. The man's tongue works meticulously on the woman’s cunt making her scream and moan like she was touched by the god's themselves.

The sight was enough for your breath to get caught in your throat. 

That made Emperor Geta turn with a frown, some wine dripping from his full lips. You don’t notice that his eyes travel the path of your gaze, focusing on the same pair as you.

You snap back to reality when his hand gripped your thigh. If you weren't used to his rough touches you would yelp in pain.

When you meet his eyes, there's something behind them that makes you pause. Without a second glance, he turns back to his conversation, leaving you confused. But you don’t miss the way his hand slides further between your legs, almost teasingly.

It wasn't unusual for him to touch you in front of everyone, be it in these types of events or when the gladiator fights bored him to the point where he ordered you to get on your knees and ‘entertain’ him yourself.

But this time, his thumb merely grazes the thin fabric of your tunic between your legs as his hands grip your exposed thigh. Possessively.

Your mind started to race. Did you anger him? Was he upset?

You are in a room filled with naked bodies fucking each other like animals and it never angered him before when you watched. Sometimes you would even comment how ‘sloppy’ their technique was and he would chuckle. So what happened now?

You lean on his side, sliding your hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. He doesn’t react but he doesn’t push you away either. That feels like a win, an opening.

After being his concubine for so long you learned how to behave around him, how to slither your way out of trouble in case you had upset him.

A little touch here, a kiss there, a plea for forgiveness honeyed with praises about how good he is to you along with some dick sucking usually does the trick.

Geta was an emperor but he was also a man with a very big ego. You quickly understood that as much as it is a nuisance it could also become an advantage.

By the time you followed him to his chambers, it was well past midnight.

He had made it a habit to share a bed with you, not even the guards looked surprised anymore.

He walks inside the moment the guards open the heavy doors. He reaches for his golden belt with a heavy sigh but you quickly stop him. “Let me, my Emperor.” You speak, your voice soft. You quickly approach him and meet his stern gaze, waiting for his approval.

Geta lets go of the belt, letting his arms fall to his sides. He looks spent and tired from the long day but you could sense something else frustrating him.

Carefully, you undo his belt, feeling his shoulders relax at the loss of the heavy material. Your eyes travel up his body before finally meeting his gaze through your lashes but you are met with the same cold look from before. 

You take a step back to settle the belt on the table. You aren’t sure if you should approach him again. You expected him to kiss you, to touch you while you were so close but he didn't do either. He just watched you with a raised brow and gritted teeth.

You avert your gaze, focusing on the detailed carvings of the table ignoring the fact that you had seen it a million times before.

You hear his sandals brush against the marble floor, making you shiver. You weren't sure what to expect, he hasn't looked this displeased with you in a long while.

“Mae Columba” ‘My dove’ he says, his voice barely above a whisper but it still held the authority of an Emperor. “Do you know why you wear such lavish cloths?” He asks, not expecting you to answer before continuing, his voice dropping “Why do you smell as good as you smell? Why do golden jewels hang from your ears and wrap around your wrists? Why you aren't passed around my soldiers like a common whore?” 

He was right behind you now, his arms coming to cage you between him and the table. 

His harsh words forced tears to collect on your lash line. You took a deep breath but your voice still quivered as you spoke. “Because you're the Emperor…”

“Because I'm the Emperor.” He repeats softly against your ear, yet there is no softness in his tone. “Then why do you wish for me to become someone else?” 

“I don—” 

“Lies!” He shouts, making you flinch away.

You don't dare to face him, remaining turned to him as his hands start to wander down your sides. “I saw how you looked at those filthy commoners…you were entranced, my dove” 

“My Emperor I—” 

“Have I not done enough for you?” He whispered, but his quiet tone gave you no comfort. His hands moved to your clothed chest, squeezing your breasts mercilessly.

A small whine escapes your lips, your back arching against him. “You gave me everything, my Emperor.” You manage to say through rugged breaths.

He hums pleased. “Clearly not enough since you wish to see me between your legs like a filthy whore.” He murmurs against your ear.

“No!” You yelp, grabbing his forearms after he squeezes your breasts particularly hard. 

Your thighs meet in an attempt to soothe the aching between your legs. “I promise.”

“You promise?” He asks, his tone dripping with disbelief and mockery. 

“Yes! I promise.” You reply quickly, desperation seeping out of your words.

“On the bed.” he commands lowly and you comply without words.

The bed was thrice the size of the bed you used to sleep in, soft with satin sheets and numerous pillows. A bed that an emperor deserved. You weren't sure if you deserved it, yet here you were, lying on the Emperor's sheets like you did many other times.

He looms over your lying figure eyes rolling down every curve of your body like a wolf eyeing a little lamb. His favorite little lamb. 

The one that he never feasts upon but rather chases around until the poor thing is spent and exhausted and pliant for him to bite all he wants.

Geta’s hands find your ankles and he pulls you to him, earning a surprised yelp from you. He crawls to you, entrapping you between his arms once again.

He melts against your mouth, lips moving harshly against yours, refusing to give you a second to breathe. You cry loudly when his teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“My Emperor” you moan against his rough endeavors but he doesn’t stop, you aren’t sure if he even heard you. He was too busy squeezing your already bruising flesh, not even bothering to remove your tunic.

Red liquid escapes from the wound that Geta so eagerly opened. The metallic taste travels to your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, and as much as it scares you, neither do you. Instead, you claw at his back breathlessly repeating your words “My Emperor…Let me show you my devotion.”

Geta studies you, his big eyes making him look almost innocent under the dim candlelight.

His lips open to speak his mind, your spit and blood coating them but instead of speaking, he gently caresses your bottom lip with his thumb, smearing the blood.

What are these thoughts? These foolish ideas that plague his mind? His gaze couldn’t deter from your tearful eyes as he let his thumb run down your chin, the faint color of the blood following along.

You were so easy to break, to tear apart and carve as you pleased. He always did just that.

Yet you always came back.

You didn’t have a choice, he wasn’t foolish enough to forget that. But still, you looked at him with a particular dedication that Gate couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Basically, involuntarily he whispers, letting his palm rest on the side of your face “You’ve proven your devotion, corculum. You’ve been so good…” Geta leans closer, his nose pressing your cheek. He breathes in your scent, fighting the urge to squeeze your face with his fingers.

Your breath hitches when he pushes his thumb past your inviting lips and he feels a moan threaten to spill when you sucked on his digit immediately. He couldn’t uncover any thoughts behind your eyes, only lust. Lust for him. Just like he lusted you.

Why is his breath coming out so short, why is his heart threatening to jump from his chest and into your arms? He isn’t even inside you yet and he feels like he can’t think properly.

You weren’t quiet during your shared activities but Geta was always too focused on his own selfish pleasure, rarely caring about yours.

But right now he feels the inexplicable urge to make you scream his name, to make everyone in the palace know, everyone in Rome, the urge to get on his knees and worship you just to get the blessing of your sounds in return.

Oh, you were sent by Venus herself, there was no doubt. There was no other explanation for his crazed thoughts.

The whine that he brings from you when he pulls his hand away burns something deep in his chest. He quickly yanks at his clothes, uncovering his naked, toned body.

Your eyes don’t dare to travel down but you find yourself on your fours, crawling to him. You press your lips to his stomach, tracing his toned body with your lips and tongue softly, teasingly.

A low growl leaves Geta from deep within his throat as he runs his hand through your hair, nearly gently before he grips your locks. He pulls your head back forcing your eyes to meet his, the sudden harshness causing you to freeze.

“You are an enchantress, aren’t you? You have turned me into a madman.” He mutters softly, his tone almost despairing as his blunt nails massage your scalp.

Looking up at him through your lashes you blink, unsure of what to say. Was this an indictment? It sounded more like a statement.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, my Emperor.” You say softly.

He hums quietly, eyes falling to your legs and he has to swallow hard.

He has seen you like this so many times, and yet you left him speechless every time. From the first time he had bed you, you had left him speechless. Put a spell on him the moment he pushed his cock inside your warm, dripping cunt.

His mind told him to pound you against the mattress as hard as he could, so that every time your core throbbed tomorrow you would remember how vile it was for you to imagine him, your Emperor, between your thighs.

But his body betrayed him. He leans in, his bottom lip grazing your inner thigh.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing to me, mae columba” He whispers, so quietly that you could miss it if your senses weren’t so heightened.

He released a quivering breath before pressing his lips on your skin. You gasp at the action, gripping the smooth sheets. The feeling of your flushed skin against his lips was exhilarating, it was the beginning of something that he wasn’t sure he could control. 

Without a second thought, his mouth starts to bruise your thighs fervently, his teeth plunging into your flesh like you were his last meal before the guillotine.

Your moans and cries fill the room and Geta’s heart as he continues to mark your thighs, his intensity matching a starved wolf.

He wanted more. He was insatiable, he was always insatiable.

With a swift movement, he flips the both of you. You yelp in surprise, as you land on his chest, your legs spread apart. 

His head finds the soft mattress but he wouldn’t care even if it was the hard floor. All he could focus on was your clothed core, inches away from his face.

“My Emperor!” You begin. You weren’t sure what to say, how are you even supposed to react to such a scene?

Rome’s Emperor gazing at you between your thighs, looking as famished as ever.

“Quiet.” He growls, his arms coming to wrap around your thighs. His hands slowly travel up your body, dragging your tunic with his fingers revealing more of your skin.

Your naked cunt was inches away from his face, his breath hitting your soaked folds sending a shiver down your spine.

His eyes couldn’t leave your core, mouth watering at the sight. Impatient, you peel off the dress, revealing your naked body.

It was a pattern whenever you were around him. But this time it didn’t make your cheeks burn about being so vulnerable before his ravenous gaze. On the contrary, it made your chest flutter with satisfaction as you lay on top of one of Rome’s brutal Emperors.

No warning was given to you before he harshly pulled you down to him. His tongue lays flat against your pussy, emitting a desperate sound from you. Soon enough he was lost in the feeling of your wetness.  There was no point in fighting your spell anymore, he was already hypnotized. 

Your eyes can’t leave his face. The way he loses himself so eagerly forces your breath to become shallow and desparate.

His tongue laps on your cunt sloppily, and your juices run down his chin though he never wavers, not even for a second. His mouth worked against your folds like he wanted to consume you whole, to drain you of your essence.

“Gods!” You moan loudly, throwing your head back. “My Emperor!” You cry out.

He whimpers against your pussy, he fucking whimpers. You aren’t sure if you can hold on much longer after that. It seems like any fear or shame you had abandoned your body because you start to rock your hips against his face, his nose brushing against clit with every move.

“I can’t take it anymore, my Emperor—” you gasp, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He grabs your waist, his nails digging into your skin possesively. He pulls you even closer to him, if that is even possible, his tongue running over your folds callously.

Your climax came to you like a violent wave, your body shakes violently after your release. Geta doesn’t stop though, his tongue collecting your fluids even if you jolted and whined.

He only stopped when he had nothing else to take. Like always.

You fall to the side, your mouth agape as you pant frenziedly. Geta isn’t looking any better, his slick-covered lips are parted slightly and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Gods…” You breathe out.

Geta finally finds his strength again, moving to position himself above you. His burning body pressed against your side, his lips brushing your temple. “Where the gods between your legs, corculum?”

“That’s what it felt like” You whisper and he fought the urge to smirk. 

“Turn around.” He orders lowly, the playfulness draining from his voice.

With all the strength left in you, you comply, turning around to lie on your chest. You gasp when the Emperor effortlessly lifts your thighs off the mattress. 

You whine at the feeling of his hard cock brushing against your dripping cunt. 

With one forceful push he’s inside your tight walls and you scream. Your nails rake at the satin sheets as he grunts at the warmness that envelops his cock. “You always feel so good, my dove. Like you were made for me” He groans, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“P-perhaps I was” You moan, the sound muffled by the sheets, your eyes nearly rolling back.

He sneers lowly. “Always know just what to say. How to bewitch me with your words…”

You yelp when you feel his hand clutch your jaw and pull you backward. Your back slams against his hard chest. He draws his hips back making you whine at the feeling of his dick slipping away before slamming it back inside. He did it again and again until you were crying and clawing at his hand.

“My Emperor!” You cry out and if it wasn’t for his strong hands you would’ve fallen forward.

His cock hits you so deep, so good you can’t help the tears that run down your flushed cheeks and the lewd cries that fall from your lips still they aren’t nearly as lewd as the wet, sloppy sounds that follow after every intense thrust.

His own grunts are so loud against your ear that you swear you can come from the sounds he’s making alone. It was never this intimate with Geta, so close. He usually pushes your head against the pillows and fucks you into the mattress like an animal. You rarely see his face or hear his sounds other than the harsh words he spews at you.

Your back arches at the harshness of his thrusts, and your head falls on his shoulder. His hand slides down to your core. You feel his smirk against your ear when he flicks your clit and you flinch.

“Geta!” You scream his name as you come for a second time for the night, your voice hoarse from all the screaming.

If your brain wasn't mushed from pleasure you would slap a hand over your mouth, bracing yourself for his palm landing on your cheek.

He grabs your face and turns your head to face him. The moment your eyes meet you know there won’t be any repercussions for your defiance. His pupils are so blown to the point where you couldn’t locate the light brown of his iris. He pulls you for a heated kiss and with one last, mind-numbing thurst he spills his seed deep inside you.

He falls forward and pulls you with him. You fall on all your fours, his chest falling flush on your back. You whimper when his cock moves inside your overstimulated pussy with the movement.

Geta’s breath was hot against your shoulder and his hands squeezed your waist occasionally, seemingly without noticing.

“My Emperor,” You breathed out. “Forgiv—”

“Quiet.” He rasped, silencing you immediately.

He threw the both of you to the side, pulling you closer to him by the waist.

That day Geta, with his dick deep inside you, realized two things. That you have probably enchanted him and that he didn’t care one bit. 

Because if being bewitched meant that he would spend his living days between your legs, getting drunk on you, then he would gladly do it.

[gemshroud]

Entreri isn't sure what he expected, but somehow even just being called his first name is odd in practice. It feels stiff, rusted, from lack of use. Like somebody else's name, though he's had it his whole life.

He takes the first chance to talk about something else -- and be petty.

"I've never heard anything less subtle," he agrees, low and somewhat conspiratory. "But I envy her, I think. Nothing says fuck off like naming yourself Shadowheart."

He does assume she chose it herself. Her caginess, her general competence... She feels like someone who could be in his own profession, and yet being a cleric gives him pause.

"Do clerics usually carry around mysterious boxes?" he asks now.

Sowing doubt about another party member could cleanly divert suspicion away from himself. Symon seems simple like that.

The grin Entreri's irritation brings to his face pulls his lip tight over his tusks. Perhaps humouring the lie before the others would be more entertaining. Hide-saving, even. Symon was under no illusions of getting off on the right foot with the man before him - a shared joke was hardly akin to saving another from a mindflayer pod or the extraplanar void between sigils, but it wasn't nothing.

Gods, if it wasn't equally amusing to prod though.

"Oh, you spoil the fun. Artemis it'll have to be, then. How could we hope to survive without our snake-charmer and his bag of goo?"

Whilst they're still out of earshot, Symon ducks his head slightly towards Entreri to mutter. "Somehow, it's less suspicious that you named yourself after an assassin than... whatever Shadowheart was thinking."

[everythingseasoning]

love, forever?

vampire! Suguru Geto x reader x vampire! Satoru Gojo

Tags: Morality, and selfishness vs selflessness themes. // Vampire! Suguru and Satoru, who are vampire hunters that protect humans from evil ones. // Blooming rivalry between Satoru & reader for Suguru’s attention. // AU characters. Satoru is clingier and more emotional than his canon self. Suguru despises the strong (vampires) for hurting the weak (humans). // New vampire lore ;). // Angst. Suguru battling his inner demons, trying to do good despite his vampire nature and urges. // Reader has multiple targets on her back (Naoya appearance!) // Both Suguru and Satoru fall for reader. // Eventual smut in later chapters. //

Chapter Warnings: College party drinking, Reader slaps Satoru, Mentions of blood and feeding, Reader falls in a ditch (LOL), Suggestiveness, MDNI

Chapter Word Count: ~4.3k (it’s worth it!)

NOTE: even if you you saw the teaser already, or any edit of the teaser, please read this chapter, as I’ve edited it a lot, and added in more juicy dialogue & scenes ;)

Ch. 01 | Living Haunted

The drink is nothing short of young and dumb, the blend of tooth-rottingly sweet flavors hitting your taste buds as you stare holes into Suguru’s back. You can see the sculpture of his muscles and beautiful bones through his tight tee, your ex’s sculpted body turned away from you. He’s speaking to a girl you had heard about— the life of all parties, pretty, smart, and fun. You could see that she might be his type. Green jealousy explodes in your chest, along with a poisonous, deep sense of insecurity. The horrible feelings move through your body. Was he moving on already? Did you really mean so little to him? Would she be the one to make him stay?

You take another swig from the plastic blue cup, hoping the painful twisting motion of your heart would be soon dulled. Coca Cola, sherbet, and yakult alcohol would be your poison of the night, you think, swallowing down the concoction as tears prick your eyes. 

“Another one of those people who drinks their troubles away?” 

The voice amidst the bass and booming music causes you to turn, your eyes meeting striking blue ones. Snowy hair rests soft and thick on his head, your heart skipping a beat when you see such a beautiful stranger. 

If you were being honest, you weren’t in the mood to talk to somebody else— not when your heart was still tied right onto Suguru’s. You love Suguru, you really do. The recent past haunts your every waking moment. And even in your dreams, he’s there, chuckling as you braid his hair, the nonfiction book he’s been reading facedown in his lap as your fingers thread his silky locks; He’s watching you with a fond smile as you run ahead of him in the campus garden, jumping amongst the flowers; The warmth and sturdiness of his hands against your face as the two of you kiss— his soft, supple lips meeting yours in that familiar dance and tangle. In your dreams he’s still yours. You both made up. In your dreams, things are warm and right. 

When you wake up in an empty bed, with an aching heart, it just feels cruel. The light slipped away again. You thought you had it. You had your dream come true only to realize it was just that— a fleeting dream. There’s no respite from the memory of all his adoration, thoughtful gestures, all the times you’d stare mesmerized as he sat focused, his eyebrows pinched as he worked… The way he felt when you were wrapped in his embrace, your face buried in his sturdy chest— that feeling of being cared for— 

You missed him bad, with every fiber of your being. 

Suguru is still all you can think about. You’re at this damned college party because, even a month after he’d broken up with you, all you wanted was to be close to him, to see him. It’s pathetic. Knowing he’d be here, knowing you’d be tearing your heart open again, the wound freshly cut back open— and you still came here. How many times had you stalked his social media despite having been removed from his following? 

“Cat got your tongue?” The beautiful stranger breaks you out of your thoughts, forcing a reply. 

“No—” you start to say, raising your voice. It’s just barely audible over the clamor of the party. 

“Really?” He butts in, raising an eyebrow. “‘Cause it seems like there’s some hard evidence against your statement.” His small smile is as unconventional as it is disarming. 

“And you are?” 

“Satoru Gojo, if you haven’t heard about me already. I go here, don’t you know?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “And why would I know of you?” 

Satoru just tilts his head ever so slightly, his smile unwavering as he replies, “Your head is under a rock, is what I heard you say.”

Confusion flits across your face before your mouth falls open slightly, a feigned look of offense stretched on your features. You feel like ignoring this pesky person. You glance away for a second, in search of Suguru’s back— the spot he’d been standing in holds a different person, somebody you don’t know, somebody you’re not at all interested in. You frown, scanning the crowd.

Satoru waves a hand in front of your face. You look up at him, annoyed.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“What? Need a reason to talk to a pretty girl?” 

“That’s an overused line,” You shout back, the music so loud you can barely hear yourself. Your attention shifts away from the snowy haired man back to the sea of party goers. You desperately search the throng of buzzing chaos. No sign of Suguru. Just dancing, mingling, kissing, drinking, the typical activities going on under the strobe lights. Fuck.

Suguru, where did you go? Please… Your heart feels like it’s a rock in your stomach. Please don’t tell me you’re fucking her right now in somebody’s bedroom. It’s not my business— but I can’t stand the thought of it—

Satoru chuckles, and you look back at him, unable to hide your expression of pain. You’re about to excuse yourself to find a bathroom to cry in, when he speaks again.

“You’re right. How should I flirt, hm? Wanna coach me? It’ll lift your blues, too,” His smirk would’ve had you folding had you not ever met Suguru. But you did cross paths with the raven-haired man— collided and intertwined, more like— and now nobody compares to him. Nobody would ever be him. 

“Not really. Excuse me,” you begin to say, before turning slightly, about to slip away—

“Suguru is my best friend,” he says. 

You freeze, whipping around now to face Satoru.

“He told me about you— first time he ever told me about anyone, actually. Suguru said you were somebody he actually loved.” Satoru’s cheeky expression has been wiped off, replaced with one of aloof nonchalance and detachment. It’s almost eerie, but your focus isn’t on that.

You’re at a loss for words, eyes caught on Satoru’s, hanging onto everything he says like maybe, just maybe, it means that Suguru wants you back.

“He’s had his fair share of flings and hookups, after all.” Satoru teases, smirking again, bending down to your level.

“I thought I was losing my best friend to a weakling.” His breath is surprisingly chilly against your face. “Turns out you were never the one. Sucks that you couldn’t make him stay.” You feel everything shatter. “Sucks for you, I mean,” Satoru finishes. He leaves out the part where he gloats about being the one Suguru has always admired, and stuck with. 

You’re shocked, mouth hanging open. You’re hurt. You’re aching in confusion about what wasn’t good enough about you. You’re angry and betrayed— all the feelings clash like giant waves crashing against one another inside your heart. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Satoru grins, shrugging. “It means what it means. But I’m curious,” he says, leaning closer, his pearly teeth glinting red under the strobe lights, “What is it about you that had Suguru caught up on ya?” His lips graze your cheek, his voice in your ear, “I don’t get it.”

You slap him before you can realize what you’re doing. Violence is not the answer, but this time, it sure as hell felt like it. Your fingers sting, your panicked thoughts a running train. Did I just? Oh my god! I didn’t— I fucking did—

“I— I’m sorry—” you stammer quickly, eyes wide in shock at your own actions. Satoru is eerily emotionless, staring down at you with those startling ocean eyes. You shiver despite the heat of the stuffy, overcrowded room. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all he says. You open your mouth to speak again, blinking— 

And he’s gone. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A swig of the liquor causes the liquid to slosh in the green bottle. 

“Thought you liked shy girls, Suguru?” Satoru pokes, a red handprint on his cheek. He’s kicked back on the couch outside the bathroom, grimacing when the alcohol hits his tongue. He’s spitting it out back into the bottle immediately. 

“I do,” Suguru replies calmly, a streak of lovely bare skin showing amidst the shaving cream on his face. He runs the razor back down, taking off more of the fluffy white foam. 

“Yeesh. Can’t believe we used to drink this shit,” Satoru sticks his tongue on dramatically, tossing the full glass of alcohol across the room. It lands right in the trash bin with a clang. “That’s where it belongs,” he huffs. 

“So?” Satoru prompts, kicking his feet up. “You realize she doesn’t fit your ideal type, right? Why’d you get with her for a whole year, then?”

“She was shy at first,” Suguru says softly, a glint of something like pain in his eyes. He catches Satoru’s gaze on him in the mirror and the glint disappears. Satoru notices, but says nothing, now peeling open a candy from its foil wrapper. 

“And I told you already, Satoru,” Suguru continues, sparing his friend an exasperated glance. “I love—d her.” A blip. A mistake so quickly covered that if it was anyone but Satoru, they’d have missed it.

Blue eyes pierce Suguru. 

“But it wasn’t going to work out. Love isn’t meant for us. You and I… We’re not meant to be with humans,” Suguru murmurs, looking at his face in the mirror. It was myth that vampires didn’t have reflections. They do. But there’s something the myths forgot. Some sort of change is written in a vampire’s eyes. There always has been, and always will be, some sort of difference from a person’s antecedent human form, and their new, evolved one, hidden in their eyes after they turn. Suguru touches his eyebags, dark and heavy. 

That’s not what changed. No. His warm, earthy brown eyes had turned purple the night Satoru turned him. He woke up with them, the day after everything changed. 

Suguru’s tired reflection stares back at him, rich amethyst irises shining like glossy, sharp stars in the mirror. He wishes he didn’t recognize them. Now he’s stuck dealing with people commenting on his “cool contacts,” for the rest of eternity. Suguru exhales deeply, softly, his still, dead heart aching.

“Being undead with a vital thirst for human blood will do that,” Satoru ho-hums, blissfully unaware of the insensitive nature of his obliviousness. 

Suguru is silent, continuing to shave. He grimaces at the knowing that his vampire instincts made him crave you dangerously, the one he loves, more than anything else. It was cursed, his very existence. He was turned into a walking, sentient, functioning monster. The blade knicks his skin. He curses quietly.

“So,” Satoru grunts with chocolate melting on his tongue, grateful that at least his cravings and delight in sweets didn’t change when they turned, “You don’t trust yourself to be around her without hurting her. But you were doing well for a year. What do you say changed?”

Suguru dabs at the blood dripping down his otherwise unmarked face. It would heal, his skin would be perfectly smooth again in a day, not a trace of his mistake, or scar, would remain. All wounds heal within 24 hours for vampires. It’s something Suguru was grateful for, considering his job of being a vampire slayer. 

“My urges got insatiable. Blood bags weren’t enough,” Suguru says curtly. Despite the battle of breaking up with you being long over, Suguru’s mind is a war zone. I couldn’t even look at her… without… needing to taste her blood. His fists clench on the marble sink. It got bad. I almost hurt her.

Satoru stares at his best friend, knowing that in this silence, his mind is a maelstrom. Suguru sees Satoru’s unflinching gaze, but remains quiet. He knows his friend won’t understand. 

But Satoru presses on anyway, nodding, looking bored. 

“Right. You can’t suppress your urges right now. That happened to me too. The second year is the hardest.” Satoru was the one who turned Suguru, after all, on that unwelcomed, fateful night. “It helps when you just feed on multiple pretty girls a night and compel them all to forget— You could’ve had both, you know. Her and human blood from others. You’re so mopey now.” Satoru’s callous remark piques Suguru’s irritation, a flame of anger burning in the raven-haired man’s chest.

“I won’t do that and be in a relationship.” 

“I saw you feeding on that random chick an hour ago. If you and I didn’t always ask for consent before feeding, I’d never have believed she would be okay with that,” Satoru’s eyes gleam playfully. Suguru doesn’t reply, and Satoru deflates. 

“You’re still grumpy. You move around like you’re actually dead, Suguru. You torture yourself by still caring about your ex. She’s nothing special. I don’t get it.” 

Ah. The truth comes out. Suguru’s eyebrows knit, his mouth pressed into a firm line as something dark flickers in his eyes. 

“Satoru, she has a name, and she’s worth something even if you can’t see it. Just shut up.”

“And what worth do you see in her?”

Suguru is silent for a moment. How could he convey the light and warmth that you were in his life? He’d died twice, once literally, once figuratively, and yet— you brought him back. “…She’s… good.”

“And?”

Suguru’s temper flares. “You just don’t get it, so will you just leave it?” He snarls, fangs involuntarily popping out. He curses silently in disgust at what he has become. 

“You’re such a grouch nowadays,” Satoru huffs, before popping another chocolate into his mouth. He gets up, stretching. 

“Well. I need to feed again.” 

“Be safe about it. And I’m not referring to your safety,” Suguru says sternly, his whole head turned to look at Satoru now, some white foam still on the man’s face. 

“Yeah, yeah, mom, I got it.” With that, Satoru pulls his black coat over his lean, muscled body, a wolfish grin on his face as he slips out the apartment door. Did he need the black coat? No. Not at all. Vampires don’t get cold. They’re already icy to the touch. But it helps him blend in, both with humans and the night. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You’re intoxicated. It’s two AM and you’re stumbling around campus like a fucking idiot. 

Well how about that? Satoru spies you from across the quad, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. 

He slips through the shadows. 

You nearly jump when a tall, dark figure appears before you, looming over you. 

Snowy hair shines in the lamplight, blue eyes flashing like glaciers, staring right at you. You swear they flash red for a second.

“You again?” You slur your words. You aren’t scared. He’s Suguru’s best friend, which means he by extension must be a good guy. Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Satoru grins. His teeth are brilliant, his canines shining ivory and glistening like expensive accessory jewels.

If Satoru was being honest, this was a chance to understand the enemy. The golden goal would be to get Suguru to forget about you and move on, so his best friend could finally look and be alive again, the two of them happily slaying the vampires that hurt humans— and this was the first step in his plan. 

“Hey,” he nearly purrs, slinking around you as you take a step forward— stumbling a bit— 

Cold fingers grip you firmly, holding you upright. Satoru: 1, gravity: 0. 

“You’re fucking making me freeze even more!” You retort, snapping at him as you yank your warm arm away from his cool grasp. You were more than tipsy, but you recalled his rudeness from earlier.

He lets you go and you teeter. “Just trying to help. You sure aren’t shy, huh?” Satoru remarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spit out, the question giving you both Deja vu.

“It means what it means,” Satoru grins. Deja-fucking-vu. You’re getting fed up now, huffing and mumbling under your alcohol-tinged breath, an insult that Satoru’s super hearing picks up on. He stifles a laugh. You keep walking. 

“Wait,” Satoru calls out. You don’t turn around or slow your snail-like pace. He strides up to you in two quick, lengthy steps. He bends, entering your vision, his teeth sharp and protruding from his close lipped smile. Were they always that long?

“I’m great at reading people. And as much as you want to deny it, your heart is beating faster around me.” He suppresses his urge to poke your ribcage, directly over the beating muscle. 

“Shut up,” you growl. 

“You could make me, you know.”

“There you go again with that cliche flirting,” you snort. 

“And here I am again, asking if you’re offering lessons. Though the better question would be if you’re even qualified to give them,” Satoru grins.

He keeps up with your sluggish pace as you try to make your way back to the dorms.

“What do you want from me? Don’t you think it’s weird to be flirting with your best friend’s ex?” 

You think this will shut him up. That, or he’ll have a lame excuse. But for the first time in this second conversation you’re having with him, his answer changes.

“If I’m being honest,” he speaks in a rich, velvety, low voice, and you almost feel entranced, your feet stopping, your gaze resting on Satoru. “I’m doing this for him. And about what I want?” 

You sway in the chilly night breeze, barely registering anything but the sound of his voice. 

“I want to know you better,” he purrs. You’re breathless as he continues, his voice like a siren in your ear, “If you were sober, would you let me bite you?”

He pulls away, and you’re back to your senses in a second. You feel like slapping him again. You almost do, but your hand misses, causing you to stumble. 

“Too slow!” He cackles as you tumble onto the ground, your dress flying up.

You look absolutely humiliated, livid, and harmless from the ground, eyes narrowed in deep hatred for this weirdo. 

“Need a hand?” Satoru smirks, his tall, silhouetted form outlined in light from the lamp behind him. 

You push off the cold cement, ignoring him, fuming silently as you continue your drunken walk to the dorms. That typical pang of hunger hits Satoru out of the blue, impelling him to leave.

“I have to go now. See you around,” Satoru says, before disappearing, the need to find a sober person he can get consent from to feed on overpowering him. 

Suddenly the night is quiet again, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You keep walking, not realizing that there are no longer lamps to light the way until you’re surrounded by darkness. You aren’t familiar with this part of campus, squinting to see the road sign to your right. You barely make out the words ‘Under Construction’ written in bold black letters, and you shiver as the cool breeze swings through the area. A snapping twig sounds behind you and your eyes widen, fear running through your intoxicated bloodstream. 

“Hello?” You call out. You hate to admit it, but you regret letting Satoru leave. Nobody answers.

You take another step into the darkness, speeding up your pace. Another snap of a twig, and you’re breaking out into a full blown run now— blood rushes through your ears—

Something catches your foot, and you tumble forward, falling down into a ditch, knocking out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru sighs contentedly, his eyes crossing as he swallows his last gulp of blood for the night. The woman is staring at the ceiling with a lovestruck look, the pleasure from the toxin in his fangs acting like a drug. He releases his lips from her skin, licking at the two puncture marks on her neck. 

“Fuck…” She mewls, leaning in to kiss Satoru. He lets her kiss him.

“Look at me,” Satoru commands gently, his voice taking on a different tone now— and she’s under his spell in an instant. 

“Forget this entire interaction. Forget that you ever saw me. Forget that I fed on you. Don’t question the slight tenderness in your neck tomorrow morning. Associate it with sleeping weirdly,” he murmurs, and she’s caught on his every word, nodding when he stops talking. 

“Good.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru retraces his steps, walking on the road he last saw you on. His teeth have retracted, going back to a normal length, as they always do after he’s fed. Yeah, he may be selfish, jealous, and dislike you— but he’s not a villain. It’s late, you are intoxicated, and he still wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“She’s probably fast asleep back at her dorm. I’m just wasting my time,” he grumbles in the dark. But he just has this funny feeling, like something happened, and now he’s acting like some lovesick fool that worries and checks in on their lover. 

Blood. Satoru smells it, that familiar, rich, sharp scent that sends a rush of electricity through his body. Because he just fed, his brain doesn’t light up as it usually would, and he realizes that somebody is hurt— and that somebody is probably you. 

Satoru’s legs are a blur as he races towards the source—

He stands over a dirt edge, a hole in the path made by the ongoing construction. You lay in the ditch looking like a broken doll, effectively knocked out. There’s a gash on your arm and knee. 

“Fuck,” Satoru curses, quickly climbing down to get to you. He’s by your side in a flash, checking your pulse. It’s normal. He feels the tension in his body drain. You’re probably just passed out from the combination of alcohol and falling in a ditch. Satoru rolls his eyes, huffing, “Idiot,” as he scoops you up into his arms. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

He didn’t know what to do. Leave you in the hallway of the coed dorm? Drop you off at the 24/hour care station? He figured he should do the latter, and so he went. 

He dings the bell at the front desk, shifting to readjust your relaxed body. Ten seconds go by. During that time, Satoru finds himself staring at your face, a few smears of dirt on your skin. You breathe in and out, because you have to. It’s not like him and Suguru, who breathe to fake their normalness and blend in. They have no need for oxygen. Your lips look so soft. Your chest rising and falling gently, you look totally at peace, and Satoru is mesmerized. He gets lost in the rhythm of your breaths for a moment— the steady beat of your heart bringing about a peace and longing ache in his own lifeless one. He snaps out of his daze, and rings the bell again, huffing impatiently. Another ten seconds go by, and he starts to spam the bell. 

“Where are they?” He grumbles. Satoru slips behind the desk, frowning and pissy, looking into the back room. Nobody is there. 

“Seriously?” 

He can’t just leave you here when the door is unlocked and the place is unattended. Satoru curses under his breath again, looking down at your sleeping face, your body curled against his frame in his arms. 

“Guess Suguru has to confront his demons tonight,” Satoru sighs, not realizing the weight of the statement he’s just uttered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Sweet, mouth-watering, the scent of a dream— it wafts through the hallway, into his room, and Suguru wakes up with a growling stomach. 

Human blood. One that smells absolutely ravishing. Suguru sits up, alert and awake, wondering if Satoru brought back somebody to share, somebody who wanted to be fed on and possibly fucked by the two of them. The raven-haired man stands up and tears open his door—

Satoru is hunched over a body on the couch. Suguru makes his way over, his fangs protruding, his amethyst eyes glinting with hunger—

Satoru finishes wiping the blood off your arm, the sight of the red cloth in his hand making Suguru freeze when he realizes Satoru brought back a hurt person.

“Satoru–” 

Satoru turns, standing up, and Suguru finally catches a glimpse of who is on their couch. If his heart was beating, it would have skipped a beat. 

Suguru’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape. You?

“Hey,” the snowy-haired vampire says. “Before you get pissed—!”

Suguru is crossing the living room in a flash, shoving Satoru up against the wall. Suguru’s head is ringing, swirling with hunger, anger, fear, grief, and shame. Something as seemingly small as the sight of you did that to him. 

“Did you fucking hurt her? I swear to god, if you so much as touched a hair on her head—” Suguru hisses before Satoru shoves his best friend back, scowling.

“Listen for a second! She was in a ditch when I found her, okay? By the construction site. I may not like this little pest of a weakling, but I didn’t hurt her,” Satoru retorts. Suguru backs off, clenching his fists so hard that it draws red blood of his own. His eyes burn holes into the floorboards. 

Satoru watches, a beat of silence passing before he speaks up, “Hey, Suguru. Just… just take a moment to get a hold of yourself. If you have to take a walk…”

What Satoru didn’t understand was how absolutely feral Suguru was for you, down to a chemical level. Bringing you around was enough to make Suguru’s head pound with a dizzying need to feast on you— but bringing you when you were bleeding? Suguru is feeling white hot need pulse throughout his body.

“She— she’s not supposed to be here—” Suguru manages to say, his voice strained. 

“Why–”

“She can’t be by me!” Suguru roars, looking up from the ground to meet Satoru’s shocked gaze. Suguru’s purple eyes are filled with a storm of anger and pain, and Satoru opens his mouth to apologize—

But Suguru is gone in a blink, the door to their apartment creaking as yellow light from the hallway spills in, falling on your face, painting you in a soft glow. 

Feedback of Your Thoughts, Comments, and Reblogs, are highly appreciated and honestly do help me write faster :)

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[writermuses]

Yulia secured the expensive blonde wig and triple checked her reflection when Ben stepped into the room, all the dancers straightening up. Schedule's filling up tonight, ladies. Jewels, I want you to give solos a try tonight. Do you remember what to do if you need security? She recited the nonverbal tells and the locations of panic buttons with ease, her stomach fluttering with nerves and excitement. While she didn't love this job and that it barely paid for the motel room she called home, solos gave the best tips and could get her out of there, all she needed to do was convince this person to become her regular.

Ben had instructed her to stop at the bar and pick up her customer's order before going to the private room. She thanked Ben for the opportunity, the cook for the order, and even smiled at Ashton, who was working security, before making her way to the room. The music for the dancer on Olympus' stage was no longer pulsing as the door closed her in with her client. Placing the tray of food and drink next to him in the small room gave him a view of her ass in the lace tanga panties. As she spun around slowly and with more grace than any woman should have in such high heels, he was given the full view of her slight curves, breasts pushed up by the matching crop top style lace corset. "Mr. Vaughn?"

She'd recognized him before his eyes had met hers and Yulia wished she could hide that the way he'd drank in her body before knowing it was her hadn't turned her on. Instead he was eye level with her pebbled pink nipples, clearly visible through the thin lace. Friends were hard to come by in her move from California to New York and she'd made one close friend, crashing at this man's place, offering to do dishes and help cook, doing her best to stay out of the way. Thinking he might get up and leave, Yulia- only known to him as quiet Lia Allen with the only thing loud about her being her fiery red hair, pushed gently on his shoulder and climbed onto his lap. "Please, if you go my boss won't think I can handle this and I really need this job." She nibbled on her bottom lip, chin quivering and eyes sparkling embarrassed as she added. "They might even do a safety check, so I... I have to dance. Please, Sir." But her plea was for so much more than him staying in that chair, it was about not telling his kid about this job either. No one ever looked at a stripper the same once they knew about the job.

closed starter for @basicxutopia

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | favored⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Eileithyia rushed through the marble halls of Olympus, her breath coming in short, labored pants. A silver torch flickered in her grasp, the flames matching the intensity of her frantic heartbeats.

She was a striking figure—her dark hair tied beneath a kerchief, the embroidered peplos of pinkish-red flowed behind her like a stream. The wreath adorning her head shifted as she ran, her lips muttering prayers to herself—each word an urgent, unyielding reminder.

No, no, no... I'm going to be late, she thought, a fearful frown etched on her face.

Eileithyia had a purpose today—a life hung in the balance, and she was supposed to be there. As the goddess of childbirth, her presence was crucial.

The birth couldn't conclude without her.

She had seen centuries of births, had delivered souls into the harsh yet beautiful realm of humanity, and she had never been late.

Not once. Yet, this evening had not gone as planned.

Ate—the goddess of mischief, ruin, and destruction—had decided otherwise.

She had taken it upon herself to set a thousand small obstacles in Eileithyia's path—misplaced tools, disruptions among the mortals, inexplicable detours. A labyrinth of mischief that made her late—far later than she'd ever imagined possible.

Annoyances. Delays. Each a thread that tangled itself around Eileithyia's feet, keeping her from where she needed to be. The weight of her tardiness bore down on her chest, a gnawing fear taking root within her.

By the time she arrived on Earth, it was far too late.

She arrived to a quaint carriage, situated alone under a starlit sky. Its windows glowed softly in the night, and inside, she could hear the low murmurs of those gathered.

The humble room she entered was dark, the shadows deep, illuminated only by the glow of her torch. And at the center of it all sat a woman, her skin a warm sepia, her dark hair pulled away from her tear-streaked face.

"Nooo!" The woman sobbed, her face buried into a bundle of cloth that she cradled to her chest.

Eileithyia's heart sank as she ventured silently along the walls of the room, She observed the scene before her, her chest aching.

Eileithyia moved along the walls of the room, unseen and unheard, her presence cloaked from mortal eyes. Her heart broke for what she saw: the woman was crying, her face twisted in a sorrow that needed no words to explain.

Beside her sat a young man, his blond locks disheveled, his hands trembling as he gently held his wife.

"Aleka, my love...," he whispered, his voice a soft rasp that shattered the silence. He held her, and she clung to him as if she could drown her sorrow in his embrace.

"I-I can't... it hurts, Kairo," she whimpered, tears streaming freely, her body still trembling with pain, her lower body coated in blood.

The room was shrouded in somber silence, broken only by Aleka's soft cries and the muffled movements of the midwives as they cleaned up the remnants of the birth that had gone so terribly wrong.

The atmosphere weighed heavily with sorrow, grief, and the undeniable finality of death.

Eileithyia walked closer to the grieving parents, her heart aching with each step.

She peered down, her heart fracturing further at the sight of the stillborn child. The infant lay so small and delicate in her mother's arms, her tiny features illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

She was perfect—round cheeks, a delicate button nose, tiny lips formed in an innocent pout, like a rosebud just beginning to bloom.

A beautiful soul, taken far too soon, Eileithyia thought, her fingers reaching to trace the baby's soft cheek, committing every detail to memory.

With a soft hum, Eileithyia leaned over, her torch casting a glow that seemed to wrap around the infant like a final embrace; her fingers brushed Aleka's arm in a silent farewell before she lifted the child from her mother's grasp, cradling her in her arms.

Stepping back from the grieving parents, Eileithyia kept her gaze lowered, her steps quiet and deliberate. She knew her path—she would descend into the Underworld, where the souls of the dead found rest.

It wasn't fair, but it was life.

As she walked away, the parents' anguished cries softened, fading into the distance. The baby's body felt heavier in her arms as she began the descent, the air thickening around her with the scent of earth and ancient mist.

Before she could cross the threshold into the underworld, a servant burst into the room.

"Wait!"

Eileithyia paused, glancing over her shoulder to see a servant running towards the grieving parents; he was out of breath, his eyes wild with urgency, his voice stammering as he spoke.

In his hands, he held a small, glowing flower—its petals shimmering with an ethereal light, as though capturing the very essence of dawn within its delicate form.

"A-a prophecy," he gasped, as the midwives turned to face him, "from Delphi. This is a sacred flower, blessed by Apollo himself. It is said to have grown in Apollo's sacred groves, glowing with a golden light, and its essence has the power to bring a soul back from the edge of death. But it must be used swiftly—before the child is taken beyond the threshold of the Underworld!"

The servant's head turned, almost supernaturally, his gaze distant but unwavering. It was as though his eyes pierced the veil between mortal and divine, locking onto Eileithyia.

For a heartbeat, Eileithyia paused, her steps faltering as she felt the weight of his stare. It was almost as if he could see her—an ethereal figure, a goddess holding a child who had yet to fully cross into death.

She glanced down at the small bundle, her heart torn between sorrow and an instinctive sense of duty, before looking back up, determination setting into her expression; she would wait.

The father, Kairo, looked at the servant with suspicion, his face hardening. His voice was edged with both desperation and anger as he asked, "What is the cost? A life saved by the gods always comes with a price, doesn't it?"

The servant hesitated, his gaze flickering, clearly struggling with the burden of the answer. The tension in the room was palpable as the father repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Tell me, what's the price? Or are you just here to give us false hope?"

Swallowing nervously, the servant finally spoke, his voice trembling. "The oracle says that the child will carry the weight of Apollo's favor—a debt that may come due at any time, with no guarantees of what the gods might ask."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air almost too thick to breathe.

Aleka's gaze met Kairo's, her eyes filled with tears, wide with both fear and desperate hope. She looked at her husband, searching his face for guidance.

Kairo stared back at her, the love for his wife evident in the way his hardened features softened ever so slightly.

Kairo finally lowered his gaze, looking down at their stillborn daughter. She looked so peaceful, her tiny form held in her mother's embrace.

His throat tightened, the pain of the decision weighing on him, but he knew there was no choice—only a chance to give their daughter the life she deserved.

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and love as he whispered, "Do it."

Aleka let out a shaky breath, her trembling voice joining his. "Yes... do it. Whatever the cost, we will bear it."

The midwives moved with urgency, retrieving all the materials needed for an impromptu salve. The flower's petals glowed with a gentle golden light, and its aroma filled the room with warmth and magic.

The servant cradled it reverently, before crushing it in his hands, the glowing powder falling into a small dish.

With practiced hands, the midwives mixed it into a poultice, and applied it gently to the baby's lips, her chest, and her tiny forehead.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The room was silent, the air thick with anticipation, Aleka and Kairo holding their breaths.

Eileithyia paused, her hands trembling, her eyes never leaving the babe in her arms.

And then—a miracle.

The baby in Eileithyia's arms squirmed, her eyes opening wide. The goddess stared down, her heart swelling with relief and wonder.

A small, smoky puff enveloped the baby, and before Eileithyia could react, the infant vanished from her arms.

Over the veil separating mortal and divine, a sharp, piercing cry filled the once-silent room. Aleka gasped, her head snapping up as the bundle in her arms moved, the baby's eyes open, her cries loud and full of life.

Through her sobs, Aleka cried out her daughter's name, "____" her voice trembling with joy as she held her daughter close. Kairo, too, let out a shaky breath, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hands moving to wrap around both his wife and child.

The baby was alive, saved by the flower—a favor of Apollo himself, bestowed only upon those whose fate had caught his eye.

Eileithyia watched quietly from the shadows, her heart heavy and hopeful at once.

She knew what this meant. This child was touched by the gods.

And the gods... the gods did not simply forget those who had been touched by their favor.

As the infant settled into her mother's embrace, Eileithyia whispered to herself, her voice a soft promise that disappeared into the night.

"May the gods be kind to you, child. For their favor is not always a blessing."

A/N: now, for my long-awaited fic! hope you guys enjoy what i have planned ❤️❤️😩, also if not known, this will be post-EPIC, so after odysseus returns...

[stxrsniolo]

⠀⠀ ⠀✦ ⠀ :⠀⠀somnium⠀ ⠀💭 ⠀ . . .

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : dreambound!matt x lucid dream!reader

Chapter 01: The Dream That Changed Everything

matt was cranky as hell these days, his sleep schedule more like a roller coaster than anything resembling normal. living in LA with his brothers, nick and chris, in a fancy three-story crib, you'd think life was all sunshine, right? wrong. especially when you're one of the sturniolo triplets, where every day's gotta be content for their youtube channel, which had more followers than some small countries.

"hey, matt, you look like you got hit by a truck," nick said, his voice dripping with that LA cheer, as he watched matt drag himself into the kitchen like a zombie.

"yeah, well, i feel like one," matt grumbled, his Boston accent thick, "can't sleep fah nothin'."

chris, now hustling with his fresh love clothing line, was busy sketching new threads but still threw in, "maybe you need some new pajamas, bro. cotton or silk?"

matt just rolled his eyes, pouring himself coffee strong enough to wake the dead. he hated coffee, but he needed this boost for real. "i need more than pajamas, i need like, a new brain or somethin'."

the day dragged on with matt filming bits for their vlog, his heart not in it. he was trying to keep up appearances, but his mind was racing, lost in the haze of sleepless nights. they talked about random crap, from the latest video game drop to chris's newest hoodie design, but matt's responses were half-assed at best.

"matt, you okay?" nick asked during a break, concern piercing through matt's fog.

"yeah, yeah, i'm good. just tired, ya know?" matt forced a smile, but even to him, it felt fake.

the sun set, painting sky in hues of orange and pink, but all matt saw was the dread of another night of tossing and turning. he went through his night routine, hoping tonight would be different.

and... finally, after what felt like an eternity of staring at the ceiling, sleep came, pulling him into a dream so vivid, it was like stepping into another universe. he found himself in a surreal landscape, part urban, part wilderness, with skyscrapers touching the clouds but rooted in a forest floor.

and then he saw her. a girl, with eyes like emeralds and hair that seemed to move with a life of its own. she was there, walking around with an edge of caution to it. she looked at him, her gaze wary, as if she was deciding whether he was friend or foe.

"hey, you lost or somethin'?" matt asked, his accent even more pronounced, making his words sound thick with caution.

"nah, just enjoying the view," she replied, her accent sharp, her tone guarded. "i'm heist, you look like you could use some fun though. but, you know, if you're not up to no good..."

heist... what a weird name. but he brushed it off.

"me? nah, i'm just... tryin' to figure out where i am," matt said, his eyes scanning the dreamscape, half-expecting it to dissolve or change into something less welcoming.

there was a moment of silence, both of them sizing each other up, the air thick with unspoken questions. and without a word, heist turned and ran, her voice echoing in her quick, "gotta go!" her movements were fluid, almost ethereal, as she darted through the dreamscape, blending into the shadows and light.

"hey, wait!" matt called out, his voice a mix of confusion and intrigue.

he chased after her, not out of malice but driven by an inexplicable pull towards this mysterious figure. the chase was like a dance, with heist always one step ahead, her laughter a taunt, a challenge, a melody in the wind.

they weaved through the dream city, up staircases that led nowhere, down alleys that twisted into themselves. every time matt thought he had her, she'd disappear, only to reappear in his peripheral vision, her laughter both a beacon and a warning.

finally, in a moment of stillness, with heist cornered against a dream wall that shimmered like water, they stood there, breathing heavily, their eyes locked in a silent conversation of wariness and curiosity.

"why you runnin'?" matt asked, his voice softer now, the chase having burned away some of his caution.

"why you chasin'?" heist shot back, her tone sharp but her eyes softening just a bit.

but before any answer could be given, the dream world began to dissolve, and matt woke up with a start, his heart racing.

the room was dark, silent, the quiet of Los Angeles outside his window. yet, in his mind, heist's laughter lingered, a reminder of a chase so vivid, it changed everything.

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | my little stars: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid

[midnightsaboteur]

Unsurprisingly, an actor in the public eye had to keep secrets. The intrusion of the spotlight, whether from fans, critics or studios, could be more intense than anything they’d ever known, and if an actor didn’t want something revealed, it took a lot of damned hard work to keep it that way. Elijah Haldane kept one of the biggest secrets of all - his marriage. 

It had been nearly two years since he’d married Skye in an intimate and discreet ceremony. In the time since, to the public and those around them, they lived in the same manner they’d done before - single and unattached. But, rather than live in solitary dwellings, they arrived to a secret marital home serving as their hidden paradise. It was a place where they could be truly themselves, away from the expectations of society and the burning eyes of Elijah’s stans, who were the primary reason why they kept their marriage secret.

However, as Elijah looked toward his wife across the bedroom, he couldn’t help but sigh. Skye got ready for work whilst he lay in their bed, a robe covering his form. Later that day, he’d fly out for a week-long re-shoot on his latest film. Paradise would have to wait. Moments where they had to part always prompted a melancholy within Elijah, and as such, he couldn’t help but murmur, “I’m going to miss watching you like this, darling.”

@xwhiskeymuses

[girlactionfigure]

Broken Telephone Effect

The most common type of photographic misinformation I have encountered is the direct result of the Broken Telephone Effect.

It's simple, it's easy to mess up, and it can lead to atrocity denial.

A thread.

The following photo is currently being used within the framework of "dark humor", a type of comedy that focuses on making a joke out of taboo and serious topics. 

In this case, it's joking about the current situation of children in Gaza who lost their parents.

Beyond the joke itself, the image is being deemed to be of an actual child from Gaza who lost their parents. Now, it's being made fun of by online commentators. 

But what is the back story of this image? 

In 2015, this same photo was uploaded with a different backstory, then about a Syrian child who lost their parents. It’s unclear if the original poster was making the same "dark joke" as the current one, as the caption and name suggest different intents.

The origin of the photo (Based on my review and several independent fact-checking sites) is from Yanbaa, Saudi Arabia!  So, is this a Saudi child sleeping next to the graves of his parents in 2014?

No. This was staged. It was filmed by a local photographer named Abdelaziz, who took the image as part of a fictional tragic scene to raise awareness about horrific realities that real children endure.  The link to his interview: moroccoworldnews.com/2014/01/120051…

All it takes is 1 person to misunderstand the original image, share the photo without copy-pasting the caption, or even just remove the credit of the photographer for an image to be reused under pretenses. 

This rush to be first in war reporting often compromises journalistic integrity, leading to unverified information and anonymous sources - both riddled with signs of misinformation. This issue has been a recurring problem throughout history, not just during this current war. 

This results in atrocity denial, a serious issue that is the direct result of people uploading images/videos without verifying their authenticity.

Broken Telephone Game

Tal Hagin

[feminaferitas]

Nat only hesitated a moment when Jackie stopped her at the door. The rifle was still upright in her hands, thinking about everything that had happened in the last few days. Fuck the accident, this was their reality now and they had to accept that -- but if the turn of winter meant suddenly they were going to devolve into orgies, assault, and leaving their own out to die... Natalie wasn't going to let that go without a reminder about what hunters did to rabid animals.

She turned for only a moment to look at Jackie, her eyes filled with mourning and anger. The girl sucked her lower lip for a moment if only to quell its trembling before she found her voice. "I don't exactly know anymore. I'm going to do what's right, I think?"

God, Nat hoped this was right. She was never exactly going to win Miss Congeniality with her teammates, even after forcibly sobering up and picking up the rifle. But fuck, she wasn't a bad person. Or at least, not as bad as everyone wanted to paint her to be.

"Hey, assholes."

She opened the door slightly before kicking it in with her boot -- even with few wild creatures left roaming the woods, they couldn't risk a winter with a broken door. The bitter chill followed her inside as Natalie leveled the gun at whoever was still downstairs. The team was in various states of sleeping and recline, comfortable and safe and apparently giving no shits about Jackie outside. Coach Ben was one of the few who appeared to be wide awake, sitting by the fire. A genuine dread filled his features as he locked eyes with the hunter.

"Woah, Jesus -- Natalie, fucking put that down, now."

"Last I checked, we were a fucking team. We didn't hunt each other for sport, and we certainly didn't leave each other in the cold to die."

The barrel end of the rifle scanned the cabin as if seeking the source of the conflict. Its dark nose sniffing like a trained dog as Natalie desperately tried not to let her body shake with the anger and fear she felt. Was Jackie even worth it? After everything they'd been through... Fuck, they were just kids, in the end. And Nat knew that back home, no one gave much of a good goddamn about her outside of what she could do for the soccer team. Maybe it was the same here. She hoped it wasn't. If she couldn't hold a gun, would they have left her to die too? Her mournful gaze then passed to Travis, who kept his own eyes low -- Jackie was still a sore subject between them, blue as a fresh bruise. Now with Javi gone, so was the light in his eyes.

Mari piped up next, crouched near her bedroll. "She didn't want to be here anymore, not with us crazy people." Her voice was almost proud to repeat the insult, wearing it like an armor to justify her actions.

Natalie scoffed, moving the gun towards her and watching the girl's confidence wither entirely. Suddenly, the blonde was doubting herself about whether the rounds inside were spent or not. She kept her finger off the trigger, refusing to make the revelation. It was enough that they believed she had power, enough that they believed her fuse was finally short enough to stoop down to their level (or that maybe still, she was climbing up to meet them).

"What's going on--"

Then Shauna appeared in the closet with the ladder, and it was something magnetic between her and Natalie. The hunter adjusted her grip on the gun, holding it so hard her knuckles were whitening, all in an attempt to stabilize herself. The pregnant girl had eyes like a deer, like the kinds of prey animals Natalie hadn't found for weeks and weeks, except for the beast with worms in its gut.

-- K-CHAKK --

"God damn it," Nat cursed, to herself and to the others as she pumped the shotgun. She could feel the sting of salty tears welling up, the emotions wracking her every nerve. "We are not animals. We are not going to start carving ourselves up from the inside. You all hear me?"

Without her knife, Shauna had an almost innocent quality about her. But Natalie could still see the berry-red stains hugging her lips, the darkness in her eyes. Both girls were on the verge of tears, but Natalie wouldn't budge, even as Shauna's hand moved to her stomach and her muscles twitched in hopes of retreating to the attic. She had something to do with Javi, she knew, and everything to do with Jackie. Whatever darkness had overcome them that Doomcoming night, Natalie could swear she saw it delighting in Shauna's innocent eyes, in her innocent babe.

"It's okay--"

But the darkness and the wilderness took a radiant human form in Lottie fucking Matthews, who suddenly stepped between the gun and the girl, staring into Natalie's reddened eyes with an unflinching, eerie composure.

"She won't do it, Shauna."

"Oh yeah, Lottie?" Saliva wove between her words and her lips as Natalie finally unclenched her jaw, almost annoyed by the taller girl's confidence and calm. "You think I won't? Cuz I thought there were a lot of lines we wouldn't cross out here, but we're all full of surprises, aren't we?"

Natalie's words should be reassuring. Maybe on some level they were. But all Jackie did was shrink further into herself, mouth pressed against her knees - not that it mattered, when speech was lost to her by now regardless.

I thought she of all people here might understand what it takes to keep the team alive out here. Well, if Shauna did, she clearly didn't give a shit. Not when it came to Jackie, at least, and that was what hurt the most. Jackie would've died for Shauna. Would've cut herself up and bled and let Shauna take and take and take whatever she needed, as long as Jackie had it left to give - but Shauna wouldn't do the same for her.

She was happier to leave Jackie out here to rot. Happier to hold a knife to Travis' throat, happier to fuck Jackie's boyfriend and give birth to his fucking baby than acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, something had gone terribly wrong along the way. Gone so wrong that Natalie, who barely any time at all ago had looked at Jackie with daggers for eyes and sworn keep talking and I'll find something to shoot, loved Jackie more than Shauna ever did.

Happier with anything that let her look away from that fact that whatever had died between them wasn't really the wilderness' fault, but her own. Even if what she left behind in the process was Jackie herself.

Jackie was so, so fucking tired.

But Natalie fucking Scatorccio, fire and steel and Artemis incarnate, wouldn't let her rest here. Wouldn't let her end here.

Of course she fucking wouldn't.

"Nat, what - hang on -" Despite herself, Jackie felt compelled to follow. She scrambled up and after Nat, as fast as she could with bones half-frozen. Only her blanket came with her, clutched tightly in hands she wasn't sure she could unfurl right now if she tried, the rest of her bedding left abandoned in a sad little pile behind them. Coming to a halt behind Natalie at the door, it wasn't the cold that shook Jackie's voice when she asked: "What the fuck are you gonna do?"