#Beyond the Wall Review

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Those Beyond The Wall

sequel/companion to The Space Between Worlds, set a decade later

character-focused sci-fi set in an area divided in two, the rich protected city on one side and everyone else in the post-apocalyptic desert

follows a woman who works under the Emperor in Ashtown, keeping the peace

when mangled bodies start showing up with seemingly no murderer, she’s tasked with finding the cause, and finds out that it’s the result of corruption spanning both cities and multiple worlds

explores oppression and messy revolution, police violence and apartheid

bi & polyamorous MC

[gobbluthbutagirl]

actually so funny in retrospect how on the last wednesday of 2022 my job told me i had an “attitude problem” so in 2023 i quit that job, bought a pair of socks online that said “i ❤️ my attitude problem,” and listened to “bad attitude” by meat loaf so many times that it became my #3 most played song of the year

[magnetictapedatastorage]

i have a habit of composing long form fan fiction directly in my bestie’s dms while shes offline. dont mind me im writing my manuscripts in your kitchen while you’re asleep its fine

[guywithbeer]

Check out my short review of the PENDRAGON TTRPG supplement BEYOND THE WALL.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

genuinely the green knight (2021) is morgan le fay sending her gay son on a heuristic experience of Let's Get (Beheadings) This Quest

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ��no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

[bookishlyvintage]

Beyond the Filigree Wall, Melissa Wright (out 12/06/2022)

read my thoughts here

[inkykeiji]

character: valentino warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, possessiveness, toxic relationship, daddy kink, gun play, slight oral fixation, fem!reader who has unspecified piercings notes: for @sovya, who is val’s precious lil princesa ♡ and who always listens to my insane ramblings about ideas i had at exactly 6:20am hehe c: words: 687

Valentino has an interesting little quirk, you’ve come to learn; he always has to have something of his inside of you. It’s a simple fact, really. No matter what it is or where you are, a piece of him must always be within you in some way, shape, or form. 

He, of course, prefers for it to be a part of his body—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—but unfortunately that isn’t always feasible. 

And, of course, there are other objects that work well, too. 

Sometimes it’s his gun, barrel rammed down your throat as far as it possibly can be, teeth scraping against the N of his bedazzled name as you desperately attempt to swallow more, knees sinking into the plush shag of the carpet beneath his work desk, your chin resting on his thigh as you sit at his feet. Your lips pucker tightly around the barrel as they suck, thick dribbles of saliva oozing from the corners of your mouth to drizzle off your jaw in shimmering cords, while a dutiful tongue curls around the heated metal in a protective, almost loving embrace, eager to siphon it further into your body. 

Sometimes it’s one of his shiny gold rings, pressed flat under your tongue as you suck it into your flesh during your daily outings, the metal clacking daintily against your teeth while you mindlessly toy with it, the tip of your tongue hooking through the band then circling the halo in a lazy, messy outline, encrusted salt melting against your tastebuds, staining your tongue with the zest of his sweat. 

Sometimes it’s his favourite bullet vibrator, soft pink silicon engraved with his full name and a smattering of cute little hearts buried deep in your cunt as you go about your day, never knowing when Val might turn it on, turn it up, but always knowing that he’s watching through the discreet cameras he had Vox plant all over your shared condo, always ready for that telltale video call that you better fucking answer right before you cum—and knowing that if you don’t, you’ll be suffering endless edging until Daddy gets home (and sometimes after that, too). 

He gets off on it just as much as you do, chuckling darkly when your knees knock together and your thighs tense, a sharp gasp spilling from your throat and nails chipping as your fingers curl around the edge of the kitchen counter, tauntingly asking if something is wrong, amorcito? as his face swims into view, sadism stretched sharply across his face, eyes glowing with the knowledge that he holds all of your pleasure, all of that power, in the silky palm of his hand, controlling it with the single flick of a notch. 

Sometimes it’s his custom-made heart-shaped studs and barbells, embellished with ostentatious V’s and filling all of your piercings, glinting in the late afternoon sun or heating under your clothes as he drags you from store to store, an arm tightly linked through your own—showing you off, his most cherished accessory, his prettiest prized possession, his best accomplishment.  

If he has to pick a favourite, though, it’s his fingers, one of his four hands wedged between your soft thighs, two fingers stuffing your cunt full and idly stroking the silky walls as he works—writing scripts or reviewing footage—and you play—mashing buttons on your pretty pink handheld or colouring a picture for him, book folded at the spine and balancing against your bent knees, little tongue playing with the point of your fang as you concentrate. 

And yet, despite the sensuality of it all, it isn’t even sexual half of the time, going far beyond the shallow pleasures of carnality. Because that secret, shared knowledge that there is a piece of him constantly inside of you—a private claim of ownership in the most intimate sense—provides a deep-seated comfort; a warm, dense calm that roots itself at the very core of your souls, that soothes anxieties and serves as a steadfast reminder: that you are owned, that he owns you, that you belong to one another, always. 

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡ 

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

[lucyrose191]

Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? She was frustrated about work and couldn't stop herself from rambling and Toto just shuts her up with a kiss. They get caught by the team and they tease them about it. Just something fluff and comfort. Add something to it if you'd like. Thanks!! :))

CAUGHT IN THE ACT| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

Warnings; fluff, teasing.

Authors note; This is short but I hope this is okay!

F1 Master List

You’d never felt such a strong urge to throw your laptop across the room and tell everyone to go and fuck themselves.

Groaning, you pulled at your hair in frustration, why stupid men thought they were able to do your job better than you were able to was beyond you but clearly they had it in their abnormally large heads that they had the skill set for quite literally everything but if that was the case then they wouldn’t be paying you to take care of their finances.

Too many times have you been questioned today as though you hadn’t studied religiously for years to do this job.

"Can you double check your numbers? They don’t look correct."

"This can’t be right, there’s no possible way we’re losing money."

"I need you to review this again, I added it up myself and I got a much larger annual profit figure."

No you can’t double check his numbers because you had checked them a million times before you had sent it off.

He was losing money because he can’t get off his arse and actually run his company instead of forcing the responsibilities on his poor employees that have no idea how to run a company.

And of course he got a different number! He didn’t take the mathematical degree to work out these numbers and had no idea what he was meant to be multiplying and what he was meant to be dividing.

You slammed your laptop closed and pulled yourself up from Toto’s desk and left his office, coincidentally finding him walking towards his office the moment you stepped past the doorway.

He immediately took notice of the disgruntled look on your face and shot you a look that was a mixture between worry and confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Just work," you grunted.

His face contorted into a look of understanding. "Tell me about it," he told you and you moved to lean against the wall, prompting him to stand in front of you.

"I just don’t know why people feel the need to question my ability to do my job today-"

As you ranted off all of your issues to him, Toto simply stood there with a content smile on his face, listening to you venting your frustrations.

He thought you were adorable when you were angry.

He loved the way your forehead creased with the furrow of your brows and the way you moved your hands as you vented and how you’d aggressively force your hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

"-then this man thought that the smart thing for him to do was to include each thing he wanted me to do in like seventeen different emails, who even does that? So then I had to go through each individual one and make a list instead of-"

Toto leaned forward, cupped your cheek and smashed his lips against yours, muffling the sound of surprise you released. It took you a moment to register what was happening but once you did, you didn’t hesitate in kissing him back.

You reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, he hummed into the kiss and walked forward, pressing you into the wall before moving his hand from your cheek into your hair, holding you in place.

You channeled all of your frustrations into the kiss, his closeness making it easy for them to fade away and soon you found yourself only consumed by him and nothing else.

The pair of you were so wrapped up in each other in that moment that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, only realising people heading your way until it was too late.

"Woah!" Lewis’ high pitched voice had you scrambling away from each other with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

You both turned towards him, only it wasn’t just him, he and George were with about five or six other people, all staring at the pair of you with smirks on their faces.

"Save it for the hotel room, guys." George teased causing the group to laugh as Toto cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked to the floor in embarrassment at being caught.

"We apologise-" Toto started but was interrupted by a mechanic, Ross.

"Oh no, don’t apologise for the free show, boss. People normally have to pay good money for that, I’m not one to complain."

You cringed at his words as you looked up, taking note of how some people were glancing at the floor to try and hide their laughs whilst others didn’t even try.

"We don’t even blame you," James, one of the teams strategists continued. "YN is looking mighty fine today," he winked causing you to roll your eyes with a smile on your face, knowing it was all in good nature.

"James," Toto stated bluntly, causing James to turn to him. "Yes, boss?"

"Turn around," your husband told him, straight faced.

"Yes, boss," James nodded and turned around, walking back down the hallway.

"We can leave if you want to get back to-" Lewis offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

"That’s not necessary, Lewis, thank you." Toto cut him off.

He shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’.

"I mean- you could’ve at least took it inside the office." George wasn’t one to let the situation go.

"Yes we get it, George, ha ha," you shot him an unimpressed look which didn’t falter the shit eating grin on his face.

The teasing didn’t end there, it seemed that the group who found you and Toto were eager to tell the rest of the team, George even went as far as mentioning what he does when ‘Toto is busy eating his wife’s face off’ in an interview so the rest of the day was filled with subtle comments leaving you and Toto with permanent flushed cheeks.

You both took accepted the teams teasing with smiles on your faces though, happy that you both had managed to create a dynamic that left them comfortable to make jokes around you both.

[aroaessidhe]

oh oh oh oh

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something. 

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.” 

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?” 

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.” 

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What? 

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb. 

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance. 

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm. 

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks. 

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave. 

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?” 

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?” 

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly. 

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines. 

More importantly, where are you going? 

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene. 

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview. 

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.” 

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.” 

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.” 

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.” 

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly. 

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns. 

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile. 

“This is a nice place.” 

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring. 

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline. 

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.” 

“Oh, wow.” 

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.” 

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work. 

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.” 

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.” 

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.” 

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture. 

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu. 

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good. 

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight. 

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.” 

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain. 

“You don’t like it?” He wonders. 

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips. 

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.” 

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--” 

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.” 

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.” 

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?” 

“What?” Your voice cracks. 

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god. 

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.” 

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table. 

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?” 

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw. 

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.” 

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn’t want to... waste your money.” 

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.” 

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.” 

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job? 

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.” 

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be. 

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird. 

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--” 

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.” 

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown. 

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.” 

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm. 

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.” 

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you. 

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle. 

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.” 

“Money? For what?” 

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.” 

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...” 

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.” 

“Thousand?” You breathe. 

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.” 

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter. 

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder. 

“I... I...” you heave each word. 

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.” 

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.” 

“Me?” You gulp. 

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?” 

You nod and curl your shoulders. 

“What kinda music you like?” 

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe. 

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?” 

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together. 

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.” 

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away. 

“Don’t laugh,” he chides. 

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.” 

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. “Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.” 

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out. 

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.” 

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw. 

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 65 analysis // spoilers

the girl who's chasing the sun and the boy who's finding a way to walk by her side: how much kindness is needed for one to forgive themselves and finally listen to their heart?

for this month's review, i wanted to do something a little different: i'm going to divide it into two parts. the first part will be about the chapter, of course, and address some points that i think are worth discussing. the second part, i'd like to focus much more on the message of kindness that skip to loafer brings to its readers. so, here we go.

finally, the long-awaited date is here. i confess that i always felt a little uncomfortable when people demanded so much for this date to happen faster, to sensei “get over with it”. i know, i was also looking forward to it, but the whole build-up that led us to this moment made it even more impactful and even stronger. to build a story, you need not only a beginning and an end, but a middle that supports both events. the story of shima and mitsumi had its beginning and now we're facing the middle. no, the breakup didn't bring the end, it was just a complement. an event as big as this one needs to be sustained with enough strength to have the necessary impact. so yes, the “delay” that many complained was extremely well used and made their night together even more special.

now, about the actual date. it’s beautiful to see how they managed to find a space in all this confusion to make their friendship prevail and the discomfort that they both felt before dissipate. of course, their relationship didn’t go back to what it was before, but i don’t think that would ever be possible: relationships change, no matter if good or bad things happen. the way we relate to people grows at the same speed as we grow. and, to keep it alive, it takes a lot of humility, kindness and, of course, love.

since the chapter is slightly more focused on shima, his insecurity and fear are much clearer and more palpable. shima is a character who still carries a lot of regret for everything he did, even for things that weren’t his fault, like his past and the mistakes he made along the way, guided by people with ill intentions. the breakup with mitsumi left a huge scar on him, since he still firmly believes that he is the one most to blame for their friendship almost falling apart. mitsumi is one of the few people who genuinely wants to be with shima and he knows it — but that doesn't change the fact that he is still very afraid that she will never really get to know his "real self" and to like him for who he is, specially because shima himself doesn’t really know what all of this mean. shima feels disappointed that mitsumi has "fallen" for his false kindness because he feels that he is not only deceiving other people, but also one of the most important people in his life. lying to mitsumi not only brings a pain to his heart, but also an enormous insecurity that he will never be able to convey his feelings for her, because he will never be able to overcome this wall that he himself created. when he himself admits that his feelings for her are much deeper, he finally get in touch with the desire to be completely exposed to her, to be accepted by her and that he could finally stop using the facade he hates so much against her.

what he doesn't know yet is that mitsumi can see beyond his mask — and much more than he even imagines: mitsumi sees the real kindness within shima. as much as he insists on saying that this is just a way of protecting himself, mitsumi can indeed find in shima's actions a kindness and affection that are far from being fabricated. it saved her so many times before so, if what she felt was real and valid, why wouldn't his intentions be truthful as well? mitsumi sees shima for who he is, and respects all the past that he is still afraid to show, that’s why she never pressured him to open up and respected every time he changed the subject. there was no need for her to dive deep into something that didn’t involved her, so all she could do was show that she would be there for him when he needed and when he find the right time to tell her all about the little shima she never met. mitsumi sees the kindness he holds in his heart and all the good intentions he had when he helped her before, something he lies to himself and say it was “only a facade”. he still can’t see how much he wanted to protect her and be by her side all guided by his own heart and good faith, not the lie he made up. the real shima was the one who wanted to do all that, not the “fake” he created. when mitsumi chooses to end their relationship, she’s truly thinking about his feelings and a way to save their friendship before both of them came out completely hurt by it (but i want to point out something very, very important: they are both teenagers. of course they will act impulsively and end up hurting each other without realizing it. shima doesn't know which of his actions hurt mitsumi, just as she doesn't know which of her words might end up hurting him. they are at the beginning of a long life and a long journey, so why not give them the kindness they so deserve?). 

shima finally manages to take a step forward, getting closer and closer to walking side by side with mitsumi. as he becomes more in touch with his own feelings, shima sees a huge need to change and start being more sincere. in order for him to become a better person, in his own eyes, he now needs to start putting the mask aside and embrace who he truly is. no longer listening to others or fulfilling desires that are not his: now is the time for him to look inside himself and, above all, listen to his own heart. from now on, the path he will follow is his and his alone.

now, for the second part: i really want to talk a little about how skip to loafer has an extremely delicate writing style that focuses so much on kindness, whether it is the kind we export to the world or the kind we internalize.

those who usually follow my analysis must be tired of hearing how much i talk about the message of “i love you for who you are” that skip to loafer values ​​and explores so much. but it’s no use: the more i talk about it, the more i admire the dedication that the sensei puts into writing completely real and human characters. it is always a great joy when people come to me and say how much they saw themselves in one character or two, and how that made them feel embraced. it warms my heart that people can see, thought these characters, the kindness they deserve. It’s very clear to me how sensei is always so worried with showing the reality of their journey of loving themselves in a way to bring the reader closer and learn from it. 

of course, shima and mitsumi's friendship and relationship could end with the breakup. or, from another angle, it is clear that they could have started a relationship much earlier and maintained it despite all the challenges they still have to face with themselves. but... is that valid? is that fair to them? is that kind to both the characters and the readers?

by opting for a gentler writing style and a story more focused their lives rather than taking a romantic road trip (after all, it is a slice of life), skip to loafer delves into a great lesson about compassion and acceptance that no one is perfect. we will all make mistakes during the course of our lives, but it is up to us to get up and move on, building other stories and sharing beauty with whoever is by our side. we may not see how kind we are to others, but there is certainly someone by our side who admires us and is grateful for everything we have done for them.

and i'm grateful for you for reading my analysis 💛 thank you. don't forget to support sensei and send her lots of kindness!!!! skip to loafer will be on break next month, so see you in december :)

[vermilionsun]

Thinking about Ais perched up against one of the wooden planks atop the columns of the Seaspring. Thinking how the salty breeze tousled his hair as he gazed out at the vast expanse of the wastelands beyond the temple, a cigarette's smoke curled up lazily from between his fingers, ashes falling gently to the sparkling crimson water below. Thinking about him taking a deep drag from his cigarette, letting his eyes flatter close as he exhales slowly into the crisp night air, the nicotine tingling his senses and the smoke filling his lungs, momentarily choking out Ocuedus' thunderous screaming in his head.

Thinking about Kuras in his clinic, studying patient applications in the dim candlelight, brow furrowed in concentration. Thinking about how the long shadows of his past constantly danced across the walls, mocking him as he meticulously reviewed each case, guilt and regret running their hands through his dark hair, whispering reminders of his past mistakes. Thinking about him momentarily freezing in fear of his conscience rearing its ugly head, pulling and pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his sanity. Thinking about him finally shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, taking off his glasses briefly to relieve the strain of hours spent poring over medical records, leaning back against his chair, and letting fatigue overrun him, finally allowing himself a moment of respite.

Thinking about Vere lurking in an unfamiliar house, sitting alone on the balcony and staring out into the night. Thinking about the wind whispering through the trees and blowing his hair into his face, and him shoving it out of the way with a huff. Thinking about him sighning and leaning back against the rail, reaching up toying with the chain around his collar, running his fingers over its cold links. Thinking about how all was quiet at this hour, and he could feel the solitude beginning to get to him. Thinking about him closing his eyes, letting out a long breath and trying to push away the sudden hyperawareness that had settled over him, having to center himself and slow his heart rate that had begun to quicken, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand, not allowing himself to seek any form of comfort in the moment; when the world seemed to slow down and allowed him to appreciate its beauty. Thinking about how he knew he couldn't stay there forever, after all.

Thinking about Leander sitting alone at the bar, Bloodhounds around him talking and laughing, making him feel more isolated than ever. Thinking about him taking a sip of his drink trying to drown out the sound of their jovial conversations, the bitter taste in his mouth only serving to mirror the ache in his heart. Thinking about him being unable to shake the feeling that he didn't belong—like an outsider in his own pack. Thinking about him staring into the bottom of his glass, wondering if he would ever truly feel like he belonged anywhere. Thinking about him running a hand through his hair, the other gripping the glass tighter, as he looks up and scans the room, hoping to find a distraction from his own thoughts. Thinking about how, even if he manages to find someone to spend the night with, it never fills the void he feels inside, and he always wakes up alone in the morning.

Thinking about Mhin stumbling from exhaustion after killing another Soulless, its blood spattered across their face and staining their once white shirt. Thinking about them collapsing to the ground, pain radiating through their body and ragged breaths escaping their lips, echoing through the clearing. Thinking about their silver dagger clutched tightly in their hand, the moonlight glinting off the blade, dripping with the blood of the enemy. Thinking about them fighting to keep their eyes from fluttering closed as darkness crept in at the edges of their vision. Thinking about them using their final burst of energy to force themselves to sit upright against a nearby wall before their mind can finally succumb to the overwhelming fatigue. Thinking about them humming softly to themselves—something akin to a lullaby, a calming and comforting melody in the dead of night, hauntingly beautiful and wafting through the darkness until the morning birds respond with their own song.

Thinking about how lonely they all are…

[thewidowsghost]

The Perils of Avenging (Natasha x Civilian!Reader)

Main Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff Masterlist

Not me posting for once, also, English class coming in clutch with this one (?)

Natasha Romanoff had faced countless dangers in her life as an Avenger and a former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., but this particular assignment felt different. It was supposed to be routine reconnaissance — a simple extraction and intelligence gathering operation in a remote part of Eastern Europe. 

Natasha, clad in black tactical gear, reviews the mission parameters one last time with Steve and Sam. The briefing room was starkly lit, seriousness etched on Steve’s face, creating an atmosphere of tense anticipation.

"Remember, our primary objective is to retrieve the data from the Hydra facility without alerting their operatives," Steve reminds them, his voice steady and authoritative. "Natasha, you'll lead the infiltration. Sam and I will provide aerial support and stand by for extraction."

Natasha nods, her mind already calculating possible scenarios and contingencies. She had seen Hydra's resurgence firsthand, remnants of the organization scattered like poisonous tendrils across the globe. This mission is crucial in unraveling their latest operations and preventing further destabilization. 

The team departs from their base under cover of darkness, their Quinjet slicing through the night sky with practiced precision. 

As they approach the drop zone, Natasha's focus intensifies. She’s the first to descend, a shadow slipping silently from the aircraft and disappearing into the dense forest below.

The Hydra facility is nestled deep within the wilderness, its existence hidden from all but the most trained eyes. Natasha moves with grace through the underbrush, her senses attuned to every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs. She approaches the perimeter with caution, utilizing her years of training to evade detection.

Her entrance is swift and silent. Natasha incapacitates the guards with calculated efficiency, swiftly disabling surveillance systems and securing the outer defenses. Each step brings her closer to the heart of the facility, where the encrypted data awaits extraction. The corridors are cold and sterile, lined with doors that lead to rooms filled with ominous machinery and clandestine experiments.

Meanwhile, above the Hydra base, Steve and Sam maintained a vigilant watch from the Quinjet, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble.

Inside the facility, Natasha encounters unexpected resistance. Bullets ricocheted off metal walls, and Natasha’s combat skills like a deadly dance amidst the chaos. The mission had escalated beyond reconnaissance — for now it is a battle for survival.

Minutes pass in a blur of adrenaline and danger. Natasha fights her way deeper into the facility, each confrontation testing her resolve and skill. She sustains minor injuries — a graze here, a bruise there — but her focus remains unwavering. 

Back in the Quinjet, tension mounts as Steve and Sam monitor Natasha's progress. They dispatch drones to provide additional reconnaissance and firepower support, their hearts pounding in unison with every transmission from Natasha.

Suddenly, a burst of static disrupted the comms. Steve's voice crackles through moments later, strained but resolute. "Natasha, report."

There was a tense pause before Natasha's voice came through, breathless but determined. "I've secured the data. Heading to the extraction point."

Relief washes over both Steve and Sam. They guided Natasha through the facility, clearing a path for her retreat while monitoring Hydra's response.

Outside, the night air crackles with tension as Natasha sprints towards the extraction point. She can hear the distant shouts of Hydra operatives closing in, their footsteps echoing through the darkness. Adrenaline surges through her veins, every sense heightened as she navigates the treacherous terrain.

Just as Natasha nears the rendezvous point, a sudden explosion rocks the ground beneath her. Debris rains down, and she is thrown off her feet, the force of the blast sending shockwaves through her body. Pain flares in her left arm, and dazed but determined, Natasha staggers to her feet, her vision blurred. The extraction point is within reach, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. She sprints towards it, every step a battle against exhaustion and pain.

Meanwhile, in the Quinjet, Steve and Sam watch in horror as the explosion erupts on their screens. "Natasha!" Steve shouts, his voice filled with urgency.

Sam's hands fly over the controls, adjusting their position to provide cover fire. "She's almost there, Cap," he says, his voice tight with concern. "Hold on, Romanoff."

Back on the ground, Natasha pushes herself, the extraction point looms ahead, its promise of safety a tantalizing reality. She can hear the whir of the Quinjet's engines, feel the rush of adrenaline as rescue draws nearer.

With a final burst of energy, Natasha reaches the extraction point. The Quinjet hovers above, its hatch open and waiting. Steve and Sam lean out, their arms extending to pull her aboard amidst a hail of gunfire from Hydra operatives.

Natasha dives into the safety of the Quinjet, her breath coming in ragged gasps as Steve and Sam secure the hatch behind her. She collapses against the cold metal floor, relief flooding her weary body. The data secured, the mission accomplished — but at what cost?

As the Quinjet ascends into the night sky, Natasha's thoughts turn to (Y/n). Her anchor, the steady presence that grounded her in a world of chaos and danger. She knows (Y/n) will be waiting for her back at their shared apartment, her worry and love a beacon of light in the darkness that Natasha had been forced to endure through her childhood.

Hours later, the Quinjet touches down at the Compound, the team dispersing with practiced efficiency. Natasha heads straight for the debriefing room, her mind still processing the events of the mission. Steve and Sam followed close behind, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

Inside the debriefing room, Natasha recounts the mission. She details the layout of the Hydra facility, the resistance she’d encountered, and the extraction of vital data. Her voice is steady, betraying none of the turmoil that churns beneath the surface.

Steve and Sam listen intently, asking probing questions and offering insights based on their observations from above in the Quinjet. The debriefing is thorough, every detail scrutinized in their quest for understanding and improvement.

Finally, the debriefing concludes, and Natasha is dismissed to MEDBAY so her injuries could be treated. Steve and Sam accompany her, their concern palpable as they watch the medical team tend to Natasha's wounds.

The MEDBAY is a stark contrast to the chaos of the mission — a haven of sterile surfaces and hushed voices. Natasha sits on the exam table, her mind still reeling from the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat. The medical staff works swiftly, cleaning and stitching her injuries with practiced efficiency.

As Natasha waits for the medical team to finish, her thoughts inevitably turn to (Y/n). Her girlfriend was her constant, the one person who understood the weight of her choices and the dangers she faced every day. Natasha longs for her embrace, her touch a soothing balm to her battered soul.

Finally, the medical assessment is complete, and Natasha is cleared to leave the bay. She dresses in fresh clothes provided by the medical staff, the weight of exhaustion settling heavily upon her shoulders. Steve and Sam wait outside, their concern etched on their faces.

"You did good back there, Nat," Steve says quietly, his voice tinged with admiration. "We'll get through this."

Natasha nods, her gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thanks, Steve," she murmurs, her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "And Sam, you too."

Sam grins, though there is a flicker of worry in his gaze. "Anytime, Nat," he replies, his voice steady despite the underlying concern. "Let's get you back to the safehouse."

The journey back to the apartment is quiet, the hum of the car’s engines a comforting backdrop to Natasha's thoughts. She leans against the cool leather of the seat, her mind drifting between the mission's successes and its costs.

Upon returning to the apartment building, Natasha headed straight for her apartment, her steps heavy with fatigue. She pauses at the doorway, steeling herself before entering. Inside, the living room is bathed in soft lamplight, casting shadows across the walls.

And there, sitting on an armchair reading, is (Y/n). Her presence is a welcome sight, a beacon of warmth and love amidst the darkness of Natasha's thoughts. (Y/n) looks up as Natasha enters, her eyes widening at the sight of Natasha’s disheveled appearance.

"Baby!" (Y/n) exclaims, her voice filled with concern as she rushes to Natasha’s side. "You're back. Are you okay?"

Natasha manages a faint smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just a scratch," she reassures her girlfriend, though the weariness in her voice betrays her attempt at nonchalance.

(Y/n) frowns, her hands gently cupping Natasha's face as she studies her injuries. "You're hurt," she murmurs softly, her touch gentle against Natasha’s skin.

Natasha leans into (Y/n)’s touch, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "It's nothing serious," she insists, though her voice holds a note of weariness. "Just a part of the job."

(Y/n) shakes her head, her expression a mixture of frustration and affection. "You shouldn't have to go through this alone," she says quietly, their voice tinged with concern.

“I don’t have to come home alone anymore,” Natasha murmurs, stepping into a hug offered by her girlfriend. “I have you now.”

“And you’ll always have me,” (Y/n) replies firmly, and Natasha nods, smiling widely into (Y/n)’s shoulder, despite her exhaustion. “Now,” she takes Natasha’s hand, leading her to the bedroom where their cat, Liho, lies at the foot of the bed, “let's get to bed.”

Word Count: 1581 words

Taglist:

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@whoreforlizzieolsen

@dopeyouth

@unexpected-character

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@rail-me-romanoff

@ssa-sapphic

[zorrasucia]

Promptober 5. Vampire

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (1.5k)

Tags: Smut, Porn with Plot, Vampires, Biting, Food, P in V Sex, Flowery Writing, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

When you met Carmy, you first noticed his eyes - an unnatural shade of blue, bright and piercing. His blond hair was perpetually messy and too long for a chef. Upon closer inspection, you realized he was stronger than he looked. He wore all these peculiarities well. He had a sort of timeless beauty, the kind of profile you would find in a neoclassical painting, not an Instagram account. You had told him that last bit when you interviewed him - getting a frown and not much else in return.

You were an emerging food critic, not an investigative journalist, but something about Carmen Berzatto gave you pause. His backstory was fucked up, ages and achievements not lining up correctly. He looked too old at 22 but a little too boyish now at 32. He never ate his own food in public, or any food for that matter, only occasionally indulging in the odd glass of wine. He was shy, withdrawn, hard to pin down...

Which was ironic now that he had you pinned down by the wrists on your bed, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

"Delicious," he mumbled.

You hummed, arching your back in delight, trying to get your bodies closer together.

"Are you going to make me beg for it?"

"Maybe," he teased, his hands tracing your sides greedily, then squeezing your ass.

The needy way he was exhaling into your hair let you know you weren't the only one affected.

"What do I smell like?" you asked, your hands carding through his soft hair.

"Sweet," he replied. "Honey, raspberry. Something else... A hint of bitter, almonds maybe, dark chocolate."

You rewarded him with a chaste kiss. "Had some coffee with it too."

"You're spoiling me," he smiled, his teeth eerily white and sharp in the half lit room.

It was an odd arrangement you shared.

After your review, months ago, he had called, making some dumb excuse about needing a fresh palate to taste his new menu. He fed you an incredible dinner, sat in front of you, and then asked detailed questions about it, far beyond your usual feedback. He liked the way you painted pictures with words, he said. Most colleagues looked down on metaphors, describing his broth as an ethereal, pink, seaside afternoon would raise some eyebrows but Carmy seemed to love it. Weeks later, when you knew his secret, he would confide in you: he had forgotten what food tasted like. Lifetimes' worth of cooking knowledge was becoming stale as he grew older and less human.

It all came to a head when you met him for another dinner and started describing your lunch from a few hours ago.

"It was steak with carrots on the side, right? The steak was meh, you know, but the carrots were these, uh, buttery, terracota delicacies. Golden like a sunset, earthy, well rounded..." you explained, knowing by now he liked over the top similes.

You were confused to find a very intense look on his face.

"Want to come over to my apartment?" he rasped.

It was out of nowhere but you agreed, your stomach fluttering expectantly at the thought of Carmy's hands on your body. The moment the door was shut behind you, he crowded you against the nearest wall. You gasped.

"Don't be scared," he murmured. "I just want a taste."

And with that he sunk his fangs on the side of your neck. A wave of bliss hit you, rolling your eyes as he sucked on your blood. You rubbed your thighs together, shaking, feeling something akin to a very long orgasm as Carmy held you, his graceful fingers around your throat.

"What are you doi- Oh!" you moaned long and low, losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you, getting light-headed as he kept drinking. "I have never felt so- Carmy-"

It was a pitiful and breathy sound and he stopped.

"Sorry," he exhaled, blood covering his lips. "You were right."

"About?" you could feel yourself drifting out of consciousness and him carrying you to his couch.

"The carrots," he said, like it was obvious. "Tremendous."

You giggled and passed out.

It all made sense after that: The Bear never opened before dusk, the long NDAs the staff had to sign before they were hired, the neverending list of secrets Carmy possessed.

"I could write about this, about you," you threatened the next time you saw him.

"You could. No one would believe you," he threatened right back. "I wouldn't feed you or bite you ever again either."

God help you, he was addicting. And so things stayed like that. You reviewed top tier restaurants and Carmy sampled them from you, gifting you dinners at The Bear and pleasure unlike anything you had ever experienced. Sometimes you fucked, sometimes you didn't. It was strange but it worked.

You grabbed his neck, angling his face and your body to invite him to bite you - guiding him towards that spot near your nape.

"Not yet," he murmured. "Think it would taste better if you came first. Desserts always do."

"Alright. If you must," you faked disinterest, now focusing your efforts on bringing his hips closer, grinding against his half hard cock, humming at the feeling of it through your clothes. "Mmm... Does it really make a difference?"

"Yes. Can't describe it really. You're the one that's good with words," he deflected, his hands busy getting you naked, untangling the pantyhose from your legs.

"Try," you insisted.

"Mmm," he kissed up your legs, following the line of some vein or artery, you assumed. "It makes the blood brighter, almost effervescent. And your heart beats harder - it's like it rushes to meet my tongue."

"Fuck," you hummed.

This was your version of dirty talk, and you enjoyed it immensely. If nothing else came out of this situationship, perhaps you'd write a cryptic poetry book or something.

He climbed up your body, his face level with yours, moving one strand of hair behind your ear.

"What are you thinking about?"

You shrugged. "There's so much I still don't know about you," you intertwined your fingers with his.

"Like?" he tilted his head.

"How long are these going to last?" you questioned looking at his tattoos.

"I actually don't know," he admitted. "I think they will fade but I'm not sure when."

You chuckled. "Bold choice to get them, then."

"You're inches away from my fangs," he reminded you dryly.

"I am," you arched your neck to kiss his jaw, then nip at his neck - he hissed.

His cock poked at your entrance, teasing. You opened your legs even wider, inviting him to ravage you.

"Fuck, you're warm," he exhaled as he entered you, inch by inch. Your nails scratched at his back, leaving no marks behind.

"Carmy," you whined, needy as he thrust in and out of your pussy. "Please."

"Mmm?"

You enclosed him with your legs, ankles crossed at his waist.

"Please," you begged, knowing well he wouldn't bite you until you came.

"Such a good girl for me," he praised, the tight grip of your pussy making him groan and go faster. You chased your peak, rubbing at your clit eagerly.

"You feel so perfect," you panted, the waves of your orgasm building, your hips bucking to meet his. "Fuck."

Wanton moans were falling from your lips as you became a mess underneath Carmy.

"Like that," he soothed, one hand moving to cup your breast and pinch your nipple, pushing you over the edge.

"Oh..." you sighed, feeling pleasure and electricity coursing through your veins, legs shaking around his waist.

"Fuck, that's it," he growled and bit you.

The pulsing intensity of your orgasm got mixed with a cloud of euphoria - you felt light and floaty, your pussy still fluttering around Carmy's cock as something else took over. His breath on your neck was feral and possessive as he drank from you.

"Carm..."

And there it was again, the world slowing down, tunnel vision, the only thing keeping you grounded was Carmy's hair between your fingers.

He let go, swiping his tongue over the bite mark, not letting one drop go to waste.

"You good?" he asked after a while, his thumb caressing your cheek.

"Mhmm," you nodded, opening your eyes to meet his.

He looked softer after he fed, a little warmth to his skin, he seemed more human.

"Can you stay a little while?" you asked.

His nose touched your forehead. "I'll wait until you fall asleep," he agreed. "I need to go back."

You smiled softly.

"Thanks for tonight," you said, slipping under the covers, the warmth of your bed quickly lulling you to sleep.

"Thank you," he said and kissed your forehead. "Rest."