#Blood Devil [Ic post]

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; i

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next

word count: 5.3k

summary:  Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.

notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33

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Penitent Crimes of Retaliation

In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

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There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you. 

When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones. 

Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.

You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.

Black, white, and red. 

They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could. 

After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then. 

The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.

He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.

Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."

Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.

There is a loud noise just outside; blades. 

For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.

You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.

The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage. 

Why did you wait so long to rescue me?

You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes.

You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after. 

You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour. 

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"My Lady."

You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.

Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.  

He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head. 

He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan. 

Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs. 

You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.

Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.

 Hello, sister.

You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green. 

There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him. 

But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke. 

Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.

"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy. 

Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home." 

"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.

For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.

Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play. 

Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted. 

You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted. 

Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves. 

"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you. 

It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss." 

Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier. 

Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.

"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."

The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon." 

What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer. 

The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. 

"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution." 

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The rain is gone by the next day.

In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes. 

Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.

You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. 

And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.

Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold. 

After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."

His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten. 

"Are you one of them?" 

Them?

You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut. 

"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.

You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators. 

Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years. 

His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit." 

Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes. 

After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."

When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.

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"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.

He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him. 

She is telling the truth. 

His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty. 

But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.

But his father's words burn sharply into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.

By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him. 

"I was supposed to be a lot of things." 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.

You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition. 

You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone. 

Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person." 

Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him. 

So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.

"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle." 

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.

An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. 

"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land." 

The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me." 

He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please. 

His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.

His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him. 

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[kingofbodyrolls]

Last Night in Magic Shop | pjm

You find yourself down at the local club, Magic Shop, because your best friend feels like your lovelife is dry as ice. You did not plan on meeting a handsome stranger, who moves his body like an angel, but speaks like the devil. Feeling like he might match your nasty needs, you take him home, enjoying an unforgettable night filled with pleasure.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female, “Y/N”) → Genre + AUs: strangers to lovers, one night stand, vampire!au, smut (pwp), and a little sprinkle of angst and fluff (it’s very short and minor) → Word Count: 12.5k → Rating: mature / +18 → Warnings: explicit smut, exhibitionism + semi public sex (they are in a car and kinda get caught and they stop), kissing, grinding, thighs (yes it’s a warning), a harness (as fashion, yes, also a warning), choking, dirty talk, power play (it’s very dynamic but they are both trying to be more dominant, lol), dom/sub undertones, pleasing kink, oral (female and male receiving), multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, biting, mentions of blood (it’s brief at the end), rough sex, but also very intimate, breast and nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, spitting— in general this one is very dirty, flirty and rough!  → Author’s note: hi!!!! This is my gift to all you lovely people that follow me, and also to everyone else too! 💜 I really want to thank you, for following me, for reading my stories, for following my recs and library and helping me to show love to all the other authors on this platform that way 🫶 Thank you, truly. This is my gift to you— for my 1k follower milestone 🥳 It actually happened some time ago, I was still writing my long series at the time, so I didn’t really have time to celebrate it, but I really wanted to, so here I am bearing a gift! It’s another filthy one, and I have so much fun writing these, because this isn’t what I normally write (I’m more the fluffy and smutty, a lot of detail and words type of gal). I appreciate you all so much, and to those few people who really interact with me by commenting, messaging me, and just being there— thank you, you are incredible and I love you so much 🥹 Thank you, I hope you enjoy this one 💜  → Author’s note(2): this is pure utter filth yet again. I didn’t proofread this (I might do it later and find my stupid mistakes), but right now, I’m not in the mood. I hope it isn’t horrible, I’m feeling like that myself, but I really tried to make it extra filthy (more so than what I usually write). I do still hope that you enjoy and like it 🌸

Do you prefer to read on AO3? Well, it's posted there too!

Despite your usual aversion to clubbing—the cacophony of deafening music, the stifling heat enveloping you, your skimpy outfit clinging to your skin like a second layer—somehow, you find yourself succumbing to the relentless persuasion of your best friend, Hana, who insists on dragging you down to the pulsating heart of the local club scene, Magic Shop. Why you’re willingly diving into this chaotic abyss, well, that’s a fucking mystery even to you.

As Hana navigates the bustling bar to order drinks, you scan the crowded expanse for a spot to settle, but every booth seems occupied in this sea of bodies pulsating to the throb of the music. Amidst the frenzy, your gaze drifts inevitably to the dance floor, where a blonde haired man commands attention with his effortless grace, his movements a symphony of fluidity and raw sensuality. Mesmerized, you can’t tear your eyes away, tracing the contours of his physique, the chiseled jawline, the tantalizing glimpse of collarbones beneath his unbuttoned shirt. The way that he moves his hips, undulating and assaulting the air like he’s making love to it, sends dangerous spikes of arousal through your body. And then, your breath catches as you notice the daring accessory adorning his torso—a leather harness, snugly embracing his waist wrapped around him twice and being collected at his shoulders, with a tantalizing hint of danger, leaving you spellbound and inexplicably captivated.

No. That couldn’t possibly be your saliva glistening on the floor, could it?

“Have you found a place to sit?” Hana’s voice interrupts your trance, but as you remain transfixed, she tracks your gaze to the mesmerizing figure on the dance floor, drawing an eclectic crowd like moths to a flame. With a knowing chuckle, she realizes the source of your fixation.

“Ah... Jimin has caught your eye,” she chuckles, a mischievous smirk dancing on her lips as she wets them with the tip of her tongue. With a playful wink, she acknowledges your attraction before swiftly scanning the room for the elusive empty booth you had overlooked.

She drags you along with your drinks to an unoccupied booth, the crimson leather beckoning like a siren’s call. You both sink into the plush seats, but your attention remains tethered to Jimin, captivated by his every fluid motion.

You’re spellbound, utterly captivated by the mesmerizing display unfolding before you. How does someone possess such mastery over their own body? With each twist and turn, Jimin exudes a level of control that borders on otherworldly, his slender frame clad in skin-tight leather pants that leave little to the imagination. His thighs, robust and powerful, evoke a primal longing within you, God, what you’d do to be crushed by those.

The sound of something snapping jolts you from your trance, and you instinctively tear your gaze away from Jimin, heat flooding your cheeks and ears as you turn towards your best friend. Your heart pounds, caught between embarrassment and exhilaration, as her fingers snap, commanding your attention back to her, a silent reminder of the real world beyond your intoxicating reverie.

“You’ve got it bad for him,” she smirks, teasing and taunting in equal measure as she swirls her straw through her drink, a wicked gleam dancing in her eyes before her lips playfully encircles the straw, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

“No, I don't,” you declare, the lie hanging heavy in the air, though you’re well aware she sees right through you. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, betraying your denial, while your gaze remains ensnared by the mesmerizing figure on the dance floor. With each pulse of the music, your heart threatens to break free from your chest, pounding an erratic rhythm of desire and apprehension.

“You and every other soul in Magic Shop,” she bursts out laughing, a knowing twinkle in her eye as she brings her drink to her lips once more, the ice clinking against the glass in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the music.

Your brows knit together in a mix of frustration and discomfort. She’s keenly aware of how long it’s been since you’ve let loose, both on the dance floor and in the bedroom. She knows the ache of longing that's settled deep within you, a silent companion during those lonely nights. And perhaps that’s why she’s orchestrated this night out, dragging you to this chaotic den of temptation, her intentions as transparent as glass: she wants you to indulge, to find release in the arms of another.

Yet, despite Hana’s persistent nudges towards potential romantic connections, you harbor little optimism for any amorous encounters tonight beyond enjoying the company of your friend. It’s not that you hold rigid standards, per se, but after navigating through numerous relationships and even dalliances with one-night stands, you’ve come to a firm conclusion: you don’t crave love, nor do you feel a pressing need for a man in your life. However, Hana sees it differently; she views your reluctance to dive back into the dating pool as a lamentable missed opportunity for some good dick, hence her relentless efforts to nudge you towards potential romantic escapades.

None of your past relationships have managed to captivate you for long; they’ve all fallen short of taming your restless spirit or fulfilling your insatiable hunger. None have been able to meet you on equal footing, to sate the voracious appetite that burns within you.

But as you watch Jimin, something shifts within you, challenging your steadfast stance on one-night stands. Holy fuck, the man’s dancing is nothing short of mesmerizing, and if you claimed you weren’t already feeling a surge of arousal just from laying eyes on him, well, that would be a blatant lie.

He might just possess the rare ability to match your intensity, your insatiable hunger for connection. He exudes an aura of irresistibility that both entices and intimidates you, knowing full well he could be too much to handle. But you revel in the thrill of the chase too much to resist the temptation of a potentially unforgettable encounter.

You find yourself unable to shake the thought: does the way he moves on the dance floor hint at his prowess between the sheets? Those hips, snapping and thrusting with such abandon, leave little to the imagination, igniting fantasies of what they could do in a more intimate setting. If only it weren’t just the air he was thrusting into…

Fuck.

A shiver of apprehension snakes down your spine as you witness the crowd parting, creating a path directly towards you. Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as you realize the magnetic force drawing him closer is aimed squarely in your direction.

His gaze, as dark as the depths of the club’s chaos, pierces through the tumult, locking onto you with a laser-like intensity. In those obsidian orbs, a potent mixture of desire, confidence, and a hint of something dangerous dances. A quick flick of his tongue over his lips sends a jolt of electricity through the air, so fleeting you almost doubt you saw it, yet you can’t shake the image of something glinting, sharp, nestled between his teeth.

Your pulse races even faster, a frantic rhythm matching the pounding bass of the music, as Hana’s kick under the table barely registers amidst the magnetic pull of Jimin’s gaze. With each step he takes toward you, the air grows thinner, suffused with the heady anticipation of his proximity. Your lungs strain for oxygen, chest heaving with each shallow breath, as he finally stands before you, a commanding presence that leaves you breathless and utterly captivated.

“Hi,” his voice is a seductive melody, dripping with a sweetness that lingers in the air like honey. His complexion, paler than the moonlight, seems to shimmer under the dim lights of the club, casting an ethereal glow that draws you in even closer.

“I haven’t seen you in The Magic Shop before. Care to dance?” His invitation is laced with an enticing charm, emphasized by the subtle swipe of his tongue over his lips, leaving them glistening with a tempting sheen. Those lips, plush and inviting, evoke a sinful allure, almost reminiscent of a Bratz doll, but with a touch of dangerous sophistication. And his eyes, simultaneously gentle yet piercing, hold a captivating depth that beckons you further into his intoxicating world.

For a fleeting moment, you’re rendered speechless, caught off guard by his proposition, until Hana’s insistent nudge against your shin reignites your senses. With a jolt, your mind snaps back into focus, racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions and desires swirling within you.

You can’t help but smile, warmth flooding your cheeks as a rosy hue paints your features. “Sure,” you reply, the word escaping in a breathless whisper, your heart pounding in anticipation of what the night may hold.

With a quick glance and an apologetic smile, you abandon both Hana and the untouched drink sitting before you, the promise of the dance floor eclipsing any lingering sense of guilt. She waves you off with a knowing smirk and a playful wink, seamlessly returning her attention to her own drink, her silent encouragement echoing in your mind as you navigate towards Jimin.

With a firm yet gentle grip, Jimin guides you back to the heart of the pulsating dance floor, his touch igniting a wave of electric anticipation. Envious gazes track your every move as he positions you in the center, his fingers finding their place on your hips with a confident precision. With each sway to the rhythm, the world fades away, leaving only the intoxicating connection between you and the music.

You’re enveloped in a trance-like state, surrendering to the rhythm dictated by his touch. While you may not consider yourself a skilled dancer, you grasp onto the simplicity of a few basic moves, but in this moment, you relinquish control, allowing the music to guide your every sway and dip, melding your body to its seductive melody.

Amidst the snickers and the encroaching dancers, Jimin remains unfazed, his attention steadfastly fixed on you and you alone. The world may swirl with whispers and glances, but in his eyes, there’s only the two of you, locked in a mesmerizing dance of desire and lust.

Drawing nearer, Jimin’s presence becomes almost suffocating, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in. His voice, dripping with a seductive allure that sends shivers down your spine, wraps around you like a venomous embrace. “What’s your name?” He murmurs, each word laced with a potent mixture of desire and danger, leaving you utterly captivated.

“Y/N,” you pant, the syllables escaping your lips in a breathless whisper, as if each letter were a confession of the wildfire burning within you. Your heart races like a runaway train, its thunderous beats drowning out the cacophony of the club around you. A flush of heat spreads through your body, igniting a primal fire that blazes from within, leaving you certain that every inch of you must be dripping with arousal, pooling at your feet like molten desire.

“I’m Jimin,” he introduces himself, the words carrying a weight of promise as his fingers tighten around your hips, almost leaving an imprint on your skin. You nod in silent acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between you, as if the intensity of his touch speaks volumes more than mere words ever could.

Suddenly, he spins you around, pulling you flush against him, his dick pressing intimately against your ass as he grinds against you with an electrifying urgency. Resting his head on your shoulder, he envelops you in his intoxicating presence, the rhythm of the music pulsating through both of you. “You know,” he whispers huskily into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, “I can smell you from here. And damn, you smell so damn good.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as he playfully nips at your earlobe, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. With a daring touch, his hand edges dangerously close to your core, his fingers trailing along the hem of your dress, hiking it up just enough to send a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

The pressure of his body against yours, the rhythmic grind of his hips, brings an undeniable awareness of the growing bulge pressing into you with every movement. Each subtle thrust sends a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting an even fiercer desire that has you practically dripping with anticipation.

Releasing your hips with a tantalizing touch, he withdraws slightly, allowing you a moment to dance before him, a silent invitation to showcase your allure. His gaze, smoldering with appreciation, traces the curves of your body as he maneuvers around you, closing the distance once more. As he resumes his sensual grind against you, you're entranced by the fluidity of his movements, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of the music and the magnetic pull of his presence.

“Are you some kind of professional dancer?” You manage to question, though the words emerge as a breathless whisper, your lip caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to contain the moan that hovers on the edge of your lips, provoked by the tantalizing roll of his hips against your own.

Awareness of the surrounding stares registers somewhere in the back of your mind, but in this pulsating sea of bodies, everyone’s lost in their own rhythm. The only thing that matters is the intoxicating sensation of Jimin’s body pressed against yours, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being.

He leans in once more, his voice a seductive melody laced with a tantalizing blend of sweetness and danger. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, “I’m a dancer.” Each word drips with an intoxicating allure, drawing you deeper into the irresistible allure of his world.

You gulp audibly, your hands instinctively finding their place on his chest, where his heart beats with a rhythm so languid, it could almost convince you it’s ceased to beat altogether. Yet, beneath the surface, it pulses steadily, a silent testament to the calm amidst the storm of his fervent movements upon the dance floor.

You lock eyes with him, a mischievous smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “So,” you tease, your voice barely a whisper, “are you as flexible in bed as you are on the dance floor?”

He licks his lips once more, a subtle gesture that sends a jolt of anticipation coursing through you. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of something primal, something dangerously alluring flickering in the depths of his eyes. But before you can grasp it fully, it vanishes like a wisp of smoke, leaving you both captivated and curious.

His laughter spills forth, rich and raspy, a symphony that resonates deep within you, setting your senses ablaze. His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens, transforming his face into a captivating portrait of mischief and allure. Leaning in close, his breath dances tantalizingly against your ear, each word a whisper that sends shivers down your spine. “Take me to your place,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive promise, “and you’ll find out.”

Your mind reels as a torrent of thoughts flood your senses.

Fuck. Is he for real?

Is this happening? Is he serious? 

Pausing for a heartbeat, you draw back slightly, your gaze sweeping over him as you search for any hint of deceit or jest. The intensity of the moment demands clarity, and you refuse to be swept away without knowing if his words hold genuine intent or mere flirtatious banter.

“You heard correctly, darling. If you take me home, can I taste you?” His question hangs in the air, his eyes betraying an innocence that sharply contrasts with the sinful allure of his voice, each word dripping with a seductive promise that sets your pulse racing.

You swallow, hard, a surge of desire mingling with a tinge of apprehension as his words ignite a primal response within you. Your body betrays you, slick with anticipation, a physical manifestation of your yearning for the dangerous allure he exudes. Despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you find yourself drawn to the danger like a moth to a flame, craving the exhilarating thrill of the unknown that he represents.

“Yes,” you moan, unable to resist the primal urge coursing through you, as you press your hips into his, igniting a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the air, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from him.

With every passing moment, it feels like the world around you is spinning out of control, but amidst the chaos, one thing remains crystal clear: the overwhelming desire pulsating between you and him. Driven by an insatiable hunger, you seize his hand and lead him back to the booth where you and Hana were previously seated, your heart pounding with the anticipation of what’s to come.

As you approach the booth, the scene unfolds before you—Hana seated on a stranger’s lap, their lips locked in a passionate embrace. With a mixture of amusement and urgency, you gently tap her shoulder, disrupting the fervent kiss as you insert yourself back into the moment.

Hana’s face lights up as she turns to greet you, her smile infectious and her laughter filling the air with vibrant energy. “Leaving already?” She exclaims, her voice buoyant with excitement. “Enjoy yourselves!” With a carefree wave and a raucous cheer, she dives back into her passionate exchange, leaving you to embark on your own adventure.

With a sense of trust and understanding between you and Hana, you leave the club, confident that she can handle herself. However, you both value communication and keeping each other informed of your whereabouts. As you step outside, you swiftly retrieve your phone, shooting her a quick text to let her know that you and Jimin are heading to your place.

His fingers, cool against your skin in contrast to the warmth of the night air, envelop you in a sensation that sends a shiver down your spine. Yet, in this moment, the chill is a welcome contrast to the heat of the anticipation swirling around you.

“I’ve ordered an Uber,” he announces with a smirk, his eyes ablaze with desire, a hunger that mirrors your own. Your response is a throaty moan, an instinctive acknowledgment of the electrifying tension between you.

He draws nearer, his presence overwhelming as he pulls you into the circle of his arms. His lips tease over the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation in their wake, before tracing a path to your ear. With a husky whisper that sends shivers cascading down your spine, he confesses, “I really can’t wait to taste you.”

You whimper softly, a mixture of desire and frustration escaping with each breath. The intensity of his desire ignites a fierce longing within you, matching your own fervor for him. The anticipation is almost unbearable, every passing second stretching into an eternity as you yearn for the arrival of the Uber to whisk you away to your place where you can finally satiate the burning desire between you.

As the car pulls up, Jimin graciously holds the door open, a silent invitation into the sanctuary of the backseat. You slide in first, feeling the heat of his presence close behind as he joins you, the space between you shrinking until you’re sitting intimately close, every breath shared in the electric anticipation of what's to come.

You relay your address to the Uber driver, the words tumbling from your lips with a sense of urgency that matches the pounding of your heart. With each passing moment, you draw closer to the sanctuary of your home, to the promise of Jimin’s touch enveloping you, surrounding you, until you’re consumed by the fiery desire that burns between you.

Jimin’s lips glisten with a subtle sheen as he licks them, a tantalizing gesture that sets your senses ablaze. His touch, cool against the warmth of your skin, sends a shiver of anticipation racing down your spine as his fingers find purchase on your thigh. With your dress hitched up slightly, you can’t help but tense at the sensation, every nerve alive with the electric current of his touch.

You bite down on your lip, a surge of anticipation coursing through you as his fingers inch closer and closer to your core. Your body responds with an undeniable urgency, your arousal evident in the way your pussy clenches and glistens with desire. Every fiber of your being screams with need, your craving for him reaching a fever pitch. With his fingers poised just shy of their destination, his gaze locks with yours, a silent question hanging in the air.

“Can I?” He murmurs, his voice a husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You bite down on your lip with a fervor that borders on desperation, the taste of copper flooding your senses as you draw blood. With a sharp inhale, you part your thighs, offering him unrestricted access to the throbbing ache between them, your drenched cunt aching to be touched, to be claimed by him.

His fingers remain still, a maddening contrast to the raging desire coursing through you, and frustration begins to bubble up in the pit of your stomach. In a desperate attempt to incite movement, you roll your hips, a silent plea for his touch to ignite the fire within you. Instead, his response is unexpected, his grip on your thigh tightening with a roughness that sends a jolt of electricity racing through you.

“Use your words, pretty.”

His gaze is penetrating, holding you in a vice grip of intensity that leaves you breathless and trembling. As you feel yourself drowning in the depth of his eyes, a desperate plea escapes your lips in a whispered whimper, “Please.”

You part your legs wider, a silent invitation for him to delve deeper into the intoxicating depths of your desire. In response, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own in a searing kiss that ignites a fiery passion between you. His lips, impossibly soft and pillowy, leave you yearning for more even as they reluctantly part from yours. As his hand finally descends to your bare pussy, stroking your exposed clit with deliberate intent, his words hang in the air like a taunt, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of mischief that leaves you trembling with anticipation.

You chuckle, a bold and bratty streak emerging within you as you revel in the delicious tension between you. “I’m not,” you reply, your voice laced with a playful defiance that only serves to fuel the fire between you.

He returns to kissing you with an intensity that sets your senses ablaze, the heat of his lips melding with yours in a passionate dance of desire. Each kiss is a tantalizing blend of heat and moisture, igniting a primal hunger within you. Meanwhile, his fingers continue their exploration of your core, teasing you with light strokes that send waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

Lost in the throes of ecstasy, a strangled moan escapes your lips, echoing the depth of your pleasure. As your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the stern gaze of the Uber driver reflected in the rearview mirror. Without a word spoken, his disapproving stare speaks volumes, conveying his unspoken demand with chilling clarity, leaving you both startled and exhilarated by the illicit thrill of being caught in the act.

You reluctantly pull away from Jimin’s embrace, your breath ragged and labored, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you address both him and the Uber driver. “Sorry,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, a mix of apology and urgency lacing your words. With a silent gesture to Jimin, you convey the unspoken agreement to restrain yourselves until you reach the privacy of your own home, the anticipation of what's to come only adding to the charged atmosphere between you.

Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, seeking solace in his warmth, your hand finding its place on his thigh, tantalizingly close to the growing bulge in his pants.

The car ride feels like an eternity, every passing moment tinged with the tension of anticipation and the weight of the Uber driver’s disapproving gaze in the rearview mirror. As the vehicle finally comes to a halt in front of your apartment building, you’re met once again with the stern glare of the driver, a silent reminder of the boundaries you’ve overstepped. With a contrite nod, you silently acknowledge his unspoken reprimand, eager to escape the confines of the car and indulge in the privacy of your own space.

Jimin shadows your every move as you lead the way to the elevator, his presence a palpable force at your back. With a silent determination, you press the buttons, the soft chime signaling the arrival of the elevator. Stepping inside, the silence between you hangs heavy, the tension crackling in the air like electricity. As you press the button for the 7th floor, the doors begin to slide shut, sealing you in. Before you can react, Jimin’s hands are on you, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall with a force that steals your breath away.

His lips capture yours in a searing kiss, igniting a blaze of desire that consumes you both. As his tongue seeks entrance, you part your lips willingly, inviting him into a sensual dance of intertwining desires. Together, your tongues swirl and dance in a passionate embrace, each movement igniting a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through every fiber of your being.

A low, guttural moan escapes your lips, muffled by the intensity of the kiss as waves of heat and need cascade through your body. Every touch, every sensation leaves you burning with desire, your body aching for more of him, yearning to be consumed by the fire of his touch.

His roughness only fuels the fire burning within you, each forceful movement igniting a primal hunger that drives you wild with desire. The sensation of being pressed against the elevator wall sends shivers of excitement coursing through your body, intensifying the urgent need building between you. Unable to resist the intoxicating pull, you grind your core against his, the friction sending sparks flying and eliciting a guttural groan of pleasure from him, further fueling the fiery passion enveloping you both.

With a sudden ding, the elevator doors slide open, signaling your arrival at your floor with a jolt of anticipation.

A thin strand of saliva lingers, a tangible link between you and Jimin as you reluctantly part from his plush lips. The intensity of your kiss leaves you both breathless, panting heavily as if you’ve exerted yourselves far more than you actually have.

With a sense of urgency, you dart out of the elevator, tugging him along in your wake, each step quickened by the feverish anticipation coursing through your veins. As you approach your door, your movements become frantic, fingers fumbling in your purse in search of the keys, while his hands boldly explore the curves of your ass, fingers gripping with a hunger that mirrors your own.

A shiver of raw desire courses through you, electrifying every nerve as the keys slip from your trembling fingers. With a shaky breath, you bend down to retrieve them, the movement pressing your ass tantalizingly against his hardened dick, sending a jolt of anticipation surging through both of you.

A deep, primal growl escapes him, a guttural symphony of desire as you press your body against his, grinding against his throbbing cock with a fervor that leaves you both breathless. Finally seizing the keys, you straighten up, the charged silence between you, signaling the beginning of what promises to be an unforgettable night.

Before slipping the keys into the lock, you cast a teasing glance over your shoulder, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips as you drink in the sight of him. His eyes are dark pools of desire, wide and unblinking, reflecting a hunger that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. In that moment, you recognize the potent combination of lust and danger lurking within him, a heady concoction that only serves to heighten the intensity of your desire.

As you turn the key in the lock, the door swings open, but before you can even react, Jimin’s strength propels you forward, pressing you firmly against it. With a forceful urgency, he shoves you against the wall inside, your back meeting it with a thud, his movements swift as he swiftly closes and locks the door behind him. Keys tumble from your grasp once more, but in the heat of the moment, their clatter goes unnoticed. His lips find yours again in a searing kiss, a low growl rumbling from deep within him as he hungrily seeks to devour you, his desire palpable and insatiable.

“I want you so bad, please tell me I can have you,” he pants between feverish kisses, his breath hot against your skin as he pleads for permission, his desire echoing in every word. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his passion, you respond with a soft moan, your head nodding in silent affirmation, giving yourself over completely to the irresistible pull of his longing.

In a sudden rush of boldness, you recall his desire for vocal affirmation, and with a newfound confidence, you meet his gaze head-on. “I want you too,” you declare, your voice laced with a breathless urgency. “I want to suck your dick,” you continue, your words dripping with a raw desire that sets your pulse racing.

A deep, primal groan escapes him, reverberating through your shared kiss, as he breaks away just long enough to deliver his fervent response. “No,” he breathes against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I want to taste you,” he declares, his words a promise of untold pleasures yet to come.

With a commanding presence, he presses his body against yours, pinning you firmly to the wall as his lips hover tantalizingly close to your neck, poised over your throbbing pulse point. In a surge of passion, he dives in, his kisses and licks igniting a fervent blaze of desire that leaves you gasping for air, each grunt and growl a primal symphony of pleasure echoing through the heated embrace.

His hands roam hungrily over your hips, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive urgency that sends shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, your own hands, rendered momentarily powerless by the overwhelming intensity of his touch, hang limply at your sides, unable to resist his commanding hold.

One of his thighs effortlessly slots between yours, pressing intimately against your core and sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. The friction ignites a primal response, coaxing a wanton moan to escape your lips, its echoes reverberating through the otherwise quiet hallway of your apartment.

As your brain snaps back to attention, your hands instinctively find their way to his hips, tracing the lines of his body with a newfound sense of purpose. With a boldness born of desire, you seek out his hardened dick, stroking him through the fabric of his pants with a firm yet teasing touch. His response is immediate and intense, a guttural moan escaping his lips and mingling with the heat of your kiss.

Your touch elicits a symphony of sweet, needy noises from him, each sound fueling the fire of your desire until you notice a subtle shift in his gaze. In that moment, something snaps within him, a primal instinct unleashed as his eyes darken with an intensity that sets your senses ablaze.

With a sudden, electrifying intensity, one of his hands ascends to your neck, his fingers curling possessively around it as he begins to exert pressure, cutting off your air supply. 

The sensation of oxygen deprivation sends a rush of lightheaded euphoria coursing through you, mingling with the overwhelming arousal that pulses relentlessly through your veins. In that moment, every nerve in your body ignites with a primal hunger, the boundary between pleasure and pain blurring into a tantalizing blur of ecstasy.

With an irresistible force, he withdraws slightly, his fingers maintaining their tight grip around your neck, a gesture of rough dominance that sets your senses ablaze with anticipation. Despite the intensity of his touch, there’s a calculated restraint in his actions, a deliberate balance between aggression and control that sends a thrill coursing through your veins. As you meet his gaze, you’re ensnared by the dark depths of his eyes, which shimmer with a potent combination of desire, danger, and an unspoken promise of untold pleasures yet to come. The sensation has your stomach knotting with a heady mix of excitement and apprehension.

“Behave,” he hisses, his words a menacing command that sends a shiver down your spine as you struggle for precious air, denied by his unyielding grip. With a wicked smirk, he releases his hold on your throat, and you stagger, your body nearly buckling beneath the weight of the intensity that courses through you, threatening to send you crumbling to the floor in a dizzying haze of desire and submission.

Gasping for air, your chest heaves with the effort as you cough, the sensation of your lungs burning only fueling your resolve. With determination shining bright in your eyes, you meet his gaze head-on. “No,” you assert, your voice trembling with defiance yet laced with an undeniable sense of strength and conviction.

With a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, you lick them in anticipation before lowering yourself gracefully to the floor, your gaze locked on his with an unspoken challenge. Swift and determined, your fingers deftly find the button of his sleek black leather pants, skillfully undoing them before defying gravity and pulling them down along with his boxers, exposing him fully to your hungry gaze. 

As his cock springs free, a resounding thud fills the room as it hits his stomach, the sound echoing off the walls with a palpable intensity. Thick and girthy, it stands proudly before you. While he may not boast the longest length you’ve encountered, you recognize that true pleasure lies not in size alone, but in the mastery of technique and the depth of connection shared between two bodies.

Anticipation courses through you like a current as you contemplate the possibilities of his prowess, a hunger igniting within you at the thought of experiencing his mastery firsthand. His cock, a work of art in its own right, boasts a rosy head glistening with a single droplet of precum, a tantalizing preview of the delights to come. With a confident grip, you encircle it with your hand, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from his lips as you begin to explore the contours of his dick.

With innocent doe eyes, you gaze up at him, lashes fluttering like the delicate wings of a butterfly, as you teasingly dart out your tongue to caress the glistening head of his cock. Each lick is a deliberate stroke of temptation, your movements reminiscent of savoring an ice cream cone on a scorching summer day, the taste of him a delectable treat to be savored. And all the while, your eyes remain locked with his, a silent challenge passing between you.

“You’re misbehaving,” he pants, his voice laced with a mixture of warning and desire, yet his gaze softens with an unmistakable tenderness that belies any true threat. But the allure of pushing his boundaries further is too intoxicating to resist, so you continue your ministrations with a defiant smirk, relishing in the delicious tension that crackles between you.

“But you like it, don’t you?” You tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you bat your eyes at him once more. Your hand continues its rhythmic stroking, each movement eliciting a fervent pant of pleasure from him, as the lines between restraint and abandon blur in the heat of the moment.

“I can tell,” you purr, a mischievous smirk dancing upon your lips as you lean in to kiss the head of his cock. With tantalizing finesse, your tongue traces along his slit, teasingly exploring every contour and eliciting a shiver of pleasure that courses through him like wildfire.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice thick with desire as his body quivers under your touch, every sensation echoing with raw intensity. And oh, how you revel in it, the sheer power of your influence over him igniting a fire within you that burns with insatiable passion.

“Spit on my tongue,” you command, your voice a sultry whisper as you eagerly present your tongue before him, a bold invitation that speaks volumes of your desire. The air crackles with anticipation as you wait for his response, every moment pregnant with the promise of ecstasy.

He regards you with a questioning gaze, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re a nasty one, aren’t you?” He muses, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

“Yes. I’m nasty,” you assert, your voice dripping with unabashed confidence as you hold his gaze, unyielding in your demand. “Now spit in my mouth,” with an enticing flicker of your tongue, you beckon him to fulfill your desire, every nerve alive with anticipation for the illicit thrill that awaits.

Immediately complying, he spits on your awaiting tongue, a primal act of submission and passion that ignites a fiery intensity between you. With a seductive smile playing on your lips, you tease him with a playful sway of your hips before taking his dick deep into your mouth in one smooth motion.

You start with a deliberate rhythm, drawing him in with deliberate slowness that belies the fervent desire burning within you. Each inch of him fills your mouth, your throat accommodating his cock as you battle your own limits, a testament to your unwavering dedication to his pleasure. His fingers intertwine with your hair, a gentle yet commanding hold that guides and encourages you to unleash the full force of your prowess.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps, his voice trembling with raw desire as you envelop him with your mouth, every movement sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body.

You mumble around his cock, the vibrations sending a symphony of pleasure through his body, each note echoing with the intensity of your desire.

He begins to fuck into your warm mouth with urgency, his thrusts gaining momentum with each slide, his grunts coming out in ragged breaths, sounding like he’s thoroughly out of breath.

“You’re doing so good, such a good girl,” he pants, his gaze fixated on you, your mouth enveloping him completely. The sight alone drives him wild, his arousal escalating as he feels his dick twitching inside your warm, welcoming mouth.

One of his hands grabs your cheek and pushes you further into him, your nose grazing against his dark brown pubic hair, leaving you gasping for air as you feel yourself choking on his dick.

“That’s what you get for misbehaving,” he grunts, a tug on your hair as he pulls you off his dick.

You gasp desperately for air, tears streaming down your cheeks, mingling with the saliva cascading from your lips.

Amidst your desperate panting, his chuckle pierces the air, laden with a menacing edge. Yet, fueled by your own defiance, you can’t resist the urge to unleash the brat within. With newfound fervor, you envelop him once more, your mouth moving in a wild, frenzied rhythm, eager to reclaim your dominance.

His hands grip your hair once more, tugging gently, an urgent plea in his touch. “I don’t want to come yet,” he murmurs, his voice strained with restraint and desire, a silent request for restraint echoed in his words.

Determined, you persist with fervor, each suction more insistent than the last, as if your very existence hinges on the rhythm of your movements. Sensing his impending release, his body becomes a symphony of tension and release, an exquisite dance to the crescendo of pleasure. Yet you press on, his hands now motionless in your hair, surrendering to the inevitable ecstasy building within him.

You moan softly, the vibration adding to the intensity of the moment, your cheeks hollowing as you draw him in, each breath drawn through your nose a desperate echo of your own need. Glancing up at him, you’re met with eyes ablaze, a visage of pure desire and disarray, his appearance a testament to the pleasure that courses through his veins, leaving him utterly ravished.

You press yourself further onto him, his cock delving deeper until it meets the resistance of your throat. His fingers tighten around your hair, a sensation that ignites a thrilling burn along your scalp, a welcomed discomfort that fuels your desire. With a frustrated hiss, he releases into your waiting mouth, warm liquid cascading down your throat. You fight the urge to gag, focusing on steady breaths through your nose, grounding yourself in the moment as he reaches the peak of ecstasy.

He gasps, his breath ragged, a testament to his spent state as you continue to coax out every last tremor of pleasure. He lets out a whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity, prompting you to release his dick with a satisfying pop, a glistening string of saliva bridging the connection between you once more.

“You little minx,” he pants, playfully slapping your cheek as a smirk dances on his lips, his eyes ablaze with mischief, like a wildfire of desire.

“I tried so hard not to come, but I guess you had other plans,” he chuckles, his gaze fixed on you as you lick your lips teasingly, each movement a silent invitation for more mischief.

“Yeah, the night is still young,” you declare, rising to your feet with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Without hesitation, you extend your tongue once more, and this time, Jimin eagerly spits into your waiting mouth, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“You’re so nasty,” he smirks, leaning in to kiss you hungrily, as if he’s eager to devour every inch of your being.

When you finally pull apart, you can’t help but chuckle softly. “And you love every bit of it,” you tease, a playful glint dancing in your eyes.

He clearly revels in it, evident as he steps back, shedding his pants and boxers until they form a pool at his feet. Even his shoes aren’t spared, kicked off swiftly as he stands there, completely bare from the waist down.

Despite his softened dick, he remains an arresting sight, captivating and dangerous in his nakedness, every contour and line a testament to his allure.

With effortless strength, he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you through your apartment, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bedroom?” He suggests, his voice laced with anticipation.

You chuckle softly, nodding towards your right, and with a casual tap of his foot, he swings the bedroom door open. A rush of heat floods through you, your arousal evident as you feel the slick warmth between your legs, undoubtedly coating him.

He opts not to flip the switch, allowing the gentle glow from the kitchen to filter into your bedroom, casting a tantalizing veil of shadows. With a playful yet confident gesture, he tosses you onto the bed, eliciting a spontaneous burst of laughter from you, reminiscent of a lovestruck fool lost in the feelings of her crush.

You’re well aware that catching feelings wasn’t part of the plan, that this was meant to be a fleeting encounter. Yet, as the intensity of the moment swells around you, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to every sensation, every touch, every whispered word shared between you. Despite your best efforts to guard your heart, you can’t help but revel in the dizzying whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, silently acknowledging that you’re utterly captivated by every moment spent in his company.

He lingers above you, a tantalizing pause that leaves anticipation crackling in the air. Then, with a deliberate yet primal grace, he sinks to his knees at the foot of the bed, his hands firmly clasping your ankles as he draws you irresistibly closer to the edge.

With a primal hunger, he yanks your scanty dress up to your waist, a guttural growl escaping his lips as his gaze locks onto your shimmering, needy pussy, the raw desire in his eyes igniting a blazing fire within you.

“Fuck. You’re practically a waterfall down there,” he remarks, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips as he surveys your drenched arousal.

You spread your legs invitingly, gazing down your body at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, have a taste,” you challenge, your voice dripping with anticipation.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he groans, his hands gripping your thighs and placing them over his shoulders. His mouth descends to your aching core, lips and tongue poised to give you the attention you crave.

His plush tongue meets your clit first, eliciting a frustrated moan from your lips. He sucks with the hunger of a starved man, savoring your taste. Moving down, he uses his fingers to spread your folds, allowing him to dip his tongue inside your throbbing entrance.

You pant, clenching around his probing tongue, every nerve alight with bliss, feeling as though you’ve been transported to heaven.

His tongue licks and laps at your sensitive skin, each stroke sending shivers through your trembling body. The need building inside you is almost unbearable—you crave so much more.

For a moment, his tongue plunges into your cunt, teasing and stimulating your hole. Growing impatient, your hands dart down to grip his blonde locks, fingers clenching tightly as you try to urge him on, desperate for more of his relentless attention.

He seems to get the hint, moving up to suck on your clit, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you release a soft scream.

Your body clenches, fingers gripping his hair tighter as a frustrated grunt escapes your lips.

The room fills with slurping noises, driving your mind into a frenzy of pleasure.

Suddenly, his fingers prod at your entrance, and you clench in anticipation. God, you want it—you want his fingers so bad. Honestly, you crave a lot more than just his fingers.

He pushes in one finger at first, and your breath hitches. Your walls clench around the single digit, and it doesn’t take long before you’re grinding into his hand and face, desperate for more.

Fuck, how is he so skilled with both his hands and mouth? His suction on your clit is relentless, alternating between perfect suction and expertly flattening his tongue, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes your bundle of nerves from side to side.

As a second finger joins the first in your tight hole, you gasp at the delicious stretch. It’s been a while since you’ve had sex, and Jimin’s girthy size alone suggests you’ll need ample preparation. Despite already feeling dripping with anticipation, you know the importance of proper preparation to avoid any uncomfortable burns from the stretch.

With a suction-like force around your clit, he sends you reeling, seeing stars with each electrifying sensation. His face withdraws from your pussy, yet his fingers remain firmly embedded within you, a tantalizing promise of what’s to come.

His face gleams with your essence. His eyes, deep as obsidian, flicker with desire, his lips curved into a teasing smirk as he licks them hungrily. “Think you’re ready for a third finger?”

You moan unabashedly as his fingers find that sweet spot within, every touch igniting a cascade of sensations that render you pliant. Biting your lip to stifle the cries of pleasure, you nod eagerly. “Yes,” you pant, your voice a fervent plea, “please, get me ready for your cock.”

A triumphant smirk dances on his lips as he responds with a pleased grunt, effortlessly sliding in a third finger. The stretch is undeniable, prompting you to draw in a deep breath of air to accommodate the delicious fullness. Though there’s no burning sensation, your body pulses with the intensity of your arousal, each sensation amplified by your slickness.

“You like it?” His voice, a sultry whisper, sends shivers down your spine as he inquires, his pace quickening with each determined thrust of his three fingers inside you. Your response is immediate, a chorus of moans escaping your lips in tandem with his relentless motion.

“Yes,” you gasp, feeling the intensity of his touch reverberate through every fiber of your being. Heat pools at your core, beads of sweat glistening along your hairline, as your body surrenders to the overwhelming waves of pleasure washing over you.

“Just wait until I fill you with my cock,” he murmurs, his voice laced with anticipation, his eyes smoldering with desire. “I want to see you fall apart on it. God, you’re so pretty,” he adds, his words a seductive whisper that sends shivers down your spine. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he returns to your pussy, trailing a teasing lick from his fingers buried inside you up to your throbbing clit, igniting a fire of longing within you.

“Fuck, Jimin. Please,” you pant, your voice thick with need. Every nerve in your body aches for his touch, craving the electrifying sensation of his tongue against your skin once more. You can sense the impending arrival of an orgasm, its tantalizing tendrils teasing at the edges of your consciousness, and you yearn for him to push you over the edge, to obliterate every last shred of restraint until you’re consumed by ecstasy.

“Please what?” He taunts again, his tongue teasingly tracing delicate patterns over your throbbing clit. The sensation sends waves of frustration coursing through you, igniting a fierce longing for more of his touch. You can feel the tension building within you, a potent mix of desire and impatience, as you yearn for his tongue to remain there indefinitely, granting you the blissful release you crave.

“Please make me come already!” You pant in exasperation, your fingers digging into the sheets beside your hips, a desperate plea echoing in the heated air between you.

With a shit-eating smirk, he dives back down, his mouth latching onto your clit with aggressive fervor. His relentless licking sends bolts of electricity through your body, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Meanwhile, his fingers continue their relentless thrusting inside you, creating a symphony of pleasure that promises to tip you over the brink of ecstasy any moment now.

As his teeth tug at your clit, a surge of electricity shoots through your body, igniting every nerve ending with anticipation. The knot in your stomach tightens with each tantalizing pull, signaling the imminent unraveling of your senses.

“Yes. Fuck. I’m gonna come, Jimin-ah! Fuck, you’re so good,” the words tumble from your lips in a breathless rush, punctuated by the primal rhythm of your panting. Your body thrashes with unrestrained pleasure, every nerve alive with the electric touch of his lips and tongue. In response, Jimin’s hand tightens around your hips, pulling you even further down into his face.

As his tongue presses down on your throbbing clit, his fingers continue their relentless thrusts, driving you wild with their rapid pace. Your muscles tighten involuntarily, signaling the imminent arrival of your climax. It’s right there, teetering on the edge, tantalizingly close as every fiber of your being aches for release.

With your body trembling on the precipice of ecstasy, he withdraws his tongue from your throbbing clit, his face shimmering with your essence. “Do you really think you deserve to come?” His question hangs in the air, a challenge laced with mischief and desire.

Frustration boils within you, your body teetering on the edge of release, craving that sweet release. With a hiss of desperation, you prop yourself up on your arms, determined to meet his gaze. “I’ll be a good girl,” you plead, your voice a whispered promise laden with need. “I’ll behave. Just let me... please, let me come.”

His tongue returns to your throbbing clit with a ferocity that reignites every nerve ending, driving you to the precipice of ecstasy faster than thought itself. Your breath catches in your throat, each ragged moan echoing the crescendo building within you. As your body tenses with anticipation, you feel the inevitable release cresting like a tidal wave, crashing over you in blissful waves. Tremors ripple through your body, held securely in his grasp, as he maintains his relentless assault of pleasure, ensuring your euphoria knows no bounds.

As the waves of ecstasy continue to crash over you, he remains steadfast in his ministrations, guiding you through the tempest of pleasure. Yet, as the intensity peaks, reaching heights almost unbearable, you signal your overwhelming sensation by grasping his hair once more, a silent plea for respite amidst the storm of sensation.

His fingers retreat, and a pang of longing fills the void they leave behind, craving the sensation of being filled with his touch once more. His gaze meets yours, ablaze with desire and urgency, mirroring the yearning that courses through your own veins.

“Was it good?” He teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at you, observing the subtle flush painting your cheeks as you struggle to catch your breath.

“Fuck yes,” you pant, your voice husky with desire, feeling thoroughly ravished. Yet, beneath the lingering sensations, anticipation simmers, an eager yearning for him to take you with his cock, to stretch you, to fill you completely with his intoxicating presence.

He comes up to hover over you, his presence intense as he locks eyes with you. “You know what my plan is?” He murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Your eyebrow raises in curiosity, your heart beating a little faster as you wait for his next move, uncertain yet intrigued.

“I want to ruin you so deeply that every touch, every kiss, every moment with another will only remind you of me,” he whispers huskily into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your body responds to his words, your pussy clenching around emptiness at his crude words.

“You’ve already achieved that, Jimin. No other man could ever measure up to the fire you ignite within me,” you confess, your voice laden with desire and admiration, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

Your gaze, undoubtedly dazed and intoxicated with lust, fixes on him with an urgency that speaks volumes. “Jimin,” you implore, your fingers grasping at his arms, “I need you inside me. Right now. Please fuck me.”

He rakes his hand through his disheveled hair, a dangerous glint igniting in his eyes as he bites his lip in contemplation. “Fuck,” he breathes, desire smoldering in his gaze. “I want to fuck you. Badly. But I don’t have condoms. Do you or are you okay without that?”

You hold his gaze, your voice steady despite the urgency pulsing through you. “I don’t have any condoms either,” you admit, your eyes searching his for reassurance. “But I’m on birth control and I’m clean. Are you?” Your breath steadies, anticipation threading through your words.

His voice carries a confident assurance, yet there’s a vulnerability in his eyes as he meets yours. “Yeah, I’m clean,” he confirms, his tone firm, but tinged with a hint of vulnerability, as if silently seeking your trust.

“Then fuck me already,” you say, a bashful smile playing on your lips, your eyes locked with his, daring him to make the next move.

Jimin sits up, shedding his harness like shedding inhibitions, unbuttoning his white shirt with a flourish and tossing it carelessly to the floor. Now completely naked, he embodies the essence of a god, his presence both captivating and dangerous. Every line of his form speaks of strength and sin, his lean muscles rippling beneath pale skin that seems to glow in the dim light.

His touch ignites a trail of electricity along your skin as his fingers trace the curve of your sides. With a swift motion, he seizes the fabric of your dress, lifting it over your face, and then, in one fluid movement, he strips it away, revealing your body completely to his hungry gaze.

“No bra?”

With a mischievous chuckle, you shoot him a playful wink, a silent invitation dancing in your eyes.

“You really are a wicked little thing. Were you planning to seduce someone tonight?” His smirk deepens as his gaze lingers on your exposed breasts. His hands, cool against your skin, find their way to your chest, cupping them firmly, coaxing your nipples into stiff peaks within seconds.

He chuckles, his fingers dancing lightly over your skin, teasing and tempting you, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as anticipation courses through your veins.

“No, I just revel in the freedom of my body. Restrictions aren’t my thing. Encountering you, though, was a delightful surprise,” you chuckle, feeling his fingertips tracing patterns over your nipples, each touch sending delicious shivers cascading down your spine.

His fingers encircle both of your nipples, pinching them just so, and your body arches involuntarily, a gasp escaping your lips as you pant for breath.

He guides you further up the bed, positioning your entire body for his pleasure. As he settles between your legs, his fingertips dance along your thighs, each touch sending electric waves of anticipation through your body, leaving you trembling in anticipation.

His voice, a low rumble, breaks through the charged air, his eyes seeking confirmation before he delves deeper into the intimacy between you two. “Are you ready?” He inquires, his gaze locking with yours, seeking not just consent, but a shared desire to plunge into the depths of pleasure together.

You respond with an urgent plea, your voice laden with need as you offer yourself fully to him. “Yes. Put your dick in me now,” you moan, your legs parting eagerly, beckoning him to claim you as your desire ignites the air around you.

With an air of command, he positions you, pulling your thighs onto his sides, his posture exuding dominance. As he rises to a sitting position, his dick completely hard again, standing tall and unyielding, eager to claim you once.

“You’re so wet, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he murmurs, his hand finding his cock, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his chest.

“Fuck me, please,” you rasp, the urgency in your voice palpable. Begging isn’t your usual style, but right now, you can’t help it. You need him inside you, filling every inch of you. 

As he aligns his dick with your eager entrance, a primal urgency fills the air. The anticipation builds with each teasing prod against your folds, a delicious tension mounting between you. With a low grunt, he starts to push into you, a slow and deliberate motion that sets your senses ablaze, every inch of him awakening a craving you never knew existed.

“Fucking hell, you are tight!” He pants, the raw intensity of his voice echoing the primal desire between you. With a slick ease, he slides inside, your wetness enveloping him like a long-awaited embrace, each inch stirring a tempest of pleasure that threatens to consume you both.

“Fuck. You’re so thick! It feels so good,” you moan, your voice a symphony of desire as he fills you completely. With him buried deep within, he pauses, his gaze intense and heated, a testament to the raw hunger pulsating between you, his sweat-slicked skin glistening in the dim light.

The way he stretches you is nothing short of incredible, sending waves of sensation rippling through your body. Your hands grasp onto his arms, seeking an anchor in the whirlwind of pleasure, forging a connection to him as he pushes you to the brink of ecstasy.

Then, he begins to move, drawing out slowly only to thrust back in with an irresistible force. Your gasp of pleasure is swallowed by the room as he establishes a rapid rhythm, plunging into you with a relentless urgency.

The bed jolts against the wall, the sound echoing through the room, and you know your neighbors will hear, but you couldn’t care less. You’re being thoroughly ravished, lost in the primal intensity of it all. The sheer ecstasy of the moment eclipses any concern for discretion.

He presses his weight into you, drawing you closer in an embrace that feels almost possessive. In a sudden rush of intimacy, he leans down to meet your lips, igniting a fiery kiss that seems to consume you both. As his body melds with yours, his every movement synchronized with the rhythmic pulse of his thrusts, you feel an electric connection unlike anything you've experienced before.

With tantalizing slowness, he trails kisses along your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that sends shivers down your spine. His lips wander to your jawline, peppering it with delicate kisses before descending to the curve of your throat. There, he lingers, his mouth exploring every inch, igniting a primal desire that courses through your veins. Gradually, he moves downward, his lips now caressing your breasts with an urgency that matches the pounding of your heart.

His tongue dances sensually around your hardened nipple, sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. As his skilled hand teases and strokes the other, you arch into his touch, a symphony of sensations unraveling within you. With each gentle suck, you find yourself uttering his name in a breathless plea, lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

The sensation is intoxicating, a tantalizing mix of pleasure and desire that threatens to consume every inch of your being.

His closeness envelops you, his intoxicating scent mingling with yours, creating an intoxicating blend of desire. With each meeting of your hips, his warmth and the firmness of his cock hitting your sweet spot send ripples of pleasure coursing through your body, eliciting yet another primal moan from your lips.

“Jimin!” You moan, your hands instinctively flying up to his hair, fingers entwining in the soft strands as he devours your nipple, each flick of his tongue sending shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, igniting a dazzling array of stars behind your closed eyelids.

He hums and chuckles around your breasts, the vibrations sending delightful shivers down your spine, his enjoyment evident in the way he savors every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips.

Then, he shifts his mouth over to the other nipple, the suction intense and demanding, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through your body. Simultaneously, his hand finds the other nipple, tugging at it with a tantalizing mix of firmness and gentleness.

His thrusts are relentless, driving deep into you with an intensity that leaves you reeling, each plunge sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. It’s so overwhelming, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of blissful oblivion.

With a soft pop, Jimin releases your nipple, his lips trailing a path of fire as he moves back up to your neck, planting gentle kisses that send shivers down your spine. 

You pull him tighter into your embrace, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you confess, “Shit. I’m so close.” The urgency in your voice mirrors the pounding of your heart, each beat echoing the relentless rhythm of your desire.

His voice, thick with desire, resonates in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he urges, “Come on my cock. I wanna feel you more.”

The raw, primal tone of his words sends a jolt of electricity through you, stirring an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. Every filthy utterance from his lips molds your insides like soft clay, leaving you trembling with an insatiable hunger for more.

His touch ignites a wildfire of sensation, each pinch and twist of your hardened peaks sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body again. You surrender to the delicious torment, your back arching instinctively as uninhibited moans escape your lips, a symphony of desire echoing through the room.

“Cream my dick, I know you can do it,” his words, a potent blend of desire and command, fuel your fervor even more. With each authoritative utterance, your need intensifies, the primal rhythm of his thrusts, his cock hitting heavenly places inside. His voice, a dark symphony of dominance, stirs something primal within you, urging you to surrender completely to the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

With a tantalizing flick of his fingers as he pinches your nipple again, igniting a rush of sensation through your body, and a thrust that delves deeper than before, your senses blur, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of pleasure. As his dick plunges into you, reaching depths that send shockwaves of ecstasy through your core, you’re transported to the brink of euphoria. On the tender spot of your neck, he sucks a hickey there. With a primal cry that echoes through the room, you surrender to the waves of ecstasy crashing over you, releasing your essence onto his throbbing cock.

When your walls tighten around him, a low growl of pleasure escapes his lips, punctuating the intensity of the moment. “God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he gasps, his voice laced with ecstasy. As the pressure builds within him, he can feel the impending release drawing near. “I’m gonna come soon too,” he confesses, the urgency in his tone mirroring the electric tension between you.

You pant, your chest heaving as you slowly descend from the peak of your ecstasy. Every breath feels like a blessing, leaving you in a state of serene satisfaction. Jimin’s touch has shifted, his fingers tracing gentle paths along your sides, while his hips move against yours with a newfound tenderness, each roll diving into you in a more sensual manner.

His thrusts delve even deeper, each movement driving him to the core of your being, sending shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your body. The rhythmic collision of his hips against yours, accompanied by the tantalizing impact of his balls against your pussy, ignites a fire within you, consuming you with an insatiable hunger for more.

He hisses, a primal sound escaping his lips, as you feel the telltale twitch of his cock deep inside you, signaling his imminent release. His breath quickens, each exhale a symphony of urgency, while his once graceful movements give way to a primal frenzy. With a feverish intensity, he plunges into you, each thrust a fervent pursuit of his climax.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you pant, a symphony of pleasure and need in your voice, struggling to maintain your composure as he pounds into you with unrelenting force, each thrust igniting a wildfire of sensation within you. Despite the intensity, or perhaps because of it, you find yourself surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, relishing every moment of his powerful onslaught.

“Shit. I’m losing control. I—, I can’t,” he begins to mumble, his voice strained with an unexpected vulnerability, and you observe a fleeting, pained expression flicker across his face. 

You reach out for him, your hands cradling his face with a tender urgency. “Don’t be afraid,” you murmur, your voice a soothing melody amidst the storm of sensations. “Just let go. Come inside me and fill me up,” you whisper, your words a gentle invitation laced with a primal hunger that echoes the rhythm of your entwined bodies.

His gaze darkens, a tempest swirling in those depths, as if wrestling with unseen forces. With a guttural grunt, he appears on the verge of surrender, yet something holds him back, an inner conflict etched across his features like a turbulent battle playing out before your eyes.

With a few final, desperate thrusts, he succumbs, his release flooding into your welcoming depths, a primal grunt escaping his lips as he fills you with his heated essence, a potent mixture of ecstasy and raw desire intertwining in the heat of the moment.

Ecstasy floods your senses as you revel in the sensation of being completely filled, every nerve ending electrified with pleasure. Your toes curl involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the intense ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” his voice, filled with a mix of frustration and ecstasy, pants out an apology, his breaths ragged and heavy. It’s a symphony of emotions, the frustration of losing control mingling with the sheer bliss of the moment.

Confused by his apology, you chuckle softly, your hands finding solace in tracing patterns on his back, a silent reassurance amidst the continued rhythm of his movements within you. 

His lips tenderly graze your neck, igniting a playful giggle within you. As his affection turns fervent, you relish in the sensation of him marking you, a primal instinct you love. Yet, the playful nip lingers longer, teeth sinking deeper than expected, sending a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. Your moans escalate, desire fueling your body’s response. But as the dizziness sets in and the need for air becomes desperate, a chilling realization dawns upon you—something is wrong.

Your eyelids flutter shut, a shiver racing down your spine as an icy chill envelops you, sapping away your energy. In the eerie silence that follows, darkness descends, swallowing you whole.

Someone shakes you gently, and you recognize Jimin’s touch. A warm, sticky sensation trails down your neck. Blood? The throb in your neck intensifies, a soreness radiating from the spot. Did he bite you so hard that you passed out?

“Y/N, oh my god, I’m so sorry!” His voice trembles with distress and worry as he gazes down at you, his eyes wide with panic.

“Why?” You ask, your voice slurred and heavy with exhaustion. Every word feels like an effort, and you’re overwhelmed by a bone-deep fatigue.

“I’m— I couldn’t stop,” he sobs, his voice cracking with guilt. You’re utterly baffled, trying to piece together what just happened.

“I should have told you sooner,” he mumbles, tears glistening in his eyes and his lips trembling. He looks like a completely different person from the confident man you met in Magic Shop.

“What’s wrong?” you groan in pain, attempting to move your body, but it refuses to cooperate, leaving you feeling heavy and unresponsive.

“I’m a vampire…” he confesses, his eyes lingering on your naked body, the sight of blood trickling from your neck and staining the white sheets.

“What?” Your eyes snap open, awareness flooding back as you see his tear-streaked face. Your heart aches at the sight, and you instinctively reach out, gently brushing away one of his tears.

“It’s okay. I had a feeling,” you murmur, doing your best to reassure him. When his tear-filled eyes meet yours again, you give him a soft, comforting smile.

“I think I drank too much from you. I’m so sorry. I should have asked,” he stammers, his voice heavy with shame. His eyes drop to the floor, reflecting his internal struggle. You can tell he takes immense pride in his self-control, and losing it tonight is tearing him apart.

“Jimin, it’s okay. I’m fine,” you reassure him, masking your own weakness as you attempt to sit up, your arms trembling slightly beneath you.

“It’s not fine. You passed out,” he grumbles, his expression a mix of concern and frustration, his lips forming a subtle pout.

"Oh. I did?" you ask, a flicker of confusion crossing your face as you piece together the fragments of your memory.

You take your hand up to your neck, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over the tender skin. Examining your palm, you find it smeared with a trace of blood, a stark reminder of the unexpected turn the night has taken. It’s not much though, and you guess the bleeding has almost stopped.

You reach out for him once more, closing the distance between you with a sudden, passionate kiss. The intensity of your embrace catches him off guard, his eyes widening in surprise, his lips yielding to the unexpected fervor of your touch.

When you draw back, your gaze locks onto his, unwavering and filled with a mix of emotions. “It’s still the best and most unforgettable one-night stand ever,” you declare, your words carrying a weight of sincerity and a hint of lingering desire.

He offers you a small smile that swiftly morphs into a mischievous smirk, as if he’s silently challenging you to another round.

“You know, I’m all for making this a regular thing, if you’re up for it. I mean, I don’t mind a little bite here and there. Maybe not to the point of blacking out, but everything before that? Damn, it was fucking hot,” you suggest with a playful wink, your sultry gaze locked with his, a subtle invitation lingering in the air as you moisten your lips.

An exasperated groan escapes him, his fangs emerging, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. You extend your hand, tracing his full lips before daringly brushing your fingertips over his sharp fangs, a mixture of curiosity and arousal coursing through you.

Your gaze drifts downwards, finding his glistening dick coated in a mixture of your essence and his, standing proudly. With a seductive nibble on your lower lip, you reach out, your hand finding his throbbing cock, stroking it with deliberate intent, eliciting a low, guttural moan from him as pleasure courses through his body.

Teasingly, you inquire, “Ready to go for another round already? Got some superhuman stamina hidden in there?” Your jest is accompanied by an increase in pace, your hand working with newfound fervor, eliciting gasps of pleasure from him as his body responds eagerly to your touch.

In between gasps and needy pants, he admits, “Something like that.” 

His voice, dripping with desire, sends shivers down your spine. “I’m ready for more. And you... do you really want this to be a regular thing?” His words punctuate each stroke, his pleasure palpable as he speaks. 

“I’ve never found anyone who could keep up with me and my needs like this,” he confesses, his eyes closing intermittently in pure ecstasy.

“Yes, Jimin, me too,” you breathe, your voice husky with desire. “I feel like I’ve finally met my equal. You satisfy me in ways no one ever has. Please.” Your words, a soft plea, dance across his ear, sending shivers down his spine. As you feel him quivering beneath your touch, you know this connection is something truly special.

“Let me ride you,” you suggest with a sultry smile, but you’re not one to wait for permission. With a swift movement, you push him down onto the bed, eliciting a hiss of surprise followed by a deep, rumbling laugh from him. It’s a playful exchange, full of anticipation and eagerness for what’s to come.

“Fuck, I think I might be in love,” he groans, his words punctuated by a sharp intake of breath as you straddle him, aligning yourself with his throbbing cock. With a slow, deliberate movement, you sink down onto him, relishing in the now familiar, exquisite stretch that never fails to send shivers of pleasure down your spine, something you’ll never tire off.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v2024

Alright let's start off with the primary points:

1 - You do NOT have to give to get.

2 - You do not have to get to give.

3 - Read everything, there's quite a few moving parts =D

Things You Can Do During This Event:

1 - Request a story from me (see the end of the post for the format!)

2 - You can give me a gift! (see "Gifting Quin" below!)

3 - Reblog this post to be entered into a raffle!

Details below the cut!

Raffle Prizes!

-:- 1,000 words of anything you want (within reason) - can be a one-shot, can be a demand for a specific title (make me work on that title you've been dying to read more of). Just has to be One Piece related.

-:- OC Cameo - I'll plunk your OC/self-insert into a story (that is not the Host Club AU ^^; )

-:- I'll draw something for you \o/ I'm not great, but hey, free art xD

Gifting Quin!

❤️ - Pin 5$ to my shirt - it's a local-ish birthday tradition.

❤️ - Share one of my stories and leave a comment \o/ You can do this whenever, but it really makes my day, so have at!

❤️ - Gift me a story, or some art 😳🥰

Ideas (please do NOT send me saucy stuff on anon or if you're under 18):

1 - Draw a scene from any of the stories you've liked! 2 - Draw Quill - by themself, or with you and/or your OC, or a One Piece character \o/ Quill can be a boy, girl, or whatever mix tickles your fancy. Have fun =D 3 - Draw what you see when you think of "Reader" for any given story. 4 - Re-write a scene for a story =O How would you tell me that scene? 5 - Write me a one-shot using the prompts below 😇 6 - Free form a ficlet, drabble, head canon, series of bullet points with ANY anime character and either a "Reader" or Quill =3 Spread your wings beyond One Piece (Wind Breaker, YYH, FMA, MHA, Habin hotel, etc - go wild 🥰)

Feel free to ask me ANYTHING if you're unsure of something

Birthday Bash Requests \o/

Finally, the part you've all been waiting for XD

*** Anon Requests Will be SFW only ***

-:- Give me some reader vibes as applicable (gender/height vibes) -:- Give me a blorbo (or blorbos) - One Piece only please ❤️ -:- Pick something from each of the lists below and then submit your ask! (any items not specified in the ask will be my choice 😇 cause it's my birthday celebration XD )

Pick 1 Vibe: SFW SFW dark SFW Yandere Blorbo NSFW Consensual NSFW dubcon/dark NSFW Yandere Blorbo NSFW noncon Writer's Choice (please include squicks if you pick dark or dub/non con options)

Pick 1 AU: Canon Universe Mafia AU Fantasy AU Cowboy AU Government Mandated Marriage AU Soul Mates AU Modern AU Hallmark AU Mythical Creatures AU Vampire AU Coffee Shop AU A/B/O AU Monster AU (you can say what kind of monster you prefer) BDSM AU Host Club AU Grandline Metro AU (Quicksand, A Light Touch, Heart of Gold, Thrice Prophesized are set in this AU) Writer's Choice (spin that wheel!)

Pick 1 Prompt: Angst / Bad End Aphrodisiac - sex pollen, drugged food, struck by needle, devil fruit Bath/Shower/hotspring Body writing (icing, ink, blood, etc.) Caught in the Act Contractually Obligated Creature x Human Date / First date Dungeon Erotically charged fight Experienced w/virgin Forced Proximity - box, flight, cell, bondage, get-a-long shirt Friend’s hot older sibling Fuck or die Lazy morning sex Long-Term Established Relationship Only One Bed Outside Pliant When Horny Role-play Roughed Up Size Difference (I write this a lot, but I do love it.) Soft/Comfort Sugar daddy/mama The hat rule They were… coworkers/neighbors/etc. Trapped in a Room Trying Again (exes getting back together) Unresolved sexual tension Wounded Writer's Choice

***Requests will be accepted from 6/1 - 7/10 - and posted from 6/1 - 7/31***

Gifts are accepted from 6/1 until whenever \o/ Don't feel pressured to get them in by 7/20 🥰

[quinnylouhughesx43]

ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ʀɪꜱᴋ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ - ɴɪᴄᴏ ʜɪꜱᴄʜɪᴇʀ ❤︎︎

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Nico is playing in IIHF Men’s World Championship and takes a nasty cut to the face. You are apart of the medical training staff for the Swiss Hockey team and end up treating Nico. But not before you nearly pass out from seeing him with all the blood.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: second person pov, discussion of injury, heavily unedited, probably has terrible grammar, I wrote this while really really sick and it sucks im sorry ill fix it when im better

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ: ʏᴇꜱ/ɴᴏ

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Below the cut there is a picture of Nico from when he first got cut and there is visible blood. If you cannot handle seeing blood for whatever reason. I advise to skip right by the top section of the post below the cut.

Watching Nico glide up and down the ice with the puck at his stick or him being ready to receive the puck from a pass is one of the best things to watch. He is the happiest when he’s on the ice. It is even better when he scores or gets the assist. His passion for the game is immeasurable, just the same as his love and care for his teammates, friends, and family.

You first met Nico two years ago when you first started working with the New Jersey Devils as apart of their medical training staff. Having worked in the realm of sports while in school and being surrounded by athletes it was very easy to connect with the team. Quickly connecting with quite a few of the players it was only a matter of time before friendships developed, some closer than others. Nico happened to become your best friend in the program. The two of you entirely inseparable.

When Nico found out he would be playing for the Swiss National Hockey team for the Men’s World Championship, he did some work and got you on as a trainer. He didn’t want to travel Czechia and leave you back in the states. “Neeks, you really didn’t have to do that, I could go work at the college for the summer and be okay.” Nico shook his head and tsked. “Nope. You’re coming with me. Who else is going to tape my wrists just right?” He was scraping the bucket for an excuse. Nico didn’t even tape his wrists. Rolling your eyes you didn’t argue you back. You just nodded and accepted his decision.

ミ★☆彡

“Nico? How are you feeling about today?” You ask sitting on the edge of the bed while he’s pulling his shirt over his head. You have no lie to tell, you’re a little upset he has covered his toned upper body. “It’s just another game sweets. Nothing to be concerned with.” Nico answers as if he is still playing peewee hockey. “I don’t know neeks, I watched highlights from their last game, they play pretty rough.” You retort twisting your hands. Showing your anxiety.

Nico turned around from where he had been looking at you in the mirror to face you directly. “It will be okay. I promise you.” He walked up to you, grabbing ahold of your face softly. He was hoping to calm your nerves. Since arriving in Czechia your friendship had become more hands on, flirtatious, and a tad possessive. “If i felt an ounce of worry about this game, you would be the first to know. My little trainer.” He assures you and places a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s get going, shall we? You’ve got got ankles to tape and I’ve got ankles to break” Nico grins and holds his hand out for you.

You laugh a little at Nico’s attempt at a sports joke and follow him out the door holding on to his hand.

ミ★☆彡

It was deep into the second period when Nico and a defender clashed on the ice.

As an athletic trainer you’re supposed to be able to take on anything that’s thrown at you. But they don’t prepare you for when your best friend is down on the ice bleeding profusely. They don’t prepare you for when your mind reverts to all the other hockey players who had injuries from skates in the facial and neck region and just how badly they turned out.

It wasn’t until the entire bench of Swiss players are screaming your name that you realize Nico is off the ice and heading down the tunnel.

Reaching for your kit and quickly following after the officials that are escorting Nico down the tunnel to catch back up to them so the Slovakian team trainers are not the ones treating him. “I..I got it from here.” You tell the officials. They nod and head back the other way.

“Is it your face? Is it your neck?” You begin to ask him, but that entices him to move the towel. “OH! No you don’t. Keep that there until I have my stuff ready.” “It’s my cheek” he gruffed out.

It is like a million tons just came off your chest with just those few words. The feeling that your heart may stop at any moment has fled. A cut to the cheek, that’s an easy feat. A cut to the throat not so easy. Upon reaching the medical room, you sit him down on the first treatment table available and immediately get to work.

“You scared me neeks.” Taking a moment while getting his cut disinfected and ready for the sutures you tried to tell him but it only came out barely above a whisper. “I know, you didn’t move. You always move. You’re always out there with in seconds. That’s when I knew it was bad.” He gave an awkward chuckle and reached up to touch your forearm. “But it’s okay sweets. Sometimes we get scared. Like right now I’m scared because, this is going to hurt isn’t it?” He asked honestly giving his staple smirk that your swear he learned from Jack . “Well it isn’t going to feel good Neeks, but if you’re good I’ll give you a reward.” You say returning his a smirk.

“Hey Nico, why do you always play so hard?” You ask finishing up his last stitch. “It’s always a risk, but think about the reward i get after.” “A reward? You don’t always get a reward.”

“Oh yeah i do. I play as hard as i do because if im sore i can convince my trainer best friend to treat me. Which means i have her all to myself for just a few moment, I have happy teammates, happy fans.” He flashes a smile before licking his lips and then biting his lower lips. “And if I’m really lucky, one day my reward will be getting my best friend as my girlfriend. I’ve been dropping not so subtle hints this trip but I’m not so sure they’re working.” He’s standing now at the edge of the treatment table, he’s taken ahold of the waist holding you close to him. “Is that a possibility?” He asks dropping his forehead to touch yours. “I think if you asked her she’d say yes.” You blurt out so fast it’s almost embarrassing.

“Sweets, would you reward me by being my girlfriend?” Nico asks never breaking eye contact, his ton of voice so sincere.

“Yes, Neeks.”

ミ★☆彡

I’m sorry this is very rough, very unedited. I’ve been so sick this week. I’m hoping soon I can rework it and make it much better. Writing for Nico has proven to be extremely hard for me. 😩

[girlbooklover555]

"His lips were not innocent"

Regulus Arcturus Black x fem!reader

Warnings: Use of the word devil and angel, point of view and thoughts of regulus (perhaps you consider him ooc?) cute, tacky? attempt at something a bit poetic? probably dramatic? I used Google Translate in this post.

Anyone who saw the two teenagers kissing against a tree in the school garden wouldn't think it was a big deal.

At most, a teacher might give a slight scolding, but in reality the kiss was completely innocent, sweet and affectionate.

So why did he feel...

He didn't know what he felt...

All he knew was that, from his point of view, you were anything but innocent.

His lips were not innocent.

Her tongue against his was anything but innocent.

Your fingers on the back of his neck, stroking the strands of hair so softly, were anything but innocent.

Who would do this to him? Insert a needle of destiny made from the blood of the devil himself, used on the purest intentions of an angel like you all this time?

Sewing up his torn soul and frayed soul like gray dust from an abandoned tomb into her genuinely pure and good soul.

Her lips against his seemed to suck the dry, poisonous essence trapped by the thorny vines bathed in ancient bitterness, which penetrated the Slytherin's empty heart, leaving this angelic, luminous warmth of golden lines sewing and surrounding each thorn, removing them one by one.

This stupidly kind girl was driving him in the cheesiest and most sincere term possible... crazy.

Regulus sighed heavily, pulling away from your lips in shock.

Cum...

The gray eyes dig into the bright light of the girl in front of her, she doesn't even seem that affected.

She smiled as if she had been given ice cream, while he was possibly delirious, this sensation suffocating his mind to the point where he couldn't think straight...

was it love?

Passion?

Any term poets use? Or was it just you?

Regulus understood very well now why people kneel in front of others with a stupid box in their hands.

Lifting a shiny ring while on your knees seemed so miserably small now compared to this.

You were probably the complete opposite of a dementor.

Your kiss made him choke with affection.

He loved it and hated worshipping.

☆Masterlist marauders

[ravenyenn19]

Six of Crows future head cannon:

Alby Rollins joins the Dregs.

Picture it: 1920’s-esque Ketterdam, 10 years post Sweet Reef/ Ice Court. Slick Rolls Royce cars line the cobbled streets, a city spiraling toward a new age. Rain drenches the obscure signs & hidden arrows pointing to the Speak-Easy halls. In a time of prohibition… down, down, down must one go in the Barrel to find the most notorious of them all. A slice of sin, six feet under. A crowd drunk off vice served in black tea cups.

The young man walks into Kaz Brekker’s office (after fighting his way there), sits himself in a chair opposite a great obsidian desk. Winded & lip still bleeding from his tousle with the men at the doors, Alby wheezes: “Teach me.”

In turn, A near 30 year old Kaz smirks. “I thought lions preferred their pride.”

Alby, barely pushing 17, gives a smile of a golden boy, nervous but strong enough to hold the gaze of a devil. (He’s practiced.) “I thought Crows scavengers. Here I am, a shine for the taking.”

“Still have that crow, little lion?” A feminine shadow whispers from the corner. Unnoticed by the young man previously, he clicks his teeth but still refuses to show fear. A serpent-like bead of sweat slides down his spine, a shiver chasing after. He holds firm, biting his cheek to hide the startle.

He knows this shadow, this phantom. She haunted him, once.

“I buried it with my father,” the Kaelish prince whispers, “or rather, in place of him. Never did find a body. Pity.” He shrugs.

Kaz’s eyes glint like a cat’s, his smile a loaded gun. A gloved hand stretches halfway across the table in offering. “All right, cub. What do you want?”

Alby reaches forward, feeling the cold black leather of Dirtyhands’ grip between his fingers. The moment is a stormy crossroads, a whip between his shoulders reminiscent of his father’s favorite belt. He smiles, for this is a pain Alby has been walking toward since the day he woke up clutching stuffed black feathers.

(His blood never did bleed emerald.)

More than one answer to Kaz’s stinging question come to mind, nettles along the path of his thoughts. Yet, only one pricks Alby into speaking, the rage in his voice real rather than bravado. “Revenge.”

The Wraith giggles roughly, slipping herself to the arm of Kaz’s chair on silent feet. Alby swallows.

“On me?” The leader of the Dregs rasps, a brow peaked with amusement. His wife smiles with closed lips, knives glinting along her body like hungry specters. For here, her teeth are shown. Alby knows she Captain’s a fleet of the deadliest ships in the True Sea. He drags his gaze from her quickly.

“No.” Alby stutters, but he does not lie. Kaz Brekker bested his abusive father, and he does not care about Pekka’s death. In fact, sitting with the suspected murderers, Alby finds he rather prefers their company.

Kaz reclines in his chair, a hand lazily splayed on Captain Ghafa’s knee. He regards Alby with black eyes, a sharpness that pierces through his strength but doesn’t shatter it. A blade meant to probe. A test of mettle. Alby has waited too long for this audience, he cannot lose it. A moment passes.

Dirtyhands looks to his wife, his Wraith. She quirks her head in the silent exchange. Six heart beats have passed, and Alby Rollins is certain he won’t leave this room. He waits for the snap of a cane to bank his vision, a warm blanket of red to cover him from the jugular down.

He waits for death, but does not invite it. It does not come.

Instead, a voice like choking smoke, “Then let us begin.”

Alby Rollins releases a breath. His knuckles loosen in parts. A tattooist is called in.

The Crow & Cup bleeds as it settles, accepting the fresh skin as it’s master’s tithe.

Alby sits taller, a prince of a different kind, a darker throne.

I don’t make the rules but this is now my personal agenda & important that u agree

Crap now I have to put it in a fic

Should I do it?

[icycoldninja]

Fluffcember #25 (Sparda boys x reader)

Sparda boys spending Christmas with their S/O

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y'ALL

¤Dante¤

-Dear God, if you think he was a wacky woo hoo weirdo before, he gets even crazier during Christmastime. Gorges himself sick on spiced egg nog and iced sugar cookies, as well as stuffed turkey and mashed potatoes with extra thick gravy.

-To Dante, Christmas is all about eating. That line from "A night before Christmas" has never been applied to someone in real life more accurately than now. "Visions of sugar plums danced in their heads..."

Yeah, that's Dante.

-Plays Christmas rock music (think Jingle Bell Rock) on full volume while jamming along with his guitar in the middle of the living room, wearing naught but a Santa hat.

-Decorates the whole of Devil May Cry with like a thousand knotted Christmas lights because he was way too lazy to untangle them (Figures) and brings in a really cheap, withered looking tree like the one in Charlie Brown. Though, like Charlie Brown, you guys managed to fix it up real nice.

-Drags Vergil and Nero to your place for a fun, family Christmas, but things go south real quick: Nero ends up stealing all the treats and eating dessert before dinner, Vergil and Dante drink too much liquor spiked egg nog and have a drunken brawl in the living room before passing out in the hallway.

-At the end of the night, you had to drag all the boys into the living room and cram them either into sleeping bags or wrangle them onto the couch before exhaustedly trudging back to your own bedroom for a long night's rest. Merry Christmas.

《Vergil》

-The mature and responsible one--also the one who wants to have the least involvement with everything. Just sits in his plastic chair, reading his book, not caring nor acknowledging what is happening around him.

-It is therefore your duty to put up the decorations and cook the Christmas meals, but don't despair. You won't be alone. Nero and Dante have come over for Christmas (Vergil was against it, but they're family) and are more than happy to help--even if all they do is make messes.

-Christmas dinner with the Sparda family are typically a mixture of loud and rambunctious chattering (caused by Dante and Nero joking around) and quiet conversation with Vergil, which can barely be heard over the other two's yammering.

-After dinner has been devoured and the two idiots have left, Vergil lets out a sigh of relief--a sigh only a long suffering eldest sibling can make. Then he heads for his plastic chair, ready to delve back into the world of his book.

-Doesn't mind if you want to sit on his lap and cuddle while he reads. It is cold out, after all. ♡

-Spends the entire night chilling with you, watching movies, reading books, and eventually falling asleep in each other's arms.

♤Nero♤

-Takes after his father, in the sense that he likes cuddling and just relaxing, either by himself or with you.

-Unfortunately, he also takes after his uncle, in the sense that he's loud and loves to eat. He loves it so much in fact, that nearly all the cookies vanish before you can get to ice them, and it probably wasn't Santa.

-Has no idea how to hang decorations so he just buys a cheap wreath, throws it on the door, and decides he's done for the day.

-Dresses up as an elf and parades around with a radio blasting Micheal Buble on loop, specifically to get on your nerves and distract you from whatever you were doing.

-When Vergil and Dante come over for dinner, expect absolute chaos. Vergil cannot wrap his head around why his son--his own FLESH AND BLOOD--is prancing about dressed in a green skintight leotard. It's too much for him. He spaces out and just stares at the wall blankly, barely touching his food while wondering what influenced his poor baby boy to be this way.

-Meanwhile, Dante is having the time of his life, laughing his head off while snapping pictures to post online and to show the others so they have more excuses to make fun of poor Nero.

[pastafossa]

I legit wanna sit and scream over how good Echo was. I want to s c r e a m

Fun, good fight scenes, and a nice improvement over a lot of what the Big MCU has had so far imo

We got some blood and darkness again which has been soooorely missing

The gorgeous transitions between sound and silence, weaving you in and out of Maya's perspective

CREATION STORIES I LOVE CREATION STORIES

MATT WAS THERE FOR 30 SECONDS IT MADE ME SO HAPPY DEVIL VOICE GRR

The parallels and differences between Fisk and Maya were - not SUPER subtle since they bring you attention to it, but not ham handed either which I loved

Maya's arc is BRILLIANT - you know I love me some morally grey protags looking for redemption

The scene of her grandad selling to the Karen and Greg and they ask about a Najavo rug had me ROLLING because... yeah I've met those people 🥴

HEALING. HEALING. HEALING. THE SYMBOLISM OF THE BIRD AND FISK????

NETFLIX DAREDEVIL IS CANON, WHEN I SAW THAT HAMMER I WAS SHOOOOOOK

Fisk where is your WIFE

Did anyone catch the Fisk's Dad Fisk Beats The Bully Ice Cream Man and Baby Fisk Child Maya Kicks Him Too parallels???? No? Just me?

Maya making the rollerskate gun to shoot bolts was fucking hilarious

'Breakfast. Most important meal of the day.' I love her your honor

The way ALL her fucking ancestors showed up to help gave me legit chills, it was SO FUCKING COOL

I LOVE IT I WANT MORE

I guess this means I'll eventually have to do a TRT sequel set in this time period after the official end of TRT just post S3, or at least some one-shots if only so I can write Maya too, oh no, how surprising, who could have expected that. 🤷‍♀️

[cxsmiicc]

her little devil - lady lesso x reader

happy halloween yall idk wym im totally not 20 minutes late posting this shush

warnings - smut, orgasm denial, eating out, light fingering, vibrator, possessive lesso, halloween party

posted on ao3 also <3

2.2k words

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You picked at your chosen costume, suddenly doubting if it was the right one. The red latex clung to you in ways you were unused to and growing insecure of, neckline dipping far lower than you would usually wear and skirt stopping mid thigh. More than a little alcohol had gone into this decision. Well, too late to change now. Grabbing the headband with horns attached, you slammed out of your room before you lost your nerve, smoothing your hair around the cheap plastic as you walked down to the party. Clarissa and her damn parties, ever since the schools had merged it seemed like there was one every other week. And she just had to have the wonderful idea for a costume party, as though you didn’t have enough on your plate with classes and grading and her.

You banished those thoughts to the back of your mind, you had a party to attend after all. Of course whether or not you wanted to was a different matter, you would much rather spend tonight hiding away with a bottle and a vibrator. If you could escape early that could still work, it all depended on how fast Clarissa could corner you into taking drink after drink. For all she preached about good deeds that woman could coerce anyone into doing damn near anything with minimal effort.

Swinging the door open, you spotted her immediately. She was facing you, gesturing for you to join her and whoever it was she was talking to the second you were visible. The mystery woman turned around and your mouth fell open in shock. Lady. Fucking. Lesso. Her hair was straightened and dyed black for the night and there was a drip of blood decorating either corner of her mouth. She smirked at your reaction to her outfit and fangs became visible, successfully creating a fiery heat between your thighs. It only became worse as your eyes slid downwards to the generous amount of skin on show, matching your own outfit in everything but length. Where your dress was short and flared hers was long and fitted, flowing down and accentuating her every curve before pooling on the ground. Breaking yourself out of the haze, you made your way over to the two of them, first smiling at Clarissa before turning your attention to your boss.

“A vampire? Very appropriate Red, if I can even say that with you looking like this.”

“Seems like I should call you that tonight. Even I didn’t think to be quite so on the nose with my costume. The Evil history teacher, dressed as the devil? Somewhat obvious, don’t you think Clarissa?”

The blonde could only stare at the two of you and giggle, already too tipsy to care about pretending she couldn’t sense the tension between you and her fellow dean.

Rolling your eyes at the state of her, you turned back to Lesso to keep the conversation going, “So, what gives with you putting in effort tonight? Call me crazy but you don’t exactly strike me as the type to go all out for a work party.”

“Maybe I just felt like dressing up,” she spun where she stood, giving you a glimpse of the low back of her dress and sending a wave of arousal crashing through you, “My reasons are none of your business, though you seem to be enjoying it just the same.” A wicked grin graced her features, red lips quirking upwards as her eyes flitted across your body. “I must admit, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Oh? Careful Lesso, that almost sounded like a compliment. Wouldn’t want the ice queen to show emotion now would we.”

She laughed at you, low and slow and right in your ear. Right when you didn’t think it was possible to be any more turned on by this woman and she goes and does it.

“Ice queen… now that would’ve been a good costume idea.”

“Ah ah, what happened to not wanting to be too on the nose.” It was your turn to smirk as she registered what you just said, eyes darkening with what you would swear was lust if you didn’t know who you were talking to. All of a sudden you felt a tear on your costume and she was forcing you out of the room before you even knew what was happening, one hand firmly on your hip and the other on your shoulder. Everything was a blur as she guided you all the way back to your room, flashing her finger at the door to open it before you collided with the ageing wood. It was only to fling you down on the bed that she finally let go, pacing the empty space on your floor and offering no explanation for what she had just done.

“Care to tell me what that was all about?”

Rather than answering, she just stopped her pacing and crashed her bloodstained lips to yours, kissing you with a desperation you didn’t think her capable of. Just as quickly as she had started it, she pulled away, both hands buried in her hair as she resumed her pacing.

“Do you even know what you do to me.” Her voice came out low and gravelly, sending another spike to your core at both the tone and her words. “Always prancing around the school in those little outfits, it was driving me insane knowing I couldn’t just tear them off and have my way with you. And then tonight, oh tonight,” You stood, drawing closer to her as she kept ranting, too caught up in what she was saying to pay you much attention. “You thought you could just waltz into that party with that much skin on show with no consequences?” She grabbed your wrists and slammed them against the wall above your head before tracing a hand down your torso. “That teeny tiny costume, oh so low cut with a skirt that barely covers your ass. Latex? Not your best idea, my little devil.” Keeping her hold on your hands, she slid a nail down the ripped neckline of your outfit, successfully exposing your breasts to her. “It all would’ve been fine, had it not been for your wardrobe malfunction. Only I get to see that much of you, are we clear?”

All you could do was moan in response as she lavished attention on your chest, drinking in the sight of you half bare and entirely at her mercy.

“I said, are we clear.”

“Mmm, we’re clear, we're clear.”

“We’re clear mommy.”

“Yes mommy, you’re the only one allowed to see me like this.”

“Good, now help me take the rest of this off. Latex is a bitch to sweat in, and I'm guessing someone’s more than a little bit worked up right about now.”

She released her hold on your wrists and you dropped your arms, allowing her to peel the dress off of you and discard it on the floor, leaving you in nothing but your black underwear and horned headband.

“I want to see you, please?”

“Of course, go lay down for me and I’ll be right there.”

Rushing back over to the bed, you lay on your back and craned your neck to get the best possible view as she dropped her dress to the ground and walked over with a sway of her hips that only darkened the visible mark on your panties. She wasted no time in straddling you and pulling you into another bruising kiss, swiping her tongue along the seam of your lips and gaining the access she wanted right away. It was everything you expected of her, rough and selfish while still showing enough care to keep you enthralled as her tongue swept through your mouth, swallowing each others moans as she rolled her hips across your stomach, leaving a trail of arousal in her wake. The pressure of her on top of you was almost too much as she maintained both the force of the kiss and the motion of her hips, groaning whenever her clit hit your skin. Your hands were buried in her hair, ruining the sleekness she had worked so hard for earlier that evening but now couldn’t care less about, not when the thing she had craved for so long was finally happening. She pulled away and you whined and attempted to pull her back in, earning a glare from the older woman as she slipped down the bed until her head was between your thighs. Lighting her finger once more to vanish your underwear, she began kissing down your thighs, slowly drawing closer to where you wanted her the most.

“Please…” you let out.

“Please what?”

Please eat me out, please mommy.”

“Anything baby.” 

Her tongue ran across your entrance and you gasped at the sensation, eyes falling closed and the sound morphing into a groan as she reached your clit. She nipped at the sensitive spot and you saw stars for a moment, the sinful moans leaving your lips only spurring her on. Focusing on your entrance, she kissed and teased at the flesh, dragging sounds you had never heard yourself make before from the base of your throat. Dipping her tongue into you, your back arched off the bed as she picked up the pace, plunging it in and out as your breath came in short puffs of air, most of which were immediately used up on the truly barbaric sounds you were making now. Your walls clenched around her as you reached the edge, spouting gibberish in an attempt to convey how close you were, only for her to retract her tongue and go back to marking your inner thighs. Whimpering in confusion, you opened your eyes to find her staring at you, lips still moving slowly against your skin. Pulling away, she licked the taste of you from her mouth before speaking.

“You really thought it’d be that easy? That you could wear that little outfit, tease me like that, and still get to cum?” The look in her eyes was dangerous, almost predatory.

You looked away, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Look at me,” she grabbed your chin, balancing herself by planting her other hand on your thigh. “If you can’t take it, don’t act like such a brat.” Leaning back onto her heels, she pulled you up with her, forcing you against the headboard when you were upright, mirroring her position and sitting on your own heels.

“Hands on the bed.”

The same glow that usually emanated from her finger this time came from her eyes, conjuring thick swathes of silk and binding your hands to the bed. Scanning the room for a moment, her eyes settled on something on your nightstand and she smiled, leaning over you painfully slowly to grab it. Hand wrapped around her prize, she went back to sitting opposite you, close but not quite touching.

“Now, just what do we have here?” Her hand unclenched to reveal your vibrator, the original plan for tonight before everything went sideways. “Is this what you were planning on doing after the party? Putting in an appearance and then sneaking off to touch yourself? And here I thought you were better than that.” She poised the toy over her entrance, fingers hovering over the settings. “Eyes on me love.”

Pushing it in with a groan, she started it on a lower setting and let her hands roam her upper body, stopping at her chest to tease her nipples, plucking at the bars going through them and successfully causing you to drip onto the sheets. One hand dropped down to turn up the intensity before immediately resuming rolling her piercings between her fingertips, letting every little sound fall from her open mouth, the blood long since smeared across your face and legs. Violet eyes bored into yours during her entire display, the colour barely visible around her blown pupils. The bed shook as she turned it up one final time, rocking her hips for more friction as she reached her peak, eye contact finally breaking as her head fell back and she released a wicked moan that had you writhing against the bonds, aching to feel something, anything other than the soft fabric of the bedsheets. She tipped her head back down, eying you hungrily.

Voice lower than usual she said, “Go on, say whatever it is you’re thinking.” 

The sight of her using your vibrator, the thing that had been inside you oh so many times now inside of her, had triggered some need inside of you that you didn’t know you had. Everything about what she had just done was driving you wild with need, as she could so plainly see by the wet patch on the bed beneath you.

“Please mommy, please touch me I need you gods just please.” Your voice came out far higher than you were expecting it to, barely less than a whine. “I won’t do it again, you’ll be the only one allowed to see that much of me.”

“Damn right.”

She advanced, two fingers easily slipping into your dripping cunt and lips muffling your gasp. The binds stayed around your wrists, rendering you putty in her grasp.

[toxicanonymity]

whenever you have time, could you expand on that dark mode joel hc where reader brings up tess😩

(ACTUAL) DARK MODE 🔪

700 words | DARK!Joel x DARK!Reader | master list

In this AU, you can activate different “modes” for your pleasure using specific triggers.  Read about Joel’s modes in these (twisted) Objectification HCs. 

Warnings: NSFW 18+ NSFL DARK!Joel, NONCON maybe cnc but tagging noncon to be safe, Violence, domestic violence, verbal abuse/degradation, spitting, choking, knife, blood, unsafe PIV, dubcon by reader?, maybe more!  post-outbreak, AU

You're in an abandoned cabin looking for supplies on a long journey, and you're in the mood to get tossed around by Joel's darker side.  He's looking in the kitchen cabinets but stops dead in his tracks when you say, "Tess would know what to do." 

He turns around and you watch it come over him.  He takes a deep breath through his nose and his whole body tenses. "WHAT'D I TELL YOU 'BOUT SAYIN' HER NAME?" he booms, pointing at you, mouth wide open, hair bouncing with every word, whole body shaking with rage. 

He charges at you and you step backwards until your ass hits the kitchen table.  Joel wraps a rough, dirty hand around your throat and holds you there, his eyes shooting daggers into yours.  You cough and choke.  "What the fuck's the matter with you? Huh?" His face is red.  He lessens his grip only to let you answer. 

"She always knew what to do," you say. 

He lowers his voice to a disturbingly calm volume and says "You're gonna make me kill you one of these days" as he pulls his knife. You know he won't, but it still makes your heart race.  

He slams you down face-up on the kitchen table.  Your knees are at the edge, legs dangling.  He gets up on the table and straddles your hips then presses the flat of the knife against your throat, and the cool metal sends a chill down your spine.  His face looms over yours, neck veins bulging. Terrifying look in his eyes.  Ice cold like he doesn't know you at all.  Like he wasn't inside you 8 hours ago. And the night before that, and the night before that. 

"Is that what you want? YOU GOT A DEATH WISH? AFTER EVERYTHING I'VE DONE TO KEEP YOU ALIVE?" He slides the knife off your throat then reaches down and pops the button off your pants using the point of the knife.  

"Don't fuckin' move" he says. He gets down from the table, watching you, his pants sliding down yours and you feel his hard cock.  Your heart pounds and your eyes prickle with tears as a primal response, but there's also a fluttering ache between your legs.  He pulls up your shirt and holds you still with one arm across your belly while he yanks your pants down.  He brings his mouth to your thigh and bites down harder and harder until you  thrash him off.  Then, he  presses the flat of the blade at your pantyline and your hips lift into it seeking friction.  

Then he abruptly slashes your underwear, which catches and breaks the skin.  The blade leaves flaky white trails that burn ice cold.   The white trails turn into dotted red as Joel rips your ruined underwear off entirely and takes his stiff cock out of his pants. The red beads grow and absorb each other along the knife's trail as Joel forces your legs open and notches the angry head of his cock at your entrance.  

He uses the blunt edge of the knife to smear the line, then brings the blade to your mouth and makes you lick your blood off it.  You narrowly avoid slicing your tongue.  

He grabs your hips with both hands, still holding the butt of the knife in one, and plunges his length into you.  You groan at the familiar stretch, and he doesn't wait at all like he normally would for you to accommodate his size. He pulls out all but the tip, then sheaths himself in your cunt entirely. 

He pounds you brutally until you come on his cock, tripping him into his own orgasm, and, cruelly,  this is your favorite part.  As he empties his balls into you, you gradually see the devil leave his eyes. With each pump, a little more of him returns and the monster is replaced by a tired, wounded, traumatized man, horrified by his actions.  He looks at his hand and drops the knife. He kisses up your blood and rests his head on your stomach.   He looks up and asks tearfully, "why do you do this, baby? You're gonna get hurt."  Then he covers your body with his, nestling his hair into the crook of your neck.

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(A/N):  The purpose of this whole concept is that sometimes you wanna get railed in a certain manner & there’s gotta be a way to have a man at one’s disposal for that, too, not just to sit on. I only did this with slashers before so I hadn’t thought much about consent or whether they could regret their actions lol, but I thought the emotional ending here could be an extra layer of darkness for reader. 

BTW, answered this alongside a knife request that was already in progress (mentally lol), but if you're looking for gun stuff, that'll likely be done with raider!Joel.

-

Thank you for reading!!

All Joel (do you regret it yet?): @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione

[werepuppy-steve]

january fic rec

so i figured that instead of waiting until december to make a big long post of all the fics i read throughout the year, i'd break it down into monthly recs instead. i barely read anything at all last year, and it makes me feel awful every time i think about it, so hopefully this method keeps me on track so i can make some headway on the hoard of fics i have saved.

this also helps to boost fics that might've been missed or overlooked in the chaos and carnage brought by the passage of time.

these will include tumblr fics as well as ao3 fics!

general warning: smut will be included in these so please read at your own discretion and heed any warnings and tags!

▸ january fic rec - b sides

break the ice (i can't take anymore) - T, 2.2k, complete @matchingbatbites

tags: hockey au, established relationship, shower sex, secret relationship

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Steve says as he leans into Eddie’s creeping touch, the little bit of contact more of a tease than anything. “Thought you’d be back at the hotel by now.” Eddie grins up at Steve and tugs him closer. “And miss the chance to congratulate you properly? To show you how proud I am of you?” Steve full on shudders at that, his mouth drops in a soft gasp and his hands push up into Eddie’s hair. “Eddie…” “I am, Stevie. So proud of you, my baby.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jersey-covered sternum. “Tell me what you want, princess. Anything, and it’s yours.”

what's mine is yours (to leave or take) - M, 8.2k, complete @thefreakandthehair | througheden

tags: modern au, baker eddie, nurse steve, waitress-inspired, getting together

Eddie's an amateur baker who desperately needs a healthy dose of hope. He finds it in the bottom of a pie dish and the hands of Steve Harrington.

Tax Time - T, 922, complete @simplebtromance

tags: modern au, established relationship, domestic fluff, competence kink, appalachian eddie

Eddie throwing his hair back into a hair clip he stole from Chrissy, face determined as he opened up his laptop on their coffee table, that used to be his Memaw's, and got the binder of bills and receipts out to do his and Steve's taxes. (He still feels gooey and not very metal when he sees Steve Munson on any paperwork or mail, they've been married for over 3 years now and he doesn't think it's gonna stop any time soon)

group hangout - E, 3.3k, complete plutorose

tags: modern au, college au, dom/sub, first time

When Steve and Eddie start seeing each other, Robin meets Eddie's roommate for the first time.

A Little Show - E, 4.1k, complete ItCanBePalped

tags: exhibitionism, pre-threesome, dom/sub

Chrissy and Robin can't wait to get their hands on each other. Unfortunately, the room they find is already occupied. Or maybe that's "fortunately".

BABY SAID - E, 3.8k, complete dartlekey

tags: t4t steddie, transmasc eddie, transmasc steve, college au, bathtub sex, scissoring

Drenched by a sudden downpour and locked out of the youth hostel they were supposed to be staying at, university students Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson find themselves unwittingly and very much against their will trapped in night-time Rome together, and sharing a cramped hotel room. And a bathtub. Things kind of escalate from there.

Love from the other side - M, 6.2k, complete @sidekick-hero

tags: modern au, nurse steve, vampire eddie

In his mind Steve goes over the things he knows. Eddie is a vampire. A vampire who killed another vampire to save Steve’s life. To save Chrissy’s life. Eddie is dying. He may already be dead, but it looks like vampires can die again. Permanently. Eddie wants his blood.

the devil's water, it ain't so sweet - E, WIP hesjustlikemefr

tags: modern au, sugar daddy eddie, sugar baby steve, transmasc steve, slowburn, age difference

After Steve's parents cut him off financially, Robin comes up with a brilliant plan for Steve to be able to pay his bills. SweetShoppe, the most professional sugaring app on the market. Steve is skeptical, until he comes across the profile of Eddie Munson, a music producer and the hottest guy Steve has ever seen. Maybe this wasn't the worst idea after all…

like rabbits - E, WIP crybaby

tags: alpha eddie, omega steve, daddy kink, dom/sub, established relationship, pussy drunk eddie

Steve shaves his pussy and dresses up as a Playboy Bunny. Eddie handles it well.

usa hockey is do or die - E, 4k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: hockey au, dom/sub, established relationship

“Everyone expects a lot from Team USA captain Steve Harrington and his first alternate, Tommy Hagan, but everyone’s a bit shocked at the choice for second alternate. What do you have to say about Eddie Munson being the pick, Jack?” Steve already felt anger bubbling under his skin, the annoyance of the last few weeks finally reaching a boiling point. “Well, we all know he’s one of the best goalies out there, but it’s rare to see a goalie with an A or C. I’ll be honest, I was surprised he was chosen over Gareth Emerson, who showed us three shutouts in the last month at Boston University. Eddie’s been proving himself in the AHL, but I don’t think he’s got what it takes to get the boys to gold. I hope I’m proven wrong, but his careless attitude makes me think he isn’t leading these boys to a victory they want.” The tv in the hotel room snapped off and Steve stood up, pacing the carpeted floors with his fists clenched at his sides and a scowl.

driver roll up the partition please - E, 4.5k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: modern au, rockstar eddie, bartender steve, semi-public sex, light dom/sub

The bow tie around Steve’s neck was choking him. It had to be made for children, but when he’d asked one of the waiters before they went on the floor, he shrugged and said they all were like that. But the lack of oxygen to his brain didn’t excuse the way he nearly dropped a glass of a half-shaken, half-stirred -yes, really- martini when the hottest man he’d ever seen walked up to the bar. He was chatting with a few people, smiling at them like he was truly happy to see them even though he was dressed like someone who was crashing the party. Steve had done a few events like this before and was never disappointed with the eye candy, but this guy was something else. His curls were perfectly maintained, falling just right along his shoulders. Did they say the hair was the curtain to the soul or was he just that enamored?

steve tells eddie about his fight with billy - T, 4.6k, complete @solarmorrigan

tags: post-s2, canon racism and violence, mentions of drug use

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now. “That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

doesn't have to be anything, but i could be everything - E, 4.1k, complete | part 2 @steddieas-shegoes

tags: camboy steve, rockstar eddie, modern au, daddy kink, dom/sub

Steve being a content creator ( cosplay, streamer, YouTuber, onlyfans, webcam boy, illustrator anything in that ballpark) that keeps on getting these messages and blocks them only to be accosted at a convention by this person and Eddie being a low key fan or what ever randomly stepping up to help out

first kiss - T, complete @mcdynamite

tags: first kiss, pet names, getting together, fluff

Kissing has never done all that much for Steve, if he’s honest. It’s just not really something he’s ever given much thought to before - the way someone kisses - despite the fact that he’s locked lips with plenty of people. For him, kissing has always been something nice, but not particularly special. It’s never been earth-shattering. Never taken his breath away, the way people talk about in movies and books. It’s just a way to be closer to someone, and it’s nice, but it’s never anything more than that. Then, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time, and suddenly he gets it.

Good Morning, Daddy - E, 906, complete unholy_forest

tags: dom/sub, morning sex, daddy kink

A short and sweet oneshot of loving, sleepy morning sex between Steve and Eddie.

girls of your dreams (you know what i mean) - E, 2/2, complete @maxineholtzmann

tags: figure skating au, hockey au, threesome, established ronance

The two of them continued, kissing quietly. Chrissy wondered how far she could let this go before they realized she was awake. She ached to touch herself, listening to the panting and low moans now coming from the other bed. Fuck it. Chrissy rolled onto her back and Robin and Nancy froze. She looked over at them, Robin on top of Nancy, pinning her hands above her head. The kissing sounds Chrissy had heard were clearly actually Robin working on Nancy’s nipples with her mouth–both of the cups of the negligee had been pulled down leaving breasts exposed. Chrissy sighed. Slowly moving her hand down her body between her legs she said, “You don’t have to stop as long as I don’t have to stop.” Chrissy started circling her clit with her fingers, arching her back. “Are you sure?” Nancy asked, still panting. “Does it look like I’m not sure?” Chrissy said, using her other hand to fling the blankets back, spreading her legs and making sure Robin and Nancy could see where her hand had traveled.

Your Love Calls Me Home - T, 1.8k, complete @simplebtromance

tags: modern au, long distance relationship, online dating

Steve and Eddie have been in a long distance relationship for three years, and they're finally meeting.

Buckingham revenge program™ - E, series, WIP thequeermoon

tags: oral sex, strap-on sex, dirty talk, semi-public sex

It was all murmurs and unsteady breaths between them, and they barely touched. Outside the door the group laughed suddenly, startling the both of them. Just then they realized how close they were. Just a little step and their bodies would've touched. "Right, okay… " Robin coughed a bit, going slightly backwards. " …do you want to-" She didn’t get to finish that sentence. Chrissy, in full panic of losing the only chance she might have, threw herself at her lips, kissing her. It lasted so little that Robin had no chance to answer it, but it felt like eons. Chrissy opened her eyes, watching at her. Her cold hands on her face, her lips red, slightly parted to show these little teeth Robin thought were so endearing.

Swift Wings and a Brave Heart - T, WIP @paperbackribs

tags: werewolf steve, bat eddie, shapeshifting, found family

The beast stops, gaze narrowing at the pulse pounding in Eddie’s neck, and he quickly slaps a hand over it, trying to limit the temptation of the tasty-blood slash fresh-meat vibe he must be giving off. Robin scowls at Eddie, stepping forward to bury her hand comfortingly into the plush of its furry neck. “Don’t listen to him, Steve. He’s just being a big baby." Eddie has never been a normal type of guy, but he's owned it: he's a gay metalhead in the heart of small-town America and nothing's going to phase him. Nothing except being told that his recent demo-bat injuries might turn him into a shapeshifter like Steve Harrington.

safe and warm - E, 958, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: dom/sub, cock warming, pet names, coming untouched

Steve on his knees was a sight he would never get tired of. Something about the way his eyes closed, a rare sign of relaxation spreading over him, made Eddie wish he could be like this all the time, that they could always be like this.

new year's kiss - G, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: new year's eve kiss, getting together, pining

He hides in the bathroom, looks at his reflection in the mirror and tries to smile. He used to be so confident, used to be able to tell himself to make a move and make it successfully. But it used to not matter, not like this does. No one has ever mattered the way Eddie does.

first choice - G, complete @steddiealltheway

tags: nye, getting together, pining

Steve runs a hand through his hair and turns back to his abandoned stack of tapes only to turn back around as soon as the bell above the door rings. He turns around with a heavy sigh as soon as he realizes who it is. "Great to see you too," Eddie says with a humorless laugh. Robin cuts in before Steve can. "Don't take it personally. He's just unsuccessful in his mission to woo a lady and get a New Year's kiss." "Really?" Eddie asks, leaning across the counter. "I think I'm coming across as desperate." "Because you are," Robin adds unhelpfully.

holes on the house - M, 404, complete @cranberrymoons

tags: modern au, meet cute, food truck owner steve

There it is: a bright pink truck with an open side, glittering under the streetlight with a loose line of people waiting to order, The Hole printed on the side in white stylized script.

alpha/omega true mates - G, complete @stevieschrodinger

tags: omegaverse, alpha eddie, omega steve, true mates, canon divergence

Eddie, fucking excited as all hell to meet his Omega finally, opens his envelope to find Steve Harrington's name starring back at him and Eddie just. He just can't. Steve's one of the biggest bitches at Hawkins high. And even if Eddie can, sort of, get past that, Steve's a snob. He lives in a fucking mansion and has a nice car and preppy clothes and yeah...Eddie is going to get rejected stone cold and that would be fair because he doesn't have a single thing to offer and Omega like Harrington. Eddie burns the envelope.

henderfam - G, complete @loveinhawkins

tags: canon divergence, eddie lives, steve and dustin behaving like brothers, pre-steddie

God, I love you, Eddie thinks. Maybe some would say that’s too big a declaration to have even in his own head for a mundane, sleep deprived afternoon in hospital. He doesn’t care.

play nice - M, 387, complete @wormdebut

tags: daddy kink, dom/sub, possessive eddie

Eddie has died and gone to Heaven. (If that Heaven is covered in leather and latex…that’s his business.) This is the only explanation, he thinks, as he stares at his boyfriend. His very hot, very muscular, very unclothed boyfriend. Decked out in only a strappy harness and the sluttiest little leather shorts Eddie has ever seen.

need - E, 404, complete @wormdebut

tags: dom/sub, anal fingering, hot boys whimpering

His eyes flick all over Steve’s perfect fucking body, stopping to admire that beautiful cock. “Christ—I’m gonna tear you apart.” His eyes snap up to look into Steve’s perfect blown out ones. He’s perfect, Eddie’s boy.

bake off - G, complete @hairmetal666

tags: gbbo au, baker steve, rockstar eddie, tv host eddie

Steve who goes on a Bake Off type show after Robin, Dustin, and Max set him up as a contestant. He doesn't want to, doesn't think baking or cooking should be stressful, but he's been wallowing since his knee surgery took him out of work and basketball, since his divorce. His first day on set, he's totally gobsmacked by the sexy host with all the tattoos and long, curly hair. Just, cannot take his eyes off the guy, blushing and stammering whenever he comes around to do interviews, obviously can't stop starring.

talk it through - G, complete @strangersteddierthings

tags: established relationship, insecurities, future fic

“I think we should break up,” is what Eddie blurts the moment Steve opens the front door to reveal him. Steve’s first reaction is anger -how dare he?- but he doesn’t do anything with that anger. Instead, he takes a deep breath through his nose, crosses his arms, and looks Eddie over. He’s breathing heavily yet his van is parked along the curb. He didn’t run here. His hair, while never tame, looks rougher. He is fidgeting but in a nervous way, not his usual too much energy way. His eyes are wide and scared. It’s the last bit there that drains Steve’s anger. Something’s happened. He drops his arms and says, “well, you’re not dumping me on my porch. Get in here.”

frat steve - G, complete @strangersatellites

tags: college au, established relationship, frat steve

when he gets there he’s met with two guys, freshman surely. letters emblazoned across their cutoff muscle tees and hats turned backwards and perched, very stupidly if eddie shares his piece, atop their heads. they stop him with a hand up and friendly smiles and mock bravado “three actives,” bro number one states. eddie barely holds back an incredulous laugh. “you cannot be serious.”

flirting - T, complete @jewishrat420

tags: pining, pet names, flirting, "first of all my name is baby so jot that down"

"Don't call me that." He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally. "Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?" Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

kink discovery - M, complete @eddywoww

tags: hair pulling, dom/sub, getting together

He touches him the second time. When they’re all hanging out and the lights are low and Steve does it again and Robin only halfway gives him a weird look. It doesn’t stop Steve form blinking tired eyes up at Eddie, watching the way he gulps and hovers a hand over Steve’s face. “I like when people pet my hair,” He says unhelpfully, so high he can barely concentrate. Eddie makes a soft noise and blinks down at him. “You should- you should do that.”

cherry - M, complete @eddywoww

tags: omegaverse, tattoo artist eddie, alpha eddie, omega steve, age difference

And then he gets into Eddie’s studio and like- okay, Steve has always had a type. Older men, men who wore suits, men who worked with his father. Unattainable, already mated. Steve sort of assumes this guy is mated too. He looks like it, has a bite that’s weirdly faded on his neck. But Steve can’t smell an Omega on him. Or a Beta or an Alpha. No one. So sue him if he gets a little flirty. It fuels his self esteem, knowing they can look but he won’t let them touch.

eddie lives - T, complete @bonitabreezy

tags: canon divergence, steve carries eddie out of the upside down, eddie lives (but not without consequence)

Any part of him that had leaned into the idea that it was over and that they were safe was immediately washed away at the sound. His blood started to zing with adrenaline once more and he became hyper aware of everything around them, scanning the trees for danger. “Was that--” Nancy started, her shoulders a hard line, her hands no longer shaking. “Dustin,” Steve said, and he took off running.

4+1 - G, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: 5+1, steve carries eddie, eddie carries steve, eddie recovering from the bites

four times eddie gets carried and one time he does the carrying

▸ more fic recs ▸ more ficlets

[randomfoggytiger]

The X-Files: Mulder and Vulnerability

(Dedicated to @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure~. Merry Christmas!)

I've made a post about Mulder's emotional journey before (post here, it's a good read) but not about the broader scope of his vulnerabilities in past and present relationships.

So! Let's start at the very beginning-- after all, it's the very best place to start.

Mulder's Emotional Expression: Ground Zero

The Pilot gives us a clue of Mulder's emotional barometer: within thirty minutes we've learned that his nature is naturally trusting despite distrusting everyone, that he is tactile and touch-starved, and that he is shocked anyone would seek or could derive comfort from him during a crisis.

Mulder strings Scully along for the first twenty-five minutes of the episode before she runs to his room, terrified of a mosquito bite, and promptly clings to him in a mixture of ebbing fear and relief. As noted in my other post, Mulder is taken aback-- shaking his head in confusion and awkwardly patting her on the shoulder, following her with his eyes then his feet to a set of chairs-- before handing over his motel bed and heartbreaking backstory. From then on out, his hand gravitates to her back; and he factors her naturally into his rhythms, e.g. running after her to share his awe at the experience in the woods.

This incident locks in Mulder's investment very early on; and the events of the next two episodes-- rescuing him from the base in Deep Throat and taking his side on a man-monster case in Squeeze-- solidifies that quickset bond even further.

His reliance on Scully shifts after her support in Conduit, exposing itself in (even more) blatantly territorial jealousy in The Jersey Devil, fervent appeal in Ice, dedicated determination in Lazarus, and cloistered, singular trust in E.B.E. and Tooms.

But a little interesting thing happens in both Conduit and Roland that singles them out from the rest of Season 1: Mulder is brought to the brink of tears, breaking down to himself in a church and almost letting them fall later in Roland's care home.

As we see often throughout the series, Mulder rarely gives in to his emotions, and (almost) never completely. While this could be a symptom of being raised in the 60s and 70s with very poor parental support after his sister's abduction, it's even more enlightening-- and distressing-- to notate when Mulder cries and why he stops.

Mulder cries in Conduit because no one is there to check his tears; Mulder cries in Roland because Roland is less conscious of societal expectations and responds more openly to Mulder's honest fears. And Roland is the only person Mulder almost cries in front of for years: during Scully's abduction and return and near-death, he sought the solitude of his apartment; during his "sister's" return and death, he tried to keep his "weakness" from Scully and his father; even during his father's apology and murder, he put his pain aside and focused on revenge. It's not until Herrenvolk that Mulder finally cries in front of Scully, and only briefly; and after that, not for another three years.

And Mulder's reactions to his "slip ups" are the death knell to any other possible speculation. David Duchovny nailed the self-rebuking, ashamed, almost fearful look Mulder gives himself and his surroundings whenever his sobs become loud or noticeable: ashamed, afraid he'll get caught, certain he'll be rebuked for his weakness.

So, what is the deciding factor between his tears in solitude and his open weeping? Simply put: activated childhood guilt.

He "failed" in End Game, and chokes on his regret and tears while being torn down by his father. He "failed" in Anasazi, and his father dies, gurgling on blood and begging for forgiveness. He "failed" in Oubliette, and cries publicly over Lucy Householder's drowned body. He "failed" in Herrenvolk, and sobs on Scully's shoulder after turning her for immediate and necessary comfort. He "failed" in Paper Hearts, and never lets the tears spill over. He "failed" in Gethsemane and Redux II, and stifles his agony in pillows and shame. He "failed" in Kitsunegari, and almost crumbles on the floor next to his "partner." He "failed" in Sein und Zeit, and finally breaks under the irreparability of his mother's death.

Further, the separate pains that afflict Mulder might seem similar-- assigning guilt and blame to himself for a loved one's death-- but they are very different: Scully's abduction, return, near death, and cancer, as well as his father's appeal and sudden murder, were a result of his work. Yes, those haunt him; but in maturer ways, weighing-in motives other than his own. However, the continual roller coaster of Samanthas waltzing in and out of his life and his mother's two deathbeds are a direct result of his "failure" to save his little sister; and the internal wounds he and his mother carry (until her death and his closure) touch the very wick of his soul, burning away the barriers he's erected to maintain what little peace he clings to.

The Samantha Angle

Samantha is the quickest way to squeeze tears from Mulder.

As a child, Mulder was incredibly expressive person, jumping around in glee, stomping on his Spock ear, and yelling happily while running circles around his sister (Dreamland II); and that was still evident during his prepubescent years (Demons and Little Green Men.)

But he stopped emoting after Samantha's abduction, just as his father's affection seemed to fade (Bill Mulder filming his family in Dreamland II contrasted to his behavior in Season 2) and his mother's gregarious attention became restrained (Tena in Dreamland II versus Tena the rest of the series.) The loss of his sister changed the dynamics of the Mulder household; and, like Mulder said in the Pilot, they never recovered. For him, emotional guarding became all-important, as he now had to answer to an unforgiving father and nursemaid his grieving mother (see post here and here.)

Even after Scully ran to Mulder for safety and comfort (i.e. Pilot, Irresistible, and Milagro), he never quid pro quo'd until Tena "died"-- both times-- and there was no optimistic hope for Samantha's return left to cling to.

Conduit is the first time Mulder sheds tears-- the most unrestrained moment early on in the series-- wallowing in grief over the failure of this case and its similarities to his sister's story.

End Game destroys the second chance of Colony; and Mulder barely holds himself together as his father let him take all the blame for the "death" of his sister.

Anasazi is the second time Mulder loses emotional control; but it's later tempered by the revelation of his father's work, weakening and breaking this particular guilty tie to Samantha.

Oubliette is the first of two nightmarish cases relating to Samantha; and, despite his best efforts, Lucy Householder dies. Her death is the one and only time that Mulder sheds tears in public where everyone could see.

Talitha Cumi and Herrenvolk gives Mulder a cure for Tena and third chance with his sister (or another clone), then yanks both of them away. Too raw to reinforce his safeguards, he cries for Tena at her bedside and again-- and for the first time-- on Scully's shoulder. (However, the violent passion of Conduit has to wait for Sein und Zeit to publicly exhibit.)

Paper Hearts: Mulder walks through the motions of his coping skills-- minimization and avoidance-- shutting his emotions away with the last cloth heart.

Demons and Redux II shows the depths of Mulder's unfettered pain, torment, and anguish... but even still, he won't allow himself to completely give way, either for his "memories" or another lost Samantha. (It's easy to lump his cries at Scully's bedside in the same vein as the fault he feels for Samantha; but as mentioned above-- and will be touched on again soon-- they are very separate griefs.)

Sein und Zeit is the end-all-be-all for Mulder: he cracks, resolve crumbling; and years of repressed emotions spill out messily after Tena Mulder's suicide. That she hadn't told him, that she hadn't had the faith in him to give her answers before her death, that she had left him to clean up the mess he'd "wrecked" in her life without the consolation of a last, loving goodbye destroyed him; and he finally falls apart in Scully's arms, noisy and tearful and broken. (And still up the next morning, putting his grief aside to help another family who lost their own little girl.)

But it's not just about Samantha anymore, is it? The guilt about "failing" her spread to every area of his life, consuming the relationship with his mother, his father, and to a lesser degree his friends, partners, and even Scully. It's an aspect of his vulnerability that was always on the surface, able to be easily twisted, manipulated, or extorted by sundry nefarious characters.

Mulder's Past Relationships: Then and Again

Mulder's past friendships and relationships bubble up from his past here and there, giving us ample opportunity to see how to exploit that vulnerability without directly relating to his childhood trauma.

Season 1 Mulder is more likely to reciprocate disdain with his adversaries than forge new connections; but that soft underbelly of his shown briefly in the Pilot and Conduit is revealed and targeted when ex-best buddy Jerry Lamana, ex-girlfriend Pheobe Green, and former partner and mentor Reggie Perdue filter back into his life. Even the manifestation of his childhood aspirations and dreams ends up a victim to the paranormal, inflicting yet another lash from the whip of distorted childhood nostalgia.

Jerry Lamana swoops in from the past in Ghost in the Machine, surprising Mulder with a hug and a backstab for old times' sake. Yet, despite his spite and sticky-finger ways, Jerry worms his way into his old partner's sympathy by hitting on that old, old trigger button: "Let's face it: I was tagging along. How would you know, Mulder? You were too busy dazzling them up there on the highwire."

Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Belt, Mulder's childhood hero in the flesh, ultimately betrays and disappoints his admirer as well as his crew and mission at large. And while Mulder is right-- that the man was being compelled to do something almost outside his will-- he clings too much to Belt's speech and less to the facts at hand: the colonel's appeal to Mulder's humanity won him more grace over his actions than he might justly deserve.

Phoebe Green, cruel and manipulative, exploits her old boyfriend's insecurities by transforming herself into the repentant victim, successfully playing at sultry detective to both Mulder and her new side piece. (She also reveals an underlying attraction Mulder has to danger: that he is drawn to it in spite of his distrust for it.)

Reggie Perdue is the first person from Mulder's past that he is comfortable with: a private, widowed, aspiring writer who shared his dreams with no one but his young partner. Unfortunately, those dreams are never realized; and it's his death, as well as the young agent who was murdered by the same criminal, that digs into the depths of Mulder's self-punishment and regret. And guilt, of course.

In the aftermath of Scully's return in One Breath, Mulder's past dynamics change: the people who slink back into his life are ones whose respect he craves, covets, and will bend over backwards to earn and keep. These relationships deal heavy damage to his mature adult life.

Bill Mulder: what is there not to say about Bill Mulder (post here)? But the distance in his and his son's relationship hits home when Mulder goes in for a hug and Bill deflects with a handshake. Mulder's face says it all: it'd been so long since he'd seen his father that he forgot the house rules-- Bill Mulder doesn't allow hugs. And that doesn't change until sins are atoned in Anasazi.

Bill Patterson, a bitter man with a begrudging respect, stomps into his pupil's life and on all his toes and fingers only to end the posturing in disgrace. Mulder's old teacher, it seems, was one of the first people to turn on him for his spooky reputation, mocking yet coveting the Golden Boy's incredible ability at the same time. He and Mulder fall into old patterns: baring teeth and raising hackles while trying to win the other's approval; but Mulder's emotional progress saves him from following Patterson's mad method into the black hole of insanity.

Diana Fowley, the more polished ex from Mulder's past, further underlines Mulder's draw to the allure of danger, unpredictability, and seedy underbelly of human nature. His dream of her in Amor Fati tried to transform her into both-- ala the nurses in Kill Switch-- but couldn't quite balance domestic trust and happiness with the real Diana, a woman driven by advancement over loyalty, who would grip a smoking man's shoulder and hand for a leg up.

These relationships were relatively easy to resolve when compared to the damage of his childhood; but both of these past dynamics pale in comparison to the complexities of Mulder's present, with himself and with the most important person in his life.

Another Aspect of Mulder's Vulnerability: Scully

Despite many disasters happening throughout his and Scully's first year of partnership, it's not until Darkness Falls that the switch between friendly concern to ingrained guilt occurs: Mulder, before this point, gives tips and advice-- even yelling at her recklessness in Beyond the Sea-- but her near death in the woods is the turning point of his personal responsibility. It imprints so deeply on his mind that he denies Scully's offer to let herself go down by his side in Tooms, preferring that she be saved even if his career is doomed.

Then Little Green Men, then Duane Barry, then Ascension, then One Breath.

One Breath is another turning point-- the most important-- when the guilt from Scully's (second) near-death split from the corrosive damage of Samantha's abduction: during the case, Skinner posits Mulder could be just as liable as the men who did this to his partner; and Mulder, wrung-out and worn down, weeps alone in his apartment. However, Scully's resolve and "resurrection" proved that she didn't blame him, that the men who did this to her would be held responsible, and that she was an equal warrior in this battle to find out what happened to his sister. From this point on, the wrongs done to Scully are placed in a distinct category related only to his abilities as a partner-- in the fullest sense of that word-- rather than his failures as an older brother or "Spooky" Golden Boy or know-it-all basement conspiracist. His personal shields, sarcastic reservations, and kneejerk deflections are effectively gone between them, (though they do pop up in future, defensive fights.)

And while this is healthy for their partnership and future romantic relationship, it opens the floodgates for an even greater trauma: failing her as an adult with capabilities denied to him as a child-- Scully becoming collateral in his enemies' quest to stop him.

Firewalker doubles down on this new, internal shift: Mulder gently discourages Scully from joining the case, gently encourages her to stay where it's "safe", and rushes back, overjoyed and almost overcome at finding her alive in the finale.

The brand of Mulder Guilt is peppered liberally throughout the rest of the show: comforting and accepting comfort after Pfaster and both Modells, needing her reassurance for growing old and dying too soon, presenting a birthday keychain instead of a desk (because of her cancer), being shaken by images of a past life, then losing his faith and almost losing her all within a span of five intense years.

It's a new angle to his blossoming vulnerability: the Mulder who will sacrifice himself to help others-- be it victims or acquaintances or loved ones-- has tied his happiness and emotional vulnerability to a person he could lose (but doesn't believe he will) any ordinary day on the job. It's a precarious position for them both; but is daily proof that he trust her more than life itself.

Mulder's Character Arc (ala David Duchovny)

Mulder is Mulder and will struggle with this side of himself for the rest of his life; but he's makes significant personal development over the first seven years of his partnership.

"Rigid in a wonderful way" and "My one-in-five billion," and "You've kept me honest, made me a whole person" are incredible milestone markers on this journey; but the gold star has to be handed to David Duchovny for writing Mulder's three biggest breakthroughs.

In The Unnatural, Mulder's "joyless myopia" is whipped into clearer focus when Dales opens his eyes to "life on this planet" and "the mystery of the heart"; and because of that experience, he races to the ballfield and calls Scully in, carefree and exuberant and wanting to share this-- and so much more-- with her.

This episode ties inseparably into the scenes David wrote in The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati. Mulder's secret desires, his dream of a normal life with a loving family surrounded by safety and peace is the second step of his baseball lesson, exposing how much he wants craves "normal" but without the luxury of being able to live that life. Besides, that's not who he and Scully are. So, he resurrects out of his dreams, ready to take what he has and turn it into a new and better reality, Scully at his side.

This, again, ties in perfectly with Hollywood A.D.: Scully and he and nothing between, eschewing the glitz of showbiz for a brand of glamor all their own.

Mulder's vulnerability has evolved, shifting from distance and deflection to desperation and despair to dedication and devotion: a testament to the obstacles he's hurtled in order to live each day proud of himself, and free.

May we all aspire to emulate Fox Mulder in that way.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[small-sinclair]

The Color Red

A gift for @jokesonyouimfruity and @goreyskeleton

Inspired by this drawing and inspired by this song.

A House of Wax fanfic.

Tw: angst, character death, murder, blood, just some sad shit, not proofread.

Happy 1,000 Followers Post!

*********************

I love you.

Those are the words Lester wanted to say when he looked up into Bo's ocean blue eyes. He wanted to tell him how much he loved him and his brother, Vincent. He wanted them to know that he never not loved them and always looked up to them. Though he felt his lungs collapsing and caving in like a mud slide, Lester still wanted to let them know.

The hot wax under his body was melting into his skin, claiming him as part of the wreckage. The tipsy words and thoughtless slurs was all he could manage to say. He grunts in pain as his body tenses up, causing him to arch his back. Lester's face was numb and on fire all at once. His chest hurts from an arrow and emptiness he was leaving behind. His ears rung as Bo's voice went unheard. He could feel Vincent's warm tears in the palm of his hand and the scarred face instead of the smooth Wax that's he's used to.

He never liked that Vincent wore a mask around him. He liked his face the way it was. He was is older brother; he never cared! But it's whatever made him comfortable. Their parents made it out that he looked like a monster without his mask, but it's obvious that they never looked in the mirror for a damn minute. Bo is a charmer, Vincent is an artist, and Lester is forgotten. Maybe it's better this way for him to dead and gone. They deserve a better brothers, one that's just as strong and talented as they were.

Bo cradled his head while resting on his lap. He's seen his brother cry before at funerals, love lost, unwanted death, and when he was drunk. It's funny; Lester's the one that always holds Bo when he's a mess. His hand tried to stop the bleed on his face, trying to slow the wound over his chest. His lips were moving, begging, praying, but he couldn't hear his brother.

He shivers as he felt death slowly taking him. His mind was clouding and his taking him away, but he had to tell them. He had to say he loved them and they'll be alright without him. They made it this far without him being around in Ambrose, so how is this any different? How is his death going to stop them for reach their mother's goal? It was messed up and Lester didn't want to kill or take part of it, but he might as well had killed those people in wax because he led them to the slaughter. When he goes, he'll be welcomed by the devil himself with a handshake and a smile.

He didn't want to go to hell.

He wanted to go where his grandma was.

Eyes lingered to the blonde and her brother and frowned slightly. He didn't hate them though she sent him to his grave. If it's meant to happen, it'll happen anyways--

"Lester, Lester, please!" He could finally hear Bo's voice, but it was all chocked up. "Les, please! Please don't go. Don't go where we can't follow." Lester thought by that age, his broken heart had seen it's worse. Maybe you're not too old to have your heart broken again. "Stay with me... with us! Please... fuckin' please..."

He sees Vincent and feels his lips against his knuckles, whispering a prayer, a plead, but it won't work; it never does. If did work then his brothers and he would be somewhere in Alaska fly fishing and selling Vincent's art. Bo wanted to be a teacher; he was always good with children. He thought it would be a good thing for his brothers to forget Louisiana and the swamps that strangled them mercilessly. The space between space and stars, between oceans and ice, is unmeasured by distance and heartbeats.

He manages a smile as he looks up at Bo once more. His voice was struggling and his words falling short, but he had to let them know. There are so many words he wanted to say as time slowed around them. So much he wanted to tell his brothers but no more time. He swallows hard then said, "I love you."

His words were too painful to hear by everyone in the room, both dead and alive.

"Shut up," Bo said, his words on the edge of screaming, yelling for something to save him from this fate. "Don't talk, Les! Don't--"

"I wish I was better," he said as wax dripped from the ceiling next to them. "I wish I was stronger."

"You are!" Vincent argues, his voice hoarse and strain from the lack of speech. "You're the strongest--!"

"I thought," his eyes were starting to roll. He couldn't stay any longer. "I...I thought..."

Bo held his head closer as if he was shielding him from Death himself. Why did he just watch? Why didn't he get up to save his brother? Bo's the stars, Vincent the Moon, and Lester the sun, but even the sun goes out with the world. His world. Still, he held on to what he had left of his brother close to his chest. He wanted Lester to go listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

When he looked down, he was taken back to the time he held him when he was just a day old, dark eyes filled with wonder and light. Now, the flames flicker in the swaying gleam of his irises. "Lester, I don't wanna hear another word," he's lying; Bo knows he's lying. "You're-you're just tired. Yeah," he swallowed a rock too big in his throat, "yeah, just tired." He leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Rest, Lester. Sleep... please. Please, rest. It's okay. It's okay."

Fear suddenly took over Lester as he felt the end coming. He was scared to go, scared to be alone. He wants to stay! He wants his brothers!

Vincent's lone eye looks at him as a sad but trying smile formed. "I'll be here," he promised as the smell of honey wax filled the air and sent him a sweet but bitter goodbye. "I'm right here. I won't leave. I promise... I promise." He let out a chocked sob, saying, "You must be so tired."

"We'll be right here," Bo reassures, tears streaming down his cheek. "We'll be right here when you wake up." His vision was blurring between the flames and destroyed art. You're never too old to hurt even when you're dying in the arms of your safe keepers. "Bo's gotcha, lil' Les. Bo's gotcha. Vinny and I are stayin'. Ain't nothing gonna happen t'ya."

Bo failed as a brother.

Bo and Vincent failed.

Lester gasps as a tear rolls down his cheek. He shakes slightly as he felt cold within the inferno but safe. He could hear Bo humming a song that he used to sing, he could feel Vicnent's hand still holding his, and he felt loved. The type of sibling love that he knew too late. His brothers were there with him. He gently slipped away in his brother's arms, his shiny brown and green eyes rolling back, his head lulling to the side. He lets a relaxed sigh escape from his parted lips.

As soon as Lester went lip in his arms, Bo stayed silent as he heard his final breath. His arms never felt so heavy before and so empty. He hears Vincent’s shattered and broke cry of pain, of lost, of anger and despair. The world almost stood too still for him, too slow for his own voice to reach his throat. He wanted to scream out in pain, but rage escaped instead. Anger, hatred, murder, rage.

But for a moment, just a moment, he saw Lester as a baby once more. He was a day old when he held him and he swore to himself, he promised that he’ll keep his little safe from the everything! But look at where it got him.

Lester shoved in and saved him.

He should’ve been hit. He should be dead! Not him!

Bo held his brother close to his chest and closed Lester’s lifeless brown eyes from the flames. He didn’t want his brother to see him like this, to see the monster their mother raised Bo to be. He kisses his forehead and hair, tasting his brother’s bitter blood on his tongue.

The warm wax called him back and his eyes snapped up to see his reflection in the burning mirror. He sees his brothers, and he sees those brats. They did this to his family! They took everything from him!

“Vincent, take him outta here,” he said, his voice darkening. His hand takes the knife from Vincent’s hand.

“Bo—?”

“I said get him outta here!” He shouts, rising to his face. “I gotta scare t’settle.” He looks at Vincent and his melted face next to his leg. “Get out!”

Without another word, Bo turns and started towards the two. His steps were heavy and sunk into the wax floor but it didn't stop him. The heat against his skin and the hot wax dripping on his shoulder didn't bother him at all. Nothing in this world seemed to matter until these two were died. He was the one that cut the fan belt. He was the one that started this thing even though Lester told him not to. He should've listen but his pride got in the way. Vincent only needed six more bodies, six more! And they were supposed to fit. They were going to fit, but he let his guard and greed down.

Torn between killing and not killing. Torn between hatred and pride. The lines in the dirt were washed away by rain, blood, and wax.

He doesn't remember what happened next.

Bo doesn't remember what happened when he threw the knife down into the man's neck. He didn't remember their screams or the sound the girl made as she bleed from her throat. Both could've looked like freshly slaughtered pigs but he couldn't remember it at all. His vision was still blurred from hot tears and pain. He was blinded by memories of Lester going up, fishing, playing, resting, hunting, smiling, breathing, alive! All he could think about was Lester begging him to just go to Alaska and starting over, but Bo couldn't. Vincent couldn't leave without finishing his promise to their mother. His art became alive and Bo's anger was let out on unsuspected victims.

Lester...

Lester was forgotten all over again.

By the time he was outside, the house behind him was melting at his heels. The bright fire lit up the hallowed world around him until he saw two people at the bottom of the hill by the crying woman statue. Every step seemed heavier and heavier as he came closer to the two, and the sound of Vincent's heartbreaking cries will haunt him to the end of his days.

Vincent hung over Lester's limp body as he held him close, rocking back and forth. He reminded him of a painting he once saw in the church as a child. His raven black hair was pushed to the side as he cried in Lester's neck. Lester's blood was staining on his cheek and over his eye, cherry red never looked so sick right now. After this, he'll hate the color red.

He felt too his knees next on the other side of Lester and laid his head down to rest on his stomach. He grasped his limp, lukewarm hand and held it tightly. With every scream that left Vincent's mouth, every cry and sob, broke Bo's heart even more.

Red may mean anger, revenge, hatred, and war, but it stands for something else now. It stands for lose, pain, and heartbreak.

Bo finally let's himself go as he yells into Lester's shirt.

His brother was going home but not with them.

[ginandtobacco]

Lady Luck

@erisweekofficial

Day One: Bargains

Pairing: Eris x OC

Summary: Eris makes a bargain with an elusive criminal known only as Lady Luck. His father's death in exchange for a position in his court; a bargain with the devil in exchange for a crown soaked in blood.

Warnings: mentions of gambling & alcohol, vague mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: i had to cut a bunch of scenes because i need to go to bed and i didn't want to post late. but i'm still so happy to be participating <3

“A place in the Autumn Court. I’d be a lovely advisor, probably prettier than the ones your father—”

“Absolutely not,” Eris snapped back, the temperature in the room flaring with his anger.

The two unlikely companions were sat in a private room of The Molten Ruby; a shady invite only lounge in the Autumn Court’s capital that specialized in drugs, women, and gambling. Any faerie could acquire whatever their heart desired, so long as they had enough gold on hand.

The woman across from Eris was probably around his age, but it was so hard to tell with the strange mask that covered most of her face. Tiny disks of gold overlapped like chainmail, beginning at the crown of her head and slowly becoming more sparse until the bottom of her face was covered by nothing more than thin golden chains. It reminded him of a snake’s scales, shifting and shimmering as they reflected the candle light. The mask had the intended effect though, the woman could see Eris through the gaps in the metal and he wouldn’t be able to describe a single feature of her face other than her luminous dark skin and sinful red lips.

The woman was called Lady Luck. Everyone at The Molten Ruby had an alias, usually an obviously fake name, but Lady Luck’s reputation far outstripped any fake name she’d taken on. The card games she ran were legendary, famous for their large pots and her reputation for killing cheaters at the table. But Eris was here for her less well known skills.

“You’re asking quite a lot of me princeling,” she purred, a soft accent tinging her words. The casualness with which she took a sip of her wine infuriated him, a faint red mark staining the rim where her lipstick was wearing off. “An assassination is one thing, but framing someone complicates it.”

“Poisoning him and putting the bottle in Hadrian’s room is not a complicated matter.” But they both knew that wasn’t what Eris was looking for. If he’d wanted something that simplistic and easily scrutinized, he wouldn’t be here with Lady Luck. No, what he needed was a death so well planned and executed that even the idea of suspecting Eris would be ridiculous.

He wanted her, needed her. Lady Luck with her strange magic that didn’t seem to belong to any one court. Eris could feel her magic, she had never bothered to hide it, like electricity filling the air around her. He didn’t know what abilities she had, or how they work, just that she had a reputation for making things happen. Bad luck. That’s what people claimed her powers were, although he thought it was a ridiculous idea. It didn’t really matter what her powers were, so long as she could do what he needed.

Her blood red lips curved up, mocking him. “If that was all you needed then why couldn’t the Shadowsinger do it for you. I hear you’ve been spending quite a lot of time in the Night Court lately.”

Panic. Such a familiar emotion to Eris, but rarely had it ever been inspired by someone other than his father. Ice worked its way through his veins, snuffing out the fire that filled him and closing around his heart. “How do you know that?” His voice was no more than a whisper. 

She laughed, the sound melodic and too pretty for a female that held his life in the palm of her hand. “It’s my business to know these things, isn’t it?”

Luck was too pretty of a thing to call her, too rose colored and optimistic for the lethal female in front of him. No, she was a spider slowly spinning her web and watching happily as Eris wrapped himself in the sticky strands she’d woven just for him.

“It’s a bargain then.” 

The mark seared into the skin of his upper arm, constricting around his bicep like a snake. Lady Luck looked down at the matching mark on her own bare arm, a collection of autumn leaves and tangled vines. 

“I look forward to joining your court, my lord.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

It happened like this: Beron and Hadrian went out for a hunt with a handful of the lords Beron was trying to pressure into supporting his new tax policies. It happened as many hunts tend to when it is late in the season and there is little game to be found; the excitement of the sport replaced with freely flowing wine and leisurely riding through the forest. 

It happened like this: Hadrian saw a buck. The first game of the hunt and it was a deer larger than any he had ever seen before, with a pure white coat and antlers so large they looked cumbersome. Hadrian had always been the most egotistical of the brothers and it was no surprise when he loosed an arrow at the buck almost immediately after seeing it.

It happened like this: hours of drinking, a male who had never been a talented shot even when he was sober, and Beron’s horse getting spooked just as Hadrian released the arrow. An arrow aimed for a magnificent buck that only he had seen striking Beron clean through the left eye. 

There had been no trial. A dozen witnesses had rendered the need for one obsolete. A dozen witnesses who had seen Hadrian shoot his father clean between the eyes and all swore on their lives that they had seen no deer in the woods. A dozen witnesses who had seen the princeling’s face turn from fear, to elation, then finally to horror when he realized the crown had not in fact passed to him as he’d expected.

Eris had killed him quickly. A small mercy from the new high lord. A snap of his fingers and suddenly his brother was nothing more than a pile of ash on the floor of the throne room. The second oldest of the lot, the one born while Eris was away rebuilding the court after the first war with Hybern. The one closest in age to him and furthest from him in spirit; being swept into a dustpan by a servant with shaking hands.

Three dead brothers. A dead father. A mother he knew would leave for the Day Court come morning. A brother who still would not speak to him, who preferred the company of humans over him. Two brothers left in autumn, neither of whom he could trust but whose talents he needed.

Eris was high lord and he was somehow more alone than he had been before. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The female standing at the foot of his throne was beautiful. Hundreds of tiny braids cascaded down her back, swishing gently with every movement. Her dress was strange, certainly not a style common in Prythian. Intricate embroidery of a bursting heart covered the bodice and the gown synched at her waist, creating a rigid skirt that reminded him of a trumpet flower. The high neck didn’t include sleeves, slivers of her dark brown shoulders visible before her odd coat of voluminous red fabric hid it away.

And her calves… Eris was certain every faerie in the room was staring at the inches of bare skin visible between the end of her dress and her ankles. It was scandalous here in a court that valued modesty so heavily. Perhaps in the Night Court or in Day those six inches of bare calves would be normal but here, they were positively sinful.

“And who, pray tell, are you?” Eris asked, lazily propping his head on his hand. In truth, it was quite concerning that a strange female had managed to access the Forest House; to gain entry into his throne room of all places. But he needed to continue his facade of bored arrogance in front of the handful of advisors with whom he’d been discussing trade negotiations. 

The serpentine grin on her face shot cold fear through his veins. Eris felt the world slow as she let her strange coat slide down to her elbows, revealing a tattoo of twisting thorns and autumn leaves that encircled her bicep. “My name is Rosaline, I am the second daughter of the King of Montesere.” Somehow her smile seemed to grow, her brown eyes sparking with mischief as she stared up at him. “I believe we have something to discuss, High Lord.”

It was like being thrown into the icy lake of the Winter Court. This realization of how thoroughly Eris had been tricked by Lady Luck— Rosaline. The slight accent that he had dismissed, the magic that didn’t belong to any of the courts of Prythian, the strange mask that had hidden her identity so thoroughly. Even this dress she wore with the embroidery of the bursting heart— a symbol associated with Montesere. 

Eris had made a bargain with the devil and she had come to collect, and it was no one’s fault but his own stupidity and his blind desperation to be free from his father. 

“Everyone out.”

Lady Luck— Rosaline— continued smiling up at him as his advisors scurried out of the room. A suffocating silence surrounded them as the door swung shut, leaving him completely alone with her. She seemed quite content to let him drown in the silence, her hands clasped casually in front of her as if nothing was amiss.

“Are you a spy then?” Dispensing with formalities seemed the best path forward. Rosaline could already damn him if she so desired, there was no point in hiding from their bargain. 

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, my lord.” The arrogance made his blood boil. “My father has spent the past few years keeping the news of my disappearance quiet but make no mistake, I left Montesere of my own free will. I assume his spies will be sending letters to him as we speak of my reappearance.”

A runaway princess. A runaway princess who he had promised a court position to. A runaway princess who had killed the former high lord at his request. Eris was tangled in this web she had woven for him and based upon her self-satisfied smirk she had him exactly where she wanted.

“Are you trying to start a war?” He let the condescension drip from his words, his only armor against this female. 

Her eyes left him, scanning the room with a casual indifference; like her presence in his court was not causing an insurmountable political problem for him. “I quite like it here. I’ve seen the other courts in Prythian and they’re not quite up to my standards. It’s not my intention to start a war, but it is of course up to your discretion.”

Stupid sly female. She was out playing him at his own game, dragging him deeper and deeper into her web and it was only his own stupidity to blame.

Exhaustion had burrowed itself deep in his bones. It was mere weeks since he’d become High Lord and every moment since had been spent putting out fires. Eris was so tired of everything. “Just tell me what you want and be done with it.”

“If you want to avoid a war, your best move is to marry me.” She said it so matter of factly, like she was telling him the weather or the time of day. “My father has been trying to marry me off for a century now, I’m sure he wouldn’t oppose a union with the Autumn Court.”

Marriage. The word echoed in his mind, bringing with it all of the awful memories of his parents; of the terrible end of his last engagement, of watching his father kill Lucien’s lover in this very room. Eris had never been foolish enough to think he’d have the opportunity to marry for love, but he had had the idiotic belief that he might have a choice in the matter. Marriage or war.

A soft pop and suddenly there was a letter in his hand. Burgundy wax with the impression of a bursting heart secured the thick beige paper. The seal of the King of Montesere looked rather simplistic and non threatening here. It made the complex embroidery on Rosaline’s dress look gorey by comparison.

“Marriage or war.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The wedding had been quick. A grand affair, to be sure, filled with days of celebration and plying his advisors and the nobility with alcohol and carefully painted smiles. A week after the King of Montesere had threatened him for harboring his daughter, Eris and Rosaline had tied their hands together in front of a priestess and made vows to the mother to be faithful to one another. 

A vow, he thought, was so worthless compared to a bargain. An empty promise with no consequences for violating. So meaningless compared to the bargain that wrapped around his arm, branding him a fool. 

Then there had been more drinking and more dancing and very few words exchanged between himself and his new wife before finally they were allowed to retire. 

“Separate rooms, how thoughtful of you,” Rosaline had laughed when he pushed open the door to their chambers. 

He ignored her, striding across the room and removing the cork from a bottle of wine unceremoniously. Eris didn’t offer to pour her a glass, a small childish protest that didn’t actually make him any less annoyed.

As he went to put the bottle back down, he just barely knocked the bottom of it against the table. It slipped from between his fingers and as he reached with his other hand to catch it, the freshly poured glass spilled down the front of his jacket. Shattered glass and blood red wine soaked the rug and his clothes as he turned to glare at his wife.

“Bit of bad luck?” Her lips were pulled down in mock sympathy as she pulled the jeweled pins from her elaborate hairstyle. 

Eris wanted to strangle her, but he forced himself to take a slow measured breath. It was just wine, it was fine. He was stuck with her, he couldn’t kill her, he needed to make do. “So it’s true then? It’s just luck?” The implication was clear in his voice. It was just luck. He’d made a stupid bargain with her and all she’d done is turn his father’s luck bad. Something so small, so irrelevant, as to be meaningless. She was no master assassin or brilliant schemer. She’d simply turned Beron’s luck bad and been lucky that he died.

Rosaline raised an eyebrow at him as she pulled the last of her hair down. He had the fleeting thought that he liked the way her hair looked when it was down; the way all of those small braids framed her face. “And you just make fire,” she bit back at him.

This time he felt it when she used her magic. Tiny sparks of electricity seemed to fill the room as she tossed the handful of jewel encrusted pins towards a bowl on the coffee table. They all clattered as they hit the table, dinging as they hit the polished wood and the candles. Two landed directly in the bowl, but he watched with fascination as the other pins bounced off of the table and into the bowl. It wasn’t an impossible feat, but it was very very lucky. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Why me?”

The two of them were sitting in the living area that connected their bedchambers. It was a rare period of amiable silence as they read their respective books and the fire crackled quietly before them. Most of their time was dedicated to avoiding each other or attending important events with carefully constructed masks of cordial collaboration.

Rosaline looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a mind reader; elaborate.”

Pages rustled as Eris shoved a report between the pages of his book to mark his place “Why marry me? Why not just continue on as Lady Luck?” He ran a hand through his hair, the neatly combed strands falling into disarray. “Clearly you were capable of staying hidden from your father’s spies, so why force me into this marriage? Is it power that you want?”

Rosaline wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to ask, but she hadn’t expected curiosity about her. They’d spent the weeks since their wedding avoiding each other, content to live their separate lives in a shared home. She’d had an unspoken edge over him since he made that stupid bargain with her, but giving him even a glimpse of her true self felt dangerous. Like she was gambling instead of pulling his strings.

“Why is your brother so unhappy that he resorts to living with humans?” Eris bristled at the mention of Lucien, but she pressed on, “Isn’t it better to ensure I have a husband who owes me something, rather than be offered up as a trophy? Marry someone my father approved of or spend my life running. After five years of hiding I was already sick of it.”

She shrugged, opening her book again to signal the end of their brief conversation.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Six months into their strange and strained marriage, and Eris still didn’t think he was used to living with Rosaline. 

She was a fickle creature, clearly raised around wealth like him and more than willing to let her flights of fancy carry her throughout the day. Work was something that happened sporadically for her whenever the mood struck. He might sit down for the usual silent dinner only to be informed that she was busy writing budget proposals for a public works project one of the other noble ladies had mentioned to her.

The worst was at night. Often he would wake in the middle of the night, visions of flames and whips and his father’s face dragging him forcefully from his sleep; only to find her toiling away on some pet project of hers in the sitting area. His shame about the nightmares the only thing preventing him from walking past her to the liquor cabinet to chase away his demons.

This night, however, had been worse than usual. Eris swore he could feel the charred skin on his back even as he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked in the mirror. This night, he didn’t bother being ashamed as he strode into the brightness of the sitting area.

“I don’t recommend that.”

Mother above, the last thing he wanted to hear was her voice when he was already about to try and claw his skin off.

“What?” He snapped, turning his ire on her; the whiskey forgotten for now.

Rosaline’s braids were tied back loosely with a silk ribbon. It matched the crimson fabric of her short nightgown, the scalloped edges highlighting just how much of her smooth dark skin was uncovered and glowing beneath the candlelight. 

“If your only solution to your nightmares is drinking, you’re going to become dependent on it.” Fire sang in his veins as he watched her make a note in the margin of whatever she was reading. How dare she assume she knew better than him? She was just a strange female from the continent who knew nothing about him.

“How dare you—”

Rosaline managed to cut him off with nothing more than a look, her bloodshot eyes cutting through the panic and anger that had burnt away all of his logic and reason. “Maybe if you didn’t do this same routine a dozen times a month I would be able to finally get a good night’s rest.” Her gaze softened somewhat before she turned back to her work, “Go back to bed, High Lord.” 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“I still think it’s ridiculous that Lord Rothwaine thinks he has any leverage in the negotiations,” Rosaline rolled her eyes as they walked back towards their rooms. “The border with the Winter Court is the least productive part of the entire court. Perhaps he might have more bargaining power if his region had a larger population, or even any useful exports, but as it stands he’s simply insulting you by assuming he even has a leg to stand on.”

Eris shook his head, a half smile tugging at his lips. “They’re all like that, when will you stop being shocked by their arrogance?” In truth, he had come to enjoy these spirited rants from her. It had taken time, and time, and yet more time, but slowly the two of them had developed something close to a friendship. “I don’t understand why you continue torturing yourself with these meetings when you have no desire in helping with the tariff adjustments.”

“What would you have me do instead? Embroider you more handkerchiefs?” She tossed her hair, letting the braids smack against his arm to illustrate how annoying she found his question. “If you weren’t so uptight you might let me actually help you and then we wouldn’t both have to show up to hear Lord Rothwaine prattle on about how lowering our tariff on Summer Court wheat will drive us to ruin.”

Eris held the door to their rooms open, raising an eyebrow at her. “I told you you were free to do as you wished.”

“My apologies for assuming do as I wish didn’t mean governing your court.” She tossed her crown and Eris didn’t even bother to look, knowing after a year that it would land or bounce somewhere safely. He had married a lucky female, after all. “Besides, what’s the point in me doing anything if you’re just going to do it again? You get upset when I move your paperwork, I can’t imagine what you’d do if I started doing it for you.”

“Tell me what you want to do and I’ll set it aside then. You’re more than competent, I trust you to do it without me needing to check it.” He tossed his jacket, aiming for the back of a chair and rolling his eyes when it slid and folded itself perfectly in the seat. 

In recent months he’d noticed Rosaline’s magic had begun affecting him as well. Only when she was nearby, of course, but it was like he’d been infected by it. Lost items were always found quickly, dropped glasses bounced harmlessly off of pillows, rings snagged on dresses never ripped them. It was a strange thing to get used to, this sudden surge of good luck.

Silence stretched and he looked up from his cufflinks to see Rosaline giving him a look he couldn’t quite parse. Her eyes seemed to be searching him for… something, he didn’t know what. Worn lipstick stained her lips an uneven crimson and his eyes snagged on them as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Eris wondered why he so rarely considered what she looked like. Most days she was just Rosaline. Wife was simply a formal title they used. Friend was closer, but it didn’t truly encompass the way they’d intertwined their lives together in the past year and change. He rarely considered what she looked like because he rarely considered what he himself looked like beyond just presentable. 

He let himself look at her. Long braids reached almost to her waist, a dark brown that shone reddish next to the roaring fire. Her dark brown skin that always looked so lovely in the reds and oranges of his court, as if she had been made to live amongst the maple trees that filled the forest outside. And her eyes; a brown so rich and deep that to compare them to any one thing would be doing them a disservice. A brown that managed to hold every color inside itself and reflect such shining light that it was a miracle Eris had spent the past year looking anywhere else. 

It felt like a bowstring being pulled taut, stretching between two points before finally settling into place. It felt like the last brick of a shimmering gold bridge finally being laid down. It felt like stumbling through the darkness and feeling a warm hand wrap around his own. 

“Am I an idiot?” The words came out so quickly, without him meaning to speak at all.

Rosaline let out a laugh, so quick and loud that she put her hand over her mouth like she could force it back in. She glanced away from him, but it was clear she was just trying to hide the fact that she still wanted to laugh at him.

One moment he was behind the couch taking off his cufflinks and the next he was standing before her, gently taking one of her hands in his own and pressing it to his chest. There would be time later for him to think through all of the fears he harbored, the terror and horror that came with having his soul tied to another. But for now, the rhapsodic joy he felt at this revelation was overpowering even his anxieties. 

“How long have you known?”

A manicured eyebrow raised, a perfect imitation of an expression he wore so often, but it couldn’t hide the devilish grin that tugged at her lips. “Let’s just say it was a lucky guess.”

fun fun, another longer authors note down here at the end. i'm a bit annoyed at myself, i got halfway through this and realized that the way i was writing it it was going to need to be about 3x the length it is rn. but c'est la vie, i have work tomorrow and so i cut it down a bunch so i could get it finished before i had to sleep. so it is very unedited, but hey! i'll probably revisit this in a few weeks to add in everything i cut so the ending feels more satisfying and the time-skips feel less jumpy. anyways, not how i wanted to start eris week but i'm so happy nonetheless <33

[sparrowrye]

A Little Something….

Update + Snippet

Greetings my little devils. Thank you, as always, for being so persistent in your patience with me! I’m hitting quite the writer’s block as I start the transition between DEMI DEMON and a new Alastor x Reader story.

It’s a late Spring cleaning for us! Expect pinned posts to be rewritten, new pinned ones to come out (super excited about some of these), and a few polls about the current or new story.

Part 15: boiling blood is half written and boy is it spicy 🌶️ I’ll update you when I’m close to posting it

As a little gift for your patience, here’s a snippet I wrote awhile back. It was the first part of a random story I had and the inspiration came from these images (at the bottom) on Pinterest - my unhealthy addiction

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My hands gripped the edges of the stone sink as I sucked in a shaky breath. My legs were ready to give out at any moment. My recent patient nearly died and it had taken nearly all my energy to bring him back from the land of the dead. He was a fighter and his memories alone were enough of suck the very life out of my lungs; memories that were familiar to me.

I splashed my face with the ice cold water before I could trail down that dark path. My bones ached, a migraine pressed at the front of my head, and my throat was horribly dry. I gulped down several mouthfuls of water before looking at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were red and chronic dark circles under my eyes dragged my skin down. I looked half dead, which to be fair, wasn't really far from the truth. I grabbed the small towel and dried my face. I kept it pressed against my eyes, enjoying the only clean and sand-free thing I owned.

When I looked back in the mirror, hoping to see a slight improvement in my features, I noticed a dark figure in the doorway.

I spun, hand extended. A silver blade flew from my sleeve and buried its tip in the stone. I instantly recognized the tall ears, skinny cane, and red coat. His lips pulled back to reveal a yellow-teeth smile. His head remained still as his eyes glanced over at the knife a few inches from his face.

"Was that out of respect or inaccuracy?" he asked.

"What do you think?" I lowered my hand and took two steps back.

"Good to see you haven't lost your touch." His sharp claws tapped his cane one at a time. He brought a hand up to examine the knife still buried three-quarters of the way in the stone. He recognized the art of the handle. "Or my gift."

"Weapons aren't allowed in this settlement," I justified. "It's the only one I have." I mentally kicked myself. I had just admitted to being defenseless.

He grabbed the handle and pried it out of the wall with one swift pull. He examined the blade in his hand, glancing up to look at me briefly through his red hair. Had it gotten darker? "Come, dear," he curled the knife in his hand and turned away, "we have much to discuss."

I clenched my hands into fists at my side. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"We're not going anywhere," he said over his shoulder so nonchalantly, "but it's rude not to entertain a guest. Especially at such a late hour." I followed to the entrance of my room and watched him lean against the wall closest to the stove. "You remember how I like my coffee."

"At such a late hour?" I mocked, taking only a few steps from my room.

"I have business to attend to at the Hive. Traveling at all hours of the day gets us there sooner." His eyes glanced briefly at the stove as an incentive.

I swallowed on nothing. "I'm not going to entertain you after you nearly killed me and Creo when we escaped." The memory of my brother and I trying to make our escape had always burned in the back of my mind.

Alastor gave a fake gasp, still sporting his stupid smile, and put a hand on his chest. "I did not try to kill you..." His smile molded into a smirk. "That was the attempt before your successful one."

"We almost died on that cliff!" I took a daring step forward.

He shrugged and put both hands on his cane, swiveling it around in front of him. He cocked his head to the side. "It did what I wanted. You broke your foot and couldn't attempt it again for weeks."

My voice dropped an octave. "You did more than just break my foot while I was stuck with you."

"May we have this conversation over coffee? I am so very tired and we have much to discuss." He lifted the knife from his cane and spun it once in his fingers, eyes glancing sideways at me. I knew what he was implying.

I pulled in a deep breath then I crossed the room to start the coffee. The embers in the stove were enough for the dry weeds to catch flame. I closed the metal door and brought out the coffee pot. I dropped the powder in and put it on the stone plate over the fire.

"What do you want?" I asked, turning to lean against the adjacent wall so I could have him in my full sights. My arms crossed my chest protectively.

"Tell me about this life of yours." He gestured to the small cave.

"It's simple and perfect. Wouldn't want to ever leave it."

"Why's that? Surely you're bored here."

My heart was beating in my ears now. "I'm not leaving. And neither is Creo."

"Quit being so defensive, my dear." He pushed off the wall and swung his arms dramatically. "We are merely two acquaintances catching up after a seven year parting."

I couldn't abate the nausea that was creeping into my throat. I was so nervous it was making me sick. "Is that we are?"

"You don't believe so?"

"'I am the master and you the servant. Heed my words carefully,'" I repeated the phrase that had haunted me for years.

"I recall saying that within the first year of you joining me," he sounded unfazed. "Our dynamic changed as the years went on."

"Careful, Alastor," I dared to say his name in such a casual manner, "someone might think we're lovers."

He closed his eyes with a soft chuckle. Being lovers had been insinuated by the warriors after my first two years with him. He had always kept me at his side and put aside time to find ways to enhance my magic or my vision seeking. It had never been anything more than rumors. Eventually they were silenced when Husker, the captain, earned enough credit among the ranks for them to believe him when he said Alastor and I were master and student, not lovers.

When Alastor opened his eyes again they were already looking at me. "I must say, I do enjoy seeing this new you. Not as timid and afraid as you once were." It took him three steps to cross the small kitchen and stand an inch from me. He towered above me like he always had, making me shrink under his daunting shadow.

"W-well, I've grown," I replied. "Seven years can do a lot for someone." I leaned against the poorly melded counter, nails scraping the stone on either side of my hip. His familiar, overpowering scent of smoke and incest filled my nose. It made the world kilter to one side.

"Indeed it does. Perhaps you will hear me out then." He leaned down so our faces were inches apart. My back was hurting from bending it so far over the counter in an attempt to keep the distance. I casted my eyes down at my hands on the edge of the counter, at my shirt, at anything other than him.

A blade snapped up in my vision. I let out a gasp as the edge barely caught my nose. Cold claws grabbed my wrist and wrenched it off the counter. His red, beady eyes stared back at me, focusing less on the knife and more on my eyes. It was hard to breathe.

The knife dropped into the palm of my hand and I flinched. My eyes darted down to the weapon as he gradually moved closer, red hair brushing against my cheek. What was he going to do? I've seen him rip someone's ear off before. Nothing but red filled my vision as he pressed me further into the counter. His breath was hot on my ear.

"The coffee is boiling."

He abruptly straightened up and took a single step back. I sucked in fresh air, eyes jumping from him to the kettle. The sight of the brown liquid spilling on the hot stone pulled me out of my daze. I grabbed the pot and put it on a single plate full of cold sand to keep it from toppling over. I slipped the knife into my sleeve holster and brushed past him to grab a mug, careful not to actually touch him. I drew in another deep breath.

The kitchenware was stored in a cabinet further from the stove, also dug into the rock. We had only two mugs - for two people. They were probably the finest, straightest thing we owned. They were a cool, maroon color and had a wide base.

I grabbed the two mugs and poured a full cup in one and half in the other. I made sure to use the non-chipped mug for him. When I turned to hand it to him, he had already seated himself at the living room table. His legs were folded neatly under him and his staff resting not too far. I hated when he moved silently - it was unsettling.

Biting the inside of my lip, I passed over to the carpeted area and placed the mug in front of him. His eyes examined the simple mug before bringing it to his lips, taking a long inhale of the steam. His eyes flicked up to mine as I pretended to take a sip of my own cup.

"Your taste in coffee has sweetened," he remarked into the mug, finally tasting it.

"Creo doesn't like the dark brand you drink."

"But you do."

"Not anymore." I placed the warm mug on the table and leaned on my elbows. I pressed my hands against the hog mug in an effort to keep myself from fidgeting.

"Your elbows, dear," he corrected.

I had half the mind to ignore him but the last thing I needed was to give him a reason to be angry or annoyed. The uneasy feeling in my stomach grew as I pulled my elbows off the table and tapped a finger against the clay cup.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you," he glanced at me briefly over the rim of the mug, "I have an audience with Lucifer in the Hive."

"No. Why are you here? It's not like you to be away from the front lines and when you do you're quick to get back. So why bother stopping in a small, unimportant village?"

His smile quirked to the side. He placed the mug down, using his pinky finger to keep it from hitting the table too hard, mostly out of sheer habit since the table was covered in rugs and wool.

"Perceptive, as always." He placed his hands in his lap, back straight and manners reigned in perfectly. "Well, my dear, I had a vision of this very conversation. I planned my route to the Hive and stopped only at the nearest villages that I knew had their residents living in stone."

A vision. How developed was that skill, now? He had them quite often when I was with him but now it's been seven years. Surely he developed that skill exponentially. Is that why he hadn't flinched when I threw my knife?

"Most villages live in stone," I said, unsure of what to say.

"Not anymore, my dear. They have no need to be with the Humans securely behind Sharptooth's pass."

"Then why look for me? Why waste your time going to villages to find me? Surely you've already found a replacement healer for your army. That wouldn't be very smart of you if you hadn't."

"Indeed I did." He lifted the mug to drink again. He must be pretty tired if he's drinking sweet coffee.

"So then why are you here talking to me?" I asked again. He took his time, eyes closed as he drank the thick coffee, and let the silence hold over our heads. I could remember how uncomfortable it once made me when he created prolonged silence. I felt it creeping back into my bones, struggling to shove it down and stare at him until he was ready to speak again.

Finally he lowered the mug. His claws stayed wrapped around the handle as he placed it on the table. "I had not intended for you to stay away for so long. My spy's past caught up to him and died on his mission to follow you. I intend to bring you back."

There it is. I knew what he wanted but hearing him say it still hit me like a train. My hands pressed into the mug so hard that I worried it might crack and shatter. Fear gripped my shoulders and held my spine in place. His eyes stayed firmly locked with mine as I struggled to find my words. I had to pry my eyes away from his and stare down at the dark liquid.

But did he say...

He had let me stay away? Did that mean he had let me escape on purpose? How long was he planning to let me try to make a life on my own before roping me back in? Who had been the spy?

"I will not be going back with you," I said slowly. It felt like I was standing in the center of a metal rabbit trap, the claws ready to snap up and decapitate me. "I fought tooth and nail for this life, for Creo. You won't take it from us."

He let out a sigh, his smile still pressed in his cheeks. "Is it really one you wish to risk your safety, your brother's safety, over?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He tilted his head so his ears waved. He lifted the mug to his lips again, eyes never once leaving mine. He sounded genuinely interested in my answer.

My palms turned up to the ceiling, mouth moving but no words coming out. How could he be serious? My life was hell with him and his army. He knew how to twist my thoughts around so I went the other route. "Creo's life isn't being threatened. He's not at risk for dying from a Human attack. And he's not being influenced by the tough, respect-less army lifestyle.”

"You view it as respect-less?" He sounded surprised, curious even, at the term.

"Among each other," I revised, "I don't want him adopting their behavior." My back was starting to hurt.

"He is not six years old anymore," he lowered the mug just enough to say his part, "he's now, what, fourteen?”

"Sixteen," I answered. "Still an impressionable age."

"Most people his age have their occupation or are married. It appears he has found his occupation." He glanced around at the various gadgets and inventions littering the place.

"He's finishing his childhood since he didn't have one."

"He's a man, my dear, no longer a boy."

"My answer is no. We are not coming with you."

He placed the mug down. "Then leave him. I only need you."

"We don't separate."

He broke his manners by placing his elbow on the table and leaning his chin on the back of his hand.  "You realize you are the one who makes these things difficult? I am not to blame anymore."

"We are not going with you," I punctuated each word. "You will have to drag me by my teeth." Even as I said it, I wish I hadn't. I knew he would do it if it came to that. He wasn't above anything.

"How unfortunate." He grabbed his staff and stood. I was faster, on my feet in an instant and ready for him to do something dangerous. "You've lost your good manners in my absence."

He looked to the front door as two men burst through it, dragging Creo's hissing form. They were dressed in red and both held a struggling arm. One of them had a tight grip on the back of his neck. Creo dug his feet into the ground and tried to wrench himself free.

The men forced him onto his knees and the one man pulled on his hair so he was forced to look up at Alastor. The Demon took a single stride to stand above him. "My my, you've grown quite a lot," he crossed his arms and leaned heavily on his red cane, "You were barely past my knees last I saw you. Do you remember me?"

"Should I?" Creo hissed when the man pulled tighter on his hair.

"Indeed. That burn mark on the back of your neck is my crest." He reached a single claw around to press on the spot under his long hair. Creo's eyes fell to me. "You belong to me."

"He doesn't know how to fight like your warriors," I said, voice echoing too loudly off the walls. Alastor straightened up and turned his head just enough to look at me out the corner of his eye. "He has no use for your army."

"No use? I see a bright mind eager to explore his skills and limitations." He looked at the random metal objects and inventions lying around the cave. "I could easily provide materials and guidance to a gifted inventor."

"Neither of us are going with you." It didn't sound as firm as I wanted.

His eyes found mine. "I am gracing you with one more opportunity, meerkat," he used the condescending nickname. "Return with me willingly and I ensure Creo stays out of my ranks and out of harm's way. If I have to...drag you back by your teeth...he will remain on the front lines." He leaned his cane sideways and watched, waited, for my answer.

Why hadn't I received a vision about this? I had lost touch with that skill since leaving Alastor but surely my mind would've predicted this? Would've saved me? Yet I had no vision. I was standing before Alastor and about to determine how my life, and Creo's, would go. Why could I never keep either of us safe? Why was it so hard to keep our lives secure? To give us a normal life?

Alastor was uprooting us. We had found a place to let our roots grow but he was pulling us up as if the soil had been sand this whole time. He was taking us away from a shady, moist area and placing us in a plant pot in the middle of the desert.

I didn't know how to feel. I was at a complete loss. My heart felt like it had been wrenched out. I had believed wholeheartedly that I had managed to evade him, to finally outsmart him and hide away. Our city was far from the front lines and he had no reason to be so far back into Duner territory. It was thanks to his audience with the King that he had found me.

"What do you say, my dear?" He stepped closer and the sound of his cane tapping the stone sounded like a key locking the cage door.

There was no debate. Alastor had spent half his life fighting, meaning I wouldn't be able to beat him in a one on one fight. Even if I had a chance, I didn't want to bank Creo's safety on it. If I fought Alastor and lost, he would put Creo on the front lines. I may never see him again. I lowered my head, staring at the tip of his black boots.

"Okay."

"What was that?" He took another step forward. It felt like the corners of the room were darkening.

"I will go with you."

He stepped closer still, claw coming up to push my chin up. His red face was clouding my entire vision and his canine teeth poked out of his lips in an ugly smirk.

"Willingly?" he pressed.

"Yes," I clenched my teeth in a snarl but it was far from one. He raised his eyebrows and examined my face with half lidded, knowing eyes. My lips closed over my teeth. "Yes, Alastor."

He hummed in satisfaction. "Come dear, show me that lovely smile. You know you're never fully dressed without one!"

[sun-stricken]

Some ideas for you! Take your pick!

Gray frequents the infirmary the most. In one of my ideas lately, after thinking about iced shell, maybe ice make makes the body a bit more…prone to cracking? Maybe he bruises easy and gets a lot of head wounds. It’s why he’s always in bandages longer. I like the idea of Porlyusica getting sick of him.

Team Natsu/the guild/slayers taking care of him, even when he doesn’t realise it. (Against pervs, against himself, maybe people are a bit racist (with him being not from Fiore).

Gray gets sad sometimes and dissociates.

Gray has night terrors so he has sleeping pills, but on missions he also has caffeine tablets to keep him awake so he doesn’t have terrors around them. Safe to say, they aren’t happy when they find this.

Lucy asks Gray about where he’s from, traditions etc, and the guild realises he might be homesick so they secretly try to learn things for him. (Over the years they’ve picked up swear words (Gray doesn’t realise he’s doing it and they’ve never told him))

Gray’s actually quite touch starved. His body temperature is cold so most people stay away/ don’t touch him (but don’t realise they’re doing it). The only one who can stand is Natsu because of his magic. Maybe it gets worse after becoming a slayer.

…also do you take spicy requests?

you cant just give me all these amazing concepts and tell me to pick☹️ i will do a little for all of them if it kills me

Also yes! i absolutely do take nsfw requests! feel free to ask me anything! im surprised it took so long to ask me that tbh

there is a lot here so vv

1.

* Hes the single reason why the guild infirmary is always having to restock

* Due to Grays multiple usages of iced shell some of his body did turn to ice, most sections of his bones, it looks like a normal bones but it acts like ice, which means hes more likely to break a bone

* unfortunately, its not like a normal broken bone for obvious reasons. itll splinter and have hairline cracks all over the bones before it breaks.

* It takes less time to heal than a normal break, he just has to get it wrapped and limit his usage of his magic so it can ‘heal’ (as in, ice it over again) the breaks and cracks. It takes less time to heal and also less pressure to break, win lose situation tbh

* Which is also why head wounds are especially dangerous for him, skull fractures are more common for him than anyone would like, which is to say any at all

* His external body temperature is low and causes him to bruise like a peach, getting a friendly slap on the back can cause him to bruise for weeks, especially from Erza

* bro hasnt gone a day without a bruise in like ten years

* Hes been dragged to Porlyusica so many times now that anytime she sees him (on the field, in her office, even completely out of context and hes not visibly injured) its like second nature to check him out first

* if she could go a month, or even just two weeks! without seeing him she might consider changing her views on humanity (probably not but its the thought that counts)

* Also Gray has small sections of what people think is frostbite on his hands and feet. It doesnt hurt or limit him at all but theyre there, showed up some time post devil slayer magic

* ALSO! His blood runs slower and is darker due to his low body temperature, causes him only the vaguest of problems but its a thing (this is common in most powerful ice wizards)

2.

* Gray likes to pretend hes good at taking care of himself, but hes not hes really not

* Luckily he has a lot of nosy and protective friends thatll do it for him (in their own ways)

* Natsu literally temperature exploding some guys glass at a bar when he got wayyyy too friendly and handsy with Gray

* they were kicked out but he was really proud of himself

* Rogue drawing shadows towards Gray if he needs to sleep and its too bright, or Sting creating a warm light beam when its dark out and Gray wants to embrace his inner cat and sleep in a sunbeam

* Wendy checking him over first bc she knows hes one of the people who wouldnt ask for help if he was injured

* hes had multiple people physically remove him from fights/training sessions because he was visibly pushing himself way too hard

* Part of the reason Gray learned Fioren so fast was because he was sick of people looking at him like he was stupid for not speaking ‘right’

* he mentioned this to the little slayer group they got goin on and from then on out they were like, hella hyper vigilant with anything that could make him insecure like that again

3.

* It really scared him the first couple times he did it, it still does. He hates losing time

* It started happening during his time with Ur, he cant remember a lot of it, training, blink, fighting, blink, training, blink, training, you get the idea

* It doesnt happen often, and he tried not to think of it past the point of trying to get it to stop

* Its happens often when hes highly stressed but theres no immediate physical threat, his brain doesnt understand whats going on or why its so stressed but knows he doesnt need to physically protect himself yet so it mentally protects him (if that makes sense), usually when hes alone, or when a threat is gone

* he confided in Erza about this once, and now more times than not when he ‘wakes up’ shes there talking to him

* only part he feels is good about it is that it makes him exhausted and lets him sleep easier

* He doesn’t usually dissociate often, not that he has much of a choice, if he did it wouldnt happen at all, but it was a lot worse when he was younger, his memories of early fairy tail are all blurry and he felt like he was on autopilot even when he was ‘awake’

* he hates it

4.

* After his team found out abt his vast array of pharmaceuticals they were so confused and concerned and probably borderline paranoid, because who needs that many medications for one person??

* Gray had been taking sleeping pills at a high enough dose to let him have a dreamless sleep for so long that most over the counter brands dont actually work on him

* but he kept all the old bottle that didnt work just in case he got desperate to sleep and they suddenly magically worked again

* The caffeine tablets were self explanatory after seeing all the sleeping meds, but he also (unwillingly) admitted he takes them on missions so he wouldnt wake them if he had a nightmare, and also for days when they were especially bad so he could go long enough without sleep hed just crash and sleep with no issues. Canr have a nightmare if you dont sleep

* His team was also extremely unimpressed by these explanations

* Erza and Natsu (and also Happy) strong armed him into going to Porlyusica for actual helpful solutions since he refused to go to his actual doctor

* While Lucy and Wendy disposed of the full fucking pharmacy (seriously, he coulda started a business or smth) he had in his bedroom

* For some odd reason he felt lighter and less moody when he was on actual helpful medication and was getting genuine rest

* how strange

* and if his team checks his house for another pharmacy in the making thats nobodies business but theirs

* Also Erza tried to ban Gray from caffeine while on a quest , or at least limit it, but he looked at her like she was absolutely batshit crazy to the point she got embarrassed and had to retract the ban

* But she will tie him to the bed to make him sleep on quests if she has to

5.

* The first time Lucy asked where Gray was from was before Galuna, he ended up giving her a shady answer and redirecting the question to her (reminder, before galuna, before phantom lord) which she ended up also being a bit cagey about so she let it go

* But Lucy is nosy (endearing) by nature, so she asked if he had any different holiday type traditions sometime after Galuna, and to the surprise of, well, literally everyone, he did and gave examples

* which lead down a rabbit hole of the guild fretting a bit abt how to make him comfortable (even though hed been with them for a decade) bc he mentioned he used to be really homesick the first couple years, and sometimes still is

* Most the guild still had no clue where he was from so they were really just running in circles for awhile

* Levy tried to figure it out from the time he accidentally dropped, what she assumed to be colorful curse words, random foreign language bits

* didnt really work but she tried

* so for months he was bombarded with ‘subtle’ questions about his hometown and its culture, which got shut down most the time

* Thats not to say he didnt give them anything, he gave them enough that they were incorporated into existing traditions and holidays they already celebrated

* it was a very sweet gesture that Gray absolutely did not tear up at, so shut up—

6.

* Gray is the most touch starved fool on the planet. ive always loved the idea of him liking touch a lot

* He grew up in a pretty affectionate family, his parents were always around to ruffle his hair, or hug, or hold his hand, or carry him, they were just very physically affectionate and he enjoyed it

* With it made him nauseous, guilty really, because Ur and Lyon were also physically affectionate but it wasnt them, it wasnt his family

* Also it was plain uncomfortable at times, part of learning ice magic was to almost numb himself to cold, but in the beginning numbed him to everything and it became uncomfortable to be touched because it was tingly and it hurt

* Early Fairy Tail he was completely closed off, couldnt stand being touched, didnt want to get cozy and make friends because he planned to leave anyways.

* Ice mages (Fire mages also) temperatures can fluctuate depending on how they feel, for example, if they’re experiencing negative emotions their temperature and the space around them will get colder

* and Gray used to be so angry and upset all the time, and hed just beginning to learn magic so he didnt know how to fix it yet, which caused a lot of discomfort for people.

* People didnt stay around him long because the discomfort of being too cold, and what was he gonna do about it? ask them to come back?? hell no

* So he gained a reputation and people didnt want to disrespect a volatile childs apparent boundaries so they didnt question it

* He was fine with fighting being the only real prolonged touch hed get, totally

* But Natsus got this thing about him that makes him think he can do the impossible, which includes shaking Grays world view and comfort levels

* At some point in their teens Natsu would not let go of the alleged fact that Grays didnt like being touched for some reason, so he did what he does best and pressed the issue

* it ended with Gray being a puddle in his lap while he had a crisis about everything he thought he knew about himself while Natsu celebrated his victory against him

* Its not completely public knowledge but the guild most definitely knows at least a little about how much Gray is touch starved

* he doesnt openly welcome it with open arms but if its happening and he trusts the person hes not gonna say no

* he probably gets a euphoria high from a head pat or smth

* After getting his devil slayer magic is absolutely got worse, having two powerful ice magics, one of which he was still struggling to get the hang of, in one body made it difficult to control the temperature around him, and after long enough people would start shivering if he wasnt careful

* it sucked, totally and completely sucked

* Natsu still remained unbothered and would increase his own temperature to counterbalance Grays, which helped a lot

* he still gets all up in Grays space no matter how much Gray tell him to fuck off, he knows he needs it