#FEELING LIKE I'M FALLING EVEN FURTHER BEHIND

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — The soft splashing of water and gentle scrapes of your nails against his scalp made Sukuna’s eyes grow heavy, lashes falling shut as you worked behind him. Your presence was… soothing, he admitted privately in his head- a word he’d never associated with anything before you.

"You’re quiet tonight," you murmur, your breath warm against his ear. The gentle curve of your stomach presses against his back, and he could feel his unborn child’s curse energy- what little he could feel promised that the brat was going to be strong.

He didn’t answer immediately, too lost in the feeling of your fingers threading through his hair. The king of curses, feared across lands, reduced to this- nearly purring under a pregnant woman’s gentle ministrations. The thought should have enraged him. Instead, he found himself leaning further back, his massive frame carefully controlled to avoid crushing you and that belly of yours.

Truth is, Sukuna couldn’t find the words to explain how your simple touch was undoing centuries of telling himself he couldn’t feel anything. How the sound of your humming as you focused on him made something in his chest constrict painfully… and how your swollen belly against his back filled him with a terrifying kind of joy and pride.

"Does it feel good at least?" You asked softly, working through a particularly stubborn tangle. The mouth on his stomach merely sighed in contentment.

"Mm," was all he could manage as he felt your smile against his shoulder, your lips brushing his skin in a whisper of a kiss.

Water droplets caught in his lashes as he opened his eyes partially, watching your shadow play across the room. Your fingers traced one of the black markings that adorned his body, and he tch’d at the fact he had to suppress a shudder.

"Suku-… Ryomen, tell me what troubles you, I can practically hear you thinking," your voice was barely above a whisper this time, your hands stilling on him, and for a moment, only the sound of dripping water filled the silence.

His multiple hands clenched into fists, "You're making me weak," he accused, "ruining me," he muttered.

Your hands moved to his shoulder, working a knot he hadn’t even realized was there, "m’not," you smiled, "I'm loving you. There's a difference."

Love... that dreaded word, and of course his child chose that moment to kick against your belly, as if agreeing with you. The little shit wasn’t even born yet and it was already picking sides.

"I should have killed you, spread your legs open and fucked your corpse," Sukuna sneered.

Sukuna could feel it, how that innocent smile of yours seared against his spine, followed by the melodious sound of laughter escaping your lips. Before you could think, the world shifted and you found yourself beneath his towering form, the waters surface fracturing into a thousand ripples around your bodies. His massive hand tapped your wrists above your head, another gripped your hip while the remaining two pressed where you womb was- where his child flourished, his hands trembling ever so slightly with the effort of gentle restraint.

He stared down at you, the water dripping from his hair leaving tracks along your face and neck, almost like blood from a fresh kill, but your eyes held no fear - only understanding. The mouth on his stomach hung open breathing heavily, "What have you done to me? I want to tear your heart out and rip your head off, but I also can't bear the thought of losing you, or that brat."

Slipping your arms around his neck, you smiled up at him, "Nothing you haven’t allowed."

"Watch your tongue, little lamb." The threat was hollow, and you both knew it. The kiss that followed was ever so desperate, sloppy and violent in its tenderness, but damn did it taste like the sweetest sin… Your response back- how you kissed him in return, your spit mingling with his, a soft moan on your tongue… It was better than any scream of terror he’d ever drawn from human lips. And he knew from that alone, you’d been right.

You hadn't done a thing he didn’t allow.

And for once, he didn't fight it.

[rafayelxsylusho]

How would the LADS man react to you faking an org@sm...part2

TW: SMUT

Rafayel x reader

🐠Rafayel 🐡

He had a gala to attend to and you guys were running late so you decided to fake it.

"Ah...was that...was that supposed to be real, just now cutie? Rafayel freezes for a moment, his hips stilling their desperate thrusts. He pulls back slightly, his purple-pink eyes searching your face with a mix of confusion, he knows your body well and he can feel this was forced, unnatural.

"Such a naughty bodyguard, trying to deceive me, you know.....I think you need a reminder of what a real orgasm feels like." His voice drops to a sinful whisper as he leans in even closer, lips brushing against yours. "And since you faked it so well, I'm going to take my time...make you scream for the real thing" His eyes gleam wickedly, reveling in the delicious torture he has planned for you.

"I was planning to fuck you in this pretty dress, it's the thing that got us here in the first place, but now..."His fingers trail teasingly down the front of your dress, skimming over the swell of your breasts, before suddenly gripping the fabric and giving it a sharp tug. The sound of ripping material fills the air as your dress comes apart at the seams, the ruined garment falling away to leave you bare before him. Rafayel's eyes drink in the sight of your exposed skin hungrily, a low growl of approval rumbling in his chest.

"Much better," he murmurs, hands smoothing over the newly revealed curves possessively. "Now, where were we before you interrupted with your little deception?" His thumb circles your nipple teasingly, the bud pebbling under his touch as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

He is sitting on his sofa and you are straddling him, his hands grip your hips tightly, fingers sinking into the soft ripped material of your dress now pooled around your hips, as he holds you in place still impaled on his throbbing length. He grinds up against you, buried to the hilt, as he breaks the kiss with a harsh gasp. His eyes dark and intense, a wicked smirk playing across his lips.

One hand slides up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugs your head back, exposing your throat lips trailing hot kisses and sharp nips along the sensitive skin, marking you as his.

 "I can feel you, every flutter and clench, trying to pull me deeper. Your body knows who it belongs to, even if you try your best to fake it I will always know"

His other hand slides down between your bodies, clever fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight, teasing circles. He leans in close, lips brushing your ear as he whispered darkly:

"Let's see how long you can hold out before the truth spills from these pretty lips, before I have you gushing around my cock" Rafayel grins, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement and burning desire as he begins to move, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that you know would unravel you completely.

Fuck the gala," his voice a low, dark rumble "Fuck everything but this, right here, right now." His hand in your hair tightens, forcing your gaze to stay locked with his as he rolls his hips, driving into you with deep, powerful thrusts."I don't care about any of that nonsense. The only thing I care about is this - your little body wrapped around my cock, begging for more of what only I can give you."

Rafayel's hands move to your hips, fingers curl into the ruined fabric of your dress, gripping it tightly as he begins to use it like reins, pulling you up and down his thick length with sharp, jerking motions. The sound of the fragile material straining and tearing further fills the air, mingling with the crude slap of skin on skin and your increasingly desperate gasps.

Fuck, you feel incredible," Rafayel groans, head falling back for a moment before his eyes snap open to drink in the erotic sight of you bouncing on his cock. His grip on your hips tighten, fingers sinking into the giving flesh hard enough to leave vivid marks behind.

He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping up to meet your downward motions, driving into you with enough force to rock your entire body. The new angle allows him to hit that secret spot deep inside you with every thrust, sending sparks of electric pleasure shooting up your spine.

That's it, cutie," he rasps, voice a low, sinful purr. "Take what you need, fuck yourself on my cock just...like....that..." His eyes look into yours, dark and intense, a smirk playing across his lips. "Show me how badly you want it, how much you crave a real orgasm"

One hand releases its grip on your dress to slide up your body, cupping the swell of your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly. His thumb circles your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud until it pebbles under his touch, before pinching down hard.

"I can feel your little cunt fluttering around me," Rafayel growls, grinding his hips against yours. "You're getting close already, aren't you cutie? His eyes gleam with cruel amusement and burning desire, a man who knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

"Don't you dare hold back now, y/n. I want to hear you scream for me, scream my name until it echoes off the walls and everyone knows I'm making you cum that hard."

His hips piston up into yours, driving into you with enough force to split you open, to reshape you to the hard, aching length of him. One hand slides up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair and tugging your head back, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. At the same time his other hand reaches between your bodies his deft fingers find your swollen, aching clit, circling the sensitive nub with tight, teasing strokes. Electric pleasure jolts through you, making your back arch and your hips buck wildly against his touch as his lips latch onto your nipple, suckling and nipping at the tender bud until it throbs with need.

Your cries grow louder, more desperate, as Rafayel works your body with skillful, relentless touches. The assault on your most sensitive parts send you towards the edge of ecstasy, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length and with a final, brutal thrust and a sharp pinch to your clit Rafayel sends you careening over the edge, your scream of his name tears through the air, raw and ragged and filled with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Your body convulses in his arms, shaking and shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, sweeping you away and leaving you drowning in sensation.

Through it all, Rafayel maintains his punishing rhythm, fucking you through your climax with deep, powerful strokes that seemed to prolong the blissful agony. He drinks in the sight of your pleasure, eyes blazing with a dark, possessive hunger as he watches your face contort in rapture, the look of pure, unadulterated bliss on your face as you came would be seared into Rafayel's mind, a moment he knew he'd replay again and again, a memory to treasure and hoard. He can only watch how your eyes flutter shut, your pretty mouth open in a scream, your cheeks and chest blushing a deep, rosy pink, and he feels a surge of masculine pride at knowing he brought you to such heights of ecstasy.

With a low, approving groan, Rafayel captures your lips in a deep, hungry kiss, swallowing your cries and moans as he continues to pump into your spasming heat. He pours all of his desire, his hunger, his all-consuming need into that kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you, to mark you, to make you his in every way possible.

Only when your climax begins to ebb, your body going boneless and pliant in his arms, Rafayel breaks the kiss, his breathing hot against your lips. "Mine," he rasps, voice a low, dark promise. "You're fucking mine, cutie and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

With a final, deep thrust, Rafayel pulls his still-hard length from your sensitive, dripping cunt. He admires the way your folds clench and flutter around his retreating cock, not wanting to let go, already missing the feel of him inside you. A dark, wicked grin spreads across his face as he sees your essence trickle down your thighs.

Look at this pretty little cunt," he whispers, tracing your slit with a single, teasing finger, circling your entrance and gathering your arousal, his eyes gleam with a hungry, possessive light as he brings his finger to his lips, tasting you, savoring your flavor with a low, appreciative moan.

He leans in closer, breath hot against your ear, voice a sinful rasp. "This is my canvas now, cutie. My pretty little paint pot to fill and stretch and mold to my every desire." His hand cups your mound, squeezing you possessively, fingers sinking into your tender flesh. "I get to paint this cunt however I want, whenever I want, until you're dripping with my cum.

Rafayel nips at your earlobe, tugging on it lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue "What do you say, cutie? Are you ready for me to paint my masterpiece on this perfect little pussy?

Not waiting for your response, Rafayel grips his throbbing cock tightly, stroking it with hard, fast pumps. His eyes burn into yours, dark and intense, filled with a feral, animalistic hunger as he brings himself to the edge with startling speed.

With a low, guttural groan, Rafayel comes undone, his thick, hot seed erupting from his cock in long, powerful spurts. He aims his length at your dripping, swollen folds, painting your cunt with his essence, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. Jet after jet of his cum splatters against your sensitive flesh, coating your pussy and dripping down to your thighs. The feel of his release on your sex sends a shiver of dark pleasure racing up your spine, your walls instinctively clenching and fluttering around nothing. His eyes flutter shut, head thrown back in ecstasy as he empties his heavy balls all over your cunt.

Finally, with a few weak spurts, Rafayel's orgasm tapers off. He is panting and trembling, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. Slowly, his eyes flutter open, gaze softening as he takes in the erotic sight of your pussy glazed with his seed.

"There," he rasps, voice hoarse and ragged from his intense release. "There's my masterpiece, cutie. My pretty little canvas, painted with my cum, claimed and owned and utterly fucking gorgeous."His fingers trace through the mess he made, gathering some of his essence and pushing it back inside your fluttering hole. "This is what happens when you belong to me, y/n. This is what you can expect from now on - to be filled and fucked and fucking drenched in my cum, all the time."

[covenofthearticulate]

i had a thought: imagine louis falls asleep first because he’s the weakest and the baby and armand reads his thoughts as he dreams and then yaps to lestat right over louis’ head 😭

MWAH MWAH MWAH kissing u on the cheeks as we speak!!!! this is delicious i'm sobbing!!! since we're both going through it I wrote a lil something as a treat bc we deserve it <3

"He's dreaming of you," Armand mumbles into the nest of unkempt black hair.

From the pillow, on the other side of their sleeping lover, Lestat looks up from his phone. Like a pantomime, the expression shifts from surprised to curious to doubtful, before landing on the final fixed look of pure spite that crinkles his brow and stiffens his lip.

"He is not," Lestat frowns. "Liar."

He is always this way when he's afraid. Like a cornered wolf, snapping at any hand that might offer kindness.

And perhaps he is right to be afraid, Armand thinks, as he rests one hand over Louis' chest, feels the rise and fall of it as the mortal sleep pulls him under like the gentle lull of the ocean waves. Perhaps it is a gift, the severance between maker and fledgling. Perhaps the ugly things in Louis' head are better left unsaid.

That won't stop Armand, though.

"He's dreaming of you at the chess board with your father."

If there is any color left behind from the hunt, it immediately drains from Lestat's face. There's a sharp pain in his eyes for just a moment, one singular earth-shattering moment, before he glazes right over, and turns his attention back to his phone.

"...oh."

"You're yelling at him."

Armand doesn't know why he's digging further. He likes to dig, likes to press on Lestat's old wounds because sometimes it is the only way to see the real creature hiding behind the facade, because it makes him feel less alone, knowing there is someone else in this wide world who is every bit as broken and wretched as he is.

"Enough."

"Oh, but he loves you, even now," Armand continues to murmur, soft and low, against the crown of Louis' head. "He loves the curl of your hair, and the shape of your calves. Even the flash of your fangs as you tell your father to go to hell. He feels sorry for you."

"I said ENOUGH, Armand."

When he looks up, finally, there is a rage in Lestat's eyes. It's an old flame of anger, and yet it makes Lestat look so devastatingly young.

"Why are you telling me this?" Lestat breathes.

"Because you are the center of his universe," Armand snaps, and undercurrent is clear: ungrateful, ungrateful, ungrateful.

"I don't want to be." Something quivers in the back of Lestat's throat as he speaks. "I never wanted to hurt him, I never wanted—"

"And yet he dreams of you still."

Silence, for a moment.

And the longer Armand's words hang in the air, the more Lestat begins to recognize the jealousy seeping into each syllable.

"I want him to dream about us," Lestat finally sighs.

All Armand does is nod, close his eyes and inhale a breath as if he might pick up some lingering scent from the long dead flesh cuddled between them. And as he begins to gently exhale, Louis makes a small noise, a soft groan, and shifts ever so slightly so that his toes bump against Lestat's leg.

Lestat hates that he cannot know the cause of that noise, and for a moment he considers swallowing his pride simply to ask Armand to play conduit, to slide the blade between his ribs just once more—

But before he can speak, he feels the gentle press of Armand inside of his head, like a warm summer breeze, and once he opens the door, allows the battlements to crumble down, he can hear it like a relentless pulse:

Dream of us, dearest. Dream of us. No more sorrow. We are here, now. Dream of us.

And the world seems so warm and so small, suddenly, as Lestat allows himself to sink down into it, to be guided by Armand through the dreamscape in his lover's head. The three of them, tucked away in a venerable library deep in the heart of New York. The three of them, in the box at the opera. In the snow-covered trails of Auvergne, the moonlit streets of Paris, the ocean-kissed air of California...yes, the three of them, in all their many iterations, always finding their way home to one another over and over again.

A yawn creeps it's way up into Lestat as he shifts under the covers. He wraps his arm around Louis, rests his hand on Armand's shoulder.

And when he closes his eyes, he dreams of the three of them, too.

[anomaly-076]

You kinda feel bad for opening such an adorable envelope, but what is inside is even more endearing. The handwriting is beautiful, yet something in all those intricate cursive loops feels like the writer was nervous in the process:

'Y/N, If I may, I'd like to invite you to a date. Unless that would be overstepping your boundaries of course. So please, if you accept my offer, please respond to me so we can arrange it further. If not, feel free to ignore my letter and I apologize for such spectacle. - Subaru Kagami'

The moment you read the letter's contents, the biggest smile appeared on your face. You immediately reached for your phone and texted Subaru to agree on the time and place.

Eventually, the two of you agreed to meet in the secret tearoom hidden away in a secret part of the Hotarubi dorm.

Already prepared, you enter the dorm with your opened umbrella in hand, quickly navigating the vast garden, trying hard to not get your clothes wet.

Subaru is already in the secret room, politely kneeling and lost in thoughts while arranging various sweets on the multi-level tray.

The sound of the screen door shutting behind you brings him back to reality and his anxious, violet eyes fall on you, prompting the ghoul to smile.

"Oh, Y/N. Hello, I hope the rain didn't soak you too much."

"Hello Subaru. No, I've brought umbrella." you put the said item into a holder by the door and take a seat on the ground alongside your date.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't notice... Um- I hope you don't mind, but I've prepared some rose and lavender tea blend as well as some themed sweets."

"Aw, thank you! They all look so lovely!" you smile and reach for the most appetizing one.

Your action and kind words seem to have help Subaru relax as his hands try to steadily pour the tea into your cup.

It gets quiet for a while, until you look up and see Subaru meekly smiling, almost as if he wants to say something, but is afraid to ruin the moment.

After a short pause with you making a reassuring eye-contact, he finally speaks up: "Y/N, I am so glad you've accepted my invitation. I was scared it would change your perception of me... I- Thank you... And.. Happy Valentine's day."

[sorasan000]

I had started thinking that despite personally considering Gakane-Yuder-Kanna one of the central trios, Kanna had far more one-on-one developments and emotional beats with Yuder than Gakane. I started feeling bad for him because he really was the first one in this entire story to reach out to him, even in the 1st timeline. It felt like he was falling behind.

Then the 2nd dance of the ballroom party came around. Fellas

"I know that I'm not someone people easily approach. I'm not sociable, and my personality isn't exactly winning. Most people who meet me for the first time find me intimidating or unpleasant."

"..."

"But you spoke to me without hesitation, didn't you?"

There aren't many people who can speak to Yuder without hesitation upon a first meeting even now. Although the Yuder of his past life had brushed off Gakane's friendly approach, the fact that it remained in some corner of his mind even after death and resurrection indicated that it had left a significant impression.

And also, the meaningless death of Gakane, who had shown such effortless kindness.

The conversation he had with him at that time was, from Yuder’s perspective, a conversation with another person after a very long time.

Based on his previous life, it was a conversation with a peer stranger after several years, and in this life, it was the first proper conversation Yuder had since coming back from the dead.

Yuder looked at Gakane, who seemed lost in thought, and spoke.

"I'm glad the person I talked to at that time was you. That's all."

Saving Gakane's life was added to the list of things he definitely wanted to do this time around, and how he describes this conversation feels like a peaceful closure. Something that his current soul probably needs to heal further. It almost made me tear up. I'm so glad these friendships are what they are.

[qvietspvce]

made a fucking error in not skipping the lewis capaldi song on my playlist and made myself saaaaaad

[sysig]

Guess who :3c (Patreon)

[chatonmagique]

Failing to be a comforming student and not being able to rest (especially mentally) is quite literally making me want to die at this point. I barely have hope for me holding a job getting any better and can't see how I can get through next year filled with internships and a minor without a lot of failure, dissapointed and angry teachers and supervisors suffering and burning out with no self esteem or hope left

[muntitled]

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[winxanity-ii]

SINS OF DEVOTION [2/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (p in v ; fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimulation; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: wasn't planning on expanding the one-shot, but here we are. i literally stayed up 7+ hours to write this just cuz i got a bunch of praise in the notes 😩 i'm weak... anywho this is a continuation of my previous one-shot, '𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎��.' If you haven't read that yet, I recommend starting there to understand the progression of their relationship….final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Ever since that night, you couldn't look Father Charlie in the eyes. How could you, when the man—the symbol of the glory of the Father above—had been buried between your thighs like a man starved?

Just looking at him brought back all the feelings, the emotions that twisted and churned inside you, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

Every time you saw him in the chapel, his gaze lingering on you from across the room, your heart would race, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

You would try to focus on your duties, your prayers, but the image of him kneeling before you, his mouth claiming every part of you, would flash in your mind, making you falter. Your hands would tremble, your voice would break, and you would feel heat rising in your cheeks, knowing he was watching you.

And he was always watching you.

His eyes would find yours whenever you entered a room, his gaze dark and intent, filled with a hunger that hadn't diminished in the slightest since that stormy night.

You could feel it even from a distance—the way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, as if he was marking you as his. It made your breath catch, your body reacting in ways you couldn't control, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through you.

It was a regular Sunday mass when he finally cornered you; a neighboring pastor was visiting, giving a sermon, while you were cleaning out one of the confessionals.

The faint sound of the sermon echoed in the background, the low, rhythmic cadence of the visiting pastor's voice carrying through the church. You were kneeling on the ground, scrubbing the tiles, your sleeves rolled up to keep them out of the soapy water.

The scent of cleaning solution hung in the air as you worked, your humming soft, almost absent-minded, a gentle hymn that you barely even noticed yourself singing.

You were so absorbed in your task that you didn't notice the shadow fall over you until it was too late. You looked up, startled, your eyes widening as you tried to regain your composure.

"I'm sorry, this confessional booth is out of commission at the moment, I'm cleaning—" Your words trailed off as your gaze traveled upward, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized who was standing there.

It was Father Charlie.

His presence filled the small space, and you could feel the air grow heavy around you, your pulse quickening as his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way he looked at you—something dark and knowing—that made your heart pound, your hands freezing where they rested on the damp cloth.

The brush slipped from your fingers, falling back into the soapy water with a splash that sprayed droplets onto the floor and your habit, snapping you out of your daze. You stuttered, "F-Father Charlie," quickly standing up, giving a short bow. "Blessed Sunday morning, Father."

Charlie's lips twitched up into a smile as he stepped further into the cramped confessional booth, the door closing with a soft click behind him. "Blessed Sunday to you as well, Sister ____."

Your eyes flickered to his lips, your breath catching as your mind flashed back to how he had used that very mouth to bring you to the brink of pleasure—his lips, his tongue, every sinful movement etched into your memory. You swallowed hard, your face warming at the thought, your hands fidgeting as you struggled to look anywhere but at him.

You cleared your throat, your voice coming out small. "Is there... is there anything I can do for you, Father?"

Charlie hummed thoughtfully, taking another step closer until he was right in front of you, the space between you almost nonexistent.

Your gaze dropped to his chest, the black fabric of his cassock filling your vision, the scent of him overwhelming—something warm and clean, with a hint of incense. You could feel your heart pounding, your breath hitching as he spoke, his voice low and deep.

"There are many things you could do for me, Sister," he murmured, his tone shifting, darkening, as his lips curled into a smirk. "We could pray... or perhaps," he paused, his eyes glinting as his voice dropped even lower, "you could help me find a different kind of release."

Your eyes widened at the crude implication, your gaze shooting up to meet his, only to find him already watching your face, his eyes hooded and dark, filled with a hunger that made your stomach twist.

You felt heat pooling low in your belly, the tension in the small space between you almost unbearable. You shook your head slightly, your voice coming out in a whisper, shaky and unsure. "Father Charlie, we shouldn't... we can't..."

Charlie didn't answer, not with words. Instead, he took another step forward, his body pressing against yours as he used his arms to cage you in, one hand bracing against the wall of the confessional beside your head. His other hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers tilting your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You could feel his breath, warm against your skin, his face so close that your noses almost brushed. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw, something that made your knees feel weak.

He leaned in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice a whisper, almost pleading. "Do you know what you do to me, Sister? How you push me to sin, how you make me want things I shouldn't?"

His hand left your cheek, moving down to grab your wrist, guiding your hand between your bodies, pressing it firmly against the hardness straining beneath his cassock. Your breath caught in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you felt him, your eyes widening, your entire body tensing at the sensation.

"Feel that?" he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "That's what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look at me with those innocent eyes... you make me lose control."

You felt your heart racing, your mind spinning, a mix of fear and something else—something dark and thrilling—coursing through you as Father Charlie's hand held yours in place, his gaze locked onto yours, unrelenting, his lips brushing against yours in the barest of touches, waiting, coaxing you to give in.

Your thoughts raced. So many times since that night, you had fantasized about him, dreamed about him fully taking you, about giving in to the desires that had been eating away at you. But now, with him right in front of you, so desperate, so wanting, it made you dizzy.

You were a nun, a devoted daughter, a wife to the Lord—yet here you were, on the verge of surrendering. Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to cling to the last shreds of your faith.

But then you licked your lips, and you saw how his eyes immediately zeroed in on the movement, darkening with something almost primal. His gaze was intense, unblinking, and you felt the pull, the weight of his need, and it made something inside you snap.

With all the bravery you could muster, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

It was soft, a gentle peck, barely more than a brush of your lips against his, but it was enough to make your heart race like you were running a marathon.

For a moment, you thought you could pull back, that this brief kiss could be enough to satisfy whatever it was burning between you.

But then Charlie groaned, the sound deep and raw, and before you could pull away, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you back to him, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak. His tongue slipped between your parted lips, invading your mouth, exploring, tasting.

The kiss was nothing like your timid attempt—it was fierce, overwhelming, consuming.

You felt his tongue caressing the inside of your mouth, tracing the shape of your teeth, stroking your own tongue, coaxing it to move with his. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world, as if he was savoring every second, every taste.

You felt your head grow light from the lack of air, your body trembling, but still, you were locked in the kiss, unable to pull away, unable to do anything but respond to him.

Your hands moved of their own accord, one of them gripping the front of his cassock, the other reaching up to tangle in his hair. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the way his body seemed to hum with tension, with need.

Charlie's other hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours, the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of your habit. It made you feel like you were drowning in him, in his touch, his taste.

You whimpered against his lips, the sound muffled by the kiss, and he responded with a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, his lips moving more insistently against yours.

Charlie pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he panted, his breath hot and heavy, mingling with your own. His eyes were dark, filled with something raw and unrestrained, and he let out a low groan, his voice rough with desire. "I wish so badly to mark you up, to strip you down right here and lose myself in you," he murmured, his words sending a shiver down your spine. The explicitness of his words made your cheeks burn, your face flushing as you pressed it into his neck, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he wasn't done. He tilted your chin back up, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek, his eyes searching yours. "But it's too risky," he whispered, his voice filled with regret, and something almost feral. "So I'll settle for something much quicker."

As he spoke, his hands moved down, fingers traveling lower, bunching up the fabric of your tunic around your waist. His touch was frantic, almost desperate, his hands squeezing and kneading every inch of you he could reach, as if he couldn't get enough.

You could feel his fingers digging into your thighs, your hips, pulling you closer, pressing you against him, and it made your head spin, made your body ache with a need you didn't quite understand.

Your hands trembled as they found their place on his shoulders, your fingers hesitating, curling slightly in the fabric of his cassock. You wanted to touch him the way he was touching you, to let your hands explore, but you were too shy, too overwhelmed.

The intensity of his presence, the way his body felt against yours, it all left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

Charlie's gaze remained locked on yours, his eyes dark and filled with something raw, something that made your pulse quicken. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low murmur, almost a growl. "You don't have to be afraid... just let me take care of you."

Your breath hitched, your body tensing as you felt his hands venture lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. Your eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping your lips, but it was quickly swallowed by Charlie as he covered your mouth with his own, his lips moving against yours, silencing your small cries and whimpers.

His fingers moved with purpose, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow circles against your clit. The sensation made your knees go weak, your body trembling against him as he worked you with an expertise that left you breathless.

You tried to pull away from the kiss, to catch your breath, but he wouldn't let you, his mouth insistent, his tongue coaxing yours to move with his, swallowing every sound you made.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric as you felt his fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before slowly pushing inside.

A muffled whimper escaped your throat, your body tensing at the intrusion, the sensation both strange and thrilling. He moved slowly, his fingers stretching you, coaxing your body to relax, to accept him. You could feel every movement, every inch as he filled you, his touch deliberate, patient.

His lips never left yours, his kiss growing deeper, more demanding, as if he could feel your hesitation and was trying to coax you further, to draw you into the darkness with him. He pulled back for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he spoke, his voice a low whisper, thick with desire. "You feel so good, Sister... so perfect. Just let go for me."

Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, his hand moved to your thigh, his fingers curling around your leg as he lifted it, wrapping it around his waist.

The new angle made everything more intense, his fingers sinking deeper, his thumb brushing against your clit, drawing a shuddering moan from your lips.

The warmth in your belly grew, turning into a small flame that licked at your insides, consuming every thought, every hesitation; your body responded to his touch, your hips moving against his hand, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving you.

Charlie's breathing grew shallow, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his gaze roaming over your flushed cheeks, the way your lips parted, the soft gasps escaping your throat.

Your thighs trembled, your body growing tense as you felt the pressure building, the sensation coiling tightly in your core, threatening to snap at any moment.

But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, just as the first waves of your orgasm began to crest, Charlie stopped. He pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, the sudden emptiness almost painful.

A soft, desperate whimper escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering open, wide and confused as you looked up at him.

He met your gaze, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the taste of you. "You taste so sweet, Sister," he murmured, his voice thick with lust, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "I could spend all day between your thighs... but right now, I need something more."

He shifted, his hands moving to the waistband of his robe, shuffling the fabric around as he freed himself. You couldn't see anything, the fabric obscuring your view, but you felt it—the hard, heavy length of him brushing against your inner thigh, the sensation making your breath catch, your leg twitch involuntarily at the contact.

Charlie moved with a practiced ease, his hands gripping your hips as he shifted you, lifting you as if you weighed nothing.

Your back pressed against the wall of the confessional, the cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of his body. He adjusted his hold on you, his arms wrapping around your thighs, lifting them until both of your legs were hooked around his waist.

You felt exposed, vulnerable, the position leaving you completely at his mercy, but there was something about the way he looked at you, something in his eyes that made your heart race, made your body ache for more.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your breath hitch, your fingers clinging to his shoulders as he held you up, pressing you against the wall. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper. "You drive me mad, Sister... Forgive me, I can't hold back any longer."

He adjusted his hold on you, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist, holding you up against the wall with ease while his other hand moved beneath the ruffled fabric of your habit.

Your legs hitched open wider, instinctively allowing him more access as you felt the warmth of his hand trailing up your inner thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin. The anticipation made your breath catch, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, your body aching for his touch.

You gasped softly as you felt something blunt press against your clit, moving up and down your slit, the sensation different this time—firmer, hotter. You thought it was his fingers again, but then Charlie let out a soft sigh, a quiet, breathless "fuck" that made your eyes widen, the realization hitting you all at once.

He wasn't using his fingers. It was him, the hard length of him brushing against you, spreading your slickness as he moved, the pressure making your head spin, your body growing even wetter at the sinful, blasphemous intimacy of it.

His movements were slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as if daring you to look away, to deny what was happening. But you couldn't—your gaze was trapped by his, your lips parted as soft whimpers escaped, the sound swallowed by the heavy air between you.

Charlie's breath grew more ragged, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Do you feel that, Sister? Do you see what you do to me?" His voice was thick with lust, his words a mixture of reverence and something far more depraved. He moved his hips, sliding himself against you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body, making you moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin as he began to push inside you, his voice low and shaky as he muttered a scripture, the holy words twisted by the desire lacing his tone. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." His voice trailed off into a deep, guttural groan as he sank deeper, the stretch almost too much, a sharp burn that made you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as your body struggled to adjust to him.

Charlie paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours once again, his breathing heavy, his eyes searching your face as if looking for any sign of hesitation. But you were too lost in the sensation—the way he filled you, the way your body seemed to mold around him, the burn slowly giving way to something else, something that made your toes curl, your breath hitching as you nodded, a silent plea for him to keep going.

He smiled, a dark, almost tender smile, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, "Perfect." His hips moved again, slowly at first, his movements careful, deliberate, as he began to build a rhythm, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through you, the feeling overwhelming, all-consuming.

And as you clung to him, your body trembling, you knew there was no turning back, no escaping the hold he had on you.

The two of you got lost in one another, the heat between you burning like a fire, desire crackling like embers, growing hotter with every movement. Charlie's pace quickened, his breaths coming out in harsh pants, his groans muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn't get close enough.

The rhythm of his thrusts grew more erratic, each one more desperate than the last, the intensity making your head spin, the pleasure building until it was almost too much.

You could hear him, his voice a mix of groans and soft, needy whines, his lips brushing against your neck, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he moved, the friction, the pressure, everything pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body tensed, your muscles clenching around him as the band inside you finally snapped, the pleasure washing over you in a blinding wave. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut as your entire body trembled, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, riding out the high.

Charlie shuddered in your arms, his own body tensing as he felt you tighten around him, his movements growing sloppy, desperate, until he finally stilled, his hips pressing against yours as he let out a low, guttural groan.

You felt the warmth of him spreading inside you, the sensation almost surreal, the realization that you had pushed him to this point, that you had made him lose control, making your heart pound even harder.

He stayed like that for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes half-lidded as he looked at you, something almost soft in his gaze.

Slowly, he pulled away, his hands moving to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your flushed cheeks as he leaned in, his nose bumping gently against yours, a small, tender gesture that made your heart swell.

Charlie's eyes held yours, his gaze intense, filled with a mix of emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, his voice still thick with the remnants of his desire. "Pleasure is deceitful... as it was for the harlot, yet I cannot resist you."

A/N: alright guys, chill with the praise and notes or i won't be able to get rest 😔🫶🏾🫶🏾jkjkjk keep them coming i'm a whore for them 🥴

[aliteralsemicolon]

Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

[livinghalfway]

Right Reasons; Wrong Kid

Summary: Batfam thinks Damian is being kidnapped when they see Danny getting manhandled into a car by Vlad; Danny loves to make Vlad's life difficult and puts up a fight getting into the car.

Word Count: 1450

Being in Gotham was the last place Danny wanted to be today, especially when he had to be here with Vlad. The fruitloop had somehow convinced his parents that he should go to this stupid three day business conference with him.

While Danny can't make any decisions right now he can certainly make Vlad regret his. Which is why Danny doesn't feel an ounce of embarrassment at what he is currently doing.

"Daniel, get in the car." Vlad hissed at him with a tight smile as they both stood outside of the building the conference was being hosted in.

"No." He said; even going as far as to take a step backwards to further spite the man in front of him.

It was clear Vlad was losing his patience with him if the subtle flash of red in his eyes is anything to go off of. "Daniel, I won't ask again. Get in the car now, or I can drag you in. The choice is yours, but you will be getting in this car one way or another."

"You really gonna drag a kid into your car in front of all these people you're trying so hard to impress?" Danny looked from side to side at all the people congregating on the sidewalk and steps as they wait for their vehicles to arrive.

"I'm hardly the first person they've seen that has had to deal with a stubborn child refusing to listen." Vlad says as he takes a threatening step forward, "Now get in the car."

"No."

Seemingly annoyed but not surprised Vlad takes a deep breath before his hand, like a snake, strikes forward and grabs a hold of him before beginning to pull. Just as quickly though Danny is trying to pull away with just as much strength. Quickly taking a moment to look around he sees that others are already starting to look in their direction; perfect.

With him distracted though Vlad was able to get a sharp tug on him causing him to stubble towards the car. Before he can fall into the car though Danny is shooting his foot forward, firmly planting it down as his hands land on both sides of the open car door.

"Gonna have to try harder than that, fruitloop. I can't make it too easy for you." Danny teased as he fought against Vlad’s pushing.

Vlad doesn't say anything back to him besides giving a low growl. This situation is clearly not going the way he wanted to and Vlad’s frustration was starting to show, and Danny was determined to watch this man break in front of all these people he so desperately wanted to impress.

He locked his arms and knees when he felt Vlad start pushing harder against his back. Preparing himself to jump to the side the moment Vlad loosened his grip even slightly. What he wasn't prepared for though was for the weight pushing against him to suddenly disappear.

"What is going on here?" A deceivingly friendly voice sounds out behind him.

Before Danny can realize what has just happened though a much stronger hand is gripping his shoulder and yanking him away from the open car door. Finally able to see more than just the car's interior Danny see's that three other men are now standing by the car.

Two of them, a teen not much older than himself and a middle aged man, are standing in front of him as if forming a wall between him and Vlad. Who is being held in place by the third man.

Danny can see that Vlad was just as thrown off by these strangers as he is based on the startled look on his face. What confuses him though is when instead of becoming angry like he expects Vlad only looks surprised as he takes in the three guys with them.

"Bruce Wayne!" Vlad announces with a tight grin, "I was just trying to get my son to cooperate with me and get in the car. I'm sure you understand how teenage boys are."

"I'm not your son!" Danny instinctively yells out; no way in hell was he going to let Vlad tell people they were any way related.

It took him a second to register what name Vlad had even said.

Bruce Wayne? He remembers Sam and Tucker talking about that guy and his family when they found out he was going to Gotham. Which means if he's remembering correctly then the young man next to Vlad is most likely Dick Grayson and the older teen next to him is Tim Drake.

Without looking at him Bruce leans towards him and whispers, "Shh Damian, let me handle this."

Wait. What?

"I'm not-" Danny tried to say that his name wasn't Damian, but was quickly interrupted before he could.

"Damian, quiet." Bruce lowly growls; still not moving his gaze to look at Danny. "Actually, Mr. Masters, you'll find that this is my son, and I don't think you should be putting your hands on him."

Vlad looks from Bruce to Danny and then back to Bruce, "While I do agree that you and Daniel share some resemblance this is not your son Mr. Wayne."

It seems Bruce wasn't going to entertain Vlad's "lie" because he still doesn't bother to even look at Danny. Tim on the other hand seems to consider what Vlad said, and turns to actually look at his face.

Danny almost laughs out loud when he sees shock immediately overtake Tim's face. At least one of these fruit loops is smart enough to recognize that he isn't the youngest Wayne.

"Bruce, this isn't Damian." Tim states with wide eyes still locked with his.

Upon hearing this the other two Wayne's finally take a hard look at Danny for themselves.

"Oh my God B, that's not Damian!" Dick exclaims before releasing his hold on Vlad.

Bruce on the other hand is frozen in shock as he stares at Danny as he comes to the realization that the boy in front of him is in fact not his youngest son. Snapping himself out of his stupor, the older man finally addresses Vlad. "Mr. Masters, my deepest apologies. It seems this young man and my son look remarkably alike, and I assumed the worst when I saw him fighting to get into the car."

Vlad takes a step forward towards Danny clear with his intentions of getting them into the car now, but before he can grab him Bruce is once more taking a step in front of Danny. "I would actually like to have a quick word with Daniel if you won't mind."

"And why is that?"

"I have a son his age after all, maybe I can help ease this teenage rebellion phase, and cause less fights when it comes to getting in the car."

Danny must have been more focused on the growing argument in front of him more than he thought because he ends up slightly jumping when he feels a sudden hand on his shoulder. Looking to his right he sees that Dick is now standing next him with a soft smile. "Daniel, right?"

“Danny actually, and you’re Dick?”

"Yup! That's me," He gestures to the boy standing on Danny's other side, "and this is Tim. Sorry about all this; we thought our brother was being kidnapped."

"Do I seriously look that much like him?" At this point Danny had to meet Damian if the guy's family was even confusing the two of them.

Tim is giving him a concentrated look when he replies, "It's like the two of you could be twins or maybe even clones. The eye color is the biggest difference between the two of you."

If Danny didn't know any better he would think Tim was accusing him of being a clone based on the tone of his voice. He knew Gotham was weird, but he didn't think he would have to worry about cloning here. "While I was adopted when I was pretty young, but I think I'd know if I had a twin or if I was a clone."

"Crazy things happen all the time in Gotham."

Well, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Danny can't believe saying this, but it's probably time to get Vlad's attention and get the hell out of here. He already has one crazy fruitloop to worry about; he doesn't need more. "Vlad, I think we really need to-."

“Father, what is the meaning of all this?” A new voice interrupts him, and when he sees who it is truly shocking to see a mirror of his own face. The other is also now looking at him with something akin to shock and grief.

“Damian?”

“Danyal.”

[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Soft Feathers, Softer Kisses 🦉

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I'm soooo excited for y'all to see this!!!!

My first time writing for Telemachus and EPIC in general so please go easy on me 🥲

This was born from my need to smooch Tele. He's so cute 🥹

*the art is not mine, I got it from pinterest, if anyone knows the artists lmk pls!*

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You're betrothed to the prince of Ithaca. His father is lost at sea and 108 suitors are pushing his mother to choose a new king. When one of them insults the queen, a fight breaks loose, and you end up fiercely defending your lover with a determined owl at your side.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The sound of your sandals on the smooth palace floor echoed off the marble walls, the fabric of your chiton that wasn't bunched up in your hands was brushing against your legs while you hurried towards the hall.

The commotion had managed to make its way through the entire building like a breeze of the salty sea air.

Still, the news reached you later than you'd have liked.

Worry and anger twisted in your chest, a feeling like countless arrows piercing your heart. Your lungs were burning, no breath managing to get enough oxygen in your blood.

You had to hurry.

They would eat him alive.

You were well aware of the suitors. The 108 men who'd grown stubborn roots in the palace and refused to leave without getting a chance.

The king had been gone for so long, leaving his throne empty and his family behind. It had been two decades since he sailed off to war.

Not many believed he was even still among the living, instead thinking he was slaving away in his place in the Underworld.

The queen managed to keep the kingdom from ruin for years, ever since her beloved left, and yet they insisted on a new a king, a new man to wear the crown and sit upon the throne.

A new man to take Penelope as his wife.

The moment they showed up at the gates you'd stared at them with disgust, boring into them with your sharp gaze.

None of them were fit to lead, let alone rule an entire kingdom.

The queen stalled and stalled, the hope of her husband's return heavy on her heart.

However, the suitors soon grew impatient. Causing havoc within the walls of the palace, pounding on Penelope's doors, threatening bloodshed if she didn't choose a new king.

And now, your betrothed, the prince of Ithaca, was caught in the middle of it all because he was cursed with a heart too big for his body.

When you turned the corner of the hallway, you were met with a sight that made your heart shatter and wrath boil in your veins.

The suitors had circled Telemachus, leaving him trapped with no way out while Antinous stood over him, broad shoulders throwing shadows on the face of your beloved.

He was beaten and bloodied, heaving while trying to fight back.

Although a small, proud smile cracked on your face when you saw some of the men limping or nursing their bruised eyes.

Even Antinous was left with crimson streaks dripping from his mouth, staining his teeth. Your feet were carrying you further in their direction, a mindless action.

Panic struck you when Antinous raised his hand to deliver another blow.

Without thinking, you called out to him, rage tinting your voice accompanied by the angry grinding of your teeth.

"Antinous!" You yelled, a scowl on your face as you forced your way through the ocean of suitors.

"Get away from him!"

The giant man lowered his hand with a deep chuckle and turned to face you with a smirk that made the previously boiling blood to freeze.

"If it isn't the little princess. Come to save your prince, have you? I swear it's the other way around."

The grin that sat on his face, his bloodstained teeth exposed, made bile rise up your throat.

The men chuckled, making Telemachus' head fall forward in shame.

You payed them no mind, rushing to your lover.

Giving Antinous a look that could kill, you kneeled down next to Telemachus and cupped his face, a worried crease forming between your brows while you gently brushed your thumb over the blooming bruise on his cheek to soothe it.

"Look at you.. you're bleeding!" You gasped, quickly using your chiton to wipe away the blood on his face.

"I'm fine, I promise."

Telemachus gave you an unconvincing smile, followed by a wince. The worried look on your face tugged at his heart.

You looked like you were about to cry, and he hated to think that he was the reason.

"You're not fine. You're bruised and-and what if you broke a bone? How did this even happen? They knew there'd be consequences if they-"

the words just spilled out of you, the concern for your lover was something you could no longer contain.

He cupped your cheek and smiled weakly.

"My love, please. I assure you, I'm alright-"

He was cut off by Antinous, a scoff falling from his split lips. You scowled again and rose from your knees, a panicked expression appearing on your beloved's face.

"No, don't-"

Telemachus grasped at your hand, only for you to gently tug it from his grip as you approached Antinous.

Only when you made your way over to the grinning man did you notice a big owl circling the suitors, flying high towards the tall ceiling.

You spared it a glance, noting the magnificent coloring of its feathers and the bright eyes filled with something you could only describe as a sense of justice.

Not once had you see such determination in an animal, but it managed to put your mind at ease a little.

"You filthy dog! Who do you think you are?! He is your prince, whether you like it or not. And you have no right-" you snarled, raising your hand to point a finger at him.

He quickly caught your wrist in his fierce grip, a deep frown sitting on his face.

Antinous glanced at Telemachus, who was holding his aching side trying to pull himself off the ground, before averting his eyes back to you.

"He doesn't look very princely to me."

The smirk he sported was enough to make the fire in your chest spread even more.

"You-" you sneered only to be interrupted by Antinous again.

"What? Hm? What will you do?"

"Stop." Telemachus heaved, supporting himself on a marble pillar.

You didn't let yourself be intimidated by him and rivaled him with a look just as sharp.

"There's a special place in Tarturus for you, Antinous. If he'd even allow it." You spoke quietly but firmly, feeling satisfaction bloom in your heart at his reaction.

Antinous scowled, tightening his grip around your wrist.

"He," he began, "is dead."

You smirked, a scoff making its way past your lips.

"You better pray to the gods. Lady Tyche is not on your side. You'll be lucky enough if he even grants you a way to the Underworld. I hope you have enough gold on hand. Because the only way you're getting across the Styx is in pieces." You spat at him, venom dripping from your tongue.

Antinous bared his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes as he raised his other hand in the air, presumably to strike you.

"Get."

Telemachus' voice boomed through the hall, a scorned look on his face.

"Your hands. Off of her." He sneered, pushing himself away from the pillar.

"Do you want another beating, boy?" The giant man roared, almost crushing your wrist in his hand.

Down came your feathered friend, swooping in with its sharp claws and a chilling screech, successfully tearing open a new scar across Antinous' eye. He cried out and dropped your wrist, clutching his face instead.

The other men quickly drew their swords, swinging at the bird, only to miss and receive a peck from its beak against any vulnerable spot.

The owl evaded the suitors' weapons with such grace and struck back with such vigor that you were almost mesmerized.

"Αγάπη μου." *(my love)

Telemachus' gentle call for you snapped you out of your haze.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, worried Antinous had caused you any harm. You stared at him, your lips parted.

"I... no. No, I'm alright. We should leave." You said hurried, supporting his weight while you dragged him down an opposite corridor.

You spared the suitors and the mysterious owl a last glance, a smirk tugging at your lips at the sight of 108 men being defeated by a bird.

Antinous caught your gaze, and he snarled at you, still holding his eye.

"Next time.." he called out after you, "you're dead."

The threat sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine, but he was quickly put back in line by the owl, who promptly delivered a peck to the top of his head.

With a small smile playing on your face, you led your beloved back to his rooms to take care of his wounds.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Back in your chambers, you knelt in front of Telemachus, a worried crease between your brows while you gently held a damp linen cloth to his swollen and split knuckles.

The pure white fabric was stained with the crimson blood of your lover, a sting in your heart.

Telemachus sighed and took your chin in his hand, tilting your head to look him in the eyes.

"Λουλούδι μου, your expression pains me. I'd rather see your heartwarming smile." He spoke with a small grin, hissing when his busted lip reopnend and the blood began pouring once more. *(my flower)

Quickly, you pressed the cloth to his mouth, a deep frown on your face.

"And your state pains me. You-... You could've died. These are vicious, feral men, and as much as I don't doubt your ability to stand your ground, 108 against 1.... the odds weren't on your side." You replied, such sadness in your eyes it made Telemachus' heart ache.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if..." you sighed deeply, tears threatening to fall from your lashline while your head fell forward.

His gentle hands cupped your face, the rag in your grasp long forgotten.

"But I'm okay. I promise you, my love, it's barely a scratch." A smile cracked on his face and you couldn't help but chuckle, followed by a sniffle.

"You have a larger heart than all those men combined." You whispered, pressing your palm right above his beating heart.

Telemachus cupped your hand and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fell shut at the sensation as you melted further into his touch.

"Besides," he broke the silence, a smirk on his lips, "I had help."

He glanced towards his balcony and you followed his line of sight, being met with the owl resting contently on the railing, curiosity in its bright eyes.

"Yes," you chuckled, rising to your feet and walking towards the creature, gently dragging Telemachus behind you by his hand, "your mysterious feathered friend. Care to introduce me?"

"Right. Her name's Ath-"

he was cut off when the owl screeched at him and furiously flapped her wings. He startled and chuckled nervously, clearing his throat.

"I-I meant A... Alena. Yes. Her name's Alena."

If an owl had shoulders and they could sag, this is what you'd imagine it'd look like.

You laughed softly, watching as the bird narrowed her sharp eyes at Telemachus. He swallowed thickly and gave her an awkward smile.

"Well, Thank you." You said sincerely, smiling when the owl bowed her head at you.

What a curious creature.

"We should get you some ointments for those cuts and bruises."

You turned back to your beloved.

"I told you, I'm totally fi- ow."

He winced, holding his side that would undoubtedly bloom with purples and blues come evening. You sighed softly and shook your head at him.

"You're too sweet for your own good sometimes."

You caressed his cheekbone and pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, minding his injuries. He hummed into the kiss, resting his hands on your waist.

Lost in your embrace, the owl made another sound, something closer to the typical hoot, averting your attention to her.

She ruffled her feathers and with a last glance at the both of you she took off into sky. With a content expression you watched her glisten in the afternoon sun.

Telemachus had a bright smile on his face and waved after her, watching as she flew into the sunset, disappearing behind the horizon.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Please let me know what you thought! <3

More of my stuff -> 💫

I think you wanna see this @withonly-sweetheart @allysunny 👀

Thank you so so so much to @vampkennedy for assisting me with the translations 🩷

[zyafics]

SHOTGUN WEDDING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (oneshot) | x Maybank!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe are nothing but casual. But when he suddenly has the idea to get married, you agree after some convincing.

Content — 18+, smut, fluff, fingering, blowjob, and banter.

Word Count — 2.2K

"Let's get married."

"What?" You say breathlessly, lifting yourself by the elbows and turning to face Rafe. You don't know if you heard him correctly.

"I said let's get married," Rafe repeats in a lower octave, pushing away the prickling feeling beneath his skin—a consequence of your reaction to his vulnerable declaration.

There it is again. Clear as day. You hadn't misheard him the first time, and the dawning strike of realization causes your heart to skip several beats. But you still don't acknowledge it. Blinking, you're trying to decipher whether this is some cruel trick. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Annoyance flickers through his hard features and you purse your lips, not wanting to provoke him further by providing a sharp-witted comment. Your mind is spinning—partially from all the orgasms Rafe pulled from you, but also from the proposition.

Marriage. Does he understand the absoluteness of that proposal?

You suspect he doesn't. "You're delirious," you brush it off with a casual laugh, wanting to admonish any potential embarrassment that may arise in him and to move forward. "Let's just forget about it."

"I don't want to forget about it." Rafe grits through clenched teeth. Your reaction is the complete opposite of what he'd imagined to happen. Sure, you weren't the type to jump for joy, but goddamn, you couldn't give him something? "You still haven't given me an answer."

"You don't want a real answer."

"I'm clearly asking for one."

"It's just the post-sex haze."

"It's called post-nut clarity," he rectifies, "And my mind is perfectly clear."

You're giving him exits, to pretend to forget about it and act as if it never happened, but Rafe takes none of them. He doesn't want to drop it, so, finally, you ask. "Why?"

A heavy beat passes before Rafe shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant when all he can hear is the thrumming of his own heart. "I like being inside of you," he reasons, before meeting the unimpressed look on your face, and adds. "You make me laugh."

You scoff. "Yeah, so do small children falling over. Get off of me," you shove him off, pulling to the ledge of the bed where your wobbly legs find balance on Rafe's hardwood floor. Not knowing how to process this change in affairs, you go search for your clothes instead.

Rafe watches as you scramble around the room, a reflexive habit of yours whenever you feel uncomfortable. His agitation flares, his jaw locks, and with a narrowed gaze that follows your every move, he pulls to a sitting position and rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

"Goddammit. Stop looking for your shit and look at me," Rafe commands, his voice bleeds with a tinge of desperation, forcing you to halt your recovery search to face him. Exposed. Utterly naked. But instead of Rafe making some sexual innuendo about your body, his eyes remain on your face. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Because we've only been fucking," you list, using your manicured fingers to count out all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. "You call me whenever you want a hookup. We're never not arguing, and I swear, sometimes, you don't even like me."

"I like you just fine," Rafe shrugs a careless shoulder, but the conviction behind his tone wavers. "And all the other reasons are bullshit. So, what? If we get married, we can fuck and fight anytime we want."

"That's faulty logic," you retort and he rolls his eyes. "Plus, it's not the basis for a strong marriage. I'm giving you an out; you're not thinking straight, Cameron."

"I'm thinking just fine."

"You sure?" You take a step closer, about to raise three fingers in the air, and ask him to relay the count, when Rafe inclines forward to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling you in. You let out a little yelp of surprise, slotting between his spread legs.

He lifts his chin to meet your gaze, his thumb running absent patterns across your sensitive skin. With a low voice, Rafe asks solemnly, "Why don't you want to get married?"

"Have you not been listening?"

"Those aren't good reasons," he affirms, causing you to huff.

"Only you would tell a woman their reasons aren't good enough," you muse, drifting your hand to the nape of his neck. You tilt your head to the side. "What classifies as a bad reason?"

A beat passes before he answers. "You don't like me."

After he says that, Rafe holds his breath, his eyes searching your face to see any minuscule change in your features only to discover none. Your hand locates his chin, caressing the hard definition of his jaw. "That's not true."

Rafe exhales. "Then, it's settled."

"No, it's not settled."

He groans, tipping his head back, enough for you to see the grand column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobs over your infuriating buffers. It's amusing, and for a brief moment, you envision a future where you get to do this forever. "Do you not want to get married?"

"I never said that."

"So, you don't want to get married to me?"

"Rafe," you sigh, and he returns his gaze. You're referring to him by his first name, instead of the adorned Cameron, and his skin tightens at whatever you plan to say next. "You're a Kook. I'm a Pogue. We're barely in a relationship, and I doubt your parents would approve of this."

"Fuck what they'd say," he admits, with the relentless urgency behind his voice. He means it. "I want to. Since when do you care about what other people think?"

"Since I'm going to be entering into said family."

You say it with such dolefulness, that it sounds like you already accepted his proposal. Already imagined a future with him. The corner of Rafe's mouth lifts; he just needs to do one more thing to convince you.

Rafe hoists you onto his lap to straddle him, your ankles on either side of his waist, as your naked core rubs against the side of his cock, the sensation quickly hardening his erection.

Expecting him to lift you onto his tip, Rafe surprises you by swiping his fingers through your wet folds, causing a small whimper to rise from the back of your throat. "Listen to me," Rafe rasps, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone before lowering to your breasts, while the tip of his fingers toys with your entrance. "You've given me your reasons why it won't work, I'm going to give you my reasons why it will."

"I'm not going to change my mind,"

"You sure?" Rafe grins, teasing your slit. Your walls clench around the nothingness, desperately needing to be filled, and it causes you to bounce up and down, rubbing yourself against Rafe's hardened cock. Your hands land on his shoulders for steadiness, and that's when he begins to pump you.

"I think we look good together," Rafe lists with a grunt, feeling your pussy rub against his length. Desire pools inside of Rafe, his cock throbbing, but he concentrates on the task at hand, adding another digit. "You're the only person that keeps me on my toes—fuck," he groans, and you smirk.

Your slickness covers Rafe's cock, but you don't sink down on it. "Are you sure you're going to win this?" You murmur against the shell of Rafe's ear, planting feather-light kisses along the edge of his jaw. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, needing to gather himself before he slides in his ringed finger—the cold singlet grazing your heat, making you gasp and stop your movements.

Rafe holds your hips, while his fingers fully thrust inside of you with such vigor and performance, that a rich moan rips from your lips. He concludes his final reason: "And I get to fuck this every single night."

His darkened eyes lift to meet your hooded ones. His fingers work a steady but increasing rhythm inside of you, the coil of familiar pleasure twisting your gut. "Look at how pretty you are coming undone by me. Don't you want this forever?"

"Shut–shut up, Rafe," you whimper, your hands reaching for his arm between your legs, attempting to slow down the pace as your sensitivity is plowed into overdrive. Rafe snatches your wrists into one hand, dragging them away. "Too much."

Your legs attempt to close around him, but his large frame prevents such a thing. Rafe grins at the look of pleasure blooming on your face, the unsteadiness of your breaths alongside your lashes fluttering against your cheeks, and he fastens his strokes.

Whimpers and moans escape you in rising increments, and Rafe kisses your mouth, swallowing all that noise and desperation and need. "Say yes," he murmurs against your tingly lips.

"N–no," you refuse, still holding an ounce of restraint.

But Rafe simply laughs. His fingers slow its assault, leaving your mind a completely boggled mess. Nothing but the sensation of your orgasm on the near horizon resides, hooked completely on fulfilling your own pleasure, that you can't think of anything else to do but whine.

He looks back at you, sincerity capturing his face. " I like you, Maybank. It'll be fun to make it official."

"I—" You can barely comprehend a single word he's saying, the fizzling of your orgasm dissipating as you desperately try to wield it back in. "I can't think right now," you whimper, lowering yourself to give him a needy kiss, "Make me come first."

He doesn't need another reason before he reenters you, his thumb circling your clit and massaging it as his fingers thrusts in and out. Sounds of wetness echo throughout the quiet room, and when Rafe leans forward to add another mark—biting a sensitive spot on your neck—you unravel with a loud cry, tipping your head onto Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe guides you through your intense orgasm, your walls clenching around him so hard, they barely can move. Slowing his thrusts until it completely fade away, when Rafe pulls out, he presses his slick-covered fingers on the dip of your bottom lip, forcing them apart to lick clean. And when you do, he pulls you back in to seal it with a kiss.

Your chest rises and falls heavily as your eyes close for a moment of respite. Rafe's gaze, however, never strays from your face—patient and waiting.

This is such a bad idea. The whole premise of a Cameron-Maybank marriage could potentially knock the earth off its axis. You're from two different worlds and carry different viewpoints, but there's something fun, exciting, and fulfilling in being with Rafe. It can't be just because he gives you one of the best orgasms of your life.

You know JJ would hate this. He barely tolerates the idea of your hookup with Rafe as it is, and out of everyone, you value most of your brother's opinion. But, for once, you can't seem to find it in yourself to care.

"Fuck," you announce, reopening your eyes and meeting his stare. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

Rafe's lips pull to a genuine smile. "Yeah?"

You nod. "It'll be fun."

He grabs your hand, "Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already?"

"You think I back down from a challenge?"

"It isn't the first time."

You slap his shoulder and Rafe laughs. He moves his hand to your hips again, lifting you off when you stop him. "Wait," you say, looking between you, at the red and swollen cock that hasn't gotten its release. "I have to do something before we leave."

You sink to the floor on your knees, still between his legs, as your thumb rubs the pearly beads of precum over the tip, causing Rafe to groan. He was so focused on your pleasure and making you agree to his outrageous proposal, that he didn't get a chance to relieve himself. You want to help.

After all, isn't that the first step to marriage?

Taking him into your mouth and tasting your slick rub all over him, you hollow your cheeks as you begin to suck. Rafe moans from the contact your lips made with his length, your hand wrapping around the base to steadily pump him alongside the suction.

It feels like absolute heaven. His hands thread through your hair, pushing you deeper onto his cock, and making you gag on the girth. This made you retreat, just slightly, to glare up at him. "Don't do that."

Wanting desperate release, Rafe's willing to listen to about anything. "Yes, ma'am."

When you return to sucking him off, Rafe makes sure not to push you further on his dick without prior approval, so you can take him appropriately. At least that means he'll listen to you in the marriage. As you steadily increase your pumps, and your jaw aches from the stretch, you feel Rafe's cock twitch.

"Come on, baby, come for me," you command, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. Not even a moment later, he comes inside your mouth, spilling to the back of your throat, and you swallow up every lick of his hot cum.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb, and Rafe assists in pulling you back to your feet. Giving him a kiss, you grin. "Good boy. Now, let's go."

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[rowarn]

shadow entity!ghost cw: it/its prns for ghost, protective!ghost, implied vomiting from a hangover, sexual assault by third party, implied murder of said third party, unedited /: part: one

it was strangely easy to fall into the life of living with an unknown shadowy entity in your house. it wasn't particularly talkative or friendly -- it was sort of like living with a really creepy, introverted roommate. except occasionally it made the atmosphere feel 5x heavier around you. and there was always the looming threat that it would kill you.

your life outside your home continued on -- college, work, and the difficulty of making friends now that you lived in a new city. a bar is where you happened to meet a guy -- phillip, you recall his name. he was older than you but seemed quite polite.

after a night of drinking, you return to your home, buzzed and happy. you stumble into the house, brows furrowed as you tossed your shoes off before collapsing in a heap onto your couch. the springs creaked under your weight and you groaned at how uncomfortable it was. but you weren't going to be able to make it to the bed, you knew that for sure.

just as you were drifting off to sleep, that familiar, heavy feeling filled the room.

"ghost..." you sighed, "i'm drunk."

"drunk?" its deep, echoing voice came in response, sounding almost confused.

you were too out of it to consider that too much, instead simply explaining, "i had too much to drink."

it hummed in response, offering nothing further. you finally relaxed letting you sleep overtake you.

only to wake up with a hangover. you jumped tot your feet the moment your eyes opened, throwing yourself over the toilet bowl. sweat beaded on the back of your neck as that oppressive feeling washed over you.

"are you still drunk?" it asked, making you groan.

"i fucking wish," you spit into the toilet, cringing at the awful taste that still lingered on your tongue before sitting back and leaning against the wall, "this is what i get for drinking, i guess."

"drinking?" it asks, curiosity lacing its tone.

you hummed, "you know, alcohol," it remained silent and you raised a brow, "what? you didn't drink alcohol when you were alive? jeez, what century were you from?"

"i am alive," it responds easily.

you grunted, "right, right. you're not actually a ghost, that's right. so what--"

your phone obnoxiously ringing stopped you short. you stood, steadying yourself using the wall before you stumbled out into the living room to find the device. it was sitting on the floor, clearly having fallen there sometime while you slept.

when you answered it, the familiar voice from last night spoke -- asking you out on a date. as much as you wanted to say no because of the raging headache currently pounding behind your eyes, the desire for actual human connection after being away from your friends for so long urged you to agree.

so you did.

the date went surprisingly well, he was a gentleman and polite with a bit of a sense of humor that had you grinning through the entire dinner. he even paid for both your meals and by the time the two of you were walking out, you were more than willing to invite him over to your place.

"ah, but," you cleared your throat as you stood on your doorstep, suddenly remembering the problem inside, "i have a uh...roommate. it- he is a little odd. i-if you hear any...weird sounds, just ignore it. he's kind of flighty and shouldn't bother us otherwise."

"that's alright, sweetheart," phillip assured, offering you a kind smile as he followed you inside.

when you stepped in, you were relieved that you didn't feel ghost's presence.

"do you want a drink?" you ask, wandering towards the kitchen.

"sure, darlin'," he mumbled, looking around your place.

"have a seat if you'd like," you smile, disappearing into the kitchen.

as you grab a glass, a familiar, dark form takes its humanoid shape in the corner. you jump, almost dropping the object before you glare at it.

"ghost," you hiss, keeping your voice low so your guest doesn't hear you, "don't scare me like that." it remained silent, simply standing there. you could feel eyes burning into you, making the hairs rise on the back of your neck, "look, he's just gonna be here for a little while, okay? then he'll leave. just...don't do anything, alright?"

it remained silent, it's shadowy figure wriggling and shifting with varying shades of darkness. you tried not to stare too long -- staring into that murky black always had you seeing weird, scary things from within that disappeared the second you blinked.

"ghost," you urged it to answer you.

it didn't offer any response before vanishing. you sigh in relief but still feel apprehensive that it was going to do something to scare your guest. phillip was the first real, human connection you had since moving here and you weren't about to let that little shadowy shithead ruin it.

you plastered a smile on your face before greeting him back in the living room. phillip grins and thanks you for the water, taking a few sips before placing the glass on your table.

after a few moments, sitting up and making sure that ghost wasn't going to make an appearance, you settled into the couch and turned on the tv -- the otherwise deafening quiet of the house really stifled the atmosphere.

the energy between you and phillip grew and grew until you found yourself kissing him right there on the couch. as you pulled away to take a breath, he dove back in immediately, pushing you onto your back. you frowned, hands moving to his shoulders to push him back a little bit. he didn't mind, moving his lips down to your neck and to your neckline.

"h-hey, slow down, phillip," you mutter, pushing a little more forcefully at his shoulders.

"can't," he breathes, sounding positively drunk on you, "i've wanted you since i first laid eyes on you."

you roll your eyes, frowning when his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, "hey-! i told you to stop!"

as soon as the words fell from your lips, the lights flickered dangerously. phillip didn't seem to notice but you knew immediately. your guests hands continued to wander and you kept trying to push him off to no avail.

"s-seriously, stop it," you cried, growing more nervous as the seconds passed.

how could a simple need for human connection turn out so rotten?

"don't want to," phillip huffs, "i know you want me too, baby."

"no!" you shriek.

then, all at once, something terrifyingly heavy fills the room. you know that sensation all too well -- it was the night you first saw ghost's shadowy form.

phillip paused, no doubt feeling that same dark feeling looming over the both of you, making it hard to breathe. he looks confused, "what the-?"

the floorboards creaked, loud, booming footsteps coming from some unknown place in the living room. it sounded right next to you yet across the room at the same time.

darkness surrounded the both of you, blocking out the living room completely until all you could see was darkness. somehow, your eyes were able to adjust, seeing phillip's petrified face, a strange, purple filter seemingly coloring the both of you within the shadow.

"close your eyes," it's voice sounded completely different now. though it didn't address you, you knew it was talking to you so you quickly did as you were told and slammed your eyelids shut.

your breathing was labored and loud as was phillips. he sounded terrified.

"what the fuck?!" he cried, a petrified kind of voice you'd only ever heard in movies.

then, a scream. an animalistic, horrified scream you didn't know could come from a human being. you squeezed your eyes shut tighter before slapping your hands over your ears to drown it out. but it was impossible, it was too loud -- too horrific to block out.

the scream was cut off, complete silence following that made your ears ring. you couldn't resist opening your eyes to see what had happened.

but there was nothing.

just the inky blackness of ghost's shadow. no sign of phillip to be seen.

slowly, the darkness dissipated, taking shape in that familiar, humanoid form. your living room came back into view and your eyes adjusted painfully to the sudden light.

"ghost?" you pant, finding it difficult to catch your breath after that. you look around frantically, "what was that? what did you do? where did he go?"

ghost didn't respond, shadowy form flickering in and out and sight before vanishing completely. you frowned, heart racing in your chest so painfully that it made your head pound.

you looked around, for any sign of the man you had brought home. but there wasn't a single sign he had ever even been there. it was silent in your home aside from the tv playing in the background.

you sunk into the cushions of the couch, unsure of anything that had just happened. you were starting to doubt that phillip had even been there to begin with.

but on the floor was a black scorch marked circle. right where ghost had stood.