#I remember it being kind of cheesy

[alex51324]

OK, so I'm now caught up on Interview With the Vampire (TV). I have some observations:

Wow, was that trial ever a master-class in poor-little-meow-meowification! I was legit getting flashbacks from the (season 1-hiatus) Izzy Trenches, with the whole, "Pointing out that he doesn't have to put up with my behavior, and he wouldn't recommend anyone else do so either, is--due to Meow-Meow's personal circumstances--an act of such exquisite cruelty that it excuses pretty much anything he does while he's upset about it," and "sure, yeah, this thing Meow-Meow did sounds bad to you normies, but because we're pirates vampires it's barely anything; a slight loss of temper for which he should be forgiven completely because the other dude said something mean", thing, plus the side of "Oh, but that threatening to leave is the most brutal form of abuse thing applies only to Meow-Meow, and in only one direction; it's fine for decide to part ways with anyone else at any time for any reason, and nobody else has any right to find that at all upsetting."

(To be clear, I genuinely liked this in IWTV; it was interesting seeing an audience falling eagerly into this trap, when the audience is also fictional, and the show itself is winking and nodding to us about it.)

(I do wonder if the show is going to grapple with this at all next season--the reunion suggests that Louis had also fallen into this trap. I'm unconvinced by the fan-theories suggesting that Lestat was an unwilling participant in the trial; there might have been some use of vampire mind-powers to keep him on-script during the proceedings, but I think he genuinely didn't realize he gave a shit about Claudia until it was too late.)

2. The aging-up of Claudia's character (she was a little little girl in the books) puts her at right about the same age as The Vampire Currently Known As Armand was when he was originally sex trafficked as a human, and I wonder about that stirring up some long-buried feelings. Does the grotesque parody of innocence inherent in Baby LuLu have some parallel in his experience as a sexually exploited child? What happened to Arun--or to Amadeo, even--if he failed to play his part with a reasonable facsimile of enthusiasm?*

On the one hand, I'm interested in these potential parallels; on the other hand (glancing back up at point 1), it's a tricky needle to thread, to see these parallels as contextualizing Armand's actions, but not excusing them. I do not entirely trust fandom not to turn this into, "Well, she reminded him of His Worst Trauma, so everything he did to her was basically self-harm, and he pretty much had to kill her in order to achieve closure on that period of his life**."

(*Some of this may be addressed in the books? The Vampire Armand came out on the waning edge of my Anne Rice phase; I'm pretty sure I read it, but I don't remember much about it, and I don't have a copy. The parallels with Claudia wouldn't be, though, because in the books she was 5.)

(**Izzy Trenches flashbacks again.)

3. As someone who read the books back in the day, I appreciated the brief mention in S1 that Louis's grandfather had owned a plantation, worked by men who "shared his complexion but not his circumstances." To me, that line opened up the possibility of reimagining Book!Louis as also being Black.

(To be clear, he canonically could not have been; beyond that fact that It Would Have Come Up, in the first few pages--which I just re-read--he is described as being bone-white. Even if he was mixed and white-passing, it doesn't quite work.

However, Anne Rice did write a book, Feast of All Saints, about a mixed-race protagonist, who was the son of a slave owner and a woman he enslaved. I remember almost nothing about it, except that the white father had promised to free him and send him abroad to be educated, but broke that promise. Porting some of that over onto a book-canon-era Black Louis could be very interesting.

I'd have to re-read both books--and probably TVL, too--to be able to even think about writing it, which is...unlikely, but I put that idea out into the universe.)

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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[nebulaafterdark]

A Tale Of Two Dragons

Summary: After suffering a head injury, Princess Y/N forgets the past two years of her life, including her marriage to Aegon. Who will do anything to win her back.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Cheesy, Medieval Romcom

Y/N wakes terribly hot, her head throbs and there is something wrapped round her waist. She peels open her eyes…an arm. She flicks it away.

“What is the matter, my dearest love?” A voice grumbles, from behind her. “The maester says you should remain abed for several days.

“Why?” The word is past her lips before she can stop it.

“You hit your head.”

Y/N reaches up toward her throbbing temple, scraping against the forming scab beneath the bandage. Her fingers come away wet.

“You mustn’t touch,” Aegon chides, “let me see.”

Aegon?

Y/N screams at the top of her lungs, rolling onto the floor.

“What is the matter?” Aegon peers over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” He springs from the bed, grabbing a cup off the bedside table. “Here, milk of the poppy.” He attempts to bring the chalice to her lips.

Y/N slaps his hand away, the glass shattering over the floor. “Surely poison.”

“What?” Aegon breathes. “Why in the seven hells would it be poison, my heart?”

“Do not call me that.” Y/N snaps, feeling almost sorry for it as his face falls.

“Look at me,” he crouches down to her, cowering in the corner. “What’s happened?”

“I should be asking you! Why are you being kind to me? Why are you sleeping in my bed? Plotting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He huffs a laugh. Back are the sad, crestfallen eyes.

Y/N forces down the urge to punch him. “Why were you in my bed?”

“To be clear,” Aegon says, motioning behind him, “this is my bedchamber.”

Y/N searches the space behind him, he speaks true. This is not her room. “Why would I be in your bedchamber?”

Aegon’s upper lip twitches, “because you are my wife.”

Y/N laughs, “I am your wife.”

Aegon joins in, anxiously.

“You jest.” She wags a finger at him, “that is the Aegon I know. You have outdone yourself this time.”

Aegon’s eyes search hers for a moment more before he hollers, “guards!”

The doors fly open, “your grace?”

“We must have the grand maester.”

Y/N’s eyes track his movements. Pacing and pacing until the maester appears.

“Is your head troubling you, your grace?” He kneels before her. “I left you with milk of the poppy.”

“She needs more.” Aegon insists.

“She can have no more until the morrow.”

“She did not drink it.” Aegon shouts, “she tossed it away because she thought it poisoned.”

“I would never harm you, your grace. Surely you know that.” The maester addresses the princess directly.

“Not you, me.” Aegon throws up a hand. “She does not know who I am.”

“I know who you are and I do not like you.” Y/N argues.

“That is worse.” Aegon laments, “she does not remember our marriage or our-”

“Your grace,” the maester stops him. “Your lady wife has suffered an injury. It is best not to push the recollection of years past.”

“She will heal then?”

“I cannot say, the mind is unpredictable.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at the maester, “am I truly married to Aegon?”

“Yes, princess. For some two years now.”

“Nearly three,” Aegon corrects him, with a hand to his head.

Y/N’s breathing picks up, unable to calm herself.

“Princess, you must breathe slowly now.”

“I want my mother,” Y/N chokes out.

“I will get your mother,” Aegon offers, “just breathe.”

His command is foreign to her. That he would care. The maester fusses about her as they wait. “All is well, your grace, all is well.”

“I may faint.” She warns.

The maester begins fanning her with his hands.

Rhaenyra appears moments later, with Aegon hot on her heels. “What’s happened, my darling?”

“Mother,” Y/N reaches for her, sobbing against her shoulder.

“Hush now.” Rhaenyra cradles the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“I do not know how such a thing could h-happen.”

“What?” Rhaenyra begins swaying her like a babe.

“I woke up beside my sworn enemy, claiming to be my husband.” Y/N tells her, “and worst of all, everyone insists that it’s true. Am I truly married?”

“Yes.”

“To Aegon.”

“Yes.”

“And I am happy about it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhaenyra smiles. “You are quite taken with him.”

“To what degree is he hung?” Y/N scoffs. He must be-

Rhaenyra throws her head back with laughter, “I would not know, sweet girl.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “he speaks true then?”

Rhaenyra nods.

“And we are in…” Y/N forces out the word, “love?”

“Very much so.”

Without warning, the princess faints in her mother’s arms.

————————————————————————

“And though all the realm wished for the princess to deliver a son, she blessed the prince with two daughters.”

Y/N comes to, blinking up at the ceiling. Pleased to find that she is in her own bed this time. She nearly finds herself comforted by the voice beside her, before looking over to realize it is Aegon. Seated in the arm chair with a brown leather book in his lap. She sits up, staring him down.

“Don’t,” he slowly closes the book, holding up both hands, “don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” Y/N groans. “I’ve already told you I don’t remember.”

“I’d like to court you.” His lips twitch, nervously.

“Really?” She huffs a laugh. “You, Aegon Targaryen, would rather court me than go find another well suited lady, of high status, to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Very much so.”

“More than anyone else?”

Aegon twists his wedding band around his finger. “Yes, more than anyone.”

“Well…what would we do together?” She crosses both arms over her chest, “I can’t imagine we have much in common.”

“Talk, stroll the gardens, fly together on dragon back, whatever you’d like.”

“You told me this morning, I am to remain abed for several days.”

“That’s why I’ve brought this,” he waves the book at her, “thought it might keep you occupied. That or I could dance for you.”

“How well do you dance?”

“Not very,” Aegon admits, “that’s what makes it entertaining.”

Y/N leans up, trying to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. “What book is that?”

“A tale of two dragons.” Aegon pulls it away, “do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I suppose,” Y/N sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

————————————————————————

For four days he reads to her from that silly book. With each day that passes Y/N finds herself more invested.

“But if a son is expected of the prince, why does he not want for a son?”

Aegon smiles as he closes the book. “That’s all for today, you must rest.”

“I am not tired,” Y/N argues.

“Your eyes tell a different story.”

“Truly, I’m not tired.” She tells him, toying with her marriage ring. “My head hurts is all.”

“Might I try something?”

Y/N scowls, reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His hands cup her face, moving up to her throbbing skull, running his fingertips over her scalp.

It feels nice, though Y/N will never admit it.

“It will help if you stop making such sour faces, Y/N.” Aegon remarks, smoothing his thumb over the furrow between her brows. “My head aches just watching you.”

“You might wear a similar expression after being dealt my hand.” It is odd, her name on his lips. As though he rarely speaks it, save for when he’s angry with her.

“Yes, how devastating it must be; doted on by the man who loves you.” Aegon muses.

“You used to call me a bastard at family gatherings.” Y/N remembers that clearly.

“I used to do a great many things I am not proud of.” Aegon admits. “But the man I am now, the man I am with you…I take great pride in.”

“It will take time, if I’m to trust you again.”

“I have time.” Aegon assures her, “though at present, there is somewhere else I need be.” He presses his lips to her forehead in parting. “Good night.”

Y/N cups his wrist, at the side of her face, for just a moment. “Good night.”

————————————————————————

On the fifth day, the grand maester allows Y/N to leave her apartments, and by the tenth day, she is cleared to fly. Being amongst the clouds always helps clear her mind, mayhaps she will recall something.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Marcello, the dragon keeper greets her.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiles. “Might you saddle Stormborn for me?”

“At once, Princess. I’m glad you are well.”

Marcello returns a few moments later with the lilac dragon, whining as she nuzzles into Y/N’s hands.

“Issi ao daor biare naejot ūndegon issa, uēpa raqiros?” Are you not happy to see me, old friend? Has something happened between them that she’s forgotten?

Stormborn hums, nudging at Y/N with her head.

“What is the matter with her?” Y/N turns to Marcello.

The dragon keeper lowers his eyes, “she wants for Sunfyre, your grace.”

“She wants-” Y/N breaks off, clunking a fist to her head, “she wants Aegon’s dragon?”

“They are quite close these days.” The man in question says, stalking up behind her. “I heard you were flying out. I thought I might join you.” Aegon explains his presence.

“This is preposterous.” Y/N scoffs, “you mean to tell me we have become so deeply entwined that even our dragons cannot be parted?”

Aegon’s lips turn downward as his brows rise, “yes.”

“What can be done about it?”

“You loved me once, my hope is, you will love me again.” Aegon brushes past her, resting a hand on her dragon’s snout. “There’s naught to be done about it.”

To add further insult, Stormborn leans into his touch, cooing happily.

“I suppose I should pet your dragon.” It’s meant to be a threat, a means to get even.

“Go on,” Aegon encourages, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sunfyre?”

The golden boy begins to serenade her with a low melody. Y/N rests her temple against his head, glaring at Aegon. It is not the dragon’s fault.

“Your dragon understands English?”

“As does yours.” Aegon informs her, “they are highly intelligent creatures.”

“Pōnta issi mēre rūsīr īlva.” They are one with us.

Aegon smiles, “indeed.”

“Do you not speak-”

“Nyke kostagon emagon naejot…vestragon mirrī.” I can have to…say a little.

Y/N bites back a grin, “I could teach you.”

He starts to say something else, but she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Later,” she leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of her own hand. Had it not been there…it would’ve been his lips. Which means nothing, muscle memory, surely. “I’m sorry.”

He catches her wrist, bringing her hand away.“Don’t be.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N enjoys evening strolls with Aegon in the garden, but on occasion she walks alone, outside the walls, wandering near the woods.

“Wait!”

Y/N whips her head around to see Aegon charging at her, knocking her backwards before the steel trap snaps closed near their feet. Two rows of long, jagged teeth, meant to catch animals. She stares at him, in disbelief.

“They doubled the number of traps round the castle in these past years. I did not know if you’d recall.” Aegon explains, still holding her in the safety of his arms.

“You…imbecile!” Y/N returns the awkward embrace.

“Please, call me husband.” Aegon smirks.

“You could’ve been maimed.”

“Better me than you.”

Y/N groans in frustration, “quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Charming me.” She pulls away enough to see him.

No, not the sad eyes.

“I should like to know you better first.” Imbecile, she curses herself.

“What do you say we go back to your rooms and I will read to you?” Aegon suggests, “I’ll even bring cake.”

There it is, that tugging in her chest. “I do love cake.”

“When you were-” Aegon trails off, “there was a time all you would eat was cake.”

Y/N presses a hand to her head, “when I was what?”

“In due time, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles, sadly. “The grand maester says we mustn’t push, you’ve made great progress already.”

————————————————————————

She recalls a great many things over the next weeks. Trying and failing to teach Aegon High Valryian, eating cake with him and laughing until their sides ache. But there are a number of things she cannot recall.

“Where is it you go?” She wonders, “when you are not with me? You said,” Y/N closes her eyes until the words come to her, “you said you want always to be with me.”

Aegon’s eyes widen, “yes, I did say that. You remember?”

“Not nearly enough, just silly things.” Y/N admits, “sometimes…I think I might’ve been with child.”

Oh.

“That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve a child.”

“Two actually, daughters.”

“One after another like clockwork, then?” She arches a brow, resting a hand over her empty womb, “you’re late.”

Aegon grins, “both at once.”

“Efficient.”

“Well, we are nothing if not thorough.”

“With the way you look at me, I’m surprised there are only two children.”

“The birthing bed was not kind to you. I would love any child of ours, but I would not inflict such suffering upon you again.”

Y/N sighs, “you are so in love. I wish desperately to remember.”

“You could love me again.”

“What if it is different than what we shared? What if it does not please you as much?”

Aegon shakes his head, “then it will be different and I will be glad for it all the same.”

“Might I come with you to see them?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“They should like that very much, they’ve been asking for you.”

“What are their names?”

“Dahlia and Visera.” Aegon tells her, “it might be difficult for you to tell them apart at first.”

“Dahlia is a Strong name.” Y/N whispers.

“And Visera was named for Viserys. If we would’ve had a son, we might’ve named him-”

“Laenor.” She breathes, recalling the smile on Aegon’s face as they’d discussed it, over the prominent swell of her belly. Subsequently leading his kisses to trail lower…her cheeks heats up.

“Yes,” Aegon swallows. Mayhaps he is recalling the same conversation.

The twins are playing happily on the floor, with their maids when Y/N enters the room behind Aegon.

“Papa!” They race to him, waiting to be taken into his arms.

“Hello, my darlings.” He holds one in each arm, kissing their little silver heads.

The child on the left sees Y/N first, blinking at her twice, to be sure. “Mama.”

The little girl on the right follows her gaze. “Mama!”

Y/N reaches for them out of instinct, hugging them to her as they are transferred into her arms from Aegon’s. “My girls.”

————————————————————————

Time passes, Aegon and Y/N have long since accepted she will never remember everything. What they share now is different, but wonderful, nonetheless.

Aegon and their children fill Y/N’s days with joy, though she still feels a bit guilty for the life she forgot.

She and her husband sneak out of their daughters’ rooms once they’ve found sleep. Walking back towards Y/N’s apartments with their arms linked.

Aegon bids her good night at the door, with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Stay,” Y/N insists, turning her face enough to catch his lips.

“What are you-” Aegon smiles against her mouth.

“It hurts to look at you and not touch you.” Y/N murmurs, reeling him back in and burying her hands in his hair. “If you mean what you say, and you will be happy with me even if I am different, I want to be happy with you.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this, my darling. But are you certain?”

“I want you in my bed, always,” Y/N whispers. “Or to lie with you in yours. To wake with you each morning and spend each night at your side. Though right now there is nothing I want more than your cock in me. Is that certain enough for you?”

Aegon chuckles into her mouth, “that’ll do it.” He pushes open the door, leading her deep into her rooms, until they reach her bed chamber. He unlaces her gown with practiced hands. “Gevie.”Beautiful.

She works him out of his robes, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Gevie.”

He smirks, moving her to the bed. Positioning her sweet head against the pillows, stroking wayward hair from her face. Taking a long moment to look upon her, their gazes locked. Aegon kisses the tip of her nose. “Let us see if you remember this, shall we?”

His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones to her breasts. Licking and suckling at the entirety of them before bringing a sensitive peak into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Y/N holds him to her.

“Mmm,” he hums, in approval as her hips buck up against his. “Anything coming to mind?”

“I’m afraid not, husband.” Y/N whines as he pulls away, “you’ll need to keep going.”

“Of course,” Aegon latches happily to the opposite nipple, flicking the first between his fingers. Lower and lower his mouth goes, swirling her navel, skating over the skin of her sex.

Y/N nearly faints as he parts her with his thumbs, exposing her pearl to his starved tongue. “Oh!” Her memory of this particular act, does it no justice.

He sighs against her, as though he’s waited the whole of his life to be in this moment with her.

She does not know how to be loved that way, or to give such love in return. But she wants to learn.

Aegon coaxes her through one peak to the next, relishing her breathless giggles as she shoves at his head.

“Enough,” she covers her face with both hands, “enough.”

Aegon chuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to her cunt before retreating, back up to her face. Caging her head between his elbows, hovering over her. “Still nothing?”

“Not a thing, perhaps if you continue.” Y/N reaches between them, taking his cock in hand and stroking, lightly.

Aegon shakes his head, “of course.”

She positions him at her entrance, feeling him slide into her with ease. As though he belongs there. Her hands find his face, stroking his cheeks, reeling him in for sweet kisses or to pant against his mouth. Committing him to memory.

“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses to her fingers, “we’re going to make new memories together, you and I.”

“I love you.” The words fall from her lips, without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I have gone too long without your touch, I will not last.” He warns.

“That’s alright.” Y/N assures him, “I’m nearly there.” Still sensitive from his tongue.

It’s all he can do to hold off until he feels her walls pulse around him, “good girl.” He groans, emptying his spend.

Y/N nuzzles her nose against his. “Aegon?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

His eyes open wide, meeting her gaze. “You remember?

Y/N nods, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “I am so sorry, I’ve no idea how I could forget you…us, our daughters, this life together is the world to me.”

“It was not by choice.” He rests his forehead against hers. “If I ever sustain a head injury, I’ll expect you to court me in return.”

“Mayhaps I will court you now, just because.” Y/N wants nothing more than to shower him with affection. “That story you read to me was ours, how did you get it?”

“I wrote it.” Aegon tells her, “to share one day with our children and their children’s children, their children’s children after that.”

Taglist: @21-princess @ladyriverasafepace @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @donalesaa @cookiesnfeesh @barnes70stark

[ultralightpoe]

JUNO - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gah, here we go again with the bucky fics since he looked so damn good in that trailer! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4215

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT.....and more smut.

Requests: OPEN

Main Masterlist ~ ~ Halloween 2024 Event

[Thank you for the gif @ayo-edebiri ]

Enjoy!

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

-

You were a terrible terrible person, this was a fact. It would be put on whatever wikipedia page they made for villains as soon as people figured it out, which considering the rage building in your body would be any moment now. Why were you a terrible person? That’s easy to explain. 

There was a time where everyone avoided your boyfriend like the plague, when the Winter Soldier cliche had been stuck to his image like a nail in a tire and everyone treated him like crap. And who stayed by his side? You. Not that it was ever about keeping score because you just wanted what was best for him. But now that people are all about kissing his ass since he had some new found fame? You wished things would go back to the way they were. And that made you a terrible person. 

Who would want things to go back when your love was treated terribly?

But then you see girls like Montana clinging to his side and that little green monster in the pit of your stomach begins growing and growing until it leads to moments like now, with you standing at the bar clutching your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. 

Yet another gala was being thrown, this time it was ‘Rockstars for Schooling Funds’ and Bucky was required to attend for PR. And attend your man did. The jacket, the tie, the pushed back hair and the hot ass glare. 

From the second you saw him ready for tonight you were ready to pull him into the bedroom and never leave, your skin grew hot just remembering the feeling of his hands roaming your body as you tried to lead him into the bedroom. He obviously didn’t fall for it and now you were here watching Montana hold onto his arm as she laughed at something he said. 

As if sensing your glare he turns to catch your eye, and you know that he was surveying your safety by the sharp look in his eyes and all you can think was ‘God bless your dads genetics’.  But you refuse to break for him, so you shrug and turn back to the bar ready to order yourself another drink. 

Best thing about wearing a dress like the one you were wearing tonight? Attention.  Within seconds the men at the bar were clamoring to buy you a drink, crooked smiles and lame pick up lines. The prized contender? The southern man with kind eyes wearing his very own black cowboy hat. 

This could be fun. 

“What’ll it be?” He drawls and you have to fight off the blush filling your cheeks just at the sound of it. 

“Hmm, I haven't decided yet.” You flirt, batting your lashes for a second. “Think you can help a girl out?”

“There’s the ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’.” He reads off the little menu, looking up to you from under his hat, giving a smooth wink and you huff out a small laugh. 

“Would it be worth my time?”

“It’s the best on the menu from what I can see.” As if on cue you both look out to the crowd around you at the gala, with loud music and cheesy rockstar costumes, and whilst he is trying to make a point your eyes roam for a familiar head of hair. But the group that Bucky had been sitting with for the past 30 minutes was now short a member, your man. “Who would want to waste time with any of these cruds when you could have a real drink sugar?”

But the words were lost on you as your eyes traced over the room in a hurried panic. Where did he go?

But then your nose fills with a familiar woodsy scent as a familiar arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip that has the cowboy standing straight up in his own panic. 

“Yeah Doll, how bout a real drink?”

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

-

That little green monster building in your stomach? Now she had a fire pal burning straight through your skin at the image of the icy glare Bucky managed to send in the cowboys direction, the fingers on your waist tightening and digging into your skin. 

“I was just talking to my friend here about drinks.” You hum out, watching his jaw tighten as he continues to glare. “What do you know about drinks?”

The cowboy, who you now knew to be a foolish man since he still stood in that spot, lets out a smooth chuckle. “Considering he’s holding an old fashioned I would say not much, Sugar.”

“Really? I always thought that the old fashioned ways worked in seduction. At least they did for me.” Bucky all but growls out, pulling you closer to him. “Now how bout we ask the gal. Do my old fashioned ways work?” 

As if to prove his point he presses his thigh between your legs just a notch and squeezed at your waist, you were lost. 

“No words? Hmm? Interesting.” He smiles, “Think you need a break from the crowd?”

He doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer, rather he keeps his grip on your waist as he leads you through the large gala, keeping the glare on his features that has people backing away to avoid his anger. You however basked in it, and as he lead you into the bathroom with the slam of the door and an easy movement to lock the door. 

You got right to work, hopping onto the counter and wiggling a bit as he turns back to you. 

You look up at him through you lashes, kicking one foot out a bit to expose your leg to him. “I mean not that I don’t love this vibe, we didn’t pack the handcuffs baby.” 

“Oh so the pretty girl thinks she’s funny.” He chuckles, stepping forward and moving his hands to the top of your thighs to squeeze before pulling you forward harshly. “In case you haven’t realized it, this is the moment where you start giving me reasons to give you what you so badly want.” 

Words failed you as his palms roamed your skin, rubbing soft circles to begin pushing up your dress. 

“Oh, I’m the one in trouble here?” You huff, leaning back as he pushed his way in between your thighs. “Funny, here I was thinking of granting you mercy.”

“Oh that’s how we are playing it, huh?” And just like that he is pressing the pad of his flesh thumb right onto your core, pulling a sharp gasp from you as you tried to close your legs out of instinct only for him to press you down with his metal hand. “You were saying, sugar?”

“Oh…” You moan, back arching as he circles his thumb with a smug smile, leaning into you to pull your lips into a fervent kiss. It draws your breath until your gasping into him for air, your hands woven into his hair to keep him there and save you all in the same go while he teases at pulling your panties down only to pull back in a matter of seconds leaving you there to try and catch your breath. 

Seconds away from achieving your high only to be left stranded leaves you whining and leaning forward to get him back into your arms. 

He tsks at you, pushing you back gently as you continue whining. 

“What will you give me?”

“Anything.” You gasp out, kissing at the wrist of the hand holding you back, nipping at the flesh of it as you reach for him metal arm to pull you back in. He gives in a little, allowing you to press your hips into his so release some of the pressure. “Please baby.”

“Then how about you behave for the last hour, and we’ll go home and get you sorted. Yeah?”

“Fine,” You snip out, tracing your hand up his metal arm before making it to his collarbone and pressing your hips further into his. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

And you feel like a fool for making that promise as he leads you through the crowd once more, this time with a pressure begging to be released in your lower belly as he keeps his metal hand on your lower back. The chill of the metal while your body is ablaze has you reeling, reaching a hand back to keep a hold on him. 

You think of all the things he can do to you as he talks with the Galas president, digging your nails into the sleeve of his tux as you push your thighs together a bit, leaning your nose into him to inhale his scent as he talks with a bold presence. 

When that Montana girl comes back you learn that she is an assistant for the program and that little green monster leads you to nip at his ear in front of her before kissing at his neck to leave a lipstick mark. 

He looks at you for a moment, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before turning to talk to her some more but it’s too late, you’re already in a haze. The green monster and the red flame have mixed to make their very own monster. 

So you pull him in by his tie, pressing your lips to his ear and whispering the words you knew would break him. “Gimme me a baby.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

-

It was the one secret weapon you’ve never used, but have always known about. 

Back in the beginning of the relationship while you were learning the ins and outs of eachother you noticed how much he loved the pill since it hadn’t been too popular back in his day. He loved the freedom it gave him to mark you as his, but you also noticed the lingering gaze on your stomach and or the intent look he gave when you took the pill. 

But you had never been ready for a kid, you wanted to save that for that someone special who you could raise them with. But you knew that Bucky was it, you knew that he was your touch for life. Why not give in?

And the thrill of giving in the second his eyes meet yours makes it worth it, seeing the heat as he pulls you in so tight you might as well be one person. 

“Come on baby, one of me is cute but two though?” You whisper, leaning up to bite at his lip before his hands come up to pull you into a feral kiss as he begins to lead you out the doors. 

-

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself, hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

-

“Easy there.” He grunts out the second you press him into the seats of the limo, straddling him with ease as your nails rake down his chest to begin tracing the buttons of his shirt. “I might feel objectified.”

“I don’t give a shit,” You gasp, ripping his shirt open before attacking his chest with kisses. You take to kissing his chest, dragging your lips from spot to spot in order to mark him as much as you can as he pulls you down to move his hips into your with a groan. 

Your eyes flutter closed at the heat that crosses through your body at the sound, whining out a bit as he begins to grind into you, pulling you up from his chest with a swift pull to lock your lips together as the limo makes a turn. 

The kiss was feral, teeth gnashing, thigh clenching kiss that has you gripping his shoulders and pushing your hips into his a little quicker. Biting down onto his lip when he stills your hips with his hands before pulling back. 

“You gonna let me lock you down?” He whispers, rubbing your hip as he moves you with ease until your legs are splayed over his lap and he can reach between them to pull more moans from you. “Gonna let me keep you forever?”

“Yes….” You whine out the second he begins rubbing at your core once more, this time with the metal hand. The chill of the metal over the fabric is driving you crazy and you press your hips up for more pressure and as a sign you want the panties off. 

He is quick to oblige, pulling his hand to the waistband of them and ripping them off in one easy movement before pushing his fingers back to ease one into your center. “I’ll give you anything you want. But you already knew that when you said I could give you a baby. Didn’t you?”

And just like that he pushes two more fingers in, curling them in a fluid motion as his lips press into the pressure point of your throat. He works his fingers in a fast paced motion as you close your eyes and give into the feeling, letting him suck and bite at your neck as much as he wanted to. 

And once you reach your high he merely speeds up his movements until your shaking in his lap. 

“Atta girl.” He grunts, pulling his fingers up to suck on while you blink at him, still shaking from that orgasm. 

“I love you.” You murmur to him, leaning on for a gentle kiss. He laughs into it, rubbing at the back of your neck in a sweet gesture before putting your torn panties in his pocket and looking to see how close you are to home. 

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

-

The calm ease he had built up for the rest of the limo ride was quick to vanish the second the limo pulled up to the curb, pushing the door open and pulling you out so quickly your legs swing until he pulls you up so you can wrap them around his waist. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You giggle, letting him carry you inside until the front door closes and he can set you down to lock it. Even in the mix of all this he can never slack on your safety, and you were sure that once he spent all your energy he would come down here for one last safety check. 

You let him do what he needed to do, walking to the kitchen with a fleeting look to him before grabbing a glass of water to sip on while you waited, legs still a little shaky. But you don’t have much time since he comes around the corner into the kitchen, leaning on the fridge with a small smile as he watches you every movement. 

“Everything locked up and safe?” You ask, moving one step closer to him.

“Yes.” He responds, the deep voice causing a shiver to move down your spine as he takes a step similar to yours without taking his eyes off you. 

“I think it’s so hot you know.” One of his eyebrows raise at your words, the small smile turning into a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in this world as protective as you.”

He merely hums back, taking another step closer as his eyes roam over your body. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. And I was thinking that you deserved an award.” 

“I do?” You almost laugh at how innocent the question comes out, but you don’t have time since your already turning to press yourself into the counter, pushing your hips out and pulling your dress up to expose yourself to him as he audibly growls. “Have we every tried this before?”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

His hands are upon you in an instant, rubbing at your hips as his body presses into yours to kiss at the back of your neck, and you realize that he is still wearing his undershirt and pants. The metal of the belt buckle digs into your back as you reach back to undo his belt. 

You hear him undo it and get ready, pressing your forehead into the tile of the counter as he grabs your hands and begins wrapping your hands together with the leather belt. And you should be embarrassed at the moan that fills the air once you realize what he is doing before he undoes his pants and you feel him press at your center. 

He’s quick to press in, and you both your moans fill the air as he presses his forehead into the exposed skin of your back before beginning to rut himself up into you. With every aggressive push of his hips into yours the doors of the cabinet on the counter shake, the cold tile of the counter hitting your hip over and over and over as he claims you for his own. 

With one hand holding the belt that is biting into the flesh of your wrists and the other holding the counter to keep you both stable he stands straight and lets free. Every harsh threat is followed by his grunts and your moans, the sound of skin slapping filling the room before the hand from the counter comes to hold your hair. 

It’s feral, and hot. And the feeling of his flesh hand pulling at your hair has you tightening around him enough that he can’t fight his own moan. 

And the second you hear it you are coming undone around him, shaking harshly as he keeps you held up before you collapse, continuing his thrusts until you reach the peak of the high once more and spasm around him. 

Once you come down, panting heavily and keeping your forehead pressed into the cold tile, he works on undoing his belt to release you as he pulls himself out of you and pulls his pants up. 

You are quick to turn on him, tears in your eyes partly due to the intense orgasm and the fact that you still haven’t gotten what you wanted. “Baby please….”

“Easy doll.” He whispers, pulling you into his arms to wrap himself around you, picking you up easily. “You’ll get it. Don’t you fret.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

He carries you into the bedroom bridal style, setting you down at the foot of the bed before leaning down to grab the end of your dress and pull it over your head, kissing his way up your body so slowly you feel like you might just die. By the time the fabric is over your head he throws it to the side, his gaze meeting yours in a tense blaze. 

You knew within an instant that he had gotten serious, and as you kept your gaze on his he let your hands roam until you begin pulling his undershirt off before you reach to undo his waistband. “What’s that look for?”

“Did you know….” He keeps his voice to a whisper as he kicks off his shoes and shucks off his pants, pulling off his socks and throwing everything to the side before moving his hands to either side of your cheeks. “That it’s not actually proven that the amount of orgasms a women has is connected to their ability to conceive.”

“Yeah?” You smile, waiting for him to get to the point 

“I did a lot of research.” He says proudly, “So though the amount of orgasms I give you don’t end up mattering in the end…..they sure are fun.”

And you can’t fight the loud laugh that escapes when he gently tackles you onto the bed, making it bounce a bit as he pushes your thighs open with his hands and pressing them into you by the backs of them. 

“You ready doll?”

“Always for you sergeant.”

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)”

-

He keeps the eye contact, soft and open, as he slides himself between your folds to use your past orgasms as his lubricant before pressing into your center and moaning a bit as he pushes himself in. Whereas the romp downstairs had been feral and fast this one started slow, allowing him to kiss at your face as you adjusted to his size this time. 

His weight presses you into the bed, and your hands find purchase at his back so he can pull himself back before pushing his hips back into yours. Slow and precise, every pull he left a kiss and every push has just enough friction on your core that has you arching your back. 

It had been years of him learning your body and by this point he knew how to play it like the back of his hand. It was his and he liked keeping what's his cared for. When you arched a little more he knew he should speed up, and when you closed your eyes he reached a hand down to grip at the fat of your ass, fingers digging in as he readjusted you both for more pleasure. 

And once you came around him, spasming and moaning loudly, all bets were off. 

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

-

His entire weight comes down, crushing you beneath him not that your complaining. Between the warmth of his skin and the mix of your sweat with his you both have traction to move as his thrusts turn wild. 

Over and over at a speed he hadn’t reached with you before, his eyes are clenched shut as he ruts into you, overstimulating you as you begin to sob from the pleasure. Your entire body shakes with every intense hump. 

Between his thrusts you meet your peak once more, screaming out as his own thrusts become erratic and harsher. 

By the time he finishes he leans down to your ear so you can hear the heavy moan that escapes him as he fills you to the brim, shaking and pinching you with his metal arm. And his release seems never ending as he continues to thrust, until you are both completely spent and collapse into the cool sheets. 

-

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)”

-

You had managed to fall asleep and only woke up at the realization that he wasn’t near you, vision blurry as you looked around. He had cleaned you up and tucked you in with a glass of water on the nightstand, but his side of the bed was  empty. 

So you sit up, ready to go check on him, until you realize how sore you were and stay on the bed to listen for him. You hear the sound of him shuffling around downstairs to check all the locks before he begins climbing up the stairs. 

You know he makes the noise for you, otherwise he would be as stealthy as an assassin. 

By the time he enters the doorway there is a small smile playing at his lips while you open your arms and pull him in to lay with you. 

“Goodnight.” You whisper. 

“Goodnight, Doll.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

The waiting was the most dreadful feeling. 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with the test sitting on the counter between where you sat and where your husband sat in the hallway with the back of his head laid against the door. 

It was silent but not in a malicious way, more of a calming way as his metal hand whirred before the alarm on your phone goes off and you both shoot up to look. 

“Is it…”

“I….”

And you both lean to look at the same time to see just how well those new positions took.

-

[p0orbaby]

First Love

summary: you have a new admirer, alexia isn’t a fan

warnings: none

a/n: i cant remember if this was request or not so if it was i apologise but ive lost it. if not, well done me for thinking of my own plot for a change

word count: 1.2k

-

You and Alexia arrive fashionably late, because, well, it's Alexia’s family, and you’re not about to sacrifice your sanity to be early for a gathering that’s going to last an eternity anyway. She’s already stressed because she knows every cousin, uncle, and long-lost relative is going to pester her with the usual questions. How’s football? How’s the knee? When are you going to settle down and give your mother some grandchildren? Not to mention, the subtle but unmistakable scrutiny that comes with introducing you—again—like you're the new pet hamster instead of the person who’s been sleeping next to her for three years now.

You’re prepared, though. You’ve got your A-game smile, and you’re ready to nod at all the right moments while maintaining an impressive and unwavering level of small talk. You’re a pro at this by now. You can discuss the weather in ways that would make any other Briton jealous.

The event is held at a distant cousin's place—a sprawling estate that screams “we have more money than common sense.” The house is big, too big. The kind of place where you could lose a child or three and not notice until the next family reunion. The garden is a maze of strategically placed garden furniture, various expensive but uncomfortable chairs that no one sits in, and a kid's bouncy castle that looks like it was imported from the set of some cheesy Netflix original with mediocre reviews.

You’re halfway through your first glass of sangria when you notice him—a small boy, around five or six, with that messy hair that suggests he’s been on a sugar bender since eight this morning. His eyes are locked on you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s got this look that can only be described as pure, unfiltered determination, like he’s decided, at that very moment, that you’re going to be his new best friend, and there’s absolutely nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

"He's cute," you whisper to Alexia as the boy starts to waddle over, his shoes lighting up with every step. Alexia glances at him, then back at you, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah, cute," she says, her tone dry enough to rival the Sahara. You can tell by the way her jaw tenses that she’s already not thrilled with this kid, which is hilarious because you’ve seen her face down a team of professional athletes without breaking a sweat. But a small child? Apparently, that’s a whole different kind of threat.

The boy—let's call him Diego, because of course his name is Diego—sidles up to you with all the subtlety of a charging bull. He stares up at you, his eyes wide and sparkling, like you’re a rock star, and he’s your biggest fan.

"Hola," he says, in that high-pitched voice only kids or cartoon characters can pull off without being annoying. Except, it’s already a little annoying, because he’s completely ignoring Alexia, and that’s a crime in and of itself.

"Hi there," you reply, keeping your tone light and friendly. You glance over at Alexia, who’s now sipping her drink with a look that suggests she’s contemplating how many more family functions she can skip without starting a feud.

Diego looks at Alexia briefly, as if she’s some sort of obstacle, then turns his attention back to you, his smile growing wider. "Wanna play?"

You blink. Play? You haven’t ‘played’ in, what, fifteen years? Maybe more? You’re more accustomed to adult games now, like “Where did I put my phone?” and “How long can I avoid doing laundry?” But Diego doesn’t seem to care. He’s already grabbed your hand, sticky fingers and all, and is pulling you toward the bouncy castle like it’s the best idea in the world.

You glance at Alexia, who’s now watching the whole thing with an expression that would be hilarious if it weren’t so serious. There’s a thin line between her eyebrows that you’ve learned means danger. You try to give her a look that says, “Help me,” but she just raises an eyebrow, as if to say, “You got yourself into this, deal with it”

Before you can protest, you’re inside the bouncy castle, surrounded by kids who are all screaming with the kind of joy only children and maniacs experience. Diego is jumping up and down, laughing like a crazy person, and you’re doing your best to stay upright, which is difficult because it’s been a while since you were five.

Outside, you can see Alexia, arms crossed, watching you with a look that’s a mix between amusement and something else—something that looks suspiciously like jealousy. You bounce awkwardly, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Diego is relentless. He’s now trying to get you to jump higher, and you’re seriously starting to consider if this is how you go—death by bouncy castle.

After what feels like an eternity (but is probably just ten minutes), you manage to escape, stumbling out of the bouncy castle like you’ve just survived a natural disaster. Diego is still inside, shrieking with laughter, blissfully unaware of the drama he’s just caused.

You make your way over to Alexia, who’s watching you with that amused, slightly irritated expression still firmly in place.

"Having fun?" she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, tons," you reply, wiping sweat from your brow. "Best day of my life”

"You know, I’m not the jealous type," she begins, her voice low and dangerous, "but what’s mine is mine. End of story”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course Alexia would be jealous of a five-year-old. It’s ridiculous, and yet, somehow, perfectly understandable. "I think I’ve been claimed by someone else," you say, grinning. "You might have some competition”

She rolls her eyes but you can tell she’s not really mad. At least, not in the serious way. "He’s got good taste," she admits grudgingly, "but don’t let it go to your head”

"I wouldn’t dream of it," you reply, leaning in to kiss her cheek, because you know that’s what she wants, even if she’ll never admit it.

The rest of the party is a blur of forced smiles, endless small talk, and more sangria than you probably should’ve had. Diego pops up a few more times, always eager to drag you back to the bouncy castle or show you some new toy, but each time, Alexia is there, gently but firmly steering him back toward his actual family.

By the end of the night, you’re exhausted, and Alexia is finally starting to relax, probably because Diego has finally passed out somewhere, giving up on his quest to monopolise your attention.

As you leave, hand in hand, you glance back at the house, wondering how long it’ll be before you’re back here again, playing the role of the supportive girlfriend in a family that still doesn’t quite get it. But then Alexia squeezes your hand, and you realise it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, what’s hers is hers, and what’s yours is yours, and that’s all there is to it.

Besides, next time, you’ll be ready. You’ll bring your own bouncy castle and show Diego who’s boss.

[clrasecretdiary]

Why does she give a damn about me? | Spencer Reid x Reader

cutesy, cheesy fluff

In wich Spencer thinks reader is out of his league but she could not be more into him.

Content: Garcia is a queen as always, sunshine!reader

Warnings: Maybe some light lack of self steem from spence, but nothing crazy!!

He was used to it at this point. Being the weird kid in high school and college, Spencer never really expected anyone to be into him and, after being rejected a couple of times, he had practically closed himself off in that sense. But then, you came into the picture.

You are one of those girls that everyone seemed to gravitate toward, not only because of your beauty but because of your essence. You were genuinely kind, smart and good with people in a way he wished he was, maybe that’s why he was so drawn to you, you had all the qualities he wished he had and being close to you made him feel complete.

Needless to say that he was in love with you, it had started as an admiration and when he realized he was thinking about you all the time, but he was sure you would never be into guys like him, he was sure you’d never see him as more than friends.

–

You had joined the team a few years ago, you were excited to finally be doing what you really wanted when you joined the BAU, going out in the field and being on cases instead of just working a desk job all the time. When you first met the team, everyone seemed very welcoming but you felt yourself especially drawn to Spencer out of all people, at first he seemed distant but with time you noticed how sweet he was and how much he cared for everyone around him and god that man was so funny, you loved his weird science jokes and his magic tricks. How were you supposed to not fall in love with him? You asked yourself that question every time he brought you coffee in the morning or went on his rambles about some random thing.

After a particularly intense inquiry from a very drunk Garcia in one of the girls' nights she organized at her home, you told her your feelings for Reid and she made you swear you would act on it.

“Garcia, I'm not confessing. He's not into me like that, i’ll just ruin our friendship”

“Oh honey, he practically kisses the floor you walk in, he follows you around the office like a lost puppy and practically kills any officer that dares to be the tiniest bit mean to you. There’s no way he’s not into you, at least try pretty please” She says, doing puppy eyes at you. Garcia took her job as a cupid very seriously and was not going to let this be her first fail.

“Alright, i’ll try but if he ends up hating me you’ll have to bake me cookies everyday until i die” You say rolling your eyes and finishing your glass of wine.

“Ohhh i’ll be cooking cookies for you guys wedding!”

–

So, here you are holding his favorite order from the local coffee shop and gathering the courage to press the button to the elevator

“Hey are you fine?” A familiar voice calls you, when you turn around its spencer.. Great, guess you’ll have to do this right now

“Oh hi yeah, I was just um… meditating”

“Did you know meditanting has been proven to increase your memory and is also great for reducing anxiety. I really should start doing it, what method do you use?” Spencer says while pressing the button to the elevator

“Ummm breath in, breath out i think” You say, unsure how to respond

“That's actually one of the best ways as it oxygenates your brain and helps it work better, it can also help you feel more calm since deep breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system that sends a signal to your brain to tell the anxious part that you're safe and don't need to use the fight, flight response” He says, doing the little smile and head nod thing he always does after info dumping.

You smile back at him, as you both enter the elevator and press the button to the BAU floor.

“I brought you something” You say, handing him the coffee shop bag

He opens it and smiles at you “I can’t believe you remembered my favorites, thank you so much” You love that smile so much, all you can think about is how perfect he is and how there’s no way you can continue on without dating this man.

“Actually, I need to tell you something spence… I was thinking, maybe we could go out together as like, a date or something” You say, already blushing from the embarrassment you felt and how scared you were that he did not reciprocate the feelings.

“Really? Of course i want, to be honest i’ve wanted to ask you to be honest but i thought you’d never see me like that”

“Are you kidding me spencer? I’ve had a crush on you since we first meet”

The elevator gets to the office, and you both walk in blushing and joking about how you two were so blind to each other's feelings. As you get in, garcia passes by you two stopping to stare

“There’s something happening here…” She says, pointing between you two and pressing her eyes together as if she’s profiling you two

“I asked him out”

“Oh my god finally, you see? I’m always right, I don’t even need to ask what he said, look at Reid, he’s glowing, ohh i’m so happy” She says, walking out to probably tell the news to everyone on the team.

[sunrenity]

⟡ㅤㅤCOMPASSㅤ┈─ㅤ엔하이픈

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ( 🎞 )ㅤㅤi might get lost without you

precis : you're their compass.

엔하이픈ㅤ୨୧ㅤenhypen x 𝒻em readerㅤ..ㅤest relationship, tooth-rotting fluffㅤ/ㅤidol au! for heeseung, 600-700 words per memberㅤㅤ( 4883 )

zehra's note.ㅤmight be in my thenbhd era

LEE HEESEUNG

the world was always loud around lee heeseung. the chaos of his daily life—practices, interviews, schedules—felt like a hurricane he could never quite escape. yet somehow, in the midst of it all, you were his constant.

heeseung always said you were like his north star.

“it’s cheesy,” he’d chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you sat across from him in your tiny favorite café. his face would light up in the way it always did when he teased you, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. “but i mean it. without you, i’d just... drift.”

today was no different. you were seated together at a secluded corner table, the kind he requested specifically so no one would recognize him. a cup of steaming caramel latte sat untouched between his hands, growing colder by the second as he focused entirely on you. his gaze was warm, dark eyes soft as they traced your every move.

“you’re staring again, heeseung,” you teased, peering over the rim of your cup.

“can’t help it,” he admitted easily, leaning closer. his elbows rested on the table as his face inched toward yours, the faintest scent of his cologne lingering in the air. “you’re the only thing that makes sense these days.”

the weight of his words hung heavy between you, but not uncomfortably so. you knew what he meant, even if he wasn’t saying it outright. he didn’t need to. heeseung had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. every stolen glance, every gentle touch, every unspoken smile—it all told you the same story.

he needed you.

and it wasn’t in the dramatic, overbearing way some might imagine. heeseung wasn’t looking for someone to fix him or carry his burdens. he just needed you to remind him that amidst the chaos, there was still something real. something steady. something that felt like home.

“i think you give me too much credit,” you murmured, setting your drink down and meeting his gaze head-on.

“not possible,” he countered without missing a beat. “you’re the reason i know which way to go, even when i feel lost. like that time—”

he paused, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“what?” you prompted, leaning in slightly.

“remember the night before the showcase? when i was freaking out about forgetting the choreography?”

you nodded, vividly recalling the way he had paced back and forth in his living room, muttering steps under his breath until his voice cracked from exhaustion.

“you didn’t even flinch,” he continued, the fondness in his tone evident. “you just sat there, listening, and then dragged me out for ice cream at 2 a.m. like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

you laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “you needed to get out of your own head. that’s all.”

heeseung shook his head, his smile widening. “no, i needed you.”

it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and you doubted it would be the last. but every time he did, it felt like a little thread tying you closer to him, weaving your lives together in a way that felt impossible to undo.

“you know,” he said after a moment, reaching across the table to brush his fingers against yours, “i don’t tell you enough how much i appreciate you.”

your breath hitched slightly at the tenderness in his voice. it was rare for heeseung to let his walls down completely, but when he did, it always felt like a privilege to witness.

“you don’t have to,” you replied, curling your fingers around his. “i already know.”

he smiled then, the kind of smile that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

in that moment, you realized that being his compass didn’t mean guiding him to a destination. it meant being the place he could return to, no matter how far he wandered. and as his fingers tightened around yours, you knew you’d be that for him—always.

PARK JONGSEONG

it was almost comical how park jay always seemed to know what he was doing. he was the kind of person who made the world look effortless, like he had it all figured out. from his perfectly timed jokes to the confident way he carried himself, people assumed he never faltered. but you knew better. 

beneath the cool exterior, jay was just as lost as anyone else. maybe even more so. 

he’d told you that once, late one autumn night as the two of you sat on the hood of his car. the air was crisp, tinged with the earthy smell of fallen leaves, and the sky stretched endlessly above you, scattered with stars. jay’s jacket was draped over your shoulders, warm and slightly oversized, while he leaned back, one leg propped up on the bumper and the other dangling lazily. 

“i don’t know where i’m going half the time,” he admitted, his voice low and quiet, like the confession wasn’t meant to reach anyone but you. 

you turned to him then, his profile illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlight. his expression was unreadable, but you saw the vulnerability in his eyes—the kind he rarely let anyone see. 

“you always seem like you do,” you said softly. 

he chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. “that’s the trick, isn’t it? make it look like you’ve got it all together so no one bothers asking questions.” 

it was such a jay thing to say, and yet it broke your heart a little. because while everyone else saw the polished version of him, you saw the cracks. the uncertainty. the quiet ache of someone who was searching for something he couldn’t quite name. 

“you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

he glanced at you then, his dark eyes locking onto yours like he was searching for something. and maybe he found it, because his shoulders relaxed just a little, and the corners of his mouth lifted in the faintest hint of a smile. 

“that’s why i need you,” he said simply. 

the words settled between you, heavy with meaning. you didn’t respond right away, unsure of how to articulate the warmth spreading through your chest. jay wasn’t the type to say things he didn’t mean, and you knew this was as close to a confession as he’d ever get. 

“where are we going tonight?” you asked instead, breaking the silence. 

he smiled then, a real one this time, and it was the kind of smile that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. 

“does it matter?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you. 

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “no, i guess it doesn’t.” 

and it was true. being with jay always felt like enough, no matter where you ended up. whether it was on an aimless drive through the city, sprawled out on the living room floor listening to records, or sitting in comfortable silence as the world moved on around you—he made every moment feel significant. 

maybe that’s why he called you his compass. not because you showed him where to go, but because you reminded him that the destination didn’t matter as long as he had you by his side. 

“you know,” he said suddenly, breaking your train of thought, “i think you’re the only person who gets me.” 

you turned to him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “that’s not true.” 

“it is,” he insisted, his gaze unwavering. “no one else makes me feel... grounded. like i’m not just floating around, waiting for something to happen.” 

there it was again—that honesty he reserved only for you. it was overwhelming at times, the way he opened up to you so completely, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

“i’m glad i can be that for you,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. 

he reached for your hand then, his fingers warm against yours despite the cool night air. his touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid you might pull away.

but you didn’t.

instead, you held on tighter, letting him know without words that you weren’t going anywhere. 

because if jay was lost, you’d be his guide. and if he ever doubted where he belonged, you’d remind him. 

you were his compass, after all. and he was your home.

SIM JAEYUN

jake was always moving. whether it was the way he gestured enthusiastically as he spoke or how he could never stay in one place for too long, there was a restless energy to him that you couldn’t help but admire. he was a whirlwind of spontaneity, someone who craved adventure and thrived on the unknown. 

but even whirlwinds need somewhere to land. 

jake often joked that you were his anchor. 

“if i didn’t have you, i’d probably end up in the middle of nowhere without a clue how i got there,” he’d say, laughing as he tossed his arm around your shoulders. the way he looked at you, though, made you think there was more truth to it than he let on. 

today was one of those rare moments when jake wasn’t moving. you sat together at the edge of a quiet lake, its surface rippling gently in the breeze. the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the water and painting the world in warm, honeyed hues. 

jake leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him as he gazed at the horizon. his golden-brown hair glinted in the light, messy from the wind, and his lips curved into a soft smile as he turned to you. 

“do you ever feel like you’re not sure where you’re going?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter than usual. 

you glanced at him, caught off guard by the question. jake was usually so sure of himself, so carefree. but in that moment, there was a vulnerability in his expression that made your heart ache. 

“sometimes,” you admitted, pulling your knees to your chest. “but i think that’s normal.” 

he nodded, his gaze drifting back to the water. “it’s just... sometimes it feels like no matter how far i go or how many places i see, i’m still looking for something i can’t find.” 

there was a pause, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but filled with unspoken thoughts. 

“and when you’re with me?” you asked softly. 

jake’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn’t expected the question. but then his expression softened, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. 

“when i’m with you,” he said, his voice steady, “it feels like i’ve already found it.” 

your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone. jake had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a playful comment, but this was different. this was real. 

“jake...” 

he sat up then, leaning closer until his face was mere inches from yours. his dark eyes searched yours, warm and steady despite the uncertainty he’d just confessed. 

“you’re the only thing that makes sense,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “even when everything else feels... chaotic.” 

it wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, but it was the first time it felt so raw, so open. jake wasn’t one to dwell on heavy emotions, but when it came to you, he never held back. 

“maybe that’s because you’re always running,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “you don’t give yourself time to just be.” 

jake chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “maybe. but if i stopped running, i wouldn’t have found you.” 

the weight of his words settled over you, wrapping around your heart like a warm blanket. jake had a way of saying things that made you feel like the most important person in the world, like you were the reason the stars hung in the sky. 

“besides,” he added, a playful glint returning to his eyes, “you’re the one who keeps me on track. my compass, remember?” 

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “you’re ridiculous.” 

“ridiculously lucky,” he shot back, leaning in to nudge your shoulder with his. 

you laughed, the sound echoing across the lake, and jake’s smile widened in response. in that moment, it didn’t matter where he was going or what he was searching for. all that mattered was that he was here, with you, and for once, the restlessness inside him had quieted. 

because with you, jake didn’t feel lost. he felt found.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon wasn’t someone who expressed himself easily. words didn’t come naturally to him, at least not the kind that bared his heart. but you’d always known how to read between the lines, to find meaning in the silences where others might see emptiness. 

he said it once, offhandedly, that you were like his compass. 

“i just... think better when you’re around,” he’d muttered, his voice quiet as his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jacket. his cheeks had turned a faint pink as he avoided your eyes, but the admission lingered, warm and sweet. 

now, standing at the edge of a frozen lake, you watched sunghoon skate effortlessly across the ice. he moved like the winter wind—graceful, sure, yet untouchable. the early evening light glinted off the smooth surface, painting his figure in soft shades of gold and blue. 

you stood bundled in your coat and scarf, shivering slightly as you watched him circle back toward you. he stopped a few feet away, the blades of his skates slicing cleanly into the ice, sending a spray of frost into the air. 

“cold?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern. 

“a little,” you admitted, smiling as you rubbed your gloved hands together. “but it’s worth it to see you like this. you’re amazing out there.” 

his gaze flickered down, and for a moment, you thought you saw a hint of a smile on his lips. sunghoon wasn’t one for grand reactions, but you’d learned to notice the small ones—the way his shoulders relaxed when you complimented him, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. 

“come here,” he said, holding out his hand. 

you hesitated, glancing at your boots. “i’m not exactly a skating prodigy like you, sunghoon. i’ll probably fall on my face.” 

his lips twitched upward, the faintest ghost of a smile. “i won’t let you.” 

something about the quiet confidence in his voice made you believe him. tentatively, you reached for his hand, and he pulled you gently onto the ice. his touch was firm but careful, as if he were afraid of hurting you. 

“just relax,” he said, his other hand coming to rest lightly on your waist. “i’ve got you.” 

and he did. as he guided you across the ice, his movements slow and deliberate, you felt the tension in your body melt away. the world around you faded, leaving only the quiet sound of skates gliding and the warmth of his hands steadying you. 

“you make this look so easy,” you said, glancing up at him. 

“it’s not as hard as it looks,” he replied, his tone calm. “you just have to trust yourself.” 

you raised an eyebrow. “is that what you do?” 

his lips curved slightly, a soft laugh escaping him. “sometimes.” 

the honesty in his voice surprised you. sunghoon rarely admitted to uncertainty—it wasn’t his style. but in moments like this, when it was just the two of you, he let his guard down in a way that made your heart ache. 

“hey,” you said gently, squeezing his hand. “you don’t have to have it all figured out, you know.” 

he looked at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours. for a moment, it felt like the whole world had gone still. 

“you make it easier,” he said softly. 

the words were simple, but the weight behind them wasn’t lost on you. sunghoon wasn’t someone who spoke in grand declarations or flowery phrases, but when he said something, he meant it. 

“you’re my compass,” he added after a pause, his voice quieter now. “even when i don’t know where i’m going, i know i’ll be okay as long as you’re with me.” 

your chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in his words. this was the sunghoon only you got to see—the boy who felt deeply but struggled to express it, who showed his love in actions rather than words. 

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said, your voice steady. “i promise.” 

his lips twitched again, and this time the smile reached his eyes. it was small, almost shy, but it was real. 

“good,” he said, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. 

together, you continued to glide across the ice, his hand never leaving yours. and in that moment, it didn’t matter where the world took him or how lost he might feel at times. because no matter what, you’d be there to guide him. 

just as he always guided you.

KIM SUNOO

sunoo had a way of brightening every space he entered. it wasn’t just the brilliance of his smile or the warmth in his eyes—it was something deeper, something unexplainable. he carried an energy that made you feel like, no matter how lost you were, everything was going to be okay. 

but even someone like sunoo had his shadows. 

the two of you walked side by side along a winding path in the park, the world around you cloaked in a soft, rolling fog. the trees loomed like quiet sentinels, their skeletal branches weaving into the pale gray sky. your breath puffed out in faint clouds, mingling with the damp air, and the faint crunch of leaves beneath your boots was the only sound breaking the silence. 

sunoo was quiet today. 

it wasn’t like him. normally, he’d fill the space with chatter—little stories about his day, playful teasing, or random observations that made you laugh. but now, his hands were shoved into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. 

“sunoo?” you said softly, glancing at him. 

he hummed in acknowledgment, but he didn’t meet your gaze. 

“is everything okay?” 

for a moment, he didn’t answer. the fog seemed to press in closer, the world shrinking around you. then he sighed, the sound soft and almost hesitant. 

“do you ever feel like... like you’re not enough?” he asked, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. 

the question hit you like a sudden gust of wind, unexpected and disorienting. sunoo—the boy who radiated confidence and joy—felt this way? 

“sunoo,” you said gently, stopping in your tracks. he paused too, turning to face you with a tentative look in his eyes. 

“you’re more than enough,” you said firmly. 

he blinked, surprised by the conviction in your voice. “you don’t understand,” he murmured, looking away. “sometimes, it feels like no matter how hard i try, i’m always falling short. like... like i’m just faking it, and one day, everyone’s going to realize.” 

his words trailed off, and you saw the vulnerability etched into his expression. it broke your heart to see him like this, so uncertain, so fragile. 

“you’re not faking it,” you said, stepping closer. “you’re incredible, sunoo. you’re kind and thoughtful, and you make people feel seen and loved in a way no one else can.” 

he opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. 

“and even when you’re feeling like this—when you’re doubting yourself—you’re still enough. more than enough.” 

sunoo stared at you, his eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. then, slowly, a small, almost hesitant smile broke across his face. 

“you always know what to say,” he said softly. 

you shook your head, returning his smile. “it’s not about knowing what to say. i just know you. and i know how special you are, even if you don’t see it right now.” 

the fog around you seemed to lighten, the world growing a little brighter. sunoo’s smile grew, and this time, it reached his eyes, chasing away the lingering shadows. 

“thank you,” he said quietly. 

“you don’t have to thank me,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “just... let me remind you whenever you forget, okay?” 

he nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “okay.” 

the two of you started walking again, the path ahead still shrouded in mist but somehow feeling less daunting. sunoo’s hand stayed in yours, his grip warm and steady. 

you were his compass, even if he didn’t realize it. and just like he lit up the world for everyone else, you’d be the light that guided him through his darkest moments. 

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon was a quiet storm. he wasn’t loud or overly expressive, but everything about him carried a subtle intensity—a calm, steady rhythm that grounded you when the world felt chaotic. 

you often thought of him as the anchor that kept you steady. but if you asked him, he’d say the same about you. 

it was a rare rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky was more silver than gray, and the soft patter of raindrops created a soothing melody against the windows. the two of you sat on the floor of his small living room, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you shared the space in easy silence. the warm glow of a single lamp painted everything in soft hues, turning the mundane into something quietly magical. 

jungwon sat across from you, his legs crossed and his fingers absently toying with the edge of the blanket you shared. his dark hair was slightly mussed, and his sweater looked a size too big, the sleeves brushing his knuckles as he moved. 

“what are you thinking about?” you asked, breaking the silence. 

his gaze flickered up to meet yours, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. “you always ask me that.” 

“because you always look like you’re lost in thought,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your foot. 

he chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like the first sip of hot tea on a cold day. “maybe i just like thinking when i’m with you.” 

the casual sincerity of his words made your breath catch. that was the thing about jungwon—he didn’t need grand gestures or flowery words to make you feel special. he did it in the little things, the quiet moments. 

“what about right now?” you pressed gently. “what are you thinking about right now?” 

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. for a moment, you thought he might deflect, but then he surprised you. 

“i was thinking about how... steady everything feels when you’re here,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “like, no matter what’s going on, i know i’ll be okay if i’m with you.” 

your heart swelled at his confession, and you leaned forward, resting your chin on your knees as you watched him. “jungwon...” 

he glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “you’re my compass,” he continued, his voice steadier now. “you remind me where i’m supposed to be, even when i start to lose track of myself.” 

the honesty in his words left you momentarily speechless. jungwon wasn’t the type to bare his emotions so openly, but when he did, it was with a quiet strength that left no room for doubt. 

“you’re where you’re supposed to be,” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “and you’re doing just fine, jungwon. more than fine.” 

he exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening around yours. “i don’t always feel that way.” 

“that’s okay,” you said, squeezing his hand gently. “you don’t have to have it all figured out. that’s what i’m here for, remember?” 

his smile widened, and for a moment, the room felt warmer, brighter. jungwon had a way of making the simplest moments feel profound, as if the world slowed down just for the two of you. 

“thank you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. 

“for what?” you asked, tilting your head. 

“for being you,” he said simply. 

the rain continued to fall outside, its rhythm steady and soothing. and as you sat there, your hands entwined and the world quiet around you, you realized that jungwon wasn’t just your anchor—he was the steady rhythm you didn’t know you needed. 

and you? you were his compass, guiding him gently back to himself every time he lost his way.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki wasn’t one to say what he felt outright. his emotions weren’t something he wore on his sleeve, nor did he hand them out freely to the world. to most people, he was an enigma—a mix of sharp wit and quiet confidence, always keeping others at arm’s length. 

but not with you. 

you had a way of getting past his defenses, slipping through the cracks in his armor like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. you didn’t push or pry; you simply stayed, steady and unwavering, until he let you in. 

tonight, the two of you found yourselves at the edge of the city, sitting on the hood of his car with the skyline sprawled out below. the faint hum of distant traffic filled the cool night air, and the stars above blinked faintly against the darkness. 

riki leaned back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. his dark hair fell loosely over his forehead, and the soft glow of the city lights painted his sharp features in shades of silver and gold. he was quiet tonight, his usual playful banter replaced by a contemplative stillness. 

“you’ve been quiet,” you remarked, glancing over at him. 

he smirked faintly, tilting his head to look at you. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“it’s not,” you replied, your lips curving into a small smile. “just unusual.” 

he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “guess i’ve got a lot on my mind.” 

you waited, giving him the space to continue if he wanted to. with riki, patience was key. he wasn’t someone who spilled his thoughts easily, but when he did, it was worth every second of the wait. 

“i’ve been thinking about us,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. 

the admission caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. “oh?” you said softly, your gaze locking onto his. 

he sat up then, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared out at the skyline. “i’ve always been good at figuring things out—what i want, where i’m going. but with you...” he trailed off, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words. 

“with me?” you prompted gently. 

“with you, it’s different,” he said, turning to meet your eyes. “you make me feel... anchored. like no matter where i’m going, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re there.” 

the vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through you. riki wasn’t someone who opened up easily, and hearing him say those words felt like he was handing you a piece of his heart. 

“you know,” you began, a soft smile tugging at your lips, “you’re not as hard to figure out as you think.” 

he raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “oh, really?” 

“really,” you said, leaning slightly closer. “you act all cool and aloof, but deep down, you care more than you let on. you just don’t like showing it.” 

his smirk widened, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “you think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?” 

“pretty much,” you teased, your smile growing. 

he shook his head, but the amusement in his expression was unmistakable. “you’re something else, you know that?” 

“i’ll take that as a compliment,” you quipped, your tone light. 

“it is,” he said quietly, his voice taking on a more serious note. “you make me... better. i don’t know how else to say it, but you do. you’re like my compass or something. you remind me where i’m supposed to be, even when i lose sight of it myself.” 

the sincerity in his words made your chest tighten. for all his teasing and confidence, riki had a depth to him that he didn’t show to just anyone. but here, under the vast expanse of the night sky, he was letting you see it. 

“you’re not as lost as you think you are,” you said softly, your gaze steady. “but i’ll always be here, just in case you need reminding.” 

for a moment, he didn’t say anything. then, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining them together. his grip was firm, steady, but there was a gentleness to it that made your heart flutter. 

“good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “because i don’t think i ever want to figure things out without you.” 

the city lights continued to shimmer in the distance, the hum of the world fading into the background. and as the two of you sat there, hand in hand, it was clear that neither of you needed a map or a plan. 

because wherever you went, you’d always be his true north.

[carouselunique]

Here you go!

Bonus Explanations for the Elements:

I treat the Elements as the values being the same throughout it's just how the bearers choose to interpret those values is how they end up being defined. In a sense the original Mane Six and the Swap Six all have similar values but express them somewhat differently.

Roseluck: Element of Inspiration - Rose inspires others to be their best selves, she is inspired to strive toward her dreams through her friendships and wants to pay that forward.

(Element of Generosity - Rarity focuses on what she can give to others while Rose focuses on bringing out what one already has.)

Ditzy Doo: Element of Cheer - Ditzy always delivers a smile, a cheesy mail joke, a wing to lean on, a feathery shoulder to cry on so you can feel better, someone to remember you and make you feel seen etc. She makes others feel lighter and cheerier and that cheer spreads to others in a domino effect!

(Element of Laughter - Ditzy doesn't mainly focus on laughter the way Pinkie does because she believes not everyone needs a laugh to feel cheer. Pinkie is more of a clown type while Ditzy is, well, more of a motherly type)

Sea Swirl: Element of Trust - If you put your trust into Sea, she won't let you down. She is honest sort, even if you sometimes have to take a leap of faith that you aren't sure about at first. Sea will uphold your belief in her with a trustworthiness that makes you want to be someone that others trust as well.

(Element of Honesty - AJ treats her Element as a very literal value while Sea doesn't feel the need to say every true thing outloud, more that you know that she is someone who's words and actions you can inherently trust even if she isn't always literally honest.)

Ginger Gold: Element of Integrity - No matter what ambitions Ginger has, she will always have the integrity to stick by her friends and family and do the right thing. Her integrity and willingness to do what's right by those she cares for no matter what even at the cost of her own goals makes everyone around her a little more honorable in turn.

(Element of Loyalty - It's nearly the same here more just that in my head, Rainbow will be loyal to her friends because they're her friends while Ginger Gold will have integrity because it is something she believes one should just always have and by having that she can be loyal to her friends - not to say one is more noble than the other, that is just how they see it if they're asked to really define it.)

Sunny Rays: Element of Empathy - Sunny is, as her name suggests, as warm as the sun. She is soft and understanding and empathetic and seeing everyone as being worth a chance at being seen and their issues felt allows everyone a kinder view of situations.

(Element of Kindness - Sunny Rays sees empathy as different than kindness, especially as she develops. She can have empathy and not always be kind as someone might see it and someone can be kind but not understand the point of view through an empathetic lens and therefore be kind but not empathetic. Of course it's a struggle to balance how to be kind and empathetic or when kindness has to stop because you know it is hindering your understanding of a situation, etc.)

Minuette: Element of Friendship - Her friendship brought the group together and allowed them to share their best values with each other and her realization that you should make time not just for academic exploration and what we can discover but for the cultivation of emotional and social development and that we need our connections with others to be truly happy helps other realize what truly counts.

(Element of Magic - In my head, Twilight calls it Magic because she believes that Friendship is a form of Magic a flaw that shows up in the later seasons where friendship is treated as something inherent and almost religious in a sense? At least to me? While Minuette believes that the Magic comes second to the Friendship and can only occur if one works on Friendship and treats the Magic of Friendship as something you work at and feel more than it is literal magic.)

[wileycap]

So, uh, Netflix Avatar, huh? Yeah. I guess I'll make a really long post about it because ATLA brainrot has is a cornerstone of my personality at this point.

So.

It's okay. B, maybe a C+.

That's it.

Now for the spoilers:

The biggest issue with the Netflix version is the pacing. Scenes come out of nowhere and many of the episodes are disjointed. Example: Aang escaping from Zuko's ship. We see him getting the key and going "aha!", and in the next scene he's in Zuko's room. And then he just runs out, no fun acrobatics or fights, and immediately they go to the Southern Air Temple where he sees Gyatso's corpse, goes into the Avatar state, and then sees Gyatso being really cheesy, comes out of it, and resolves that conflict. Nothing seems to lead into anything. The characters don't get to breathe.

The show's worst mistake (aside from Iroh fucking murdering Zhao) is its' first one: they start in the past. Instead of immediately introducing us to our main characters and dropping us into a world where we have a perfect dynamic where Aang doesn't know the current state of the world and Katara and Sokka don't know about the past, thus allowing for seamless and organic worldbuilding and exposition, they just... tell us. "Hey, this is what happened, ok, time for Aang!" There's no mystery, no intrigue, just a stream of information being shoved down the audience's throats and then onto the next set piece.

The visuals are for the most part great, but like with most Netflix productions, they just don't have great art direction. It feels like a video game cinematic, where everything is meant to be Maximum Cool - and none of the environments get to breathe. It's like they have tight indoor sets (with some great set design) and then they have a bunch of trailer shots. It's oozing with a kind of very superficial love.

Netflix still doesn't know how to do lighting, and with how disjointed the scenes are, the locations end up feeling like a parade of sets rather than actual cities or forests or temples. As for the costumes, Netflix still doesn't know how to do costumes that look like they're meant to be actually worn, so many of the characters seem weirdly uncomfortable, like they're afraid of creasing their pristine costumes.

The acting is decent to good, for the most part. I can't tell if the weaker moments come down to the actors or the direction and editing, but if I had to guess, I'd say the latter. Iroh and Katara are the weakest, Sokka is the most consistent, Zuko hits the mark most of the time, and Aang is okay. I liked Suki (though... she was weirdly horny? Like?) but Yue just fell kind of flat.

The tight fight choreography of the original is replaced with a bunch of spinny moves and Marvel fighting, though there are some moments of good choreography, like the Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko (there's a million things I could say about how bad it was thematically, but this post is overly long already.) There's an actually hilarious moment in the first episode when Zuko is shooting down Aang, and he does jazz hands to charge up his attack.

Then there's the characters. Everybody feels very static - Zuko especially gets to have very little agency. A great example of that is the scene in which Iroh tells Lieutenant Jee the story of Zuko's scar.

In the original, it's a very intimate affair, and he doesn't lead the crew into any conclusions. Here, Iroh straight up tells the crew "you are the 41st, he saved your lives" and then the crew shows Zuko some love. A nice moment, but it feels unearned, when contrasted with the perfection of The Storm. In The Storm, Zuko's words and actions directly contradict each other, and Iroh's story gives the crew (and the audience) context as to why, which makes Zuko a compelling character. We get to piece it out along with them. Here - Iroh just flat out says it. He just says it, multiple times, to hammer in the point that hey, Zuko is Good Actually.

And then there's Iroh. You remember the kindly but powerful man who you can see gently nudging Zuko to his own conclusions? No, he's a pretty insecure dude who just tells Zuko that his daddy doesn't love him a lot and then he kills Zhao. Yeah. Iroh just plain kills Zhao dead. Why?

Iroh's characterization also makes Zuko come off as dumb - not just clueless and deluded, no, actually stupid. He constantly gets told that Iroh loves him and his dad doesn't, and he doesn't have any good answers for that, so he just... keeps on keeping on, I guess? This version of Zuko isn't conflicted and willfully ignorant like the OG, he's just... kind of stupid. He's not very compelling.

In the original, Zuko is well aware of Azula's status as the golden child. It motivates him - he twists it around to mean that he, through constant struggle, can become even stronger than her, than anyone. Here, Zhao tells him that "no, ur dad likes her better tee hee" and it's presented as some kind of a revelation. And then Iroh kills Zhao. I'm sorry I keep bringing that up, but it's just such an unforgiveable thematic fuckup that I have to. In the original, Zhao falls victim to his hubris, and Zuko gets to demonstrate his underlying compassion and nobility when he offers his hand to Zhao. Then we get some ambiguity in Zhao: does he refuse Zuko's hand because of his pride, or is it his final honorable action to not drag Zuko down with him? A mix of both? It's a great ending to his character. Here, he tries to backstab Zuko and then Iroh, who just sort of stood off to the side for five minutes, goes "oh well, it's murderin' time :)"

They mess with the worldbuilding in ways that didn't really need to be messed with. The Ice Moon "brings the spirit world and the mortal world closer together"? Give me a break. That's something you made up, as opposed to the millenia of cultural relevance that the Solstice has. That's bad, guys. You replaced something real with something you just hastily made up. There's a lot of that. We DID NOT need any backstory for Koh, for one. And Katara and Sokka certainly didn't need to be captured by Koh. I could go on and on, but again, this post is already way too long.

It's, um, very disappointing. A lot of telling and not very much showing, and I feel like all of the characters just... sort of end up in the same place they started out in. I feel like we don't see any of the characters grow: they're just told over and over again how they need to grow and what they need to do.

To sum it up: Netflix Avatar is a mile wide, but an inch deep.

[parkerluvsu]

ANGELEYES (virgin! art donaldson x fem! reader)

(my first halloween fic.. i don't have the energy to do kinktober <3)

art donaldson is a virgin. a big fat virgin. it's his biggest secret, the only person who knows about it is patrick, and he endlessly makes fun of him for it. it's hard living in the shadow of such a sex prodigy like him, patrick had been relaying stories of heavy makeout sessions and 7 minutes in heaven with random girls ever since middle school. art has been on a multitude of double dates with patrick, only for them to end with him and a girl sitting awkwardly next to him while patrick and his date messily makeout on the couch next to him.

of course art tried to mimic patrick, his smooth words and even smoother hands.. but never successfully. the longest he's ever had a girlfriend was only 5 months.. and she broke up with him on valentines day. this year was the first year he actually had a girlfriend on a semi-romantic holiday. or at least art thought it was, he remembers every year that couples in cute costumes walked by and made him want to cry. and even worse was the halloween parties, with drunk college students wearing stupid costumes and grinding on each other, leaving art to sip on a room temperature beer in the corner.

art was abruptly brought back to reality when you tapped on his shoulder, alerting him to the fact that he wasn't still in a stupid party, he was lodged in a costume store dressing room, holding on to the costumes you still wanted to try on. "what do you think?" you spin around, showing him the back of your cheesy tennis player costume. art chuckles, shaking his head, "i think it's offensive.." he jokes, of course you look cute but he can't stop himself from thinking that you'd never be able to move around a court in that stupid uniform. "hand me another one art.." he gives you the next costume, turning to face the wall while you change. "you know you can look.. right? im your girlfriend aren't i?" art blushes and he's thankful you can't see his face. "i- im just being respectful" he says, seeming genuinely concerned about offending you. you let the issue go as you zip up the costume, tapping art on the shoulder.

when you got home, you set down your costume and turned to art. "so now what are you gonna be? we should match right?" he nods shyly, not exactly knowing how to enter this unfamiliar territory. "i guess you could be a devil too and then we could match.." you look at art for inspiration, and settle on his baby blue eyes, biting your lip before getting an idea. "oh i know! you should be an angel! it'll be great!" you say, already envisioning art in a pretty white costume. art blushes, "isn't that.. like a girl costume?" he doesn't mean to offend you and it's not like he hates the idea but.. he doesn't want to embarrass himself. "no not at all! cmon art it'll be so cute.. you'll be my little angel!" you almost squeal, immediately taking out your phone to look for costumes. art nods slowly.. realizing that he doesn't really care what he dresses up as.. as long as he's yours.

art almost drops the costumes he's holding when he sees the little red skirt, tank top and horns you have on, accompanied by a pair of fluffy wings on your back. "what d'you think? it kind of looks silly don't you think?" you turn back to face art. he shakes his head silently, his eyes wide, looking you up and down. you giggle, "guess we have a winner then!". you leave the store that day with a devil costume in a bag, and art leaves with a tent in his pants.

art has never considered himself religious. he was raised to go to sunday school and church and all those other fun events, but he never believed any of it. so why did he feel so guilty when he got hot and heavy seeing you in that costume? maybe it was the fact that he was always reprimanded as a child for liking things that he shouldn't.. playing with dolls, stealing his moms clothes... and maybe even looking a little too long at girls from church. now he still felt like he could get caught any moment doing something he wasn't supposed to, even though he wasn't in that environment anymore.

you're putting on lip gloss, using your phone for a mirror when art pops out of the bathroom, having a little trouble getting the fake wings to fit though the doorframe. you put your things down, standing up to meet him, "oh art.. you look so good.. this costume is perfect for you, don't you think?" you say, looking him up and down. art blushes, trying to avoid your gaze "i- i guess so.." he says, trying to downplay the fact that he likes the costume so much. you pick up on his tone, and decide to speak up. "what? you don't like it?" he shakes his head quickly, "no.. no that's not it.. it's like the opposite.. maybe i like it a little too much" he looks away, shifting from foot to foot. you smile knowingly, not surprised that he feels this way. art let's you guide him to sit on the edge of your bed. "well, why do you like it so much?" you ask, wanting to see if he'll be honest.

.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・

when halloween night finally comes around, art finds himself staring in the mirror, tugging at the tight white t-shirt that came with his costume, shifting his back and shoulders to re-adjust the wings sitting heavy on his back. god.. what's patrick gonna think about this? he's probably gonna be made fun of relentlessly.. but there's a feeling in the bottom of his stomach when he looks at himself.. he can't deny that he likes what he sees. he's just nervous for you to see him too, what if you laugh? what if you think he looks silly? what if you make fun of him? all these thoughts swirl around in his head as he leaves your bathroom, stepping into your bedroom as you look up from your phone.

art mulls that over in his head, pretty.. did he feel pretty? was he pretty? he's a boy isn't he.. was he even allowed to be pretty? even with all these thoughts swirling in his head he knows the foundational truth: he likes when he say that, he likes when you call him pretty. you bring art back to reality by kissing him softly, leaning closer to him. arts tentative hands grab hold of your waist, squeezing tight when you slip your tongue into his mouth. "won't you let me take care of you art?" he nods, knowing that you saw the bulge in his pants the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

you run your hands over arts warm skin, swinging your leg over his lap in order to straddle him. "we'll go slow, alright? don't be scared" you whisper, pressing your lips to his once again. art whines against you, his hips jerking under you even with the simple makeout session. art finds it easy to let you take the lead, you always do, in every facet of your relationship, and art likes to just turn his brain off when he's with you. he lets you run your fingers through his hair, pulling off the silly halo headband while you do. art shivers when you make your way down to his neck, sharp canine teeth poking and pulling at his skin. you pull at the hem of arts shirt, "can i take this off?" you ask, waiting for a nod before pulling it off of him, pressing your lips on his again and raking your nails down his chest, almost making him curl up on himself.

you were so warm inside, hot even, he could feel your every move from the inside, every ridge and squishy spot made him take a shuddering breath. you try to lift up again to establish a rhythm, but arts hands keep you still, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. after a few seconds, he takes his hands away, letting you start to bounce gently. his moans and whines become almost screams, "k-keep goingg please.." "y'r so warm 'nside" "never wanna stop.. wanna do this f-forever" he feels himself approaching his peak far too quick, but he cant stop, he couldn't even if he wanted to, he needs you to keep going, he needs you to touch him, he needs you to love him. you can feel art start to move his hips with you, planting his feet on the mattress and pushing up, slamming into you with the last of his strength before his whole body goes taut, shaking and shivering before you feel him cum inside you, even through the condom.

you kiss some more, before you pull away to take a breath and look at him. arts pretty pink cheeks and white wings contrast perfectly, only making your heart beat faster. "do you wanna see me?" you gesture to your chest, covered by a skimpy red tank top. art nods very quickly, almost getting dizzy. "y-yeah, yes please" he says, watching with stars in his eyes as you strip off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. art almost gasps when you take hold of his hands and place them on your boobs, letting him experiment and touch and squeeze to his hearts content, you want to giggle at his facial expressions but you don't want to make him self conscious. "c-can we keep going?" he asks, hands still on your breasts. you smile and laugh, nodding. "alright art.. can you take off your pants for me?" art almost thinks his heart stops when you ask him to do that, still getting it through his head to nod slowly. he shuffles them down his legs, his blue boxers already a little stained from the precum leaking from the makeout sessions. you shift closer to him, sitting between his spread legs. "ill be gentle okay?" you start slow, running your fingers softly over his bulge, smiling when you feel him twitch under your touch. tapping his hip to signal him to lift his hips up, art complies, suddenly feeling self conscious at the fact that no one has ever seen him like this before.. he doesn't even know what he's supposed to do, or say. you notice this of course, placing your palm on his hip, "you're doing great art" he visibly relaxes at your touch, sinking into your bed. he lets you touch him softly again, with no barrier this time, he's softer than you thought, his pretty pink head already drooling, the pronounced veins on the sides pulsing. you wish you could take a polaroid of this moment, the look of his innocent white wings contrasting from the very lewd image in front of you. art slaps a hand over his mouth, his brows furrowed, he's never had anyone else touch him here, your hand feels so much different than his own, so much softer and warmer. art has to concentrate his best on not cumming immediately, the sensation of your hand jerking him off becoming overwhelming. he has to reach down and push your hand away before he cums, wanting to save the best part for later. "i-im sorry i didn't wanna.. cum" he says, his face flushed red. you smile, understanding his predicament. "it's okay, i did the same my first time too.. do you have a condom?" art nods quickly, opening up a packet of condoms he bought a little prematurely maybe.. but he wanted to be prepared no matter what happened. art had taken a sex ed class before, but putting a condom on himself versus a banana were very different, so you had to help him roll it down his length. art does nothing but watch you throw your panties to the side, again climbing into his lap. "like i said, we'll go slow, tell me if you don't like how it feels yeah?" art agrees, placing his large hands on your hips in an attempt to prepare, but nothing could prepare him for this.

you move your hips slowly to let him cool off, before slipping off of him and settling down beside him. you take off the condom for him, cum dripping onto his stomach before you can throw it away. you place your head on arts chest, unable to resist dipping your finger into the drops of cum on his stomach, the translucent liquid almost glowing on his pale skin. you can't help the word that escapes your mouth, "angel..." you whisper against his skin, not thinking he's back to his senses yet. art perks up a little, hoping he heard what he thought he heard, "w-what?" "nothing" <3

art sighs, not even knowing why he likes it so much. "i dunno, i guess i feel.. nice in it.. like it's natural?" you nod along with his words, encouraging him to keep talking. "like when i put it on, it kind of made me get butterflies.." you nod, seeing where this was going. "you thought you looked pretty yeah? i mean i always say you look like an angel, this just proves my point" you remark, placing a gentle hand on his thigh. "yeah.. well you're right as always.."

[dovesdreaming]

can u do dating king ben headcannons

❦King Ben dating headcanons❦

I loved writing this and I could go on forever about him so if anyone wants more of these headcanons I still have loads in my brain! Thank you for requesting!! <3 I made it gender neutral as I didn’t know if you wanted it with a female reader or not hope that’s ok!

Warnings: none

-He is the most respectable and affectionate boyfriend ever. Once you’re dating he always has his hands somewhere on you because he loves being close to you. His absolute favourite though is forehead touches. It allows him to look directly at you with no interruptions.

-Cannot take his eyes off of you. Even before you started dating he would just go into his own world while staring at you. Would spend forever looking at you if he could.

-Before you started dating he would always try to impress you but he’s a little nervous so it ends up being a bit of a clumsy mess but you found it cute and laughed at him so he saw it as a win. Would go from being clumsy to so smooth with flirting with you though.

He jogs up to you at your locker after class and leans on the lockers next to yours. He’s looking down into your eyes, not breaking contact while wearing his signature smirk and just comes out with shameless flirting that I don’t think he even realised he’s doing it. It’s such a shock to your system you just turn to mush and hide your face from him. Would be the type of man to lean down so that he could still see your face or grab your chin and bring your face back to him.

-Could take him back to your parents any day, maybe not if they’re villains though they would probably hate his goody too shoes kind of life.

-Would always stand up for you and defend your name.

-His love for you is so pure and unbreakable. He definitely falls first and deeper. Ben just holds so much love for you that you would never be able to comprehend it.

-Would treasure anything you ever gave him even if it was as simple as a daisy you picked when you were sitting on the grass together. He would watch you so closely if you ever made a daisy chain and would be more than happy to wear it. Would happily let you place flowers in his hair if it made you happy.

-Loves holding your hand and will always take the opportunity to hold it. Makes cheesy excuses to do it even if you’ve been dating for a while. Would be like “your hands are freezing, I definitely need to hold them to warm them up”.

-Cheesiest boyfriend ever. He does most of it on purpose just to see you smile.

-Hopeless romantic and can’t help but to spoil you. Ben is always organising the cutest and romantic dates you could imagine. Always gives you your favourite flowers.

-Would always be so interested in anything you have to say, staring so intently into your eyes so that you know he’s listening. He would remember the smallest details about you and when it resulted in him getting you a gift or saying something to do with it you would melt. He wouldn’t know how to react because he just saw it as a normal thing to do because why wouldn’t he remember everything about you and everything you say to him?

-Is a puppy. Will follow you everywhere he can and will be at your beck and call. Will also whine and moan whenever he’s not in your presence or you have to leave him.

-Would do anything for you and would do anything to see you happy, he can’t stand it when your sad.

-Would give you absolute princess treatment no matter your background. Always pulls your chair out for you, holds doors open and would lay his jacket over a puddle if needed. The type of boyfriend to swap shoes or clothes with you if yours were hurting you and would have no shame if he looked weird. Would also carry you round on his back if you preferred that option.

-Would dedicate any points or winning games to you. Would definitely try to teasingly embarrass you this way. It would mean the world to him if you came onto the pitch after a winning game and ran into his arms. Would pick you up and swing you round, giving you a massive kiss when he puts you down.

-Loves, loves, LOVES seeing you in his clothes. He would feel that deep feeling of love for you and his beast would slightly come out with any feelings of possessiveness it ignited in him. Imagine him seeing you wear his crown he would be on his knees for you.

-Loves when you run your fingers through his hair, especially when cuddling. If you ever refused, even in a joking way, he would beg you to do it with his best puppy eyes.

-Is the best hugger ever. His height combined with his big arms make for the comfiest and warmest hug ever.

-If the beast ever comes out he would be so protective over you it would be so funny. I feel like this side of him even when in his normal form would make him such a biter. Not even sexually, he just gets the urge to lovingly bite your shoulder and nibble.

-Always keeps you close by his side, especially at big events. Mainly so no harm comes to you but also because your a massive comfort to him and being in your presence immediately calms his nerves.

-Ben is a big cuddler and could be either big spoon or little spoon depending on the day. Definitely loves lying on top of you, his face on your chest listening to your heartbeat or squished into your neck.

-Always confides in you with any worries he has about becoming king and ruling Auradon. You immediately squish them and reassure him.

-He couldn’t wait to rule the kingdom beside you with you as his king/queen. Would lovingly call you “my queen/king”. In fact he would give you every pet name under the sun he just couldn’t help himself, his love for you poured out of him in buckets and he just had to let you know in every way he can.

-Would always show you off to everyone and be so proud to call you his partner. Ben would bring you up in conversation all the time and everyone just got used to it and let him because they secretly thought it was cute how in love he was with you.

-Acts like he’s under a love spell with how down bad he is for you

-Overall the love you share is so soft and pure it’s such a fairytale relationship and all you could ever wish for. Ben is the perfect boyfriend.

Thank you for reading! im so excited to write for all the descendants requests<3

[onmykneesformatt]

🍒cherry candy🍒 -m.s.

synopsis: one of your biggest insecurities is matt’s favorite thing in the entire world. so what happens when you go on a shopping spree?

warnings: SMUT, softdom!matt, fem!reader, no use of y/n, semi-public sex, PRAISING OH MY LORDDDTT, unprotected p in v (safe sex is great sex, betta wear a latex), boob play for DAYS, mentions of body dysmorphia, i don’t think anything else???

a/n: this is a lil slow but i'm hoping y'all like it anyways >-<. y’all were HEAVY on the tittyguy!matt shit, so i decided to treat y’all and give y’all a fic😛🍒🌺 ENJOY SLUTS!!🍒🎀🌺

“let’s start at target! they have those billie eilish shirts for her newest album!”

you giggled like a little girl, practically skipping into the target while holding matt’s pinky.

“alright, your choice.” he smiled, happy that you’re finally getting out of the house more.

you’ve been staying inside for the past couple weeks.

he picked up on signs that it was about something someone might’ve said at your family reunion. he loved your body, and he thought anyone who didn’t was insane.

you admitted to him after the first week straight of not having sex or even being half-naked around him while getting dressed everyday.

-

“what’s up with you? you used to love putting on fashion shows every morning while changing, but you haven’t for, what? two weeks now? it’s so cute, and i love it. what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing.”

“it’s something.”

he stood up from the edge of the bed to stand in toe-to-toe with you, your back almost touching the closet door.

“uhm.. i-“

“you can tell me, pretty girl. i wont judge you.”

“mhm, okay. well, do you remember my dads side of the family?”

“oh, god.”

he scoffed, knowing what you were about to say.

“well, at the family reunion, they wouldn’t stop bringing up how i was looking ‘more exposed’ than a college girl should, and kept staring at my boobs. i didn’t take any of it to heart at first, but then my cousins started whispering to eachother. i mean, i get it, i might’ve gained some weight since the last reunion, but it still hurts. and i can only imagine how they felt seeing my thighs and stomach. i went swimming! they practically saw everything they needed to make fun of me!”

he grabbed your waist, pulling you into a hug against his chest while you caught your breath.

“baby. are you kidding? do you know how often i imagine myself between those thighs while i’m at meetings? how i love pressing on your stomach to push you closer against me when i’m behind you? and, oh my god. those boobs. i would lay on them all day if i could. have you ever noticed how when we’re laying down, my hands just ‘happen’ to move up to your chest? or when you’re.. y’know.. on top of me, i use them to relieve ‘stress’?”

he was helpful whenever it came to compliments. more than helpful.

“i know. but almost every girl in my family has the perky, slim look. i don’t think i’m overweight or anything, but compared to them i must look huge.”

matt shook his head at your comment, knowing that no matter what you wore, you looked like a goddess to him.

“you’re not, baby. you’re perfect.”

he backed up, having a cheesy grin on his face. the same face he makes when he’s about to say something funny but kind of corny.

“i mean, you’re like cherry candy to me.”

you giggled, wiping away the light tears on your face.

you felt safe again.

the morning after, you started doing your fashion shows again. matt smiled knowing he was able to bring you so much comfort, and also bring back your confidence.

-

”how about this?” you grabbed the light brown, one-piece bathing suit that had a sheer cover-up attached to it.

“you would look amazing in it. but, i thought you didn’t like one-pieces because of the way they felt on your skin?”

“i don’t,” you looked down, starting to fidget with the price tag. “but, i don’t know. there’s gonna be a lot of girls at this pool party.”

“so?” it slipped matt’s mind. again. he thought you were perfect, so he saw no issue with the way you looked.

“oh.” he remembered. the comments from your dads side of the family shouldn’t have stuck the way they did. he tried to keep his composure, trying not to imagine the way you must’ve acted after they would say things like that. he started to regret not going with you. it was only a few hours, but those few hours affected the next few weeks of your life.

“well, i think you should forget about what people might think. as bad as this may come off, you can’t change anything about your body. i mean, i love it. if you couldn’t tell.”

his hands landed on your waist, pulling you in.

“and, personally, you have the best body i’ve ever seen.” that meant a lot coming from a guy who’s friends with people like madison beer, nessa barrett, and multiple other attractive female influencers. not that you thought he would ever go for them, but he worshipped you. like, worshipped you.

“i love you so much, matt. you have no idea.”

“i love you more.”

~ after about 15 minutes of scouring through the target to find more bathing suits to try, especially two-pieces, you found the dressing room.

matt sat patiently on the bench right outside, waiting for you to walk out.

“uh, matt?”

“yeah, babe?”

“i don’t really wanna, y’know.. walk out there.”

“okay, that’s fine.”

his eyes widened slightly when he saw the opportunity approach.

“do you want me to.. go in there with you?”

you honestly thought nothing of it. i mean, he's your boyfriend. he's seen you naked like a thousand times.

"sure. maybe you can actually help me get this shit off."

you giggled, and he smirked at your offer.

you unlocked the dressing room door, hiding behind it as you cracked it open making sure no one could see you.

as you stepped out from behind the door, matt's jaw dropped at how the beautiful blue bikini hugged you in all the right places. all the right places.

"holy shit."

you accidentally covered your cleavage with your left hand nervously playing with your necklace, while the right rubbed your forehead.

"you think?"

without a word, he grabbed your left hand and threw it to your side. he was drooling at the sight of his favorite thing in the world.

your tits.

"i- uh.. just.. wow."

you blushed, covering your face with both hands.

"stop doing that."

he threw both of your arms down to your side with a stern look on his face.

"sorry, baby. do you.. maybe wanna help me change out of it?"

in an instant, he turned you around and quickly untied your top.

he slid the straps down your shoulders, admiring the soft skin.

his breath was heavy on your ear while he praised you and stared at your chest.

"god. what could i ever do without you? without these?"

his hands slid from your lower belly all the way up to your chest, playing with them like he needed it.

leaving hickeys all over your neck, he slowly turned you to face him. he tugged at the side of the bathing suit bottoms, signaling for you to take them off. after you did, he was quick to proving that you were everything and more.

"jump."

he had you pressed against the wall, your legs around his lower waist and arms slung over his shoulders. he started kissing in the crook of your neck until he reached your chest. he pecked anywhere he could reach, leaving behind little praises.

"i don't deserve you."

"i can't believe you're mine."

"you look more and more perfect every single day."

after about a minute, you both grew impatient.

he slipped his sweatpants and boxer down to his mid thigh. he kept heavy contact with your lips, making sure you knew just how much he craved your sweet taste.

he teased your entrance, slowly slipping his length into you. after adjusting to not only him but also the new position, he started going at a sweet and sultry but quick pace.

he somehow slipped a free hand, squeezing any amount of your tits that he could while kissing your neck. you fell into a high that left claw marks at his upper back, only motivating him more.

"you see how much i care about you? how perfect your- fuck.. your body really is? you had me folded from a bikini."

you giggled while still keeping your heavy breaths.

"try to stay quiet. don't need some rando knowing how great you really are. you're mine. you're my candy."

light groans and quiet sighs both escaped your mouths as you tried to keep from screaming each others names.

"i love you. i love what you give me. i don't deserve it. god- fuck.. i love you."

-

the coast was clear after walking out of the dressing room, both of you sweaty with slightly messy hair.

you walked to the register, smiling and holding matt's hand.

"just these, please."

"great choices, and i'm sure the boyfriend approves."

the cashier giggled while giving a look that made you blush knowing what just happened five minutes prior.

matt pulled you closer to him by your waist.

"trust me, i do."

-

HAHA YALL BETTER BE HAPPYYYYY

now time to move onto subnerd!matt which might be out by next week!!!

bye sluts!!🌺🍒

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Kiss me stupid, silly

Request made by @beautifullyalone23 : pleaseeeeee. Not sure how requests work but, what about a slow burn with Noah? Mutual friends, she's a bad ass with a heart of gold? Lots of sass ect. Idk im rambling. Anyways thank you for the much needed escape. It's keeping me going 💚

a/n Was a pleasure writing it. Hope you will enjoy it.🤍

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If God was a woman it had to be you. Cheesy and so fucking stupid but Noah was sure of it. He felt like a schoolboy all over again once the slight crush had started. He was awkward and so fucking shy but you would just slowly blink at him. Like a cat. A slow, unwavering, kind look. Not a hint of teasing. Not a hint of judgment. Even when his lisp got the best of him since he was nervous as fuck. You would just nod along, not even once pointing it out.

“Can I ask you something?”, Noah breathed out as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Shoot, star boy”, you mused, leaning against his car as you looked over the seashore. Noah was on the break. Quite literally. In all ways imaginable. On a breaking point. On the break from the only thing that had him going. “Why…”, he frowned slightly as if assessing his next words.

“Remember we have a rule of no questions that start with why”, you pointed out, turning to him slightly. It was a silly rule, one that was made during one of many 2 am conversations. “You stayed”, Noah states making you shake your head slightly, “What do you mean?”. You never really understood why he was so surprised that you kept in touch with him. He was an awesome guy to be around, a rare gem and you had told him that but he had never truly believed you it seemed. “With me at the beginning”, he adds turning to you but his eyes fall onto the sea once more, “Don’t look at me like that”, he grunts.

“Like what?”, you shrug, tugging the selves of his hoodie down your palms. “Like you’re both pissed and feeling sorry for me”, Noah huffs, brushing his hand over his face. It always killed you how little he believed in himself at times. “Noah, I admire you and you know that”, you reasoned with a shake of your head.

“But…”, he starts only to be met with you turning away from him and rounding your way to the other side of his car. “What are you doing?”, a slight panic shoots through him at the thought of you finally being fed up with him. “Nope, not having this, come on”, you urge him, slipping into his car.

“What are you doing, Y/n”, he asks once more, wanting to hear you say it. “It’s freezing Noah, you will catch a cold, come sit in the car”, you point for him to do the same, needing shelter from a late night wind that had set in.

He sits there for a moment. The silence suddenly suffocates. He could never explain why he loved your company so much. Now he could but he was chicken shit as Nick had graciously called him. Too afraid to admit that he hadn’t escaped the inevitable. He had feelings for you. “How’s your new project?”, Noah asks, choosing to change the topic. You were a part-time model the shoot you had signed up for had blown the internet. Noah had bought the magazine. Two. One was still in the wrapper. Not to mention that you agreeing to be a part of their new album prom shoots had been the biggest highlight for him.

“Don’t care about it”, you shrugged, making Noah instantly turn to you, “Wait I thought it was your dream to land that”, he asked, surprise written all over his face. “Don’t care about it 'cause I'm here with you now”, you muttered, leaning your head on the side of the car seat.

Noah quickly mirrored your actions. Letting his eyes fall over you. Just watching you watch him for a moment. “Jolly said that you were sent by Lord almighty to me”, he sighed, fingers absentmindedly reaching for your hand. Something he had tried to stop. But given up after you haven’t pulled away. After you had only gone and intertwined your fingers with his instead. “Hmm..”, you hummed, “I always liked Jolly, he’s a good egg”. And he was. Both a good person and a big part of what you and Noah had going on. You weren’t sure if Jolly had said the same to Noah but he had found you in one of the house parties. Sat you down before handing you a drink and pretty straightforwardly pointing out that you had a crush on his friend and Noah had a crush on you. “It’s like leading two blind mice”, he grunted. The memory making you chuckle slightly.

“What?”, Noah asks intently, trying to scramble for every piece of your mind. “I had this…”, you shake your head, letting another laugh slip and past your lips, “I had this insane crush on you when we first met, and gods Jolly called me out bad”.

You watch all emotions possible swim all over Noah’s face. From shock. To clear denial. To joy. To confusion. “No you didn’t”, he shakes his head firmly. “Oh, I did, down bad, boy”, you nod instead. “You don’t go for guys like me though”, Noah frowns. “Who said that?”, you roll your eyes. “Well your ex…”, he starts only for you to hit his shoulder slightly, “Is ex for a reason”, you tap at your temple.

He watched you, as if calculating your words, “Wait…”, he tilts his head to the side, “Past tense though, had a crush”. You can’t help but smile slightly. Leave it to Noah to catch something like this and cling to it.

“Yeah…”, you nod, watching his face fall, “It grew into something deeper”, you add with a shrug. He blinks. Blinks again before taking a deep breath in. “Yn”, Noah shakes his head, “Are you taking a piss out of me or are you for real cause…”, but you don’t let him finish. Both hands reach out to take first fulls of his black Bad Omens hoodie as you pull him in. Crashing your lips onto his. His hand finds the back of your head immediately. As if he too had been waiting for this. As if he too had been anticipating it. It feels as if you see colors as his lips move against yours. All the emotions finally have an outlet.

“Oh fuck…”, he breathes out as you both pull apart. “Wow”, you add, feeling dazed as you watch him. “Yeah”, Noah chuckles, “wow indeed, come here”, he brushes his thumb over your lips before leaning back in to brush his lips over yours. If only you could kick your feet like a schoolgirl, you would. “All this time I wanted to kiss you”, he sighs, cupping your cheek. “Make room”, you grunt, moving to climb over to the driver’s seat. “What are you…”, Noah starts, his hands instantly move to your hips to steady you. “Don’t you want to make out in the car?”, you ask, halting, just in case you read the room wrong. “Do you want to? Cause I… there’s no rush”, he’s quick to reassure you, you shoot him a look before squeezing on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Kiss me stupid, silly”, you mutter against his lips. “Your wish is my command”, he muses, his inked hand brushing over your neck before he grips your face ever so slightly, bringing you closer to him.

[lorre-verie]

random Megumi Fushiguro headcanons

꩜ includes: dating headcanons with gn!reader, general headcanons ft. mentions of yuji, nobara, gojo, maki, panda & indirect mention to toji. w/c: 900-1k

written by both lorre and jude, proofread by jude. (❦) is a comment from lorre, (✧) is a comment from jude 

‧₊˚✩ » he’s clingy. but not clingy clingy, he’s clingy in the way that he always lingers around you, always wants to see your face or just be close to you.

he doesn’t even have to touch you. your presence is more than enough for him.

(❦: awww, basking in his sunlight! his sunlight being his s/o, i mean) (✧: i wouldn’t go that far.) (❦: shhhhh, let them be delusional) (✧: 🤐)

» you know he cares when he asks you if you’ve eaten lunch today, what you ate and if you liked it.

or when he passes you a water bottle without even looking at you during training cause he knows you're thirsty.

or giving you a snack he knows you like from the vending machine without even so much as a word, walking away immediately after. (❦: that’s so cute)

» has a little notebook in his drawer which he fills in little things he’s learned about people he cares about, like their likes and dislikes, or something he's observed.

there’s pages for you, nobara, yuji, maki and...i realise now there are very slim pickings.

there’s even half a page for gojo hidden near the very back.

don’t ask why it’s only half.

» probably wants to do cheesy shit like interlocking your pinkies together while walking, or sharing a milkshake with those curly red straws but feels like throwing up whenever he thinks about mentioning it to you. (✧: you’ll have to be the instigator for this one)

» i’m not even sure what to say about his hair. does he brush it? there’s no way he uses gel to get those spikes right?

they’re so unnatural that there's no chance he does that on purpose. what's up with that nest on his head? does he even know whats going on with his hair??? oh well, doesn't matter. he likes it when he gets to lay down on your lap after a tiring day and you run your fingers through his hair and on his scalp absentmindedly.

he closes his eyes and he feels like he’s achieved true bliss and happiness. 

» if you take your hand away suddenly, he won’t protest.

but his eyes will open ever so slightly, and he’ll just

stare.

why’d you stop??? don’t stop!!!

if after a while you haven’t returned your hand to its rightful place, his bottom lip will just barely jut out.

what? he’s not pouting. don’t be childish.

you hang around itadori too much.

you should spend more time with him instead. 

» he’s protective towards his s/o.

he’ll ask where you’re going and who you’re hanging out with, but he’ll let you go wherever.

but if you’re going somewhere dangerous he’ll come with you.

if you don’t want him to come, take a shikigami with you.

if you don’t want the shikigami to come, well. just be careful.

did you bring everything you needed? an umbrella in case it rains? water? charged your phone?

remember to text him if you need anything.

do you need some cash? take this.

what about pepper spray? or better yet, a hammer?

you have to laugh and stop him from following you straight up to your destination. 

» yeah. he knows he can’t stop you from doing anything you want to, but he just gets antsy. he just doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, especially if you’re going on a tough mission. 

» sensitive to strong smells. i just know it.

I can imagine him turning his head away in silent disgust everytime he smells something thats too strong, good or bad.

even if its the just air freshener in a taxi, food thats been out a bit too long or, get this, "the smell of fresh leather".

he just seems like the kind of guy. (❦: pack it up, sensitive sniffer)

» notices everything, even if he doesn’t mention it.

oh, you’re hungry? he’s already reaching into his backpack and giving you a snack.

hm, you looked at that plushie a little longer than the other ones. oh?? whats it doing on your bed a few days later??

» insanelyyyyy touch starved but will NEVER admit to it (✧: unless you two are dating, but even then)

» thinks the big spoon and small spoon shit is stupid.

why can’t he hug you and you hug him back facing each other??? why do people do that???? do you just hate being happy and seeing your loved one facing you????

» hates cucumbers. need megumi to leave an area? throw a cucumber at him. he says 'they have a smell' and that 'it's horrid'.

» will add like a buttload of ginger in his food and insist that its not spicy and you should try it if you dont believe him. (❦: dont do it just dont)

» emotionally constipated in terms of communication. he’s good at sorting through his own emotions himself, he just has trouble communicating that, but he tries his best. 

» not a headcanon but i hope we can all agree that he is THE nepo baby

» looks up to maki a whole bunch

» swore to never smoke ever

» isn’t judgemental, but thats just because he doesn’t gaf

» the reason he doesn’t feel comfortable using playful cloud is because he gets this feeling he can only describe as weird whenever he holds it, making his hairs stand on end.

its almost as if he has this connection to it, but it freaks him out.  gojo noticed, but kept silent. 

» pretends his music taste isn’t mainstream but it totally is. but not summery pop mainstream, more like alternative ‘what do YOU know about donald glover/kendrick lamar/tyler the creator’ mainstream

» really liked pandas as a kid but after being enrolled in tokyo jujutsu high he felt somewhat....conflicted.

» changed his favourite animal to wolves soon after.

» he totally has a type! he just didn’t want to tell todo.

OR alternatively, after the fight with todo he thought about it a bit more, and realised he does have a type, but will take that to his grave

(or so he thinks to himself before yuji eventually milks it out of him)

» really patient when a situation needs him to be. he’s very strong mentally because he's needed to be since he was a kid.

» prefers non-fiction books over fiction books. tried to read fiction books but they just didn’t interest him all that much. but, if his s/o liked fiction books…then perhaps he'd consider some.

» had like 6 people confess to him in one year in his previous school but he was weirded out and rejected them over text

» he's a visual learner but its mainly because if someone's telling him something he has a tendency to just space out and not listen or be able to process half of what they said. but sometimes he just does it on purpose LMAO

» He HAS to sleep at least 8 hours. He will not have it if he has to sleep less. Gets extremely irked, but will not say a thing if there's a good enough reason that he has to stay up/wake up early.

» has to fight back a smug smirk whenever nobara mentions his naturally long eyelashes

(❦: its not fair! advocate for equity in genetics!!!!)

(✧: it's definitely not a smile nor smirk, but saying ‘smug corner-of-his-lips-twitches-up-for-0.1-seconds’ doesn't really roll off the tongue)

feels so good to be writing again, you could not believe. these are so incredibly random LMAO but thanks for reading till the end <3 much love, lorre.

© lorre-verie on tumblr. do not translate, modify or plagiarise my works, nor repost it to other sites.

[devotion-disorder]

You mentioned in Noel’s bio how he has severe face blindness-, how would he go about dealing that with his darling, then? Knowing he can’t see their face? Would it frustrate him? Intrigue him? Would it make his tendencies worse or better? Just curious.

Your artwork is amazing and I hope you have a great day!

Noel is born with his face blindness so he has since learnt to deal with it. For most people, he just relies on context clues or their hair/clothes/voice etc. to recognize them.

For his s/o though, i've always had half an idea in mind that they used to be childhood friends...

(yes his natural hair colour is white. if he ever finds you looking at this picture he will be so embarrassed.)

this became a long ass post of noel lore so

Noel might be able to handle his prosopagnosia now, but that wasn't always the case. Being a somewhat shy kid, the inability to recognize other people made it harder for him to make friends. He just feels disconnected from most people --- sometimes he looks in the mirror and can hardly register that he's staring at himself.

I'd imagine this is where his s/o comes in, and they become a very stable, comforting presence in his life until one day, they moved away without saying anything.

So to Noel, his s/o is someone that he knows on a deep and personal level, and he can basically recognize them out of instinct.

Of course, his condition still frustrates him very much --- what kind of lover is he if he can't even remember his partner's face? That's why he dedicates himself to remembering every single detail of his s/o: counting every freckle and lash; replicating in his mind the exact lilt of their voice, the quirks of their body language...

but maybe in a very cheesy way, he's thankful for his condition? because it means, every day, he can re-live how he met his s/o and the first experience of seeing their face ...

On another note, another anon sent this:

and the idea of "just vibes" is so funny to me for some reason. like if Noel was just out one day and spidey-sensed some random person as their s/o: