#I used to do some backing vocals for him on his stuff when I was younger I wish i never stopped

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Yeah, another long wait 😅 But hey, at least it's here now!

How the plot thickens, and how the shenanigans, on a 1-10 scale, go from a 9 to an instant 30...

___

Abel Impulse [Part 2]

(Disclaimer: two of the characters in this story do not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my amazing friend, @insane4fandoms.)

(Now, as for the fanegos who do belong to me: for more information on Azalea, go here. For more information on Phoenix, go here. For more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on K.O., go here.) 

(Trigger Warnings: implied kidnapping, implied murder/death, mentions of gunshots, medical attention, knives/blades, violence, blood/gore, mentions of poisoning, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of fire/smoke, mentions of arson/burning/melting, descriptions of illegal business, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

___

At first, Casey couldn’t tell if he was awake. 

He’d experienced similar stuff in the past—drifting in and out of consciousness at odd hours of the night, dreams blurring and mumbling because apparently his brain just couldn’t make up its damn mind. 

Everything was shrouded in darkness. It was like his eyes had sunken all the way to the back of his skull. Like the end of each lid had gotten caught underneath, forcing the sockets to wrap themselves shut far too tight.

But as the seconds ticked by, he felt his brow furrowing, felt the sore muscles in his neck protest as he tried to shift. 

And the pain wasn’t far behind at all.

Some kind of drumbeat that wracked his abdomen. It started out with pinches, like a hand topped with sharp, ragged, dirty nails groping around at his guts. And then those nails melted and started seeping deeper and deeper into his flesh.

Burning and stinging with a shaky flare, like mosquitos drunk on the ashes that flew off of a crackling firepit.

If noises could be captured and distilled into physical feelings, then this would qualify as the reincarnation of a scream.

A deranged, hopeless scream that went on far longer than it should’ve been able to, perhaps until it forced vocal cords to snap like guitar strings.

“You there, Casey?”

The voice called from what had to be just a few feet away. It was low but not deep, thoughtful but not quite focused, and almost a bit raspy around the edges. Not pointing to cigarettes, though smoke was definitely responsible in some other way.

Worst of all, it was familiar. 

Familiar enough to send a chill down Casey’s spine, which mixed with the burning in an awful way. 

It really shouldn’t have been familiar. 

It’d been years upon years since he’d heard that voice…then again, that was just a technicality. He’d heard it a few times after that one branch of his life. 

Those few times had been set in fear and hate, filtered with the stench of metal and oil, full of verbal arsenic (as in, insults and threats and the hollow horror that came along when ear-splitting, sadistic laughter mixed itself into enraged shrieks…)

Spots danced in Casey’s vision, bright little sparks that faded away in a millisecond. He had to blink a couple times with a bit more force than strictly necessary. At least the new light around him was dim.

The pain in his stomach didn’t stop—if anything, it ate up his awareness like fire to dry newspapers—but a different type of ache thrummed on one side of his head. Dull, lukewarm, almost sweaty. 

The left half of his view remained stubbornly blurred, as though he was peering through a glass fishbowl full of cloudy water, while he took in the walls. 

Each one was covered in a fine layer of dust (which was just ridiculous. Walls were vertical! Why couldn’t they act like it?!) that didn’t do much to hide a dull yellow tint. 

He tried to sit up, only to hiss through gritted teeth as another flare raced through his guts and up to his ribs.

His elbow brushed against brown leather that had taken on that weird scratchy-yet-velvety feel that could only come from years of less-than-gentle use.

The couch it covered looked like it’d once belonged to an animal shelter, having been set up for playful kittens (read: the ones that you’d think somehow got a few drops of Red Bull in their kibble) to tire themselves out.

A coffee table stood before the sofa. It was low to the matted carpet and coated in white paint, though as Casey’s aching eyes wandered over it, he discovered awkward little cracks and bumps, making the material uneven. Like the table had been flipped or thrown on at least three separate occasio—

A shape lay discarded on top; the dim light flickered, coaxing out a familiar, metallic glint that practically slapped Casey across the face.

His half-respirator!

Alertness crashed over him like a wave.

It’d taken so long for him to find that thing, for him to find one that could give extra protection without slowing him down. He couldn’t afford to just lose it!

The pain seemed to blink, not quite fading but still being pushed aside as he reached out. 

The floor creaked, fabric shuffled, and then another hand was there, wrapping around his wrist in a firm, cold grasp.  

“Hey!” The cry was guttural, instinctive. Casey tugged his arm back, but his hand wasn’t released. He craned his neck to glance over, only for a shuddering flare to drag its way down his heart heart before moving on to his lungs. 

“Oh, finally!” That same voice announced, with a joking edge that did not belong here.  “For a second there, I was worried I’d have to get an ice bucket.”

The man looming beside him had clearly been put through the ringer. (More than one, if Casey was honest.) 

His face was horribly scarred—almost the entire left side was splotched with an angry shade of pinkish-red. The texture might’ve looked wrinkled from a distance, but this close, it nearly gave the impression that he’d taken one of those loop tools used in sculpting and just raked it along his forehead, his cheek, his chin over and over again.

Maybe that analogy wasn’t so far off, considering how some of his fair skin had been spared. The burns stretched over, but only a bit, leaving patches on his face’s right side that were big enough to not render him completely disfigured. The wound almost seemed like it’d been placed by an artist. Granted, there’d have to be some sick, macabre thoughts involved to make it work, but still.

Especially for his eyes. 

One of them really should’ve been fused shut and hidden under the blistered tissue, but nope. The socket was crooked, like it’d been ever-so-slightly pinched. But as Casey watched, it blinked, which meant that it could still move and…he couldn’t be certain that seeing was an option, since it was dull gray and boasted a texture that reminded him of a withered grape. 

But its counterpart…well, it didn’t look healthy, what with the way a bag had long-since formed underneath it, or just how bloodshot it was. But it was still functioning, still alert, still alive. 

Alive enough for its pupil to shrink down to a pinprick.

Alive enough to showcase how the brown iris had a peculiar orange sheen about it.

Alive enough to drill an invisible hole into Casey’s head.

Casey shuffled, grinding his jaw as he leaned back. 

Mad took that as an invitation to move himself, now leaning over his captive, still holding onto his wrist. “Here, let me get a look at you.” 

He then tilted his head, his free hand moving to nudge a navy-blue blanket aside.

Casey made to snap again, to keep struggling. As his eyes followed along, however, he stopped short.

His jaw dropped at the sight of bandages wrapped around the lower-half of his bare chest in a tight layer.

The white gauze was stark against his brown skin, but a dull, dark red stain just underneath one section was the thing to really set it off.

And as he tried to regain focus, he saw how his right forearm had been dressed in a similar way. The burning and stinging felt muffled, but not by much. 

“Hmm…” A few long seconds ago, Mad’s mouth had stretched into a grim, uncertain smile with a corner of his mouth twitching. But now, he was pursing his lips in a frown. “Well, patching things up never was my forte, but—”

“Stop! Get away! Let go!” Casey interjected, nearly screaming with another attempt to free his wrist. “What did you do to me?!”

An interesting mixture of anger and confusion (as well as…wait, was that actual, genuine concern?) stirred around in Mad’s eyes. “I didn’t do this!”

His grip tightened as he jostled by the couch, trying to shift his weight against his captive. “Hey, hold still! You’re gonna mess up the wraps! It took me forever to stop the bleeding; we can’t give it a chance to start again!”

“Don’t give me that BS!” Casey spat, trying to twist his arm and having to wrench his eyes shut as another bolt of pain flared under the gauze. “You don’t clean up messes! You just cause ‘em! That’s all you EVER do!”

“Not this time! It wasn’t me!” Mad protested. “Come on, Casey! These are bullet-wounds, and since when have I ever used guns?”

Casey froze in place, the upcoming retort dying on his tongue. Loathe as he was to admit it, that defense was an accurate one. 

It was common for serial killers to develop signatures—personal quirks, things to make their grisly work unique to them and them alone. Sure, a lot of them knew the merits of keeping a varied inventory, but sometimes they still wound up getting attached to a particular tool or weapon or process.

Sentimentality could be a strange, horrifying thing. 

Mad was a prime example of that, even when improvisation ended up not working out so well for him. But at the end of the day, he had his own handmade Ol’ Reliable. Casey had only seen it in action once or twice, but there was no doubt that it was devastating…

Watching the realization cross Casey’s features, Mad offered a smug nod. 

“I didn’t see the whole thing,” he proclaimed, his gaze wandering about the room. “I was out and about, working on some of my own stuff—” Mad pointedly pretended not to see the way Casey snarled at that phrasing, “—but then I heard shots from just around the corner. I got curious, and when I snuck over to see what was going on…”

Slowly, his eyes went back to boring into Casey’s again.

For the first time in recent years, there was no rage, no ulterior motive, no sadism to be seen. In all honesty, Casey didn’t know what he was looking at, but he couldn’t take any chances in guessing. 

Mad heaved a disappointed sigh. “I couldn’t make out what the guy looked like. He was halfway down the street by the the time I realized it was you lying on the ground.”

“An extortion racket,” Casey murmured without quite meaning to, putting the pieces together as the memories finally started filtering back through his head. “My latest client works at one of the stores around here…said that someone was threatening their boss in order to get free goods…using a mask and everything…”

Mad continued on, either because he hadn’t heard him or didn’t care for details right now. “You were out like a light. And you were just bleeding so much. Too much for me to waste time on a chase and then come back to you—”

He didn't trail off, but his words grew blurry, as if echoing from somewhere far away, while Casey racked his brain.

Getting shot out in the open was bad enough. Even if he’d made relative peace with all the danger he exposed himself to for his cases, it was still a nightmare scenario. 

Part of his mind flashed to all the powerpoints and books he’d had to study for training. Some examples had been much more shocking than others, of course. If there was one part of that he knew for certain he would never, NEVER forget, it was the Bystander Effect.

Such a simple yet awful phenomenon.

He’d read so many reports about the targets of mugging (or something even worse) being left to bleed in a ditch or alleyway, wailing for help so loud and for so long that it’d be a miracle for their poor throats to not go raw. 

And yet, no matter how loud those victims were, any other people who happened to be near were likely to just. Not. Answer. 

Casey couldn’t wrap his head around something like that.

The most common excuse was that most bystanders believed plenty of other people were around to help. (Funny how that logic apparently applied to those other people too, hmm?)

Perhaps those bystanders had a reason to think it was some kind of elaborate trap. Maybe they had a reason to fear that if they helped, then unfair blame for what happened would be cast onto them. 

But why was something like that so universal? 

Why was it just accepted that people would go out of their way to avoid taking responsibility for bad things out in public?  

It truly felt like some kind of Yin to the Milgram Experiment’s Yang…

Mad was the absolute last person Casey would expect to help him. 

If anything, Mad was the type of person to take advantage of the Bystander Effect, whether he was hiding his victim or aiming to snatch one up and drag them into the night, sealing their fate himself just because he was in a bad mood.

“—Aaaaaaannd that’s how we got here!” Mad finally concluded with an awkward, sweeping gesture of the room. With his free hand, mind you. Since he still hadn’t let go of Casey. 

The staring contest resumed (then again, had it ever really paused?) for another long, uncomfortable moment.

Casey took a quiet deep breath. “...What’s your game, then?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Mad asked, his brow furrowing. 

“You know what I mean. I’m not playing around with this,” Casey replied in a terse tone. “You’ve obviously brought me here because you want something. So, you might as well just tell me and get it over with already.”

Mad scoffed and pouted at the same time, which would’ve looked kind of funny if it weren’t for all his burn-scars. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. You took one bullet to your stomach and another to your arm! You’re pretty damn lucky that I managed to get them both out and dress the wounds.”

He paused, a small chuckle crawling up from his lungs. “Besides, that was only half the struggle. You’re not exactly a pocket-watch anymore.” He glanced over Casey again, and even lying down, it was obvious to anyone how he was much taller than his captor. “Makes me glad I got all that teasing out back when I was still able. Because I just knew the tables would turn someday.”

“Don’t.” Casey growled, deep in his throat. “You don’t get to use that to try and manipulate me. Don’t you dare talk about old kid stuff.” He chewed his lip, then heaved a sigh. “Like it even matters anymore.”

“What?” Mad’s lips peeled back in a sneer, his much more typical anger flaring back to life in his narrowed eyes. His grip tightened around Casey’s wrist as he leaned a couple inches closer.

“Give me one good reason why I can’t,” he demanded through clenched teeth. 

The challenge hit Casey like a .44 slug. He stared at his captor for a long few seconds, blinking as his own anger set his mind to a rolling boil.

“...One?” He asked, spitting the word out like it was a rancid piece of meat. “ONE reason?! You really think there’s just ONE?” 

The pain didn’t even give him much trouble as he propped himself up against the couch’s armrest, returning the favor via almost getting in Mad’s face. 

“Susie, Gabriel, Jeremy, Fritz,” he listed off, his heart aching at the memories of each Missing Child report. “Not to mention how many came AFTER them! Or the ones that came BEFORE them! I can only think of one time when the person you went after was an adult!”

He let out a mirthless, infuriated chuckle that came dangerously close to a sob. “But hey, I’m sure you’ve already updated that part of the list. The bodies just haven’t been found yet, huh?”

Invisible needles dragged along his brain as older memories played.

Glass shards slathered in red, glistening in the darkness.

The stench of iron swallowing up the typical smell of wood-polish. 

A huge grandfather clock laying on the floor, broken beyond repair.

The horrific, pulpy mess crushed beneath all that weight.

Bits of brain and skull sticking to the once-glossy finish on the sides. 

Red, red, so much RED…

Mad’s eyes flickered; Casey could see those exact images reflected—only from a much different angle of things. Almost as if his memories had been spinning through a film projector. 

But that was just it.

Vague recollection was the only thing Mad’s eyes had to offer right now. 

No guilt.

No sadness.

No shame.

No remorse—one of the most important ingredients to a person. 

Mad wasn’t feeling sorry about the fact that he’d done any of those things. 

Only sorry that he’d ever gotten caught.

“Oh, wait, did I catch you off-guard with that?” Casey wondered, his voice dripping with false apology. “Did you forget all those times; those names?”

Mad’s mouth opened and closed with no words coming out.

Part of the emotions on his face looked proud, looked nearly, disgustingly nostalgic.

Another part was seething, in a way so dark and rotten that it could've been infested with maggots. 

“I guess that makes sense,” Casey continued, rolling his eyes quite pointedly. “Because you don’t care to remember. You just can’t be bothered to! That’s why you think you can just make a hobby out of hurting others! YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYONE OR ANYTHING BUT YOURSELF.”

Without warning, Casey felt the pressure ease around his wrist; Mad’s grip had finally slackened. It was obviously a subconscious, accidental gesture, but it was better than nothing. 

Not intending to waste any chance he could get here, he tugged his arm back once again. 

Mad noticed, of course, but he was too slow to retain his hold. 

Casey peeled the offending had away, then shoved it toward the lunatic in front of him…only to freeze in place. 

Way back when, Mad’s palms were rough and bumpy, pretty much always boasting a few callouses. One time Casey had caught him tearing the little clumps of dead skin off with his fingernails. He remembered his worry taking on a gross, itchy feeling that churned around in his stomach at the sight. 

He didn’t feel any callouses now. Didn’t feel any nails, didn’t feel any skin. 

All he felt was something hard, smooth, and cold. 

Time seemed to slow down as his eyes wandered over the prosthetic.

A clutch of five digits sculpted from some kind of plastic.

A tangle of thin, tiny wires wove out from the base of each “knuckle,” simulating the tendons that were supposed to reach all the way up to the elbow and give fine motor-control. 

They all connected to a metal band, which encircled Mad’s wrist, just barely jutting out from whatever scarred skin remained. 

Casey’s focus darted over, confirming that the hand’s counterpart was in the exact same condition. 

It seemed the shock on Casey’s face was the key to finally convince Mad on the important of personal space. He snatched his hardware away and stumbled back, blindly groping at the armchair positioned by the couch.

After a painfully awkward moment passed by, he produced a pair of thick black gloves. He shoved them on, one after the other, as if that would somehow magically turn his hands back to flesh and blood and bone. The way they should’ve been.

Casey had to hold onto his anger—his needed to. 

He couldn’t let himself get caught up in anything. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. That was exactly what Mad wanted. 

But even as all those horrible, monstrous things kept echoing through his head, he couldn’t help it when his voice tapered down to a whisper: “Did…did you do that?” 

Mad stared at him, his expression now unreadable. The seconds felt like hours as he offered a hesitant nod. 

Casey’s eyes bulged from their sockets. A tidal wave of screaming questions crashed over his head, but he could only drag one out into the air. “Why?”

Mad’s features twisted in a scowl that was made even worse by how it stretched the scarred, burned tissue around his lips. 

“Because I had to,” Mad replied, his tone dripping with ice. “Business had taken more than enough hits. People were asking too many questions. I needed to get away. To start over.”

And just like that, Casey’s fury resumed its festering path around both his brain and his heart. 

The statement rang through his skull like a rusty, broken church bell. 

“The disaster at that one Freddy’s…They said two bodies were found. The owner and an employee,” Casey murmured, remembering the news story he just so happened to find while flicking through TV channels one morning. “That was you. You’d left some evidence around the place that couldn’t be covered up or cleaned off. So you decided to just send it to high-heaven.” 

Mad folded his arms across his chest, sighing through his nose and rolling his eyes like a stereotypical teenager. Despite this, you could still catch his eyes twinkling with sick, arrogant pride. 

“Afton,” Casey continued, putting piece after piece together. “That was the guy’s name. That was the latest fake identity you were using!”

Mad looked like he’d been about to say something, but a small, hitching gasp seeped through his teeth instead. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. 

“You killed someone else before it happened, didn’t you? You cut off their hands, got rid of them, and then you—you left yours behind with the body.” Casey felt his chest tightening, felt the new gash in his torso burn and sting so bright it almost felt fresh.

“That way, if anyone came sniffing through the wreckage…they’d have no choice but to connect your fingerprints to the victim. Your records, too. They’d think you died in that explosion.”

Casey had seen his fair share of criminals going out of their way to make things…elaborate. Sometimes that just made them easier to catch, but other times it left him feeling cold, scared, almost helpless depending on what exactly he was looking for. 

The scheme Mad had apparently cooked up was a very labored one.

It was a long-con, a true gamble.

And, worst of all: it was infuriatingly, horrifically clever.

Now it was Mad’s turn to whisper, his voice dangerously close to shaking. 

“H-how…how did you do that?!”

“It’s really not that hard with you, Mad!” Casey fumed, throwing his hands up in the air and wincing as the muscles in his bandaged arm screamed. “Keeping track of everything you’ve done? That’s painful for sure. But you always have your damn tells!”

Mad gripped the arm of his chair, his hand shaking as his digits sank into the leather. 

“Shut up.” The warning came out as a hiss. 

It fell on deaf ears.

“Why else would you keep running around with fake names, ruining different people’s lives, causing wanton destruction?!” Casey shouted. It felt like a section of his brain was about to bash its way out of his skull. One hand subconsciously reached for his head, soon touching down to rake across his black hair, almost digging his nails into his own scalp. 

“Shut. UP,” Mad repeated, his breathing now ragged.

Casey wasn’t deterred. “It’s not just because you get a kick out of it! It’s because you can’t even take responsibility for crimes, of all things! You really think you’re some kind of mastermind, but if it wasn’t for all the high numbers and missing cases and flash you’re so obsessed with, then you’d just be another low-level, dime-a-dozen scumbag!”

“SHUT UP!” Mad shrieked, practically jumping out of his chair. 

In a swift, blurry movement, he grabbed one of the coffee table’s legs, raised it up, and hurled it across the room. 

It hit the opposite wall with a dull, deafening WHAM! before falling to the floor.

(Oddly enough, it stayed in one piece, though there were some brand-spankin’-new cracks in the white paint. Not to mention a fresh dent in the wall.)

Casey stared at the display, only for a violent flinch to sear through him as the shifting continued in his peripheral vision. He braced himself, clenching his jaw, gripping at the couch cushions.

Mad stormed further away, approaching a door that waited right on the living room’s border. He ripped it open, using so much force that it was a miracle he didn’t rip it off its hinges.

Then he ducked into the next room and slammed it shut, making the wall shake for a long few seconds. His angry movements grew muffled, fainter (not by very much of course), but didn’t stop altogether.

Somehow, this new, relative silence felt worse than the screaming. 

Casey swallowed a lump in his throat.He chewed his lip, glancing all around the space—there. 

A hollow threshold on the other end of the living room, almost perfectly opposite of wherever Mad had retreated into. 

He had no idea how much time Mad would take to sulk, to get his aggression out, to be unable to watch him. 

He had to move quickly. 

Casey sat upright, feeling his shoes touch down on the carpet. 

Even after steadying himself, he still had to screw his eyes shut and suck a sharp breath in through his teeth as he stood up.

The room swayed, and the pain drain that right up. 

Agony raced up and down his legs as he began to walk, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He shifted his weight with each step, making as little noise as possible. 

Once he was close enough, Casey reached out and pushed his hand onto the wall, haf-leaning against it to keep his balance.

He had to get out of here, but he couldn’t just leave. 

After all, where exactly would he go? He didn’t even know how close this house was to the area he’d been attacked at.

Wandering would be useless; Mad could track him down and re-capture him easily 

If Casey truly wanted to escape, then he’d have to be smart about…

___

Azalea dug around in her bag and fished out a familiar, pink-stained wooden container. She popped it open and gazed inside, silently reading the labels on the little glass vials she’d taken samples from a few minutes ago.

She’d used up the Japanese Giant Hornet venom for the job—so, that left four types of hype for her to work with, each ready to go, filled with clear, oh-so innocent-looking liquids. 

She settled on potentially incriminating a Gila monster, grabbing the appropriate syringe and spinning it between her gloved fingers. 

Those lizards were considering to have one of the most painful bites in all of the United States, though lethal cases were almost unheard of.

The same went for the other toxins she’d brought. 

Arizona bark scorpion, platypus, bullet ant…oh, they offered side-effects that were agonizing, but not technically fatal. 

Just enough juice to incapacitate someone for a while.

Though, they couldn’t exactly knock someone unconscious. Sure, the shock and pain could potentially make the unlucky victim pass out, but it was still a gamble. 

A gamble that Azalea wouldn’t have to worry about with certain other substances in her collection.

The same ones that she’d somehow forgotten to bring along. 

Hell, she’d even neglected to bring a trusty dart gun! It wasn’t impossible to pull off stealth-based work without one, but still...

Caliban pushed off from the top of the fence, landing beside her with a light thump on the grass. He dusted himself off and began stalking forward…only to stop short, seeing the self-aimed disappointment on her face. 

“Hey, c’mon, don’t beat yourself up about it,” he assured, giving her a light pat on the shoulder. “We’ve improvised before, so we can do it again.”

“I know, I know,” Azalea replied, offering a gesture that was half-nod-half-shrug as the two of them crept through a very unkempt backyard.

She was grateful for the morbid optimism; he’d already heard her slight panic-rant back at the motel, and yet he wasn’t getting snappy.  “It’s just…you’ve got more history with this guy than the rest of us. I don’t want to make things any more stressful.” 

“Well, yeah.” Caliban admitted, chewing his lip with a nod of his own. “But since when does random stuff like this not have any stress?”

A wide grin then spread over his features, showcasing the way his teeth looked a bit too sharp. “Besides, most jobs tend to get more fun sooner or later.”

Azalea chuckled, the syringe already feeling lighter in her grasp.

It was very late in the night. The sky had been completely swallowed up by clouds; the moon’s glow just barely managed to peek out through a few of them, but that only made so much of a dent in the darkness. 

This wasn’t a problem, really. More than enough time had passed for them to adjust to nocturnal schedules, to learn how to make their way with limited vision.

Maybe that was why Azalea could see her brother’s eyes glinting almost as much as his teeth.

Much like the ones on her face, Caliban’s eyes were brown. And yet, right now, they almost seemed to take on a shade of yellow that would’ve been creepy to most other people. 

(His eyes always did that when he had a lot of adrenaline. Even more so when he was hungry.) 

Though there was a decent amount of space, the house didn’t have much in the way of a back-patio. 

The siblings ducked as they passed a couple windows, soon approaching a door. It seemed a hole had been cut out, since there was a wide plastic panel adorning the lower-half. A typical doggy-door. 

“Does he have any pets?” Azalea asked, eyeing it cautiously. “Have you ever seen him with one?”

Caliban shook his head. “Doubt it. He doesn’t seem to like most animals, if the faces he's made at Snare are anything to go by. This probably just came with the house.”

He fished through his jacket’s pockets and brouth out a couple lockpicks. It took a moment of shifting them about in the keyhole, but a small click rang through the air soon enough. 

He twisted the knob and started to push, only for the door to stop less than halfway.

After flinching in near-perfect unison with Azalea, he carefully wormed his fingers through the crevice between the door and its panel. 

“What the—?!” Caliban whisper-shouted, moving his wrist up and down. “...There’s latches!”

Azalea furrowed her brow. “Plural?”

“Yeah! I can feel four or five of ‘em!” The cannibal gave an aggravated growl. “This has to be the one thing he’s actually thorough about.”

Azalea pursed her lips, tossing an anxious glance over her shoulder. 

Pre-planned jobs already came with their own time-crunches. Stuff like this only tightened that leash even more. 

K.O. had agreed to create a distraction after waiting two minutes; the siblings couldn’t afford to waste even a few seconds if they wanted this to work. 

She glanced down at the doggy door, raising her foot to give it a little kick. The plastic flap yielded easily. There was nothing behind it. 

After that, Azalea let out a sigh. “Alright, hold these.”

She pushed her bag and the syringe-container into Caliban’s hands without waiting for an answer, then dropped down to her knees to push the flap up and out of the way. 

Her shoulders made entry a little awkward, but she was petite enough to make it through just fine. She picked herself up, glancing around at an empty garage. 

Or, mostly empty, since the car Caliban’s rival apparently used was parked outside. A desk had been set up in the far-corner, cluttered with sheets of paper and various tools. A few strange, glinting shapes hung on the wall nearby; either weapons or more pieces of equipment—or both. 

The smell of metal, motor oil, and old blood hung heavy in the musty air.

Azalea turned back to the door, making short work of the nearly comedic amount of latches that had been installed onto it. 

The threshold was shut as quickly as it’d been opened, Caliban scurrying through to join her. 

“You didn’t see anything,” Azalea stated, squinting up at him as he handed her stuff back.

Caliban raised one hand in a small salute…though that didn’t stop one corner of his mouth from twitching in that way you just knew meant a giggle was being pushed down.

Another door stood at attention just a few feet away. 

The two of them crept toward it, only briefly jumping out of their skins at the sudden cacophony of shattering glass, followed by the unmistakable wailing of a car alarm. 

“There!” Caliban proclaimed, struggling to keep his voice low. “There’s the distraction!”

Azalea nodded, racing up a short set of concrete stairs. She pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully. She managed to catch frantic footsteps stampeding somewhere inside, though they were quick to disappear.

She was silent while turning the knob, swift as she pushed the entrance open. “C’mon, c’mon..!”

Her brother followed her lead into a laundry room, then into a small kitchen.

With the overall dingy vibes and the aged light buzzing and flickering above, you’d think there would be dishes piled up in the sink. But no; there were only knives.

“Where do you think he put him?” Azalea whispered as she sidled past the dining room table. “There’s a chance this place has a basement.”

“Maybe, but this floor can’t be that big—” Caliban started, then cut himself off. He turned his head, craning his neck in a sharp, sudden way. “Wait..!”

He took in a brisk breath, his nostrils flaring in a way that was almost similar to the near-constant twitching of Snare's nose. “I smell blood. Think it’s fresh.”

Azalea was right behind him as he trekked forward.

They came upon a much wider space—a living room, complete with a sofa here, an armchair there, and a small white table to seemed to have had a brief exchange of principles with one of the walls.

 A metallic gleam caught Azalea’s eye; Casey’s half-respirator, lying vacant right by the crash site. She tip-toed over and plucked it off the floor, winding the head strap around her free wrist. 

There was another door across the room, but the short corridor stretching out to the right seemed a bit more interesting..

The siblings kept going, turning a corner just in time to discover a closet; one that had been installed on a track, not touching the floor or ceiling by less than a single inch. 

That itself wouldn’t have been much to look at.

No, what really got their attention was how the door was sliding open.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

A dark eye shone through the crack, widening as it stared at them.

Neither Azalea nor Caliban had much of a chance to stare back. 

As if on cue, hollow space grew wider, allowing an arm to lash out. It wrapped around Azalea first, just touching along her back, then stretching to grab a handful of Caliban’s shoulder. 

The two of them let out twin yelps of panic as they were drawn forward, soon colliding with a number of hanging coats and miscellaneous clutter as the door slid shut behind them.

And now Azalea could smell blood too; Caliban had learned to track certain scents almost like a shark, but it was stronger in here

The figure responsible for this was taller than both of them. 

Even in the darkness, it didn’t take much time at all for both of them to recognize his face from so many near-misses in the past. 

But if anything sealed the deal, it was his voice. 

“I knew it!” Casey proclaimed, clearly struggling to whisper. His tone was strained by something more physical, though; like he was biting back an acidic tinge somewhere. “You guys have connections with him!”

The investigator raised his arms again, attempting to pin Caliban to one of the narrow walls. “Mad couldn’t get what he wanted from me, so called you in to take care of the rest!”

Even through the new chaos, the siblings still had a chance to exchanged confused glances.

“That’s not true at all!” Azalea snapped right back, tugging at one of Casey’s arms. “It’d be a clear break of the family’s rules!”

“The hell are you talking about?!” Caliban hissed, struggling against the other man’s grip like a bag of angry cats. “That guy’s a total parasite! I wouldn’t even put his cuts on my table, let alone work with him!”

“Likely story,” Casey growled. “Why else would you have come here?!”

“Because we’re trying to help you!” Azalea shoved her way in-between Casey and Caliban, forcing the former to release his grip. Caliban staggered back, catching himself against the opposite corner of the cramped space.

Casey gawked at the two of them, slowly shaking his head. “...No. No, you aren’t—”

“Yeah, we are!” Caliban protested. “There’s no time to explain! Just go with something..!” His eyes passed over something behind all the hanging stuff, only to freeze in a neck-snapping doubletake. His voice suddenly wavered, hitching. “...for once…”

Azalea felt a wave of something cold and prickly slide over her shoulders. 

“Cal?” She called, trying to keep her voice soft. “Cal, what is it?”  

Her brother didn’t answer. He just kept on staring. 

Azalea shuffled closer, pushing everything aside to see for herself. 

She automatically wished that she hadn’t. 

The closet’s back-wall was, to be frank, falling apart. A large hole marred the paint, revealing crumbling drywall and even a bit of a support beam. 

Caliban audibly gulped, his already-wide eyes growing even wider to accommodate the rotten memories now circulating through his head.

Azalea knew, because those same memories were doing that exact thing to her. 

Caliban stepped away, pressing his back against one of the closet’s doors.

“Cal,” Azalea repeated, finding it even hard to keep her tone even. “Cal, it’s okay—” She reaching up to grasp his shoulder. “Look at me, not at that.”

Caliban swiveled his head to face her. His eyes were still full of that strange, yellow-looking gleam, but his energy wasn’t excited anymore. Now, it resembled that of an animal caught in a trap, just about desperate enough to chew off one of its legs to escape. 

“This isn’t the same as that was,” Azalea told him. “We’re not—” She had to take a shallow breath, had to stop herself from shaking. “We’re not back there.”

“I-I know,” Caliban replied, nodding frantically. “I know, I know…”

“We’ll get out of here soon enou—”

“Shh!” Casey (who had apparently just been polite enough to stand by for this little scene), jolted in place, his focus darting back over to the doors.

The three of them fell silent.

Somewhere else in the house, a door let out a long, low squeal. 

Floorboards creaked softly. 

That might be K.O., part of Azalea’s mind whispered. He could’ve ditched Mad and circled back here to help us.

But that couldn’t be the case.

K.O. wouldn’t have been walking so quietly, so carefully. Not if he’d led a threat far enough away, at least.

Closer…and closer…

“Casey,” an unfamiliar voice called, dripping with bitterness and dread. “Casey, come on—you shouldn’t be hiding from me.”

Casey edged away from that spot where the door met the wall. 

Caliban slid closer to Azalea, eyes still wide, fear draining away. His features would’ve been completely unreadable to almost anyone else. 

“You said what you said,” the voice continued, even closer than before. “And I said what I said…”

In her peripheral vision, she saw him reach into his jacket, saw something shiny with a wooden handle appear in his grasp.

She brushed her arm against his, shifting the syringe to her opposite hand. 

“I know you’re around here somewhere!” The voice was full-on shouting now, desperation hanging in thick tangles around the words. “Doing this won’t prove anything!”

Azalea peered over at the detective, just in time to see him lower his head, shivering and clenching his jaw.

The closet door was flung aside with a grating whoosh!

A new figure loomed in the hall outside, dressed in a tan suit smeared with red stains.His eyes were narrowed at first, only to nearly pop right out of his head as he noticed the new guests in his house. 

But that only lasted a split-second. 

Caliban leapt out with an ear-piercing war-cry, his favorite cleaver a blur as he raked it against the other man, who shouted with unintelligible rage and hatred as he lashed right back. 

In a matter of seconds, they both disappeared back around the corner.

Azalea didn’t hesitate. She surged out and down the other side. Casey struggled, trying to move on his own terms, but she kept a deathly grip around his wrist. She could still hear her brother, hear his shouts of fury and pain mixing with that other voice, hear the subsequent thudding and shuffling of limbs against the walls and floor…

Coolness seeped over her, making goosebumps sprout all over her arms.

At the end of the hall, she discovered another door, wide open, letting the fresh, nighttime air filter on through. 

K.O. raced across the threshold, skidding to a halt upon seeing one of his accomplices. 

“I tried to draw him away, but he just went running back here before we could get far enough,” he reported in-between gasping breaths, panic thick in his voice. “What’s going on?!”

“Change of plans,” Azalea replied, somehow just as breathless.

She pushed Casey toward K.O.—yes, the latter was shorter than the former, but he was also one of the strongest members of The Pentas Family. He was their very own underground fighter, after all.

“Take him back over there!” She instructed, pointing past his shoulder at the abandoned motel, her heart sinking as the background noises grew fainter for a millisecond. “I need to help Cal!”

“Don’t I get a say in this?!” Casey demanded, still jostling unsteadily as K.O. took hold of his arms. 

Before either of his technical captors could respond, a new sound sliced through the air.

Azalea couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard something like it, but her instincts were already shrieking and clawing at the interior of her skull. Judging by K.O and Casey’s expressions, they knew to recognize it, too. 

A chorus of rapid, buzzing, mechanical revving, almost like a car’s engine.

Almost.

Except for the fact that most cars didn’t come with a long, spinning line of teeth.

“GO! HURRY!” Azalea shouted, feeling the blood rush through her ears as she retraced her steps, sprinting past the closet, back to the entrance of that kitchen from what felt like hours ago.

The noise felt like nails being drilled into her ears now.

Mad had his back to her, holding that same shape she’d seen in the garage. The noise it made now felt like nails being drilled into her ears. 

And in front of Mad, lying on the floor—Caliban. 

The screaming suddenly felt muffled, except for a slight ringing along the edges.

Azalea could practically feel her blood start to boil in her veins. 

Her brother had been backed into a corner…and now, some filthy bottom-feeding child murderer was AIMING A CHAINSAW AT HIS FACE.

Caliban was holding up a chair, using it as a shield. The chainsaw’s teeth sputtered and jumped at the obstacle, but that would only last so long. 

Before she even realized it, Azalea was running, jumping onto Mad’s back.

Mad let out a guttural yelp, swinging his weapon up and away from Caliban. 

He tried to sway from side-to-side, tried to thrash his new attacker off. 

But he didn’t move fast enough. 

In a hazy, fluid movement, Azalea’s arm lashed out, then came arching back toward him. 

The needle glinted hungrily as it sank into his shoulder. She pressed down on the plunger, her white knuckles cracking from sheer force. Part of her almost expected the syringe to break apart in her hand.

Mad froze in place, lowering the chainsaw in a subconscious, almost mechanical way. He started trembling, his breathing growing even more ragged. 

She jumped away from him just as he dropped his toy (which apparently landed right on its OFF switch, Thank God). 

Then, he crumpled to his knees, and started screaming. 

A confused, raspy, keening distress-call.

He writhed in place, clawing at his shoulder as tears streamed down his face. 

Caliban was back on his feet in an instant. He raised the ruined chair over his head, then swung it down onto the chainsaw’s engine about half-a-dozen. That didn't seem to inflict too much damage, but it was better than nothing. 

Once he was satisfied, the cannibal turned his sights back to Mad. 

Lowering his head and squaring his shoulders, he charged with another bloodthirsty scream, holding his former shield like a battering ram.

Mad’s neck was caught between the two front legs, and though he reached up to grab at them, he couldn’t stop the new momentum. 

Caliban shoved him forward, making him skid across the floor until he was against the wall. 

He didn’t stop until the chair’s legs dug into the adjacent wall, causing little wisps of dust and drywall-crumbs to come flying out. 

And just like that, Mad was pinned to the wall. 

For a few long seconds, Caliban didn't let go of the chair's back-post. Instead, he loomed over his opponent, panting like a dog, his eyes feral as they rolled around in his head.

"You look like a tuna melt," the cannibal declared.

Though this didn't stop Mad from all his kicking and squirming, a flare in his eyes made it clear that comment had struck some kind of nerve.

"...I HATE tuna melts," Caliban added, his snarl quickly shifting into a grin so wide it almost seemed to split his face. A dark chuckle seeped through his bared teeth. "HATE 'EM!"

He pulled away, throwing his head back to let out a loud, ragged high-pitched cackle, his teeth practically gnashing at the air.

While Azalea was normally happy to see her peers getting some well-earned stress relief, she still knew very well that this impromptu timeout-trap wouldn't hold Mad forever.

Sure, the pain from the Gila venom would slow him down, but even that could only last so long. The side-effects varied from person to person; sometimes they'd linger on for hours. Other times, however, they might start wearing off in forty-five minutes...

With that in mind, she felt her free hand tug at her brother's jacket, then heard the speed of the world whistling past the two of them.

She finally, finally managed to blink, and she was outside again.

She didn't have to guide Caliban along; he readily ran beside her, unhinged chortles still leaking out from his lungs in-between breaths.

Her lungs were threatening to burst open and tangle themselves all over her ribcage, but she couldn't think about that right now.

Azalea just had to focus on running, had to focus on how Caliban was still breathing, had to focus on the two other, very familiar figures up ahead.

Casey, who was being half-carried-half-dragged, and K.O., who was halfway through the entrance of that decrepit motel...

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @lexusinsannus @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0 @lampsforsocks

You changed,

You haven’t

A follow up to our lovely collab with @wouldntyou-liketoknow, this is more of a flashback to kinda get into the relationship between Casey and Mad through Mad’s eyes. It may never erase what he’s done, but it may show a glimpse as to why he can’t seem to let Casey go.

Has always been, and always will be known as a monster, yet one soul decided to take a chance, to hold his hand and make him feel something more than just a monster. He was more in that person’s eyes, and he never wanted to let go of that feeling. The simple single touch of another who never views him as nothing more than a…

Shame he no longer can feel the touch.

@crazy-obsessed-enby @iswmperson @lexusinsannus @sammys-magical-au @wouldntyou-liketoknow @the-matpat-ever

He can only dream.

[skelevision]

english jinriki utau is coming along!! hes based on a tts so he sounds kinda harsh and choppy (so im tuning him more robotically than i usually do). im actually enjoying working on his design. which is rare! so theres a wip of that too. his name is J, hes a decommissioned aquarium tour android. and hes just a little guy. he likes going to the beach and pointing out all the animal species he can find. hes not supposed to be able to sing And his vocal system is damaged, but he hangs out with androids who can sing and hes enamored with music so he tries his best

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

If there is at least one thing I can credit FE for doing better than Tales in localization, it's not trying to actively go out of their way for an entire game to avoid subtext or direct text between two men that is romantic or implied romantic. Funny when it's so present that the attempt doesn't even work; infuriating that it was attempted to begin with.

So as much as I often have issues with some of FE's localizations, at least they have a leg up on loc Tales for that.

[sageofthestarz]

I love that my dad and I both have habits of naming stuff in Latin

A lot of my playlists are named in Latin just because I think it's a very pretty and direct language for emotions / feelings

My dad's actual album he did a few years back is also named in Latin. We got into a long conversation about the meaning behind the language itself not long ago

It's weird now that I'm older I can actually have these kinds of conversations with him, I was never really into any of this stuff when I was younger and now I'm hounding him with music questions and wish I got more involved as a kid

[sincerelybubbles]

ok shy bau reader and the team finally managed to get her to come a rossi dinner party so she can meet the rest of the team families that she hasn’t met yet, maybe after her first date with hitch and the team realized quickly she softened very fast with the kids and jack and her just seemed to click really fast and jack had her talking more than any of the team has so far… hotch is star eyes

hotch x shy!bau!reader \\ Dinner and Delights

Warnings: brief mention/allusions to Christianity. Otherwise, fluff! More insight into what Aaron is thinking :) I got very carried away, I hope you enjoy <3

"Woah hot stuff, where are you going so fast?" Morgan intercepts you with an arm around your shoulder as you attempt to slip out of the BAU unnoticed. "Hopefully to get ready for our big dinner plans?"

It's not that you don't want to go to one of Rossi's famous dinner parties, you're just afraid that your sub-par social skills would be noticeable by tenfold in a more casual environment.

At work, you can hide your quietness by talking about the psychology of the unsub, your specialty as a licensed psychologist. You can pretend you're not hiding in your shell when the team is all laughing and talking about personal lives by quietly listening while pretending to read your maps and journals. You can observe them and spend time with them, because you do truly love them all at this point, without feeling bad that you prefer to listen over talk.

And that's really it - you prefer to listen to them. You would say you've all but warmed up to all of them. You like Morgan's teasing, Emily's stories, Reid's rambling, Rossi's sarcasm, and Hotch's...

Everything, but the thought snaps you back to the present before you can dwell on memories of a sweet date in a dark restaurant.

"Of course," you succeed, nodding and sending him a tight-lipped smile.

"Hey," he slows you down and stops in the hallway, turning you to face him gently before lifting his hands in a placating gesture as if you were an animal he expects to run. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with but I promise none of us are trying to lead our little lamb to slaughter. We know you're quiet," the admission embarrasses you and makes you feel guilty pleasant that he sounds so gentle about it, "and nobody minds, I think it's cute and I think the rest are just happy our other genius isn't as vocal as Reid."

Your nose scrunches at the small dig and you open your mouth to protest at putting Reid down to lift you up.

"And look at that! Another thing we all love - you're quiet but won't let anyone say anything about the other behind their back. You're a good person, we all just want to spend some less-intense time with you. So, go home and doll yourself up, and get ready to see Hotch wine tipsy. We all know that's your main motivator." Morgan winks at you and moves quickly down the hall and away from you, laughing, before you can protest.

He's not wrong, though, and you shake your head as you move toward the elevator.

You end up on Rossi's doorstep, choking the neck of a bottle of expensive wine between two sweaty palms. Your heart is in your throat, nerves humming in anticipation.

Your team cares about you. Nobody expects you to be anything you're not. Gentle affirmations meant to soothe over your skin in gently lapping waves erupt into steam; like water hitting lava rock. You're too tense, too worried about not saying enough or too much; saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing only once and never living up to the expectation of repeated occurrences.

"Hey," Emily says from behind you. You turn to see her jogging up to stand beside you, brushing off her pants and adjusting her jacket. "You brought wine!" She cheers happily, reaching past you to turn the nob and open the door.

She gestures you inside, making no comment about your obvious hesitance. With her by your side, your nerves are calmed. Aside from Aaron, she's the easiest for you to be around. You don't feel any expectations with Emily. She doesn't talk too much or too little, doesn't push, doesn't ever send a pitying look when you opt out of activities outside of work.

"Château Lafite," you say to her, lifting the wine and shaking it gently in the air as you walk inside.

"Oh! Fancy wine."

"Wine?" Rossi asks, rounding a corner. He's dressed slightly more casually in a soft sweater and jeans, drying his hands off with a pristine dish towel. "The more the merrier, bring it in here."

You follow his gesture back into the kitchen, leaving Emily to go to what you presume is the living or dining area.

"Where did you find this?" Rossi asks, taking the wine from you to examine it and letting out a low whistle as he appreciates it.

"Just my local winery," you say, neglecting to admit that you go there often enough that the owner leaves the nicer stuff behind the counter for you.

Lonely nights crave wine, twisting them into lovely things you can appreciate. You enjoy your own company after years of quietly observing others. You've learned how to observe yourself, too, after all of these years.

And, even though you don't quite realize it, the self-awareness carries like confidence. That's what Aaron sees in you: observant eyes darting across a room and noticing everything, understanding flickering before anyone else catches a cue, deft movements across the paper while taking notes, and swift motions always with a purpose.

It's what he sees now, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans while he leans in the doorway of Rossi's kitchen, watching you. How could he not? You're a lovely creature, always begging for his eyes to settle on you for another second, and then another.

He knows the moment you realize he's in the room, minutes before Rossi. You stand straighter, tilt your chin lower, and are aware far before you tilt your head to the side to send him a soft smile. He returns it before Rossi can catch him. It's a warmth he wants to reserve for you.

"Dave," he interrupts the other man's monologuing about the wine he's sure you already know all about, "Jack would like to know if he and Spencer can use your chess set when he gets here?"

"Of course, I'll get it from my study." Rossi leaves, passing you the wine and gesturing to the opener.

Aaron steps in before you can start the process of opening the wine. He doesn't quite know why, but he wants to do it for you. He finds himself wanting that more and more recently: to do simple tasks for the sole purpose of you not having to do them. Opening doors and pulling out chairs are simple gestures that he did with Hayley, but he wants to do sillier, smaller, things, too. Straighten the pens on your desk back into their cup, reorganize the files on your desktop, untangle the wires of the headphones he really should reprimand you for using at your desk, open a damn bottle of wine he can't pronounce the name of but that he heard you say so gently to Emily as you walked in.

"Jack's here?" You ask, handing him the wine and crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the counter to watch him work.

He relishes how your eyes focus on his arms, pupils dilating, as his muscles work under his thin henley.

"Yes, I have him this weekend and he likes to spend time with Reid and Garcia."

He has to step closer to reach above you to get the wine glasses. He could ask you to step aside, tuck his hand against your waist to move you himself, or simply walk into the next room to grab the glasses sitting on the table. But, instead, he tucks one foot in between yours, puts one hand on the back of your head to guard it from the cabinet, and opens it to find the nicer crystal there.

Your breath hitches across his neck and he remembers the chaste kisses he's given you before. Nothing serious, nothing has been yet because he's waiting for you to lead him into that, but tantalizing nonetheless. He steps back to pour the wine, standing closer to you than he started.

A little for you, passed gently, and then a little for him. Dave could pour his own glass.

You take the wine and sip it slowly, tongue darting out to taste before you sip. He's reminded of communion as a child. The blood of christ, sacred, something to be tasted but not meant to satiate. Reverence in a sip, devotion in a small act.

He wants to give you the same thing. The desire hits him in the sternum, suddenly, leaving him winded as he watches you lower the glass. Your eyes are locked on his, you haven't seemed as hesitant about holding his gaze recently - something that makes him melt - and he wonders if you can feel how he wants to take care of you. How he wants to show you the same force that water uses to carve canyons. Persistence and pressure, time and care. He's willing to take his time, he's filled with the same patience as everything all together in nature. He's a rabbit perched on its hind legs, sniffing the wind for safety before darting forward; the bird hung in flight between beats of wings, the whisper of wind carrying small seeds miles away to wait and watch the growth. Wait, wait, wait, however long it takes, he's there. For you.

It's a strong feeling to fully realize in David Rossi's kitchen, but he's grateful for it, anyway.

"It's good," you comment softly, eyes smiling.

"Is it?" He asks, setting his glass down and retaking his spot nearer to you. He misses your warmth. "Can I?" He asks, brushing his fingers across your jugular before cupping your cheek.

"Taste the wine?" You tease, eyes flickering to his glass. The gentle jest pulls a chuckle from his chest. Another thing you've become more comfortable doing around him. His blood and bones sing at how familiar you can be with him.

"Yes," he says in a breath, dipping his head down to brush his lips against yours.

And you're reciprocating - you've always reciprocated, enthusiastically, just never in the pressing way you are now. You set down your own glass to hold his arms in both of your hands. Fingers dig into his arm as you sigh and open your mouth, new lands to explore, tilting your head back to grant him full access.

"Daddy?" Jack asks and Aaron pulls away, a man parched and staring at an oasis in the middle of a desert, before Jack can round the corner. He doesn't go far, though, hand traveling down to the small of your back as he turns.

"Jack?" Aaron replies, waiting for him to come around the corner.

"Hello," Jack says, stopping in the doorway and looking up at you with wide eyes.

You've met him a few times before, always in passing, but you still smile warmly and wave at him.

"Hi, Jack."

"Do you know how to play chess?" Jacks asks. Aaron smiles at the eagerness on his son's face.

"Yes, I do. Would you like to play?"

"Yes please!" Jack jumps forward to grab your hand, pulling you into the living room before you can react.

You go easily, though, following him with a gentle laugh that warms the coldest parts of him. Pieces of him he doesn't think have seen the light in years brighten at the sound. He's heard you laugh before but something about the sight of you laughing because of Jack illuminates needs that he didn't even know he had. Needs you're meeting before he can feel the yawning desire of them.

He follows, unable to resist the desire to see you two interact over and over again. You're setting up the board, listening to Jack chatter on, nodding intently.

[evilslushy]

would you be open to doing bf headcanons for hamzah? they could be sfw and nsfw or just sfw. love ur writing :). <3

BF Headcanons _♡

SFW

i’m a very opinionated person, so asking me about my hamzah headcanons is a FIELD DAY for me

I’ve always said this but I feel like hamzah (in the beginning of the relationship) is very shy? Not in the way of “ignore any possible interaction between you and him” but more of a “ignores eye contact after a kiss” or “blushes when you call him a nickname for the first time”

He acts like he hates when you baby him but behind closed doors… BIGGEST BABY EVERRRR

It took him a while to hold your hand in public, not because he's embarrassed but again because he gets too flustered when you run your thumb up and down against the back of his hand,,, or when you play with his hands in general.

I MENTIONED THIS BEFORE IN A FIC BUT HAMZAH IS AN EAR BLUSHER AND HE'S SO CUTE WAA

If you get on his lap and play with his hair while talking about random stuff, and you kiss him out of nowhere HE’LL SMILE THIS BIG SMILE AND COVER HIS EARS IM CRYINGGGGG HES SO CUTE

Speaking of kissing lololol

Hamzah’s kisses are SENSUAL, he takes his time and really makes sure you feel his love

Contrary to popular belief i feel like if you’re with hamzah for long enough his love language becomes physical touch

And i dont say that and mean ONLY kisses but hes such a cuddly person. HE NEEDS THAT TLC HES A BIG BOY

BUT. Big but! He is not the type of person to show affection publicly IM SORRYYY

Holding hands and hugging is fine but i think more intimate things he’d rather do in private…

Not because hes embarrassed as i said, he gets shy at other people perceiving that version of him especially since he isn’t ‘acting’ or ‘joking’

Also he feels like only you deserve to see him like this hehehe

His love language is quality time. Like actually.

His head on your chest, playing stardew valley on his ipad. You watching TV or reading while playing with his curls.

Another form of this is that he’ll ask you to be him and martins cameraman just to have you there with him

Or he’ll ask if you want to try a new coffee shop that opened down the street

He’s a man that likes to be around you 24/7

ALSO ALSO ALSO OMG OMG

HE WOULD SO FORCE YOU TO DO BACKGROUND VOCALS FOR SOME OF HIS MUSIC LIKE THE RAPPERS HE LIKES LMFAO

I dont wanna go on too long with this but one thing is for sure

You’re his princess for REAL treats you like ROYALTY lol

If you guys get into an argument. Even if you’re wrong, he ends up apologizing

“I shouldn’t have let it boil over to this anyway.”

10/10 boyfriend. Totally recommend.

NSFW

SISTA. I HAVE NEVER EVER THOUGHT I’D HAVE THE PLATFORM TO SHARE THESE THOUGHTS BUT I HAVE TO MAKE SURE YALL UNDERSTAND ONE THING!!!!

Hamzah is NAWT a boob or ass guy. HE LIKES BOTH EQUALLY. (He is secretly is ass-leaning tho LMFAO)

This is so funny but he totally is the type to smack your ass randomly when he walks by.

Do you get mad? Yes. Do you tell him to stop it? Yes. Does he stop? No. Do you secretly think it's kinda…? WELL YESSS

TWO WORDS. Boob squeezer.

I think from what we can understand so far. is that Hamzah is the handsy man. HIS HANDS ALWAYS SOMEWHERE LOL

sex drive is for sure high. and when i say high… ITS HIGHHH

Contrary to popular belief AGAIN.

Hamzah doesn’t partake in dirty talk much… not that he doesn't like it—he just wouldn’t in my opinion? It's not that he wouldn’t talk at all, but he is more of a heavy breathing, whimpering, moaning guy—pretty much more noises than actual words

Though as i said, he would talk sometimes, especially if he’s feeling really good, or his stamina is lasting him longer than he thought… he starts getting a little cocky

On the topic of dirty talk, if he does talk, 99.9% of it would be praising, i don't see him enjoying degrading unless you ask him to.. but he’ll be a little awkward about it LMFAOOO

Something like: “fuck, baby you’re taking me so good.”

(Unironically starts actually using good girl after a while of making it a joke btw)

Someone sent a request a few days ago and said “i feel like hamzah has a breeding kink” and why was i gagged?! NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT IT BUT YES, i feel like hes more into the thought filling u with *** then the thought of impregnating you if that makes any sense

Im talking too much… digital footprint go hard.

(A/N): this isnt proofread, i kinda braindumped but i had fun doing this!! Thank u anon for the request I HOPE U LOVE THIS CUTIE MWAAAAHH

[yuri-is-online]

Out With the Old (Heartsabyul, Savanaclaw, and Octavinelle x Yuu)

"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."

"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"

"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."

notes: they/them used for Yuu, some questionable behavior from Floyd and Jade because who else? This is meant to be crack. Second part can be found here (x)

Riddle- "THAT'S LITERALLY ILLEGAL???"

He is too focused on hyperventilating because it sounds like you just admitted to a crime in front of him to even think about offering you one of his sweaters. Trey and Cater have to break it down for him unpaid therapist style that no, you are not wearing stolen property (probably), borrowing clothes is just something people in relationships often do. He then further needs it explained that no, you are not still in a relationship and since you want to get rid of the shirt it sounds like things ended poorly. His friends want to try and suggest he should give you an article of his clothing to replace the offending one but he's so focused on getting you something that matches dress code that they decide to quit while they're ahead. Literally.

Trey- "You know you can always ask us if you need help, right?"

Vil's right about Trey's tendency to fuss and spoil people being a bit of a flaw; he's in tune enough with his emotions to know that he should not, for his own sake, give you one of his old sweatshirts without being honest about why he wants you to wear it. But he can't exactly deny his instincts when it comes to the people he cares about. You're cold and uncomfortable, what sort of guy would he be if he just left you all alone? Just please don't brush this off with a comment about how much of a big brother or mother hen he is; it is already going to be pure torture trying to look at you in his things in a Queen of Hearts honoring way. He doesn't need an added complex on top of it.

Cater- "Oh honey no."

Cater doesn't like keeping stuff his exes gave him either, but luckily for him he's never been in a position where that's literally only the stuff he had on him. Speaking of things, he buys a bunch of clothes off magicam he barley has time to take the tags off of before the trend goes stale. You guys should totally ditch what you were planning to do today and have a little fashion show in his room. It'll be cute and he can get a bunch of cammable shots! Just ignore the pop music club hoodie he refuses to take back because it looks "so much cuter on you." <3

Ace- "That's extremely lame prefect."

He isn't blind; you're cute and poor. Anyone would jump at the chance to let you steal a hoodie, besides Ace isn't insecure enough to be super jealous of someone you clearly hate. He knows you well enough to tell when you are silently wishing death on someone, it's all in the vocal tone. But damn if this new bit of information doesn't make things tricky. He already makes a big fuss about not needing to focus on dating right now, and with that iconic sweatshirt of yours technically belonging to an ex it's not like he can just slide you one of his without making it super obvious what he's doing. Looks like you're just going to have to take some extra teasing for a bit prefect, it's his preferred method of cope.

Deuce- "You've been here for how long and the Headmage hasn't given you any clothes?!?!"

Deuce is a good egg whose primary concern is almost always your well being. He tends to act before his common sense and emotions can catch up with his thought process, and that's exactly what happens here. The concept of you dating someone is just so... foreign to him. Not because he thinks your undesirable! It's just that you guys are always hanging out, you not being around makes him feel a bit funny inside, and not in a good way. He doesn't mention that to his mom when he texts her asking if she has any of his old clothes laying around, but she definitely knows what's on his mind. Why else would she have sent his old delinquent jacket?

Leona- "Well that explains why it smells like shit."

Let the record show that Leona is in fact, lying to you. Your clothes don't smell like anything other than you and maybe some of the musk floating around Ramshackle Dorm, but that doesn't stop you from pulling the fabric and taking a good sniff. To Leona, all this really suggests is that you've been over the person long enough that you don't care about keeping their scent around anymore. Sure, a tiny thought does worm it's ugly way into his inferiority complex that "oh they liked someone else" but his equally large ego immediately slams the emphasis on "liked" and starts thinking about how to get his scent on you. He doesn't really own too many jackets like the one you're wearing, but he does have some nice silk scarfs he could wrap you up in. Much classier than whatever trash you had previously been going out with.

Ruggie- "You wanna toss it my way then?"

Clothes are clothes are clothes, you don't see Ruggie acting like his uniform is still Leona's just because that's who originally bought it. If you are really bothered by the memories of your ex, he's willing to listen and make fun of them, assuming that will make you feel better, but this won't make him jealous. That emotion is reserved for when you share food with other people. He is dead serious about taking the sweatshirt if you don't want it, as far as he's concerned that shirt belongs to you, and he wouldn't mind having an excuse to blend your wardrobes a little bit. It would make you even closer to being a real member of his pack.

Jack- "You can just take mine."

Jack's strong sense of justice and firm moral code are definitely his only motivations for offering you one of his sweatshirts. Forcing a student to wear clothes they find uncomfortable and associate with negative memories just because they didn't have the foresight to pack something they did like for a school they didn't know they would be attending is beyond unfair. That's what he tells himself anyway, and it's not like he isn't upset on your behalf, but it's plain as day to anyone that he wants to prove that you can rely on him; he's not like that other person, he doesn't mind being alone together with you.

Azul- "If your finances really are in such dire straights you know I could-"

Revealing personal information in Azul's presence is asking to be offered a deal. Sure that little complaint might have been insignificant to you, but for Azul? He's having a full blown Sherlock style breakdown going on in his head trying to decide what his angle is. 1) The prefect has dated in the past and doesn't look on that experience favorably. Does this prevent them from dating again? Needs further analysis. 2) Giving articles of clothing is an acceptable form of human courtship, even if used. Or is it especially if used? 3) Can he convince you to burn this if he gets you a replacement or is that too petty? 4) More importantly does this mean you have a type? And how does he press for that information without appearing desperate?

Jade- "Oh? Well that sounds extremely annoying."

Jade Leech is first and foremost a messy bitch who lives for other people's misery. Sure, he is reasonably certain he's in love with you at this point, but that doesn't matter. You have a story that's filled with second hand embarrassment and a bone to pick besides he is nothing if not an enthusiastic audience. The thought of you wearing clothes that he owns wasn't something he would have thought of himself, merfolk don't typically wear them so dating customs that involve them are a bit foreign to him. He would much rather just bite you. Or give you some jewelry. both he wants to do both

Floyd- "PUT THAT THING BACK WHERE IT CAME FROM OR SO HELP ME"

The instant you say that sweatshirt is from an ex he is taking off whatever shirt he is currently wearing and trying to tug off yours. Yes, even if it is his basketball jersey, and yes even if he just got back from practice. Isn't the scent supposed to be the point? He knows you miss him when he's gone, and he can get you something nicer out of his closet later. Just remember to tell everyone, even and especially if they don't ask, who gave it to you. Floyd's... nice? Enough? To not immediately burn your sweatshirt but it's up for debate if that's because he's actually being nice or if he just wants a trophy.

[infamous-if]

Spicy Snippet #1: Orion

As a thank you for 6k, I will write a variation of romantic/suggestive stuff for the ROs. I don't usually write in those contexts because I like sticking to canon in order not to spoil it when the the time comes in-story, but I think we are overdue for some! Starting with Orion!

"This is inappropriate."

Even though the words are said through a throaty hum you can feel against your lips, you don't stop nipping at Orion's throat. He sits with one arm propped, the other on your back as you straddle him on the edge of the bed. Orion, with all of his complaints, is hilariously compliant. He moves his head to give you more space for his neck, shuddering when your biting turns to salacious swipes of your tongue.

"Should I stop?" you ask through your kisses, your words muffled. The question has Orion's arm gliding over you to hold you tighter, the answer loud and clear.

"Are you trying to give me a hickey?" he asks. His voice trails off when you lick just the right spot, making a small squeak of a whimper leave his lips. You've learned that Orion is a vocal participant, his breathy reactions only encouraging you further. "You know..." His throat bobs when he swallows. "Cameras." He can't even form a coherent sentence, which is the most satisfying part. "I will be on my best behavior."

"I doubt that—" In one swift move, Orion grabs you and rolls you over until he's hovering over you. You're breathless from both surprise and excitement. He has you pinned with his hands on either side of your face, and his cheeks are flushed.

"Can you imagine?" He says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, featherlight. It makes your body shudder. "Us doing this in a room of executives?" He brushes his nose against yours with endless delicacy, teasing you. So close and yet not quite there. "Forced to watch?" His mouth goes to the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing your skin until you're swallowing. "Think of the scandal."

Another thing about Orion Quinn? He's a cheeky bastard.

You can hardly breathe, especially not when Orion sits up, towering over you as he begins unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes stay on you, his fingers deft and skilled, your gazes never breaking.

"You—" You swallow, propping yourself up on your elbows. "You would faint if that were to happen."

A low laugh escapes him, but his gaze turns hungry, heated at the thought. Almost as if fainting isn't what he would do at all. "You're right. HR would have me ruined."

"You are HR!" You lift your hand to put it on the last button that remains, fully intending to unbutton it for him. Orion puts his own hand over yours, directing it over the buckle of his belt. Your mouth waters. You know exactly what he wants, and he's not shy about telling you. "Knowing you," you swallow, using two fingers to remove the loop of the belt from the buckle, "you would punish yourself." "Saying that in this context is quite suggestive." He grins, taking the belt off and tossing it aside. Your fingers get to work on the button of his slacks.

"I'm being completely serious." You bite your lip, your body heating when he grabs your hand and plants a chaste, loving kiss to the inside of your palm, removing his pants with his other hand. "Get your mind out of the gutter, horndog."

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all.

He proceeds to bend down, nuzzling his nose into your neck until you're letting out a surprised laugh, failing to swat him away when he continues to tickle you. Eventually, he stops. And then Orion Quinn begins doing something else that has you forgetting exactly what you two were even talking about. Doesn't matter.

[jarofstyles]

shy y/n accidentally calls harry daddy bc shes cockdrunk while theyre fucking and harry is so taken back that he cums on the spot 🫣

Omg omg omg omg

Patreon

----

Harry was convinced that Y/N was his soul mate well before it happened.

Perhaps for some, it could be considered intense, but he knew what he wanted in life. He knew he loved her by their 4th date, he knew he wanted to marry her by the 7th, and now they'd been committed to one another for about 6 months. It was incredible to have someone you just.... know is yours.

They were a bit opposite, Y/N and him. Harry was a lot more outgoing, a lot more experienced in the ropes of life, but especially sexually. Y/N hadn't done much of anything prior to Harry, and he had the honors of introducing her to a whole plethora of things. Lots of kinks they'd dipped their toes into and Y/N gave her feedback on.

She was shy beyond what he was used to, but he found it endearing. He didn't mind working her through her shyness and building her up so she felt comfortable enough to speak to him and tell him what she liked, what she wanted to try. So far, she had gone off of what Harry had admitting to liking- at least the tamer stuff- and he was more than happy with her progress. All he cared about was her comfort and pleasure.

She liked spanking with his hand, wasn't too fond of a a paddle, thoroughly mewled when he had slipped his thumb over her tightest hole, enjoyed that he was in charge and she was his sweet little baby. They'd gone slower but Harry had been more than honest with her about his likes and his preferences. Y/N appreciated honesty more than anything, even when it hurt because lies were her number one hate. The sweet girl didn't dislike much, but dishonesty was one of them.

When she had sniffed out that he had been hiding something, he was quick to fess up that he'd been a bit anxious that it would be too much or too odd for her given this conversation had happened only after the 3rd time they'd had sex, so he had admitted that he preferred a certain honorific- Daddy- and that he wouldn't ever make her feel bad for not wanting to call him that if she so chose. Y/N hadn't said much about it since.

Not until tonight.

Deep inside, Harry watched her puffy, pretty cunt spread open as she took his cock. it was sticky with her arousal and his spit, her ass recoiling when his thighs hit it. It was a glorious scene, one of the sexiest things Harry ever had the privilege of seeing with his own eyes. She was making a mess on his length, a mess of glistening slick and creamy smears that were settling on the base making the sight almost too much for Harry to handle.

Then there were the moans, the sweet, delightful little 'uh's' that left her Scarlet painted lips. He'd taken her out on a date to a lovely little restaurant and when they arrived home she had kissed him deep, leading to this moment right here. Her dress discarded across his bedroom floor and her face resting on his pillow as he fucked into her needy cunt. Sweet calls of his name, for more, for him not to stop, she was getting more and more vocal as the pleasure began to raise and he was doing everything he could to make it even better for her.

"There we go, my love." He purred. "Can feel it, you're about to cum f'me again." The encouragement always did it for her, his hand squeezing her plump ass as he pounded away into her. "Perfect little pussy for my perfect girl. M'so obsessed with you." He wanted to give her another, knowing she was going places she hadn't been before by her babbling and clenching at his pillow but she hadn't called for him to stop- if anything, she asked for more. Harry couldn't get enough, so he was holding off his orgasm just to see her do it for him.

"M'gonna, m'gonna cum, m'gonna- please, can I?" Watery eyes looked up at him, the perfect version of his destroyed sweet peach as mascara smeared slightly under her eye. "Can I cum, can I please? M'good, m'so good, m'a good girl, I need to." Her rambles only made him love her more, despite her knowledge.

"Go on, my sweet girl. Let go f'me." He cooed, continuing the pace as he watched her unfold in front of him. He could feel it, feel her rippling around his cock and the gush of her arousal as she let out a squeal. Relishing in the feeling of her trembling under him, when she said something that caught him off guard. One, whimpery, pathetic sentence that had him almost keeling over.

"D-Daddy, want your cum, let me have it, please...."

As soon as it hit him what she said, he couldn't stop himself. Balls pulling up and cock throbbing as he emptied hot cum into her, a low groan leaving his mouth as it stayed open. Feeling her orgasm start to wane but pussy stilll clenching, milking him of his cum, he was careful as he fell over and held himself on top of her, hips stuttering as he tried to gather his bearings.

His Y/N, his sweet, delicate Y/N had just called him Daddy while begging for his cum. There was no way his orgasm could have withstood it. She probably would be slightly embarrassed when she realized what she said, but he was in heaven. He hoped it showed an inner want to call him that, that it was in her mind when they were intimate because she could see him like that. At the end of the day, all he wanted to do was take care of his precious girl, make sure she was cared for and comfortable.

"There she is. My perfect angel." he panted. "Daddy's here, m'giving it all to you now." Lips pressed to her sticky cheek, nudging his nose lovingly against it. "M'all yours, forever."

[wholoveseggs]

Hey girly, my favorite fic of yours is “Madness” I absolutely adore jealous Elijah(and all my boys for that matter) I would like to request something smutty were reader is making Elijah jealous and than he demands to be shown some respect *wink* *wink*. I know you wrote a few fics like this but I L O V E that trope and I would like to see more if you have any ideas.

thankssss in advance, sending lots of hugs to you 🫶🏻

Chaos

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} A punk-themed night out with the Mikaelsons reveals a side of Elijah you’ve never seen before... and a chance to push boundaries neither of you ever expected.

♡♡ Hello darling @hiddledede-heddlededo!! I adore exploring Elijah's wild, dominant side… so why not throw him into a setting that lets him fully unleash it?? ~ ♡♡

7.8k words - Warnings: smutt, Kol being a flirt, Klaus rocking a mohawk, Rebekah is only going so she can snack on a punk rocker, Elijah taking what he wants, mosh-pits, dom!Elijah, oral sex (f!receiving), little but of butt stuff (also f!receiving), a dash of sir kink, riding, blood drinking, commanding Elijah && lots of punk / metal vibes ...

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

The compound was alive with chaos. Heavy guitar riffs and screaming vocals blasted through the speakers, shaking the walls as you carefully applied your eyeliner at Rebekah's vanity. The faint scent of whiskey lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of nail polish and the distinct musk of leather jackets piled in the corner.

Rebekah was rifling through her closet, tossing clothes haphazardly over her shoulder in search of something remotely punk or goth. A pair of fishnets flew through the air and landed on the bed.

"Rebekah, what are you doing?" you asked, pausing to set the eyeliner down and stand up.

"I can't find anything!" she wailed, slamming the closet doors shut with an air of theatrical defeat.

"Don't worry," you said, picking up the fishnets and smoothing them out with a small laugh. "I have a dress for you that matches the theme perfectly. But you should definitely wear these. They're sexy."

Rebekah snatched them up with a dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank you, darling. You're a lifesaver."

"Of course," you replied, flashing her a quick smile before turning back to the vanity. You picked through her cluttered makeup stash. "Do you have any dark lipstick? Deep red or black would be perfect."

Rebekah nodded, rummaging through a pile of scattered tubes as Kol came bursting through the door. He was a sight to behold. Decked out in all black, with ripped jeans, spiked bracelets glinting on his wrists, and combat boots that looked like they could survive a war. In one hand, he balanced a bottle of bourbon, while the other clutched a portable speaker blaring screeching guitar riffs.

"Are you ready?" he asked, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Almost. We're still deciding on outfits," you replied, laughing as he flung himself onto Rebekah's bed like a rockstar who'd just survived a long set.

Kol took a swig from the bourbon before offering it to you. "Liquid courage, darling?"

You hesitated for only a second before taking the bottle, pretending his playful charm wasn’t contagious. "Thanks, Kol," you said, the burn of the whiskey warming your throat.

He leaned back, plucking the eyeliner pencil you’d left on the vanity and spinning it between his fingers. "I remember when ladies used to color their eyes with coal and berries. Fashion has certainly changed," he mused, his tone light but teasing.

"Want to try it?" you asked.

"Why not?" Kol grinned mischievously.

You stepped closer, grabbing his chin gently. As you leaned in to line his eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh at the boyish excitement glinting in his dark irises. You tried to push thoughts of someone else’s dark, brooding gaze out of your mind.

As you finished lining Kol’s eyes, you smudged the edges just enough to give him a grungy, rebellious look. He turned to the mirror, tilting his head this way and that before flashing you a devilish grin.

"I must say, you’ve outdone yourself, darling," he said, striking a dramatic pose. "Do I look devastatingly handsome? Or perhaps... devastatingly misunderstood?"

"You look ridiculous," you said, laughing as you swatted his arm. "But it’s perfect for tonight."

Kol leaned back on the bed, his grin turning wicked. "Speaking of tonight, are you hoping to catch anyone’s eye? Or just hoping a certain someone finally notices how ravishing you look?"

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don’t play coy with me," Kol said, wagging a finger. "You know exactly who I mean. A certain noble brother of mine who prefers brooding in corners over having any fun."

Your cheeks burned, and you turned back to the vanity, pretending to busy yourself with your makeup. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Kol let out a bark of laughter, swinging his legs off the bed and walking over to lean against the vanity beside you. "Come now, love. I see the way you look at Elijah… Like he hung the stars themselves. It’s positively nauseating."

You shot him a glare through the mirror. "Kol, drop it."  

"Why should I?" he asked with a wicked grin. "It’s not like you’re being subtle about it. Though, I’ll admit, my dear brother could use someone to rattle that insufferable composure of his."  

Rebekah breezed into the room, holding up a slinky black silk dress. "This the one you were talking about?"

You nodded, relieved for the distraction. "Yep. That one will look killer."

"Fantastic." She smiled, grabbing the bourbon from Kol and taking a swig.

You grabbed the black fishnet top and red leather mini skirt from the bed and held them up. "Kol, if you’re going to hang around, at least turn around while I change."

He smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "As you wish, my modest little dove," He spun on his heel, facing the wall.  

You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the walk-in closet. Once you were safely inside, you pressed your forehead against the wall, a groan escaping your lips. Of all the people to notice your attraction to Elijah, why did it have to be Kol?

You slipped off your shirt, replacing it with the fishnet top. The sheer fabric clung to your skin, and the bra underneath added just the right amount of daring to the look. As you wiggled into the red leather mini skirt, Kol’s voice broke through your focus.  

"Elijah, though," he mused aloud, clearly unable to keep quiet. "He’d probably combust at the sight of you in a skirt like that. All that decorum? Poof. Gone."  

You rolled your eyes, listening to Rebekah giggle as you tugged your skirt into place, the material hugging your hips snugly. "Kol, do you ever shut up?"  

"Not when there’s fun to be had," he quipped. "Though, if I’m being honest, I might have to lend Elijah a hand tonight. He could use the push."  

You groaned, reaching for your knee-high black boots. "Kol, whatever you’re scheming, just stop. Please."  

"Darling, I would never scheme," he said, the exaggerated indignation in his voice making it clear he was lying.  

After zipping up the boots and smoothing down your skirt, you turned toward him. "Alright, you can look now."

Kol spun around, and his eyes swept over you with a dramatic flourish. He let out a low whistle, his grin widening. "Well, well. Someone looks ravishing. Don't you think, sister?"

"Oh, yes." Rebekah laughed. "That outfit is positively sinful."

"I don't know," you said, biting back a smirk. "Do you think it's too much?"

Kol’s grin softened into something almost mischievously kind. "Darling, let me give you some advice: Elijah may act like he’s above all this chaos, but trust me, he notices. And he cares more than you think."

You frowned, checking yourself out one last time in the mirror, fiddling with a tube of lipstick. "He doesn’t even like this kind of thing. We have nothing in common, Kol. Why would he ever-"

"Please," Kol interrupted, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Elijah is the king of pretending not to care while secretly caring far too much. The trick is pulling him out of his little bubble. Tonight, my dear, you’ve got the perfect opportunity."

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but you quickly shoved it down. "Kol, you’re ridiculous."

"And you’re in denial," he shot back, winking as he plucked the lipstick from your hands and held it up. "Now, are we going with the deep red or black? Because trust me, Elijah won’t be able to take his eyes off you either way."

You snatched the lipstick back with a huff, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re smitten," Kol said, his grin widening. "Now hurry up, or we’ll be late for the party. I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

As he sauntered out of the room, the sound of his laughter trailing behind him, you let out a shaky breath. Maybe Kol was right. Maybe tonight wasn’t just about wild music and dancing. Maybe it was your chance to show Elijah a side of yourself he’d never noticed before.

The thought sent a thrill through you, and you turned back to the mirror with renewed determination.

"Deep red it is," you murmured to yourself, a small smile playing on your lips.

You and Rebekah sat on the plush couch in the living room, passing a half-empty bottle of whiskey back and forth as the pounding music from Kol’s speaker vibrated through the walls. The anticipation of the night buzzed in the air, matching the light, happy buzz from the alcohol warming your veins.

"I cannot wait for tonight," Rebekah said, leaning back against the couch, her fishnet-clad legs stretched out in front of her. "It’s been ages since we’ve gone out like this."

You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I can't remember the last time I went to a real party," you admitted.

The heavy thud of boots descending the stairs announced the arrival of Kol and Klaus. They entered the room like they were walking onto a stage, heads held high and swaggering grins on their faces. Klaus had his hair gelled up into a perfect mohawk. He was dressed in ripped jeans, chains, and a leather jacket adorned with pins. "How do I look?" he asked, spreading his arms wide.

"Ridiculous," Kol replied, but the pride shining in his eyes was undeniable.

Rebekah laughed, rising to her feet and twirling in a circle. Her black dress clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination, and the fishnets underneath made her legs look a mile long. "Well, what about me?"

"These headbangers will eat you alive," Klaus said, winking as he tossed her a leather jacket.

She caught it with ease, slipping it on and grinning at her brothers. "I plan on eating them, actually," she purred.

Kol flopped onto the couch beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. "What’s this? Are you two already tipsy? We haven’t even left yet!"

"Don’t worry about us," Rebekah said with a smirk. "We can handle ourselves better than you."

Kol opened his mouth to retort, but the conversation was cut short by the sound of Elijah clearing his throat from the doorway. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at him.

Elijah stood there, his usual tailored suit in place, his tie perfectly knotted. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze swept across the group, lingering briefly on Klaus’s mohawk, Kol’s eyeliner, and finally, the whiskey bottle in your hand.

"Well," he said, folding his arms, "I see you’ve all fully embraced the theme."

Klaus shrugged, tossing a casual grin in his brother's direction. "We’ve got to blend in, don’t we? Showing up out of place wouldn’t do."

"Of course," Elijah replied, his eyes never leaving yours. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you took a quick sip from the bottle, hoping the alcohol would calm your racing heart.

"You should come with us, Elijah," Kol said, flashing a mischievous grin.

"Absolutely not," Elijah replied without hesitation, his tone calm but firm. His gaze shifted to Klaus’s mohawk, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. "I think it’s clear I’m not suited for... whatever this is."

Kol clapped a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Oh, come now, brother. Where’s your sense of adventure? A little music, a little chaos. It might even loosen that tie of yours."

Elijah’s expression didn’t change, and he didn't miss a beat as he responded, "No, thank you."

You felt a pang of disappointment as his eyes moved away from you. He wasn't interested. Of course he wasn't. You took another sip of whiskey, trying not to dwell on the sting.

"Fine, if that's what you really want," Kol said, shrugging as he rose from the couch. He reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet, a teasing smile on his lips. "The rest of us are off to find trouble. If you change your mind, you're welcome to join."

Klaus and Rebekah fell into step behind him as the four of you made your way toward the door. You paused briefly, looking back at Elijah. Your eyes met for a brief moment, and his expression softened slightly. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, and a spark of hope flared inside you.

Maybe Kol was right. Maybe you just needed to give him a reason. You stopped in the doorway, turning back to face him, a flurry of emotions swirling in your chest.

"It won't be the same without you," you said softly.

Elijah looked at you for a long moment, his expression shifting from conflict to quiet resolve. He sighed, stepping toward you, and his voice was soft when he spoke, "Perhaps a night out wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

"That's the spirit!" Kol cheered, his grin widening.

Elijah rolled his eyes, but you could see the small, affectionate smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced down at your outfit, his gaze sweeping across you. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile as his eyes met yours.

Elijah’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before looking away. He cleared his throat and straightened, the composed mask slipping back into place. "If I’m to join you, I should dress appropriately," he said, his tone carrying its usual calm authority.

"Meet us outside when you're ready," Kol called as Elijah disappeared up the stairs.

"Wonder what he'll come up with," Klaus said, an amused smirk curling his lips.

"An all black suit?" Rebekah mused, her lips twisting into a playful grin.

"A turtleneck and sunglasses?" Klaus added, chuckling at the image.

Minutes later, Elijah came strolling out of the compound wearing a long sleeve black shirt, dark jeans and black leather jacket. His hair was still slicked back, but there was a slight messiness to it. As if he'd ruffled his fingers through his hair, but still wanted to maintain some level of control.

"What do you think?" he asked, turning to face the group.

Klaus let out a snort of amusement. "You look almost... approachable. It’s unsettling."

You walked over to Elijah, feeling a small spark of bravery as you reached up and messed up his hair a bit more, causing it to fall into his eyes. "There. Now you're perfect," you said with a soft smile.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, but he was smiling. "Perfect for what?"

You shrugged. "Whatever you want," you replied.

His gaze drifted over your face, landing on your lips. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were standing. You could smell the faint scent of his cologne, see the soft stubble along his jaw, feel the warmth radiating off his body. You were tempted to reach out and touch him, but you pulled back instead.

"So, are we ready?" Kol asked, breaking the tension.

You stepped back from Elijah, your heart racing. "Definitely."

The party was held in a massive warehouse, its towering ceilings lost in shadow and its walls covered in glowing graffiti under blacklights. Purple and blue lights flickered in rhythm with the pounding music, casting the packed crowd into a surreal, shifting glow. The scent of sweat and alcohol lingered in the air, mingling with the haze of fog and cigarette smoke.

Kol was a force of nature, pushing through the throng and carving a path to the center of the floor. He turned to face you and the others, raising his voice over the roar of the crowd. "What do you say? Shall we make our presence known?"

You nodded and let him drag you forward, laughing as the music grew louder and the bodies closed around you. Soon, you were swept up in the chaos. Your heart pounded in time with the bass, the rhythm coursing through your veins.

Elijah watched you disappear into the crowd, he let out a sigh.

"Having second thoughts, brother?" Klaus asked, a teasing smirk on his lips.

"Something like that," Elijah muttered, his gaze sweeping across the room. Everyone was slamming into each other, acting animalistic as they moved to whatever chaotic, screaming vocals were currently blasting through the speakers. He didn't understand how anyone could enjoy something like this.

Rebekah looped her arm through his and tugged him toward the makeshift bar. "Come on. I'm sure we can find a drink to your liking," she said, dragging him along.

Elijah let out a huff, allowing himself to be dragged across the room.

Rebekah's smile widened as she flagged down the bartender. "Two shots, please."

Elijah looked up at the rafters above them, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. "What exactly are we drinking?"

"Tequila," Rebekah said, placing two shot glasses on the counter. She picked one up, and held it out to him. "Bottoms up."

Elijah let out a resigned sigh and reached for the glass. "Fine. Bottoms up," he said, tapping his glass against hers.

The liquor burned his throat, but it did nothing to loosen the tension in his body. He felt the weight of a dozen gazes on him, the whispers and stares following him wherever he went.

"This place is crawling with vampires," he murmured, scanning the room.

"I know," Rebekah said, tossing back the last of her whiskey. "You worried for our human friend? Because you know she's safe as long as we're around."

Elijah glanced in the direction where he'd last seen you, and found the spot empty. A twinge of worry ran through him, and he leaned forward, raising his voice. "Where is she?"

"Relax," Rebekah said, laughing. "She's with Kol, he won't let anything happen to her."

Elijah felt his jaw tense. The thought of you being alone with Kol, in this crowd, filled him with a mixture of apprehension and jealousy. He shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Rebekah raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? Worried about Kol? Or is there someone else on your mind?"

Elijah looked at her sharply. "No. Why would you say that?"

"Because you want her all to yourself," Klaus chimed in, ordering two drinks. One for himself and one for a heavily tattooed blonde that had been eyeing him for the past five minutes.

"I do not," Elijah insisted.

Rebekah scoffed. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. Just admit it, you like her. That's why you came tonight."

"I came because Kol was relentless and I had no choice," Elijah snapped.

Klaus snorted, turning to his sister. "What Elijah really means to say is 'I can't let Kol steal the girl I'm so obviously in love with,'" he said.

"I am not in love with anyone," Elijah insisted, ignoring the fact that his eyes were still searching for you in the crowd.

"Right," Klaus said, a smug smirk curling his lips. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Why don't you just tell her how you feel? Unless, of course, you're afraid she'll reject you. I wouldn't blame her. Who would ever want a boring stick-in-the-mud like you?"

Elijah gave Klaus a look that could have frozen hell, but his brother simply laughed, winking at the tattooed blonde.

"What do you think darling? Should my brother try his luck or continue to pine from a distance?" Klaus asked the blonde.

She leaned over the bar, her gaze sweeping over him. "I say he should try his luck," she purred, her fingers playing with the edge of Klaus' leather jacket. "But he looks too uptight. A few drinks might loosen him up."

"I am not uptight," Elijah protested, his eyes narrowing.

Klaus grinned, pulling the blonde closer. "Maybe we should show him how it's done," he murmured.

"I think that's a great idea," she said, her lips inches from his.

Elijah rolled his eyes, looking away from them as they started to make out. Rebekah let out a laugh and grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the dance floor.

"Yuck, let's get out of here," she said, weaving through the crowd.

He allowed himself to be dragged across the floor, his gaze landing on a familiar figure. You were dancing with Kol, your hands in the air, hips swaying to the music. Elijah couldn't look away.

Kol leaned in and said something to you. You laughed, shaking your head. Elijah felt a rush of envy, the sensation foreign and uncomfortable. Kol's hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. You didn't resist, a small smile playing on your lips. Elijah gritted his teeth.

"Looks like Kol has stolen your girl," Rebekah said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"She's not mine," Elijah replied, his eyes fixed on the pair.

Kol pulled you closer, his lips brushing your ear. The music changed, and the tempo increased, the lights flashing faster. The press of bodies forcing you closer together and Elijah lost sight of you. He could feel his temper rising, a strange sense of possessiveness overcoming him.

Rebekah smirked, shaking her head. "Go. Show her you can be fun, too," she said, giving him a nudge.

He hesitated, torn between his own anxieties and desire.Perhaps it was time to step out of his comfort zone, time to take a risk. Elijah swallowed, steeling his nerves. He could do this. He could show you that he wasn't some stuffy, uptight, boring old vampire. That he would fit in at a place like this.

Elijah looked back at his sister, who now had her arms wrapped around the neck of a man who had more pericings than skin. She was whispering something in his ear, and a grin spread across his face. She flashed Elijah a wink before vanishing into the crowd with the pierced man. It seemed everyone was getting a taste of the party tonight. Everyone but him.

The song changed, a pulsing beat thudding through the speakers. He caught sight of you and Kol just as the crowd surged, everyone around him began to thrash and he realised he was in the midst of a mosh pit.

His senses were overwhelmed, the press of bodies, the screaming music, the flashing lights. His instinct was to fight his way free, but the urge to see you, to have you see him, was stronger. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, ignoring the elbows that collided with his ribs, the fists that struck his shoulder, the shoves and kicks from all sides. The chaos, the strobing lights, the deafening music, all of it swirled around him as he pressed on.

He saw you, a few feet away, your back pressed against Kol's chest, your arms in the air, head tilted back. A flash of heat rushed through him, and he pushed harder, shoving past the crowd. Kol saw him coming first, and he smiled, keeping his eyes on Elijah as he kissed your neck.

You let out a gasp, twisting to look at Kol. You were laughing, pushing on his chest. Elijah was close enough to hear your words. "You're an ass!"

"Oh, come on," Kol teased, his arms still tight around your waist. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

Your face was flushed, and you opened your mouth to respond, but the words died on your lips when you spotted Elijah. He stood a few feet away, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. Your gaze drifted over him, taking in his ruffled hair, his dark, smoldering eyes, the way his leather jacket hugged his muscular frame.

Kol's grin widened. "See something you like?" he purred, his voice carrying a teasing note.

Elijah ignored him, his eyes locked on yours. The tempo surged, bodies colliding in wild abandon. A rush of adrenaline flooded Elijah’s senses, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached for your hand. His grip was firm, but his touch sent an unexpected jolt through you, grounding you in the chaos.

"Elijah?" you called over the music, your voice laced with surprise.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled you into the fray, his movements uncharacteristically reckless. The crowd surged around you, a wave of bodies slamming and thrashing, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you free of it. But instead, Elijah stayed, his grip on your hand steady as he moved with you, matching the rhythm of the music.

Your laughter rang out as you realized what he was doing. Elijah Mikaelson. Always composed. Always in control….Was letting go. He moved with you, his usually precise steps turning wild as the music took over. The press of the crowd pushed you closer together, the heat of his body mingling with the fevered energy of the room.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, his hands found your waist. He steadied you as the pit surged again, his strength grounding you as you danced together, the frenzy building with each beat. His touch burned through the thin fabric of your top, and when you looked up, his eyes locked with yours.

The chaos seemed to dissolve into nothingness, the lights and music fading to a distant echo as the world narrowed to the two of you. You were breathing hard, your heart pounding, and you wondered if he could hear it, feel it.

As if sensing your thoughts, his hand moved from your waist to the base of your neck. His touch was gentle but firm as he pulled your mouth to his. The kiss was searing, a jolt of heat and desire rushing through you. He tasted of tequila and sin, his lips soft but demanding.

Your hands moved to his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm under your touch. You pressed closer, losing yourself in the kiss. The world blurred at the edges, but for the first time that night, you felt entirely clear.

When the kiss broke, the roar of the crowd and the chaos came rushing back. Elijah's chest was heaving, his breath hot against your cheek. Your hands slid down his arms, your fingers tangling with his. He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. You were both flushed and breathless, the weight of the moment hanging heavy between you.

The song changed, and someone behind him slammed into his back, shoving him against you. Your mouths met again, the kiss hungry and desperate, a need rising between the two of you. He pushed you backwards until you felt the cool, rough concrete against your back. His hand cradled the back of your head as his tongue traced the seam of your lips.

"Elijah," you moaned, parting your lips to let him in, your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned, the sound deep and primal, vibrating out of him and into you. You kissed him back, pouring every ounce of longing and need into it, until you were both breathless. 

When you finally broke apart, your eyes were wide, your lips swollen and red. You couldn't speak, the intensity of the moment rendering you speechless.

Elijah's hands lingered on your hips, his gaze holding yours. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, and nodded. "Yes," you breathed, a slow, nervous smile spreading across your lips.

His hands tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. There was a flicker of hunger in his eyes, but it was tempered by something softer, more tender. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "Let's go home."

The two of you stumbled out of the warehouse, Elijah's hand gripping yours tightly. You couldn't stop smiling, the night still swirling in a haze around you. You passed Kol, who was surrounded by two women and a man, all of whom were practically drooling over him. He flashed you a wink as the four of them made their way to a dark corner.

The night air was a relief after the stifling heat of the warehouse, steam rising from your skin as you made your way down the street. You walked side-by-side, shoulders brushing, the silence between you thick with anticipation. You stole a glance at Elijah, his profile sharp in the glow of the streetlamps, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach. You couldn't wait to see where the night would take you.

As the door to Elijah's room clicked shut, a sense of apprehension and nervousness fell over you. You'd never been in his room before, and the thought of being alone with him filled you with a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension.

You glanced around, taking in the neatly organized bookshelves, the leather couch and the large bed. Not a speck of dust, not a single sock or shirt lying about. You had expected nothing less from him.

You walked over to his bed, running your fingers across the smooth, soft comforter. Elijah stood a few feet away, watching you, his hands resting loosely at his sides, nervously twitching as he tried to maintain his composure.

"Are you alright?" you asked, turning to face him.

He nodded, swallowing. "I'm fine," he replied, his tone flat.

You could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his jaw was clenched. He was nervous, you realized. Nervous about being alone with you, about crossing this invisible line between friends and... whatever this was.

You stepped toward him, placing a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly. "Elijah," you said softly.

His eyes met yours, the uncertainty clear in their dark depths. You gave him a reassuring smile, letting your hand slide up his chest, until it rested against his neck. You could feel the muscles there tighten, the slight tremor that ran through him as you leaned in.

Your lips brushed his, a whisper of a kiss, and then his mouth was on yours, the kiss deep and intense. He guided you over to his couch, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. Your legs straddled him, and his hands ran along the smooth expanse of your thighs, gripping your hips as the kiss intensified.

A low, rumbling growl rose up in his chest, his desire for you clear in the way his lips claimed yours, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, the way his fingers dug into your soft skin. You always suspected he had it in him, a wild, rough passion that lay beneath the cool exterior. Now, as his hands roamed over your body, as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, you knew it was true.

You wanted him to know that you liked it. You wanted him to know that he could be rough, that you would never break. That you could take everything he had to give.

"Don't hold back," you whispered against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours. "Are you sure?"

"I trust you," you murmured, your hand cupping his face.

"I could hurt you," he breathed, his voice strained.

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You won't."

He studied you for a moment, and then a mischievous smirk curled his lips. He reached down, hooking his arms under your legs and standing. You let out a yelp of surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you over to the bed.

He placed you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a thrill run through you, anticipation coiling in the pit of your stomach. You watched as he stripped off his shirt, tossing it aside. You drank in the sight of his toned torso, the light sheen of sweat glistening across his chest, the flex of his muscles as he leaned down, his lips finding yours again.

"Stay here, just like this. I'll be right back," he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Where are you going?" you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Trust me, it will be worth it," he said, giving you a wink before slipping out of the room.

You settled back against the pillows, closing your eyes. Your mind was racing, replaying the events of the night, at first Kol's attempt at seduction and then Elijah's. A slow, content smile spread across your face. You could certainly get used to this.

A few moments later, you heard the door open and close. You opened your eyes, sitting up. Elijah had Kol's portable speaker in one hand and his phone in the other. You raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

"What are you doing?" you asked, watching as he set the speaker on the bedside table.

"Music," he replied, a playful grin tugging at his lips. He tapped the screen and a loud metal song began to play. "I confess, I've become a bit of a fan."

"Oh yeah?" you asked, amused.

He nodded, moving towards you. He climbed onto the bed, crawling up your body until he was hovering over you. "Mmhmm," he murmured, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. "It has a certain appeal. It's raw... primal. Much like what I'd like to do to you right now."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers threaded into his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. The kiss was rough, his lips and tongue demanding, his hands sliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric up and over your head. He tossed the shirt aside, his mouth moving to your neck, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of marks across your collarbone.

"Are you going to be my good girl?" he purred, his breath hot against your skin.

You moaned, arching into him. "Yes," you gasped, your fingers gripping his hair.

"Yes, what?" he asked, nipping at your jaw.

"Yes, sir," you breathed, your mind reeling at the newfound authority in his tone.

"Good," he murmured, his hands moving to your thighs. He pushed your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist. He groaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of your panties. "Such a pretty, little, soaked, innocent thing," he murmured.

You swallowed, a flush creeping up your cheeks. He looked up at you, his gaze intense, a hint of a smirk curling his lips. He moved down your body, his mouth pressing a line of hot, wet kisses across your abdomen, his fingers tracing circles on the insides of your thighs.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he said, his voice rough with need.

You felt the heat of his breath against the fabric of your panties, and you shifted, lifting your hips, a soft whimper escaping your lips. You felt him smirk against your thigh, his hands hooking under your legs and gripping your hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh.

He pulled your panties down, tossing them aside. You heard the music change, a deep, thrumming beat filling the room, a bass-heavy song that you knew well. Elijah grinned, his tongue dragging along your slit, his gaze locking with yours. You gasped, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckled, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Fuck," you moaned, your fingers threading into his hair.

He hummed, his tongue delving deeper, lapping at the slickness of your arousal, his fingers digging into your hips. You arched into him, panting, lost in the sensation of his mouth on you, his tongue working expertly. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

The song changed again, and he pulled back slightly, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He smirked, his thumb pressing against your swollen, aching clit. You let out a breathy moan, writhing beneath him.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" he purred, rubbing small, slow circles around the sensitive bud.

You bit your lip, nodding. "Y-yes," you stammered.

"Good girl," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Now, come sit on my lap," he ordered.

You blinked, taken aback. You had no idea he was into this kind of thing, and you had to admit, it was a pleasant surprise. You watched as he sat back, unbuckling his belt, his cock straining against his pants. He undid the button and zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his erection.

You swallowed, staring at his impressive length. He smirked, his gaze fixed on yours as he gestured for you to join him. You moved towards him, and he gripped your arm, his grip firm but not painful, pulling you onto his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

You let out a shaky breath, bracing your hands on his shoulders. He smiled, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "Where has that wild thing from the mosh pit gone, hm?" he murmured, a hint of challenge in his voice.

You swallowed, your face warm. "Right here," you replied, rolling your hips, rubbing yourself along the length of his cock.

He groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. "Show me," he growled, his dark eyes flashing with hunger.

You shifted, reaching between the two of you and grasping his length. He let out a sharp hiss as you lined him up with your entrance, sinking down, taking him inch by inch, until you were fully seated. You both groaned, your forehead resting against his, your hands gripping his shoulders.

He took in the sight of your tits spilling from the low-cut bra you wore, the music playing, the sweat glistening on your skin. Something primal rose up in him. He gripped your hips, pulling you up and then slamming you back down, using his strength to set the pace. You moaned, your walls fluttering around him, his mouth pressed against your pulse, nipping at the delicate skin of your neck.

His grip was tight, his fingers bruising, and you found yourself wondering what he would think if you asked him to hold you down. To pin you under him and have his wicked way with you. If he would think less of you. Or perhaps if that's something he enjoyed, a new revelation to discover together.

Your slick began dripping down onto his balls, making you feel wet and messy. You could barely breathe, and you felt as though your entire body was on fire. You couldn't hold yourself back anymore, and a pathetic little cry escaped you.

Elijah's hands squeezed your ass, and he pulled you closer to him, so that his chest was pressed against yours.

"Look at me." He whispered, his lips brushing over your ear.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you stared into his deep, dark eyes. He smiled, his hands sliding up your back. He unclasped your bra, tugging the straps off your arms, tossing the bra aside. His lips immediately latched onto one of your breasts, his tongue swirling around the nipple.

The song changed again, the drumbeat surging around you, your hips moving to the rhythm. You cried out, throwing your head back as an orgasm began to build low in your belly, your walls tightening around his cock.

"Fuck," you cursed, clinging to him, your hips rocking desperately. You were close, the pressure mounting, your legs trembling. He growled, his lips still at your breast, his teeth grazing your nipple.

"You're not allowed to come, sweetheart. Not yet. I decide when," he groaned, his voice low and commanding.

A whine escaped you, your nails digging into his shoulder blades, a mixture of pleasure and frustration welling up within you. He smirked, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, nipping at your bottom lip. He licked the salt from your skin, his hands grasping the globes of your ass, guiding your movement, setting a slow, deliberate pace.

One of his hands moved between your cheeks, his fingers teasing your puckered hole. You let out a soft moan, and he smiled, watching your face contort in pleasure.

"Does that feel good, darling?" he asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, unable to speak, your whole body tingling. This dominant side of him was something you'd only imagined in your wildest dreams, but even then, it seemed to pale in comparison. He was everything you'd hoped for and more.

He hummed, pushing a finger into you, pumping it slowly. You let out a desperate gasp, burying your face against his shoulder, grinding into his finger. Your breath was coming fast and shallow, your heart racing, and you realized you were dangerously close to the edge.

"Elijah," you whimpered, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, your toes curling.

"Hmm?" he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe.

"Please, please, please, I can't- I'm gonna-" you babbled, your whole body shuddering.

He shushed you, kissing the top of your head. "It's okay, just try and hold on a little longer," he murmured.

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent thought. You were so wound up, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. All you could focus on was the feeling of his finger and cock, stretching you, filling you. You needed more.

Suddenly, he thrust into you, deeply and slowly, dragging himself out. It was maddening. You clenched around him, arching your back, moaning into his ear. He chuckled, repeating the motion, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. The music surged around you, the bass beating in time with your racing heart.

"E-Elijaah!" you cried, your walls fluttering around his length.

He chuckled at your desperation, his lips ghosting over your own, nipping at your bottom lip. "That's my girl," he murmured.

You moaned, his tongue darting into your mouth, silencing any retort you may have had. Everything snapped into place, all the tension and frustration of the night's events coming to a climax. You exploded, your body trembling, writhing, your orgasm crashing over you, drowning out everything else.

The intensity of your release shocked you. This was by far the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced. You were entirely his, wrung out, writhing on his cock, completely at his mercy. He watched you with an expression of pure satisfaction and awe, a smug grin curling his lips as he fucked into you, his rhythmic movements never stopping.

When the waves of pleasure finally receded, you collapsed against him, panting and spent. He cradled you, gently lowering you onto your back, covering your sweat-slicked body with his own. His weight pressed you into the mattress, his hips grinding into you. He kissed you, his mouth hot and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

The music drowned out the filthy sounds of your bodies colliding, your moans and whimpers lost in the din of the bass. Your fingers gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his flesh. He grunted, leaning in and biting at your lip, his tongue darting past your parted lips. He kissed you fiercely, devouring you until your lungs burned for air.

You broke the kiss, inhaling sharply, trying to catch your breath. His vampiric nature was peeking through, fueled by his passions. You could feel his predatory gaze roaming over your exposed flesh, his gums bloody from where his fangs had nicked his own skin in a heated moment.

You moaned, watching his hips rise and fall, feeling the slap of his skin against your own. This rough, relentless fucking was everything you'd craved and more. You tilted your head up, offering your throat, arching into him. He flashed you a wicked, fanged smirk, his breath fanning over your neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Such a beautiful, sweet thing," he purred, taking your earlobe between his teeth. "Are you offering yourself to me, darling?"

Your lips curled into a smile as you breathed, "Yes."

Without warning, Elijah buried his fangs into the soft skin of your throat. A yelp tore from your lips, the shock mingling with the sensations his cock and fangs induced. His hands tightened on your ass, spreading you open, his hips picking up speed. The slight pain of his bite only heightened your pleasure.

"Oh, yes, yes! Fuck, yes!" you moaned, loud and unabashed, lost to the sensation, completely at his mercy.

Elijah sucked in a deep, guttural breath, his throat working as he drained a few mouthfuls of your blood. You dug your nails into his skin, grinding your hips up and into him, desperate to feel more. He growled low in his throat, his fangs sharp and tearing, his hips pounding into you, your name a frantic whisper falling from his lips.

A white-hot wave of heat flooded you, starting at the crown of your head and rushing down your body, between your legs and spreading up through your stomach and chest. The feeling was so intense that you fell off the edge, orgasm slamming into you. You cried out, trembling beneath him, your hips jerking wildly. He let out a sharp gasp, his whole body stiffening, his cock twitching as he came inside you, filling you with his cum.

A string of curses left your lips as you fell from your peak, Elijah gently licked at the puncture wounds on your throat, his fangs receding. You closed your eyes, taking a few steadying breaths, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

There were no words that could fully encapsulate the way you were feeling, so instead, you hugged him tightly to you, hoping he would understand.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, brushing the hair from your face. You smiled, trailing your fingertips over the taut muscles of his biceps. He hummed, looking down at you with a content, satisfied expression.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

You nodded, your breath still coming in shallow gasps. "I think you’ve just ruined me for anyone else."

His eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of possessiveness returning. "Good," he said simply, making you chuckle.

The sound of the music still thudded softly in the background, but the world outside the two of you felt distant, inconsequential. Elijah shifted, his hands smoothing over your sides as he cradled you against him, kissing and nipping along your neck and jaw.

"Where have you been hiding this side of you?" you teased, your voice soft but playful.

Elijah chuckled, giving you a lopsided grin. "Darling, that's just the tip of the iceberg."

Your eyes widened, a nervous heat spreading across your cheeks. "Oh?" you inquired, your mind already racing at the implications.

He nodded, a dark glint in his eyes. "Mmhmm."

"So, I should probably delete Kol's number, huh?" you asked, teasing.

Elijah's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. He leaned in, resting his weight on his forearm, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours.

"Most definitely," he murmured, claiming your lips in a heated, passionate kiss.

Needless to say, you had no complaints.

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

[pinejayy]

╰➤ Shanks x f!reader Headcanons

featuring: shanks x younger f!reader

summary: requested by @guillotine-enjoyer ,, shanks x younger female reader who's part of his crew. romantically both involved.

a/n: oof I really don’t write for shanks but I hope you like it uwu ,, hopefully I can do better in the future!! <33

warnings: some nsfw headcanons, being a tease, overprotective.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

You were part of Shanks crew, and you were also his girlfriend. At first Shanks didn't want to drag you into danger of the new world but you were so stubborn that you weren't taking no for an answer. "My, aren't you a stubborn little girl hmm?"

And Shanks knows that your relationship is quite inappropriate considering he's your captain and the age gap. But you made it clear that you don't mind the age gap.

And Shanks will die protecting you, if anyone lays a finger on you he'll make sure they are six feet under when he's done with them.

He knows you can handle yourself but he’s very protective of you. (He’s get a bit over protective and a bit overwhelming…)

Won’t let you go on your own unless a crew member is by your side.

Shanks has also talked about Luffy with you, he would tell you stories about Luffy and also how he lost his arm. And he also loves to brag about how Luffy looks up to him.

Since you're probably the youngest of the crew he enjoys calling you nicknames. Such as "Squirt, Short Stack and Small Stuff." He finds it quite amusing on how you react to the nicknames. (And he's definitely not gonna call you "Kid" because of how younger you are compared to him. That name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.) He also likes calling “Baby, Sweetheart” and his personal favorite is ‘My Treasure Chest.”

And not gonna lie I can see him as a sugar daddy, he's always down to spoil you in lavish gifts or in the bedroom.

His favorite way to spoil you is by buying you the most expensive chocolates he can come across. Or your favorite treats.

Only him and his crew know about the relationship between you guys. Because if word got out that Shanks had a girlfriend that would put a huge target on your back. Other Pirates would mostly likely use you against him.

One time his crew were at a bar enjoying a few drinks and this unknown guy was hitting on you. Let’s just say Shanks paid them a visit, and they are no longer breathing properly.

Shanks is definitely a huge tease!! He loves to brag about his accomplishments and how much experience he has.

He’s definitely had his shares of one night stands and he definitely knows how to please a woman. Despite of having one arm he’ll make sure to make you weak to your knees. (He definitely dirty talks, he could either praise you or call you a slut.) “Such a good girl, you’re doing great..” or “Dirty little whore, getting fucked by a pirate..how naughty.”

Call him captain in a seductive voice… he’ll cum

His favorite thing to do is drunken sex with you, yes it leads to a bad hungover but god, he gets extra needy towards you when he’s drunk. And frankly he doesn’t care about how loud you guys are. His ship his rules.

He eats pussy as if it was his last meal. And he’s very vocal about it. Again..the crew probably can hear you guys. “God…pussy so good. You taste so good my sweetheart.”

Aftercare is a 50/50 with Shanks, if he’s too drunk he’s gonna pass out the second he cums in you or he’ll make sure you’re feeling well, grab you some water and wipe you down with a towel. He gives the best cuddles. Wrapping his arm around you and bringing you against his body.

[aventurineswife]

hcs for a chubby!reader dating both beel and belphie?

Beel and Belphie with a Chubby!Reader Hcs

Tags: Beelzebub x Reader x Belphegor, Poly Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Body Positivity, Headcanons, Soft Moments, Chubby!Reader, Affectionate Beel, Caring Belphie.

A/N: It's been awhile since I've last seen anything of obey me, so this is just out of memory!

Both Beel and Belphie adore you just the way you are (🫶). Beel is especially vocal about how much he loves your curves. He’ll frequently shower you with compliments like “You’re perfect just the way you are, MC.” while hugging you from behind or snacking on his favorite food. Belphie, while quieter, shows his appreciation by curling up next to you during naps, letting his head rest comfortably on your lap. You’ll often catch him looking at you with a fond smile when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Beel loves to spoon with you, his muscular form pressed against your back as he enjoys the warmth and comfort you provide. He’s big on physical affection, so he’s always trying to pull you into his lap or hug you tightly. Belphie, on the other hand, is a master of the lazy cuddle. He’s happy just lying next to you, using your belly as his pillow, and occasionally complaining about the lack of proper napping spots. He’ll sigh contentedly, muttering something like, "This is the best pillow ever." as he drifts into sleep.

Food is a big part of your relationship with Beel. He’ll literally offer you the last piece of pizza or snacks and make sure you’re well-fed at all times. He sees food as a bonding experience, and you two will often be found sharing large meals together. Belphie, while less obsessed with food, enjoys watching you and Beel stuff yourselves while he lazily munches on a snack. He secretly finds the way you both enjoy food together cute, even if he acts indifferent.

Belphie and you are often found lounging around, indulging in your favorite activities—watching movies, playing video games, or simply napping. Beel will sometimes join in, though he prefers a bit more activity, so you’ll catch him getting excited about taking you both on a walk or to the gym to do something physically challenging (but still in a loving, non-intense way). Belphie will roll his eyes at Beel’s enthusiasm but secretly loves having the two of you around to keep him company during his naps.

Beel is the type to support you no matter what, especially if you have any insecurities about your body. He’ll make sure you always know how beautiful you are to him, constantly reassuring you that he finds you perfect in every way. Belphie, while more quiet about it, will often catch you off guard with subtle compliments like “Stop worrying about your weight. I like the way you are.” He may act indifferent, but he’s always protecting you from anyone who dares make negative comments, even if it means throwing a punch or two.

While Beel is generally respectful, he has a playful side, and his teasing often centers around how much you eat. He might jokingly ask, "Are you going to eat all that?" when you’re having a big meal, but it’s always said with love. Belphie, being more cynical, might make fun of Beel's excessive food obsession, but it’s clear he loves seeing how happy you both get when you're eating together. He’ll even grab some snacks and sit with you, occasionally scoffing with a grin, "Don’t eat it all, I need some too."

The dynamic between Beel and Belphie is balanced when it comes to caring for you. Beel is always there to offer you love, attention, and endless snacks, while Belphie brings a level of calm, making sure you’re at ease when you're feeling tired or overwhelmed. You can always count on Beel for a fun and high-energy day out, while Belphie is there to wind down the day with a peaceful nap and comfort.

Beel's presence in the kitchen is always a sight to behold, especially when he’s cooking for you. He’ll make sure your favorite meal is ready and won’t hesitate to spoil you. Belphie, who’s not exactly known for his culinary skills, prefers to observe and relax while you and Beel take the lead. He’ll tease you about “overindulging” but secretly appreciates your hearty appetite.

When you're feeling down, Beel will shower you with affection, hugs, and your favorite food to cheer you up. He’s incredibly empathetic, knowing just how to comfort you when you're feeling vulnerable. Belphie might not outwardly express concern, but you’ll find him subtly caring for you in his own way, whether it’s by making sure you're tucked in for a nap or keeping you company in silence, his presence offering reassurance.

Beel and Belphie understand your struggles with body image, and they’ll help you overcome those feelings. Beel will always affirm that your body is something he loves, while Belphie will occasionally give you moments of clarity with his dry wit, saying things like, "You’re fine the way you are. Not everyone’s meant to look like Lucifer, you know?" Both brothers have a way of making you feel loved and special in their own, unique styles.

[rottenpumpkin13]

tf when "Sane!Sephiroth" is still a complete psycho sometimes

Sometimes. There's things he does that his friends find mildly questionable.

• Judges people in silence. He's not vocal about it but will grace them with a side-eye or a critical "hm" as he stands there with his arms crossed. One time he watched Zack tie his shoes. He said "interesting" and Zack suffered -3 confidence.

• Maintains a precise 7-foot radius of personal in public. Has been spotted using Masamune to measure distance between himself and others.

• Keeps exact inventory of his stuff. Any attempt to borrow, move, or touch his things is instantly detected. Genesis once dropped off some forms for him while he wasn't in his office. He adjusted a pen on his desk. Sephiroth appeared moments later to silently set it back.

• He talks to Masamune. Occasionally whispers to it during training. One time, he seemed to laugh at its "response." Angeal pretended not to notice because he already had enough on his plate.

• Doesn't hold elevators, which one might think is a sign of rudeness, but his reasoning is "if the elevator wishes to close who am I to disrupt its command?" Doesn't matter if he's friends with the person. He'll stare down Zack running to catch up as the doors close.

• Terrifyingly good memory and weaponizes it. Genesis accidentally knocked over his coffee during a strategy briefing in 1997. In 2000, during a completely unrelated argument, Sephiroth casually began his rebuttal with "This reminds me of when you ruined my coffee three years ago" Genesis hasn't known peace since.

• He takes a lot of things literally and it drives Angeal insane.

Angeal: We need a way to break the ice with the new recruits to ease them into things. Sephiroth, summoning Blizzard: Understood. Angeal: NO.

• Never uses an umbrella, refuses to wear a coat in winter, is unbothered by the wind. Somehow his hair remains perfect even during blizzards. Zack asked him how he does it, Sephiroth said "The weather does not control me."

• There's a rumor going around at Shinra that he can teleport, because he's always somehow in two places at once. Lazard swears he saw him calmly reading reports in his office, and five seconds later Sephiroth was delivering a lecture on swordsmanship to the new recruits in the training room.

Lazard: Sephiroth, how are you doing that?? Sephiroth: The human spirit can be split across space and time. Some fragments fight. Some observe. Some exist simultaneously. Lazard: That's terrifying information, go lay down.

• Hates small talk. Hates it.

Tseng, in the elevator: How are you? Sephiroth: Small talk is a psychological warfare technique designed to destabilize strategic communication. Tseng: Sephiroth: Not well.

[tac-the-unseen]

Poly!The Lost boys Nest Headcannons

Centered around Mate!Reader

Mostly sfw, but the last three are nsfw

•Vampire Nesting is a traditional practice categorized as a mating/courting behavior

•When vampires meet their future/current mates a repressed part of their biology activates. This includes many different behaviors including nesting.

•Bats naturally use scent to attract their mates as well as fluttering their wings, vocalizing desire, and grooming each other

•This translated into vampires as Cologne/perfume scenting, gentle touches, romantic speech, purring, buzzing, and brushing/combing hair

•Once courting turns into romantic relationships Vampires begin to set up a nest for their mate to stay in

•When David, Dwayne, Paul, and Marko begin to experience these nesting behaviors they all connect and start the process for you

•Before they met you they were all just mated to each other and built a nest for each new attention to their partnerships.

•David built one for Dwayne

•They both worked together to make a new one for Paul

•And when Marko came along the three of them remade the nest for him too

•Now all four of them are deconstructing their old nest to make it new for you

•This involves a lot of collecting materials, making new materials, and, of course, shouting

•They all work together to construct the pile of soft fabrics and furs and shape it to hold all five of you with extra wiggle room

•They make it pretty clear that you're not allowed to help but you can contribute some clothes, blankets, and an occasional opinion

•They ask if you want to have the nest on the ground or elevated slightly

•Which basically means ‘do you want two smushed together mattresses on the floor? Or do you want two bed frames pushed together?’

•Marko will sew the mattresses together so they can't come apart

•Whenever you get too close to the area, you are kindly redirected somewhere else

•”You can watch Darling, but you can't step into the nest quite yet.” Dwayne would say softly while shuffling you off to a dresser or bean bag you can sit on

•It was quite amusing watching them shout at each other for being in the way of putting something in the wrong area

•”You can't put the blanket all the way down there! That makes it useless!” Marko would snap at Paul

•”You're putting to much of your stuff near the top! Leave room for the rest of us!” Paul would complain at David

•It was a complete back and forth, with even Dwayne raising his voice when Marko kick some of his contributions out of the way

•What was funnier was the tone shift when you spoke up. One moment they're yelling about some and when you chime in they become softer with you. That only added when they immediately start yelling at each other again.

”DON’T FUCKING MOVE MY SHIRT!”

“THEN GET IT OUT OF THE WAY!”

“What if you just layed your shirts side by side instead of just throwing them out?”

“Good idea, Love! You're so smart!”

“HEAR THAT YOU SHITTER? THEY SAID NOT TO MOVE MY STUFF!”

•All of them are in snippy moods, so it's best just not to get in the way

•Once everything is in place they finally let you into the nest. They wanted you to be the first one, so not only could you get your scent all over it, but to allow you to make adjustments.

•Once everything is to your liking they ask if they can join you. As soon as you say yes they're on all sides of you.

•Kissing, cuddling, purrs, and buzzing all around while they push you into the soft fabrics

•They also make sure to give you the rundown of nest culture and etiquette

•”I know we typically don't give a fuck about rules, but these ones we care about.”

•The basic run down is:

-No one is allowed in the Nest other then you and them

-No one is allowed to even touch the Nest other then you guys

-Things can be taken out at anytime for almost any reason but for the most part you should just leave that to them

-You have the right to kick anyone out of the nest at anytime

-This is a where you'll sleep when your in the cave

-The nest is basically your sanctuary and they'll treat it as such

•All of this told to you sporadically and in-between several acts of affection

•For the first couple of days of there being a new nest, whenever you're in the cave they want you in the nest

•They will actually pick you up and put your there (it's a bit frustrating at first but it only lasts about four days)

•You bet your ass the sex is spectacular too

•They will bring you food and water, read to you, massage you, and even go down on you constantly ‘just so the nest gets all of your scent’

•All and all royalty treatment

Thanks for reading <3

[alastorss]

Hii I love your writing! Is it alright if you do headcanons for platonic Alastor x teen reader where we're his teen daughter? I feel like he'd be fun to gossip with- is it alright if you do some headcanons on what he'd be like if guys asked us out too?

a/n: hi hello sweetest! thank you for reading 🫶 please enjoy these headcanons!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

• Oh Alastor... he's absolutely a huge gossip. He knows everyone's business because he's always poking his nose around where it doesn't belong

• Also, he's got connections all over town so you best believe he knows everyone's business even outside the hotel

• I honestly don't think Alastor knows all that much about parenthood, only that it's now his responsibility how you turn out as an adult

• Passes down his mother's recipes to you so that if you two are separated when you get older, you'll always have a piece of him

• He's not good at expressing how much he cares about you so doing little things like that are the easiest way for him to get his point across

• Frets over you to make sure you're dressed properly, makes sure you're fed every day, and has endless stories to tell you about in case you get bored (would tell you about all the murders he did when he was alive and look so proud)

• Doesn't take you talking back to him well. Makes his problems with your attitude very vocal but never lays a hand on you

• (Upon further discussion with others, learns to just give you space when you're going through something)

• He wouldn't know if he'd want you to be just like your old man (evil, sadistic, insane) or if he wants to see you be redeemed and to shape you into that type of demon (kind, patient, sort of like Charlie)

• Would be so proud of you for killing other demons but then worry about your future if you end up staying in Hell

• Alastor is an overprotective dad. I know it, you know it, we all know it. There are few things he cares about in his afterlife, but you are close to the top if not the top of the list of his priorities

• Oh boy. Someone's flirting with you? They better be worthy of the Radio Demon's child otherwise they're in for a world of hurt

• Sulks and complains in his own roundabout ways when you bring guys home, bitching about them because he thinks they're nothing more than pests flocking around you

• If anyone breaks your heart... let's just say you're no stranger to hearing some familiar voices in your dad's broadcast

• Alastor scoffs at those who try to ask you out, having the balls to show up at the doorstep of the hotel. They're not worth any of your time but as long as you're not bothered by it, he'll allow it

• Still doesn't see the appeal in all this romance stuff. Is delighted when you just turn people down and acts so proud because you take after him

~

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc (send an ask to be added!)

[niklauskzak]

looks around* lowers voice*

Mikey finding his s/o toys and he gets jealous that his s/o is using them instead of using him and then his s/o uses the toys on mikey to show him how good they feel

*takes the request slowly and puts it in his pocket* Got ya pookie...

Warning → +18

(all characters are +18 so don't start saying shit in the comments, English is not my first language, still trying to figure out how to make good shit so please be patient)

Nasty (nasty)

"Where's it?" He asked you, searching for your phone now that he convinced you to order some pizza because my boy Mikey is always hungry.

"I think it's in my bedroom!" You were in the kitchen looking for something to drink with the pizza just to find out you're running out of soda's, quickly, you took your wallet and your keys, put your shoes on and walked out of your apartment but before that you turned around to notify him you're gonna be back soon.

"Gonna go out to buy more soda, I'll be back in a minute!" He simply responded with a "okay!" And you make your way out to the street while he was still fighting against his own demons because the poor boy couldn't find the phone.

"If I were a phone...where would I hide?...." Bro's gonna fry his brain if he keeps thinking that hard, after what feels like for ever (two minutes) he noticed that he hasn't searched for the phone in your closet!

So here's our beautiful boy, sitting on the floor, looking at everything he found in a not so well hidden box... At first he felt a bit disappointed with himself... Why would you have toys? He wasn't enough to satisfy you? Is he doing something wrong? But then something else kicked in... Jealousy, how's gonna make you feel good a piece of plastic? Nonsense! He now was a bit angry at you for hiding this type of things from him... Didn't you trust him enough to talk about all this stuff?

By the time you came back with the soda, you found him on the couch, arms crossed on front of his plastron, something wasn't okay...

"Mikey? Hey! I'm b-back... Is everything okay?" You asked worried since he didn't even turn to greet ya like if it has been years without seeing you (puppy behaviour?)

"how long?" He asked, finally turning around to face you "how long what?" You asked as you put the soda in the coffee table "how long have you been hiding from me the fact that I don't satisfy you enough?" He sounded offended... Or maybe he was just being dramatic "Mikey...what are you talking about-" "I found EVERYTHING!"

So now you're the one frying your brain trying to find out what got him in this really bad mood "er....?" "THE TOYS!"... Nothing actually happened, you just stared at him for a moment before laughing out loud, when you finally managed to calm down you explained it to him "Mikey I only have those toys for when i feel so needy but you can't come over, there's no toys in this world who could actually make me feel as good as you do" smiling warmly, you sat by his side, ona thing got to other and what at first were lovely tiny kisses ended up with hungry and desperate ones...

The things only grew hotter till one idea came to your mind "wanna try them out?" And that's how we ended this way, Mikey moaning out loud (in my hc Mikey it's really vocal) while you press the vibrator directly in his cloaca, this poor boy has been begging you for permission to drop his cock out "be a good boy and wait" you whispered softly to him, after what feels like for ever "p-please ! I- I can't -" his legs started to shake, he wouldn't last much longer "okay".

Now all erect in his full glory, his cock twitched at the feeling of the vibrations of your toy (you're gonna be the death of this dude), Mikey felt out of breath as you press the toy right on the head of his dick, his hands resting at his sides as he did his best to not throw the toy away and take you right there, right now. At this point our poor boy was babbling and so lost in his own arousal, his hips bucking up, whimpering desperately, all sweaty "I- mmmgonna- ah!" That's the last words he said before his orgasm hits him hard and rough, tears forming on his eyes as his body trembles from the overstimulation.

"So, you like it?" Pulling the toy away from him "iksndm...mskjnhbf" you chuckled playfully "I would take that as a yes" you said before giving him a tiny lovely kiss on his cheek

Be honest guys did I ate with this one? 👀💧

(me reading all the shit I just wrote↓)