#a mask of their own face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[epsilonicronecronomicon]

OC I'M ANSWERING FOR: Bitknock Bonesaw, Humblewood campaign setting

1. "I don't know how I got this/I don't know what this means." Every one of his little trinkets has a history; his life is encrypted in an unsolvable sequence of hollow clicking sounds. But he rarely lies for reasons other than safety... Some people would fear him, for what he's done. For whose feathery skin hangs from whose beaked skull he wears.

2. Not too freely. "Friend" is a label given only to people on the same moral level as him, who condemn the same people and love the same love. He does not want another chase, another "friend" to run away from like a convict, so a "friend" can only be someone who runs beside him... or someone who runs slower.

3. Most of the time, actually. He has no filter for them. If he truly wants to hide them, he will huddle in a tree alone with his giant wings obscuring his face, which could begin to wet the skin on his mask with tears. But apprehension, anger, joy? Those are even openly discussed. The only emotion he will hide is the effects of another's betrayal.

4. Play-fighting. He and the boys in his village would organize duels for the girls and younger fledglings to watch. He was always bigger, heavier, sharper— he could always win. But that wouldn't make much of a show, so he also picked up the skill of entertainment, specifically the art of being horrifying.

5. No, he cannot cry on command. He can, however, look sad like a fake-hurt puppy convincing its master to share her scraps. Usually with a similar endgame.

bro is a dog

6. He enjoys washing his own feathers with orange-pigmented rocks— a common habit in lammergeiers like him. He doubts anyone else would be interested. Sometimes he even finds a rock that makes it look like dried blood.

7. Most people he knows just call him "Bonesaw", which is a wonderfully badass thing to call out in a crowd. He has very good hearing; it always works. Some of his party members might someday refer to him as Bitknock; this would be a new and oddly pleasant experience for him.

8. He's never said it in his life, not even in knock-speak. All of his love is shown through his actions— his favors or his cries or his touch.

9. I would say gentle love, but in a very... confused and unrecognizable way. He's not totally sure how to show it or when to show it, so he will typically only show pure unbridled affection when it is shown to him first. Like if he is given a hug. As for recieving, he will never have a preference.

10. That the skull rings he knocks together to communicate and digs in the ground to mark his territory or sign a letter? They can play music too!! They sound like spooky skeletal castanets.

11. They'd ask him to play his music or use knock-speak. His specific style takes months, even years to learn, and a doppelganger only springing into existence that day might not know a single song or sentence.

12. He doesn't laugh at things he finds funny— the closest he might get to laughter is joyful squeaks whilst play-fighting. That's how you know he really likes a fight, or really likes you. He'll just be calling.

13. Bitknock doesn't smile. He doesn't fake it, either.

14. A sharp exhale is typically enough to do it. A small fire on the ground might be put out with a slam of his fist.

15. While in combat, he's twitchy and silent, showing no emotion and striking fear into the enemy. In a large group by the fire he's much more talkative. Alone, he's inquisitive or deep in thought, but silent nonetheless. Alone with someone else, he's either killing them or gently, kindly holding their hand.

16. People with a strong, unshakeable sense of morality. Or justice.

17. Most others first notice his unusual size for a Raptor, or his gigantic spiky wings, or his nightmarish, unreal disposition. In the mirror, he notices his eyes glowing under the mask.

18. Her name is Thimphina Muku La Kivi. She's a socially inept nomadic owl girl with a secret lurking under her humble tree-torn cloak. They know each other through their travels <3

19. Be silently angry, maybe grumble and literally push them back if they try to interact with him. No way is he dealing with this right now. If he's gonna talk about how he's feeling he's doing it when HE chooses to so fuck all that noise forever

20. He doesn't know anybody like that. Yet.

will add to this later

@wearethesensum IMPORTANT if you want Ambrose to make a good impression

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

What’s the lie your character says most often?

How loosely or strictly do they use the word ‘friend’?

How often do they show their genuine emotions to others versus just the audience knowing?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s their favorite [insert anything] that they’ve never recommended to anyone before?

What would you (mun) yell in the middle of a crowd to find them? What would their best friend and/or romantic partner yell?

How loose is their use of the phrase ‘I love you’?

Do they give tough love or gentle love most often? Which do they prefer to receive?

What fact do they excitedly tell everyone about at every opportunity?

If someone was impersonating them, what would friends / family ask or do to tell the difference?

What’s something that makes them laugh every single time? Be specific!

When do they fake a smile? How often?

How do they put out a candle?

What’s the most obvious difference between their behavior at home, at work, at school, with friends, and when they’re alone?

What kinds of people do they have arguments with in their head?

What do they notice first in the mirror versus what most people first notice looking at them?

Who do they love truly, 100% unconditionally (if anyone)?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

What do they feel guilty for that the other person(s) doesn’t / don’t even remember?

Did they take a cookie from the cookie jar? What kind of cookie was it?

What subject / topic do they know a lot about that’s completely useless to the direct plot?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

How do they respond when someone doesn’t believe them?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

When do they feel the most guilt? How do they respond to it?

If they committed one petty crime / misdemeanor, what would it be? Why?

How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?

How do they greet someone they like / love?

What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

Who do they keep in their life for professional gain? Is it for malicious intent?

What’s a secret they haven’t told serious romantic partners and don’t plan to tell?

What hobby are they good at in private, but bad at in front of others? Why?

Would they rather be invited to an event to feel included or be excluded from an event if they were not genuinely wanted there?

How do they respond to a loose handshake? What goes through their head?

What phrases, pronunciations, or mannerisms did they pick up from someone / somewhere else?

If invited to a TED Talk, what topic would they present on? What would the title of their presentation be?

What do they commonly misinterpret because of their own upbringing / environment / biases? How do they respond when realizing the misunderstanding?

What language would be easiest for them to learn? Why?

What’s something unimportant / frivolous that they hate passionately?

Are they a listener or a talker? If they’re a listener, what makes them talk? If they’re a talker, what makes them listen?

Who have they forgotten about that remembers them very well?

Who would they say ‘yes’ to if invited to do something they abhorred / strongly didn’t want to do?

Would they eat something they find gross to be polite?

What belief / moral / personality trait do they stand by that you (mun) personally don’t agree with?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Do they act on their immediate emotions, or do they wait for the facts before acting?

Who would / do they believe without question?

What’s their instinct in a fight / flight / freeze / fawn situation?

What’s something they’re expected to enjoy based on their hobbies / profession that they actually dislike / hate?

If they’re scared, who do they want comfort from? Does this answer change depending on the type of fear?

What’s a simple daily activity / motion that they mess up often?

How many hobbies have they attempted to have over their lifetime? Is there a common theme?

[prael]

Day 10: Gambit

Nmixx Lily x male reader smut

words: 3,300 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"Ah Fuck," Lily sighed, fiddling with her hair.

Stylists spent hours doing her hair, makeup, nails, clothes, all for the camera. Lily just knows how good she looked today. The stylists did their jobs, but she did hers too. She put her face into that angle that she knew drove people crazy. She is a professional, even if she wishes she wasn't.

She waited for hours backstage. Lily waited and waited. They all did. All of the group were just sitting there, in that green room, playing on their phones. There wasn't much to do except wait, take a nap, or eat snacks if the managers would let them. If Lily had her way, she'd eat nothing but those little chocolate-covered pretzels. “They're so good,” she always tells you.

Eventually, she had to get up on stage, stand around and smile. Then came the dance and the singing, that stuff. The usual routine, the usual performance, the same one they'd done hundreds of times. It was a dance that was burned into her muscle memory. She didn't have to think, it was like she wasn't even in control of her own body. She hit every fucking note like the pro that she is, and everyone cheered.

It's not that Lily is ungrateful. She is grateful! She knows she has a lot. But... she just couldn't help but feel a bit unsatisfied.

Like there is some huge hole inside her, and she just can't seem to fill it.

Like there's some other way she's supposed to be living.

The rest of the show goes as expected. People clap. Everyone takes pictures and videos. And they're off the stage. It's a short ride back to their apartment. They eat, they shower, they go to sleep.

Most of them do, anyway.

Lily is pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants. She is putting on a hat and pulling it low over her eyes before fitting a face mask over her mouth and nose. Lily doesn't look at herself in the mirror, and she leaves her phone in the apartment, keeping only her wallet on her as she leaves. She finds your car where it's always parked. Lily doesn't know what she'd do if you weren't waiting for her there.

"Hi, babe," you greet her. "Good day?"

"Yeah, sure," Lily grumbles, rolling her eyes. She is in a pissy mood, but that's nothing new these days. It takes time for her to adjust to being free again and to be happy now that you're around. She isn't angry at you. Lily's angry at everything else. She knows that you know that, too.

"What do you want to do?" You ask her.

"I just want to get drunk," she sighs. She's still in a bad mood. You know what will help with that.

You know it's not the answer. The bottom of a bottle never solves anything. Yet, you still took the time earlier in the day to pick up her favourite bottle of wine, and you know it's waiting for her at your apartment.

So that's where you take her. She's a little less tense once you get her inside. She's kicking off her shoes at the door, pulling off her mask and tossing it away, throwing off the hat, her hair falling free to her shoulders. Her eyes close, and she lets out a long sigh. It's almost like she can finally relax here. Like the tension can drain away and she can just... stop.

"Lily, babe, you know I love you so this comes from a good place, and I know you love singing and dancing, but you don't have to be an idol if it makes you so unhappy." You say to her. She's looking at you like she wants to scream at you. She knows that she can scream at you, that you'd take it. That's what she loves about you.

But she doesn't scream, Lily only contemplates what you have said. She takes her time, letting her anger subside, her body relax and her mind to calm down. "I can't just leave. I don't even want to leave. I just want a break." Lily doesn't know how else to put it. "Like, maybe if I got hurt, or sick, or even pregnant. They'd make me take time off."

You know that Lily is only half-serious, but she sounds like she's thought this over before, and she has.

"You'd be a cute mom." You tell her, and she is bright red in an instant, the blush on her cheeks darkening her face.

"Hell yeah, I can fulfil my dream of being a milf," Lily playfully says, and for the first time today, she cracks a genuine smile before heading for the wine rack. She quickly finds her favourite.

"I'll be the stay-at-home dad while mommy is out strutting her stuff on stage." You tease, wrapping your arms around Lily's waist, holding her from behind.

She chuckles and pours the wine into the glass. "Imagine the controversy too. A big middle finger to all those delulu fans." Lily is giggling to herself as she drinks. "That'd make it so worth it. They'd lose their minds."

"Everyone would go insane. An active idol having a kid? That'd be crazy." You add to the conversation. Lily is looking at you with this smirk that is so uniquely her. She looks a bit like the devil when she does it, but it is so fucking cute at the same time.

Lily turns to you with the straightest of faces. In an uncharacteristically deadpan tone, she says, "Put a baby in me." Her lips twitch. You know that she's fighting the urge to smile.

You can't help it. You laugh, and you kiss her. Lily's mouth is warm from the wine. She is sweet and fragrant. She tastes so damn good.

"Put a baby in me!" She laughs into your mouth, but she is still trying to kiss you, and you're still trying to kiss her. It's all very chaotic. Your hands are still on her waist, her fingers on her glass, and she's trying to press herself against you, and you're trying to press against her.

She puts down the wine and then her arms are around your neck. "Come on," she says between kisses, "let's make a baby." It's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. Lily knows it's ridiculous, but that's why it's funny, and why you're still kissing each other. Her fingers are running through your hair and you're grabbing at her ass. She's pulling away just to smile at you, and you can't help but smile back at her. Lily is a ray of sunshine.

"Fuck," she whispers as you lean in, and you kiss her again. "Come on," she repeats and then starts pulling at your shirt. You help her take it off, tossing it away, not caring where it lands. "We're gonna make a baby, right?" She's looking into your eyes, and you can see how eager she is. "You're gonna cum in me?"

The two of you are no strangers to a little bit of roleplay, but this feels like it has transcended the norm. It feels different, it feels real, it feels serious, even if it isn't. Is it?

"Yes," you say, kissing her neck. "Yes," you say, kissing her collarbones. "Yes," you whisper as you pull her hoodie up and over her head.

She's not wearing anything underneath. She's never been much of a fan of bras or underwear. You love seeing her like this, bare, naked. She has the most beautiful pair of breasts, the perfect size for her petite body. She is all smooth curves and long, elegant lines, like the figure of a woman that has been drawn and then come to life.

"I'm not joking," Lily whispers into your ear as she wraps her arms around you. Her soft breasts are pressing against you, and she is kissing you on your neck and shoulders. "I want a break. I'm so sick and tired of it." Her hot breath is in your ear and she gently bites the lobe. "I want to be a mother."

"Fuck, Lily..." You breathe as your hands slip into her sweats and find her ass. Firm flesh and smooth skin. Her hips press into your body, and her hand comes down to your cock. She's groping you through your pants and she is squeezing and rubbing and tugging, and it's making you so hard.

"It's not the first time we've talked about kids. We want one. Why wait?" She asks you as she slips her hand into your pants and grabs hold of your cock, pumping it. Lily's hands are so soft, so warm.

"It's insane. You could be forced to leave the group," you remind her. But you can feel it, too, that desire. It is growing in you, just as surely as you are in Lily's palm. It's like she's cast a spell over you and you're falling into some deep trance.

"I know," she groans into your mouth, "I wouldn't be the first to leave, though." She reminds you, her voice growing breathless and excited. Her eyes are half-lidded. You can tell how aroused she is, and it's only making you harder.

"You'd really risk it?" You ask, squeezing her ass.

"I need this." Lily insists, looking at you. Her eyes are pleading. You can't say no to that face. You'd do anything for her, and you'd never deny her anything.

She's pulling down your pants and your underwear at the same time, and she is sinking to her knees before you. Her hands are holding your cock, stroking and fondling, her fingers dancing over the length of your dick and the swell of your balls.

Lily is looking at you. Her lips are parted, her tongue running along them, leaving a trail of spit behind. "Please," she whispers, and then she's licking you, tasting you, teasing you.

Your fingers are threading through her hair and you are holding her head steady as you guide yourself into her mouth. You watch her lips wrap around your cock as she takes it in her mouth, inch by inch.

Her tongue is pressing against the underside of your dick as she slowly slides forward. Lily takes more and more of you into her mouth, the hot, wet, heat of her throat taking the very last inch. She moans around your cock and you feel her tongue swirling around you as you start thrusting. She is sucking and swallowing around your cock. You're watching her head bob as she works your length, taking you to the very base, her lips kissing your crotch. She pulls off of you and takes a deep breath and she looks at you. There is a trail of spit on her chin, connecting to your cock.

"I want a baby," Lily repeats. You don't think she has ever been so insistent on something before. Her hands come to your hips as she pulls you to her, and she takes your cock back into her mouth, sucking you and bobbing her head. She's taking you in all the way and gagging on your dick. Her eyes are closed as she focuses on sucking you off, and her fingers dig into your flesh as she holds onto you.

"You're going to be such a good mommy," you tell her, and you hear her moan in response.

Lily's head keeps bobbing and you keep thrusting, meeting in the middle. You are so deep down her throat, the tip of your cock kissing the back of it and you're throbbing. You're trying to weigh it up in your head, possibly the biggest decision of your life and it's fighting for brainpower with having your soul sucked out of your cock. It's hard to concentrate.

Lily's tongue swirls and her cheeks cave in as she sucks. Her eyes are open now, and she's looking up at you, pleading, begging for you to let her have her way. Even with your cock between them, the corners of her lips turn up into a smirk. She pulls away and gasps for air, saliva dripping down her chin.

She's still stroking you off as you groan and your legs tremble, but she isn't finished. Lily stands back up and looks you in the eye. She's still stroking your cock in her hands, pumping up and down. Her thumb rubs the tip, teasing and playing. "Put it in me, please."

"Are you sure about this?" You ask her one last time, but you're already pushing her sweatpants away from her hips, and down to the floor.

"Absolutely," Lily says and turns away. She bends over and braces herself on the kitchen counter, arching her back. Such a beautiful, elegant posture. The defined muscles of her back lead down to her cute, perfect ass. A smooth curve of soft skin, firm and pert, but inviting. Your hand comes down, caressing and squeezing that lovely ass. Her hips rock as she presses into your touch.

Lily reaches a hand back and her fingers find her pussy, rubbing and stroking. She is spreading her lower lips and showing off her wet hole. "I'm ready." She moans.

Your fingers slip into her cunt and you're thrusting, plunging into her. She is hot, and slick, her walls clenching. She feels amazing and you're desperate to get inside of her, to fuck her. Lily gasps and her hips rock against your hand as she pushes herself onto your fingers. Her hair swings wildly and her mouth is hanging open. Her breasts sway as her body writhes, her stomach flexing and her hips bucking.

"Fuck," she breathes, and her voice is low, and her tone is desperate. She is panting, her breath ragged and laboured. "Fuck me."

Your hand slips from Lily's pussy, leaving her feeling empty, wanting, needing more. Your hands come down to her hips and you're pulling her to you, your cock resting between her cheeks, hard and throbbing and aching to be inside her. "Tell me what you want." You insist. Your fingers dig into the flesh of her ass, spreading and revealing. You're rocking your hips, teasing her.

"I want you to breed me," she insists, craning her neck back to look at you. Her face is flushed. She is sweating. Her body is burning up, feverishly hot, her skin glistening and shining in the light. She looks so damn sexy, and she knows it. "Please, fuck a baby into me," she moans and turns back away, closing her eyes.

You line yourself up with her entrance, rubbing your tip against her. This is the final line, and once you cross it, there's no going back. You push yourself into her, her cunt spreading open for you as you sink in. She's tight around your cock, squeezing, milking, trying to pull you in.

Lily is gasping and moaning as you push into her, inch by inch. You reach the base of your shaft, her ass pressed against your body. "Yes!" She hisses. Her hands grip the counter, her fingers clawing into it.

"You like that?" You ask, and you begin to pull out of her.

"Please, more." She moans. "Please, fuck me," Lily begs.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her hips as you hold her in place. Your hips are rocking, pulling back. You're leaving her, almost, only the head of your cock still inside of her, and you're pushing yourself back inside of her, fucking into her. Your pace is slow, but each thrust is powerful. She's squeezing and clenching, trying to pull you in further.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe," you promise, leaning down to whisper in Lily's ear as she lays over the kitchen counter, your bodies connected.

Lily moans, "Please," she gasps, pushing her hips back into your body as you thrust. "Breed me like the daddy you are." Her voice is low, her tone husky and breathless, and her words pure filth.

Your hand is coming down, smacking her on her ass and she is crying out, a sharp gasp of surprise. Her hips rock as she presses onto you, trying to meet your thrusts and pull you deeper inside of her.

"Fuck," she moans and you can hear the smile on her lips, and you're smacking her again, the loud slap of skin-on-skin ringing out in the room.

"Is this what you wanted?" You ask, fucking into her, picking up speed and intensity. Your body is smacking against hers, and her body is shaking.

"Harder, Daddy," Lily moans. Your hand comes down, hitting her ass, leaving a mark on the firm skin. You're thrusting, pounding, pulling back and slamming into her again and again. Her hand comes back, reaching around, her fingers digging into your hips. She wants to keep you inside her. "Please, don't stop."

You are pushing into her, fucking her hard. Her breasts are shaking and her stomach is tensing, and her hips are bucking back and forth as you thrust in and out of her. Her hair is flying everywhere as she throws her head back, a look of ecstasy on her face. Her lips are parted, her tongue running across them as she pants. You know that she is close to orgasm. "Cum in me," Lily gasps. Her eyes are rolling back, her body shaking and her hips bucking, her pussy clenching and pulsing. She is on the verge.

You're so close, so very close, and you know that you're going to cum. Your balls are tight, and you're aching for release. Your cock is throbbing, your legs trembling. You can feel the pressure building inside you. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You grunt. Your thrusts become more and more intense, your fingers digging into Lily's flesh.

"Do it," she moans. "Fill me up, make me pregnant."

You thrust, pushing in as deep as possible and holding it there, and you cum. Your cock pulses, your balls twitching as your seed floods into Lily. Your cum spills out and fills her up. You keep thrusting, rocking your hips against hers as you keep shooting, and it feels like an endless stream, an eternity of bliss. There's a finality to it. This is it. You've committed. There's no going back. Lily's pussy is milking your cock, squeezing and clenching around it as you pump her full of cum. It feels so damn good.

"Oh, god," Lily groans, and her body is shaking, and she is crying out in pure bliss as she cums with your cock deep inside her. All of her muscles flex as she writhes in pleasure. She's gasping, panting, her body convulsing. You're not sure you've ever seen Lily cum so hard, so intensely. You're holding her, pulling her tight to your body, keeping her steady as she quivers.

"Fuck," she breathes as she finally calms down, her body going limp in your arms. You're both panting, catching your breaths. You're still inside of her, and she clenches her pussy around your softening cock. "We have to keep doing this. Until we're sure I'm pregnant."

It is a nice image. The two of you fucking over the kitchen counter, or in bed, or on the couch, every chance you get. Cumming raw into her pussy over and over again. And once she's got a baby in her, you can fuck like this some more, you can keep making her feel this way. You can be happy.

"Yeah, we do," you agree. This was the right choice, the only choice. You love her. "Come here, mommy." You tell Lily, and she is giggling as she turns and wraps her arms around your neck and kisses you.

[hadesrise]

## one true love !!

summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.

pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers

author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?

MINORS DNI !!

Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.

Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.

Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.

The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.

“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.

Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.

You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.

“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.

Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.

There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”

Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.

When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.

You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.

It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.

“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”

Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.

It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.

How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?

“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”

Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”

He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.

“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.

“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”

Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”

That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.

You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.

Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.

An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.

It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.

And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.

At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.

Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.

“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.

Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.

“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.

Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.

“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.

The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.

Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.

You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.

Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.

Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.

“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.

“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.

You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.

The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.

You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”

The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.

Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”

You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.

���fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”

Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.

“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.

His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”

You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”

Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.

Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.

You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.

He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.

Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.

“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”

Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.

Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.

It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.

An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.

Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”

You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”

“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”

“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”

That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.

Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.

To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.

A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.

Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”

“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”

As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.

Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.

His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.

Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.

It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.

But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.

“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”

Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.

What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?

And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.

You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.

Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.

His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.

Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.

Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!

Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”

Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.

You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”

Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”

At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”

“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”

Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.

That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.

It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.

He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.

“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.

“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.

Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.

Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.

“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”

Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.

Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.

“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”

Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.

He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.

You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.

Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?

“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.

You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—

His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.

Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”

Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”

“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”

Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”

You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.

“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”

You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”

Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.

He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.

But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.

It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.

True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.

Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?

Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.

Your eyes widened. “You did?”

“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”

“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”

He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”

“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.

Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.

“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.

Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.

His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.

Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.

A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.

Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.

You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”

Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.

You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”

“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.

“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.

I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.

For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.

Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarising, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[jaymilepland]

Lemon demon mask of my own face

LMAOOOO

[revelboo]

So the joints on the 2024 golden lagoon set are very brittle. Reached out to the company and they said the 2025 set will have improved joints. Had to perform knee surgery on starscream but he's good now (rip inferno I'm sorry I stole your joints) and the company is sending a new set of the improved ones when they receive their 2025 sets

Ahh! His little smirk.. I want to open the package now even worse... very, very carefully

Everything Is Alright Pt 102

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Soundwave’s servos tighten on you in a subtle warning. Not that you need one, having no intention of telling the warlord about that since you have no idea how he’ll respond. Tucking your face against Soundwave’s neck, hiccuping now you’re so upset, you can’t even care that you’re still on Soundwave. Megatron’s walked in on you enough times, it’s hard to care anymore. Mostly, but a mortified part of you dies a bit more every time. “Argument,” Soundwave says, hands running over you soothingly as you try to get yourself together. You’re lying, that anger in Star’s voice hooks at you, making you want to start sobbing all over again.

• Optics narrowing as you hide your face against Soundwave, Megatron hesitates before sitting on the edge of the berth, hands dangling between his thighs. Wishes it was only Soundwave, not you too, but at least you’re not looking at him with those eyes. “Why a human?” He asks and you do peek at him, face flushed and wet with tears as he watches his old friend cup the back of your head. Wanting to understand this. “The size difference?” And you make a choked little sound that he suspects is a laugh as Soundwave bumps his helm against your forehead, rubbing his cheek against yours to make you loop your arms around his neck. The intimacy of the interaction making his spark ache even though he doesn’t know why.

• “Because of who they are,” Soundwave growls. Not the most talkative mech by any means, he knows this is important. Making Megatron understand that you’re not a plaything to him is a step forward to making you safe and keeping you that way. Knows the warlord is curious about you now that the anger has burned low. And that he could make you safest by twisting that curiosity into something else. Something Starscream will hate him even more for. Retracting his mask, he brushes his mouth against your cheek. “Sweet, little mate.”

• Low voice dipping to a rumbling croon, you lay your cheek against his shoulder. Still able to keep an eye on Megatron as you wonder at Soundwave’s seeming indifference to being so small around Megatron. He’s not terrified of him like Star is. At the thought of him, that hollow, aching pain doubles and Soundwave croons more insistently at you. The deep sound humming through you and unraveling the fear and tension, seeming to whisper to you that it’s okay, to not worry.

• Transforming, silhouetted against the bright sky, he hangs there trying to get himself together. A lie. A trick. But the look that has been on your face? That pain was real. If it is? If he somehow sparked you? Primus, he’s not cut out to be a sire. Thinks of the manipulations and casual cruelty of his own carrier and that anxiety cranks tighter, because he can’t do this. Can’t be what you need him to be even though he wants it. What if he’s every bit as awful as his carrier was? If his sparkling despises him and you because of him. There are so many horrible what ifs digging into him, tearing into his processor. That he’s not good enough, not good at all. That pain in your eyes. Like you’re sure he’s abandoning you again, as lost as you’d been that night he’d tried to set you free. Reaching out a hand after him and crying out his name. Pleading to not be left. And he’d done it again, leaving you scared and reaching after him when you’d needed him most. Transforming, he races back to you. Back to home and a future he desperately wants even if it terrifies him.

Previous

[boypied]

succumb to the darkness

[admirer] count orlok x male reader

summary: plagued by horrific visions and an increasing sense of dread, the male reader soon encounters an evil force that's far beyond his control.

wc: 2.1k

notes: MDNI, FDNI, creature [vampire] fanfic, mentions of blood, neck sucking, mentions of stalking, brief mention of smut.

Being tormented by horrifically vivid nightmares that plague your mind wasn't what you expected from your future when you were a little boy. You were being haunted by a deeply dark presence that you could feel was obsessing over you, obsessing in a way that wasn't right. It wasn't normal. You didn't know what to do or even what IT was, or maybe you were just completely losing your mind, but something had to budge and make this foolish game come to an end. Every night, you would see what it wanted from you. It craved you in more ways than one. It was hungry... and horny. Your eyes widen as you throw your body upwards, your back cracking slightly at the swift movement right as you awoke from your slumber. You felt it. You felt him calling to you. Something was pulling you towards the dark presence. Maybe the time has finally come for you to meet it or maybe it will be to meet you. The creatures craving for you were finally coming to an end. Your body practically moved on its own away from the safety of your husbands sleeping body and the warmth of your own home. You won't know this just yet, but Count Orlok has been craving you for such a long time. You weren't just a blood bag to him. You were so much more. You were just as sick and twisted as him. At least, that was what he had assumed considering just how haunted you've been from such a young age seeing premonitions of dead bodies, being able to smell what the stench of death was. You were sculpted by the gods to be owned by him. You must've been.

Your body is moving on its own, not listening to what your mind is telling it as you get to your front door, swinging it open as a gush of wind flows through. Your bare feet touch the cold, wet concrete of the outside as you slowly start making your through the run-down town. He must be demanding you quicker as your body slowly lifts up of the ground in a levitating motion, and your heels come off the ground and your toes drag along the cold stones as you start being pulled by an unknown force towards the forbidden castle that shall not be entered. Your body freezes, no longer being controlled or forced by a dark being, your eyes slowly travel up along the run-down bricks, and they finally stop and focus on a broken window where a large figure stood, he was being perfectly captured by the moonlight that was being shon down upon him. You both locked eyes. Even though he was so high up, you could feel his eyes burning into your soul. He was staring through you. Just one look from him, and you felt as if your soul was already being corrupted. Seeing him all your life in vision and premonitions was terrifying, but being in his presence, in his grasp, was simply more haunting than anything. You felt a confliction of emotions, feeling his eyes burn down on you. A sense of dread as you watch tall frame tower over you from so far above but also the feeling of a twisted love for him, a yearning to feel his touch against your skin. Your body convulsing for him, needing him inside your body.

Your body is simply frozen in place, terrified. Your eyes slowly travel down from the large open window down to the doors, as you hear them slowly begin to open with a loud scrape against the bricks that layer against the floor. Your eyes widen in pure fear as the dark presence that you have called you hear and watch you from up above now stands a couple of feet in front of your frozen body, he slowly begins to travel forward getting closer and closer against you yet you still can't work out his face entirely because he is being masked by the darkness of the night. His tall exterior towers over you as he stands right in front of you, your eyes slowly travelling upwards to stare at the dark abyss that covers his face. He brings up his large hand as he gently scrapes his nails against your cheek, tracing circles against your body. The moon lowers as the time slowly moves on from dusk to dawn and the dark shadow that was covering his face gets ripped away from him, his true face revealed to you in quite a drastic matter. Your eyes widen in shock and his face contorts in anger as his hand leaves your cheek and grips around your neck choking you, you jump up in shock and fear screaming in agonising fear as you close your eyes only to open them once more to find out you're in your bed chambers laying next to your husband. "Baby, what's wrong!" Thomas calls out to you as he lunges himself forward to wrap his arms around you bring your body close to his.

Your paralysing fear slowly drifts away as you become slightly numb to the feeling, "I have seen the face of God." You mumble out under your breath as Thomas holds you close his face contorting with confusion, "...and he called to me." You continue speaking until your eyes slowly flutter shut drifting off into the dark abyss of sleep where you'll be having dark terrifying nightmares till morning comes once more. Your eyes slowly flutter open to see the sight of your husbands Thomas with a worried look on his face and Professor Albin Ebehart Von staring down at you, "He has been having terrifying nightmares where he mutters out the strangest words" Thomas says in a low tone to the professor as he studies your body language as you try to understand what is going on as you've just woken from your slumber. Your eyes flutter open fully now as you prop yourself up at an angle as you look up at them. The professor looks down at you with a concerned look "what's the problem here then?" He asks you in a soft gentle tone trying not to cause worry or concern for either of you, "Professor my dreams are growing darker by the night... tell me, does evil come from within us? or beyond?" The moment that sentence leaves your lips the professors eyes widen in shock, not knowing what to say to answer your querie. You are about to continue speaking until you hear a voice in the back of your head, the voice that was calling to you in your nightmares just moments prior for you, you stop dead in your tracks listening to what he has to say.

Your mouth becomes a vessel for him to speak through, for the monstrous voice to get you to notice him. "Come to me.." You mumble out in tongues, making no sense to Thomas and the Professor but perfect sense to you. "...hear my calls and come to me," you mumble out in deep tongues. Count Orlok using your body to speak is his way of forcing you to give permission to allow him to come and collect you. The professor suggests that you are in desperate need of some rest and that you should be left alone and under any circumstances should not be bothered by anyone. Once dusk finally arrives and the moonlight shines down on everyone, Count Orlok makes his way across town by flying over the town in a haunting manner getting closer and closer to Hutter Manor, where you lay rested and free of nightmares because what you've been tormented about in nightmares all your life was coming to life at this very moment. You rise up out of your deep slumber as you know that it's time. Your body moves on its own once again, not having control over yourself once more as you slowly move towards the large window as it flies open and your drapes flow back into the room as the wind pushes it, your eyes flutter and widen as Count Orlok slowly lands inside your bedroom, standing opposite you except this time you can clearly see him for what he truly is, you body shudders "...Nosferatu" you mumble out as he takes your hand pulling you out of your bedroom taking you across the wind and over the town you grew up in, until you finally make it to the forbidden castle at the end of the town.

The moment your feet touch the ground of his castle, your eyes wander around, as does your body freely. No longer having a dark presence control you, you no longer feel the constant dread of fear and need to be frightened. Your eyes latch onto Count Orlok's bed, which is a large delicately carved coffin that has many intricate symbols of animals, among many other things that look like some sort of fabel that you've read previously or maybe a story that you could've possibly live in another life. You feel Count Orlok's presence behind you as you stop moving. You feel as his fingers trace along your neck as you turn your head to the left to reveal more of your delicious neck to him, "mhm," he mumbles out as his mouth is watering just at the sight of your exposed neck. He bites his lip softly until he leans down to run his tongue across the side of your neck until he bites down sucking up the sweet, succulent taste of your blood. The blood that Count Orlok has craved for so many years is finally in his mouth, tasting it for everything that it's worth. Your eyes flutter slightly in slight pain but also pleasure feeling his lips against your neck, something that you didn't even know that you craved. This was meant to be. Count Orlok pulls away, watching as the blood drips out of the two punctured holes in your neck. He licks his lips as he manages to restrain himself. "I need you," he mumbles out in his thick accent that unleashes something within you the moment you heard it for the first time. Hearing it in your head was different from hearing in a seductive mumble right against your ear as he traces his long nails over the two wounds at your neck coating his nail in your blood as you whimper slightly at the feeling.

Count Orlok begins to walk away, trying to have some self-restraint until he hearing the floor boards creak as he turns to see you down on your knees. "Don't go," you plead with him as he slowly begins to walk over to you again, enjoying seeing you plead for him. "Come to me...hear my calls and come to me," you repeat yourself over and over until he pulls you up. "pathetic mortal" he says to you with a smirk on his face as he traces his nail along your lower lip wrapping his arms around you, pulling you against his large body causing you to look up at him. "Thomas could never please me the way you could," you say in a seductive whisper as you admire his face and presenting exterior. Count Orlok laughs at what you're saying "Thomas is a pathetic mortal" he mumbles out as he grips your cheeks squeezing them, "I'm going to have a lot of fun with you" he says in his thick accent that you love so very much as he scoops you up in his arms. He carries you over to his coffin laying you down against the soft interior, your eyes stay focused on him as you watch as he takes off his cloak and climb into the coffin, hovering over your body slowly closing the lid with a smirk on his face as he slowly unbuttons his trousers leaving the lid off slightly allowing some light in. Orlok traces his finger along your clothed body enjoying the warmth of your skin against his cool feeling one, After a while you both manage to strip off naked throwing your clothes out of the coffin, you open your legs as wide as you can in the coffin feeling his length pressed against your hole. "My king, guide me through this, and when morning comes, turn me into your kind." You mumble out to him, feeling him thrust himself inside you, your eyes fluttering back knowing that this is what you get to look forward to for the rest of your life.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband

[cjlouwho]

I Like the Taste of Vanilla

Starting about a week ago, I made several polls and asked you guys to choose a line/phrase. Your choices are now weaved within 5 stories to start off 2025! One a day for the next five days. Enjoy! Read below or on ao3

Summary:

Four times Buck misunderstands what Tommy is saying, the boys find out they're not super kinky, and one time they get it right.

Day One: This is Suspicious

Tommy was a deep sleeper when he was at home. Mostly because he couldn't be one at work, so he made up for it by practically being dead to the world when he was in his own bed.

Which is why it was weird to him that something had him sitting upright in bed, his heart pounding.

He checked the time. It was half past one.

Evan had taken some overtime at work and wouldn't be home for a couple more hours.

The air hadn't kicked on, but that never woke him anyway.

There had to be some-

All thoughts drained from his mind when he heard a noise coming from the living room.

Burglary.

It had to be.

There was another noise, and Tommy swore he could hear a man grumbling. Sounded like he was near the kitchen.

He hurried to get up, grabbing the bat he kept underneath his side of the bed and readying himself for whatever fight he was about to get into.

He left his phone on the nightstand. He knew the police would never get there in time anyway. He was going to have to deal with this on his own.

Using the training he'd learned many, many years ago in the army, he quietly opened his door and crept down the hallway.

Sure enough, there was a figure in the kitchen. Dressed in all black, he appeared to be making a knot in a rope with his gloved hands.

Tommy got the bat ready to strike, continuing closer to this masked man. He got within a foot of him when the man turned and gasped, stumbling backwards.

“Wait, wait!” The intruder yelled, “Don't hit me, Tommy!”

And wait a minute... Tommy knew that voice. That was-

“Evan?” Tommy exclaimed, bat held tight. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Buck pulled up his mask just enough to show his face. “Roleplay!”

“Role- What? How's this roleplay?!”

“What were you thinking?!” Buck argued, pulling his ski mask the rest of the way off. “You were about to kill me!”

“I'm thinking this is suspicious, Evan,” Tommy answered, exasperated, “and weird! Why are you breaking into our own house? I could have killed you!”

“Okay, c- can we not have the bat still ready to strike please?”

Tommy sighed, then put the bat down, leaning it against the wall. “Evan, I just... What were you doing?”

“You said you wanted this!” Buck whined, tossing the mask onto the counter.

“I said I wanted you to break into our home in the middle of the night and scare the hell out of me? Babe, listen to yourself.”

Buck rolled his eyes. “It was last week. Middle of the night, you rolled over and said, 'yeah, rob me, tie me up.'”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I confirmed it with you!” Buck pulled out his phone, bringing up his and Tommy's text messages. “The next day at work, I texted you and asked if you really wanted to do what you mentioned the night before and you answered 'of course I do' with a wink emoji.”

“I thought you were talking about the painting class we'd talked about doing together!”

“Why the hell would you add a wink emoji to that?!”

“Because next week is a nude portrait and sometimes I'm immature, Evan!”

Buck groaned, putting his hands on his hips. “So you don't want to be robbed?”

“Absolutely not. Honey, you know the things I say in my sleep are meaningless.”

“Well, yeah,” Buck pouted, fiddling with the rope in his hand, “usually. But most of the time nothing you say is coherent, so part of me thought you were maybe still awake.”

Tommy walked over to Buck, bringing his hand to Buck's chin and lifting his head so they were eye to eye. “It was very sweet of you to do this for me,” he assured him, “no matter how insane it might be.”

Buck's pout deepened, but he allowed himself to be wrapped up in Tommy's arms. “So you, uh, really didn't want this at all?” he asked, face burrowed into Tommy's neck.

“No, I didn't want to be robbed by you, Evan.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Even the tied up part?”

Tommy stepped back, staring down at the rope in Evan's hand. “Well, I never said that.” His fingers felt over the material, smooth and tight and perfect to wrap around their headboard. “It'd be kind of a waste to not use this, wouldn't it?”

Buck smiled. “A total waste.”

Tommy tugged on the rope, beginning to lead Buck down the hall. “No point in that. Follow me, stranger.”

“Oh,” Buck stopped suddenly, eyes bright and wide. “Sh- should I grab the ski mask?”

Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Love Bites

A bookstore barista catches the attention of a vampire drawn to her scent, and everything changes when she invites him in.

Word Count: 6,956

Content Warning: mentions of blood and biting.

The rain poured steadily, creating rivers along the curbs and a persistent rhythm against the asphalt. Y/n pulled her coat tighter around her, the cold seeping through the damp fabric. The dim glow of streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, casting distorted halos that barely lit the way. Her shoes squished with every step, water seeping through the soles as she navigated the uneven sidewalk.

She glanced around, the city that never sleeps unusually subdued in the downpour. The occasional car splashed by, headlights cutting through the darkness, but the streets felt eerily empty. Her apartment was still several blocks away, and the thought of the warmth inside kept her moving despite the chill that gripped her.

The rain masked the usual cacophony of the city, leaving only the sound of water and her own breathing. As she rounded a corner, a faint light from a bodega sign flickered, offering a brief sense of orientation in the endless maze of shadows and slick surfaces.

“Almost there,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the rain. But with every step forward, the night seemed to grow darker, the path more uncertain.

Y/n barely noticed the bodega’s door swinging open until a figure stepped out into the rain. She flinched slightly, startled by the sudden movement. A man stood there, pulling up the hood of his coat, his face half-lit by the flickering neon sign above.

“Bit of a miserable night, isn’t it?” he said, his accent soft and distinctly British, cutting through the rain like a warm thread.

Y/n blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The man’s green eyes seemed to hold an unusual brightness despite the gloom, his hair damp and curling slightly at the edges where it peeked out from under his hood.

“Yeah, you could say that,” she replied, clutching her coat a little tighter, the chill biting at her fingertips.

He gave a small, almost sheepish smile, the kind that didn’t quite belong on someone standing in the middle of a downpour. “You alright? Look like you’ve had a bit of a rough one.”

Y/n hesitated, unsure why she felt compelled to answer. There was something disarming about him, his tone unassuming, as if they’d crossed paths a thousand times before. “Just trying to get home,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady.

He nodded, glancing down the street as if considering her path. “Not too far, I hope?”

“A few more blocks,” she said, motioning vaguely in the direction she’d been heading.

He tilted his head, a small crease forming between his brows. “This time of night, in this weather… mind some company? At least until you’re closer to home?”

Y/n studied him for a moment, weighing her options. He didn’t seem threatening—just someone caught in the same rainstorm, maybe trying to make it a little less lonely. After a pause, she gave a slight nod.

“Alright,” she said, her voice quieter now. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, I’m Harry by the way,” he replied, falling into step beside her. The rain continued its steady rhythm, but somehow, the darkness didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The rain softened to a mist as Y/n and Harry walked side by side, their footsteps splashing lightly against the wet pavement. The quiet lull of the city made their conversation feel intimate, as though the rest of the world had faded away.

“So,” Y/n began, sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His hood had slipped back slightly, revealing more of his damp curls. “What were you doing out so late in this weather?”

Harry smiled faintly, his hands buried in his coat pockets. “Needed a walk. Clears my head, y’know? And the rain… well, it’s peaceful in its own way.”

Y/n hummed in agreement, noting the melodic lilt of his voice. She found herself glancing at him more often than she meant to. There was something otherworldly about him—his pale complexion almost luminous under the faint glow of the streetlights, his features sharp but softened by a kindness in his eyes.

“And you? What’s got you out here braving the elements?” he asked, turning his gaze toward her.

“Long day at work,” she admitted, sighing. “I usually take the subway, but it was packed, and I just… needed some air.”

Harry nodded, as if he understood completely. “Fair enough. Sometimes the chaos down there feels worse than the storm up here.”

As they walked, Y/n noticed how his presence seemed to ease her nerves. She didn’t normally trust strangers—especially not in a city like this, and especially not on dark, rainy nights. But with Harry, it felt different. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt safe, as though he was someone she’d known for years rather than minutes.

They reached the corner of her street, and she glanced at him again. His coat clung to his frame, and she realized he wasn’t shivering despite the cold. In fact, he seemed entirely unaffected by the weather, like he belonged to the rain and the darkness surrounding them.

“You live nearby?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

He nodded, gesturing vaguely down the street. “A few buildings that way. Looks like we’re practically neighbors.”

She smiled, a small warmth blossoming in her chest. “Small world.”

Harry’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, a softness there that made her cheeks heat despite the cold. “It is,” he said quietly, his tone almost wistful.

As they stopped in front of her apartment building, Y/n hesitated, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want the moment to end, even though they were still practically strangers.

“This is me,” she said finally, gesturing toward the door.

Harry nodded, his smile faint but genuine. “Glad I could walk you home, Y/n.”

She blinked, her heart skipping. “How did you know my name?”

For a split second, his expression flickered—something unreadable passing across his face—but then his smile returned. “You told me earlier, didn’t you?”

Y/n frowned, certain she hadn’t. But before she could question it further, Harry gave a slight nod.

“Get inside before you catch a cold,” he said gently. “Goodnight.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the misty rain, leaving Y/n standing there, heart racing, wondering why she felt so drawn to him. 

The next day

The bell above the bookshop door jingled as Y/n worked behind the counter, the steady hum of espresso machines and soft chatter creating a comforting background noise. She loved her job, it was the perfect blend of cozy and bustling, surrounded by books and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

She glanced up as a familiar figure caught her eye. Harry was sitting at a corner table in the café, a book open in front of him. His damp curls from the night before were now dry, but he still had that same ethereal look about him—pale and strikingly beautiful, like he’d stepped out of a painting.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then decided to approach him. She grabbed a clean cloth and pretended to wipe down the nearby table before stopping beside his.

“Well, well,” she said, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. “Are you following me now, or is this just a coincidence?”

Harry looked up from his book, his lips curving into a small smile. “Caught me,” he replied, his tone playful. “Couldn’t resist the coffee.”

Y/n chuckled, leaning slightly against the back of a chair. “You know, most people come here for the books and the coffee. It’s kind of our thing.”

He raised a brow, amusement dancing in his green eyes. “Is that so? What if I’m just here for the company?”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing the grin tugging at her lips. “Smooth.” Gesturing to the menu board, she asked, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Pastry? We’ve got these killer croissants today.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I don’t really eat…”

Y/n blinked, her smile faltering. “Oh. Uh… okay. Just coffee, then?”

He shook his head, his gaze steady but kind. “I’m good with this.” He tapped the book in front of him, avoiding her curious stare.

A strange vibe settled between them, and Y/n felt a small prickle of unease. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something about the way he’d said it—so casual, yet so odd—stuck with her.

“Well, if you change your mind, I’m just over there,” she said, forcing a smile as she nodded toward the counter.

“Thanks, Y/n,” Harry said softly, his voice carrying that same calm warmth that had put her at ease the night before.

She walked away, glancing back once to find him already immersed in his book again. The unease lingered, though, as if there was more to Harry than he was letting on.

Y/n lingered behind the counter, her hands busy with a towel as she wiped down the espresso machine. But her thoughts kept drifting to Harry, sitting so calmly at his table like he belonged there, as if their encounter last night hadn’t been strange at all. The question that had nagged her since then resurfaced, and before she could overthink it, she walked back over to his table.

“Alright,” she said, stopping in front of him, her arms crossed over her apron. “I need to ask you something.”

Harry looked up from his book, his brow lifting slightly. “Go on.”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his calm, steady gaze. “Last night, when you walked me home, you said my name. But I never told you what it was. How did you know?”

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“You sure you didn’t tell me?” he asked lightly, though there was something unreadable in his tone.

“I’m sure,” Y/n said firmly, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not exactly something I forget.”

Harry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe I overheard someone else say it.”

“There was no one else around,” she countered, crossing her arms tighter.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and melodic. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”

“It’s a fair question,” she pressed, feeling a mix of curiosity and frustration. “It’s not every day a stranger magically knows your name.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly, his gaze softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”

Y/n felt her breath hitch at his tone, the way it seemed to hold more weight than his casual demeanor suggested.

“So?” she prompted, leaning closer. “How?”

Harry glanced down at his book for a moment, his fingers brushing the edges of the pages. Then he looked back up at her, his green eyes almost glowing under the café’s warm lights.

“Let’s just say,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “I’m very good with names. Especially when they belong to people I’d like to remember.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the intensity in his words. There was something cryptic in his answer, something that left her feeling like she was only scratching the surface of a much larger mystery.

She straightened, unsure of how to respond. “That’s… vague.”

Harry smiled again, softer this time. “Maybe some things are better left that way.”

Y/n studied him for a moment longer, her unease mixed with an undeniable curiosity. Finally, she nodded, stepping back. “Alright, mystery man. But don’t think I’m letting this go.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, his smile returning, though his eyes seemed to hold a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share.

The days slipped by, and the bookshop settled back into its usual rhythm—customers browsing shelves, the hiss of steam from the espresso machine, the steady hum of conversations drifting through the café. But Y/n’s thoughts kept wandering to Harry.

She hadn’t seen him since that day. No quiet figure tucked into the corner with a book, no knowing smiles or cryptic comments. She found herself glancing toward the door whenever the bell jingled, half-expecting him to walk in with that calm, unreadable expression. But he didn’t.

“Everything okay?” her coworker, Ellie, asked as she restocked a display of mugs.

Y/n blinked, realizing she’d been staring at the café’s empty corner table for too long. “Yeah,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just zoning out.”

Ellie gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been weird lately. Is this about the guy who was here the other day? The tall one with the curls?”

“What? No,” Y/n said, maybe a little too defensively.

Ellie smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Y/n sighed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “It’s not like that. He’s just… interesting. And I haven’t seen him around. I might’ve scared him off.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “What’d you do? Grill him on his life story?”

“Maybe,” Y/n muttered, heat rising to her cheeks.

Her coworker laughed. “Relax. If he’s worth it, he’ll come back. Guys like that always do.”

But as the hours ticked by and the café emptied out for the night, Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Harry wasn’t just any guy. There was something different about him—something that made her want to figure him out, even if she couldn’t explain why.

Later, as she locked up the shop and stepped out into the crisp evening air, she found herself looking down the street toward the direction of his building. The thought crossed her mind: What if I went to see if he’s around?

She shook her head, pushing the idea away. It was silly. He was a stranger, practically. But even as she walked home, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d see him again or if she’d scared him away for good.

The rain had stopped earlier in the evening, leaving the streets slick and shining under the glow of the streetlights. Y/n pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she walked, the familiar route past the bodega feeling strangely empty tonight.

She hadn’t planned to take this way home, but her feet had carried her here anyway, as if some part of her was hoping to see him again. The corner bodega’s neon sign buzzed faintly, casting a pale light on the pavement. The door was open, a faint clink of glass bottles and low conversation spilling out, but Harry wasn’t there.

Y/n lingered for a moment, pretending to check her phone as she glanced around. The street was quiet except for the occasional car passing by, its headlights cutting through the dimness.

What are you even doing? she thought, feeling a little ridiculous. It wasn’t like Harry had promised to meet her here or even hinted at being nearby. For all she knew, he was off doing something completely unrelated to her.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something—or someone.

With a sigh, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started walking again, her shoes clicking softly against the wet pavement. The night felt heavier than usual, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

When she finally reached her apartment building, she paused on the steps, casting one last glance down the street. Nothing. No sign of him, no flash of dark curls or the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Maybe he really is gone, she thought, a pang of disappointment settling in her chest.

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she resolved to let it go. Harry was just a stranger who had crossed her path briefly—nothing more. 

The weeks passed in a blur of routine. Y/n poured herself into her work at the café, stacking books, crafting perfect cappuccinos, and chatting with regulars. But her mind often drifted to Harry—his mysterious air, his cryptic comments, and his sudden absence. Every night she took the same route past the bodega, hoping for even a glimpse of him, but the streets remained empty of him.

Until one night.

The air was biting as she walked, her breath visible in the faint glow of the streetlights. The bodega’s sign buzzed faintly in the distance, and she was about to pass it when a shadow shifted in her peripheral vision.

“Y/n.”

The voice was unmistakable—low, soft, and tinged with something that made her heart skip. She turned quickly, and there he was.

But he wasn’t the same Harry she remembered. His usually radiant complexion looked pale and dull, his dark curls messier than before. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders seemed to sag as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“Harry,” she breathed, a mix of relief and concern flooding her. “Where have you been?”

He offered a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Around.” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken much in days.

Y/n took a hesitant step closer, her worry growing. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering down the street as if he were debating whether to stay or leave. “I’ll be fine,” he said finally, though the words felt hollow.

She frowned, crossing her arms. “That’s not convincing.” Without thinking, she added, “Come back to my place. You look like you need… something. Rest, food, whatever.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to hers, wide with surprise. For a moment, he seemed frozen, as if the idea of being taken care of was foreign to him. “Y/n, I—”

“No arguments,” she interrupted, her voice firmer than she expected. “It’s cold, and you look like you’re about to keel over. My apartment’s just a few blocks away.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening as if he were about to refuse. But then something in his expression softened, and he gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”

The walk to her apartment was quiet, the sound of their footsteps the only noise between them. Y/n kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to piece together what had happened in the weeks since she’d last seen him. He looked strung out.

When they reached her building, she opened the door and gestured for him to follow her inside. “It’s not much,” she said as they climbed the stairs, “but it’s warm.”

Once inside, she flipped on the lights, casting the small living room in a cozy glow. Harry stepped in hesitantly, his gaze sweeping over the space.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, shrugging off her coat. “I’ll grab you something to drink.”

He nodded, sinking onto the edge of her couch as if he didn’t quite belong there. As Y/n moved to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him and why, despite his mysterious nature, she felt so compelled to help him.

Y/n filled a glass with water in the kitchen, the sound of the tap running filling the quiet apartment. She glanced toward the living room, where Harry sat on the edge of the couch, his posture stiff, his hands loosely clasped between his knees.

“Here,” she said, walking over and holding the glass out to him. “You look like you could use this.”

Harry glanced at it but didn’t move to take it. “I’m not thirsty,” he said softly, his tone calm but firm.

Y/n frowned, lowering the glass slightly. “You sure? You look—”

“I’m sure,” he interrupted gently, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She hesitated, the glass still in her hand. The refusal wasn’t rude, but there was something about it that felt… off. Her instincts prickled again, the same way they had back at the café when he’d made that odd comment about not eating food.

To ease the tension building in her chest, she forced a nervous laugh and said, “What, are you a vampire or something?”

The room fell silent.

Harry’s faint smile vanished, and his gaze locked on hers, unblinking and intense. The air seemed to shift, the cozy warmth of the apartment suddenly feeling stifling.

Y/n’s heart thudded in her chest as the seconds stretched on, her own laugh fading into the stillness. “I was just kidding,” she said quickly, her voice quieter now.

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but there was something guarded in his eyes. “That’s an interesting guess,” he said finally, his tone measured.

The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. She tried to laugh again, but it came out shaky. “Well, you’re pale, you don’t eat, you’re… mysterious. You kind of fit the stereotype.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And would it scare you if I were?”

Y/n froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not—and that uncertainty was the most unsettling part of all.

“Harry,” she said carefully, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re kidding, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting hers again. “Maybe,” he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The room felt heavier now, the unspoken tension crackling in the air. Y/n clutched the glass tighter, her mind racing. She couldn’t decide if he was messing with her or if there was something she was better off not knowing.

Y/n blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. “What?” she asked, her voice a little unsteady.

Harry tilted his head slightly, his green eyes steady and unreadable. “If I were a vampire,” he said softly, his tone as calm as if they were discussing the weather, “would you let me… drink your blood?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she continued to tighten her grip on the glass of water, unsure whether to laugh, run, or… stay. The question was absurd, yet the way he asked it—so direct, so quiet—made her pulse quicken in a way she couldn’t quite define.

“I—uh…” Y/n stammered, shifting on her feet. She tried to gauge his expression, but it was impossible to tell if he was serious or just teasing her.

“You’re nervous,” Harry said, leaning forward slightly. His voice was low, but it wasn’t threatening. If anything, it sounded… curious. “But you’re not afraid.”

Y/n swallowed hard, her breath catching as she realized he was right. Her nervousness wasn’t from fear—it was from something else entirely. A strange mix of curiosity and anticipation coursed through her, leaving her unsure of how to respond.

“Well,” she said finally, trying to keep her voice light, “I think most people would be nervous if someone asked to suck their blood, Harry. Hypothetically or not.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though his gaze remained fixed on her. “Fair point,” he murmured, his tone almost playful. “But you haven’t answered the question.”

Y/n stared at him, her mind racing. Was he joking? Was he testing her? Was this just another layer of his cryptic nature, or was there something more?

“I don’t know,” she said at last, her voice quiet. “Would it hurt?”

The question escaped her before she could stop it, and her cheeks burned as she realized what she’d just said.

Harry’s smile grew slightly, the intensity in his eyes softening just a fraction. “Not as much as you’d think,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

For a moment, the room felt impossibly still, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Y/n’s mind screamed at her to break the silence, to laugh it off, to do something—but all she could do was stand there, caught in the strange pull of his gaze.

Harry’s gaze darkened, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “So,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Would you let me do it?”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She didn’t speak, couldn’t find the words, but after a moment, she nodded—slowly, hesitantly.

His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place, and before she could second-guess herself, Harry closed the distance between them. His hands cupped her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepened, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her closer. Y/n felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them, every thought and worry drowned out by the electric connection sparking between them.

Before she realized it, Harry’s lips left hers, trailing a line of featherlight kisses along her jaw, down to the curve of her neck.

“Trust me,” he murmured against her skin, his breath warm and sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n barely had time to process his words before she felt the sharp, sudden sting of his teeth breaking the surface of her skin. The pain was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by a strange, heady warmth that spread through her like liquid fire. Her knees wobbled, and she clutched at his shoulders to steady herself, her mind spinning.

Harry held her firmly, his grip strong but careful, as if he were afraid of breaking her. She could feel the pull of his mouth on her neck, the sensation both terrifying and intoxicating.

When he finally drew back, his lips red and his breathing heavy, Y/n swayed slightly, her vision hazy.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern.

Y/n blinked up at him, her hand instinctively going to her neck. She nodded, though her words came out shaky. “Yeah… I think so.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hand brushing her cheek. “Good,” he murmured. But there was something in his eyes—an intensity, a hunger—that made her heart race all over again.

Y/n leaned back against the armrest of the couch, her hand still pressed lightly to her neck. The room felt brighter, sharper—her senses alive in a way they had never been before. She wasn’t scared; if anything, she felt a strange, almost blissful calm.

“Is this…” she began, her voice dreamy, “going to turn me into a vampire or something?”

Harry let out a low laugh, wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “No,” he said, his tone amused but gentle. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s a bit more… complicated than in the stories.”

Y/n tilted her head, her curiosity piqued despite the haze of euphoria swirling through her. “So, how does it work?”

Harry’s eyes softened as he looked at her, though the faint hunger lingering in them hadn’t entirely disappeared. “You’d have to drink from me, for one,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “But it’s not something I’d let happen. Not to you.”

She frowned slightly, her fingers absently tracing her neck where she could feel the faint warmth from the bite. “Why not?”

He smiled faintly, leaning closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because I like you the way you are,” he said simply, his voice carrying an honesty that made her heart skip.

The faint flush in her cheeks deepened, and she looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re… different,” she murmured, unsure if it was a compliment or an observation.

“So are you,” Harry countered, his voice soft but serious. “More than you know.”

Before she could respond, he added, almost to himself, “You taste… sweet. Like nothing I’ve ever had before.” His gaze met hers, his lips curving into a sly smile. “I could find myself addicted to you, Y/n.”

Her heart thudded at his words, a mix of excitement and trepidation flooding her. “Is that… a bad thing?”

Harry’s smile faltered for a moment, and his expression grew darker, more thoughtful. “It could be,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “For both of us.”

The weight of his words hung between them, but Y/n found herself unable to look away from him. Despite everything—his mysterious nature, his cryptic answers, and now, the undeniable truth of what he was—she didn’t feel afraid.

Instead, she felt drawn to him even more.

Harry’s gaze held hers, an intensity in his expression that made Y/n’s breath catch. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his tousled curls as if weighing whether or not to speak.

Finally, he sighed, his voice low and deliberate. “The first night I saw you… outside the bodega,” he began, his green eyes locking onto hers, “it wasn’t by chance.”

Y/n tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, a faint flicker of guilt flashing in his expression. “I… I caught your scent,” he admitted, his tone softer now. “As I walked out, it hit me like nothing I’d ever experienced before. Sweet, warm, impossible to ignore.”

She blinked, stunned by his words. “You smelled me?”

Harry gave a small, almost apologetic smile. “It’s a… heightened sense. Part of what I am. Your scent—it was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. I couldn’t help myself. I followed it.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened, her thoughts racing. “You followed me?”

“To your apartment,” he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “And then… to your job the next day. I couldn’t stay away. I needed to understand why I felt so drawn to you.”

Y/n stared at him, her mind swirling with questions. “So… when you showed up at the café, that wasn’t a coincidence either?”

He shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “No. It was intentional. But when I met you, when we talked… it wasn’t just your scent anymore. You were…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “You were magnetic. I was… enamored.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she felt her stomach flip at his confession. “Then why did you stop coming around?”

Harry looked away, his jaw tightening briefly. “Because I was afraid you’d catch on. That you’d figure out what I am, or worse… that I’d lose control.” He met her gaze again, his voice softer now. “But when I saw you taking that same route every night, I knew you were looking for me. And I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. “You came back… for me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his tone unwavering. “I tried to stay away, but you… you make that impossible.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, the weight of his words settling over her. She should’ve been frightened—by the revelation, by the intensity of his feelings but instead, she felt a strange sense of relief, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Y/n,” Harry continued, his voice low, almost reverent. “But you’ve pulled me in, and I’m not sure I could let go even if I wanted to.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, her hand still resting on her neck where his teeth had pierced her skin. Her heart was racing, but not from fear. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and finally admitted, “I feel it too. Like… there’s some kind of connection between us. I can’t explain it, but it’s there.”

Harry’s eyes softened, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “I’ve felt it from the moment I saw you,” he murmured.

She hesitated, her fingers curling into her lap as she worked up the courage to ask the question lingering in her mind. “Do you… do you drink from other people?”

Harry shook his head, his expression turning serious. “No,” he said firmly. “We have other ways to get blood. Hospitals, banks, sources that… don’t involve hurting anyone. Feeding directly from someone—it’s rare for my kind, and we don’t take it lightly.”

She studied him for a moment, her chest tightening as a strange mix of emotions swirled within her. “But you drank from me,” she said quietly.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “I did. I shouldn’t have, but… I couldn’t resist. You’re—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching slightly before he continued. “You’re different, Y/n. I’ve never wanted someone’s blood like I wanted yours. But it’s not just that. It’s you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced away, unsure how to process his words. After a moment, she looked back at him, meeting his gaze directly. “So… you’re a vampire.”

Harry blinked, and then a low laugh rumbled from his chest. He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “That’s such a dramatic word,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But yes, I suppose that’s what you’d call it.”

Y/n arched an eyebrow, her nervousness fading slightly as his humor eased the tension in the room. “I mean, it is what you are, isn’t it?”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “It just sounds… cheesy, doesn’t it? Like I’m straight out of some old gothic novel.”

“Well,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, “you did just bite me and drink my blood, so… maybe the label fits.”

Harry grinned, his fangs briefly flashing in the light, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

Y/n shifted on the couch, her curiosity burning brighter than ever. She tucked her legs beneath her, leaning forward slightly. “I have so many questions,” she admitted, her voice trembling just a little, but more with excitement than fear.

Harry smirked, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he watched her. “Then ask,” he said smoothly. “I’ll answer—within reason.”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “Within reason? That sounds suspicious.”

His smirk grew, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “There are some things you might not be ready to hear yet, love. But I’ll do my best.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Fine. First question: how old are you? Like, really?”

Harry laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Straight to the point, I see. I’m… older than I look. A little over a century.”

Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but lean back in disbelief. “A century? You’re over a hundred years old?”

“Give or take a decade,” he said, his tone light. “Though I stopped counting after the first fifty or so.”

Y/n shook her head, trying to process that. “Okay, next question: can you go out in the sun, or is that a no-go?”

Harry chuckled. “I can, but I don’t recommend it. It’s uncomfortable—think of it like a really bad sunburn that happens almost instantly. That’s why you usually won’t find me out during the day unless I absolutely have to be.”

She nodded, her mind buzzing with possibilities. “Do you sleep in a coffin?”

That earned her a full laugh, Harry throwing his head back slightly. “No, I don’t. I have a perfectly comfortable bed, thank you very much.”

Y/n grinned. “Alright, what about garlic? Crosses? Holy water?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Garlic’s just food. Crosses don’t bother me unless someone shoves one in my face, which is just rude. And holy water? Let’s just say it’s not my favorite thing, but it’s not going to make me burst into flames either.”

She laughed, relaxing a little more as she listened to him. “Okay, serious question now,” she said, her tone softening. “Is it… lonely? Living so long?”

Harry’s expression grew thoughtful, the teasing edge fading from his features. “It can be,” he admitted quietly. “You watch people come and go. You lose people. It’s part of the deal, but it doesn’t make it easier.”

Y/n felt a pang of sympathy in her chest. “That sounds… hard.”

“It is,” he said simply. “But then, sometimes you meet someone who makes it worth it.”

Her breath caught at the way he looked at her as he said it, his gaze steady and warm. She quickly diverted her attention to her next question, her cheeks flushing. “Alright, last one—for now. Why me?”

Harry smiled softly, leaning closer. “I wish I knew,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “But whatever it is, Y/n, I’m not sure I want to question it.”

Y/n hesitated before asking her next question, her voice barely above a whisper. “Would you ever… turn someone? So you could stay with them?”

Harry’s expression softened, his gaze dropping to his hands as he thought about her words. The air in the room grew heavy with the weight of the question, and Y/n could see the conflict flickering in his eyes.

He finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “It’s not a decision I’d take lightly,” he admitted. “Turning someone… it’s not as simple as just giving them eternal life. It changes everything—your body, your mind, your world. There’s no going back.”

Y/n watched him carefully, her heart thudding as she tried to read his expression. “But if it meant being with someone you loved… forever?”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met her gaze. “I’ve thought about it,” he said honestly, his tone raw. “And I won’t lie—it’s tempting. But it’s also selfish.”

“How is it selfish?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Because it’s not my life I’d be changing. It’s theirs. I’d be asking them to give up so much—the sun, the ability to grow old, to live a normal life. It’s a lot to ask of someone, and it’s not something I could do lightly. Especially to someone I care about.”

Y/n felt a lump form in her throat at the sincerity in his voice. “So… you wouldn’t do it?”

Harry looked at her for a long moment, his green eyes piercing. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d want to say no. To let the person I love live their life the way they were meant to. But if I knew I was going to lose them…” He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to let go.”

Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, and she reached out, placing a hand over his. “Harry,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside her, “I think you’re stronger than you realize.”

He gave her a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But with you… I think I’d have to be.”

Y/n’s hand lingered on his, her touch grounding him. She looked at him, her eyes soft but filled with determination. “I want to see you again, Harry.”

His jaw tensed, and he glanced away, as though wrestling with his thoughts. “Y/n,” he started, his voice low and measured, “this… this might not be a good idea. For you.”

She frowned, tilting her head. “Why not?”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “Because the more time you spend with me, the harder it’ll be for both of us to walk away. And you might have to one day. For your own good.”

Y/n’s chest tightened, but she shook her head, her voice unwavering. “I don’t want to walk away. I don’t care how complicated this is—I want to see you. I feel… connected to you, Harry. I can’t just ignore that.”

His green eyes met hers, a flicker of something raw and unguarded passing through them. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said softly, almost sadly. “Being close to me… it’s not safe. It’s not normal.”

“I don’t want safe or normal,” she replied firmly. “I want you. Whatever that looks like.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, as though trying to steady himself, before opening them again. “You’re making this harder than it already is,” he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the tension in his voice.

Y/n leaned closer, her hand still on his. “Then stop fighting it. You want to see me again too, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but the way his gaze softened told her everything she needed to know. Finally, he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I do.”

Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. “Then let’s not overthink it. Just… let’s see where this goes.”

Harry’s expression remained conflicted, but he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her. “Alright,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm. “But we take it one step at a time. No promises, no expectations.”

Y/n nodded, her smile widening slightly. “One step at a time,” she echoed.

Y/n’s heart was racing, but she didn’t hesitate. Slowly, she leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. Harry’s breath hitched, his conflicted expression softening as she closed the distance between them.

Her lips met his, soft and tentative at first, but the electricity between them was undeniable. Harry responded almost immediately, his hand coming up to cup her cheek as he deepened the kiss. There was a gentleness in the way he touched her, as though he was afraid she might break, but there was also an intensity—an unspoken longing that neither of them could deny.

The kiss was slow but full of meaning, every moment stretching as though time itself had paused for them. When they finally pulled back, Y/n’s cheeks were flushed, her breathing unsteady.

Harry’s green eyes searched hers, a mix of wonder and restraint in his gaze. “You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

She smiled softly, her fingers brushing against his. “Maybe,” she whispered, “but you’re worth it.”

For a moment, Harry looked like he might protest, but instead, he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re making it impossible for me to stay away,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” she said with a small smile, her confidence growing. “Because I don’t want you to.” 

[cameronwillow]

Sorry, I just wanted to hear you Scream

Tate Langdon x fem reader

On Halloween, your ghost boyfriend can leave the murder house and you finally ask him what you’ve been wanting to know. Why was he Ghostface before his death?

I cannot believe I found this! From over a year ago. One of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Reuploaded for my sis @marchsfreakshow and my OG @oceanblvd111 thank you for your endless love and support since I came back on here.

CW: Talks of violence, ghostface!tate, switch Tate, mommy kink, oral, knife play, unprotected sex, old so not as good as my recent writing.

Halloween was your favorite day of the year. Not only was the weather perfect, the best scary movies were released, costumes became creative but also because Tate could go out and venture into the world.

This was your second Halloween together. The first year you went to the beach. A place he admitted used to be his designated spot whenever he needed to escape. You had discussed back and forth before ultimately deciding to have your date at a graveyard.

It filled your gothic heart. Your relationship was exciting, despite his eternal life as a ghost.

Tate carried the blanket and bottle of liquor you bought on your way home. The walk wasn’t far, allowing you to wear platform shoes that went along with your costume. You were dressed as the Scarlet Witch. Trading in your black clothing for red.

Tate allowed you to paint his face with makeup, skeletal features were his preference. It took you almost an hour but you wanted to be precise. You slicked his curly hair back with product. But he would do anything you asked. He was your good boy. You held your own bag close to your body. A week ago, you gifted him a cellphone. For reason one, he could contact you while you were working. And secondly, it would make tonight even better. It was secured in his denim pocket. He wasn’t able to hold your hand, so you opted to hold the crook of his elbow.

You stepped through the entrance of the cemetery. The overhanging metal curved over your head as your eyes swept over the hundreds of tombstones. “This way, baby.” Tate gestured with his head towards the left. You allowed yourself to be guided. Your feet padded over the grass. It was dark, but the adjacent streetlight gave you enough ability to see your path.

Tate led you down the narrow section between a towering tree and a collection of tombstones before he pulled you to a stopping point in front of a smaller one. “Here I am.” He smirked, his skeleton makeup curving, turning to look at you. The modest headstone was ordinary, without any flowers to commemorate the loss. You nodded as you registered the name.

Tate Langdon 1977- 1994. Loving son.

You chuckled breathlessly at his joke. “This is one hell of an idea, having a date in front of your own grave.”

Tate quirked an eyebrow before pulling you to a seated position, setting the blanket down on the ground and alcohol aside. You both hadn’t bothered with cups, planning on just drinking out of the bottle, something you’d both done several times. He wrapped his arm around you, your head nuzzled on his shoulder.

“What was your motive, Tate? Being Ghostface?” It was before you were born but everyone heard about the killing spree during 1994. It started with one murder, a teenage girl strung up on a tree. Before it escalated to a principal. Those weren’t enough to raise concerns until the last night when the killer was caught.

It was at a party. A curfew had been given but a group of teens threw a gathering anyway. Two more people were murdered. Brutally. One girl was inside a dog door inside the garage. The man’s throat had been slit and he was dragged across the front of a van.

The murderer wore a gown and a mask.

Tate Langdons identity was revealed after he had been gunned down by the swat team. He took too long at the house as the police were called. The term Ghostface had been taken as a joke before it ultimately stuck with him. But he never revealed why he did it. Even during the last seconds of his life. Yet, his soul remained in the very home he was killed in.

He had been shot down in the Murder House.

You’d seen the apparel once. When he played the same game with you after class several weeks ago. Where he fingered you, used the very blade he commented the crimes with. It gave him pleasure to scare you. Or try too.

“My motive?” He asked, glancing down at you. He didn’t like to talk about his past. He hated answering questions because he didn’t want to relive it. He was always paranoid you’d leave him if he explained. You knew the relationship was toxic. But you still loved him.

Besides. He was already dead. What more could he do?

“Yes. Why did you do it?” You lifted your chin upward, watching as he clenched his jaw.

“Who said I needed a reason?” You pursed your lips as he teased you.

“Tate. Be serious. Why? Why did you kill them?”

Several seconds of silence followed. All you felt was the pattern of his breathing.

“I wanted to die. And I wanted to take people with me. I wanted to scare them. I wanted them to think they had a chance to escape me. I wanted my mother to know exactly what kind of monster she created. That’s why I killed her boyfriend. I wanted her to know the pain she made me feel.”

You allowed the confession to hang in the air. It wasn’t fear you felt, more like a realization that Tate had been dangerous. Your loving, doting and obsessed boyfriend had been a killer. He knew exactly how to press the blade down on your skin without breaking it. He knew how to walk without making noise. He enjoyed seeing you beg for him. Beg for his cock. Beg for him to let you finish.

But you wanted him to have a turn. He needed to experience it.

“Mmm. Did you like being covered in blood?” You asked, your voice soft despite the disturbing question.

Tate swallowed. “I didn’t really think about it.” You nodded and pulled your hands in your lap. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead starting at the stone.

“Do you ever think about me, covered in blood?” You withheld a smile when he took a sharp inhale. He blinked.

“Y-yes.” He looked down at you but you reached up, taking his chin between your thumb and pointer finger. You set his jaw straight.

“Did I say you could look at me?” Tate shakes his head obediently.

“Good boy. Do you ever think about…me killing someone?” His lips parted and he heavily inhaled through his nose.

“Yes.” He half whispered, half whined.

“Have you thought about fucking me in the costume? Using the knife on me again? While I’m covered in someone else’s blood?”

Tate shifted on the ground, his eyes glazing as he tried to keep his focus ahead. “Babe-“

“Don’t interrupt me, Tate. Be good and answer only when I tell you to.” You sternly commanded. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” He shakily answered. You needed to push a little harder, just a bit to get exactly what you needed.

“What are you thinking about now, Tate? And make sure you’re honest.” You kept watching him. His teeth grazed his lower lip, despite the paint and his hand started to drift to his pants.

“I want to splay you on the ground, right here. Right now. I want to spread your legs, taste you with my mouth before I fuck you senseless. Until you can’t wait. And then do it all over again.” You quirked an eyebrow before your hand fell to his thigh.

“What about you, baby? Don’t you want me to make you feel good? To suck your dick? Make you cum in my mouth?” He shivered and his fingers drifted to his crotch.

“I’d rather feel you cum. I don’t care about me. All I want is you.” You hummed and your finger tips grazed his growing erection.

“Mmm. You’re such a sweet boy, Tate. Do you like it when my legs are around your head? Do you like that?”

Tate’s hand finally palmed his dick and you smiled in triumph. You lifted yourself from his embrace and you grabbed his wrist.

“Tate. Did I say you could touch yourself? Don’t you remember our rules?” Tate’s eyes widened in response and you shook your head disapprovingly.

The rules consisted that Tate was not allowed to touch himself without permission. Neither were you. Along with a safe word. Mercy.

“I’m sorry-I thought you-“

Your hand raised and wrapped around his neck. You pulled him close as he grunted from the pressure. You squeezed steadily the sides of his throat and you leaned in, hovering over his mouth. “Mmm, my sweet little boy. Getting hard over me being drenched in blood. You’re absolutely pathetic.”

Tate’s eyes glasses over and his lip slightly trembled. “Mama-please-“ He leaned in to kiss you but you pulled your head away.

“I don’t think so, Tate. I think…you need to be punished. Would you agree?” You proposed and he swallowed heavily. Fear prickling his expression.

“Do whatever you want to me. Just let me touch you, please.” Tate placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently and causing your knee to settle inbetween his legs. “Please, please let me touch you. I can make it up to you. I promise, baby. I can’t stand the thought of you mad at me.”

He laid down, his hair like a blonde halo on the ground as he stared up at you, your hand still wrapped around his neck. He looked so submissive. So willing to make you happy. Ready for you to use him however you fucking wanted. And you will.

“You’ll make it up to me?” You whispered. Tate started grinding his dick down on your knee, humping like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything for you.” He encouraged, slipping his fingers down to your waistband, your dark leggings stretching as he attempted to touch your underwear. Removing your hand from his throat, you slapped him across the face. Tate grimaced from the impact, his head jolting to the side and he blinked at you with watery eyes.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, Tate.” He leaned up, taking his hands off your torso and buried his face in your breasts.

You attempted to push him down but he was a lot stronger than you despite his slender form. His arms wrapped around your hips, making you straddle his pelvis.

“Mama-I’m sorry-I just need you. I want to make you cum. I want you to be proud of me-please let me be good. I promise you’ll be proud of me…” He was begging. You almost gave in, withholding a moan as he pressed kisses on your costume covered breasts but you needed to stick with your plan.

“Tate, if you want to make me feel good. Lay down. Lay down nice and slow for me, baby.” He quickly pulled away, his face paint smudged as he slowly laid his body down on the grass.

You were situated above him, powerful and he was willing to obey every command you gave him. Reaching your hand down, you brushed his cheek with your fingers and he contently leaned in to your touch. “Now, I want you to close your eyes. Keep them closed until you know exactly when to open them.” You instructed in a clear voice.

Tate opened his mouth to protest but you gripped his chin between your fingers. Leaving nail imprints. “What did I say about disobeying me?” He shut them immediately after that. You smirked. Now, the real fun could begin.

Carefully, you brought yourself to stand. Your boots crunching the grass beneath you while walking to your bag. Digging through it, your hands locked around a lightweight but long, black gown. Slipping it on, you then pulled out the last needed item.

The Ghostface mask. And the same blade Tate used on you.

Slipping it over your hair and face, you started walking away as quiet as you could. Then, you tucked the knife to your belt inside the gown. If Tate heard running, he would open his eyes too soon. You disappeared in the bustle of trees across the cemetery before stepping behind the church. Smiling wickedly, you pulled out your cellphone.

Tate was growing impatient. He listened to your footsteps carefully, trying to figure out where you were before they disappeared entirely. Seconds passed, he felt alone. Despite your warnings, Tate opened his eyes and sat up.

You were gone.

Panic set in and he jumped to his feet. What if something was wrong? His breathing grew heavier as he jogged through the area, desperately searching for any signs of you. He called out but no answer came.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.” He ran his fingers through his mused hair and stepped forward in the direction of the church, but his cellphone started ringing.

Tate frowned and looked at his pocket. Only one person knew of his number. Maybe you needed help. He dug it out of the material and pressed it to his ear.

“are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hello, Tate Langdon.” He froze and his eyes widened. The voice on the other end.

Was Ghostface. The very same alteration he used in 1994. The same he used to call you.

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a response. It was all a trick. It was you. But…how did you sneak it past him?

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to respond to a greeting?” Ghostface prodded and Tate cleared his throat.

“Hey. is that what you were planning? Where are you?”

“Tate, you’ve been such a bad boy. Dreaming about your girlfriend killing someone.” He huffed out an embarrassed breath and scanned the area around him.

“This-this isn’t funny, asshole.” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh, I’d be careful about calling me names, Tate. You wouldn’t want me to slit that pretty neck of yours, would you?” Ghostface leered. Tate chuckled and started moving towards the trees.

“That wouldn’t matter. I’m already dead.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be punished, Tate. For all the things you did to those poor, innocent people.”

“Innocent?” He parroted.

“Yes. In fact, I wonder if movies influenced you. Movies can be a powerful inspiration. Tell me…what’s your favorite scary movie?” Tate squatted down, trying to see evidence of your boot prints but he didn’t see anything.

“Do you really have to go through the whole speech? I asked too many questions.” He said to himself.

“Is that a refusal to my question? Mmm, Tate. You just can’t listen, can you?” Ghostface teased and he sighed with frustration.

“Where are you?”

“Aw, you look so pretty when you’re desperate.” He looked around, realizing you must be close by, able to see his expression. Instead of answering, he crept closer to the church.

“What happens if I find you?” He asked, excitedly looking for you.

“Then, you get to make me cum. Just like you want.” Tate groaned and quickly looked behind the building.

No one was there.

He went to speak before a hand gripped his hair, yanking him back and a sharp blade pressed against his neck. He gasped.

“You didn’t think it be that easy, did you?” You said, voice still altered. Tate wanted desperately to turn around and pound her on the ground but the knife nicked his skin.

Blood trickled down and the hand that gripped his hair, traveled down his face, to his throat. Her finger collected the plasma and smeared it across his lips.

“Please, Christ I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me fuck you. I’m begging you, please.” Tate pleaded. You turned him around.

He stared down at her, her gown hung on her body. The mask was secure and she aimed the knife at his chest. “Sorry, I just wanted to hear you scream.”

“Get on your back.” You commanded. Tate fell to the ground, landing underneath you and you smiled behind the mask. Finally, he was listening. With your free hand, you unbutton his jeans and yanked them down.

You lifted his shirt up, exposing his v line and the thin patch of hair. His dick was hard and prominent through his boxers. A wet patch of precum staining it. You shook your head, taking the blade and lightly tracing it across his skin.

Tate inhaled sharply and bucked his hips. Humping the air as you played with the knife. His hand lifted and you smacked his crotch with the handle. He stilled, panting as you peeled off the mask. You set the blade down, hooking your fingers around his waistband and then you pulled it down his legs.

His cock hung heavy, thick and red at the tip. “So needy, baby.” Your voice was back to normal. You lowered yourself on your stomach, wrapping your hand around his dick before licking a single stripe along the vein.

Tate whimpered with a high pitch whine as his hand flew to your hair. Allowing the grip, you pulled the tip to your lips and started sucking gently. His fingers pulled your hair, hard enough to hurt but you massaged his cock with your hand as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was a mess, moaning and shaking as you gave him head. “I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted. His climax rushed through, gushing out of your mouth as you helped him ride out his orgasm.

You pulled back, your lipstick smeared and you wiped your chin with the back of your hand. Before you had a chance to breathe, Tate flipped you over, immediately smashing his lips to yours. As he shoved his tongue in your mouth, hungrily kissing you, his hand frantically felt your torso. You kissed him back feverishly, pulling his hair as he sank his teeth into your lower lip.

You mewled as he ripped himself away and then sloppily kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He pleaded like a prayer as he rocked his hips against yours, his hardening dick against you.

As submissive as he was, Tate could also fuck you like it was his last time ever doing so. You were lost in the growing pleasure as he brushed his tongue against your sweet spot. He fumbled to pull your leggings down and underwear down, any coordination gone as he shoved himself down. You wanted to resist, regain control but he pried your legs apart.

“Tate-“ You started but he shook his head. He opened his mouth, laid his tongue flat against your pussy as he started lapping away at your clit.

“No, no, don’t tell me to stop. I need this, mommy.” He moaned against your cunt as he circled his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to withhold your sounds but he grazed your pussy with his teeth. “No, I want to hear how good this feels.” Tate dug his fingernails into your thighs to keep you still, dragging them painfully but deliciously down. You felt the hilt of the knife against your entrance and you looked down. Tate’s eyes were black as he effortlessly slipped the handle inside you. The foreign feeling pumped in and out as his mouth worked your swollen pussy. You weren’t going to last much longer as he increased the speed.

A overpowering wave of pleasure exploded and you couldn’t make any noise as you trembled. Tate finally pulled back and removed the handle from you. He crawled up, cupping your chin before he kissed you. Forcing you to taste your own cum.

“I need to fuck you,” He moaned against your lips as he shuffled clumsily to line himself up with your cunt.

He nipped your lip too hard, blood pooled from the small wound and he repeated your earlier actions. Smudging your mouth with blood as he bottomed you out. “Fuck.” He growled. “You look so hot with blood on your skin.”

You arms wrapped around his shoulders as he thrusted, deep inside you, hard enough to hit your cervix but you loved the pain. His movements were growing sloppy. “Don’t cum until I say, Tate. Or else I’ll have to punish you again.”

But he couldn’t listen, his speed thudded inside you and you felt him spill inside you, he squeezed his eyes shut from the orgasm as he came to a stop. He ripped them back open in fear as he understood his mistake. “I’m sorry-you just felt so good-“ He pleaded but you wouldn’t have it.

You pushed him off, forcing him on his stomach as you straddled his back. His bare pelvis pressed against the ground as you trailed your fingers down his skin.

“Now, you’re really going to scream.”

@taintandviolent @bloodibambiidoll @cxrrodedcoffin @evansroses @rafesheaven @stillwjk-channie-lixie @fear-is-truth

[justhereforsubsevika]

YOU SAID U WANTED SEVIKA ASKS ?? K THEN , how about sevika and brothel worker!reader who wears a full face mask whenever they're together , but sevika finally gets her to take it off . huh what about that

hm. ok this is mainly smut not a lot of plot, im assuming this is dom top sevi i will say for the room that sex work is not to be romanticised and is a degrading line of work that women should never be forced into (i know, what a bummer way to start a fic) but for a fantasy...TEEHEE Okay i got a bit carried away describing sevikas pussy so its a little explicit, dom vers sevi, pussy eating, strap sex (minor), cum-sharing (girl this is so nasty), fingering, it's pretty short sorry :(

Sevika had been coming to you for months. She did frequent the brothel prior to your employment, but got addicted the minute she tasted you for the first time. Until now, you'd been on the receiving end of pleasure. She'd come to the brothel, request her special girl (which babette always rolled her eyes at), and cherish your body. She would spend at least 30 minutes kissing across all your skin, her dark brown lipstick littering your body, before fucking your brains out.

On this particular occasion, Sevika had been plowing into you for half her 3 hour duration with you. You had cum on her strap more times than you could count, your eyes crossed in the top of your head, your weak moans muffled by your mask. It drove her insane, not being able to see how your eyebrows quirked when she picked out her strap, not being able to see you bite down on your lip, not being able to see the tears that streaked down your face.

As you groaned and gripped the pillows behind you to brace yourself for another orgasm, Sevika grunted and twisted her lips to the side. "Fuck, princess, what I'd give to paint that pretty face in my cum." Filth being groaned out to you wasn't uncommon, but something about Sevika saying such dirty words made your mind snap. You came whining and using your feet to push at her hips. She pulled out slowly and gently, sitting beside you and tracing her fingers around your nipples. She would never dare push you past your limits, something that was, unfortunately, foreign in your line of work.

Maybe it was the way she fucked you. Maybe it was the fact that you had built up a little friendship since you'd seen her for months on end. Maybe it was just that, underneath her hard exterior, she was a sweet woman who cared about you above her own pleasure. Whatever the reason was, you trusted her.

"You can do that.. that thing you said... if you want.." you mumbled as she kissed gently against your neck. "I'm not riding your mask, I'll break it." You giggled and pinched the bottom of your mask, lifting it enough to kiss Sevika's neck. You straddled her and sat up, preparing yourself for what you were going to do. She looked at you wide-eyed, hand resting on your thigh and flexing with anticipation.

You removed it and she moaned, moaned at the sight of your face. Jesus, you didn't think you were that hot.

"Oh fuck, fuck get on your knees princess," she spluttered, fighting her way out of her strap and taking off her boy-shorts, legs spread on the leather sofa in one quick movement. Your eyes shimmered as you took in the sight of her pussy. It was.. well it was like the straps she always chose. It was big. Her pussy was just.. everything about it was almost obnoxious. Her outer lips puffy and chubby, shrouded in thick black hair that ran up to her belly button and along the inside of her thighs. Her inner lips were dripping, huge and protruding, daring you to suck on them. Her pussy was a deep shade of brown fading into a dark fucsia when you spread her open. Nothing about it was "neat" or "cute", it was womanly. It was natural. It was sexy as fuck.

Teasingly, you poked your tongue a little ways inside her, making her grunt and take you by the back of your head. She shoved your face into her sopping wet pussy, groaning when you whined at her taste. You wrapped your arms around her thighs and got to work, nose shoving against her, again, obnoxiously big clit. "Mmmph, so good for me princess, so good," she grunted out, using the grip she had on your hair to maneuver you how she liked. She grinded her hips against your face, quite literally painting your face in her moisture. You left soothing touches up her hips, gripping at her hip bones, tracing the indents of her abs.

You assumed she'd be sensitive due to the sheer size of her clit, and you were absolutely right. It didn't take long for creamy, white cum to force its way across your cheeks, drip down your chin, down your throat. You spluttered and coughed, your air having been deprived for the short duration in which you sucked on her pussy. She leant down to you and opened her mouth, inviting you to spit her cum back down her own throat.

You did so and she grinned, kissing you with an open mouth, her cum and your saliva dribbling down your cheeks. As you kissed , you snaked your fingers between her legs, slipping them inside her messy pussy. She moaned into your mouth and shoved her tongue down your throat, you sucking on it instinctively.

As you curled your fingers and pumped them into her, sevika guided you down to the floor. She gripped your hair for balance and bounced on your fingers, eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open. She grinded on you, finding a steady rhythm.

"More, princess," she whined out, and you added a third finger into her pussy, making her groan and grip your hair harder. You brought your other hand up to toy with her clit, thumbing her under the hood, making her throw her head back.

She creamed onto you again, her cum seeping its way down your wrist and painting your breasts as she rode out her orgasm. She slowed down and brazenly checked herself out, gripping a little at her ass before standing and scooping you up.

She placed you gently onto the couch and licked up her cum from your breasts, stopping to suck at your nipples, and of course giving you open mouthed kisses with her mess still on her tongue.

okay i hope thats good i went a little off track LMFAO

[xxportfolio]

- purposely get a fancy cleanser and wash your face with it

- buy yourself flowers! keep them in an area of your home that you’re in the most (i do this one often)

- streeeeeetch. girl im serious. just take 5-10 minutes and stretch your body. i love to use the app “down dog” (if you have an edu email, you can get a free account. if not, they have some pretty good stuff for the free version)

- light a candle and take a bath! drop a bath bomb in there if your skin allows. take a shower with a shower steamer tab if you don’t have a tub.

- set a day aside where you do a face mask once a week. it doesn’t need to be fancy! the dollar tree has some pretty good ones that don’t break out my face! the primrose one is my favorite (pair this with your bath day if you can help it!)

- watch your favorite TV show without your phone near you. we forget to do that nowadays. just watch your show TO watch your show

- clean your sheets! shave your legs that day too (if you shave) for the Ultimate Experience™ lol

- tidy your space! put on your favorite music, podcast, audiobook, and go to town!

- go out to your favorite restaurant and enjoy your own company! it’s hard, but try your best to not be on your phone too much - at the very least, not while you’re actively eating. eat uninterrupted, give yourself the peace of eating mindfully

- on the topic of mindfulness, the down dog app also has guided mediation! try out some meditation and see if it works for you! (totally fine if it doesn’t, it took me a while to get into it too)

- go for a walk! again, try to not be on your phone too much. be in awe of how green the color green is

- ice cream date with yourself!

- if you can help it, sit near a body of water. trust me. (again, try your best to not be on your phone)

- if you drink, get a nice bottle of wine and have a glass with your dinner! it doesn’t need to pair, who cares lol

- waaaaay more! but these are off the top of my head. i believe in you! be well.

You attract so much more when you start pouring into yourself. Things really start finding you fr

[effieotto]

Effie was canonically the most human (games related) person in the entire Capitol, and i don’t think we give her enough credit for that.

When the Quell was announced, the entire Capitol filled with tears. People cried, fainted and shouted so that everyone could see how they felt about the unfairness of it all, while still gathering to bet and cheer for the Games just like they did in any other year. Meanwhile, Effie refused to react at all -in the books, when the prep team had no problem in showing how sad they were for having to watch Katniss and Peeta going back to the Arena, with no real sympathy whatsoever for her as a human being, Effie maintained composed into her professional persona throughout the whole week of preparation, hiding her feelings behind her Escort mask of false cheerfulness and pragmatic detachment. Although she showed up for breakfast with red eyes and a puff face from crying herself to sleep, she always left the room when she felt truly emotional, not enabling anyone the privilege to witness her tears. Unlike the others, her sadness was real. Her feelings were genuine, and she would not allow other people to trivialize her pain by turning it into a dramatic display

In the movies, when Katniss was getting ready for her interview in the backstage, she asked Haymitch if anyone was buying Cashmere’s act, and he pointed to all the other Escorts and Prep teams sobbing in front of the Tv. Effie was also there, but she wasn’t crying. She clapped instead and said “she is really good” -because she knew it was all an act and she wasn’t willing to join the fake tears game

So yeah, Effie might had been a dramatic character from the beginning, wining and complaining about frivolous things while kids were literally being slaughtered, but the feelings she wasn’t fabricating for her Escort persona were powerfully real. She cared, and loved, and grieved with such strength and honesty that she only did it in the privacy of her own heart. She was not a rebel, her actions were not guided by a greater purpose. She wasn’t trying to play with the odds or foment a rebellion…all she ever wanted was for her Victors to get the greatest life they could get. Her actions were motivated by love -pure and genuine care for her children…

and this is the most human thing she could do

[imreidswifey]

happy new year!

Happy new years to you as well!! ♡😻

A New Year’s Kiss to Remember -S.R Fluff-

Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve, and the BAU holiday party is in full swing, filled with laughter, trivia, and celebration. As midnight approaches, surrounded by twinkling lights and the playful teasing of your coworkers, you find yourself standing next to the brilliant and endearing profiler.

Warnings:

Fluff and romance galore

Mentions of social anxiety/nerves

Teasing and lighthearted banter among friends

A brief kiss scene

———————————————————————————-

The BAU’s holiday party was in full swing by the time you arrived. A burst of warm air greeted you as you stepped into the festively decorated office, your breath catching at the sight of twinkling fairy lights strung across the ceiling and wreaths adorning every cubicle. The team had gone all out this year—Garcia’s handiwork, no doubt. You slipped out of your coat and joined the laughter and chatter of your coworkers, heart fluttering when your eyes caught sight of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He stood near the snack table, a cup of punch in one hand, his other gesturing animatedly as he explained something to Rossi. You didn’t even need to get closer to know he was spouting off some fascinating fact about the history of New Year’s Eve or the statistical probability of resolutions being kept. Spencer Reid had a way of making even the most mundane topics come alive, his honeyed voice weaving facts into something magical.

And tonight? Tonight, he looked particularly handsome. His slightly unruly curls were swept back, his usual sweater vest replaced by a dark blue button-down and a gray tie with faint silver accents. It was a simple look, but on Spencer, it was perfect.

You debated whether to approach him, nerves twisting in your stomach. Your crush on Spencer had been growing for months now—ever since you joined the BAU, to be exact. His kindness, his brilliant mind, the way his face lit up when he talked about something he loved… he was everything you never knew you were looking for. But despite the camaraderie you’d built with him, you hadn’t been brave enough to tell him how you felt.

“Y/N!” Garcia’s voice broke through your thoughts, her sequined dress glittering as she bounded over. “Get over here! You’re just in time for the trivia showdown!”

You laughed, letting her drag you to the center of the room, where the team had gathered. Spencer’s eyes met yours briefly, and he smiled—a small, shy smile that made your heart race.

The night passed in a blur of laughter and games. Spencer dominated trivia, as expected, but he’d humbly stepped back to let others shine. You found yourself gravitating toward him, the two of you sharing quiet conversations amidst the chaos. He told you about the origins of New Year’s resolutions, and you teased him about his mismatched socks, earning a soft chuckle that sent butterflies fluttering in your chest.

As midnight approached, the party shifted into a more relaxed rhythm. Morgan turned the lights down low, setting the stage for the countdown. Someone passed out party hats and noisemakers, and you found yourself standing next to Spencer as the team gathered around the large clock on the wall.

“Nervous about midnight?” you asked him, trying to mask your own nerves.

Spencer glanced at you, his eyes soft behind his glasses. “Not nervous, exactly,” he said. “Just… wondering about the traditions. Did you know the custom of kissing at midnight dates back to ancient Rome? It was believed to bring good luck for the coming year.

You smiled. “Good luck, huh? Maybe I should make sure I’m standing next to the right person, then.”

His cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and he opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the countdown began.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Your heart raced as the numbers ticked down.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

The room erupted in cheers, but all you could focus on was Spencer. He hesitated for just a moment before leaning toward you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as soft and sweet as the man himself. It wasn’t hurried or showy—it was perfect.

When you pulled back, his eyes searched yours, nervous but hopeful. “Was that… okay?” he asked softly.

“More than okay,” you whispered, smiling as the room around you erupted into cheers and applause.

“Finally!” Morgan called out, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Took you two long enough!”

JJ laughed, clapping her hands. “I think that’s the best New Year’s moment we’ve ever had at one of these parties.”

Even Rossi chimed in, raising his glass. “To young love.”

Spencer turned an even deeper shade of red, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “They’re never going to let us live this down, are they?”

“Nope,” you said with a laugh. “But I think it’s worth it.”

As the team teased and celebrated, you leaned closer to Spencer, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. If this was how the new year was starting, you couldn’t wait to see what else it had in store.

[julia4today]

shunned (tf141 x fem!reader)

part one

walking up the powdery mountain with the rest of the team is something of a torture device. it's times like these, when you can't feel your legs and your vision splinters between areas of the forest, you reconsider your choice of becoming a part of this team. the particles of snow pound against your face, your eyelashes become coated in the fragile flakes, and blinking only serves to hurt you. your brain begs you to stop and the dryness of your eyes calls out for hydration. unfortunately, you ran out of water an hour ago and if you did happen to have some, you're sure it would've been frozen solid.

your legs begin to slow, you steadily begin to drop out of formation, beginning to trudge along simon instead. you feel his large hand on your back, managing to propel you forward so you don't drop behind him and get lost in the flurry white of the freezing blizzard.

"your trousers weighing you down there girl?" he still manages to get out a distinct chuckle, despite his mask being covered from the whiteout.

"fuck you, riley," you say trying to push against the weight of the pounding snow. while irritated at his snide remark, you can't help but be thankful for the small push his consistent hand is giving you. allowing you to use what little strength you have left.

the blistering winds make it harder for you to hear the faint words of ghost. but you manage to slightly make out the sound of him communicating over his radio.

"cap, how much longer until our destination? ladies in the field can't keep up. over"

it was a shallow dig at you, not unfamiliar, but certainly not welcome. although the misogyny stung in a deep part of you, you were thankful for him asking. your own radio crackles to life, a recognition that it wasn't simon asking the question for himself.

"we still have a couple miles to go. hold out. over."

quick, concise, to the point. that is how you would describe captain price, your current commanding officer. while your body was screaming for a rest, you would never hear the end of it if you were to give out so, despite all better judgement, you reluctantly reply, "wilco."

digging deep and pushing through had never been an issue for you. that's probably one of the reasons you even joined the military in the first place, it's something you've always been good at. but right now, you could fall face first in the snow, laying there for the rest of the mission, and perhaps that would be more appealing than this.

"keep up slug," you hear murmured behind you obviously by none other than ghost.

slug, a derogatory nickname which, also happens to be your callsign. fucking great. it was given to you in your rookie days by much more sexist men. calling you slug because a. you were "slow" and b. resembled a slug during "that time of the month," assholes.

"shut up." you bite back. soon you begin to pick up the pace. your cheeks and ears warm from fury and your legs get the message.

maybe mental strength doesn't help you push through, but spite definitely does.

perhaps hours of trudging to through the icy abyss has made your body numb to the burn it now feels as you begin to pull ahead of your fellow team members. in front of johnny and kyle, but never in front of price.

"aye lass, ye're helding oot on us wi yer strength," johnny remarks. his thick scottish accent cutting through the lashing of harsh air against your ears. while already originally hard to make out, the lapping of wind makes it so much harder. so like most things he says, you ignore him and continue to drag yourself through the wintery mountain range.

it could've been hours or pure minutes of walking before your gaze is peeled away from the garish snow. a hand placed on your shoulder stopping you, your head moved to face your captain. you look up with an exhausted expression, everything in your body screaming for respite.

price turns to face the rest of the boys.

"alright, men-" his eyes glance to you awkwardly "er, um. ahem. team. we've reached our first shelter for the night. a mountain hut. i am sure you're all familiar. but we've reached enemy territory, so, tonight we are rotating watch."

he moves his hands from your shoulder so he can unlatch the door and file in the squad. in a respectful world it'd go you first, then everybody else. but you are quickly shouldered out of the way, left in the swing of the door.

"a'll geyt the feer goin'" soap announces, immediately tearing off his gloves and shoving his backpack to the ground.

"gonna put those boyscout badges to work?" kyle retorts, chuckling as he peels off his icy scarf. one which was originally red in color, now a sheer white. he finds purchase one of the four wooden chairs that surround the old molding table.

the entire cabin reeks of mildew and rot. looking around from the door you can immediately spot the decaying boards beneath simons feet and the decomposing beams dangling above the hatted price.

you grumble in frustration and begin to remove the equipment that surround and insulate your body.

a familiar paw rests atop your shoulder, forcefully turning your body as the big large figure stoops down to your shoulder. "gonna make us a meal, slug?" the venomous words slip off his tongue. another unwanted jab at the fact that you are a woman.

"no, i'm not gonna make you a fucking meal, simon." the cabin quiets. your voice had come out louder than intended, but every time since joining the task force the men expect you to clean, cook, polish, and dust, like you're some sort of maid.

"easy slug," a deep voice sounds beside you. your eyes meet the soft contact of john price. "i am sure he did not mean to offend you. so why don't you back off a little, hm?" it's almost impossible to not be soothed by his fatherly voice. "besides, you're on a team. just because you're a woman doesn't mean you get to slack off." there it is.

while on the surface, he may seem like one of the better ones. no passes at you, no eyes roaming your body, no inappropriate hands. but every once in a while his true colors show. that he thinks less of you because you are a woman.

"whatever." your gaze breaks away, his nurturing demeanor no longer tricking your brain into calm. your, now, slightly less icy hands move to unlace your boots. socks wet and toes freezing.

the atmosphere of the decaying shed lightens mildly as johnny begins his rants. loud and mainly incoherent, he sings his thoughts. with no filter and no manner. price melts some snow near the fire and divvy it between the soldiers. water used to rehydrate themselves and the food packed in their bags.

the men gather around the table, quickly filling all four chairs. not a thought left to you. instead, you leave yourself the far end of a corroded couch to eat your meal. the springs sticking into your thighs and torn fabric an ardent reminder to who you aren't and why you are not at that table.

————

okay ! this is a lot of preamble to the rest of the fic but nonetheless i hope you enjoy it !! and yes i promise to actually do a part two

and yes, i’m sure you can tell, it isn’t proof read. (sorry)

[toastyoffering]

I’m surprised this isn’t more widely discussed.

They’re literally both Frankenstein and The Creature.

They create and complete each other.

To be clear, the original Creature looks more like Jayce. Literally huge and handsome, meant to be a perfect specimen of humanity.

This also follows the themes and parallels between Frankenstein the novel and Paradise Lost, where creator and creature are locked in divine and dialectic battle. (Satan was also supposedly beautiful.)

Jinx is shown in some of the marketing as mimicking a famous image of Satan, having fallen and been twisted by his abandonment. I don’t think it’s just jayvik here that follows the pattern, I think it’s everyone. Ultimately trying to become god in these stories is about an unquenchable thirst for agency and self determination, and all of the characters have tons of influence over each other that they don’t seem to think of as their own choices and agency (think of Vi shattering Powder’s psyche early on).

Every character in Arcane engages in the act of creation with the people around them. Parents make monsters of their children and children usurp parents. Death and destruction are part of a messy cycle where raw materials and opportunities are constantly produced and used to create. The society of Piltover is created on the blood and bones of Zaun.

Look also at the way people use different means to create. The forge, the hammer, food, innovation (Jinx being id-like and Jungian Anima energized to the point of chaos where Viktor could be the Animus/old man figure, one working with machines directly and making Things where the other starts on a chalkboard or in his own mind).

The way Viktor’ internal ableism influences how he ‘perfects’ creation and makes everyone into neuter, featureless, flawless marionettes, how his final form annihilates most evidence of his human body and emotion, literally shoving a mask on his face that only one person has the heart and will to break.

How the creature was both beautiful and innocent, only made monstrous by his experiences of constant fear and rejection (it’s unclear what Viktor would have done in the commune without outsiders poisoning it with violence, but it’s also arguable that his hubris and his fall were inevitable). The creature could *read*, he spoke *multiple languages*, he argued philosophy and managed to live happily with someone blind for a long time. He returns to demand his Creator make someone like him so he has someone to love and won’t be alone. Half the tragedy of the story is that he had no say in being made, tried to be good, and the world such as it was could not stomach him.

(If it was written today they probably would have hatebanged in an inn or something)

The Mage saves Jayce and creates the academic who can’t stop chasing magic.

He pulls Jayce into the other world and lets him break and rebuild himself, reforging him into someone unrecognizable.

Jayce acts on the Commune leader and makes the Herald.

Jayce acts on the Herald and makes Viktor.

Guys his name was Viktor for a reason. It was always Frankenstein.

The modern prometheus

[yandere-wishes]

「✦ S n o w W h i t e ✦ 」

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Yandere! Roman Sionis x Snow White! Reader ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆.˚✮𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎 𝒯𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝒜𝒰✮˚.⋆

Thinking about Yandere! Roman Sionis in a Snow White AU. Thinking about him being the evil queen/king who wants to poison poor little snow white.

✦•┈┈┈๑⋅⋯❦︎⋯⋅๑┈┈┈•✦

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose face is permanently bound to a black mask, whose wicked soul has bled into his physical form. Forever cursed by the dark arts to bear his sins to the world. Who locks himself inside his chambers in the castle's highest tower. Paranoia gnawing at his hardened flesh, he knows the kingdom hates him, he knows they want to savor his blood upon their tongues.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose only companion is a magic mirror, one side whole, one side shattered, he can't quite remember if he's at fault for that. A magic mirror who tells him everything. Evil King! Roman whose paranoia drives him to ask, again and again, who the people rever, whom they worship as their king, who is it that the people admire. Who is the fairest in all the land? It's always him, the mirror says. Tyrant king, intoxicated by his own power. The damsels still yearn for him, the noblemen still fall at his feet.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who 's appalled that one day, one grim dark day. The mirror doesn't utter his name, it sings about the princess, the last remnant of the old monarchy that Roman had crushed. The precious daughter of the weak king and queen of old. She is the fairest, in grace and in face. The maiden who sings to the birds and whose musk awakens the flowers. Whose smile puts the sun to shame and whose eyes sparkle brightest. She will be his downfall, the mirror says, the people dream of the fair maiden superseding their potentate masked king. Dream of replacing tyranny with benevolence, of trading secrecy for candor.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n whose face is forever ruined and so he refuses to allow the starry-eyed little princess to be the fairest in the land. Envy and paranoia both sink their ragged teeth into his heart as he gazes down from his window. Bearing witness to the fair maiden singing by the well as she hugs a little rabbit to her chest so tenderly. He knows she has to die, he refuses to be bested by a little girl.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who toils day and night, mixing the deadliest of poisons with the vilest chemicals. Smearing his potion upon a ripe red apple. Your essence flashes across his mind, perfect lips drawn into a cheerful smile. For a second he envisions them caught between his teeth, your tiny body withers beneath him, eyes wide as you gaze up at him in adore and abhor. It's the bright red of the apple that shakes away such visions. The lethal red eagerly awaits to be pierced by your pearly white teeth.

❦ ︎ Y a n de r e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who's always harbored a demented little crush on the naive little princess his kingdom still reveres, who always dreamed of harshly ringing his fingers across your face, of having you kneel between his thighs and kiss his rings. Who's had many a sleepless night dreaming of turning you into his perfect little toy. And maybe this apple is a love letter as much as it is a dagger to the heart. After all, what is a poison apple if not love twisted into malice, painted by ruby ​​​​​​glass shards and laced with sweet sweet detest? What is a poison apple if not a confession?

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who pushes sweet candy apples between your teeth forcing you to take a bit. Whose body is dangerously close to yours, fingers digging into the delicate soft flesh of your hips, laying bruises upon the bones. You're kinda cute like this, Roman thinks, wide eyes, terrified, and yet all so trusting. Like nothing in the world would ever dare harm a soul as sweet as yours. You melt under his touch, desperately clinging to pretenses and formalities, far too shy to deny your king.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who catches your body as it collapses, who watches as the poison dances across your face, dazed eyes hooded, forever closed. He takes a moment to appreciate this, you between his arms, lethargic and vulnerable just like a little doll. He carries you outside the castle, declares to the guards that 'someone' has poisoned the princess, declares that a public funeral shall be held. All while trying to hide his smug grin.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n, who only realizes how truly gorgeous you are when you're laying dead in your glass coffins marveled and exalted by all the weeping kingdom of Gotham. How dare they look at you, how dare they fawn over what's his. How dare they dream of what belongs to him. Ethereal beauty sprawled out among the red cushions entrapped forever in glass. How did he miss it? You may be the fairest but it was never you that he envied. He wanted you, needed you. It was the kingdom he was jealous of, the peasants or faux-faced nobles who fawned and swooned over you. Those who stole you away, those who made him hate you for far too long.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who listens as the people mutter about 'a prince', about 'true love'. They're too stubborn to let you die . Too hopeful to admit they've lost to the king. After all, they do say love is blind. Roman just hopes the village boys don't start lining up to kiss you. Clinging to frivolous hope that they are the one.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who never knew he would miss the thorn in his side. Who uses black magic and forbidden sorcery to reawaken you. Inhales the smoke and kisses you push it past your lips and down your lungs. Who makes the crowd watch in the dead of night as he "saves you", declaring himself the princess's "true love". Later in the castle, he pulls you aside, "Be grateful" he warns "I could have left you for dead". You're too dazed to speak, swallowing the words as they blossom on your tongue. 'I preferred being dead' you almost long to say.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who only now registers that you are his princess, his doll, the fairest of them all can only belong to him. You're not quite alive, not quite dead either. Clinging to Roman sitting pretty on his lap as he rules over all those poor unfortunate souls. Day by day your eyes grow more vacant, empty, all the stars have almost died out. Your only thoughts are of him, only of him, to you he's the fairest in all the land. Your one true love. The man who saved you from your eternal slumber.

❦ ︎ Y a n d e re ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who kisses you like he's trying to conquer what little of you is left, who bites at your flesh as if he were eating an apple . He relishes in the way your plush lips kiss across his shoulders and neck and masked face. Who can't get enough of his little princess.

❦ ︎ Y a n d er e ! E v i l K i n g ! R o m a n who still feeds you poisoned apples and watches as your mind grows numb and your body taut. Who enjoys having you so scared and mindless, hugging him close as if he were your prince charming...

🎀I kinda love the DC x Fairly Tale AU idea. And to think it all came from a quick nap lol. Let me know if you guys want more of these. I'm thinking of a Little Red Riding Hood au with Jason Todd and desperately need a fairy tale for Harvey Dent!!

🎀@d3athmaskd1v1n3 @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo