#adam scrutinized

[gootube]

a 2024 redraw of my 2022 milk crown on sonnetica adam :3

plus the pre revision version bc i wanted him to look more ominous and this one looked genuinely joyful instead lol

[dihydromorphinone]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 i can't wait to taste you..

after watching her for over a year, tanner can't control his urges anymore and he goes to claim what, he thinks, is rightfully his.

— tanner x reader, reader/character is implied to be female and in luna's place, not really smut but very suggestive it was supposed to be a smut though, kinda dark themed(!!) but it is consensual somehow TT, stalking references, i'll definitely write a part two with smut 👅, been writing this for four months;; kinda feel like i could've done better

if you like it pls reblog!! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

an: i wanted to try something new hehehe tell me if you like how it's written!! also dude... tanner voicelines are so cannibalistic and sexy,,, and i feel sooo bad i drank too much and i was sitting outside drinking beer with some random ahh guy at 3am and I'm pretty sure that something i took today got laced >_< this is my comfort fic yall.

tonight was oddly peaceful. the state of Montana, especially that one – someone would say cursed – town was the complete opposite of peace. with the sudden increase in crime; murder, kidnappings, disappearances mostly the city was covered with terror. the blueblood killer was definitely a real threat, a threat that is wandering free on the sickly covered in fog streets, while the poor citizens are left in the dark – and though he enjoys the exposition he has, for tanner it wasn't enough. it's never going to be enough.

he's cruel. psychotic, even. what sane person would happily murder so many of its own kind? none. and yet, there he was. enthusiastically setting feet rhythmically on the pavement, the heels of his elegant shoes making a barely audible 'click-clacks'. so much passion in each step; the same passion which drives him to inject toxins to humans and toying them with much visible sadism. tanner – the blueblood killer, had a very distinctive way of looking at the society. for him, it was nothing else than scum. trash, refuse; all the same. no human mattered to him. he treated mankind like a child would treat its toys; fun, but only for a moment. then the toy, or in tanner's case, a human can be tossed away into some corner, because it won't serve his purpose this well again. his definition of fun, however, was as cruel as he was. stalking, trespassing, closely observing his prey's emotional reactions and how the body and mind react separately depending on the circumstances and substances. his fun ends when the victim dies or acts repetitively – so he cherishes every moment of preying upon a human.

he found one exception, though – a young woman living not-so-far-away from his hideout; the captivating lady was a detective, with her home set close to the giant, maze-like forest, where the equally handsome doctor was spending his days, and if he wasn't out satiating his disgusting urges, nights. tanner has been watching her for over a year, falling prey to the female's plush lips, seemingly sweet demeanor and her abominable desires. in their own home, each human feels safe. the only place they can be themselves, do whatever they want to do. tanner pitied them - he always did. but for some reason, he still laughed at people who acted different indoors. he defied the whole purpose of safety, stripping the victim of it.

he’s stood in the shadows – where he preferred to be, for now. the thrill of being found was growing fonder and fonder on him, but now's not the right time, tanner would always repeatedly tell himself this like a mantra. like a plea to the sober-thinking part of him to let the other, more careless and darker part have some more fun. his thirst, though, for blood and flesh was just expanding more and more... insatiable, one would think. no matter how many victims would be reported, no matter how the blueblood killer's body count would go up, the urge was almost... attached to him.

through the tinted, mostly curtain-hidden windows, he could see her moving around. left and right she swayed, not getting enough sleep and forgetting basic self care because of her almost sick, he thought, altruistic urges. such a good, upstanding individual she was - someone to look up to, to worship... the woman deserved good, proper treatment only. especially from him - all the neglect is happening because his identity, still a secret, was wanted. tanner almost convinced himself that he feels pity and cries for her, being the source of her opposite of well-being, but in the end it's hard to judge and distinguish emotions while being hazed with mad, almost lusting feelings.

there was, however, no time to reflect the past actions, even if they're undoubtedly mingling with the present. he always did whatever his body and mind wanted, more or less heart. but he would be the last one to judge - there was no place for him and his 'sick' assessment. that being said, tanner finally realised he is in fact done waiting. their time together was pleasant and wholesome, but the urge will drive him to further madness if he won't do anyting about it soon. and since this isn't a mind matter, then it would be suitable to satisfy the flesh, disregarding the heart's wishes and indulge in the woman visible through the small gap in the curtains.

but his heart cannot be silenced this fast.

after searching for his trusted syringe and the mix of liquid midazolam and some other drug he put there previously, he cracked a small smile and sighed, being able to free himself after such a long time. his playtime with victims never lasted this long - this was but a miracle, something unexpected and ready to turn his peaceful, murderous life into something even more vile, dangerous and ruined. but the thought of disposing her like a loose trash didn't sit right with him; tanner was almost disgusted by the bare thought of causing her heart to stop permantly. he was having so much fun now, it'd be almost criminal... but, what is going to happen will eventually happen, so reveal himself to her, he shall.

the woman inside the cozy home was unaware of the terror right next her door, but even if she was - it didn't really matter. for her, the most important thing to do now was to catch that damned blueblood killer, to put end to the town's suffering... and her own grief. she's lost many of her friends and few family members to his wicked fantasies, and it only felt right to do something for the rapidly decreasing community. focused on her promethean task, she couldn't hear the light creak of her door and even lighter footsteps right behind her. only after tanner stood behind her, she could sense someone's presence. shiver ran down her spine, as she vividly remembered closing the door and definitely not inviting anyone, especially this late at night. fear paralyzed her, but then came the realisation.

it could be the blueblood killer. either she will get violently gutted, or she will make a life-changing discovery. and so, the captivating lady sighed, and prepared herself for the worst moments of her life. she turned around, surprising tanner. bold. she was definitely bold, unsure of the danger's scale, yet facing it bravely. his heart barely, but still, softened. endearing, so endearing... but it was too much for her. she closed her eyes right before facing him, squinting her eyes. his little plaything was even more captivating, he thought, smiling softly. though, she could never see it.

"who are you?" she asked, knowing well the answer is going to be fake or she will get no answer at all. or maybe some pistol on her forehead would be all she needed to know before her apparent, incoming demise? but she heard a small chuckle. "i'm the one you've been searching for. pardon me, miss, for keeping you up for so many nights. figured i'd better show myself in person."

his voice was oddly attractive. so pleasant to her ears, so pleasant she almost didn't get what he was saying - clearly, the murderer who got rid of solid few percents of the town's residents was before her, and he was aware of the search. well, it was obvious he will figure it out eventually, but the fact that he exactly knew that it was her... next thing she knew, his fingers were caressing her cheekbones, which made her open her eyes in a second. the sight made her lose her breath for a second.

the blueblood killer was undeniably handsome. sharp jaw, ideally shaped brows, perfect face ratio... not a single thing was wrong. he'd definitely pass as a model, or an angel, though the circumstances made her think of him as the devil. his appearance made it easy to sin. tempting. he was clearly her type, and deep inside of herself she was having a moral battle. she couldn't help the train of thoughts, all vile and lusting, all due to the bare sight of him. that didn't go unnoticed - tanner, as the aspiring master of knowing human reactions, realized she was captivated with him as much as she was with her. the syringe in his other hand, placed behind his back, almost fell to the floor. sweet, so sweet; it seems the paradise's gates won't be opened for him only.

"i've planned some fun activities for the two of us. don't worry, honey, you won't die. yet," the murderer smiled at the woman, terrified and enamored, still gazing at him. oh, how absurdly sweet she was... a perfect mix. with his large, gentle movements he still was caressing her cheek, but slowly moved down to her neck, tracing circles and various shapes. the lady was stunned - and tanner will also be as stunned as the detective, if he regains his mind clarity. but that did not matter; not for now, at least. she's here, next to him, looking at him with lust behind the pretty, sweet facade...

suddenly, the lady felt a sting on her neck. she hissed, and tanner shushed her, continuing to inject the tranquilizer liquid through the syringe. "this will only hurt for a while, i assure you. i wouldn't let you suffer for more, that is - unless you want me to," his poor, horrid jokes made her think about the event briefly, before losing consciousness. this is awful - she is awful, for even considering this monster as a human being, someone that could even potentially become her crush. but the shame can wait, she thought, as the man dressed in white lab coat and red tie came closer to her face and hovered above her, waving his hand as her eyes became droopy and eventually closed.

"good girl," tanner told her, though she couldn't hear those affectionate words. the effects were visible shortly - as if it were not for her perpetrator and his strong, muscular hands she would surely fall down, hitting herself and creating a possible injury. not today, tanner thought, not happening ever. why should she injure herself if the feared master of terror was always for her disposal? but even he wouldn't cut her too deep. the precious flesh of hers shall not be tainted with foolish, mortal-only limited bruises.

having his prized lady in his arms, he spared a few seconds more to admire her unconscious body. not like this was the first time he's seen it - this time was different, though, as he never actually held her like this. tanner closed his eyes swiftly, took a small, but deep breath and contemplated what to do next. it would be a shame to waste the precious liquid he just injected, though it was as precious as she was.

tanner knew her home well, sneaking inside when she wasn't home, and he was about to exploit this knowledge, just as he was about to exploit the sweet, sweet detective he oh-so-adored. holding her as softly as he could, but firm, he moved in the direction of her bedroom, clearly having some sort of a more detailed plan now. after entering, he put her still unconscious body on the big, fluffy bed and then went back to the living room to turn off the lights. should add some more vibes, tanner thought, grinning from ear to ear, as if it was his first time feeling happiness.

awakening from her slumber, she felt as if her wrists were restrained. and soon, she would learn her assumption was correct - although, it wasn't rope or anything extreme as she feared, no.. it was a fine, soft material, silk probably. sitting nice and tight on her skin. in her circumstances, getting tied up was the least she could worry about, and soon, she would find out; as the man's figure hovered over her body, multiple terrifying scenarios flashed her poor mind yet again. but was it surprising? no, it was expected even. her eyes became glassy, as if she'd cry in a second, at which tanner just... cooed. "oh, what's this now? i told you already, i won't let you suffer by my hand unless you want it," tanner replied, bringing his hand to her cheek and gently caressing her already tear-stained flawless skin.

the word gentle did not sit right with him, obviously. his actions were confusing to the extreme; but she wouldn't refuse anything the man would offer. not like she'd even be able to - but he made her think she has a choice and whatever happens next is up to her. what a cruel illusion - one of freedom and safety, that he won't take anything she doesn't want him to. in his mind, she was already his. equal to him, even, though he wouldn't like to see her running around with some sedatives, tranquilizing random people on the street like he does on some nights.

tanner did not retreat his hand, seeing his darling still conflicted but not showing any signs of reluctance. if anything, she was very compliant, and so he shall make sure she's rewarded for her obedience. "could you.. um.. untie me?" she asked, earning yet another one of tanner's smiles. what a silly girl, he thought, asking questions like this. but do whatever she wants him to do, he shall.

"no thrashing and squirming, okay? and i'll give you a piece of freedom," the man said, to which she nodded. she wouldn't want to cross him, never. bringing her arms closer, he slowly undid the bindings on her wrists, brushing his lips softly on the soft flesh of hers. it was somehow... intimate. the way he presented himself to her; she knew he's dangerous. one wrong move or word could probably get her killed, and yet - the way he is now with her speaks a whole different story. one couldn't just see him as a psychotic, sadistic murderer; not when his actions were those of a lover, not a killer. thinking about him in this way was surely a sin. the woman's train of thought, however, was rudely interrupted.

"stop thinking so much," he murmured against her ear. "no point in being so worried. i came here to do what i wanted for a long, long time, you know?" tanner started delicately biting the skin on her ear, chuckling a bit at his own words. "tonight, you shall become rightfully mine. i was thinking of claiming you in a different scenario but i just can't keep myself away from you, sweet girl." her breath hitched, in fear or excitement - she did not know. the anticipation, his face being so close to her own; she was surely about to go insane after tonight. and as tanner buried his face in her neck, she started trying to regain at least part of her mind's long gone clarity.

he's a murderer. a terrible person. he's creating hell on earth. she knows he is awful and she should scream in terror, but her fleshy, earthly desires are clouding her judgement a tad too much. up to this moment, she knew who he is - a killer. his sly antics tonight made her forget about his cruelty, but she shall see him as a criminal, a murderer yet again - he's going to kill her all the same, the difference will be the weapon of choice. he will stab her relentlessly all the same, but not with any blade or syringe. cursing her coveting mind, she brushed all concerns aside and let him have his way with her.

she's going to let him ruin her, deprave her - and she will enjoy every second of it.

[legendary-defender-of-fandoms]

Me trying to see Alex in Adam.

In his image

[probablyasocialecologist]

The latest questions are centered around Anat Schwartz, an Israeli who co-authored several of the paper’s most widely circulated reports, including the now well-known and scrutinized December 28 article headlined: “‘Screams Without Words’’ How Hamas Weaponized Sexual Violence on Oct. 7.” Independent researchers scrutinized the online record, and raised serious questions about Schwartz. First, she has apparently never been a reporter but is actually a filmmaker, who the Times suddenly hired in October. You would expect the paper to look for someone with actual journalistic experience, especially for a story as sensitive as this one, written during the fog of war. Surely the paper had enough of its own correspondents on staff who could have been assigned to it. Next, the researchers found that Schwartz had not hidden her strong feelings online. There are screenshots of her “liking” certain posts that repeated the “40 beheaded baby” hoax, and that endorsed another hysterical post that urged the Israeli army to “turn Gaza into a slaughterhouse,” and called Palestinians “human animals.” (Just this morning, more evidence emerged online; Schwartz apparently also served in Israeli Military Intelligence.) Finally, one of her co-authors on two of the reports was Adam Sella, who is her nephew.  Let’s pause here. What would happen if the Times suddenly hired a Palestinian filmmaker with no journalistic background, who had recently publicly “liked” posts that called for “pushing Israeli Jews into the sea,” to co-write several of its most sensitive and contested reports? 

[...]

There’s another related example of how the Times has botched the sexual violence story. One of the first Israeli organizations that arrived on the scene of the Hamas attack was Zaka, a volunteer group that recovers dead bodies. On January 15, Times reporter Sheena Frankel wrote a positive profile of the group; she included 3 or 4 sentences of criticism, only to quickly dismiss them. This site had already raised serious doubts about Zaka weeks earlier, pointing out that “the organization’s volunteers have systematically given false testimonies, and continue repeating them to journalists on behalf of the Israel government.” Then, on January 31, the Israeli daily Haaretz published a long investigation, that highlighted “cases of negligence, misinformation and a fundraising campaign that used the dead as props.” Haaretz cited one Zaka report that said a volunteer had seen a murdered pregnant woman, with the baby still attached by the umbilical cord — before concluding that the incident “simply didn’t happen.” At this stage, there are serious doubts about many aspects of Israel’s overall account about October 7. Only a genuinely independent and impartial investigation might some day get closer to the truth. But meanwhile, at the very least the New York Times must publicly recognize its errors, and assign new, unbiased reporters to try to clean up its mess. 

Continue reading

[tojismain]

clenched jaws and promises — part 2

part 1

The both of you drove in silence for a while, you were looking out the window and Toji’s hands had turned white from his clutch on the steering wheel. 

“Sweetheart.”

You turn to him.

He looks at you for a brief second before turning back to the road, his face stuck in a glare. “What did she say to you?”

“What?” You asked, keeping clueless. “Who?”

“You’re not dumb, baby. Don’t act like it.” He replies.

You inhale a breath and look back out the window, “She didn’t say anything.”

You can see him turn to look at you again, quiet for a moment before he looks straight ahead. 

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

“Toji, nothing’s wrong.” You say, exasperated.

“Bullshit.” He iterates and the car slows to a stop in the middle of the road. “I know you’re lying. I can see it on your face and I can hear it in your voice. Stop avoiding my question and tell me what’s wrong.”

Your heart pounds harder in your chest and you look at him, worried. “Toji, the car. You can’t just stop-” 

“There’s no one here. Tell me or I’m not moving.” His eyes were now fixed on you as he waited for a reply, and you feel scrutinized in the worst way. 

You were scared; what if what she said was true, what if toji throws you aside the moment he realizes you won’t change into someone else, what if the car gets hit because you couldn’t talk.

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at him. He notices them and moves his hands back on the wheel. 

He closes his eyes as he breathes in harshly. “Fuck.” He moves the car again and you feel like you can breathe again.

“I’m sorry, angel.” Angel.  He only ever used that pet name when he hurt you, and the fact that he was apologizing softened the fear in your chest.

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap, “She just got in my head about something.” You say. “It’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid. I don’t like the way you’re acting right now, baby. What did she say to you?” He was adamant on figuring out what was hurting you so bad. 

You swallow and explain, “That you have a type.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you continue, “And I'm not it. I’m not what you need. Sooner or later you’ll get bored and- I don’t know. It just makes sense—everything she said.”

“That makes sense to you?” He repeats and then parks the car on the side of the road. 

You turn your eyes away from him.

“No. Look back at me.” He was also adamant on making you understand something.

You felt hot, regardless of the cold air outside and inside the car. But you turn to look at him anyway.

“Get one thing through your head, right now. You’re it for me. I’d never get bored of you. I would never get tired of you. I don’t know what type of bullshit she fed you, but she doesn’t know us, does she?”

You keep quiet but he wants an answer.

“Does she?” He repeated and you felt like crying. Actually, you were certain you were crying.

You shake your head and look down. 

“Then tell me you understand.” 

You don’t know what it was about her and why her words affected you so much. Maybe you had been thinking about this for a while and she confirmed your doubts. 

“You’re used to a different life than mine. I can’t be that girl she was talking about—the type you have or used to have. I don’t want you to feel like you have to settle for me and then realize you have it all wrong.” 

All you could think was now was the time he would tell you to get out of the car, but regardless of his hostile kindness, he would never hurt you more than you’ve already been hurt. 

“Do you really think I don’t know what I want and what I like? Do you think I don’t know that I want you? You’re the only one I want and the only one I'll ever want and if someone gets in your head about that, you talk to me about it.” He reaches forward and tilts your head up.

“Does that make sense, sweetheart?” You look away but he follows your eyes with his own, his eyebrows furrowed as he waits. 

You look at him longer for the first time since you got in the car. He looked completely and honestly sincere. That’s when you decide to believe in someone for the first time in your life. 

You nod your head in reply, and he swipes his thumb over your cheek to wipe the tears.

“Good.” He looks at you for an instant longer, committing your face to memory.

He then places one hand on your thigh and the other goes back to the steering wheel. It was almost as if he was scared you’d disappear, and tonight more than any other night, he needed to know that you would stay.

aurelia

[artificial-transmutations]

Give in to the Midnight Grind

Milo could hear the thumbing bass from inside his patrol car, as he parked in front of the seedy club. It was hardly the first time the neighbors complained about the excessive noise, but it was the first time for Milo to be sent here, and also his first time going alone.

Usually, young officers like Milo - or Miles Dawson, as it read on his uniform - didn't go anywhere alone, but as it happened, his designated partner for the evening had called in sick. Milo had volunteered to go by himself, since he wanted to prove that he could be trusted to go solo. And, asking a club to turn down the music was hardly a dangerous task.

He checked his uniform again in the patrol car's rear mirror and adjusted his collar one final time. It was important to look professional, after all.

Once he was satisfied with the result, Milo exited the car and locked it before approaching the club entrance.

"The Midnight Grind" was hardly one of the most prestigious clubs in town, and the rundown facade certainly didn't do it any favors. However, that didn't seem to stop the long line of people wanting to enter. The long line of men, Milo corrected himself. Either the nightclub was very bad at attracting female customers or it was a gay club. Considering the provocative name and the leather-clad bouncer, Milo strongly suspected the latter.

Of course, gay nightclubs weren't illegal, and Milo didn't plan on causing any trouble. It was a bit uncomfortable for him, since he was straight, but then again, Milo wasn't here to party, he was only here to tell them to keep the volume down.

When he approached the bouncer, he put on his most winning smile and nodded to the burly bald man with the many tattoos.

"Good evening, Sir. I would like to speak to the management of this establishment."

The bouncer shot him a scrutinizing look and then looked back to his patrol car. Milo had expected his uniform to be enough proof for his official capacity, but perhaps, it wasn't entirely unusual for patrons to show up in a similar outfit.

"Badge." The bouncer grumbled in a voice so deep that it sounded like rocks grinding against each other.

"Oh, of course. One second."

Milo was a bit embarrassed that he hadn't thought of showing his ID earlier and brought out his official badge, still shiny and new. He showed it to the bouncer, who studied it carefully, before nodding and stepping aside, mumbling something into his radio.

"They will send someone to the entrance. Wait here."

"Thank you, sir."

Milo felt uneasy due to the looks of the men waiting in line, but none of them seemed to be particularly hostile, so Milo just smiled politely. A few of the men even seemed to check him out and one or two even winked, which Milo chose to ignore.

Finally, after several awkward minutes, another guy came out. This one was a bit younger, but also dressed in a skintight leather harness, a pair of tight jeans and combat boots. Milo's eyes wandered across his exposed skin, the tattooed chest and the piercings, but the guy didn't seem to notice and smiled widely.

"Officer? My name is Adam. The boss will see you now. Follow me."

Milo felt relief wash over him and was grateful that he could finally escape the hungry looks of the people in the queue, as he followed the young man.

Inside, the music was even louder, and Milo found himself surrounded by half-naked bodies, dancing, drinking and occasionally even making out. It was a bit of an uncomfortable sight for him, but at least the music drowned out any moaning or panting. Still, Milo considered it the best idea to just look straight ahead, avoiding any eye contact.

Adam led him to a set of stairs that went up and to a small balcony overlooking the dance floor. There, a muscular man with a neatly trimmed beard, a full sleeve tattoo and a tight black shirt was sitting on a comfortable looking sofa, smoking a cigar. His legs were spread wide, and he was clearly wearing a pair of skin-tight leather pants that did a very bad job of hiding his bulge. Well, they probably weren't designed to *hide* anything.

Adam said something, but Milo couldn't understand what was being said, so Adam repeated himself.

"The boss will see you now, Officer."

The "boss" regarded Milo from head to toe, which didn't help him feel more comfortable. To escape the situation, Milo began to speak, loud enough to be heard over the blaring and thumbing music.

"Good evening, Sir. I am Milo - I mean, Miles Dawson, Officer, actually, from the city police force and..."

Damn, he needed more routine for that, Milo thought as he stumbled over his words, but the muscular man cut him off.

"It's okay, Officer Milo. Sit down."

Milo didn't feel too comfortable being addressed by his nickname, especially not by this man, but at least he called him 'officer'. Milo gladly sat down opposite of the other man, who took another drag of his cigar.

"Thank you. What is your name, Sir?"

"You can call me 'boss'. Everyone does."

That of course wasn't according to protocol, but again, Milo didn't want to cause any trouble. In his opinion, the police were there to be as kind and helpful as possible, servants of the public more than anything else.

"Alright, Mr. ...Boss. I am here on behalf of the city police because..."

"Would you like something to drink?"

The boss asked and blew a cloud of smoke right into Milo's face, who tried to avoid breathing in the thick smoke and coughing.

"Uhm, no, thank you. I'm on duty."

"A little bit of alcohol won't hurt you, officer. But have it your way. A virgin cocktail, then?"

Again, Milo didn't want to be rude and simply nodded, smiling. If there was no alcohol involved, it wasn't against the rules.

The boss snapped his fingers, and a half-naked waiter came with a large and colorful drink, putting it down in front of Milo. The straw was formed like an erect penis. Of course. But under no circumstances, Milo wanted to come off as homophobic, so he took a small sip from the obscene straw before clearing his voice.

"Anyway, as I said, the city police were contacted by the neighbors because the music here is very loud. Now, I'm not trying to cause any trouble. We all know how it is when you have a party and have some fun, but I have to ask you to tone it just a bit."

Surprisingly enough, the boss nodded.

"I understand, Officer. Of course, we don't want to cause trouble either. I guess we got carried away a bit, some music is best enjoyed loudly. But whom am I telling that? I see you found a liking to the music as well."

Milo followed his gaze to his own leg and was surprised to see it bobbing to the rhythm. When did that happen? He didn't remember deciding to do that.

"Ah, yes, it's very catchy."

Embarrassed by his lack of control, he took another big sip from the sweet drink.

"Isn't it? But as it happens, we might have to close early today, anyway."

"Why is that?", Milo asked, before he could stop himself.

The boss shrugged his shoulder. "We're short staffed. The flu. Our stripper for today called in sick."

Milo's gaze wandered over the dancing crowd and stopped at the exclusively male dancers in the cages slightly above the dance floor, moving their sweaty bodies to the beat of the music while wearing only skimpy glittering underwear.

"Do you like what you see?" asked the boss, as he took another drag from his cigar.

"What? Oh, no, haha. I mean, sure, you have a great establam... a great club."

Damn, Milo's thoughts felt like they were moving through cotton candy, probably because of the bad air in here. A bit of ventila... a few fans wouldn't hurt, especially since the boss was still smoking his cigar.

"I see, I'm just asking because of your massive boner." The boss said casually.

Milo looked down, and indeed, a prominent tent was visible in his trousers, stretching the fabric uncomfortably.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I... I have no idea how that happened."

"Relax Milo. I'm not judging. If you like the show, feel free to watch some more."

The voice of the boss sounded reassuring, and Milo took another sip, as his eyes returned to the dancers. They did look pretty hot, he had to admit, and for a moment or two, Milo let his mind wander. What would it be like to dance on a pole like that? To show his body, to flaunt his muscles and to show off his cock and his ass, to grind on a pole like he was riding a dick...

Wait, what was he thinking? He wasn't like that at all! He wasn't a dancer, and he wasn't gay. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Are you alright, Milo?" asked the boss, still with a smirk on his face and the cigar in his mouth.

"If you feel uncomfortable, you can take off that jacket of yours, if you like."

Something about this felt wrong, but the boss was right. It was awfully hot. So, he took off his jacket, which helped a bit. Still, his mouth felt dry, so he drank some more cocktail.

"You should also loosen that tie. Don't want you to feel constrained."

Again, Milo did as the boss suggested, feeling more comfortable with every step of the process. The tie had really been a bit too tight. He was just about to unbutton his shirt, when the boss interrupted.

"Wait a moment, man. Finish your drink and follow me."

"Where to?", Milo asked, but the boss was already getting up and walking towards the other end of the balcony, to a door.

"Just relax. You are going to like it."

The boss was right, Milo was thinking too much. And thinking was hard, even harder than his cock was right now. Milo finished his cocktail and got up. The bulge was very prominent in his pants, bigger than Milo ever remembered seeing. For a moment, he looked for a way to hide it, but since nothing came to his foggy mind and the boss was already waiting for him, Milo decided not to care. After all, most of the guys in this club were probably hard, down on the dance floor.

The door led to a small stairway, going down and a narrow corridor after that. Milo had to duck when passing the doorframe, which confused him even more, but he couldn't really tell why. The music was even louder here, and the boss stopped in front of a glittering curtain.

"There, you can take your shirt off out there." He said and gave Milo a thumbs up.

Out there? Confused, Milo stumbled through the curtain into a sea of bright light. For a moment, the music stopped, and Milo was able to hear the voice of the boss coming from all the speakers.

"Give a warm welcome to tonight's star! Here is Macho Dawgson for you, "The Meat" himself. And there's a reason he is called that way..."

After that, a new, driving beat set in and the confusion in Macho's head cleared somewhat. What was he doing again...? Right, he wanted to get out of his shirt.

The uniform shirt was awfully tight, as Macho unbuttoned one button after the other. His body was still moving to the beat, beyond his control, but he didn't mind.

Finally, the shirt came off, and Macho twirled it around his finger for a while before throwing it into the bright light, where cheering sounds reacted to it.

For a split second, Macho looked down on himself. Was that really him? He was way fitter than he used to be, like he visited the gym regularly.

But why did that surprise him, really? He basically lived in the gym, all paid for by the boss. Again, the confusion cleared up some more and Macho started moving to the beat again, thrusting his hips and flaunting his muscles.

The crowd cheered. Of course they did. Macho could hardly keep himself from snorting. He was their fucking god, their idol, the perfect specimen of a man, and they knew it. All those fat, or skinny or otherwise pathetic dudes down there worshipped him, and they better should.

The music got faster and louder, and the dancing crowd was cheering and whistling. Macho felt their hungry eyes on his body, his abs, his pecs, his arms, his crotch. Yeah, there was a reason why they called him "The meat", and that reason was bulging out his uniform pants proudly. But before he got to the main course, he wanted to tease those losers some more.

Macho turned around and let his impressive back muscles work. Of course, he knew that his ass also was a sight to behold, but it was just for teasing. Macho was, of course, a top through and through. After the show, he would be surrounded by willing cocksuckers, who offered every hole in their bodies, begging to be bred, and Macho would make sure three or four of them got their reward tonight.

He ripped open the zipper and wiggled his ass until the pants were hanging low on his hips, and the tight underwear underneath revealed his ass crack. Yeah, Macho knew what he was doing. That's what he lived for: Gym, sex and dancing. He was a god, and he fucking knew it.

Time for the finale. Macho swirled around again and, with a strong motion, ripped off the fake police pants, revealing his stuffed-to-the-brim underwear that shadowed every other man's equipment. Other strippers often wore prosthetics to look bigger, but Macho didn't need that. The bulge in his shorts highlighted his dick and balls in a way that promised only one thing: Size.

The crowd went wild, and the music reached a climax. With a final roar, Macho pulled on his underwear now, ripping it apart and letting his giant meat spring free, enjoying the admiration and jealousy that branded against the stage.

Fuck yeah. Macho loved his job.

If you enjoyed the story and want to support my writing, check out my tip jar! There are also a few more versions of Miles/Macho!

[lovelyney]

────𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒────

IN WHICH: You accidentally whack Wriothesley in the nose during a training session and feel bad !!

PAIRINGS: Wriothesley x (GN!) Reader

SCENT: fluff but gets kind of nsfw towards the end ??

WARNINGS: uh wrio makes a comment implying masturbation towards the end? that and you guys just makeout, lol.

FLORIST’S NOTE: Reader is a mix between Wrio’s and Sigewinne’s assistant !! Also happy belated new years, blossoms !!

SONG: Bang! Bang! (K,NAAN & Adam Levine)

───────────2023 !! #©LOVELYNEY

WRIOTHESLEY LAUGHS as you drag him through the Fortress of Meropide, drawing the attention of those around you. Though typically, you’d feel uncomfortable, embarrassed, or perhaps self-conscious under the scrutinizing gaze of others, this time, it’s different. Your attention is focused solely on Wriothesley as he holds his free hand up to his bloodied nose. Knowing Wriothesley and his job here, it’s easy to imagine it resulting from a scuffle with a particularly stubborn criminal or something along those lines. However, the truth cannot be farther from that. In actuality, you’re the one responsible for this bloody nose. . . Allow me to expand on the situation a little.

Around a week or so ago, he unexpectedly marched into your office and insisted you learn how to fight. His motives for the sudden declaration were not out of a lack of appreciation for your work at the Fortress but rather a desire for your protection while he’s away. On another note, he believes you’re too “reserved and gentle” with others—“too much like a frightened kitten rather than a fearsome lion,” as he blatantly put it. It was a comparison you found somewhat degrading, yet you couldn’t deny it did speak the truth of your nature. In the end, you decided to comply with his wishes, and from there on out, he started to teach you self-defense and train you.

Cut to the present: Wriothesley pulled you aside for your daily training session. Everything was going swimmingly at first, with you defending yourself from his attacks as usual. Then, amid it all, you accidentally hit him square in the nose and rather hard at that. The punch was neither intentional nor malicious, but it still managed to send him stumbling back and clutching his nose in pain. A tsunami of guilt and worry flooded your system as you frantically apologized to him, but he simply brushed it off and smiled. The look in his eyes was one of mild shock but also of something more. . . fond. He seemed amused rather than angry or annoyed, appearing to be impressed and even a little smitten.

Sigewinne enters the infirmary with the medical supplies you requested, stopping just inside the door to ask you a question. She furrows her brow in concern, noticing the panic in your expression. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of him, Mx. (Y/N)? You’re a bit pale. . . Maybe you should sit and rest for a little while,” she offers kindly.

Wriothesley observes you with a lovesick expression as you prepare a cotton swab, your tongue poking out between your lips from concentration. His heart singes when you take his hand that’s pressed to his nose and lay it gently on his lap; your skin is warm and soft compared to his, scarred and calloused, from his duties here at the Fortress.

When you assure her with that enchanting smile of yours—the same one that drives him wild—it feels like his entire body has been set on fire, and he’s certain you can feel that fire when you press your palm to his cheek to keep him still. “D—Don’t worry, Sigewinne. I’ll be alright. Thank you, though.” You answer calmly, despite your hold on him being slightly shaky.

With a brief nod of her head, Sigewinne slips out of the room, leaving you and Wriothesley alone. As you press the cotton swab to his nose, he lets out a sharp hissing sound as the disinfectant works its magic. “Ouch! Shit, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit. That was a hell of a punch. . .” he chortles, trying to lighten up your mood a little. But his amusement falters when you pout, your face a heartbreakingly adorable sight.

“I—I really am sorry, Your Grace! I didn’t expect to hit you so hard. . . In—In fact, I thought you’d move out of the way before I even got the chance too,” you lament and carefully tilt his chin up, making sure you cleaned all the blood off. “How badly does it hurt? Do—Do you want me to go get some painkillers or ice? Please, just—”

“Breathe, (Y/N).” Wriothesley’s tone is soothing as he speaks, seeming intent on consoling you. “I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with far worse scuffs than this. So, please, don’t think for a second I’m mad at you or anything of that nature. I’m more proud than anything, really.” He adds, melting under the warmth and care of your gaze. He finds himself feeling a little selfish in this moment, wishing you’d always spend so much time doting on him. You’re always so engrossed in your work, and as much as he admires that side of you, he’s also become increasingly smitten with you without you even batting an eye. Your self-absorbed disposition has made you oblivious to his adoring eyes, and he can’t help but feel a mix of heartbreak and longing as he considers how blind you are to his affections. “Hm. . . Now that we’re alone, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while,” he admits, humming contentedly as your hand presses to his face once more, oblivious to the surge of adrenaline that shoots through his veins with every touch. Your affectionate actions result from your nurturing demeanor, but he begs silently for them to mean something more.

Your puzzled expression, bearing a resemblance to a confused puppy, only further softens the gentle smile on Wriothesley’s face. “Is that so? Is—is there a reason you’re only bringing it up now?” You inquire anxiously, teeth sinking into your lower lip. You hope that your unexpected punch wasn’t the last straw for him firing you or something like that. The worry in your voice and tension in your body language betray your deep concern, and Wriothesley finds himself smitten by your innocence and tenderness.

The duke pauses momentarily, seeming to mull something over in his mind. “It’s been harder to get you alone these days, with you always engrossed in your paperwork or helping Sigewinne. I can’t bring myself to tear you away when you’re always so faithful.” He acknowledges. His eyes linger over your lips for just a moment too long, his imagination taking over as he considers the softness of them and how they taste. His heart pounds against his ribcage as he holds back the urge to kiss those teeth away and murmur how he’s the only one allowed to ruin your lips.

You mutter the words, “My apologies, your Grace,” as you press the bandage to the bridge of his nose. Taking a step back, you freeze under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, you have my full, unrivaled attention as of r-right now...?” You try to sound confident, but your sheepish expression gives you away.

Wriothesley hums in response, amused and enticed by the sudden color that washes over your face. Clearing his throat, he slips one hand around your waist and pulls you flush against his warm frame. His eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as he allows the intensity of the moment to sink in. “Oh? Do I now? Good,” he purrs, his voice deep and velvety as it echoes in your ears—sending vibrations throughout your core. You shudder when the smooth of his fingers glide over the exposed skin on your waist, and he almost finds it a little sadistic with how much he’s enjoying you squirm when he hasn’t even done anything.

Your breathing becomes a touch erratic as you feel the lingering touch of his hand against your waist. You attempt to mask your growing excitement, skin prickling with electricity. Despite your best efforts, there’s a faint quiver in your words that you can only hope he doesn’t notice. “G—Go on. . .”

Sadly, nothing gets past Wriothesley’s gaze, and he’s able to take note of your trembling voice and hands; he isn’t the duke for nothing, after all. He can’t help but feel the boost to his ego when he realizes he has a tight grip over you at this moment. With a swift tug, you’re suddenly pushed against his broad chest, eyes blown wide. He chuckles as you choke over your words, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “You know, (princess/prince). . . I can’t tell if you’re just dense or trying to prove something to yourself.” The raven-haired male teases. “I’ve been smitten with you for weeks now, you know,” he presses, eyes trained on your expression to read any changes. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re as aware as your actions suggest—or if you have been merely feigning ignorance. Please, explain yourself.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the magnitude of Wriothesley’s words settles in; he’s so direct and brazen with his declaration that it sucks all the breath out of your lungs. Your mind races as you grapple with the sudden realization that he is just as enamored with you as you are with him. Your expression must speak louder than words because as you open your lips to speak, Wriothesley closes the distance—slotting his mouth on yours.

It sends all your senses reeling like they’ve been drenched in ice water after burning for too long. Like a balm and a spark, it’s both a soothing salve and a blazing inferno, comforting and ravaging you in equal measure. All the tension of your attraction has suddenly become a physical manifestation, the culmination of all the unspoken words and feelings that have gone unsaid for too long.

Wriothesley pulls himself even closer to you, his passion only intensifying the longer the kiss carries on. The feeling of his body pressing against yours ignites a primal urge within you, driving the kisses to become more intense. His hands slide further down the bare flesh of your back, tracing your waist in a possessive claim to your body. His tongue dives underneath your bottom lip; it probes between them, trying to gain access to the interior of your mouth.

A noise akin to a muffled whimper escapes your throat as his tongue pushes into your mouth with a feverish, nearly desperate need. The intensity of the sensation is overwhelming, and you feel yourself shudder with a sense of raw desire as his hand slides down from your hip to your thigh, his fingers squeezing and digging into the soft flesh. His touch is both tender and possessive, sending your nerves reeling.

When his fingers climb closer up your thighs, you plant your hands on his face and gently push his head away, his mouth chasing after yours instantaneously. You sigh softly, your face flushed scarlet from the heat of the situation. “Wriothesley. . . We are still in your office. Anyone can walk in at any time.” You chuckle, swiping the saliva from his bottom lip.

His body hums with contentment at the breathless sound of his name coming from your lips. He lets out a displeased huff as he nestles his nose in the crook of your neck, sharply inhaling your scent and drowning himself in the warmth of your body. He absentmindedly starts nipping at your skin, “And? I’ve had enough nights getting off—”

“O—Okayokay! As an. . . apology for keeping you waiting, how about after work, we fulfill those fantasies of yours?” You chuckle nervously and thread your fingers through his hair, smiling when he leans his entire body onto you. “Don’t think I didn’t see the way some of the inmates looked at me when I dragged you in here. . . I don’t think I could recover if they walked in and found out they guessed right.”

Wriothesley’s laughter is like a deep, thunderous rumble that soon after swarms your stomach with butterflies. His kisses pepper your face in response, the sweet scent of your skin filling him with a sense of contentment. He pulls away and smiles down at you, the heat and adoration in his eyes impossible to miss. “After work, then,” he repeats and holds up his pinky, signaling you to do the same. Rolling your eyes, you indulge him and hook your pinky to his—a cutesy gesture veiled in a not-so-innocent promise. 

[tayraedoll]

My Compliments to the Chef

The smutty and soft finale of the series. MDNI 18+ only

Part 1

Part 2

TW: Smut, P in V intercourse, fingering, oral-female receiving with mentions of male receiving, sensory deprivation, self-consciousness, reader is uncomfortable in her own skin, body scars, body worship, hurt/comfort, fluff

Alastor advanced on you slowly, the famished look never leaving his eyes, he reminded you of a cat that finally cornered the mouse it was hunting. For every one of his steps forward you had to take two back to keep the distance between you even. You eventually ran out of floorspace when the backs of your knees hit his bed, with you effectively trapped the demon was quick to close the distance completely.

He grabbed you by your jaw, holding your face up so he could press his lips to yours again. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself into him. His free hand wrapped around your waist in a vice grip like he was afraid you'd run away if he let you go. He released your lips with a 'pop' to trail his lips down the your exposed throat, nipping the skin to leave little love marks. When the hand on your waist started to dip under your shirt you violently jumped to the side to put space between you once more.

For a moment Alastor stood stock still, the position making it look like he was holding an invisible person. He blinked a couple of times before straightening up and looking at you quizzically, wondering if he had read you wrong. His head cocked to the side, carefully scrutinizing your body language.

Your heart hammered away in your chest, you bit the inside of your lip as you tried taking deep breaths to calm yourself. Being with Alastor in this way was thrilling, but even the excitement of the moment wasn't enough to quell the insecurities that were screaming at you.

When you finally composed yourself you gave him an apologetic look, "I am so sorry. I-It's just that...", you trailed of as you looked down, trying to find the right words to explain yourself.

Long fingers hooked under your chin again to make you look up at his face, "My Dear, my sincerest apologies if I overstepped-"

"No! No, it's not that. Um.. it's my scars. They don't end at at my arms, they are kind of all over. I...I'm not exactly pretty to look at", your voice trailed off, becoming a whisper at the end. You looked over at the fireplace to avoid his eyes staring down at you as tears welled up in your own.

Alastor let go of you and backed away. You had to suppress a sob; here it was, the rejection you were so terrified of.

The rustle of fabric caught your attention, Alastor was laying his coat across the his bed; he then stared right at you as he pulled at his bow tie and threw it on top of his jacket. Nimble fingers slowly started to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Al...what are you doing?", you asked completely bewildered. Part of you wanted to look away- the intense look in his eyes, how his chest fluff slowly came into view in such a sensual manner- it was almost too much, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him.

After releasing the final button of his shirt, Alastor painstakingly slowly pushed it off his shoulders and revealed his bare torso to you. You gasped, a hand flying up to your mouth as you took the sight of him in. His black arms and tawny body were littered in scars; unlike yours, his scars disfigured the skin where it ripped apart and sewn itself back together. One long gash made its way from his right hip to left shoulder- the wound Adam gave him in the battle at the hotel. Your feet carried you over to him before you were conscious of the movement, hand raised in front of you as it hovered above his chest seeking permission to touch.

His hand grasped yours before you could make contact, vulnerability flashed briefly across his face before it hardened into a more determined expression. He slowly brought your hand to the space where his heart was enclosed in his sternum, resting your palm on the mended skin of the axe wound. "We all have our insecurities Dear, not a single one of us is immune to the judgements our minds cast upon us." His eyes stared intently into yours, watching as tears formed and slowly fell down your cheeks. This wound must have been excruciating; it looked so large and deep, it was a miracle he survived it.

You finally ripped your eyes from the scar to look back up at him, his expression was a mixture of uncertainty, desperation, and primal hunger. A new determination settled in your mind, your dried your tears with your hand that was not touching him and stepped fully into his space leaving just an inch between you two. Your fingers ghosted over his skin, feather-light caresses applied to each of the scars you could see. Some were raised and rough to the touch, while others were smooth and shiny; the muscles underneath would twitch with each new blemish you stroked.

One finger remained on his body as you lazily walked around him to his back. You were met with the same myriad of cicatrices forming constellations across his dorsum. You felt braver without his eyes being able to stare you down from here, after each stroke of your finger you planted a chaste kiss to the marking.

You heard the gasp he made the first time you pressed your lips to his body, a small smile gracing your face at being able to elicit such a response from The Radio Demon with your gentle affections. After revering every scar across his being you finally came back to face him, your heart skipping a beat when he immediately close his arms around you and pulling you into a needy kiss.

Alastor's fingers grabbed your hips and he slowly spun you around so your back was to him. Opening your eyes, you were met with a mirror that had magically appeared out of nowhere. You met Alastor's eyes in the reflection as he leaned in to whisper in your ear "Allow me to show you just how transcendent you truly are."

He snapped his fingers, but your vision didn't go black as you expected it would. Instead, you were ushered into a world of total silence. Your wide eyes locked onto crimson orbs as his red claws slowly lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes never left yours even as he unclasped your bra. You struggled to resist the urge to cover your breasts, swallowing hard as every imperfection was revealed to the mirror.

His hand collected yours and raised it to his lips, tender kisses were pressed to your knuckles before he flipped your hand over to gently nip at the pulse point of your wrist. A gasp ripped out of your throat at the sensation, your eyes flying shut. His lips stilled completely, all sensation coming to an abrupt halt. You peaked an eye open, Alastor was watching you with a patient yet disapproving gaze. Once your eyes met his he slid his lips up your forearm, nipping and kissing along the borders of your reddened skin. Anytime you averted your gaze from his ministrations he would completely stop until your eyes found his again.

When he finished pecking and nipping your arm he moved across your shoulders, meeting your neck where he used his cheek to push your head to the side to grant him access. By now heat was pooling in your belly; your thighs rubbed together as subtly as you could as your abdomen clenched with every graze of his teeth on your skin. By the time he reached your other wrist you were certain your panties were ruined.

Looking in the mirror now you could barely recognize yourself; your lips parted in an "O" as soft whimpers and pants left your throat, eyes glazed over and half-lidded. You had never seen yourself look so fucked out and he hadn't even touched you in a sexual way yet.

His fingers ran down your ribs and across your abdomen, meeting right below your navel to unbutton your jeans. He pulled both your pants and panties down your legs slowly until you could step out of them. Your cheeks heated up as you stood naked in front of the mirror, the predatory eyes of the demon behind you raked over your form greedily.

One of his hands came around you again, a curious finger dipping into your folds. Your body jolted, back arching and hips pushing into his touch. You let out a mewl you could not hear as your head flew back and hit the demon's chest, your eyes closing on instinct. Just like before, Alastor's movements stilled as soon as your eyes left the mirror.

His other hand crept up the back of your head, tangling into your hair and forcing your head back up but you kept your eyes closed. Displeased, Alastor leaned forward and bit your ear just hard enough for it to sting. It elicited his desired affect as your eyes flew open once again. He subtly shook his head at you as his hand tightened in your hair- you would not be turning away from the mirror again. Just as you resigned to your fate the claw in your folds reminded you of its presence as it circled around your clit.

You bit your lip, using all your willpower to keep your attention on yourself in the mirror. The claw circled your bundle of nerves faster and faster, your wines silent to your own ears as your hips started to buck into his hand. Your eyes were now glued to the way his dexterous digits played with your nub.

A finger slipped inside of you quickly followed by a second, his thumb still applying delicious pressure to your clit. His pace picked up, fingers curling inside you to hit that spongy spot that nearly had your knees buckling under you. In the mirror you could see that your face was flushed, beads of sweat broke out across your forehead, your chest heaved with every breath. Your vision went white as you clamped down on his fingers, lips parted in a scream as Alastor watched you unravel at his hands.

A low chuckle alerted you that your hearing had been restored. When your vision re-focused the mirror was gone and you were laying in bed with Alastor hovering over you. You took the chance to allow your eyes to roam over his body- lean muscle, chiseled abdomen, a deep v-line at his hips, and a fucking monster of a cock ready to impale you. Your eyes blew wide open as he lowered himself down on you to leave love nips down the column of your throat; his member sliding through your folds and collecting your slick.

"Al-Alastor," your body trembled, "I haven't slept with anyone since I died and there is no way I will fit all of you inside me!"

"Hmm," Alastor hummed completely unconcerned, "you can, and you will My Dear." His arms reached down and hooked your knees with the crook his of elbows, effectively spreading you wide open for him and leaving no way for you to push him away from your core as he slowly sunk into you inch by inch.

You choked as the intrusion stole the air from your lungs, your nails digging into his shoulders as you instinctively tried to push him back to no avail. It stung slightly as your walls struggled to accommodate him, the full feeling overwhelming at first. He stilled once he was buried to the hilt, giving you time to get accustomed to the sensation. Your breath came in short gasps as your legs shook vigourously in his hold; it felt like he was buried in your guts, his tip pushed flush against your cervix. "Relax Mon Cher, I won't push you beyond what you can take," he peppered chaste kisses across your cheekbones as your breathing evened out, the full feeling becoming more pleasant than intrusive.

Once your walls relaxed around him the buck started to slowly rock his hips in shallow thrusts. Pain quickly gave way to pleasure and a lewd moan fell from your lips as your walls fluttered, his pelvis grinding into your nub perfectly with each thrust.

"That's it Dear, such a good girl- taking me so well. See? I knew you were an expert at handling meat", Alastor growled at you, biting down on your neck just below your ear. You whimpered, his cock catching your entrance with every thrust forward and bullying that spongy spot. His arms lifted your legs higher towards your chest, you couldn't be spread open any further. Your Overlord lover licked the bruise he gave you, it would be impossible for you to hide without a scarf.

The coil in your core tightened, your legs quivering uncontrollably as your toes curled. Your nails raked down his back desperate to ground yourself amongst the pleasure; you idly wondered if you could leave scars of your own along his spine.

His pace turned absolutely bruising as he chased your collective releases. "Tu es parfait, si délicieux, mon petit chef."

His cockhead rammed into your cervix like he was trying to bust through it. A scream of intense pleasure ripped out your throat as the coil finally snapped, sending a flood of arousal out of your cunt. Alastor watched your face contort with your orgasm and committed the stunning sight to his memory. His own release surged into your fluttering cunt with a groan, his forehead falling onto yours, your breaths mixing together as you both basked in post-coital bliss.

"La mesure de l'amour, c'est d'aimer sans mesure", he whispered before giving you one more deep and sensual kiss.

"You know I don't speak French right? I have no idea what you've been saying", you giggled when he pulled away.

"Hmm, I will teach you some day My Dear. For now, let's just enjoy this moment shall we?", he rolled over and draped you across his chest. You snuggled into his chest fluff, inhaling the smell of sex and Alastor's musky scent as you drifted off. Right before you fell into unconsciousness you heard "Je t'aime".

You smiled- you knew that one, "I love you too."

Alastor awakened with a start-something was wrong. He reached out for you only for the space you had occupied to be vacant and cold. He shot up, looking around the room but saw no sign of you. The clock on the wall read 4:30 AM, Alastor got out of bed to search for you- had you gone back to your own room? If so, why?

He snapped his fingers to quickly dress himself, only for his chest to remain bare. His shirt was not with his other clothes...your clothes were still littered across his floor however. Alastor hummed at this clue, he'd either find you in his shirt or you'd be roaming the hotel naked.

He felt secure enough to shadow travel without covering his upper body, it was so early in the morning no one would be roaming the halls at this time except the two of you. He checked your room first but quickly moved on when he found no sign you'd been there for hours- probably since you woke up the previous morning.

The next most obvious room to investigate was the kitchen. The demon cursed himself for not preparing his room for your activities, surely you woke up thirsty and had to trudge all the way to the kitchen for water if you didn't wake him up. He would correct that egregious oversight on his part promptly.

The demon stopped dead in his tracks as he manifested at the kitchen door. The radio was playing a modern "pop" song he was unfamiliar with and your sweet voice was singing along to it. Slowly, he approached the kitchen and leaned a shoulder against the door frame as he took in the scene before him.

You were practically dancing around the kitchen in nothing but his shirt (which comically came down to your knees), singing your heart out to a song about two lovers whose passion burned so intensely it was like fire on fire. You flitted between the hot stove and the various spices on the counter, so absorbed in your task you hadn't noticed the 7-foot-tall deer demon in the doorway.

Alastor watched you with a soft smile on his face, his heart swelling in his chest. He recognized the spices you had out- all the staples of a traditional cajun seasoning. When you added them to your dish he noticed that you never measured any of them, letting your sense of smell guide the spice profile of the food. A bottle of his favorite bourbon also sat on the counter, no doubt if he checked the hotel bar he'd find that Husk was missing that bottle of whiskey.

You mixed the alcohol into a pan, causing a small flame to rise that you expertly handled while spinning the bottle in your free hand like he would his cane. Alastor chuckled at your theatrics, you hadn't noticed him yet so he knew you were showing off for yourself. Soon enough, the mouth-watering aroma of cayenne, garlic, and pork wafted into the air. The Overlord's heart soared when you brought the dish together- cajun pork chops with a bourbon glaze and a vegetable medley of brussel sprouts, zucchini, and peppers. He was approaching you before was aware he was moving.

You startled at his sudden appearance, hand clutching the buttons at your chest, "Sweet Satan Al, please give me some kind of warning before you just waltz on in like that!"

"Apologies My Dear, I did not mean to scare you. However, I am curious, what brings you to the kitchen at this hour?", he stood just inches from you, heart about to beat out of his chest if his suspicions proved to be correct.

"Well-uhh," your face turned beet red and you looked down at the food bashfully, "I guess I was just feeling inspired and couldn't get this creation out of my head. So I needed to find out if I could pull it off."

"The pork chops, that's your signature dish is it not?"

You nodded your head, shyly looking back up at him, "I added a twist to it though."

He reached a hand out to cup your cheek, moving so his chest pressed to yours, "You changed your signature dish...for me? You fused our cooking together." It was not a question, the declaration sat there on a plate in front of him.

"Yes", your answering whisper was just barely audible but it was all the confirmation he needed. You squealed when his hands hooked around your thighs and sat you down on the countertop, his shirt riding up your thighs. He immediately pressed his lips to yours and demanded entry into your mouth with his tongue.

After several minutes of making out like lovesick teenagers, Alastor pulled away to inspect the plate, "It would be a shame to let this all go to waste."

He ran a claw through the glaze, but instead of bringing it to his mouth as you expected he painted it over your neck. Before you had the chance to object to having the sticky sauce on your skin he licked a wide stripe up your throat, cleaning it of all the dressing. He had to admit you did a phenomenal job of balancing the bitter bourbon with sweet brown sugar...and it complimented the taste of your skin incredibly well.

You moaned as you threw your head back, elongating your throat for him. His hands gripped onto each side of your (his) shirt and tore it apart sending buttons flying in every direction. "Alastor! Someone can come in and catch us!", you shrieked as you scrambled to cover yourself again.

Alastor was having none of it and promptly caught your wrists and pinned them against the cabinets above you. "Poppycock Darling, no one will be awake for hours yet. Now, lets enjoy this meal you so artfully crafted shall we?"

He used the glaze to paint more trails across your body- starting at your throat and going down through the valley between your breasts, down your navel, and multiple strokes on your inner thighs. "My, my Mon Cher. You are the most delectable meal I have ever laid eyes on. Care if I have a little nibble?" He didn't wait for your answer as he dove down, licking up every drop of sauce and leaving bites along the way. You bit down on your hand to stop from screaming out a moan when he bit down on your breast just hard enough to leave teeth marks.

He pushed your thighs apart to make room for himself as he settled on his knees before you. His tongue ran up each thigh as slowly as he could restrain himself to. "Your glaze was perfect my dear, but I am looking forward to tasting a different coulis from you."

He pressed the flat of his tongue to your thigh and licked all the way up to your core. The second his tongue made contact with your folds you jolted, crying out in sheer ecstasy as your legs clamped shut on his head. He tutted at you disapprovingly and summoned his shadows to hold your knees as far apart as they'd go. Satisfied with your position, he dove back in, leaving kitten licks on your clit before sucking on it harshly.

You fought to hold in a high-pitched keen, fisting one hand in his hair and using the other to hold one the top cabinets for balance. Alastor’s hands locked around your hips in a bruising grip and slid you forward so your ass was just barely on the counter anymore, the only reason you were still precariously perched there was his tight hold and his shadows holding your legs.

Alastor let go of your clit to plunge his tongue deep into your drenched hole. One hand let go of your hip to begin making tight circles around your nub as his tongue searched for that special spot that made your vision spotty. His efforts were rewarded when your body convulsed, back arching and pushing your pelvis into his face when he found it.

He didn't let up for a second, he doubled-down on his efforts- tongue bullying your spongy walls repeatedly while his thumb pressed harder and harder circles to your clit. The pressure built up quickly, tears forming in your eyes as you struggled to hold back your moans as to not wake anyone. You bit your bottom lip a little too harshly, a droplet of blood trailing down your chin.

The sight made Alastor go feral, with a guttural growl he removed his tongue from you pushed three fingers inside to take it's place, instantly setting a brutal pace. His mouth turned back to your pearl, sucking it harshly and using his upper fangs to pinch it ever so lightly.

The pleasure, the pain, the sheer ferocity sent you catapulting over the edge; you couldn't help but to let out a blood-curdling scream that a shadow quickly muffled by clamping over your mouth. Your walls squeezed his fingers like a vice, trapping him within you while his tongue soothed your bundle of nerves and helped you ride out your orgasm.

Once your body released his fingers, he brought his thumb up to capture the blood on your jaw. Keeping his eyes on yours, he made a lewd show of licking his fingers clean of your slick and blood.

"My compliments to the chef My Dear!", he chuckled to himself as you caught your breath. He gingerly set you back down on the floor, allowing you to use him for balance as your legs wobbled.

You took a look at the plate, only the glaze eaten,"Well, since you said this shouldn't go to waste I suppose I will finish it." You picked up the plate and a fork, wrapped Alastor's shirt back around yourself, and began trekking towards the staircase.

"And where do you think you are going Mon Cher?"

"Back to your room. I heard you call me an expert meat handler yesterday, figured I should show you just how well I can truly handle my meat", you made a show of pushing your fork into your mouth suggestively, giving him a wink before turning on your heal and taking off.

Alastor stood there dumbfounded for just a second before a smug smirk split his face. With a snap he melted into the shadows to chase after you; a paper fluttering to the countertop to let Charlie know that both chefs would be preoccupied for the day. All he planned to devour this day was you.

Thanks for reading! This was such as fun piece to write, I hope you enjoyed it!

Here is the song that reader was singing as she was cooking:

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[musamora]

the dreadful need in the devotee — bungo stray dogs oneshot

content. f!reader. poetic prose, discussions of mortality and death, existentialism, suggestive themes, allusions to greek and abrahamic myth, romanticized unhealthy relationship dynamics, possible continuity errors. notes and translations at the end. not proofread. 3.8k+ words. ⟶ features fyodor dostoevsky. this work is a sequel to another oneshot! reading it's not a requirement, but is encouraged. this is also a collaboration with @yonseibananamilk! please check out her half of the collab ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

The fire of Pyramus danced within its hearth, the crackles a plea for freedom. Wooden shelves shimmered in a spectrum of amber hues. The light married abstract shadows with the spines of ancient books, stories lost to civilizations no historian could neither name nor describe. However, the harsh rays softened as they reached the two huddled on a sofa in the corner.

The domestic flame of your shared nocturnal nook chiseled at your features. Meadowed plains melded into the hills of your cheeks before they dipped back into low valleys nestled on the cusp of your nose or at the curvature of your cupid's bow. Fresh streams fringed the waterline of your eyes, fluttering lashes portraying the underbrush that beckoned him, barely obscuring the mystery hidden beneath the murky brook. Such a delicate canvas, framed with messy hair, made his sick heart thump at such vulnerable dishevelment.

You drank every word of your book with reverence while he could hardly focus on the one he held. The careful movement of your fingers as you turned the page tainted his thoughts into fantasies where they instead traced the expanse of his skin—it was repulsive.

But he dreaded an infallible demise the moment you chose to lay against him, not a thought to the difference in your stations. That heated sensation of unfamiliar tenderness, shrouded from the world, only to be acknowledged in an unimportant room in an unimportant place, thumbed him with a sentiment he could not adhere a title to. You were powerless in the scheme of everything that enveloped you, yet held no regard for fear or fate.

Instead, you smiled.

He hid the quiver of his limbs as his finger brushed the underside of your chin. Your face craned upward, and he realized he had been parched for a taste of the features he had so painstakingly mapped to memory. Your eyes closed with leisure as you leaned into his touch and—

He cracked his eyes, unable to open them as they strained to readjust to the merciless glare of his monitors, their caustic luster a stark contrast to the imprisoned fireside of his daydreams. His muscles cried out when he stretched. The quiver in his limbs recurred in spasmodic vibrations, worsening the cramp of his hands as he flexed them. It was a relentless ache that had become all too familiar to him.

You were a distraction. He had lost whole minutes of time to fanciful delusions with you and that damning grin of yours at the center. In his preparations, he toyed with the idea of dispatching you to a remote location outside the ire of societal destruction before ridiculing himself upon further examination. If another one of his subordinates had become such an issue, he wouldn't have hesitated to snuff them out—you had to be the human incarnate of temptation, the ultimate test of his faith.

Men who had traversed the path before him did not do so without trial. He had scrutinized the warnings their stories contained—Adam, Samson, Saul—men who had strayed from their noble path only to lose their kingdom. Fleshly pleasures lured many a good man to condemnation, for how could such sweetness be considered a mortal sin?

The fallen had once been beautiful creatures of virtue, and you were but a testament to the scars left in their descent. It was temporary—you and the fragmented thoughts your presence created would pass in years' time. He only had to be patient.

A knock at the entrance to his workspace interrupted his internal toil.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Patience would be easier said than done.

"Not at all."

Because you dissipated thought and reason from his frenzied mind the moment you blessed him with even a mumble. Your voice was the otherworldly harmony that strained atop his ballad of misery. Not the corrupt inflections he had become accustomed to over centuries of time, but rather a sincere, artless tune that only he was ordained to hear and that he alone could descry. He would only admit one fact—human companionship was a merciless mistress.

For he knew you were your happiest at his side as his right hand, but he could not understand the reason—it brought harm to your so-called "doorstep," and the workload was laborious at best. But even in this isolated instance, when the crooks of your smile didn't entirely brush the banks of your eyelids, a noticeable ease settled in your bones at the sight of him hunched over a desk. An ease he returned, albeit underneath the veil of his carefully crafted mask.

"The preparations for the cannibalism event are almost complete," you continued, maintaining an unusual manner of professionalism as you handed him a set of stapled documents and receipts. "I just need to receive your approval before sending out the orders." His eyes crossed each section without too much consideration for their actual contents, affirmed in his trust of your intellectual capabilities when it came to outlining critical components of his plans with the ire of a scrutinizing eye. 

"Thank you. These will do."

This was usually the time that you would dive head-first into a heated discussion about the latest novel from his collection or scurry off with a courteous farewell to complete the enormous amount of tasks you often procrastinated, but instead, you lingered. Your brows furrowed, locked in contemplation as your eyes stalled on his screens—schematics for his future "trip" to the European detention facility, Meursault. He cleared his throat, which luckily broke you from your daze.

"It'll be weird." You ran your thumbs across your knuckles, teasing at your bottom lip as you shifted from foot to foot. "Moving to a new hideout, I mean." The palms of your hands shifted to skim the dust and grime-coated surface of his barren shelves, toying with the clumps of debris that gathered on your fingers as your mind returned to its baseline. What did your thoughts stray to in times when they left you stranded, out of his reach, as they became more challenging to discern? He could only pray, in some twisted part of his dark mind, that they were a reflection of his own—then maybe those fantasies could be justified.

Outside his internal ramblings, he hummed lowly, acknowledging the truth behind that sentiment. Neither of you shared an attachment to the four walls that surrounded you—it was no home. It held none of the warmth or affection such a term required, though the idea of a home was foreign to you both.

Under those clouded waters, your eyes held a look he both adored and disdained. That muted hesitation had returned, like a criminal stood on trial, unable to utter a word of the truth lest they condemn themself. And you knew too much and said far too little. If you would surrender to your impulses, push him or pull him close so that, in some fashion, his conscience could be alleviated and he could refocus—but it seemed you were stuck within the same cycle of indecision.

You parted your lips, faltered, and closed them again, second-guessing yourself as you fiddled with your fist. But upon further inspection of your nervous disposition, he spotted an object that had been hidden in your back pocket. A book. He raised a brow as you slowly pulled it out.

"You've offered me so much reading material in the past." You handed him the book. Its cover was weathered and cracked; a once vibrant hue faded into a dark, timework brown. The delicate, diaphanous golden letters that spindled across the spin dulled with age but continued to catch onto the fluorescent light. "So I thought I'd return the favor. It's a book I've had for as long as I can remember."

"Poetry?" He couldn't withhold the amusement in his tone. You were such an adorable little woman—his heart squeezed in indescribable fondness at the incredibly fitting genre. The book cradled in his hands was even more charming, if possible. Several translucent tabs and disorder marks stacked the contents of the book, defining a distinct difference from his own analytical annotations. Part of him wanted you to leave sooner so he could delve into the contents away from distraction and be allowed to soak up every delectable notation.

"For wherever you plan to go. I hope you might find some use out of it." Your face softened. "I know it's helped me."

He huffed but knew that he was ultimately endeared. "Thank you, моя дорогая. If you enjoyed it, I'm certain I'll find it an enticing read."

A tremor trickled down your spine at the unexpected sound of his mother tongue. His thick accent sounded like velvet to the ears, but you quickly nodded and sent him the courteous farewell he had initially expected—but he couldn't allow you to leave without answering one more question.

"Which one should I read first?"

You paused, prodding the question around in your mind. The answer you stumbled upon was bold, and you contemplated your choices as your nails methodically drummed across the doorway's threshold. It was a risky choice, but one you had to take.

"Browning's Sonnet 22." Your expression could have locked him there for eternity. "It's my favorite."

And you left. You left, and indecision haunted him once more.

An abhorrent, unsightly torpor flooded within him like the Neva itself, the warmth of the Russian summer smearing any presence of intellect or acumen from his person. His limbs lay heavy from the sweltering heat as the underbrush tickled at his perspiration-laden skin, allowing him a momentary reprieve as he observed the breeze push against the bountiful flora that edged the bank of a creek older than he was in a homeland he had no way to return to.

"Федя."

He roused from the rush that engulfed his body and replaced his idleness, his mind ravenous at the mere whisper of such an intimate, almost forbidden name. Soft hands replaced the roughened roots of creekside plants, trailing his arms until their owner came into full view, beckoning him to lean forward with the purse of your lips.

You were somehow even warmer than the summer sun, and he melted like a tempered candlestick at your sheer touch, lips chasing your own as you drew away with a smirk and a laugh. The collision of your bodies onto the hardened ground drew the breath from his lungs, but he allowed himself to find it once more in your embrace, nose buried in your neck as he resisted the urge to indulge in mortal temptations and simply allowed himself to revel in the innocent embrace.

"Федя," you cooed. Your hands roamed the expanse of his hair, outlining the edges of his nape in a rhythmic motion that started to lure him into a dreamless sleep. 

That was until the sensation started to fade, and he felt the familiar stomach-dropping sensation of falling. His eyes shot open as the idyllic naturistic scene dissipated from view to leave a void. Only you remained, but he paled as even you started to fade, reassuring him with a pitiful smile that he had become far too acquainted with.

"I'm sorry, Федя. You'll have to go one without me this time."

Your presence melded until your touch was like the chill of an algid frost—it was like the expiration of a dying star, crumbling in on itself until it rematerializes once more. From dust, you came, and to dust, you shall return. The contact was the biting notion of where and who he was, with every incapability and flaw that marred his flesh. It whipped at his skin, burned at his eyes.

He shook as you slipped through his fingers, drifting out of his grasp as he looked around for something to hold onto, anything to help either of you escape from—

"That must be a pretty good book you've got there."

The blinding aura of his circular cell was not a sight he wished to become accustomed to, the chamber he had been "forced" to occupy with the French prison. And to his utter dismay, it had been the lousy half of the Port Mafia's former Double Black that had stirred him from his waking nightmare, Osamu Dazai. The bandaged man looked like the cat that had caught the rat; his eyes narrowed as if he had finally pinpointed the Russian's weakness. An unseemly smirk drew across his pale face.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes, Fyodor," the detective crooned, splayed on on his bed with his head dangling at the side at an uncomfortable angle, almost like he wasn't locked in a high-stakes match of chess. "Your eyes haven't moved an inch. Leaves me to wonder what could possibly be so enticing about that book. You should lend it sometime!"

"I'm simply concerned for the well-being of your fellow agents," Fyodor sneered cooly, allowing his demonic mask to slip back on with his signature smirk. "I just can't help but worry for them. I'll be sure to pray for a swift, painless demise."

"Hmm, I'm sure."

But the suspicion of the detective didn't matter. Fyodor had ensured that you had no connections to one another, and your identity was completely erased once you went underground years prior. So, for the time you remained hidden, you were safe, and that terrible concoction of his mind would not come to fruition. You were in the midst of correcting course on any minor deviations from his plans if the smoothness of his operation was a testament—but in other moments between consciousness and sleep, he wondered if you shared these same thoughts. The split seconds that expanded into hours of dreams he wished never to wake from. 

He couldn't help but linger on the horrific scenario that cast an ever-present shadow over his every thought. It was a possibility, and he shuddered to think of the notion that it would someday become a reality. But this was his one opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.

He glanced down at his book. In truth, he wasn't much impressed by the pages anymore. This was one of the many books with copies in his personal collection, but it lacked the vitality he had become attuned to. It had been your book of poems that revitalized him, yet he was unable and unwilling to bring such a valuable item into a place such as this. He would not risk the desperation of his opponent at finding his weakness, nor the capabilities of the Special Division for Unusual Powers in finding a connection to the book's owner—so it was contained somewhere safe and sound, where no one else could find it.

That book had opened a separate world that consumed him, body and soul. But that poem that you had recommended—you were quite the romantic, weren't you? His face had flushed during his first reading and the several times after it, though your annotations were even more telling. But it only made the pressure on his heart increase, and he swore it would implode. Perhaps that was an underlying medical condition of his previous host.

And for the first time in centuries, he wasn't quite sure what he would do when he saw you again.

You dislodged yourself from the rubbled remains of the airport, fortunate to have been located further from the destruction Ame-no-Gozen created. The walls around you stood firm, but the roof caved in from pressure above, leaving only a sliver of room to escape to the intact remainder of the roof. Your hands ached and blistered with every inch of your ascent, halted as you took time to cough out the debris that generously clustered at the bottom of your lungs. You looked utterly worse for wear but couldn't find the time to mind given the circumstances.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating climbing, you made it to the top—but, of course, the fabric of your pants decided to snag onto a metal panel that had stubbornly remained intact.

"Oh, come on," you groaned, sitting down to tease and tussle with the ornery piece of cloth. It had been a restless last few weeks, and you simply wanted to sleep. You huffed as the shrapnel decided to release its grasp on your pants, but as you were about to stand back up, you took notice of the shadow before you.

There he was.

You could recognize Fyodor's striking eyes anywhere, even when he was clad in the attire of a fresh body without his signature hat and cloak, but you found that you didn't care much for the finer details when he was finally in front of you. His presence had formed a vacancy in your everyday routine, and for the first time in years, you found yourself completely alone. Even when there was work to be done and plans to create, the majority of his usual subordinates were killed as collateral—not that they had even been much company. But would you be forced to fall into the same line?

The question nauseated you, but you had known the possibilities when you took his hand for the first time. If there was a time for you to part ways, whether at his accord or your own, this would be it. This was your crossroads. But you knew as you slipped your hand into his, outstretched for you to take, that he wouldn't be letting go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part. It seemed your fears were unfounded since when you slipped your hand into his own, outstretched for you to take, you knew he wouldn't let you go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part.

You stood with his help, a contemplative tilt to your brow—but you couldn't stand the silence that continued to persist. So, in the echoes of his formulaic destruction, you allowed yourself to breathe. A release of that suspension and hesitation, unfurling your burden as you lifted your aching hands to cup his face, delighted in the widening of his eyes at the unbalanced scale between you tilted to the other side.

"Федя," you spoke, the sensation of the word foreign to your lips. A spark returned to his eyes as if you whispered the secret to raise him from the dead. "Are you alright?"

The wind rushed through him, breath tumbling with the breeze as it coasted along the metal platform you stood from. Despite reason pleading with him to run from your proximity, he instead chose to intertwine his fingers with one of your hands. He pressed kisses into the curve of your palm as he lined every scar and bruise with a tenderness that soothed your aches.

"I am."

He didn't need to utter another word—your brief separation had only strengthened your unified understanding of one another, with each crying gesture serving as the final touch. No more trials. No more secrets. The look in his eyes was one of stories. Eyes that had witnessed every dismal aspect of human nature, both in the past you shared, and in the past he traversed alone. But they had become worthless stories to him; the minuscule glimpses of resolution that had served as a sign from God of the promised end turned into the delusions of a desperate man as he found the reflection of the end in front of him—you. In every step he took since your destined encounter, you had been what he was searching for. His hope. His future. His reality. That fraudulent resolution was no longer at the end of a perilous tunnel but right before him.

You understood that the intimacy of your "relationship," with whichever label others tended to tack it with, could never be shared with another soul. Those voiceless, indulgent whispers and subtle, crinkled smiles were mere productions of your shared devotion. But more so, the hummed resonation of your souls spoke the loudest. They had remained empty for such stretches of time, so neither of you knew what to make of it when you somehow poured from your empty cups into the creation of a fulfilling bond. Your only comfort was the notion that this—this was the reason you were created. For each other.

He remembered the moment he laid eyes on you, the sensation that his long-time friend had turned foe, death no longer a temptation out of his grasp but a certainty he could not shake. Your straightforward disposition beckoned him, and he then understood why he had been made with a capacity for love despite acting as the immortal incarnation of its antonym. He had never once felt a need for fruitful devotion, not to some unseen voice from the skies, untouched by the heart and mind of humans, but instead for the one person who would take his heart to the grave with them.

He was immortal, whether by chance or fate, but it was your ability to shake off the temptations of fear that immortalized you in the end. Never once had you allowed your rift in mortality to halt the blossoming kinship between you, prodding at the walls of his solid foundations until they cracked and eroded over time. Fyodor chuckled—he thought he had a capacity for patience, between you were a godsend in comparison. He was the proclaimed "Demon of the North." The man sent to spread the wrathful will of God across the nations. So it was no wonder he had been so tempted when met with a force of benevolence, one which he had rarely witnessed and never known. He could never claim to be worthy of mortal worship when a creature like you stood before him.

You shivered at the sudden touch of his hands as they traveled across the exposed skin of your waist, soft despite his habits. They traced the contours of your figure like a sculptor transfixed on the finest marble. Time had not been merciful in his centuries alone—but it stilled for this moment. For the moment your lips met, and your odyssey was finally over. The spread of his touch was revolutionary, roaming with a cardinal fervor within this wasteland of human misfortune. It sparked a revolt within your mind—your union was taboo, but nothing had ever felt as destined to be.

The muscles of your face tendered as his thumb outlined the brushwood of your lashes. Your eyes drifted shut in a manner that wordlessly pronounced your insomnolence. He kissed a smile against your forehead as you parted, cradling your face as if you were his world. This was an intimacy that could not be replicated, and his mind shattered at the notion of loss.

"Never wander somewhere I can't follow," spoke the desperate man.

You flashed him a cheeky grin. "You won't be able to leave if you want me to stay."

He leaned in, lips close enough to brush. "I won't leave. Not ever again."

And he dipped back in for another taste, addicted to the ambrosial quality of your lips as he buried himself in the shrine of your arms. 

дорогая = dear федя = fedya

TAGLIST: @ruru-kiss @miloofc @osarina @meiluvrr @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @dazaisms @v4mpash3 @coffeeofsamu @just-another-crack-artist @snowsilver2000 @chyozai @justcallmesakira @little-miss-chaoss @himikoslove @osameowdazai @deepseafragments @aureatchi @tirasamu @kelperspelt @squigglewigglewoo @lovesick-fairy @zyilas @ishqani

a fyodor fic! very original for me, i know. nana and i planned out this collaboration months ago, and were luckily able to schedule it for the chapter release. again, please go check out her side of the collaboration! speaking of chapters, that update was certainly something. i'm intrigued to see the further development of atsushi and akutagawa through the end of this story arc, since it feels like they've switched roles in regards to the desperation, if that makes sense. and, of course, it was interesting to see fyodor express such strong emotion in reaction to atsushi, and i'm excited to see it unfold in the next installment! feel free to discussion discourse below :D

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[merakiui]

long-distance love.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, phone sex, obsession, power imbalance, kidnapping, implied (cyber)stalking, non-con touching, characters written as 18+ note - sea witch, the magicord mod you've had intimate online relations with, is closer than you thought.

Sea Witch is a busy man.

His weekly schedules are almost always packed to bursting, each event meticulously arranged into open slots as if aiming to form a perfect puzzle. Times never conflict; he’s particular about how he spends his hours, and very rarely does he allow himself a break. It has always been work, work, work. He’s one of the city’s most affluent, eligible bachelors and yet he’s married to his business. Those who lust after him think it’s a wasteful shame. Azul finds it to be a relief far greater than any he’s ever known. He will never compromise the enterprise he’s built from the ground up just because of some flimsy, fickle feelings.

Originally, he had no interest in Magicord, a messaging platform that grants people from all over the world the chance to congregate on specific servers for mutual interests like anime and gaming. He only downloaded it because Idia Shroud, a fellow friend and business partner, lived and breathed the app, his online presence so profound it was almost like a second home. He’d swipe away notifications from his actual messaging app, too busy in a voice call with his group of dungeon raiders to bother answering important calls.

So he resolved to get on Idia’s level in hopes of improving communication. Although Idia’s level, as Azul often noted, was not exactly a place he wanted to be. While Magicord could be used for business purposes, that wasn’t what drew people in. Azul of all people knew very well which target audiences were being reached with apps like Magicord, and he was not one of them.

“To think I’d stoop as low as this,” Azul had once groused over a phone call with Idia, who was giving him quite a lengthy, not-very-needed-but-also-very-much-needed rundown on Magicord’s inner workings. “I hardly have time to play games, let alone socialize on this…app.”

“Aren’t you always going on about how adaptable you are?” Idia sniped back, not in the mood for normie criticism. The sound of clacking keys could be heard on his end. “And you’re the one who asked. Kinda defeats the purpose of learning if you’re just gonna complain.”

Azul rolled his eyes. “I fail to see the logic in downloading another app just to ensure my messages reach you. Honestly, you ought to start checking your email. Or, at the very least, go through your missed call and text logs.”

Alas, Idia had been stubbornly adamant about his preferences and so, much to his displeasure, Azul was forced to undergo something of a Magicord Training Camp until he emerged a pro. And being a pro meant knowing how to navigate his own profile and toggle between that and Idia’s, which was really the only tip he needed because that was all he’d use the app for.

But Azul has always had an innate itch for wanting to know something from top to bottom, inside-out, and the idea of not knowing every little detail about Magicord drove him insane. If there was an opportunity he could capitalize on, why should he risk squandering it with his elementary-level knowledge? So he spent his rare slivers of free time playing around in there, creating a server and wondering who could ever become so attached to an app when the world beyond the screen was filled with just as many, if not more, social encounters.

His introverted side understood the appeal. In fact, he loved the idea of hiding behind a manufactured persona online. He didn’t have to be Azul Ashengrotto on Magicord. Rather, he could rid himself of his dislikable traits and become an entity—an idea or a concept—rather than a flawed man who others might scrutinize ruthlessly.

So he became Sea Witch, and within just a week he’d constructed quite the comfortable server. The invite link was spread throughout the various branches of Mostro. It would provide employees with an online sanctuary, where they could easily connect should doing so in person prove complicated (as had been the case regarding Idia, which was the sole reason he’d even poured so much time into this effort). Most of all, it gave Azul the chance to keep watch from afar, silently sitting in wait and curating a collection of mostly unimportant intel. Mere gossip, if anything.

But gossip is just as good as the next scandal. He likes to be prepared, a razored edge on all sides.

As far as the company was concerned, no one knew who this Sea Witch character was and no one knew who spread the link. And as far as individual employees knew, this was likely just some overworked intern’s labor of love—a well-crafted server intended to function as a digital gathering place for those exhausted after a long day. And that was mostly true, but all of the potential blackmail he could gather, the information he could glean, and even the people he could keep a closer eye on in an online setting—all of that paled in comparison to the real prize he’d attained. This was of great importance. It was something that altered the course of his life, opened his eyes to the brilliant beauty of a first love.

It was there in that undersea-themed haven where he met you, the one who would add flavorful spice to the once bland, boring meal that was his life. And just after a few weeks of simple, cordial conversation, he realized a single taste of your kind companionship wouldn’t be enough to sate him.

Greedy to a fault, Azul wanted you in your entirety.

Which brings him to the present, where he’s currently leaning back into the expensive leather of his driver’s seat. He’s parked on a silent strip of road, in a more residential part of the city. It’s not very busy here, and his windows are tinted to avoid immediate recognition. Rush hour won’t hit until later, and he’s not due for any conferences. He has time. Plenty of it to spare on this little excursion.

“I wanna meet you, Sea Witch,” you admit, nearly whining through the phone. “Where’re you from? Maybe we’re in the same area.”

Azul smiles at your impatience. You just can’t get enough of him, can you?

Every weekend, you hop into a VC with him and chat for hours on end. At first he simply provided a listening ear when you wished to rant through text or call. You’d voice all sorts of complaints. Azul filed them away in the event that they might be useful in the future, initially intending to use such information to ruin you should you prove to be someone worth ruining. But the more he spent listening and scrawling notes on blank paper, the more he realized you were just overworked and struggling financially.

Upon making these connections and learning all sorts of facts from you regarding your life beyond Magicord, he felt compelled to help. Out of the goodness of his heart, of course, ever the benevolent saint. And you weren’t complaining when he offered to pay you for your time. In exchange for two hours of conversation, he’d provide you with the funds you needed to afford your necessities.

Somehow, throughout many months of give and take—with his giving being on the jaw-droppingly exorbitant side, always one to top his own ludicrous generosity—your hours-long conversations would sink beneath the surface of mere companionship. It was one-sided intimacy. Azul was careful with what he shared, building a mostly secretive profile for himself. He didn’t want to risk tarnishing your fondness for Sea Witch by sharing details that felt more like Azul and less like the effortlessly funny, charming, and eloquent Magicord mod you’d originally made contact with.

You didn’t seem to worry about compromising your own privacy, easily divulging a variety of fun tidbits about your life. You’d share the tiniest of details and he’d eat it up every time, hungering for more than just crumbs. That time you sent him a photo of the octopus macarons you’d bought from a local bakery because you were thinking of him? He remembers it well, and he’s constantly reminded of it when you text him about things you did over the weekend or hobbies you basked in. Sending photos of your houseplants, asking him for his opinion on clothes you were hoping to buy (which he was always more than willing to sponsor; all you needed to do was send the link and he’d purchase it), and even trusting him enough to fall asleep in the VC with him (arguably one of his favorite things about your unique relationship).

And he called it unique not because it was a bad sort of strange. Rather, it was unique in the refreshing sense. He’d never had an online friend before, let alone someone who would so willingly and readily indulge him. Granted, this willingness stemmed from the deal he’d cut with you and so you were really only doing these things for your own gain. But then so was he. It was a relationship built upon necessity. You needed money to survive, and he needed you.

So it was okay to fall into sleazy fantasies. It was all an act anyway, and it wasn’t like you judged him or his preferences. At least, not outright. If you did, it was silent. You were considerate and sweet; and you really did consider him a friend. Or so he hoped. If your casual conversations were any proof, it was obvious there was some sort of enjoyment and trust there.

Friendship or something more, he would have you. Whether that meant in the safety of his pocket, enclosed within his mobile phone forever, or in his penthouse, tucked away in his bedroom—he’d have you.

“I’m from a city, yes,” he answers, purposely cryptic.

“Obviously. Come onnn, Witchy. Don’t you wanna meet me, too?”

“I do, and one day we’ll meet. I promise.”

He listens to your irritated groan and his cock twitches in his slacks. Good god, your voice is a blessing—more heavenly than a cherubic choir.

“One day isn’t today, though.”

“Perhaps not.” He speaks to distract you from the rustling fabric of his pressed suit as his hand strays further. He spies his reflection in the rearview mirror, notes the flash in his irises. If only you were here, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. If only he could slide his own seat as far back as it would go, lie still and serene, and let you climb into his lap to spear yourself on his erection. Genuine leather be damned. He wanted your scent, your essence, your everything engraved into the very interior. “Humor me—if we were to meet right now, what would you like to do?”

“Mm, I’d want to get a good look at the man I’ve been talking to for nine months now.”

“Oh, you’ve kept track?”

“You haven’t?” Your laughter is fluffy and light—authentic amusement. “And I’d want to memorize your face so that I’ll never forget it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m so curious! You know what I look like—”

“Not entirely,” he interjects, sly and silver-tongued. “You’re a portrait half-finished in my mind. Not yet sketched to completion.”

And it’s true. From your shoulders down, you are a faceless beauty. He’s seen you nearly naked and fully clothed, in frills and lace, in latex and ribbons, in satin and chiffon. And yet, for all of the skin you’ve shown, he can’t place a face (or a real name, for that matter) to your body.

“Okay, poet,” you tease, and he’s already palming himself through the fine fabric of his trousers. “But I’ve still never seen an inch of you. You’ve never even sent a dick pic.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Can I have one now?”

“Nice try.”

“Asshole!” you gripe, clicking your tongue in disappointment. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” he hums, squeezing himself, his breath coming out faint and haggard.

Yeah, he’s the worst. But then you’re the best at eliciting these sorts of reactions from him. The effect you have on him is utterly enthralling. Your ability to reduce him to a pliable puddle in just a few words—a mere few lighthearted, hollow insults—is truly impressive. He’d feel ashamed of himself if it wasn’t so good.

“You’re probably not even that big.”

“Would you like an exact measurement?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to measure it in person? See how many inches I could fit inside. I’ve been practicing with that dildo you sent me—the one shaped like a tentacle,” you purr, frustratingly coy. He wants your sinful lips wrapped around his dick right now—wants to fuck your throat sore and raw. Wants nothing more than to spill heavy and hot on your tongue so you’ll taste him for days. “If we met up, we could make that happen. Sooo, where’s my Sea Witch from? What part of the world?”

“Patience, angelfish.”

Even though he says so, he’s practically vibrating with excitement as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Soon. So soon. Very, very soon.

And then…

He imagines you rolling your eyes with your next words. “Fine, fine. I’ll be patient. But that’s not gonna stop me from fantasizing.”

“Well, what do you think I look like?”

“Now isn’t that a fun question?” You mull it over. He can tell because you mutter a variety of ums and hmms in that soft, sweet voice of yours. “I think you’re tall and you have a handsome face that matches your equally handsome voice.”

“Yeah?” he encourages, undoing the belt, button, and zip on his pants one-handed. “What else?”

Your giggles filter into his ears, seeming closer than they actually are due to the wireless earbuds he’s wearing. “From what I’ve gathered, you seem to have expensive tastes.”

Sitting in his lavish, one-of-a-kind, custom-made sports car, Azul thinks you would be correct.

“I wonder what gave it away…” he drawls, his voice creeping an octave lower.

He places his phone in the cup holder, reaching to open the glove compartment and retrieving a tiny bottle of lube. Squirting a scant amount on his palm, he fishes himself, throbbing and pathetically hard, out of his boxers. His slick hand is a warm, welcome embrace around his silky-smooth shaft. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Mhm, I wonder. It’s not the fact that you told me I should just buy a designer bag for work when I asked for recommendations. And it’s certainly not your ability to get me lots of nice gifts as if it’s nothing. So maybe it’s just your excessive generosity that makes you seem so rich?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Speaking of that, what do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious… Um… Hm. I think you’re a pilot.”

The whiplash that assumption brings is so seismically jarring he thinks he might go flaccid. Gripping himself with renewed vigor, he slides his fist along his length, slow and perfunctory, picturing you under his desk, your mouth open wide to receive him…

“A pilot… Mm, no, not quite.”

“Aw. My second guess was gonna be a contract killer. They make lots of money.”

“You have quite the wild imagination, angelfish. Even if I was one, do you think I’d admit that to you?”

“Maybe,” you tease. He pictures your smirk as it twists your perfect, pretty lips into something wicked. “For the right price, yeah?”

“Oh? Do elaborate.”

Please. Please keep going. Don’t stop talking. I need to hear you, closer, louder, clearer… More.

“What sort of price would I have to pay to get Sea Witch to spill his secrets?” you muse, your voice a tantalizing curl of syllables, but he suspects you already know the answer to your hypothetical. “I can’t offer you money, so you’d have to settle for something a little more…physical.”

He shivers, nodding his agreement even though you can’t see it. “Physical’s good,” he mumbles, foregoing eloquence in favor of filth. “Much better than—mm—than money…”

“Yeah? All right. Let’s see… You’re well-off and you might or might not be a contract killer. Do you wear suits?”

“I do.”

“Ooh, so you’re one of those contract killers.”

Azul can’t help it; he laughs, the sound tumbling out in a breathy gasp. “I prefer looking nice at all times.”

Languidly, his hand continues its idle pumping. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Even if you’re just going to get messy?”

“Explicate the situation that’s leading me to soil my clothes. Details, angelfish.”

“Well, if you’re a killer who wears suits, you wouldn’t like even the smallest stain. It ruins your image, but if it was me…” You pause, probably for effect, and it works. His back arches with anticipation, fingers closing tighter. “You’d make an exception.”

“I would,” he admits far too quickly. “Always.”

“So you really would out yourself as a killer if I spread my legs for you?”

“No, but I’d let you dirty my suits.”

“Good. They’ll look better on the floor anyway.”

His breath hitches. Fuck, your every word is a siren’s song, leading him deeper into mist-clouded waters. He’d keep you pinned on his cock all day if he could. Why should you continue to work your mundane job when you could spend your precious hours with him instead? He’ll be your job. Seven days a week, during each of the breaks he’ll pencil into his schedules, you can visit him and he can empty all of his stress into you. And you’ll take it because you’re such an obedient sweetheart for him, always so ready to please your master.

He prays you can’t hear the salacious squelch of skin on skin as he works himself towards the edge, but a nastier part of him wants you to listen in so you’ll be reminded that this is your fault. No one else can possibly make him this messy. No one else is capable of rendering him a clumsy, lovestruck fool. You’re probably well aware of these facts, having brought him to this same edge numerous times in the past. Sometimes you would reach that tipping point alongside him, your gasps and groans joining his in an obscene duet.

Neither of you decided upon today’s development, but he thinks—knows—you’re intentionally stringing him along. You want this as much as he does.

“So was I right? You’re totally a contract killer?”

“I’m a businessman, angelfish,” he corrects, a silly, drunken smile softening his jaw. You make him feel so stupid, so warm and fond.

“So basically the same thing. Just as ruthless, no?”

“Please, you wound me. I’m always kind.”

“Ah, so there are others who get this treatment? And I thought I was the only one…”

“You are. No one could ever compare to you.”

He intends to tack my love onto the sentence’s end, but he stops himself. You’re not his love. Not really. You’re his angelfish, sure, but that’s different. That’s just a pet name befitting the aquatic theme he masquerades behind. And you’re not really Azul’s. You’re Sea Witch’s.

It’s Sea Witch you know and love. Beyond that, Azul is just Azul. And he’s nothing like the ideal he’s cultivated on Magicord.

He sighs and forces himself out of the turbulent trenches of his withering self-esteem. Now is not the time to contemplate which version of himself you’d be more preferential to.

You’ll have no choice but to love the real him. Soon.

“Really? I feel so special.” Impressed, you whistle and add, “I’ve gotta make you feel special, too.”

“You already have—”

“Not inside the VC. Come on, Sea Witch, don’t you wanna meet me?”

“I do. I really do,” he babbles dumbly, grinding his thumb into his slit and smearing pre-cum. He grits his teeth and tamps down a colorful word. How he yearns for this to be your hand wrapped around his length, tugging him to that far-off finish line. “I want nothing more than to—t-than to see you, all of you, in person…”

“So what’s stopping you? I could do a lot more in person than I can over the phone.” He has a smart reply for that, but it sticks in his throat. Pitifully, like the rightful debauched mess he is, he groans, low and guttural. “Let me turn the question on you, Sea Witch. If we were to meet today, what would you like to do to me?”

So many things, he thinks, a litany of smutty imagery flickering through his head.

But Sea Witch is classy (most days) and today is one of those instances. Or at least he’s going to make an attempt, however weak it may be.

“Take you to dinner,” he mumbles, executing jerky, quick motions in a daze, his cock weeping for release. He throws his head back, peers up at the interior roof of his car, and inhales sharply. “Take you all over the city if it pleases… I’d spoil you with so much finery—dress you up and then tear every article off…”

“And then?”

“And—god, fuck—wanna be inside you, angelfish… So badly—need you so badly. I wanna feel you and kiss you and hold you.”

He’s unraveling, strings pulled taut and fraying to extremity. Azul bucks into his hand and imagines it’s you, tight and warm, a sweet, snug embrace. He opens and closes his mouth, intending to beg you for more, but all that slips out are the tiniest huffs and grunts. He’s so wrapped up in his own ardor that he almost misses your quiet pants, every breath squeezed out of you as if you’re struggling to withhold your gratuitous moans. And it’s deplorable, really, the way his ears prick at these muffled sounds, the way his cock stands rigidly at attention, the way he’s falling through fragments of filthy fantasies, each one so close and yet impossibly far.

“I want you, too,” you mewl, tone wavering between shameless thrill and some sort of seventh heaven.

He wonders what you’re using to pleasure yourself. Are your fingers, slick and curled, rubbing up against those perfect, pretty spots that have you seeing stars? Or are you using the toys he purchased for your enjoyment? Maybe you’re lowering yourself onto the dildo right now, gummy walls clenching around girthy silicone. And maybe you’re tugging at your nipples, massaging them between the pads of your fingers, or maybe you’ve swapped skin-to-skin for a bullet vibrator instead.

Maybe—just maybe—it’s the mere thought of him that sets your flesh aflame with an intoxicating desire.

“And I want you—” you gasp, and his mind travels to all of the risqué photos you’ve sent, each one saved in a password-protected album on his phone— “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. I want you to show me that no one else can compare to you. I want you to—mmh, hah—to hold me down in bed and fuck me until my legs are sore and I can’t walk.”

I will, he thinks, lashes fluttering on his cheekbones. He strokes himself quickly, chest heaving, tongue near-lolling out of his mouth as he pants like a hound in heat. I’ll do all of that and so much more. I’ll fuck every coherent thought out of your pretty head, keep you just smart enough to rely on me, turn you into the prettiest sea flower who’ll only blossom for me.

“I promise, angelfish. I promise I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he vows, his nerves alight with lustful delight, “and you’ll never know misfortune again.”

“I—oh! I’m close, so close! Please, Sea Witch! Please don’t stop. Please fill me up and make me yours!”

The sheer vulgarity twined through amatory vehemence, coupled with his own hurried pace, has him tumbling down the slope, arousal peaking and spilling over in thick, creamy spurts. He has half a mind to catch his spend before it can ruin the pristine interior of his car, and he blinks down at the semen sullying his palm. Idly, he rubs his fingers together to test the viscosity, wondering how his fluids would look on your face, your stomach, your ass—or even pooling out of your hole in plentiful amounts.

That fantasy is enough to send blood rushing right back to his softening cock, and he wills those thoughts away with logic—complex calculations and the financial forecast for Mostro. There will be plenty of time to indulge in sexual cravings later. He reminds himself of this while he tamps down his zeal, his heart relaxing in his ribs as he sits with the slowly ebbing aftershocks of orgasm.

You seem to be doing much the same, for you’ve gone perfectly quiet.

“Everything all right, angelfish?” he whispers after a few minutes, his breath now evened out.

“Mm, yeah. All good over here. Messy, but good.”

“I’m comforted knowing we’re in the same boat.” He chuckles while fumbling to dig a cotton handkerchief from the depths of his suit jacket. He cleans the cum and residual lube from off his hands and dick before neatly tucking himself away. Soon, there will be no need for this charade. Soon, he can adore all of you from beyond the screen. “Angelfish, there’s something I’d like to tell you.”

“What’s up?” you murmur, your own voice settling into its usual cheery cadence. He suspects you’re just putting on an act to sound happier. That will change when you’re reunited in person because it will be real. Because there will be no point in pretending through the phone.

“Well…” Azul smiles, folds and unfolds the sodden handkerchief, and then straightens his posture. He should be on his way now. “Ah, it’s nothing. Never mind it. I’ll tell you later.”

“Whaaat? But you’ve made me so curious now. Don’t just leave me in suspense!”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to remain in that suspense indefinitely.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying sometimes.”

He knows you don’t mean that.

“I’ll tell you soon, angelfish. Exercise a little patience. There’s no rush.”

“Easy for you to say. You know what it is.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, considering his next words. “Would it help if I left you with a word of advice?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

“Um. Okay, sure. Hit me. What’s your advice?”

Azul buckles himself in, starting his car via push button. It rumbles to life, smooth and steady. “Don’t fight so much, my dear.”

“Don’t what? Sea Witch, what are you talking—”

Your words are interrupted with a startled yelp. Azul listens to the struggle as if it’s a podcast enjoyed at sunrise. Things are toppled in the chaos; something shatters. He catches the beginnings of a blood-curdling shriek before it’s swiftly silenced. There’s more muffled scuffling before, eventually, absolute peace.

It’s broken by Floyd’s petulant whine. “Maaan, Shrimpy was so difficult. Thought you said they were easy, Azul.”

“Understandably so,” comes Jade’s astute reply. “We did catch them when they were most vulnerable.”

Floyd hums his agreement. “Y’know, Jade, Shrimpy’s kinda cute…”

“They are, aren’t they, Floyd?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, perish it right now,” Azul hisses, features twisting into something dark. “Keep your slimy mitts off of my angelfish.”

There’s an unsettling silence. Azul rolls his eyes. They’re fishing for a reaction he refuses to give.

“Clean up whatever mess you’ve made.” He takes his car out of park and eases into drive. “And don’t let anyone see you. It’ll be a hell of a pain if neighbors make unnecessary reports.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard ya loud and clear.”

“Very well. Farewell for now.”

The call is cut. Azul grips the steering wheel, smug.

Soon waits for him on the horizon. He will not be a minute late.

You wake on a bed, in a spacious bedroom with exquisite floor-to-ceiling windows, many stories up in the clouds. A brightly lit cityscape sprawls beyond the confines of this room, illuminated with the deceptive shine of promise and success. At first it looks foreign. But then you recognize notable buildings, each standing tall and proud amidst the rest, and it occurs to you that you’re in a stranger’s home, in the heart of the big city.

The room itself is plainly colored; it reminds you of a hotel or a room you might find in a real estate catalogue. Perplexed, you sit up and take pause as your unfamiliar surroundings prove to be more frightful than your own confusion.

Pasted to the walls are various printed screenshots from Magicord, each one detailing a conversation of sorts. You stare at the wall behind you, the one in which the bed is currently pushed against, and peer closer at the contents of these messages.

They’re all from you.

Endearing terms you’ve called him in passing. Gentle insults. Lewd flirts. Vents and rants. Photos you’ve sent of very insignificant things—houseplants, meals, clothes. And then there are the photos of your body in skimpy lingerie and cosplay, all taped to the wall like this is some abstract museum of the digital you. The you who, despite being honest most of the time, took solace in the world of Magicord. The you who’d grown close with the mod from that whimsical ocean-themed server. The you who is now trapped, your ankle enclosed in a cuff. There’s a lead that only allows you to meander into the attached bathroom if you so please, and you suspect it’ll pull taut if you try to leave the room.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, your stomach twisting with disgust.

You look down at your clothes—you’re in someone’s collared shirt, intentionally designed to be oversized so that it drapes like a nightgown—and horror prickles your skin.

And then he arrives.

He’s dressed casually in black slacks and a simple white dress shirt, primly tucked in with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You stare for a long moment, studying his features as his familiarity dawns. Your mouth falls open in a muted scream.

He smiles sweetly, stepping further into the amber glow from the bedside lamps. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I’m Sea Witch.”

But that’s not what’s shocking about this. The real shock—the thing that has your brain stumbling in an effort to put the pieces together before the picture can crumble—is far more jarring than the kidnapping and the captivity. You find your voice then, and before you can stop yourself the words are falling out in a hurry.

“CEO Ashengrotto?!”

Sea Witch—CEO Ashengrotto—stiffens, his brows furrowing immediately. He gives you a sharp, dangerous look. A look that seems to radiate one unspoken question: Where did you hear that name?

“You… You’re A-Azul Ashengrotto,” you continue, swallowing thick trepidation. “CEO of Mostro. You opened a new restaurant last year—Crave, right? And the menu features celebrity favorites—celebrities like Vil Schoenheit and Neige LeBlanche.”

He laughs his disbelief, carding a hand through soft, silvery locks. “How…do you know this?”

“I work there. You visited once with your secretary for quality checks. We even crossed paths.”

Azul gawks, realizes he’s gawking, and clears his throat. “I… I see. Well.” He inhales, holds his breath for three seconds, and exhales. “This makes things rather…awkward.”

“When you said businessman, I didn’t think… I mean, how was I supposed to know? Your voice sounds so different over call than it does in interviews.”

“Of course it does! I never use the same inflection for those things.”

This cannot be real, you think, watching him flounder anxiously. Azul Ashengrotto is Sea Witch. This whole time… Nine entire months… I was talking to the CEO—to the city’s most popular bachelor—and I didn’t even know it. They write articles about this guy! He’s all over the TV! How did I never realize?

And then a very mortifying thought worms its way in: Oh my God. We both know each other’s preferences. He saw so much of me—more than I’d ever want him to see—and I heard too many private things during our calls…

“Let’s just…” You rub circles into your temples to quell the incoming migraine. “Let’s never talk about this again. You can buy my silence and I’ll move on with my life. I’ll even forget all of…” You glance at the Magicord conversations stuck to the wall and then the chain binding your ankle. “All of this…stuff. We’ll agree to call it a misunderstanding and life will be good, yeah?”

The bargain doesn’t seem to reach him. He continues to stare at you, his eyes glazed with an emotion you can’t place. Whatever it is, it’s stormy and dark. You don’t like it, and you shrink away when he steps closer.

“All this time you were right under my nose…”

Azul climbs onto the bed with you, the mattress depressing under the additional weight. Framed by the hypnotic radiance of the skyscrapers climbing heavenward, he’s certainly earned his place in every celebrity gossip magazine you’ve ever read. Articles debating whether he’s secretly committed to a relationship. Articles theorizing what his life plans may have in store for him. Articles discussing whether he’ll ever get married, if he’ll remain single for the rest of his life, if he’ll ever open his heart to the many people who hope to earn his romantic affections.

No one knows it—how could they when he’s so tight-lipped with the paparazzi?—but you are the secret variable the articles have yet to discover. You are the covert partner, the one who has won his heart, the one who now sits shackled on his bed.

What sort of tabloid journalist could ever spin this story?

You scoot further up the bed, your back pressing against the ornately extravagant headboard. Your knees are pulled into your chest, a futile attempt at protection.

“All this time you were so close to me…” He marvels at this, his baby blue hues locked permanently on you. “And neither of us knew. I could’ve had you much sooner had I just realized…”

You blink at him, your heart sinking with every passing second. “Mr. Ashengrotto, what do you mean by that?”

A pout tugs at perfect, pretty lips. “Why so formal, angelfish? We’re much closer than that, surely.” His hands settle upon your knees, gently pulling them apart. Your blood curdles with fear. “There’s no need to be so tense. It’s only me.”

“No… Please wait. Hold on!”

“Hm? If I’m not mistaken, this is what you want. You were rather vocal about your desires. You’ve always been. So why are you looking at me like that? I’m not scary, am I?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Please let me go…”

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, his tone patient despite the subject. “You know I can’t do that.”

“But you… You kidnapped me! Y-You had those guys hiding in my home and they…” You shake your head, unable to describe the sheer terror that had overwhelmed you when those creepy twins descended. Hopeless, you open your eyes to give him your most despairing look. Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to fall at the slightest prodding.

“Oh, my dear, did they scare you? They’re brutes who know nothing of how to treat a person with adequate care. You needn’t worry anymore. I’m here for you.” He cups your face in a fond hold, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. “Don’t cry, angelfish. You’re in good hands—my hands. And have they not been the most generous?”

“You’re crazy. Obsessed! How can you think any of this is okay? Look around at the walls! You’ve pasted our conversations everywhere—they’re practically the wallpaper!”

“What of it?” His hand slides down to grip your chin, forcing you to meet him at eye level. “I love you. I have for months now. And if those are the ways you choose to classify my care, so be it.”

Tear trails trace down your face. He leans in to kiss the rivers away, but they morph into the saltiest of seas.

“You may not approve of my affections right this very moment. You may hate me, think I’m monstrous, a culmination of all things foul, but you will love me. In due time, my dear. And when you do, the world will open and the chain will come off and you will know freedom under my roof.”

He has the gall to worship you with a loving smile. It poisons you with newly brewing abhorrence.

“So cry your heart out. Scream and kick up a fit. Do what you must. And when the floods subside, we can learn to love one another. Both at our best and our worst, within and beyond Magicord.”

[wolviensabes]

Logan loves the taste of you.

Logan is in a giving mood. Kinda short, wanted to get something out there.

Warnings: Oral sex, slight denial but it is super brief. Male reader bc you all need some love too. Didn't take the time to edit sorry <3

WC: 1.7k

18+ Minors DNI

"What's got ya hard, pup?" Logan commented suddenly, making you stiffen a little. You always forgot that man's damn sense of smell was insane. You felt your cheeks get hot and you tried shifting how you were sitting.

"Uh...nothing..." You mumbled under your breath. The ‘problem’ you had down below came on suddenly, and it stubbornly refused to go away, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. Perhaps it was because Logan had just returned from an intense workout session, and his skin was still glistening with sweat under the light, making him look even more alluring.

Or maybe it was the way he casually grabbed you to pull you in closer when he sat down beside you on the couch, his strong hands sending shivers down your spine.

Or perhaps it was simply...him, everything about him that made your heart race and your mind wander to places you tried to keep hidden.

What the hell were you supposed to do?

"I uh...you know...a random one," you tried to laugh it off, they came and went randomly, so it wasn't too much of a strange thing to play off like this. However, Logan knew you better than you knew yourself. The man was persistent and knowing and you sometimes cursed yourself for being an open book.

"You're horny, aren't ya?" Logan teased, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he chuckled to himself. He took a leisurely swig of the beer he was drinking, savoring the taste. You couldn't help but watch, mesmerized by the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, and how his lips gently touched the rim of the glass. You had never wanted to be a bottle of beer so badly, just to feel the warm touch of his lips around you, all over your sensitive skin.

"Hey," he snapped his fingers in front of your face, arching his brow at you while his eyes scanned you from top to bottom, scrutinizing every inch of you with a look of confusion and mild amusement. "The hell's wrong with you? You seem completely out of it."

"N-Nothing, nothing...sorry. Just...got a little distracted," you stammered, desperately trying to disguise your obvious arousal and fluster. Your mind raced as you attempted to regain your composure, but the intensity of his gaze made it nearly impossible to think straight.

"Is this little problem of yours keeping you from functioning properly?" he asked in a gravelly tone. "Does my little pup need some help?" he teased you further, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His smirk widened as he observed your embarrassed reaction, noting the deepening shade of red on your face. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, making it even harder to meet his gaze.

Logan let his hand travel from your knee and up your thigh, a slow and deliberate movement that conveyed a sense of intimacy and possessiveness. His grip wasn't too firm, but it was firm enough to clearly communicate his feelings for you. With every inch his hand traveled, it was as if he was silently telling you that you were his, and his alone. "Let's see you, hm...show me." He encouraged lowly.

A few awkward shuffles and shifts, and your pants were gone. Your bare ass sat on the cool leather of the couch, making goosebumps arise on your legs. Your poor cock twitched under his firm gaze, he eyed you lowly while his hand slowly stroked your thigh.

“M'gonna make you feel good, don't you worry...this little problem of yours will go right away," Logan whispered, his voice a husky promise as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and neck. His lips traced a warm path, leaving a lingering heat against your skin. He got a little annoyed with your shirt, the growl he emitted was muffled on your skin. The fabric a mere inconvenience to his growing desire, and Logan was not known for his patience. With a swift, effortless motion, a claw to the fabric slashed it right open, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze.

"Logan!" you jumped, looking down at your torn shirt in surprise and a hint of indignation, “You could’ve cut me!” You let out a shocked gasp as you breathed in, the blade had been so close to your skin. Before you could say more, he ran the dull end of his blades along your jaw, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. He gently tilted your head up with them, compelling you to meet his intense gaze as he scoffed like you should have more faith in his accuracy. Which you should by now.

"Like this, pup...that's it," he encouraged lowly, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through you like a harsh ripple. The way he spoke, the way he touched you, it made all the blood rush down and you had to hold back a whine.

He continued kissing and nipping your skin, enjoying how you squirmed. "So sensitive, aren't ya?" he whispered, "Do you want my help?" Logan asked lowly in your ear, knowing the answer just by the throbbing member between your legs. You swallowed thickly, it felt like you were trying to swallow down a tennis ball. Forcing your head to nod, you signaled to him that you were desperate. You were pooling precum onto your belly, your throbbing sex twitched.

Logan's hand finally trailed down and he kneaded your balls lightly, purposefully avoiding the spot you needed him to be. His hand slowly and gently continued to massage your sac and he nipped your ear, his body pressed into you until you fell to a laying position on the couch.

You looked down as his hand slowly began to stroke you, he wrapped it tenderly around your cock and slowly stroked you while nipping your skin. Laying a fiery trail of love bites on your neck, Logan's facial hair scratched your skin while his tongue and teeth tasted you with a fervent hunger. His hot kisses and bites were controlled, each touch deliberate and precise, but you knew Logan well enough to understand that the restraint wouldn't last.

The intensity in his eyes and the growing urgency in his movements hinted at the passionate storm that was about to be unleashed, making your heart race in anticipation. His every kiss, every nibble, seemed to ignite a deeper flame, promising raw, unbridled desire.

"How're ya doin'...talk to me." He whispered in your ear, his gruff voice strained as his hips jut forward, he was almost humping your leg. His body's natural response to smelling your arousal was to thrust. He looked down at you, weeping on his hand and coating his palm in a good layer of precum. "Needy?"

"Mhm..." you nodded, "Yes, please, I need to..." Your hips lifted up, moving into his hand a bit more. Your body was in control, your mind hazy with desire for him. You were blushed darker than normal, you were pent up and his relentless teasing was not helping.

Instead of just using his hand, he slowly and deliberately trailed his fingers down your body, taking a moment to savor the sensation of your skin against his touch. He then took his time to get comfortably settled between your legs, positioning himself comfortably. "I don't think my hand is enough today," he murmured, his voice gruff and greedy, his hot breath warmed your sensitive tip. "You're pretty damn swollen. Bet I could get you to hit that high in a few minutes," he added, his eyes meeting yours with a confident, knowing look, suggesting he had every intention of making good on his promise.

Your eyes almost bulged out when you felt his tongue lick up from your balls to your tip, the man had no shame as he took you and sucked hard on your tip. His tongue swirled and lapped as he sucked, overstimulating your sensitive head until you were squirming under him. His large arms came up and pinned your hips still on the couch, his dark eyes warned you to stay still. Those damn things. Gorgeous to stare into yet right now all you wanted was more.

The primal between your legs continued to lick and suck at you, your body tries to squirm and chase the pleasure you were getting at such an overwhelming rate. You were shocked at how good he was, since he usually was the one receiving from you, he normally only felt you with his hand or laid sloppy kisses to your cock but actually sucking it was new.

You felt like he was now teasing you on purpose. Constantly sucking you right to the brink before popping off and licking subtly so your high wouldn't spill over. It made you want to cry as tears pricked your eyes and a strain of begging pleas left your mouth. His arms were strong in holding you firm while he lapped and sucked at you.

"Alright, alright, I ain't that cruel...you wanna cum then I'll let ya...give me somethin'..." he wrapped his lips around you and continued to suckle and bob his head, he allowed your hands to stroke through his hair tufts and grip them. "Ah, Logan....I...I'm close," you tried your best to warn him before it all spilled out. He didn't seem to care for a warning, since he increased his ministrations.

With a sharp cry, you felt your dick throb and grow hotter at the tip, the head leaking out before shooting thick ropes of cum onto his tongue. Logan didn't hesitate to swallow any of it, watching you cry in pleasure as you emptied yourself.

He remained on you for several seconds before sucking off and licking once more over your tip to get everything out of you. He leaned up slowly, his smirk growing wider as he took in your disheveled appearance, clearly enjoying the sight before him. "How ya feel now?" he asked with a chuckle, his voice dripping with amusement.

You lay completely spent, just from him sucking you off. He let his hand trail leisurely up your belly, feeling the warmth of your skin, then continued up your chest, taking his time to savor the moment of you laying out like this. His fingers reached your hair, tangling gently as he looked into your eyes, a playful glint dancing in his own along with that smug ass smirk he always had when you were a mess.

"Don't worry, I'll give ya more later."

Thanks for reading.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[luxthestrange]

RoR Incorrect quotes#79 Adopted

When Adam FIRST Met Jack and You

Adam*Blank face and scrutinized gaze*...

Y/n:...

Jack*Smiles at him giving a court nod*Hello

Adam:...You're both adopted...

Y/n&Jack*Eyes widen and offended*...Thats kinda mean-

Adam: BY ME-come on*Grabs their hands and drags them down the hall*

Y/n & Jack*Both look a tad flustered by adam's comment and like newborn deers*Wai-wait!/Whe-where are you taking us?

Adam*With a designated huff and puff thru his nose*WE ARE GOING TO A FOOD STAND AND GETTING PRETZELS BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT GOOD DAD'S DO!

Jack*Tears up hearing that*...O-oh dear

Greek Gods stare at them:🤡 ...

...WHO DOESNT WANT TO BE ADOPTED BY ADAM-

[sunshinepanic]

Unexpected 5

Pairing: Rafe Cameron X Reader

Summary: Things are going great with you and Rafe but when you finally get a chance to have your two worlds come together for a night everything comes to a head.

Chapter Warning: angst, fluff, protective Rafe, Protective John B, JJ is a douche, smut, violence

Not beta read we die like men

WC: 4,640

OBX Masterlist - Series Masterlist

About two weeks after John B and Sarah accidentally found out about you and Rafe, you decided to bite the bullet and talk to Pope and Cleo. You had a few moments of panic while waiting for them to meet you at the chateau to talk, but it turns out telling Pope and Cleo wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. Pope understandably freaked out, but after John B talked him down, he sat down and actually talked to you about what had happened and how you and Rafe came to be in a relationship. It took some convincing, but he eventually came around to the idea. You didn’t expect them to become friends in any capacity, but Pope agreed to be civil as long as you were happy. Cleo was by far the easiest to convince since she didn’t have an extensive past with Rafe like the rest of your friend group, but much like John B she was all for the idea of disposing of Rafe’s corpse if he hurt you. Everyone agreed to let you tell JJ and Kie in your own time, especially since everyone knew how telling the hot-headed blond was likely to go. You and JJ weren’t as close as you used to be, and it seemed like ever since him and Kie started dating, every time you were around each other, you would either avoid him all together or he would act hostile towards you. He would often scrutinize you, making comments about why you weren’t around as often or questioning why you were smiling at your phone; he even seemed to get annoyed about you showing affection to your other friends. So they really couldn’t fault you for wanting to put off telling JJ and Kie for as long as possible. In the meantime, you felt like you were doing a pretty damn good job of balancing your time between friends, Rafe, and work. Although you could admit to yourself that it would be a lot easier if Rafe could spend time with your friends too, but until you talked to JJ, that couldn’t happen.

 You were currently trying not to laugh as you held Rafe’s hands while he attempted to balance on your skateboard. You pulled him across the deserted skatepark in the middle of the night. “I’m going to let go now.” Rafe gripped your hands harder. “Don’t you dare! I swear to god, Y/N!” You cackled as you released your hands from his grip. He rolled away on the board, managing to keep his balance for a short distance before he started to wobble. You quickly chased after him, managing to reach him just as he toppled off your skateboard, sending it flying across the park. Rafe collapsed on top of you, knocking the wind out of both of you. “I am never doing that again.” His adamant refusal to get back on the board sent you into another fit of giggles. "Aw, Bambi, you didn’t do that badly. You just have to keep trying.” Rafe narrowed his eyes at the nickname you had given him as a crack at the fact that he couldn’t keep his balance on your skateboard. You tensed as you felt his finger start to dig into your sides. “Don’t you dare!” A smirk overtook Rafe’s face, and he started to tickle you, causing you to shriek and wiggle out from under him. You quickly got up and sprinted towards the safety of his truck. Trying to catch your breath, you turned as Rafe made his way towards you and tossed your board into the bed of the truck. He pinned you against the door and captured your lips in a searing kiss.

 Just like always, kissing Rafe felt like touching a live wire. Heat quickly spread throughout your body as you buried your hands in his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. Rafe broke the kiss to look down at your lust blown eyes. “Someone seems a little excited. You want me to fuck you, baby?” You bit your lip as you nodded. He chuckled, “I’m not sure you deserve it. You’ve been acting like a little brat.” You knew poking fun at Rafe was a great way to get him riled up, and if you played your cards right, it would end in a mind-blowing orgasm for you. You looked up at him from under your lashes and bit your lip. “I promise I’ll be a good girl.” Rafe’s hands groped your ass as he pulled your hips against his growing bulge. He nipped at your neck. “Are you going to let me fuck you right here? Fuck you in my truck, where anybody could walk by and see how needy you are for my cock.” You whimpered at his filthy words and quickly reached behind you to pull the back door of the truck open. Chuckling Rafe slapped your ass as you turned to crawl up into the backseat, with him following right behind you.

Rafe wasted no time pulling your shirt off of your body as soon as the door closed behind him. "God, I fucking love when you don’t wear a bra. I can see your perky little nipples through your shirt all day; it drives me fucking crazy.” Rafe sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, causing you to arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. He alternated playing with your nipple rings with his tongue and nipping at the soft flesh of your tits. You worked one of your hands between your bodies and into Rafe's shorts, gripping his cock and slowly pumping it. “Please Rafe. I need more. I need you to fuck me.” Chuckling Rafe sat back and removed his shirt. He slapped your hip, signaling for you to flip onto your stomach. Rafe grabbed you by your hips, arching your ass into the air. His big palms ran across your ass before hooking his fingers into your cloth shorts and Lacey underwear, pulling them down until they were trapped around your knees. Rafe slapped a hand across your ass cheek, causing you to moan out, leaving a red handprint behind. He leaned forward, lapping at your core and moaning at your taste. He alternated between licking and sucking at your dripping core, and soon you felt two of his fingers push into your aching pussy causing you to moan out. “Fuck baby, please.” You could hear him using his other hand to undo his belt buckle and jeans while he fucked his thick fingers in and out of your needy hole. “You want my cock, baby? You need me to fuck this needy little pussy that bad?” You were thrusting back against Rafe’s fingers, but it wasn’t enough. You needed him to fill you up. “Yes! Please, baby, I need it. I want your cock in my needy little pussy.” Rafe pulled his fingers out, causing you to whimper, before you felt him line himself up with your entrance. “That’s my good girl. Ive got you, Sunshine.” He slowly started to push himself into your welcoming heat. The stretch felt so good that you moaned out as you pushed yourself back on his cock until he was fully seated inside you. He immediately started pumping into you hard and deep. "God, your tight little pussy feels so good, baby. It’s like you were fucking made for me.” One of your hands had a death grip on the backseat as the other pressed against the door to give yourself leverage to push back into his thrusts. Moans fell from your lips as the sound of Rafe fucking into you filled the heated space. “Don’t stop! I’m gonna cum! Please, please make me cum!” Rafe moved one of his hands forward and started rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, Sunshine, make a mess for me. I wanna feel your pretty little pussy cum on my cock.” The stimulation from his fingers and him pounding into your sensitive walls, paired with the delicious filth pouring from Rafe’s lips, sent you crashing over the edge. “Fuck yeah, baby girl, just like that. You gonna let me cum in this pretty little pussy?” You nodded your head, trying to continue pushing back into his thrusts. “Yes! Please cum in my tight little pussy. Fill me up, baby, please!” Your needy little whines and the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock pushed Rafe over the edge. Hot ropes of cum painted your quivering walls as he twitched inside of you. Once you both caught your breath, Rafe slowly pulled out of your pliant body, causing you to hiss at the sudden loss. He collapsed back against the door as you slowly sat up. You pulled your shorts and underwear back into place and crawled into his lap, burying your face in his neck. You sat like that for a few minutes as he held you, and you both came down from your high.

 Eventually, Rafe nudged you. “Hey Sunshine. We should probably get going. It's more than likely that someone has probably noticed a fogged-up truck sitting here by now, and with all the noise you were making, they probably called the cops.” You immediately whacked him, causing him to chuckle as you crawled out of his lap. You both got redressed, and then you climbed over the center console and into the passenger seat while Rafe made his way around to the driver’s side. When Rafe pulled up down the road from the chateau to drop you off, you leaned over, pulling him into a deep kiss. “You better stop it unless you want me to fuck you right here in front of John B’s house.” Laughing, you pulled away. "Fine, I’ll stop. But speaking of John B, me and some of the guys are planning on having a bonfire on the beach tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you would come.” Rafe furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Last time I checked, JJ and Kie still don’t know about us, and I don’t exactly get along with any of your friends.” You sighed at him. “I know, but I already talked to the guys, and they are down to play nice if you are, and JJ and Kie have plans tomorrow night, so we don’t even have to worry about them.” Rafe sighed and was planning to say no, but when he looked at your face, you were giving him the most dramatic puppy dog eyes he had ever seen. Scoffing, he put his hand over your face and gently pushed your head away. “Fine! I’ll come tomorrow, but only if you promise not to do that face again.” Laughing, you leaned over and pulled him into another kiss before jumping out of the truck and making your way down the path to the chateau.

 When you entered the house, John B and JJ were sitting on the couch playing video games. You called out a quick hello and informed John B that you were going to hop in the shower and borrow some of his clothes for the night. He waved you off, concentrating on killing an opposing team in their game. You could feel JJ’s eyes burning a hole in your back as you made your way down the hall. When you got out of the shower, you slipped on a pair of John B’s sweatpants that you rolled at the waist and one of his old shirts that hung off one of your shoulders. You pulled your hair up as you made your way back out to the boys and sat down in front of John B laying your head on his leg, while you watched him and JJ continue playing. JJ’s character got blown up on the screen, and he tossed his controller down while John B tried to fight off the opposing team to be able to revive him. You could feel JJ’s eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. “What the fuck is that?” You froze for a moment, not sure what JJ was referring to. When you turned back to look up at him, he was staring at where your collar bone was exposed. You looked down and noticed a faint bruise had formed. Memories of Rafe sinking his teeth into you flashed through your mind. You rolled your eyes at JJ’s outburst. “It’s nothing; don’t worry about it.” JJ scoffed, catching John B’s attention. “It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like you got mauled by some asshole.” You sigh, not wanting to deal with JJ’s attitude towards you tonight. Ignoring JJ, you looked at John B and told him you were going to head to bed. JJ piped up, informing you that you would have to wait until he and John B were done playing games so you could sleep on the couch because he had dibs on the extra room. Rolling your eyes, you went to sit back down, but John B stopped you. “It’s fine, Y/N/N you can go sleep in my bed. I’ll crash on the couch tonight.” Smiling gratefully at John B you headed off to his room and locked the door. You were over JJ and his shitty attitude towards you, and you just wanted to get some sleep and look forward to hanging out with your friends and your boyfriend tomorrow night.

 The next morning, you woke up and made your way outside, where you could hear John B and Sarah talking on the porch. You wrapped your arms around Sarah from behind, making eye contact with John B. “Thanks again for letting me crash in your room. I don’t know what JJ’s problem with me is.” John B shook his head. “Don’t mention it. Eventually he will get over himself, and hopefully we can go back to the way things were.” A sad smile spread across your face. You hoped that one day you and JJ could go back to how things were before he kissed you, but the longer this went on, and now with the fact that you were dating Rafe, you weren’t so sure that would ever actually happen. After having breakfast, you and Sarah headed out to pick up supplies for tonight before heading back to your house to get ready. You got dressed in a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a cropped Motley Crue T-shirt. After Sarah finished doing her makeup, the two of you headed to the chateau so you could all ride down to the beach together. You shot off a quick text to Rafe, sending him the location of your plans.

 You helped Pope and Cleo build the bonfire while John B and Sarah packed the cooler and snacks down from the Twinkie. You and the girls were laughing at the boys; John B and Pope were failing spectacularly at having a handstand contest. Just when you were starting to wonder where Rafe was, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist and a kiss press against your temple. “Hey baby.” He let you go as he set a case of beer down, and John B and Pope made their way back towards your group. Things definitely felt a little awkward at first, but as time went on, everyone seemed to relax a little bit. Conversation was flowing easily, and as the night went on and the sun started to set, the boys were comparing stories of the stupid shit they had gotten in trouble for growing up, while you and the girls watched in amazement that no one had tried to kill each other. Rafe caught your eye and made his way over to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and dropped a kiss on your lips. “You’re staring.” You scoffed at him. “Can you blame me? It’s like watching a lion befriend a herd of zebras.” Rafe chuckled at your dramatics. "Oh, you got jokes, huh?” He stepped back, pulling his tank top off, leaving him clad in nothing but a pair of board shorts. You arched an eyebrow at him in confusion. “What are you doing?” Everyone watched as Rafe quickly grabbed you, causing you to shriek out as he ran twenty yards down the beach and directly into the ocean while holding you. Your friends were all laughing at you as you swatted at your boyfriend. As you escaped his grasp and made your way out of the water, you tripped Rafe and shoved him backwards into the water again. You had just made it back to the warmth of the fire when you heard a voice that made you freeze.

 Your head snapped in the direction of the voice, and after a few moments, you watched as JJ and Kie made their way down the hill and directly towards you. Everyone immediately tensed as JJ and Kie walked up to your group. JJ looked around, noticing that everyone seemed to be acting weird. “What’s up, guys? We decided it would be more fun to hang out with you guys than sit through dinner with Kie’s parents, so we bailed on them.” When nobody answered, Kie piped up. “What’s wrong? Yall look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Just then, you watched JJ’s eyes snap in your direction and lock on Rafe, who was making his way out of the ocean. As Rafe made his way towards your group, a murderous look crossed JJ’s face. He jabbed a finger in Rafe’s direction. “What in the fuck is he doing here?” John B immediately tried to interject, telling JJ to calm down. Hearing JJ’s outburst, Rafe's head snapped up as he finally made it to your side, still shaking water out of his hair. Rafe raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey dude, I’m just here to hang out. I don’t want any problems.” JJ scoffed. “What the fuck do you mean you don’t want any problems? All you fucking do is cause problems everywhere you go! And since when do you hang out on this side of the island, let alone with us poor people? Why in the fuck are you here?” Just then, JJ’s eyes locked on Rafe’s hand as he linked it with yours in a comforting gesture. His eyes bounced between you and Rafe, taking in how close he was standing to you and the fact that he was touching you like it was normal. JJ turned his attention to you, disgust crossing his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! Rafe! Of all fucking people, you’ve been whoring yourself out to this fucking prick!” You went to snap at him, but Rafe cut you off, taking a step in front of you and shoving JJ back. “Watch your fucking mouth!” Stumbling backwards, JJ laughed. "Oh, fuck off. Don’t pretend you actually give a shit about her. We all know this is just a sick game for you. Did you make a bet with your friends or something? See how long you have to slum it before she lets you get in her pants.” You could tell Rafe was getting more and more pissed with each word that fell from JJ’s lips. You could see his shoulders tensing, and his jaw was starting to tick. “Believe it or not, I actually give a shit about her, which is more than I can say for you after the shit you pulled.” That caught Kie’s attention, and JJ visibly tensed. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Rafe smirked at JJ’s visible discomfort. “Right. Tell me, does Kie know what happened just a few days before you started dating?” Before anyone could react, JJ lunged at Rafe, tackling him to the sand. Punches were thrown by both boys, but you and the rest of your friends were able to quickly pull them apart.

You cupped Rafe’s face, checking to see how bad the damage was as he spit blood on the ground from his busted lip. You turned on JJ, ignoring the split in his eyebrow, which was bleeding profusely. You shoved at his chest as hard as you could, causing him to stumble back into John B. “Fuck you, JJ! How dare you! You were supposed to be my best friend, and you have done nothing but treat me like shit for weeks!” JJ’s eyes widened at the fact that you had put your hands on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “No! You kissed me! You knew how I felt about you; you knew that I had been in love with you for years, and you fucking kissed me, and then you immediately rejected me, only for me to find out a few days later that you started dating Kie. Do you know how that made me feel? And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, you quit being my friend and started treating me like shit! Every time I see you, you have something shitty to say to me, and I’m fucking tired of it! I love you and I love Kie, and I want you to be happy, but you’re acting like a jealous fucking boyfriend when you have no right!” The silence that followed was deafening. You waited for him to respond, but he refused to make eye contact with you. Scoffing, you shook your head. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t do this.” You took off in the direction of the twinkie, ignoring the sounds of your friends arguing amongst each other as Rafe followed behind you.

Rafe drove you back to his house, where you showered together, and he let you fuss over his busted lip. “It doesn’t hurt. I promise it looks worse than it is.” Sighing, you finish cleaning up. “You got hurt because of me. Everything is fucked up, and it’s all my fault.” Rafe grabbed you, forcing you to look at him. “Nothing about this is your fault. JJ is an ass, and he needs to get over himself. The only thing you’ve done is move on with your life.” You relented, letting Rafe pull you into bed. As you lay cuddled up in his bed, you couldn’t help but let your mind run over the events of the night. You couldn’t believe how everything went down. One minute you were laughing, and the next it was World War III. Despite Rafe reassuring you that none of what happened was your fault, you couldn’t help but think that maybe if you had done something different, then maybe none of this would have happened and Rafe wouldn’t have gotten hurt. As you listened to Rafe’s breathing even out, you heard your phone go off with a text notification. You swiped open your phone, seeing a text from JJ. “You’re right. I’ve been a fucking asshole, and I’m sorry.” You read over the message a few times before shutting your phone off.

Not being able to sleep, you made your way downstairs to find something to drink when you heard a knock on the front door. You didn’t know anyone that would be showing up to Rafe's house, especially at 3 a.m., so you slowly made your way to the front door, peeking out of the window to see who it was. The last person you expected to see standing outside Rafe’s front door was JJ. Steeling yourself, you quietly opened the door and stepped outside to see what he wanted. You stood in silence for a few minutes before you rolled your eyes and made to go back inside. JJ’s hand shot out to stop you. “Wait! Please, just give me a minute.” Sighing, you turned around, waiting for him to start talking. Biting his lip, he finally made eye contact with you. “You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you, and you didn’t deserve for me to hurt you the way I did. You have been my best friend forever, and honestly, I miss you. I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope you can forgive me.” You didn’t respond for a few minutes, taking time to process everything. “Why in the hell did you even do it?” At the confused look on JJ’s face, you rolled your eyes, trying to contain your annoyance. “Don’t play stupid, JJ. Everything was fine until you kissed me, and now you’re running around like a jealous boyfriend after you rejected me.” JJ sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “I knew how you felt about me, and I have feelings for you too, but I know how I am, and I couldn’t risk fucking it up and losing you forever. You are my oldest friend besides John B and I couldn’t imagine losing you because we didn’t work out.” Shaking your head, you glare at him. “So instead, you decided to hurt me anyway, start dating one of our other friends, and then treat me like shit and attack my boyfriend. Make it make sense, JJ.” A look of shame crossed his face. “I kissed you because I wanted to, but then I realized what I was risking, and I panicked. I figured rejecting you would hurt less than if we dated, and I inevitably screwed up. I figured our friendship could survive if I stopped it before it started, but I knew it wouldn’t survive a breakup. As for dating Kie, I wasn’t planning on dating her, but things happened, and I do like her. I never meant for everything to happen the way it did.” You shook your head in confusion. “So you were worried about our friendship but not about your friendship with Kie? You were so sure you would hurt me, but what about her? You aren't worried about hurting her?” JJ nervously chewed on his lip. “If something happened and me and Kie broke up and she never wanted to see me again, yeah, it would suck, but I would live with it and eventually I would move on. If me and you got together and I fucked it up and I lost you from my life completely, I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself after that.” Shaking your head, you sighed. “I just want our friendship to go back to how we used to be before that kiss, but after everything, I’m not sure how to get back there. I appreciate you coming here and apologizing, but I’m going to need some time.” Nodding his head, JJ smiled. “I get it. Take all the time you need. Just know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes for us to be okay. I can’t promise to get along with Rafe, but I can promise not to kill him unless he hurts you.” Rolling your eyes, you say goodnight to JJ as you shake your head and open the door to go back inside. “You wouldn’t be able to kill him, and we both know it.” You made your way back up to Rafe’s bedroom and gently crawled back into bed. You knew it was going to take some time for you to forgive JJ, but you hoped one day you guys might be able to get back to the friendship you used to have. As you closed your eyes to sleep, Rafe pulled you against his body and sleepily asked if you were okay. Kissing him, you reassured him that everything was fine and to go back to sleep. With Rafe’s heartbeat in your ear, you fell asleep knowing you were exactly where you wanted to be, and there was a little bit of hope that maybe everything would be okay.

END

Tags: @starkeys-world @nnarellia @iluvanakinskywalker @maybankslover @hazzarules @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @fishingirl12 @redhead1180 @esquivelbianca @theoraekenslover @the-sylver-dragon @rubixgsworld @ijustwanttoreadlols @lyannesworld @chiaraanatra

[coochiequeens]

I don't like conservative "news" media like fox and this site but no one else is talking about how surrogacy gives pedos access to kids.

The fertility industry is handing designer babies over to men with zero vetting or scrutiny of their mental fitness or criminal history.

By KATY FAUST

Surrogacy is risky for children. Not just the risk of a primal wound via intentional birth mother separation. Not just the risk of identity struggles if their genetic mother is purchased from a catalog. Not just the risk of mother-hunger if they are raised in a home absent maternal love. 

Surrogacy puts children at risk for the worst kinds of abuse. 

That became glaringly obvious last month when YouTubers Shane Dawson and partner Ryan Adams announced the birth of twin boys. Dawson’s long history of sexualizing children is well-known and well-documented. Evie magazine detailed concerning incidents including Dawson pretending to masturbate while watching 11-year-old Willow Smith’s music video, referring to a 6-year-old fan as “kind of sexy,” justifying pedophilia as a mere “fetish,” typing “naked baby” in a child pornography search and remarking that the returns were “sexy,” and proclaiming, “I would rape all of you” when viewing a series of photos featuring young girls wearing his merchandise.

In one show, he instructed a 12-year-old to eat a “cocktail weenie” with the recognition that child molesters comprise a significant portion of his audience. Dawson and Adam have another 10 embryos in frozen storage should they decide they want a few more children around the house.

We hope no harm comes to the boys to whom Dawson and Adams have been granted (via surrogacy contract) parental rights. But other surrogate-born children were not so fortunate.

Contrary to what you may think, surrogacy isn’t just about helping infertile couples have babies. When we look at how surrogacy is actually practiced and promoted, we see surrogacy isn’t about babies, it’s about on-demand, designer babies shipped worldwide. And sometimes, those babies are shipped directly to child abusers.

We don’t know the raw numbers because, unlike organ donation, the medical wing of #BigFertility requires no tracking or follow-up of those who avail themselves of their services. (Apparently, there’s more concern about the survival of a kidney than a child.) And unlike adoption, which heavily vets and screens prospective parents and monitors the child post-placement, surrogate-born children are not known to social workers and often disappear across international borders.

Even when safeguards are in place, predators often go to great lengths to acquire children to abuse. In 2022, the country was horrified by the story of a suburban pedophile ring set up by two married men who raped and pimped out their adopted sons. 

That children created by a fertility industry with no mechanism (and no desire) to scrutinize intended parents for things like mental fitness, criminal records, or predatory history end up in the homes of dangerous adults should surprise no one.

Absent any kind of record-keeping or follow-up on these children, those of us who reject surrogacy on the grounds that it violates the rights of children, must piece together the risks when stories of child victimization emerge. 

These 5 Pedophiles Mail-Ordered Babies

Psychiatrist Jo Erik Brøyn held a high position in Norwegian social services responsible for child protection and was involved in several high-profile cases of child removal. He also acquired two boys through an Indian surrogate. In 2018, police discovered 20 years’ worth of child pornography in his possession — more than 20,000 images and 4,000 hours of videos — depicting child sexual abuse including “boys masturbating each other, fixed/sexualized violence against children, anal sex by men with boys or oral sex of children (including toddlers) on grown men.” He was sentenced to less than two years in prison. Some sources report that the boys have been returned to his care.

An unnamed German pedophile hired a Russian surrogate for €60,000 who birthed the baby in Greece. He then flew the child back to Germany. In 2020, a regional court found him guilty of child abuse and producing and possessing child pornography. His child was a subject of 16 of those cases between the ages of 2 and 3, and the defendant was in possession of 175,000 images of child pornography. He was sentenced to five years in prison. The child was removed from his custody. 

In 2013, Mark Newton and Peter Truong were convicted of subjecting their surrogate-born son to “the worst [pedophile] rings … if not the worst ring I’ve ever heard of,” according to one investigator. After paying a Russian surrogate $8,000 to carry the child, the pair began to violate the boy as a newborn.

“The abuse began just days after his birth and over six years the couple traveled the world, offering him up for sex with at least eight men, recording the abuse and uploading the footage to an international syndicate known as the Boy Lovers Network.” Police believe the pair created the boy through surrogacy “for the sole purpose of exploitation.” The child was removed from their custody, and the men are serving decades-long sentences.

During the height of the Indian surrogacy boom, it was revealed that an Israeli sex offender had procured a little girl via surrogacy. Had #BigFertility had any kind of vetting in place or required fingerprinting or simply character references, it would likely have been discovered that the man had spent 18 months in jail for sexually abusing young children under his supervision. The discovery shocked authorities in both India and Israel, but because they couldn’t prove that abuse had yet taken place, there was no ground to remove the girl from his custody. It did however validate India’s decision to ban single men and gay couples, who composed 30-50 percent of intended parents, from the Indian surrogacy market.

In 2014, intended parents Wendy and David Farnell commissioned twin surrogate children in Thailand, then a global hotspot for surrogacy. The little girl, Pipah, was healthy, but the little boy, Gammy, had serious medical issues as well as Down Syndrome. A scandal erupted when the couple took the little girl back to Australia but abandoned Gammy to be raised by the Thai surrogate.

It was then discovered that David had been jailed in the late 1990s for sexually molesting two girls under the age of 10, and was charged, convicted, and sentenced again in 1998 on six counts of indecently dealing with a child under the age of 13. When his criminal record was revealed and investigated, a judge determined there was “a low risk of harm if Pipah stays in that home,” and she remained in the care of Wendy and David until his death in 2020. The “Baby Gammy” case was one of several scandals that prompted the Thai government to ban commercial surrogacy altogether. 

Many of the above cases are older, the results of contracts that were drawn up when surrogacy was less common. Since then, the surrogacy industry has grown exponentially with a projected 1,000 percent increase by 2032. In addition, there are entire organizations devoted to delivering custom-ordered babies to men, none of which will have to submit to background checks or fingerprinting. So expect more cases of surrogate-born child exploitation in the coming years. 

Whether or not the child ends up abused, whether it’s paid or altruistic, whether it’s traditional or gestational, and regardless of the intended parent’s household composition, surrogacy always violates the rights of the child. It is not a problem that can be solved through regulation. The only way to protect children is to ban surrogacy worldwide.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

For the Love of Candied Lemons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: absolutely none, this is purely fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra's latest craving results in a rather embarrassing incident for you, and a frightening one for Harwin.

A/N: I most fucking embarrassingly am a citizen of the “democracy” that is the US. I hope you can find some enjoyment in this product of my coping, however small. I put enough context in here that you hopefully don’t need to have read it, but this is a one shot idea from a larger story of mine called Growing Strong, the master list of which can be found HERE.

“Seven hells- Princess Rhaenyra’s message said I would find you here.”

Feeling slightly betrayed, but mostly embarrassed, you let out a frustrated huff. “I did not mean for her to send for you.”

“I have no doubt that the Princess’s intent was genuine. She only wants to ensure that you are well,” Harwin placated soothingly. He took another slow step in your direction, glancing about your shared chambers with a look of mild interest as he did so. “Though I am curious as to why you were brought here. Wouldn’t the Maester’s chambers have been more sufficient?”

“Grand Maester Mellos was a rather unfortunate witness to the … incident,” you replied carefully. “He rushed to assist me at once, and our chambers were far closer than his office.”

The maester in question, who had been gathering up the last of his supplies, hummed thoughtfully to himself. Sparing you a small smile, he chimed in, “All things considered, Lady Tyrell, the injuries you sustained could have been far, far worse.”

“But?” you prodded with a smile of your own, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in your tone.

“But, apply this salve a few times a day, ensure the cuts are kept clean, and all shall heal just fine.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Harwin thanked him sincerely. Sneaking in a teasing glance your way, your husband added, “I shall personally ensure that the Lady Tyrell heeds your advice faithfully.”

Grand Maester Mellos bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and leaving the room. As soon as the door your shared chambers closed, Harwin was upon you at once.

“Let me see,” he pleaded, though you knew it was not a demand, but rather a request for your permission. Whenever it came to you, Harwin never acted without it.

You begrudgingly met his inquisitive gaze, and allowed yourself to be subject to his thorough scrutinization of your current state. His careful hand slowly rose alongside your face, and you allowed your head to tilt backward with his gentle guiding, giving him full visibility of the multitude of scrapes that now marred your chin.

After a moment, Harwin dropped his hand, and turned his attention to yours. You presented your palms openly towards him, allowing him to pour his eyes over the additional cuts that littered the otherwise smooth skin. 

Your husband slowly traced one of the more visibly angry gashes, and you flinched involuntarily.

Harwin immediately offered a hushed apology. “What happened, My Love?”

You broke away from his loving gaze, looking down at your palms with shame. “It’s all rather embarrassing… And the truth of it is, I’m still not precisely sure what happened.”

Harwin reached for your hands once more, mindfully grasping at the uninjured sides of them. As you allowed yourself to take some comfort from the gesture, he suggested, “Perhaps it is best you start at the beginning, then?”

“Your sisters and I were strolling the gardens with Princess Rhaenyra,” you recalled. “Suddenly, she wished for some candied lemons.”

Harwin’s expression shifted from one of curiosity to sudden understanding.

As a lady in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently discovered herself to be with her first child, you had been adamant in seeing to her every need and whim. While it would have been expected of you, given your official position, Harwin knew that you had placed additional pressure upon yourself to see that Princess Rhaenyra was well looked after. Though your time in King’s Landing had been short in comparison to others, in that time you had quickly developed a genuine kinship with and affection for Rhaenyra, sentiments that Harwin believed were reciprocated.

“The kitchens are so far away from the gardens, as you know,” you continued to explain. “By the time we would have sent word, and then waited for the candies to be prepared… I thought it would have been futile. I volunteered to go to the kitchens myself.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” you confirmed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes once more. “I was on my way from the kitchens, headed back to the gardens. And as I was descending the stairs outside of the Small Council Chambers, I could not see my feet. I think my skirts may have gotten twisted perhaps, and…”

“...And?”

“Before I knew it, my feet were above my head, candied lemons went flying through the air, and I went tumbling down the stairs.”

Despite the situation, you could have sworn the corners of Harwin’s pursed lips flinched upwards.

“I managed to break my fall on the very bottom step with my hands, but not before my chin got a good go of it. Grand Maester Mellos saw everything, naturally. The Seven weren’t so kind as to spare me an audience for this grand mishap. He whisked me away at once to see to these cuts… And, now that things have calmed and some clarity has returned, I believe he also sent a page to inform Princess Rhaenyra of what had transpired. Given your presence now, I assume she in turn sent for you.” You paused briefly, feeling embarrassment overcome you once more. “I still cannot believe you rushed all the way back to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom solely on my account.”

Harwin’s patrols as a Gold Cloak of the City Watch kept him busier more often than not. You had never faulted him for it; copious amounts of your own time was spent carrying out your duties to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Judging by the ominous look on the messenger boy’s face, I did not feel as though I had much of a choice.” Your husband sighed tiredly, his eyes flickering over your various abrasions once more.

Suddenly, he placed a quick, firm kiss on your cheek. You felt them grow hot once more, although this time it was not with embarrassment.

“It pains me to see you injured, even in these small ways,” Harwin confessed. “Though I cannot deny that it brings me great relief to see that these cuts are all you have to show for a ‘tumble down the stairs’... It did not take great effort on my part to imagine the worst.”

You reached for his hands then, ignoring the stinging sensations in them that rapidly followed. “Truly, I shall be quite alright, Dearest. The only thing that was gravely injured today was my pride. A lady of House Tyrell, tripping and bumbling down a staircase like a waddling child? … Gods, I hope my brother never hears of this. He will not let me live this down.”

Harwin rolled his eyes, but the gesture was without annoyance or malice. “Between jousting and tournaments or simply training out in the yard, I am certain Lord Tyrell has taken more than a few falls of his own. An accident was all that this was, My Love. And an accident is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

You blushed. “You are kind- too kind, perhaps. While I appreciate your concern, I truly did not wish for you to permanently abandon your post for the day. I will not keep you to myself; go on and return to the city. I shall see you later tonight.”

Harwin scoffed. “Surely you jest. The Commander gave me leave to see to it that you are well. It seems only fair that I should ensure your wellness continues for the duration of the day.”

You smiled. “You wish to spend the day with me?”

Between Harwin’s patrols with the City Watch, and your own duties to Princess Rhaenyra, the opportunity to spend any significant time with one another during the day was seldom found.

You shook your head, attempting to quell your rising hopes. “As much as I love the thought, Dearest, I did promise Princess Rhaenyra those candied lemons…”

“I would not keep you from your duties, either.” Harwin held out a hand to you, standing fast; he was not going anywhere. “Mayhaps you will allow me to accompany my Lady Wife to retrieve more candied lemons from the kitchens?” 

Grinning, you took his hand. As you carefully rose to your feet, you offered him a teasing smile. “How could I ever refuse such a generous and noble offer?”

Harwin winked. “I was hoping you’d be agreeable to it.”

“And why is that, Dearest?”

You intertwined your arm with his, daintily resting your scraped hand on the crook of his elbow. As you leaned into him, and rested your head on his upper arm, Harwin gently turned and began to lead the two of you over to the door. The pace was leisurely, the moment calm and intimate. The realm existed outside the closed chamber door, but for now, the world was comprised entirely of just the two of you.

As Harwin reached for the door handle, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Lemon candies are replaceable. But you, My Love, are not.”

[koji-haru]

Time Travel AU Part: 6

Lucifer never understood why, but he always felt awkward around Adam. Normally, he'd just brush it off as him not understanding humans well enough, him being an angel and humans being a new creation. However, that expression on his face did not belong to someone who was still ‘pure’. That contemptuous stare, that self-satisfied smirk.

All those other instances where he felt something uncanny about the first man suddenly came crashing down on Lucifer like a bucket of freezing water. Something was definitely wrong with the first man. As if, he knew more than he let on.

Lucifer stopped his frantic back and forth, “Had Adam eaten the forbidden fruit?”

Just the thought itself sent shivers down his spine and along his wings. Since when had Adam eaten the fruit? And how come it hasn't caught anyone's attention? The fact that he remained in the garden despite being as ‘rebellious’ and ‘imperfect’ as him and Lilith. Well, that wasn't fair at all.

He glanced at his beautiful Lilith. She was sitting on a fallen tree taking in the new world they were in now. Their banishment had shaken her up, but her curious nature remained. Sure, they were far from Eden's safety, and dangers lurked everywhere, but he retained his angelic abilities, and he would ensure Lilith's safety. They just had to adapt to the new changes, but that's alright, they were both resilient.

Lucifer sat close to Lilith, pale hands enclosing hers, “Lilith, I think something is wrong with Adam.”

“What do you mean?,” Lilith questioned, perplexed by the sudden statement.

“Remember those times when you felt there was something uncanny about him, but you couldn’t figure out why?”

Lilith nodded. There weren’t too many, but the times there were always left her feeling exposed and unsure of what to do. Sometimes, Adam had that look in his eyes, deep and scrutinizing as if he knew more than he let on. Wait.

“When we were banished from the garden, I turned to look back one last time. And I’m quite sure, the glee in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile, his demeanor are not of an innocent person’s.”

Realization hit Lilith, “Are you implying that..?”

Lucifer confirmed Lilith, giving her a slight nod, “I think Adam ate the forbidden fruit. I don’t have proof yet, but I’ll find one.”

“How? We were banished from Eden and the evidence lies there.”

“I retained by angelic abilities, if I could just disguise them, then I might be able to slip by.”

Adam could not stay in the garden. Adam didn’t belong in the garden, not anymore. And Lucifer was going to prove it to Heaven.

—---------

Adam felt a sensation. Intrusive. Odd. But not necessarily painful. It was a warm, numbing sensation just below his chest. Something or someone was prodding inside him, gently but with a clear cut precision. He remembered this feeling, all those millennia ago, when he first met Eve. It was odd, to be aware of what was happening this time, but he couldn’t complain, Eve was going to be in the garden soon after all. Although, it was rather surprising, for Lilith to be replaced so soon by the angels. Adam didn’t blame them, he would’ve done the same, maybe even quicker. Still, quite too soon. He remembered having to be alone in the garden for at least a few more weeks, with only the animals for company as the angels, except for Lucifer, weren’t really present in the garden. Well, it didn’t matter. He liked Eve. Eve was good company. She wasn’t antagonistic nor insufferable like Lilith. Eve actually listened and worked with him, not against him.

A few hours later, Adam finally woke up. His back cushioned by the grass, his skin greeted by a warm breeze, his face kissed by gentle sunlight. It was another perfect day in Eden. This time however, he felt both rested and unrested at the same time. The sensation from last night lingered still, clashing with the blanket of comfort that one received from being in the garden. In other words, Adam didn’t feel well. Not sick, just unwell, a little off for today.

Adam let out a sigh. He hadn’t been unwell for a long time. Not since he became an angel in his previous life. He contemplated getting up and making himself something to eat or drink to alleviate the discomfort, like tea or some congee, but then he decided no. Today was going to be an extra lazy day for him. He hadn’t even started the day, and yet, he already felt exhausted, like he never had the energy to begin with. Yeah, today was going to be an extra extra lazy day. Adam was not going to even move, he had decided to just lay there, maybe sleep for a few more hours. It’s not like there was anyone to scold him anyway. Adam closed his eyes again, slowly getting back to sleep.

Just before he could return to sleep, he heard a sound. A fluttering of wings. Six of them in fact. Adam had recently grown familiar with this sound. And while he didn't mind the presence of the owner of those wings, he really wasn't in the mood today to play pretend, with the exception of maybe playing dead.

Michael landed gracefully near Adam. He had visited today to bring him great news. Heaven was in the process of making Adam a new wife, and she should be ready in just a few days. However, instead of the usual greeting he received from Adam, innocent smiles and radiant eyes, he received nothing at all. Not even an acknowledgement. In fact, the first man was still lying on the grass asleep.

Michael moved a little closer, silently peering at Adam. That was odd. Adam was usually up early, full of energy as he explored the garden. Michael inched closer still as he observed Adam’s face.

“He looks rather uncomfortable.” Michael poked at Adam's face. He wasn't sure what to do, but he did hear that humans sometimes get warm when they get ‘sick’. He was just about to place his hand on Adam’s forehead when tired golden eyes finally looked back at him.

Adam opened his eyes to concerned blue eyes, and a face that was a little too close for his liking. He'd have a heart attack right now if he wasn't so tired, so he settled for a mini one, a jolt and widened eyes.

“Do angels have no sense of space?,” Adam frowned, clearly irritated. He had half a mind to push Michael away, but he instead listened to his better judgement and instead turned to his side, ignoring the angel.

“Adam? What's wrong?” Michael tilted his head, confused by the difference in the first man's demeanour. He wasn't normally like this. The Adam he knew was always welcoming and eager, not dismissive.

Adam sighed. He really didn’t have the energy for this, but he had to. Turning his head to look at Michael, he gave a small smile, “Sorry, I'm just really tired today.”

Michael leaned back, sitting on his heels. That made no sense. How could Adam be tired, when he hadn't even begun his day? But then he remembered why he was visiting in the first place.

“Ah, the process must have not been as kind to him as I thought.” He nodded to himself, satisfied with his conclusion.

“Do you need my help for anything?,” he asked Adam.

“Well, since you owe me for ruining my nap…” Adam thought he might as well take advantage. He was craving something warm and easy to eat.

“Well, I haven't eaten anything yet. If you don't mind helping me gather some food…”

—-

Michael placed all the items he gathered for Adam. Bowls of potatoes, carrots, onions, tomatoes, celery, a bucket of water, small rocks called ‘salt’, and ‘peppercorns’, bay leaves, and more that the angel was already struggling to remember what to do with. Adam gave him instructions on what to do, but for once in his existence, Michael was rather unsure how to start. He never had to cook, angels didn't need to eat. Honestly, he was quite surprised with the amount of stuff Adam had already invented in his time in the garden, from musical instruments to tools for cooking.

“He really is God's most perfect creation,” Michael thought to himself as he stared at the task in front of him.

“You can start by making a fire.”

Adam’s voice burst him out of his thoughts. He looked back at the first man, who was lying on his belly watching him.

“Right.”

With a flick of a hand, Michael started a fire and began ‘cooking food’. This was going to take some getting used to.

—-

After a few trial and errors including Adam’s guidance, Michael finally made food, one that was edible anyway.

“Here,” The angel handed a bowl of ‘vegetable soup’ to Adam. His face seemingly stoic, but the subtle twinkling of his pale skin said otherwise.

Adam took the bowl. It looked…off… not inedible, but he wasn't sure if he could call it vegetable soup. He looked back at Michael. The angel was all sparkly and glowy, clearly proud of his work. Adam sighed internally. He was starving. He brought the spoon to his lips.

“Hm. It's actually edible,” Adam turned his gaze back to Michael, an appreciative smile painted on his face. “It's good. Thank you, Michael.”

Michael nodded silently. It was only part of his job to take care of Adam, or at least it was now since Lucifer was banished from the garden. Though, he couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself. His domain was justice, not creation, that was Lucifer’s, but to have created something that Adam liked. Well, that was something be could be proud of. It was nice. He taught Adam something, and in turn he also learned from Adam. Adam was ‘good company’. A nice break from Heaven's usual routine. He supposed he could understand a little as to why Lucifer visited the garden often. Just a little.

—-

[A scene I thought of but didn't know how to include. Probably one of Michael's failed attempts at making soup.]

Adam handed over his bowl to Michael, still more than half full, “Would like to try?”

“Please say yes, I can't eat this anymore.”

Michael blinked at Adam. Did he just offer him his bowl of food? Despite being exhausted and lacking nutrition? How generous. Simply too kind. Truly perfect. However, as an angel, he didn't need to consume for sustenance unlike Adam, so he would have to decline the offer.

“I'm alright Adam, besides you need it more.”

Adam deflated at Michael's answer. He liked eating, but this was just not it.

[Michael may be talented, but cooking really isn't his strongest suit]

Part 5

Part 7