#and this thing is connected to his head via his neck

[inavagrant-a]

Was talking with a friend of the concept of this piece my son has around his neck being where his memories are stored and how if it gets destroyed he reverts back to being "the wanderer" before Nahida gave him his memories upon his request.

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, my lady?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like them?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course… Satoru.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight.” 

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

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

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

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

~  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

“It was… good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

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

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

“You’re not… eating?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

~

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You skip ahead again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

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

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About the estate?” he asks. 

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

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

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

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

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

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

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

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

“S-Satoru–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[tlou-reid]

Security ✿ Aaron Hotchner

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

♡ SUMMARY: reader calls aaron just as he arrives home from a case, needing a savior in her own home. aka baked goodies part 4

♡ WARNINGS: reader has the flu, criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and her death, reader takes medicine for the flu and eats a frozen croissant and i do not wish to offend the French, not edited but when is my stuff ever?

𖤣 Part one here! 𖥧 Part two here! 𖡼 Part three here! ⚘

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The flu. Of course, just as winter was finally wrapping up, your sniffles start and your throat starts to burn. The cold was no longer nipping at your nose, but you were still shivering at night. The fever you’d started a day ago didn’t feel like it was going away any time soon, so you’d decided to head to the urgent care a few minutes away.

The doctor had been surprised when your flu test came back positive, considering it was late march. “You’re probably the last positive we’ll get until thanksgiving time,” he had remarked as he signed the prescription for you. With a sigh, you made your way to the check out counter, got your prescription and headed to your car. You barely got your key in the ignition when your phone stayed to ring.

“Hi honey,” Aaron’s whisper filled your car as your phone connected via bluetooth. “Hi baby,” you mustered up all of the energy you had to coo at him, wanting to match his energy. He knew you weren’t feeling the best, so any energy you could give him was enough.

You swore he could feel the things you felt sometimes. You knew there was science backing the idea that your heartbeats could sync up, but this was a whole different level. Aaron knew you in ways no one else did, and no one else ever would. You’d been together for almost six months now, and you could very easily picture a lifetime with him. It was almost as if your souls were tied together, creating the most beautiful knot you’d ever seen. One that could only be named love.

“Feeling any better?” His voice was gentle, but you could tell he was keeping quiet. He was probably still in the Chicago Precinct, finishing up a very gruesome case. “I am now that I’m talking to you,” you flirted before breaking into a coughing fit. Your cover was blown. “Are you driving?” Aaron asks, ignoring your flirtation. “I have to get home, Aaron.” You were too tired for his overprotectiveness.

Once again changing the subject, he asks the million dollar question, “What did the doctor say?”

You winced at some dickhead behind you beeping at the car next to you as you answered, “The flu, he gave me some medicine.” You heard Aaron let out a sigh on the other side, “It’s spring time,” he declared, just as puzzled as you were. “I know, that’s what I said.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” You knew that would be his response. There’s nothing he can do but wish you well from about 11 hours away. He wished he could hop on the jet and come home to cuddle the virus out of you. But he couldn’t. He was here, in Chicago, catching evil criminals, and you were back home. You didn’t answer his sentiment, instead opting to sit in comfortable silence on the phone with you. He was alone in the conference room, mapping out similarities from the victims, so he put his phone on speaker and got back to work.

This was a comforting action for Aaron. It gave him some sort of peace he was always seeking when he was away on cases. The hairs on the back of his neck lowered and the pit in his stomach closed. Just a little bit, but the pit closed some.

A few minutes later, you were pulling into your driveway. You couldn’t help but peek out of your rear view mirror. It was as dramatic as a romance movie, the way you longingly looked at Aaron’s home, as if your gaze could spawn him in his front yard.

“Hey Aar,” You said, unable to hide how tired you were, “I’m home.” You couldn’t see but Aaron nodded, knowing that meant you were about to hang up. “Get some rest, please. And don’t forget your medicine.”

“I’m going to bed as soon as I get in the door. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.” You switched your phone to speaker, disconnecting it from the car and turning the car off. “I’m still going to worry,” Aaron guaranteed. “I know, but try to not.”With a sigh, he agreed“I can do that, I love you.”

Saying “I love you” was something that came had come unexpectedly easy to Aaron. He’d thought after all of the loss he’d faced of people he loved, there would be a hesitancy, a fear that he’d buried somewhere dark and deep. But it wasn’t. It came easy and truthfully, just as being in love with you did.

It was surprising to you how often, how delicately, and how meaningfully Aaron said it. It carried so much weight when he said it, it was a promise every single time. A promise to be there to say it again and again, a promise to fight through whatever awful things are thrown at him to be the best version of himself for you, a promise to be there for you, a promise to be the man you deserve.

Aaron Hotchner was a serious man, always had been and always will be. But he’s especially serious about the people he loves, you and Jack the most.

“I love you too, goodnight.” You joked as you stepped into your home. “Goodnight, get some rest.” Aaron was smiling as he hung up.

You’re not sure how long you slept. It had to have been a few hours, considering it was dark when you woke up. Your head was pounding and and your stomach was rumbling.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed, fighting through the deep ache in your bones. You couldn’t understand why you were both hot and cold at the same time, or why the ringing in your ears wouldn’t go away. You, despite all of the rest you’d gotten, were feeling about a thousand times worse than you were yesterday.

You stopped at your sock drawer, pulling out the thickest, fuzziest pair you could find, before hobbling down to the kitchen. You’d just gone grocery shopping, so you were sure there was something you could throw into the microwave.

As you rummaged through your fridge like an injured raccoon, your phone buzzed from its spot on the couch, where you’d tossed it after you came in. A text of Aaron lit up the screen, ‘Just got back to the precinct. We just have to fill out some paperwork and then we’ll be on the jet home. See you soon.’ it read.

After taking a few, small bites of the frozen croissant you’d found in the back of your freezer, you responded to Aaron’s text with a simple ‘be safe, love u’, energy level matching what you were currently feeling.

Then you headed back up to bed. There was some kind of uneasiness flowing through your veins, so you pulled up some mindless video to help you relax. You were sure it was just the medicine making you a little queasy, so you did your best to relax so you could sleep away the pounding in your head.

It took a while, about two and a half youtube video essays, but you did slowly drift off into an uncomfortable slumber.

Once again, you were unsure of how long you’d been asleep. You felt groggy, as if you could use a few more hours to truly feel good, even with the flu. You weren’t sure what woke you up, however.

It was dark out, so you reached for your phone to see if Aaron had made it home. ‘2:36’, the screen that was entirely too bright read. You signed, swiping down on your screen to show your notifications. A text from Aaron 35 minutes ago read, “Just got in the door. I bet you’re asleep, give me a call when you wake up. I’ll be up for a while.”

Every muscle in your body hurt, you pushed through for just 13 of them to form a smile at his care of you.

Just as your hand hovered over the call button on his contact, you heard your front door swing open with a bang.

Your head immediately perked up. You inched your way back toward headboard, trying to put yourself in a position as far away from the sound as possible.

Your breathing stopped as you listened. “Hurry the fuck up, we got two more to go to tonight.” You heard an unfamiliar voice call out. It was obvious they were trying to be quiet, albeit unsuccessfully.

Without hesitation, your finger hit the call button. It rang twice before Aaron’s groggy voice was coming through the receiver, “Hey honey, how are you-”

You cut him off with a desperate whisper of his name, “Aaron,” He was stricken with worry immediately. You were sick, so sick. You’d been running almost a 103 degree forever. Despite your medicine, there was no way you’d be able to speak with such conviction in your voice already.

“Aaron,” you repeated with as you squeezed your eyes shut, “Someone’s here.”

Aaron’s heart stopped in his chest. The last time someone entered the house of a person he loved, they never came back out of it. Haley’s last moments alive were spent with someone who was in her house when he shouldn’t have been. And now that was happening to you.

“Where?” Aaron asked as he shuffled around, moving to his gun safe. He quickly input the code, checked the safety and began to make his way to your house. He could hear Jackson barking in the background, doing his best to protect you.

You heard a crash somewhere downstairs, and decided you couldn’t sit anymore. Faster than someone with the flu should be able to, you stood up to move to the bathroom attached to bedroom.

“They’re downstairs, please hurry.” He could hear the fear in your voice, the way you were choking back tears. Jackson’s bark was getting progressively louder had Aaron’s heart speeding up.

Aaron didn’t answer as he approached the door. His end of the call went silent, before you heard your door crash open again. “FBI,” his loud voice boomed through the house. Even Jackson paused at that, standing with his fur perked up and his eyes focused on the door.

Aaron then yelled and you could tell it was directed towards you, “Call the police!”

You did as you were told, hanging up the phone call to dial 911. You quickly explained the situation and gave your address to the dispatcher. You told her that Aaron was here, he was an FBI agent, he was seemingly making sure the intruders weren’t leaving, and to please, please, please, not let him get hurt.

Her calming voice assured her that she wouldn’t.

You sat on the bathroom floor, shaking, running your hands through Jackson’s fur as you waited for the police to arrive. You wished Aaron could handle it. That he had the power to arrest them and it could all be over. But he didn’t, so you were stuck here, waiting, shaking.

It felt like an eternity, but was probably twenty minutes, but you heard the sirens as they pulled up. Once the cops were in the door, Aaron informed them of what was going on, and then made a beeline to your room. The door was still shut from when you went to bed, but not locked. Aaron decided to lecture you later.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as Jackson creeped out. Aaron gave him a few pats before following where he’d came from.

“Aaron,” he heard your tired voice call out. You were definitely crying, even if you hadn’t noticed it yet. “It’s me, honey,” he answered, finally finding you in the dark. He sat down next to you on the cold tile. He pulled you into his chest, completely enveloping you in nothing but Aaron.

You pressed your ear against his chest, searching for his heartbeat. You could hear how fast it was beating. The sound started to calm you down. As the adrenaline stopping running through you, the illness started to re-emerge.

Aaron didn’t speak as he held you. He held you until you stopped crying. He held you until your breathing evened out. He held you until you stopped shaking. He held you as Jackson curled up at your feet, also trying to protect you.

Ten minutes, then twenty minutes passed, then Aaron lost track of time. Still, he held you close with one arm, and gently combed his fingers through your hair with the other.

“You awake?” He whispered. “Mhm,” you replied. “Let’s go walk around the house.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his request. That was the last thing you wanted to do right now. Your bones hurt and you were scared of what could be lurking in the dark of your house.

“You won’t feel safe unless you know it’s clear.” You shook your head against him. “I won’t feel safe if you leave.” You promised him. Every word was true. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You knew every word of that was true, too.

“Can we go to your house tonight?” Somehow, you were even quieter. “Of course.”

Aaron moved to get up. He stepped over to flick on the lights and then help you up. You tried to ignore how lightheaded the shift in position made you feel, but stumbled as you got up. Aaron reached out, once again protecting you.

“Jackson’s not going to like being alone,” You sighed, with sad eyes. You didn’t want to leave him, but you weren’t going to feel safe. Against every part of his body wanting to tell you he’s just a dog and that’d he be okay, Aaron found himself saying, “He can come, too.”

“You don’t want dogs in your house.” You recalled the countless times Aaron complained about the dog hair. “I’ll make an exception tonight, you’re sick.” He justified. He could feel your body relax in his arms. With Aaron and Jackson by yourself, you knew you’d feel safe and secure. “Thank you, honey.” Aaron smiled at you using his favorite nickname for you.

“Well, let’s walk around and then we’ll head over.” You nod, following his lead. Aaron holds your hand as he guides you through the house, checking every nook and cranny he could think of. Jackson stayed right by your side.

As you made it to the bottom floor of the house, you could see two police cars still sitting, and two cops standing out front talking. You knew you’d have to give a statement or something eventually, but you were hoping Aaron could pull some strings due to how exhausted your body was.

“All clear,” You remark as you finish looking over the house. You’d have to replace your door handle on your front door, and your living room was in complete disarray, but you knew it’d be much worse if Aaron hadn’t come when he did. He was your savior tonight.

Aaron pulls you close again, relishing in your skin being against his. He was coming down from his own adrenaline high and all he wanted to do was hold you, so he could know that you were safe and alive, and opportunity that he didn’t have with Haley.

Something deep inside of him was gratified tonight. He knew that he could never replace Haley, that the love and the fear and the heartbreak he felt for her would always linger and would never, ever go away. But he also knew that he was a different man. He was a better man. A better father, a better lover. He knew that wherever Haley was, he was proud of the man Aaron had become. The man you helped him become.

Aaron pressed a kiss to your forehead, squeezed your shoulder, and then said, “Let’s go home.” You didn’t have to remind him about Jackson, as he moved to the closet that you kept his leash in. As if he could feel the heaviness in the air, Jackson didn’t put up an excited fight to put his leash on.

Aaron held your hand in his right, and Jackson’s leash in his left as he guided the two of you outside. You three took a few paces into the yard, before he was handing you the leash, mumbling an “I’ll be right back,” before walking to where the police were lingering.

You couldn’t hear what was going on, but you saw Aaron shake their hand after talking to them, and then he returned to your side. “They said you can go to the station in the morning to talk to them since I gave a statement. I told them you have the flu, so maybe we can get it pushed back more.” You nodded at his words, and slipped your hand back in his. Aaron ran his thumb along the soft skin of your hand as you walked across the street to his house.

Once you got inside, Aaron let you shower as he found a bowl that Jackson could drink from. The hot water helped your muscles relax, and unstuffed your nose. It felt good to be breathe for a couple minutes.

Aaron was already in bed when you made in to the room. Jackson was curled up on the floor at the end of the bed, softly snoring until you opened the door. “Come here,” Aaron gestured to the empty side of the bed. You complied and he pulled you tight against his side.

Even with the ache in your bones and burn in your throat returning, this was best you’d felt all week.

You tried your best to sleep. When that didn’t work, you tried your best to at least lay still so Aaron could sleep. When that also didn’t work, you sat up in the bed, frustrated. All you’d wanted to do all day was sleep, and now your body was still reeling from your house being broken into, so you could.

“You alright?” Aaron asked, hand moving to run along your thigh. “I can’t sleep,” You mumbled. You felt Aaron nod, before his hands slid up your body, guiding you by your torso to lay back down next to him. He pressed a kiss against your shoulder once he could reach it. “Let’s just lay here, then.”

You nodded, wiggling closer to him. His hand kept moving along your thigh, and you used it to slow your breathing down, matching it to the movement.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that before Aaron broke the silence, “What would you think about moving in with me?” It was quiet, almost a whisper. It was easily the most timid you’d ever heard him be.

“Can Jackson come?” Aaron laughed at your response, a little less nervous than he’d previously been. “Of course,” he responded. It was quiet for a little bit as you pondered the question, before you replied, “If you talk to Jack and he’s okay with it, then I will consider it.”

Aaron nodded, know that was the best answer he could’ve received given your illness and how late it was. “Okay,” he replied, pressing one more kiss to your shoulder before laying back down next to you.

[honeykaes]

my heart hurts

breakup hookups hc's feat. alhaitham, thoma, childe, scaramouche

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, angst, modern au!, creampie (thoma), right person wrong time trope (thoma), fingering (alhaitham), wall sex (alhaitham), mutual breakup (alhaitham), cumshot (alhaitham), reader has breasts (scaramouche), boobjob (scaramouche), squirting (scaramouche), cunnilingus (scaramouche), reader broke up with scara via text, jealousy (childe), drunk sex (childe), semi-public sex (childe), scummy ex!childe, unedited

“I put the rest of your stuff in a box near the door. Just knock when you finally get here. Don’t be late.”

You grumbled reading the text before sighing and getting out of your car. Marching up to his door, you dove your hands into your pockets trying to mask the frustration pounding against your chest.

You thought Alhaitham was the one, and you think, he did as well. You were ecstatic to move into his place, your tastes merging together in his own. Despite how smooth you thought it would be, one argument turned into multiple until the strain in your relationship was too bad to ignore. You both agreed to break things off but, you weren’t over him quite yet and that hurt.

As you knocked on the door, and paused hearing heavy footsteps on the other side. The door slowly opened revealing Alhaitham’s tall frame. He was wearing his reading glasses and some leisure attire he only wore around the house. His eyes narrowed toward you, yet there wasn’t any animosity in his eyes.

“Come in,” he murmured to your surprise as he opened the door further. Despite your mind screaming to just ask him for the box and leave, you found yourself stepping inside of your old home seeing the colder energy that the place used to not have.

“Do you want something? Water? Coffee?” he offered. You shook your head yes he grunted. Guiding you to the kitchen. He began to pour your drink, placing it on the table before sitting next to you with his own. The two of you sat in silence, sipping your respective drinks. You could only quirk your eyebrow noticing Alhaitham’s gaze lingered briefly on your lips. 

You don’t know how it started, or what possessed either of you to indulge in each other but here you were, in the hallway, bruised lips pressing hard on one another as he ground his hardening cock into your core. 

His nails dug into your hips grunting in your ear as his lips connected with your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. One hand snaked itself against the waistband of your pants, sliding itself beneath your panties and cupping your cunt. You gasped, nails harpooning themselves against Alhaitham’s broad back as his fingers sank inside of you—thumb lazily fondling your clit.

Your walls quivered as he scissored his fingers, stretching you out as he slowly pumped. You squirmed in his grip as he grunted with annoyance, hand grasping your waist tighter before you whined. He lifted his fingers up—digits coated with your slick—and popped them in his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue. 

He shimmied your pants and underwear down and follow suit, letting his heavy cock slap against his covered abdomen. He lifted your leg up as you call out his name in shock, sliding his cock along your folds to gather up the slick drooling out of you.

“What? Don’t act all shy now,” he whispered in your ear before plunging himself inside of you. You cry out feeling the dull pain of being stretched out as he inched deeper and deeper. Once bottoming out a low moan drifted off his lips feeling your walls pulsate and massage his length.

His hand left your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass with a tight squeeze before he began to thrust. Your body shivered, hearing his noises as if he deliberately wanted you to hear just how you made him.

“Fuck…I missed you, I missed this cunt…but you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he grunted, brushing against the spongy spot inside of you. Your head leaned into the wall, clinging onto him tighter as you tried to widen your shaky legs to get him to hit that spot again and again.

“H-aitham..! Haitham,” you stammered, nails racking his back as he sucked a breath in. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, walls caving down as you finally reached your high struggling to keep your feet up. Alhaitham cursed under his breath closing his eyes as he quickly slide his cock out, pumping himself a few times before groaning—thick white ropes of cum splattering on your lower stomach.

He let your leg down, steading you, as he tried to catch his own breath. You closed your eyes, leaning against his chest.

“I don’t fucking get you sometimes and I don’t think I ever will.”

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth and you knew he loved you too. The only issue was how much time he spent away. Dates canceling, coming home infrequently—his duty as the Kamisato retainer was straining him. And even when he had the time to attend to his duties as your boyfriend, you could see the bags under his strained eyes, trying his best for you not to see the cracks and desperation of rest he needed.

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth; therefore, you needed to let him go.

As the words left your mouth, it seemed the world silenced. Thoma sat on the couch, hand covering his mouth as his eyes stared off into space, watering from your declaration. Your heart lurched in your chest.

“Thoma, you know I love you. You can’t prioritize us right now, and that’s okay. I understand what Ayaka and Ayato mean to you and how important it is for you be fully committed to your responsibilities,” you whispered, reaching a hand out to his cheek. He let his hand leave his face, tears beginning to cascade down his now-flushed cheeks.

“Then please…” he whispered. You gently shook your head, wiping the tear away.

“You know I can’t for now…” you whispered back. Just as you were about to get up and let Thoma grieve his love for you in peace, he shot up pressing his lips into your own. Desperation, passion, and longing—those three emotions strongly swirling in that kiss, but yet, you found yourself kissing him back. 

As he tightly gripped your waist, the two of your bodies fell onto the bed with a soft thud. Your hands wandered up, lifting Thoma’s shirt off of him, breaking the kiss momentarily before connecting right back again. One by one, articles of clothing fell down leaving you two in the nude, clinging onto each other.

Thoma’s lips trailed down your neck, hand drifting up and brushing against your slit as you shivered. His thumb drifted up, pressing down on your clit, garnering a gasp from you. Slick drooled out of you as he continuously circled and flicked on the bundle of nerves. 

Smearing your arousal along your inner thighs, Thoma grabs his half-hardened cock pumping it a few times before lining himself up. His tip slid between your folds, brushing against your clit as he grunts in slight frustration before he finally pressed himself to your opening and sank inside of you.

A breathy moan of your name escapes Thoma’s lips, weaving your hands with his—cock slipping deeper, feeling your walls squeeze and tighten. Lifting his face from the nape of your neck, his nose brushed against yours—green eyes sorrowful as he slowly thrusts. Your legs wrapped around his thin waist gripping his hands tighter as he plunged himself steady and deliberate, hitting every spot he knew would unravel you.

Your back arched, body shivered in pleasure as you finally reached your high. Your walls spasmed and tightened against him as his own release would arrive soon. Shutting his eyes and desperately pressing your lips against yours once more to drown out his moan, Thoma’s hips halted—ropes of his cum spurting inside of you. 

Thoma placed his sweaty forehead against yours and closed his eyes. Sliding his cock out of you where his cum was slowly seeping down, his arms wrapped around your form underneath him.

“...Just let me hold you one last time before you go.”

Your eyes kept reading your text message to Scaramouche over and over again. You know you were kind of a dick for breaking up via text because you feared confrontation from your usual grumpy ex-boyfriends, but the fact he left you on read made you nervous. He always had something to say, wanting to have the last word in every argument—so this, was nerve-wracking.

You hear your doorbell echo throughout your apartment as you sighed and walked over to the door, expecting a package only to gasp in horror seeing Scaramouche standing there—arms crossed, glaring at you.

“Through text? Really? Really?!” he yelled out, storming inside your apartment. You sighed and closed the door; you should have known better. As you turn to see him seething you noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, he must have been crying not too long ago.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know how to break it to you!” you responded. Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“So you think our 3 years can be over through a fucking text!? Are you that much of a coward?! I think I deserved more than a fucking text message!” he shouted. Your eyes drifted away in guilt, crossing your own arms against your chest.

“Fuck! Okay! You’re right. You didn’t deserve that. But, I’m not happy with our relationship! Fucking—.” You took a sigh to compose yourself momentarily. “I don’t feel like you ever give a damn about me so I didn’t think it would be that bad to break up via text.”

Scaramouche remained silent, sucking on his tooth before letting out a low, sarcastic laugh before slowly marching towards you. You felt like a rabbit eyeing the ferocious might of a wolf.

“Don’t care? I don’t care?! Your joking right?! Do you even fathom how much I love you…!” he murmured, close to your face. The two of you glared down at one another waiting for the other one to respond only to gasp as Scaramouche connected his lips with yours and to his surprise, you didn’t push him away and deepened the kiss.

Things quickly found their way to the bedroom as Scaramouche roughly pushed you down on the bed before lifting his shirt off. Just as you were going to do the same, Scaramouche grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“No. Do you even realize you’re wearing my shirt right now? The audacity you have to break up with me while wearing that shit,” he grunted, nipping at your ear before leaning up. He undid the buckle of his jeans and zipped down the zipper, pulling down his jeans and boxers to reveal his twitching cock. 

“You don’t get to enjoy my cock like that,” he grunted, gripping his length and pumping it. Scaramouche lifted you slightly up before letting his cock brush between the mounds of your chest. His cock was hot and heavy, tip budding with precum that began to smear across your torso. His hands grabbed your breasts, thumbs brushing against your pebbling nipples before pressing them together, between his cock.

“Hold your tits like this,” he grunted as you obeyed. You gasped feeling your bottoms come off, exposing your wet cunt. Scaramouche clicked his tongue, pressing his thumb against your clit and drawing tight circles on it.

You whined when his hips began to thrust between your breast as he let out a shaky moan. His cock trembled with every thrust as his pace began to get faster. He cursed under his breath, pausing his ministrations on your clit as he shut his eyes to enjoy the soft mounds of your chest. 

“Fuck. Shit—” he cursed out. You softly yelped as cum shot out, hitting your chin and bottom lip. Globs of his cums stained his shirt you were wearing as he bit his lip to muffle his whine. As he slowly came from his high, he sighed moving down and nibbling at your inner thighs.

“You don’t fucking deserve this but I’m not cruel enough to leave you on the edge,” he grumbled. Your hands shot to his hair as his lips connected with the bud of your clit, lapping it up roughly and sucking on it. As his tongue swirled and flicked, your legs shook and pressed themselves against Scaramouche’s head.

His eyes were cold seeing you squirm against his mouth before it faltered, as a rush of liquid hit his tongue as you arched your back. He drank as much as he could grabbing your thighs to hold you down before you finally began to calm down from your intense climax.

“Made you squirt for the first time heh,” he laughed to himself. “Too bad it’ll be the last.”

When Childe broke up with you, it hurt your pride and your heart. You didn’t think of yourself as a vindictive person, but when you had the opportunity to temporarily forget about him and how someone practically worshipped you for the night—you didn’t say no. 

You didn’t expect to see him at the club, your eyes meeting with shock. Your eyes narrowed to the person he was dancing with, arm around their waist as he ground behind them. Rolling your eyes with a scoff, you walked away from the dancefloor and towards a corner in the back where you could process the situation better.

“Fuck,” you grunted in frustration in debate. You didn’t want to leave but you couldn’t stand seeing that. Just as you were about to decide to try another bar, your ex approached you with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

“Funny seeing you here. Is that D-rank boytoy crawling around,” he teased with a strained smile. You scoffed rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“No, but don’t let that stop you from putting your cock inside your stupid fling, I was just leaving,” you grunted. Childe grabbed your wrist, leaning down. That infuriating smirk was still on his lips.

“Aww, come on. Let’s catch up a bit. Don’t you miss me…” he whispered in your ear, causing your body to shiver. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you were sure your own buzz was messing with your judgment yet, you couldn’t help following into the empty bathroom. 

Quickly checking each stall was empty, Childe locked the door and moved the trashcan in front of it. He grabbed your waist, moving you on the empty counter before pressing his clothed hardened cock against your core.

“You see what you do to me….? I think you forgot just how wild we got together,” he murmured, drifting your underwear down your thighs. His fingers grazed along your slit as you whined, moving your hips to try to get him to brush against your throbbing clit. He chuckled watching as his finger slowly dripped with the same slick beginning to drip from you. 

Wiping it down his slacks, he quickly freed himself—slapping the tip of his cock against your clit. You moaned as he finally stopped bullying the nub, pressing his cock along your opening before sinking inside of you. 

“Fuck, just like how I remember it,” he grunted, sliding deeper and deeper before he finally bottomed out. Sliding out briefly, you choke out feeling him plunge his cock back in hard and fast. His pace was relentless, lewd noises drifting throughout the bathroom. 

You closed your eyes as he grabbed your chin. His eyes were much colder than before, smugness replaced by jealousy.

“No. You have to watch everything I’m doing to you. I’m not going to let you forget how well my cock made you writhe so many nights. No one can fuck you as well I can, including that stupid boytoy you decided to fuck,” he grunted, plowing himself inside of you.

You whined out his name, walls fluttered down as he soon changed his angle to find your favorite spot. As he brushed by it deliberately, You clung tighter to him calling out his name repeatedly.

“There! There! There! There!” you rambled out. You squirmed, a breathy moan escaping from your lips as you reached your high. Your spasming walls made it harder for Childe to thrust, pace getting closer and sloppier. 

Just as you thought he was about to spill out, Childe quickly left your tight, warm cunt, he rapidly pumped his cock—tip leaning towards your underwear. With a grunt, white globs of his cum shot out filling your once-clean underwear with his essence. He chuckled, quickly pulling them up as you gasp, feeling the warmth of his cum as he pulled his softening cock into his briefs and pulled his pants up to fasten them.

Not paying you much mind, he walked towards the door moving the trashcan and unlocking it before pausing.

“When you get some sense, call me,” he grunted, walking out of the bathroom.

[dc418writes]

|Hiding in Plain Sight|

✨Pairing: CEO!Curtis Everettxblack!reader

🪄Summary: Curtis has had enough

🚨: 18+ NO MINORS!, soft!dark Curtis maybe???, cheating (do not condone in real life, however for this plot…👀), mention of past adult happy fun times (everyone please be safe!), fingering (female receiving), verbal abuse, language

🎤: this is my submission for Siri’s Birthday Bonenanza! Happy belated birthday @stargazingfangirl18 !! I hope you had an amazing bday with lots of cake, presents, love, and any and everything else you desire💐🎂!!

Prompts:

Scenario: Babe is doing this for your own good

Dialogue: “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

Kink Prompt: possessive!babe, squirting

Trope Prompt: scary,dangerous babe who is only soft with you (Curtis isn’t really dangerous tho, but you’ll see)

*DISCLAIMER!: I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP OF PICTURES USED as they were found via Pinterest*

At the sudden ‘click’ of the door closing, you’re startled; quickly turning towards the sound to find one of the reasons you felt the need for space from the festivities downstairs. Dressed in all black - from the button up spanning his firm chest to his impeccable slacks and polished designer shoes - it’s as if he walked straight out of GQ how dashing and handsome he looked.

Then again, when did he not?

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His deep voice never fails to send tingles shooting down your spine. Have you embarrassingly willing to move at his command if he gave it.

“It’s okay. I-I should probably get back anyway.”

“To get ignored by your husband some more?,” he asks just as you pass him. His words make you pause with your shoulders just mere inches apart.

“Curtis..”

“He’s so busy smiling in everybody’s face and trying to be buddy-buddy with my associates, he hasn’t even noticed his own wife is gone. Then again…maybe he doesn’t want to.”

You didn’t want to come tonight. Tired from work and not in the mood to fake laugh at middle aged men who thought they were funny, you practically begged your husband to leave you home.

“You’re so fucking selfish you know that? This is my chance to make necessary connections to very important people.”

“Then you go Wes! Me being there won’t change that.”

He only kissed his teeth, tossing one of your purses at you and not caring of the scattered contents he left. “Be ready by 6 or I’ll get you ready myself.”

It was foolish to hope things would be different this time. You should know Wes would never arrive at anything having to do with business without his self proclaimed ‘good luck charm’. His trophy wife he used to sell this illusion that he was the man that had it all, so rejecting him would only hurt you.

And that’s not to say your husband didn’t deserve success - he was brilliant in his own right. It’s why Curtis himself decided to invest in Wes’ company and was his highest investor to date. But he saw past the illusion, and quickly saw the man he really was.

Which is how your complicated pairing began.

As he steps closer you hate how your body responds: eagerly ready to cave at the closest feeling of home. The bourbon - his favorite - practically being tasted in your own mouth as the smell wafts from his pink lips so close to yours. It mixes well with the spice from his cologne only making your head begin to swim and want to suffocate yourself in his neck.

His thick finger reaches out to trace the delicate gold chain on the necklace perfectly sat just below your collarbones. The small diamonds not equally spaced apart, but set in such a way it reminded you of twinkling stars in the night sky. It’s simple, but fitting for you. You were never the type for lavish jewelry that could blind someone a mile away, and from your short time together Curtis knew that.

“Knew it’d look beautiful on you,” he whispers letting the pad of his finger carry further until he was skimming your collarbone and causing you to shudder.

“I’m still married,” you practically have to force from your soul trying to stop your body from pressing against his. Stop your brain from turning to mush so he could have his way with you. Again.

His jaw ticks. “Why, I don’t know.”

“Curtis please, okay? Besides, you’re supposed to be celebrating.” He gently nods letting the rest of the brown liquor drain down his throat - your eyes shamefully following the bob of his Adams apple and missing how it felt under your lips.

“Fine,” he breathes closing the remaining space so you have no choice but to clutch his shoulders to stop from losing your footing in your heels. Not that he’d let you fall from his muscular arm around your waist. His mouth lowering impossibly closer that depending on what either of you said, your lips would brush. “Celebrate with me.”

“I-I don’t think your date would like that.” Were you angry when you saw the onyx haired beauty on his arm? Far from it. Did you guiltily wish her butt length, model-esque hair would catch fire when she passed one of the candles on the various tables so she’d have to leave? Maybe.

“Here I was thinking I was the jealous one.” And there was that smirk that briefly showed the hidden mischief in this man carved by God himself. “Yes, she’s my plus one, but would be more interested in you than me. Not that I blame her.”

“I still can’t,” you whisper letting your nose tap against his. Slowly but surely you feel yourself becoming drunk off his presence and that will to stand strong diminishing.

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

At that you’re stuck. Now solely focused on his lips and so badly wanting - needing - to taste them again. Curtis grins realizing this himself. “My eyes are up here sweetheart.”

“Wha?” You should feel embarrassed, but as the air from his nostrils fan your face it only seems to make you needier. And when he brings his hand up to caress your cheek, there’s nothing that can stop you from leaning into his touch. Even between your legs you feel that pulse begin to grow in urgency.

“Look me in the eyes,” Curtis begins slowly, “and tell me you don’t want me. That you’re done. You’ll never hear from me again.”

You try, genuinely try to maintain eye contact but his stormy blues dilated with lust and longing only overwhelms you. Overwhelms you in that you should be good and say you don’t, leave, and act as if none of this has happened but you don’t want to. Curtis has easily become a part of you that you can’t let go and truthfully refuse to do so.

In a blink, your lips are frantically crushing against each others. His tongue smoothly, yet still eager, to reclaim your mouth after being away for so long. Your mind quickly enters that haze you only seemed to experience with him, unable to realize your body is being guided somewhere until you’re perched on the edge of a wooden desk. Your hands gripping the back of his neck while his push your pastel blue mini dress up past your hips leaving your lower half exposed to the cool air of the room.

Finally needing to breathe, his lips descend to your jaw then your neck causing you to whine his name wanting more of his mouth on yours. A quiet “shh” is the only warning you get before his hands are spreading your thighs to find a steady growing wet spot on your panties. His fingertips immediately reach to tease along your waiting slit watching as you squirm and moan.

“My needy girl. Probably been forever since he’s touched you like this huh? Made you feel good..”

The back of your head softly thuds against the wall as you lean back on your elbows. Letting yourself get lost in his touches and how his thumb circles your little button through your thoroughly soaked underwear.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? Know how much I’ve missed you and those little noises you make when you take anything I give you,” he huskily states nipping your earlobe. “My fingers. My tongue. Fuck, and when you take my cock..?”

“Curtis,” you gasp nearly ready to guide his fingers inside you yourself to get that relief you now crave. As always, he knows what you need bringing your delicates swiftly down your legs to circle his middle finger around your dripping hole before plunging deep. The extended moan from your lips directly hitting his cock and making his pants feel tighter.

His ring finger soon joins as they steadily pump in and out. Not having been intimate with your own husband for a while now, you feel pathetic already being so close. Curtis can feel it too, as you clutch and squeeze.

“Should be ashamed of himself not taking care of you like you need. You deserve to be filled all day, every day. Filled to the point you can barely walk without feeling me drip down your legs. That what you want? To be filled with me?”

Your hips buck and grind on their own nearly riding his hand as your skin heats and sweat pricks your forehead. “Y-Yes! Yes Curtis please!,” you moan. His words hitting some deep seated, feral part you didn’t recognize but welcomed while palming your breast.

His mouth catches your scream when he adds a third finger. The room filling with your little “ah ah’s”, squelches, and the knock of the desk against the wall how you bucked to keep up with his fingers.

“Shit, might not ever leave the house. Just keep you by my side always wet and ready. Take you in every room and have you screaming for me.” He palms at the front of his slacks picturing your nude body bent over the counter. Or spread on the table for him and him only. “Or let you ride me and take what you want. Like that night after dinner.”

The way your toes curl and back arches he knows you’re seconds away now. Just needing that extra push to have you a twitching, trembling mess.

“Curtis I-I…please Curtis…Curtis!” Twisting his wrist just slightly to the right, he easily finds your spot as he firmly rubs his palm against you swollen nub making you gush down his hand and onto the hardwood below - a splash or two even finds the top of his shoe. It’s almost like a steady stream as it keeps flowing with every push of his fingers and Curtis can’t help but curse before finding your mouth again.

When you whimper and try to back away he knows it’s too much, slowly halting his movements before removing his hand. Automatically, you’re reaching out for him - needing some grounding force after what felt like your body floating to space - and he gladly lets you wrap your arms around his middle. Your face diving to his chest trying to hide your overwhelmed tears while he rubs your back with his clean hand.

“Did so good for me sweetheart. You feel alright?” You nod, turning your head just enough to catch him suck your release from his fingers; moaning from the taste. “Still so sweet,” he mumbles to himself and you swear you feel a small trickle of release escape your hole from that alone.

Your little bubble of ecstasy is quickly popped when the door opens reminding you of the party downstairs. Curtis shields you the best he can, but your dangling legs can easily be seen.

This makes it easy for Wes to recognize you. His face turning from amused shock at finding the always stone faced Curtis Everett with a woman to anger now realizing you were the moans and screams the men whispered about downstairs.

“The fuck are you doing up here?!,” he shouts making you scramble to get off the desk. Curtis still shields you with his back as you right your dress. Not only for your modesty, but to silently warn Wes he wouldn’t dare stand down.

“W-Wes I can explain-,”

“This was your plan the whole time huh? Use me to get to someone better..”

“No, I..I just-,”

“Just what? Accidentally ended up here with him?! Accidentally let him do whatever?” Now you were gathering a bit of a crowd, only increasing your anxiety.

“Wes please..”

“Please what?! Move on from you being a whore who opens her legs to any man she can get ahead with?!”

“Hey! Watch it,” Curtis warns stepping closer to a slightly drunk Wes.

“And after everything I did for you? Gave to you?!”

“You act like I asked for those things.”

He simply shakes his head before focusing on Curtis. “You know what, good luck with that one. Just a lazy sack that only wants to lie on her back. Can barely do that either always complaining-,”

Curtis didn’t let him finish quickly gripping Wes by the back of his neck making him kneel before you and everyone peeking through the open door. He tried to wiggle free and thrash, but Curtis just tightens his grip controlling Wes as if he was an animal handler trained to do this. Like he’d done it plenty of times before.

“You say you’re the one who gave her everything? Way I see it, you wouldn’t have had everything to give without her. Without your lovely wife, I would’ve already cancelled our partnership leaving you high and dry probably on fry duty at some fast food place. So I suggest you humble yourself pretty fucking quick.”

He seemed to get the message, remaining mostly still besides his back rising and falling from his unsteady breathing. “Matter of fact, I say you thank her.”

Wes is quiet, until Curtis jabs him in the ribs causing him to howl in pain.

“She’s waiting!”

“Th-Thank you! Thank you!,” he shouts sighing in relief when Curtis lets him go.

“Cmon,” he mumbles grabbing your hand to lead you past your husband. Past the vast crowd of people who dared not get in his way.

“W-Where are we going?,” you ask trying to keep up with his longer strides.

“Home.”

“But..but I-,”

Swiftly, he turns catching you against his chest with fingers gently gripping your chin so you’d be sure to hear him. “Home can be my place or yours and he gets put on the street, you choose. Either way from this point on, I’m not letting you stay away from me.” How could you argue with that? Especially now when he was using that commanding tone paired with that intense gaze making your core spasm. “Which one?”

“…Yours.”

He simply kisses your forehead leading you outside to retrieve his car from valet.

As for Wes, he was in for a rude awakening Monday morning when he’d be served an eviction notice saying his office space now belonged to Everett Co., minutes before he was served divorce papers already signed by you and your wedding ring.

-

Not gonna lie, I’m a little iffy about the ending but still I hope everyone enjoys! Also check out the other stories from this challenge as well💕!

[atmajolish]

obey me as fanfiction tropes lucifer - meet the family

you don't know why you have never met his family, just that every time the topic comes up he does his best to avoid it. at this point you think he might be the head of a mafia and simply doesn't want to involve you in the 'family business'. it's a surprise when he suddenly invites you to join a dinner with his family and when you go you realise that you got it all wrong. it's not that his family is all serious and involved in the mafia, it's that they are so chaotic it's hard to keep up. even for lucifer.

mammon - bodyguard au

being famous is only fun when your life and privacy isn't threatened by a stalker, hence why your manager decided to get you a bodyguard. you aren't quite sure how mammon is supposed to protect you, considering he seems to be easily distracted and like he hates spending time with you as he seems to think you are just like any other famous person, ready to abandon your morals the moment it suits you. but when he saves your life you're forced to reevaluate your opinion of him. maybe you can make him rethink his opinion on you as well.

leviathan - friends to lovers

you and levi have known each other since forever. you went to the same elementary school and when you saw that levi seemed to like the same cartoon you did, you just had to befriend him! several years down the line you are now in university while levi is making his main income via streaming. it feels hard to connect the same way you used to with how different your lives are these days, but you refuse to give this friendship up. the fact that you might see levi as more than a friend has nothing to do with that.

satan - coffee shop (cat café)

working as a barista in a cat café sounded like a fun way to work in theory. in practice you don't make a lot of coffee, but spend your time cleaning up after the cats. the fact that this guy keeps coming in without ordering anything and just watches the cats for at least an hour before leaving. you're sure it's against the rules, but you don't want to be the one to confront him. you don't get paid for that after all. however, he must have noticed you staring at him because he is coming over and how did you get to the point where he is telling you cat facts?

asmodeus - fake dating

you're unsure how you ended up owing a favour to mammon out of all people, but he's cashing it in right now. apparently his brother has troubles getting rid of an admirer and you're the only possible person who would agree to fake date him and keep shut about it. which is why you and asmo are now sitting in his living room deciding to come up with a way on how you fell in love. it would be so easy if your traitorous heart would just stop fluttering every time he reaches out to hold your hand in public.

beelzebub - soulmate au

sharing the taste with your soulmate sounds good in theory. of course you had to get unlucky with it as your soulmate seems to eat almost constantly and have no limits as to what exactly they eat. you've tasted multiple inedible things and at this point you're concerned for your soulmates health because there are probably repercussions for eating paper. when you see your lab partner trying to eat some of the chemicals you're working with it doesn't take you long to put two and two together. you can't even be mad for all the things you were forced to taste because beel is just cute enough to get away with it.

belphegor - roommates

you are used to your roommate falling asleep in the weirdest spots and it's a miracle he doesn't wake up with severe neck and back pain every day. however when he starts sleeping in your room because 'he likes the company' you need to start rethinking some of your feelings. when you ask him why he doesn't just sleep in his own bed, you only get a sigh and belphie tells you that it's no use sleeping there, because you aren't there. maybe belphie had already figured his feelings out long before you.

diavolo - arranged marriage

being in an arranged marriage was made out to be a lot worse than it actually was. at least in your case. you've known diavolo since you were kids and the both of you had always known it would come to this at one point. still, the thought of possibly ruling a kingdom at his side was a bit daunting. it's when he reassures you that he will handle it and plans out several shenanigans just to distract you from the pressure, that you think maybe you can fall in love with him.

barbatos - time loop

you've been forced to repeat the same day over and over again every time you die and no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to figure out who your killer is. you're sure it's always the same person and they should be the only who is also aware of the time loop, but detective work has never been your strength. it's when a friend of a friend mentions something you said several time loops ago that cold horror washes over you. you never expected barbatos, the guy you sorta had a crush on to be your murderer.

simeon - elementary school teacher

teachers aren't supposed to have favorite students, but it's hard to not like luke just a bit more than the rest. if only because he's the one that listens to you most of the time. what you don't expect is that his dad is also exactly your type, so you really can't help but stare for a bit when simeon first walks in for the parent-teacher conference. what you also don't expect is simeon giving you his number since luke will move to a different school soon. when you ask what the number is for, he hides a smile before telling you it's his way of asking you out.

solomon - reincarnation

you don't know how often you have died and been reborn again. it's been a lot of times. the thing is, you have the easy part. the dying and the reincarnating. your lover solomon has the hard part as he is unable to die and has to live without you until your soul has come back to earth. your memories fade a little more each time you come back and you don't know how long you will be able to keep remembering him, nor how long he will keep on waiting for you.

mephistoteles - enemies to lovers

there are many things you could say about mephistoteles, however it would always be that you kinda hate him. he's stuck up, rich, and can't look past his own nose. you know he thinks about you just as badly so every single time you two see each other you only exchange glares and maybe a few insults if either of you is in a particular bad mood. it's when you're forced to work together for a project that you are forced to see him in a new light, no matter how much you hate that there is more to him than the image you have in your head.

raphael - secret agents

working with raphael has always been easy. he listens well and he can easily kill and get out without much issue. it's only problematic that he refuses to accept any help whatsoever from you, insisting it's easier if he just does it alone. normally you should be happy about that, it means less work for you, but something about it just irks you. it's when a mission goes south that the two of you finally have a heart to heart and realise that working together might be easier than it seems.

thirteen - hitman/target

there's been a hitman trailing after you for a while now. there have been too many freak accidents near you for them to be just accidents. it's when you enter your apartment and see said hitman casually lounging on your couch, eating your snacks, watching your tv. you definitely didn't think she'd be this pretty. her complaining about how you keep avoiding her traps and take out all of the fun of job, reminds you that she is sent to kill you though. it sure is a surprise when she decides to take her time and instead pose as your roommate for the time being and with every day it gets just a bit harder to distinguish whether she still wants to kill you or there is actually more to your relationship.

[chaifootsteps]

need the fandom to understand that 'character who is the soft one who cries is not equal to the character who is in the right'

it makes sense for a show that's primed it's audience to think abuse is just limited to obvious cruelty and insults (but only when the show says it counts, HB cared about Blitzo being a jerk to Moxxie for all of one conversation) but it's frustrating to see this show touted as 'sooo deep' when it could have done a lot more to show the different types of manipulation and abuse with the material it already has

like, a character that's soft and weepy and constantly rewrites reality to favor himself? that's A grade PSA material for how abusers don't always look like Stella or Crimson and make their targets feel like they're the ones who are crazy or in the wrong

Oh yeah, and for the contingent who says Stolas would be treated way more sympathetically if he was a woman - I kind of doubt it, personally. I think a character like Stolas if he was genderswapped would be judged far more harshly for what he does in the Stol/tz storyline, not less

like the audience would probably jump to 'he reminds me of my mom/girlfriend/other female friend who also uses crying and looking pathetic to get people to take her side despite treating me like dirt', 'this or that trait is such a narcissistic thing to do'.

the show already expects its audience to treat the female characters with way more scrutiny and suspicion after all, but I feel like people are more inclined to recognize the figure of the 'narcissistic woman who's only emotional reality is her own' or the image of 'mom who neglects kid for new beau' than they are when it's a male character

and that's not a bad thing, to be clear! it's good the fandom can recognize abusive behaviors in women, probably most often their mothers (though it is disturbing how little they can acknowledge the emotional landscape of the female characters - there's any number of reasons for Stella to feel disenchanted with her life and the fandom cares about none of them)

the problem is they can't extend that logic to Stolas. they can't see how Sad Owl Twink is distorting reality around his relationship with Blitzo and refusing to treat him like a person, or how he's a subpar dad to Via. it feels like the bar for male characters is being set way lower as long as there's a convenient excuse. and it seems part of the reason is more than just Stolas being male, since logically Blitzo wouldn't be getting it in the neck from Stolas fans so much

it seems like it's also because they seem him as soft and harmless that on top of the extra credit male characters get for doing nothing, they've decided he can do no harm. men already deserve a medal for being connected to their emotions, so if Stolas appears soft and sensitive it means he can't possible be abusive or neglectful at the same time. which is just not true

sorry if this is rambling, kinda thinking out loud

Thank you for sharing these thoughts aloud. It's absolutely true...Viv and her fandom seem to have it in their heads that abuse looks like screaming and insults, that sexual abuse looks like being held down (also that it doesn't count if you "get away,") and that is so, so unbelievably dangerous it genuinely chills the blood. It's going to get someone hurt.

[voidnull-crow]

We Gon’ Take It Slow, Slow

Pairing: Yunho/Yeosang

Word count: 2,735

Summary: Yeosang wants to feel it all, but he needs to take things slower today. Yunho doesn’t mind.

Additional info: Established relationship, safe sane and consensual, anal sex, riding, love bites/marking/hickeys, finger sucking, praise kink, mild pain play, scratching, overstimulation, lots of kissing, pet names, semi-public sex, cuddling & snuggling, domestic fluff, slice of life, porn without plot

This is part 3 of my yunsang series. The title is from “IT’s You” by Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang

Read on ao3: We Gon' Take It Slow, Slow - Fruity_By_The_Foot - ATEEZ (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

Or read below the cut:

Yunho and Yeosang lay comfortably together on the couch. It’s a nearly daily activity in their life; a part of routine they both find important. Yeosang’s head is in Yunho’s lap and music spills softly from the tv. The drapes are drawn and Yunho’s eyes are closed, contentedly soaking in the sunshine.

Yunho’s hand starts a slow stroke on the sensitive spot where the back of Yeosang’s neck meets his head, feathering out the hair underneath his thumb in a way that sends a shiver down Yeosang’s spine. Yeosang lets out a little moan that he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed of.

Though he’s content, and he could stay here for longer if he wanted, Yeosang’s arm is falling asleep from laying on it. He sits up, and when Yunho’s hand falls from his hair he catches it. He turns to lay back against the armrest of the couch and drags Yunho with him.

Yunho laughs.

“Hold on, let me—” Yunho fixes their positions. He lays between Yeosang’s legs, stomach against his hips, pressing them flush together. “There. More comfortable?”

Yeosang pretends to think about it. “No.”

“What’s bothering you?” Yunho lifts his weight off Yeosang, missing the cue that he was joking.

“You’re not kissing me,” Yeosang smiles and puts his hands on either side of Yunho’s jaw, gently bringing him to look at him.

“Oh,” Yunho murmurs in realization, ears turning slightly pink. Yeosang giggles and gently connects their lips. Yunho lays his weight back down, sinking into the kiss.

Though it starts sweet and tender, they find a mutual need for more between each breath. Their kisses slowly become more firm, more intent. More hungry. The growing heat is aided by the sunlight falling brightly through the windows. It pools between them, heavy and almost tangible.

Yunho presses him into the couch, via their lips as their kissing becomes more passionate and messier, and via his stomach against Yeosang’s hips. When a deeper kiss has Yunho rock forward slightly, putting just the right pressure and friction on the growing erection Yeosang had been trying to ignore, he moans into his mouth.

There’s a momentary pause before Yunho rocks again, testing the waters. Yeosang digs his fingernails lightly into Yunho’s shoulders. He pulls back from the kiss and hovers over Yeosang. Yunho’s face unreadable, he grinds against him again, a little heavier. Yeosang’s face heats up and he bites back another moan.

“Is this okay?” Yunho asks.

Yeosang nods. “I think I want to go a little slower, though.”

“What do you want me to do next?”

“Kiss me again.” Yeosang adjusts to sit up a little higher against the armrest of the couch.

Yunho smiles and moves back into his space, interlocking their lips. He kisses him unhurried, as if he’s the one controlling time and can make this moment last as long as he wants. He draws it out, leaving Yeosang feeling breathless and light, but it’s not long before he begins kissing along his jaw. He moves over to his ear and nibbles on it, then whispers, “can I leave marks on you?”

Yeosang tilts his head up to give him better access to his neck as his way of saying yes. Yunho drags his nose up from the base of his neck to his jaw, lightly. He sucks a small hickey on the underside, kissing over it a couple times.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“I will. Keep going,” Yeosang swallows, “please.”

Yunho brings one hand up to the top of Yeosang’s shirt and begins unbuttoning it, sucking another hickey onto his collarbone. Yeosang rests his head back on the armrest, shivering when Yunho’s fingertips graze against his skin. 

With his chest exposed, Yunho begins to maul it. Yeosang gasps when he drags his teeth down his pec. He bites into the flesh and flicks his nipple with his tongue before beginning another hickey on his sternum. He takes his time with this one to get it nice and purple and runs his hands slowly up and down Yeosang’s waist under his shirt. He starts out just massaging his sides, soon bringing his nails into it. Not light enough to be ticklish, not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to feel it.

As he takes his time to cover Yeosang’s chest, neck, shoulders, anywhere his mouth can reach in hickeys, the pressure behind his hands gradually builds until he’s soothing on every up and scratching on every down. Yeosang whimpers.

“You’re so good for me, puppy,” Yunho murmurs against his skin, following up his praise with soft kisses. Yeosang’s already fuzzy brain melts and he whimpers again.

Yunho brings one hand up, opening Yeosang’s mouth with his thumb and sticking two long fingers in it. Yeosang moans around them.

His other hand moves to his back to guide Yeosang to sit up so he can finish taking his shirt off. He drags one fingernail up the length of his spine, sending electricity tingling through his body. His back arches and Yunho grips and tugs his hair back too, a guttural moan escaping his slack jaw. Yunho takes his fingers out and drags his spit and drool down his throat.

Such a pretty mess already, with hickeys blooming like wildflowers across his skin.

Letting go of his hair, he places a hand at the top of Yeosang’s jeans. A question. Yeosang shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he struggles to get out. Yunho nods and moves his hand to his thigh instead. Surely his dick is greatly uncomfortable in his pants by now, but if he’s not ready, he’s not ready. Yunho’s hardly taken notice of his own until now.

Yeosang grabs the fabric of Yunho’s shirt, asking the question back.

“Go ahead,” Yunho says.

Yeosang pulls it out of where it’s tucked in his pants. Yunho raises his arms so he can get it up and over his head. He tosses it to the side and sits still for a second, admiring Yunho’s bare chest. The intensity and lust in his eyes makes Yunho’s cock pulse. Without warning he pushes Yunho by his shoulders to lay back against the other armrest of the sofa. He cages his torso with his legs and sits back onto his hips, earning a deep groan from Yunho at the friction against his hard cock. He interrupts by launching forward into another heated kiss.

Yunho wraps his arms around Yeosang, pressing them chest to chest; skin to skin. He drags his nails hard down Yeosang’s shoulder blades, pulling the prettiest whine out of him. Yeosang breaks away from the kiss to take a deep shuddered breath. He rolls his hips in a circle, smiling pleased with himself when that tugs a proper moan out of Yunho.

“I want to ride you,” he pants, “can I?”

“Say please, doll,” Yunho teases.

Yeosang rolls his hips again in a slower, even more delicious circle. “Please?” he draws out.

Yunho grabs his hips to hold him still as he grinds up against him. Yeosang’s breath hitches, his palms pressed to Yunho’s chest. “Good boy…” Yunho says, his husky voice pushing what little is left of Yeosang’s composure out the window.

Yeosang practically jumps off him to run to their bedroom, making Yunho laugh. He swings his legs over the side of the couch, sitting up and reaching for the tv remote. The music, though neither had been paying it much mind, doesn’t fit the circumstances anymore. He turns it off.

When Yeosang comes back, he’s stark naked with lube in one hand and a condom in the other. If Yunho thought that Yeosang bare-chested was pretty, which he does, this is even better. He’s a sight to behold.

The light coming in through the big windows spins Yeosang’s hair into gold and makes his skin glow, curving around his muscles and framing his handsome features. The way it highlights the carnage Yunho has left on his skin sends a flash of heat to his gut.

“Do you want the drapes closed?” Yunho asks, even though Yeosang standing naked in the light of the sun might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Yeosang hums, looking at the big glass doors. “No. It’s our house. If someone sees this, that’s an invasion of our privacy, not theirs.”

Confident Yeosang is hot.

Yunho pulls his pants and boxers down to his ankles when Yeosang climbs back onto the couch, kicking them off and freeing himself to this moment.

Yeosang straddles him, but sits over his thighs instead of his hips. He pops the cap of the lube and pours some onto his fingers, working it between them to warm it up. Stabilizing himself on one arm, he brings his other hand behind himself. He circles his entrance rhythmically, willing himself to relax.

Yunho sets aside the condom for now and takes the lube from Yeosang. Following Yeosang’s lead, he pours a sizeable amount onto his hands, and once warm he puts one hand on his own cock and the other on Yeosang’s.

It pulls a surprised squeak out of him, but the approving moan that follows tells Yunho it was the right choice.

Yunho starts stroking both of them, at first just to spread the lube and then with more purpose. The view of Yeosang over him, stretching himself steadily and methodically to take him is radiant. He deliberately swipes his thumb across the head of Yeosang’s cock to make him twitch.

Yeosang leans down to press a lingering kiss to Yunho’s lips. “Don’t distract me, please,” he says softly.

Yunho pouts, but it’s all in play. He keeps his stroking hands in check. He doesn’t stop distracting Yeosang, though.

Yunho launches himself up and licks his chin.

“Yunho!” Yeosang breaks out into laughter.

“Sorry, sorry, I had to,” Yunho says between his own giggles, apology not meant in the slightest.

Yeosang chides him by asking, “Who's the real puppy here?”

To which Yunho grinds against him in a way that rubs their cocks together. Yeosang shudders and he nearly loses his stability on his arm, dropping much closer to Yunho’s face. His breath mingles with Yunho’s, and without thinking, he lets himself fall back into kissing him.

Set on making sure Yunho can’t distract him, this time it’s Yeosang’s turn to leave Yunho breathless. 

He swirls their tongues together, then catches Yunho’s lower lip between his teeth and pulls. He bites down and sticks another finger in himself, relishing in the combined sound of pain and pleasure that Yunho utters.

The alternating pumping of Yunho’s hands slows down, his focus grabbed by a man with tongue tricks up his sleeve. 

The fervency and burning need behind Yeosang’s force melts gradually into the pleasant, mindless exchange of making out. His brain turns to haze and he almost forgets he needs to breathe. Why do something stupid like that when he has Yunho right where he wants him, with his tongue down his throat?

A little reluctantly, he breaks off the kiss and rests his forehead against Yunho’s.

“Okay,” Yeosang says with finality.

“You ready?” Yunho asks.

“Yeah.”

Yunho presses a sweet kiss to his nose. Both of them sit up. Yunho rolls the condom on and puts a generous amount of lube overtop, then lays back against the armrest again. Yeosang lines himself up and lets out a deep sigh when he puts the tip in. He works down onto Yunho, calm and patient. Yunho runs his hands up and down Yeosang’s toned thighs in an encouraging gesture.

“You’re so beautiful,” He smiles fondly at Yeosang.

Yeosang bottoms out and sits still for a moment, letting both get used to the feeling. He lets out a low, appreciative moan and rolls his hips.

He puts one of his hands over Yunho’s heart, lifting himself up and dropping just to feel his heartbeat quicken.

Smiling innocently at Yunho’s stunned expression, he begins to properly ride him.

The pace Yeosang sets is slow, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling. The feeling alone of himself inside Yeosang is titillating enough for Yunho. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, high on sensation.

When he comes to, he puts a hand around Yeosang’s cock again in such a way that he fucks himself into Yunho’s fist when he bounces up. Yeosang drops his head back and lets out a high keen. He looks down at Yunho, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth parted.

Yunho offers up his other hand, and Yeosang takes his fingers in his mouth again. He licks between them, letting drool run down their length before bobbing his head down and back up.

Yeosang feels out balancing the sensations before he changes his pace. Heat clouds Yunho’s head at the way Yeosang takes the charge in guiding his own pleasure, using Yunho for all he’s worth.

“So perfect, doll, you feel incredible,” Yunho breathes.

Yeosang moans in response, running his hands up Yunho’s chest to say you too. 

Yunho is only able to tell it’s cloudy outside when the room lights up in a sudden glow. He hadn’t noticed the room darken when the sun went behind the clouds, but seeing it stream over Yeosang’s shoulders is quite a showy reminder.

Yeosang grabs Yunho’s wrist and takes his fingers out of his mouth, re-placing his hand on his hip. He gives little care to the trail of saliva that drips onto Yunho’s stomach, focusing much more on picking up his pace.

Yunho digs his fingernails into Yeosang’s hip, hard, the jolt of pain making his breath hitch and his hips buck. Yunho groans as Yeosang clenches around him.

Yeosang’s chest gets more red and his breathing more shallow as he fucks himself harder and faster. The growing sheen of sweat across his skin makes him look even more unreal in the sunlight. He curls his nails into the flesh of Yunho’s chest, leaving his own lasting marks. The coil in Yunho’s gut tightens.

When Yeosang starts to lose his rhythm, Yunho, burning with the need to move, meets him halfway by fucking up into him. Yeosang tries desperately to keep fucking back, but in the haze of ecstasy he falls forward over Yunho’s chest, barely keeping himself held up. Eyes screwed tight in focus, heavy breaths and moans fall from his lips onto Yunho’s. Yunho breathes in his pleasure like a drug. 

Riding on thoughtless instinct alone, Yeosang blindly finds Yunho’s hands and pins them above his head by his wrists. Though his grip has little force behind it, the action itself sends Yunho toppling over the edge. 

His hips break their pace with the power of his orgasm, but he keeps thrusting. Not only to ride out his high, but Yeosang has to be close. He can’t stop now. He forces himself through the burning hum of overworked muscles, through the building pain of overstimulation, to make sure Yeosang meets euphoria too. His gut aches and he’s so, so sensitive, but it’s not long before Yeosang is spilling himself onto Yunho’s stomach with a cry.

Yeosang only holds himself up until his hips stop twitching, then gives in to the bone-deep exhaustion. He snuggles into Yunho’s chest, sweaty, catching his breath against Yunho’s neck, and now covering himself in his own cum, but he couldn’t be happier.

Yunho turns his head to kiss the birthmark next to Yeosang’s eye, and intertwines their hands. 

They lay together in their own little world, basking in sunlight and Elysium.

“Yunho-yah…” Yeosang murmurs after some time.

“Hm?”

“Can we run a bath? I don’t want to stand in the shower.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. Let’s do it,” Yunho says, letting go of Yeosang’s hands so he can push them up to sitting. Yeosang detaches himself from Yunho and stretches carefully.

Yunho stands up from the couch first, offering his hands again to help Yeosang up. He takes them gratefully, and the two head to their shared bathroom.

Yunho takes extra care massaging Yeosang’s worn muscles in the bath, being gentle with the scratches he left, and exchanging languid kisses with him to keep him from falling asleep. Deciding that clothes aren’t worth the energy, they tuck themselves into bed for an afternoon nap in all the glory of being naked for no reason.

Yunho cleans the couch later, letting Yeosang sleep for longer.

[hrokkall]

Saw a post the other day asking how P03 is able to see; my best guess is something like this.

I actually inspected P03′s 3D model for this which I don’t usually do (and then I proceeded to draw it off-model anyway. Whoops) but even outside of its hypothetical camera-vision, there’s a few other things of note:

P03 seems to have a lot of large vents (or at least things that look like some sort of ventilation/cooling). Two major ones on the chest, three on the top of the head (with potentially another on the side of its head), and one on the underside of its base (though that one might be for the hologram projection it uses to float). My best guess is that it’s because his factory is built right by the water where there would be a TON of moisture in the air. For that reason, some of them have got to be exhausts to make sure all of the air circulating in his torso is dry. That or he just overheats extremely easily I guess, but I’m leaning towards the humidity explanation (or it could be a combination of the two).

Its “eyes” are somewhere on the front of its face; whether it sees through a camera or just through the eyes on the screen via video game magic is up for debate, but it turns to face the player when they stand up so its vision probably isn’t on the sides of its head or something.

Similarly, P03 has some sort of sensitivity to touch (he reacts to Leshy’s hands gripping his monitor before Leshy says anything). I don’t think any “touch sensors” would be externally visible though.

Presumably (based on the ending to Act 3) P03′s head isn’t just a monitor, there’s vital systems in there as well (otherwise tearing its head off wouldn’t do anything to disrupt its upload/its ability to function). My best guess is that his power supply is in his chest so it would be the equivalent of just... unplugging your computer while it’s trying to preform updates.

The wire it uses to connect to the modules to update cards in Act 3 seems to come from either its neck or its torso, but in act 2 it’s very visibly on the side of the head. Granted the act 2 sprites are all pretty different from the Scrybes’ 3D models so that’s not an outlier.

The range of motion in P03′s arm seems pretty similar to a human arm; he has a ball-and-socket joint on the shoulder and a hinge joint on his elbow plus separate segments for the “wrist” and “hand”. The only thing it probably can’t do is twist its forearm.

I don’t have any idea what either of the cranks do. The head crank moves when it changes its expression so it might have something to do with its display, but the arm crank is only shown doing anything on the G0lly Uberbot hologram. My best guess is that P03 used to have a lot more built-in functions but ended up removing them in order to operate faster so a lot of the buttons and switches on it are just vestigial leftovers. (The idea of the arm crank being able to function as a hand-crank motor in a pinch is really funny though. Spin it a few times when P03 is out of power and you can generate just enough battery for it to tell you to fuck off then go back into sleep mode again).

I have no idea how the levitation works either. It’s cool and that’s why it works. No need to get more complicated than that.

[iluvshinytwink]

heyy so i have a rq bc god save me your angst writings are the best ✨

i was wondering if you could write a lil fic abt Jude where he cheats on the reader and she finds out via social media and then she breaks things off and he's super broken and stuff and he all of a sudden remembers all the happy memories and the ending is bittersweet and there's no fluff except for the memories? like the ending is super sad?

you're writing is actually the best i've read in tumblr like girl publish a book already 😍

Lovefool - Jude Bellingham

"Dear I fear we're facing a problem. You love me no longer, I know and maybe there's nothing that I can do, to make you do."

Now Playing . . . Lovefool by The Cardigans

It's crazy how a few hours night out could break your relationship with someone/ The mind makes you do things, your body makes you do things, your emotions make you do things you know deep down in your heart you'll regret when you wake up in the morning. And yet you still do it.

Jude went out with his teammates to celebrate a huge win for their season. You declined Jude's offer to accompany him and he accepted your refusal with a small smile.

You remember bidding your boyfriend goodbye as he stepped into his car, waving your hand with a smile.

"Be back before 2." you said. Jude pops his head out his window with a smile. "Okay, ma." Jude said jokingly.

You went back in the house as the car drove away from the driveway and the hours ticked to what would be the end of your relationship.

You woke up in your bed as usual, the air around you felt awkwardly cold. Your head turns beside you and the side of your bed was left empty. The sheets you didn't hog and you reserved for your boyfriend was still there, clean and untouched. A red flag went off in your mind. Something was wrong but you didn't know whether to panic or stay calm.

Your hand reaches for your cellphone. Your lockscreen was filled with notifications. Twitter and Instagram quickly filled your notifications. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

You clicked on one of the notifications and it leads you to Twitter where a video plays.

In the video, the atmosphere was dark and the only source of lights were artificial lights coloring red, blue, and yellow. The camera shakes and the music was loud. The camera then pans to a man, a man you knew all too well. A man that you found was your boyfriend.

Jude's hand was secured on the girl's neck as the camera's flash helped you see that Jude and this girl's lips were connecting.

Your heart dropped and a lump crawled up your throat. Your head spun as you tried to contain your thoughts. You felt sick. The video kept playing and your hand instinctively threw the phone into the bed.

Your hand touched your mouth as tears quickly fell from your eyes. You sobbed into your hand. Your body shook.

Did he love you no longer? Did he drop signs that you were too love-sick to see?

Did he lose feelings whilst you clung onto them?

That wasn't Jude, that couldn't be Jude. You thought to yourself as more tears brimmed your eyes.

Suddenly, you hear the front door open. Your heart dropped once more.

Why would he do this to me, to himself? You thought.

Footsteps began ascending the stairs. Your teeth bit into the palm of your hand as you tried to think of something, anything but the video you just saw.

What were you going to do? Turn a blind eye and act like you saw nothing? Or face him for what he did wrong and risk losing the person you spent loving for all these years?

Before you could conclude to your final answer a figure appears on your bedroom door.

Jude.

Your stomach twisted into knots and you felt sick once more. Jude looked at you with a tired and sympathetic expression.

He knew what he did.

And by the tears streaming down your face, you did too.

Your hand removes from your mouth, Jude feels his heart breaking away.

You stood up with shaky legs.

"Why?" you whispered. Jude's hand began accumulating sweat as his heart began beating out of his chest.

He asked himself the same thing. Why? Why did he do this to you? After years he had loved you unconditionally, why?

"I'm sorry." he croaked, tears of his own slipping down his cheek.

Your legs walked toward him. You didn't know what to do, what to think. You loved Jude, you did. But did he love you back after what he had done to you?

"I thought you loved me." you whispered, looking into his eyes. "I do, baby. I love you so much." he whispered, his hand shaking. He wanted to hug you, to kiss you. But he knew dee down you wouldn't kiss back. He knew that if he kissed your lips, your lips were loyal to him, and his weren't.

His eyes were glossed with tears and feelings. Emotions that you could only describe as pity and sadness. But those were the eyes you longed to look at everyday. The eyes which you loved. The eyes that once looked at you with nothing but adoration.

You wanted to find in the depths of your heart any sympathy you had to forgive him because you wanted to believe that he truly did love you. His lips were yours even if his lips kissed another.

"You don't mean that." you hissed. "If you did, you wouldn't have done that to me." you looked at Jude in his eyes once more. His eyes broke underneath yours. Your eyes were glossy from old and new tears and it was because of him.

"I'm sorry." Jude whispered, his hand nearing to touch your shoulder which your hand quickly flicked away. "Don't." you said lowly.

You slipped out the bedroom door, quickly making your way down the stairs leaving Jude by himself and his thoughts.

There was nothing you could do. If he had fallen out of love, you would accept that. If you spent your years loving him for all of that to be thrown away in a night, you would accept that. If you could accept the fact that the lips you thought were yours and yours alone, you could.

Minutes pass and Jude hears the door slams shut.

Jude looks down on the ground, tears falling.

Memories quickly surge his mind.

Never again would he hold your hands when he was nervous, happy, or sad. Never would he hear your laughter that echoed throughout his mind every time he heard it. Never would he see the smile that made his heart ache. And never would he hear the heartbeat that once beated for him and only him.

The eyes that once looked at him lovingly with nothing but love, looked at him with hatred. The lips that brought words of affirmation and affection spat venom and acid.

The heart that mended his own, he broke.

[strawberryfairi]

Synopsis🌹: After discovering a strange yet alluring red book in a boutique bookstore, you find yourself sucked into a strange world, where all of your inner most desires exist…

Pairings: Wakasa Imaushi X Musician! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Author AU, scifi, Musician! reader, reader is a talented nerd, smutty (slow burn) romance, tiny doses of angst, adventure, futuristic city, magic?, !!sexual tension!!, etc (just find out the rest, lol)

w.c: 3.2k💠 Released: October 26

Previous | Next… | Chapters Masterlist

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: This chapter was a lot of fun, but also lowkey kinda short idk!!!! Reader's going through some things lol

C.W: None

Tags: @nixalozt @lilthana @wakasaishot

↳ (Let me know via inbox or the comment section if you would also like to be tagged here for this story🩵). Enjoy guys!!

𝟓 || 𝐃𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

(Dull Reality Theme: Waiting Online - SADNESS PRINCESS)

Was that a dream...? 

Your brows furrow deeply, and a low noise of confusion breaks past your lips. 

Everything is as it was before you'd "left". The familiar comforter on your bed, the LED lights along your ceiling, the vinyl records lining the back part of your dresser—everything is exactly as it should be. But it feels off—wrong somehow. Your breath comes out in shallow bursts as you try to piece together the fragments of your memory.

Neon City.

The name rings in your mind like an echo from a dream, but it's too vivid to be just that. The chaotic lights, the towering skyscrapers, the neon haze that hung in the air—it had all felt so real. And then there was Wakasa, the man who had become almost your strange guide in that unfamiliar world, his fiery touch still lingering on your skin, his voice still faintly resonating in your ears.

You clutch the sheets tighter, feeling an odd ache in your feet. A throbbing soreness, like you'd been walking in heels for too long. You frown and throw the covers off, eyes widening as you see the faint red marks on the backs of your heels, as though your shoes had been pressing into them for hours. The sight makes your breath hitch.

This can't be real. You think, your mind spinning. It had to have been just be a dream...?

Your fingers trace the marks, heart pounding harder. The sensation is all too familiar—the ache of walking in heels through the bustling streets, of running, of dancing in a place you couldn't have been in real life. 

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. It had to have been a dream, that's all. But as you pull yourself out of bed, your body feels worn, tired, like you've been through something straining. Your feet ache, yes, but it's something else too—a full body exhaustion, deep in your muscles.

Suddenly, a quick thought comes to your mind, and you scramble to the connected bathroom. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor as you rush to the mirror. Flicking on the light, you stare at your reflection in disbelief.

Your jaw drops, and a gasp echoes in the bathroom as you spot all kinds of deep purple marks around your neck and collarbones. Hickeys, in all the exact places Wakasa had given them to you...

Your breath catches, and your hand shoots up to touch it, fingers brushing over the sensitive skin. Your mind flashes back. Back to Wakasa. His lips trailing along your neck, the way he'd look up at you with his head between your legs, the way he'd made you shake with pleasure with his tongue alone, the stolen moment at his apartment. A shiver runs down your spine, and you stumble back from the mirror, your heart hammering in your chest.

"Stop, there's no way. This can't be real..." You say to yourself, but the evidence is right there, staring back at you. The ache in your feet, the marks on your heels, the love bites all over your neck.

It was real.

Your hands fall by your sides, eyes wide as you subconsciously move back and forth from the mirror. Checking again and again to make sure you really are seeing this right.

"Oh shit..." You whisper as you gawk once again at your love bites in the mirror. The full weight finally sinks in of the reality that Neon City, that other world you were just in, is all real.

The book of desires is more than just what it seems on the cover. It's not just some dream or fantasy come to life. No. It takes you somewhere real. Where there's real people, and time continues to pass.

You're confused to say the least. Confused as to how any of this could happen, and even more so, confused as to why the book sent you to Neon City of all places...and why it so abruptly took you out of it.

You're not a city girl, you live in the suburbs, where it's quiet and little to no drama. It's not like you've ever desired to run from cops before or be on the bad side of the law, so that's weird too. You'd never ridden a motorcycle a day in your life before this, and it was never a dream of yours to really do so in fear of falling off.

Then there's Wakasa.

Like sure, who doesn't like a hot bad boy? Of course many do, but it's not necessarily realistic. He's a wild horse, with a list of criminal offenses and famous in the world of illegal street racing. That's absolutely not someone you'd introduce to your parents. That's why the bad boy type is just a passing fantasy. Nothing that'll actually last forever....

"Why send me there?" You whisper under your breath, eyes fixed on the red book as your brows furrow. It's just sitting there, innocently enough. But you know now that it holds a kind of power that you clearly don't fully understand.

I can't have a book like this. You tell yourself firmly. I don't need something that's gonna turn me into some kind of hedonist, chasing after every fantasy and desire just because I can. "I need to take it back..."

The streets are quiet as you walk toward the bookstore. The morning air is warm as the sun climbs higher into the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement. Normally, you would have taken comfort in the simplicity of your neighborhood, but today everything feels foreign. Your mind is elsewhere, trapped between two worlds.

The bookstore comes into view, nestled between the pizza place and vinyl record store. It's honestly the kind of place people walk past without giving it a second glance—unremarkable on the outside, and far less alluring than the scent of fresh Italian pizza. That's why you had gone in the first time. Out of curiosity.

But now, as you approach, the small shop seems far more sinister. You stop in front of the door, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. The book inside feels like a weight pulling you down.

The door chimes softly you walk in, notifying the shopkeeper by the register of your presence.

"Ah, back so soon?" He says, his voice smooth and almost too friendly. "I take it you've had some...experiences since your last visit."

"Yeah...experiences." You reply shortly, your voice much more steady than you feel.

The shopkeeper's smile widens, and he leans casually against the counter, as if you're both just old friends catching up. "I had a feeling you'd return," He says, his eyes never leaving yours. "The book has that effect on people."

You heart skips a beat. "You knew this would happen?!" You ask skeptically.

"Of course," The shopkeeper says, his tone light, as if you're both simply discussing the weather. "I wouldn't sell something like that without knowing exactly what it does."

Your brows raise in disbelief. So, he really knew. He knew this would happen and didn't even say anything! "What is this some kind of satanic spell?! What type of book is this?! How is this even real?!" You rant, feeling your composure starting to slip.

The shopkeeper's expression doesn't change. "The Book of Desires," he says softly. "It's a doorway, of sorts. To places that exist far beyond our world. Places where the things you desire—whether you know it or not—come to life."

"But I didn't ask to go to Neon City; I didn't desire that! It asked me what I desired yet went and sent me somewhere it wanted me to go!" You throw your arms up.

"Ah," The shopkeeper mutters, tilting his head slightly. "That's where you're wrong. The book doesn't just respond to surface-level desires. You can't tell it "I desire an ice cream" and it sends you to a world full of ice cream. It digs much deeper than that, into the parts of you that you aren't even aware of. It finds the things you need, the things you fear, the things you crave, and it shows them to you. This Neon City, in some way, was exactly what you needed."

"What I needed?", You scoff out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "The book was wrong. There wasn't a single thing about that city I wanted or needed."

What a straight lie...

"Not consciously, perhaps," The shopkeeper says, his voice calm and patient, as though he's explained this a thousand times before. "But deep down, yes. You needed it. The excitement, the rush—it awakened something in you. And now that you've felt it, your regular life will no longer be enough. You'll start to crave more."

You frown, taking a defensive step back from the man. "No," You grit, voice filled with an admittedly unreasonable amount of defiance. "The only thing it awakened is an astronomical level of confusion and stress! My life is just fine how it is. I don't need to live some hedonistic lifestyle, chasing after every little desire left and right like a child. I'm...I'm not—"

The shopkeeper tilts his head, watching you carefully. "You're not what? Someone discontent with life as it is? Someone who longs for something more? You came to my shop, didn't you? You sought out the book, even if you didn't know what you were looking for."

"But-...no, first of all, I came to your shop 'cause I was bored!" You argue immaturely.

"So bored that you decided to take the book home with you? Even though you could have just left it right there on that shelf where you found it." He raises a brow, pointing behind you to the shelf where the book originally sat.

Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment as your mind struggles to find a good comeback.

"Even now, you can't bring yourself to go and put the book back on the shelf." He adds, an infuriating knowingness to his tone.

He's right. You know he's right. You're so damn hooked it's pitiful at this point.

"There is nothing wrong with making your dreams come true, you know. There's nothing wrong with choosing a different life." The shopkeeper assures, his voice softer.

"A different life?! It's a whole different world! Literally!" You stress, throwing your hands up exasperatedly.

The bell above the shop's door had barely finished ringing when you stormed out, the chilly wind whipping against your face as you briskly walk down the street and back to your apartment. Your mind buzzes with a thousand thoughts, each one louder than the last. She couldn't believe the conversation she'd just had.

The shopkeeper had been calm, so annoyingly calm, as he tried to explain what the book really did. 

"It's a doorway, of sorts. To places that exist far beyond our world. Places where the things you desire—whether you know it or not—come to life."

But that wasn't what really angered you. No, what had really sparked the defensiveness was the shopkeeper's knowing look, the subtle implication that he knew exactly what you desired.

"Even now, you can't bring yourself to go and put the book back on the shelf."

That had been the breaking point. Without another word, you had grabbed the book off the counter and marched out, determined to prove your point. I don't want to go back to Neon City, you tell yourself, over and over again. That's not what I desire.

But now, back in your apartment, that certainty's beginning to waver.

You throw your keys onto the kitchen counter with a frustrated sigh and head straight to your bedroom, the book still resting in your tote bag. The moment you step inside, you lackadaisically throw the book onto your dresser, as if putting distance between yourself and it would silence the nagging thoughts in your mind. But even as it sits there, closed and unassuming, it seems to mock you. You can almost hear the shopkeeper's words echoing in your head.

"But deep down, yes. You needed it. The newness, the rush—it awakened something in you. And now that you've felt it, your regular life will no longer be enough."

"No," You mutter under your breath, pacing around the small space, "I don't need it."

You stop in front of the book, narrowing your eyes at it as if it could hear you. "I don't want to go back to Neon City. I didn't ask for that; I didn't want that. I don't need...I don't need that."

But even as the words leave your mouth, they feel hollow. You don't want to admit it—refuse to admit it—but there's an obvious pull. A pull you can't make sense out of.

Neon City had been chaotic, so dangerous, and everything about it honestly screams stay away, but still, something inside you keeps stirring at the thought of it. Something...or really just someone.

You push the thought of him out of your mind, refusing to even go there. This isn't about him. It isn't about the thrill of being in his world, or the way his presence had made you feel so alive. No, this is about proving a point. You aren't going to let some book dictate your desires, dictate your life. You're the one in control of your own wants and needs. That's how it's always been, that's how it's supposed to be, therefore that's how it'll stay.

"I don't need this damn book..."

You shake your head, giving it one last side glance before walking over to your little "studio setup" on the other side of your room. You load up your D.A.W, Logic Pro X and create a new session. Beginning to try and get out some of your frustrations in the only reasonable way you know how.

Through making music.

3 Days later

Three days. It's been three days since you stormed out of that bookstore, and in that time, you haven't opened the book even once. You haven't even touched it. It still sits on your dresser, a constant reminder, its presence heavy and oppressive, but she refused to give in.

But the longer it stayed there, the harder it became to ignore the nagging feeling that tugged at your heart. At first, it was fairly easy to dismiss, as you were still fired up from the "discussion" with the shopkeeper. You kept yourself busy—cleaning, making music, anything to keep your mind off of it. But at night, when everything is still and the distractions fade, your thoughts would begin to wander.

And they always wandered back to Neon City.

By the second night, you found yourself dreaming about it—about the neon-lit streets, the sound of engines roaring, the pulse of the city that never slept. But it wasn't just the city. It was him. Wakasa. His words, his calm confidence, the way he made everything feel so exciting and fun. Even in your dreams, you could feel the rush of adrenaline whenever he was near, the way your heart raced whenever your eyes met.

But the dreams weren't enough. They weren't real.

Today, the third day, you just can't take it anymore. You stand in front of the book, hands resting flat on the dresser you glare at it. Willing it to do something, anything. "You think you know me?" You snap, your voice low but full of frustration. "You think you know everything I want, huh?"

You laugh bitterly, starting to sound like a crazy person. "You don't know anything. I'm not weak, and I'm not going back. I don't need that stupid ass world, and I don't need..." Your voice falters, the words catching in your throat. You really didn't want to finish that sentence.

But the book doesn't respond. It just sits there, silent and unmoving, as if it's mocking your stubbornness.

"I don't need him," You finish, your voice barely above a whisper now. "He's not even my type..."

But the ache in your chest tells a whole different story.

You're worried. Worried that maybe he's forgotten all about you, moving on to show some other girl the same kind of adventure he showed you.

What if he doesn't even remember your name? Or what you look like?

The rest of the day dragged on, each hour slower than the last. You kept telling yourself you weren't going to open the book, that you're done with it, but it was all you could think about.

Every time you'd walk past your dresser, you'd glance at it, half-expecting it to do something, to pull you back to Neon City like it had before. But it didn't. It just sat there, waiting for you to make the first move.

By the time night falls, you're exhausted. Emotionally, mentally. The dreams came again, but this time, they feel more vivid. You could see Wakasa's face so clearly, hear his voice, feel the rush of being by his side. But when you woke up, reality hit you like a ton of bricks. He wasn't here. He was in Neon City, and you were...here. In the boring, quiet suburbs.

You sit up in bed, your heart heavy with a longing you really don't want to admit. The frustration is back, gnawing at you like an itch you can't reach. You hate it. You hate the way the book makes you feel. The way it forces you to confront things you aren't ready to face. With an annoyed huff you yank the sheets off of you, trudging over to your dresser. You look down at the red book, shaking your head.

"Fine, alright? You won," You mutter, your voice thick with defeat. "You happy now?"

You reach out, watching as the purple letters reveal the title when your fingers drag across the cover. The leather is cool against your skin, and as soon as you touch it, you feel a heavy sense of longing wash over you. Your heart still races, but there's something almost comforting about it, like the book has been waiting for you this whole time.

You take it with you back to your bed, sitting with your legs cross and the book resting right on your knee.

And you open it.

The page is white like before, and a single sentence appears in that intricate cursive writing. The book asks you,

𝒲𝒽𝓎 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈? Your heart freezes in your chest for a moment, your eyes wide in a mixture of fear and shock. The fact that this book really is magical will never not freak you out.

"I...I don't know." You murmur, your voice low as if someone would hear you if you spoke up, "I feel like it's wrong for me to want to go back. Isn't it crazy to want to go back there? Especially 'cause, I really just wanna go back to see him again. That's stupid, right? I don't even have any place in that world; I don't understand it. I don't belong there." You ramble, finally voicing all your worries out to the book.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓅𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉—𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈....?

The question wraps around your mind, slowly tightening its grip. Fears or desires? The words echoes inside you, and your pulse quickened. What do I trust most?

Your thoughts spiral. You fear returning—fear getting pulled back into something you can't control. The unknowns of Neon City, of Wakasa, were overwhelming. But at the same time...you painfully long to return. You miss the danger, the thrill, the way Wakasa looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the book. Is it my fear that’s holding me back? Or is it my desire that will lead me astray?

For several moments, you sit there, staring at the page, your mind torn between the two forces. Her throat felt tight as you grapple with an answer.

Finally, in a faint, unsure whisper, you speak. "My....desires..."

[pastelpaperplanes]

Ok this is burning my brain here. Megatron ,from Throns & Thrones, how does his cape work? I'm sorry I noticed how it's used but its hard to tell how he place it. I love your art dont get me wrong but I need this out of my head. >_<;

Technically he doesn’t have a cape…but I think I know what you’re getting at so lemme explain 😤👍✨

His cloak functions a lot like a poncho but with a little more room for movement! The hood is lined with lots of furs for warmth, while the rest of the fabric is just loosely hanging it’s very tattered,,,Megs desperately needs a new one but Megs is very attached to it lol. smth about it being there since the beginning of his journey it’s SENTIMENTAL. more like ‘stinky’ says Op

when the cloak is not being used in the front for warmth, the rest of the fabric is pulled up towards his neck, over his shoulders, and then pools towards his back!

these pieces kinda show what it looks like all in front!

If you’re instead asking about his little skirt thing tho, it connects of the back part of his corset via a buckle! It’s functionality: fashion and dramatic flair. that’s it lmao

I hope this helps😭🙏I’m more than happy to have another go at explaining

[lethalitisms]

THE PHOENIX KILLER By E. Sym [ @maledinner via x ]

Tragedy struck Spirale City approximately two days ago. As I sit and write this, I too am perplexed by why any person would do something so grotesque and shocking, but in my lifetime as a journalist, it's hard to stay surprised for very long. At approximately 10AM on November 10th, cleaning staff of the Spirale Resort called authorities to report an incident in room 106. What they would find inside would not be the first tragedy in all of Spirale City, due to the shocking number of unlawful citizens trapped within this island, but the imagery is no less gruesome and terrifying. Reader discretion is advised.

The victim, a lone John Doe in a sea of faces. Eyewitness reports last see him in the lobby of the resort, returning to his room after a day at the beach. He wasn't special by any means to grand society, but he was known to his friends and family as a "generally happy person" and brought joy to those around him. There seemed very little rhyme or reason to his murder, although the unique way in which his body was presented may give a little insight. According to police reports, his body was laid on the bed, hands folded over his chest with his hands reaching towards his neck. His innards were spliced open, though notably only specific organs were taken, such as his heart and liver, and a candle stood within the left-side of his chest cavity. This crime was premeditated, but it did not seem like the victim was. An additional strange thing to note is that the victim's blanket had been cut up in the rough shapes of wings. From above, you could easily see that perhaps the killer was intending to draw the imagery of the pheonix. By taking his heart, liver, and various parts of his flesh, it is possible to assume that this may not be the only victim of such a strange killing. Friends and family of Doe could not report any suspicious persons that could have intent to do such a thing to him, and so far investigations have not brought any possible suspects. Additionally, there was a recent murder in a cafe that left the victim's body removed from their head, but it is still unclear whether these incidents are connected. Resort security could not report any strange activity from within the resort during Doe's short stay, nor any time prior to it. However, authorities advise to ensure your homes are securely locked prior to hunkering down for the night. In my time as a journalist, I have reported many cases of serial killers and murderers. The odd specificity of this killer's murder looks akin to a calling card. But the true question is, what exactly is this killer looking for? Is it notoriety and fame? If so, they would've left a form of identification. A name, a letter, a pseudonym. Is it justice? John Doe didn't have many secrets to hide, and further digging didn't prove any reason- no matter how poorly justified- to warrant this level of grotesque a murder. Or perhaps the killer has an entirely other agenda, one that we won't discover until it's too late?

[honeykaes]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞𝐬

⟡ breakup-sex hc’s feat. thoma, alhaitham, scaramouche, childe

⟡ warnings: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

⟡ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, angst, modern au!, creampie (thoma), right person wrong time trope (thoma), fingering (alhaitham), wall sex (alhaitham), mutual breakup (alhaitham), cumshot (alhaitham), reader has breasts (scaramouche), boobjob (scaramouche), squirting (scaramouche), cunnilingus (scaramouche), reader broke up with scara via text, jealousy (childe), drunk sex (childe), semi-public sex (childe), scummy ex!childe, unedited

“I put the rest of your stuff in a box near the door. Just knock when you finally get here. Don’t be late.”

You grumbled reading the text before sighing and getting out of your car. Marching up to his door, you dove your hands into your pockets trying to mask the frustration pounding against your chest.

You thought Alhaitham was the one, and you think, he did as well. You were ecstatic to move into his place, your tastes merging together in his own. Despite how smooth you thought it would be, one argument turned into multiple until the strain in your relationship was too bad to ignore. You both agreed to break things off but, you weren’t over him quite yet and that hurt.

As you knocked on the door, and paused hearing heavy footsteps on the other side. The door slowly opened revealing Alhaitham’s tall frame. He was wearing his reading glasses and some leisure attire he only wore around the house. His eyes narrowed toward you, yet there wasn’t any animosity in his eyes.

“Come in,” he murmured to your surprise as he opened the door further. Despite your mind screaming to just ask him for the box and leave, you found yourself stepping inside of your old home seeing the colder energy that the place used to not have.

“Do you want something? Water? Coffee?” he offered. You shook your head yes he grunted. Guiding you to the kitchen. He began to pour your drink, placing it on the table before sitting next to you with his own. The two of you sat in silence, sipping your respective drinks. You could only quirk your eyebrow noticing Alhaitham’s gaze lingered briefly on your lips. 

You don’t know how it started, or what possessed either of you to indulge in each other but here you were, in the hallway, bruised lips pressing hard on one another as he ground his hardening cock into your core. 

His nails dug into your hips grunting in your ear as his lips connected with your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. One hand snaked itself against the waistband of your pants, sliding itself beneath your panties and cupping your cunt. You gasped, nails harpooning themselves against Alhaitham’s broad back as his fingers sank inside of you—thumb lazily fondling your clit.

Your walls quivered as he scissored his fingers, stretching you out as he slowly pumped. You squirmed in his grip as he grunted with annoyance, hand grasping your waist tighter before you whined. He lifted his fingers up—digits coated with your slick—and popped them in his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue. 

He shimmied your pants and underwear down and follow suit, letting his heavy cock slap against his covered abdomen. He lifted your leg up as you call out his name in shock, sliding his cock along your folds to gather up the slick drooling out of you.

“What? Don’t act all shy now,” he whispered in your ear before plunging himself inside of you. You cry out feeling the dull pain of being stretched out as he inched deeper and deeper. Once bottoming out a low moan drifted off his lips feeling your walls pulsate and massage his length.

His hand left your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass with a tight squeeze before he began to thrust. Your body shivered, hearing his noises as if he deliberately wanted you to hear just how you made him.

“Fuck…I missed you, I missed this cunt…but you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he grunted, brushing against the spongy spot inside of you. Your head leaned into the wall, clinging onto him tighter as you tried to widen your shaky legs to get him to hit that spot again and again.

“H-aitham..! Haitham,” you stammered, nails racking his back as he sucked a breath in. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, walls caving down as you finally reached your high struggling to keep your feet up. Alhaitham cursed under his breath closing his eyes as he quickly slide his cock out, pumping himself a few times before groaning—thick white ropes of cum splattering on your lower stomach.

He let your leg down, steading you, as he tried to catch his own breath. You closed your eyes, leaning against his chest.

“I don’t fucking get you sometimes and I don’t think I ever will.”

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth and you knew he loved you too. The only issue was how much time he spent away. Dates canceling, coming home infrequently—his duty as the Kamisato retainer was straining him. And even when he had the time to attend to his duties as your boyfriend, you could see the bags under his strained eyes, trying his best for you not to see the cracks and desperation of rest he needed.

You loved Thoma. That was the honest truth; therefore, you needed to let him go.

As the words left your mouth, it seemed the world silenced. Thoma sat on the couch, hand covering his mouth as his eyes stared off into space, watering from your declaration. Your heart lurched in your chest.

“Thoma, you know I love you. You can’t prioritize us right now, and that’s okay. I understand what Ayaka and Ayato mean to you and how important it is for you be fully committed to your responsibilities,” you whispered, reaching a hand out to his cheek. He let his hand leave his face, tears beginning to cascade down his now-flushed cheeks.

“Then please…” he whispered. You gently shook your head, wiping the tear away.

“You know I can’t for now…” you whispered back. Just as you were about to get up and let Thoma grieve his love for you in peace, he shot up pressing his lips into your own. Desperation, passion, and longing—those three emotions strongly swirling in that kiss, but yet, you found yourself kissing him back. 

As he tightly gripped your waist, the two of your bodies fell onto the bed with a soft thud. Your hands wandered up, lifting Thoma’s shirt off of him, breaking the kiss momentarily before connecting right back again. One by one, articles of clothing fell down leaving you two in the nude, clinging onto each other.

Thoma’s lips trailed down your neck, hand drifting up and brushing against your slit as you shivered. His thumb drifted up, pressing down on your clit, garnering a gasp from you. Slick drooled out of you as he continuously circled and flicked on the bundle of nerves. 

Smearing your arousal along your inner thighs, Thoma grabs his half-hardened cock pumping it a few times before lining himself up. His tip slid between your folds, brushing against your clit as he grunts in slight frustration before he finally pressed himself to your opening and sank inside of you.

A breathy moan of your name escapes Thoma’s lips, weaving your hands with his—cock slipping deeper, feeling your walls squeeze and tighten. Lifting his face from the nape of your neck, his nose brushed against yours—green eyes sorrowful as he slowly thrusts. Your legs wrapped around his thin waist gripping his hands tighter as he plunged himself steady and deliberate, hitting every spot he knew would unravel you.

Your back arched, body shivered in pleasure as you finally reached your high. Your walls spasmed and tightened against him as his own release would arrive soon. Shutting his eyes and desperately pressing your lips against yours once more to drown out his moan, Thoma’s hips halted—ropes of his cum spurting inside of you. 

Thoma placed his sweaty forehead against yours and closed his eyes. Sliding his cock out of you where his cum was slowly seeping down, his arms wrapped around your form underneath him.

“...Just let me hold you one last time before you go.”

When Childe broke up with you, it hurt your pride and your heart. You didn’t think of yourself as a vindictive person, but when you had the opportunity to temporarily forget about him and how someone practically worshipped you for the night—you didn’t say no. 

You didn’t expect to see him at the club, your eyes meeting with shock. Your eyes narrowed to the person he was dancing with, arm around their waist as he ground behind them. Rolling your eyes with a scoff, you walked away from the dancefloor and towards a corner in the back where you could process the situation better.

“Fuck,” you grunted in frustration in debate. You didn’t want to leave but you couldn’t stand seeing that. Just as you were about to decide to try another bar, your ex approached you with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

“Funny seeing you here. Is that D-rank boytoy crawling around,” he teased with a strained smile. You scoffed rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“No, but don’t let that stop you from putting your cock inside your stupid fling, I was just leaving,” you grunted. Childe grabbed your wrist, leaning down. That infuriating smirk was still on his lips.

“Aww, come on. Let’s catch up a bit. Don’t you miss me…” he whispered in your ear, causing your body to shiver. You could smell the alcohol on his breath and you were sure your own buzz was messing with your judgment yet, you couldn’t help following into the empty bathroom. 

Quickly checking each stall was empty, Childe locked the door and moved the trashcan in front of it. He grabbed your waist, moving you on the empty counter before pressing his clothed hardened cock against your core.

“You see what you do to me….? I think you forgot just how wild we got together,” he murmured, drifting your underwear down your thighs. His fingers grazed along your slit as you whined, moving your hips to try to get him to brush against your throbbing clit. He chuckled watching as his finger slowly dripped with the same slick beginning to drip from you. 

Wiping it down his slacks, he quickly freed himself—slapping the tip of his cock against your clit. You moaned as he finally stopped bullying the nub, pressing his cock along your opening before sinking inside of you. 

“Fuck, just like how I remember it,” he grunted, sliding deeper and deeper before he finally bottomed out. Sliding out briefly, you choke out feeling him plunge his cock back in hard and fast. His pace was relentless, lewd noises drifting throughout the bathroom. 

You closed your eyes as he grabbed your chin. His eyes were much colder than before, smugness replaced by jealousy.

“No. You have to watch everything I’m doing to you. I’m not going to let you forget how well my cock made you writhe so many nights. No one can fuck you as well I can, including that stupid boytoy you decided to fuck,” he grunted, plowing himself inside of you.

You whined out his name, walls fluttered down as he soon changed his angle to find your favorite spot. As he brushed by it deliberately, You clung tighter to him calling out his name repeatedly.

“There! There! There! There!” you rambled out. You squirmed, a breathy moan escaping from your lips as you reached your high. Your spasming walls made it harder for Childe to thrust, pace getting closer and sloppier. 

Just as you thought he was about to spill out, Childe quickly left your tight, warm cunt, he rapidly pumped his cock—tip leaning towards your underwear. With a grunt, white globs of his cum shot out filling your once-clean underwear with his essence. He chuckled, quickly pulling them up as you gasp, feeling the warmth of his cum as he pulled his softening cock into his briefs and pulled his pants up to fasten them.

Not paying you much mind, he walked towards the door moving the trashcan and unlocking it before pausing.

“When you get some sense, call me,” he grunted, walking out of the bathroom.

Your eyes kept reading your text message to Scaramouche over and over again. You know you were kind of a dick for breaking up via text because you feared confrontation from your usual grumpy ex-boyfriends, but the fact he left you on read made you nervous. He always had something to say, wanting to have the last word in every argument—so this, was nerve-wracking.

You hear your doorbell echo throughout your apartment as you sighed and walked over to the door, expecting a package only to gasp in horror seeing Scaramouche standing there—arms crossed, glaring at you.

“Through text? Really? Really?!” he yelled out, storming inside your apartment. You sighed and closed the door; you should have known better. As you turn to see him seething you noticed how bloodshot his eyes were, he must have been crying not too long ago.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know how to break it to you!” you responded. Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“So you think our 3 years can be over through a fucking text!? Are you that much of a coward?! I think I deserved more than a fucking text message!” he shouted. Your eyes drifted away in guilt, crossing your own arms against your chest.

“Fuck! Okay! You’re right. You didn’t deserve that. But, I’m not happy with our relationship! Fucking—.” You took a sigh to compose yourself momentarily. “I don’t feel like you ever give a damn about me so I didn’t think it would be that bad to break up via text.”

Scaramouche remained silent, sucking on his tooth before letting out a low, sarcastic laugh before slowly marching towards you. You felt like a rabbit eyeing the ferocious might of a wolf.

“Don’t care? I don’t care?! Your joking right?! Do you even fathom how much I love you…!” he murmured, close to your face. The two of you glared down at one another waiting for the other one to respond only to gasp as Scaramouche connected his lips with yours and to his surprise, you didn’t push him away and deepened the kiss.

Things quickly found their way to the bedroom as Scaramouche roughly pushed you down on the bed before lifting his shirt off. Just as you were going to do the same, Scaramouche grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“No. Do you even realize you’re wearing my shirt right now? The audacity you have to break up with me while wearing that shit,” he grunted, nipping at your ear before leaning up. He undid the buckle of his jeans and zipped down the zipper, pulling down his jeans and boxers to reveal his twitching cock. 

“You don’t get to enjoy my cock like that,” he grunted, gripping his length and pumping it. Scaramouche lifted you slightly up before letting his cock brush between the mounds of your chest. His cock was hot and heavy, tip budding with precum that began to smear across your torso. His hands grabbed your breasts, thumbs brushing against your pebbling nipples before pressing them together, between his cock.

“Hold your tits like this,” he grunted as you obeyed. You gasped feeling your bottoms come off, exposing your wet cunt. Scaramouche clicked his tongue, pressing his thumb against your clit and drawing tight circles on it.

You whined when his hips began to thrust between your breast as he let out a shaky moan. His cock trembled with every thrust as his pace began to get faster. He cursed under his breath, pausing his ministrations on your clit as he shut his eyes to enjoy the soft mounds of your chest. 

“Fuck. Shit—” he cursed out. You softly yelped as cum shot out, hitting your chin and bottom lip. Globs of his cums stained his shirt you were wearing as he bit his lip to muffle his whine. As he slowly came from his high, he sighed moving down and nibbling at your inner thighs.

“You don’t fucking deserve this but I’m not cruel enough to leave you on the edge,” he grumbled. Your hands shot to his hair as his lips connected with the bud of your clit, lapping it up roughly and sucking on it. As his tongue swirled and flicked, your legs shook and pressed themselves against Scaramouche’s head.

His eyes were cold seeing you squirm against his mouth before it faltered, as a rush of liquid hit his tongue as you arched your back. He drank as much as he could grabbing your thighs to hold you down before you finally began to calm down from your intense climax.

“Made you squirt for the first time heh,” he laughed to himself. “Too bad it’ll be the last.”

[half-dead-ham]

On the rise

Another one for the Shipweek! Wings Au! Lets go!

Here's: [Ao3]

“Heads up!”

 Someone called just as a blinding blast of magic shot out from Danny's right. He dodged, with only inches between him and the orange energy. Shooting in that direction without looking to see if he hit, Danny dove for another cultist just as he was about to fire off a spell at Aqualad. He kicked out, his leg connecting with the guy's neck and throwing him to the ground, his head connecting with the concrete floor in a satisfying thwack.

 One more cultist down, over two dozen left to go.

 Did Danny ever mention that he hated cultists?

 He went for another dive attack, swooping in with his fist and connecting somewhere on the guy’s upper body before launching himself back out of range of their close range spells. Dodging more blasts and providing arial support when needed, Danny groused to himself about how he had gotten into this. He wasn’t expecting cults when he was called in for this mission. He didn’t know what he was expecting exactly, but they had more magically inclined people as backup for the Team than him, so why was he here? Where was Zatanna when you needed her? Why couldn’t this just be a ghost he could take care of easily? Why him?

 A blast glanced the back of his shoulder as he came out of a barrel roll, searing his suit and knocking him off course. He clutched at his shoulder in pain as he looked back to see which sorry sonuva bitch was about to get decked, only to see Robin was already taking care of them.

 Good, let Robin handle that idiot.

 Kid Flash and Superboy were playing keep-away with the books and artifacts the cult needed to perform whatever asinine ritual they were about to start before they dropped in while he, Robin, Artemis, and Aqualad were on round up. Miss Martian was making sure no one left or entered the area, just in case there were other cult members in other parts of the old hotel they found themselves in.

 Seriously, why do cultists find only the creepiest, most abandoned places to do their summoning rituals? Why couldn’t they- Another blast of magic nearly blew through his tail, cutting his thoughts off. Danny growled and shot the guy that had tried shooting him. Not the time to get in your own head, Fenton, focus.

 Artemis sent a volley of trick arrows from her perch on one of the rafters, downing more than a few of the remaining cultists.

 Only a few more to go.

 With one last push the last of the cultists were down. A quick check in with M’gann told them that she was all clear at her position, so they started to drag the unconscious bodies to zip tie them together for later pick up. They could finally relax.

 Danny let out a breath as he floated down to the concrete floor, watching as Aqualad and Robin started dragging a few goons into a loose circle close to their nearly completed summoning sigil before picking a few of his own up to join them. KF came out of his red streak as he slowed down, not even out of breath, and Kon began hauling two of the cult members he had body checked away towards the growing circle of bodies.

 “Well that was fun,” Danny commented out loud, trying to keep the communication to where he could hear it. While he did link up via telepathy for stealth, he didn’t really like others going through his head. It also made it easier for M’gann to focus when they were in a fight, something about his biology being harder to filter through. Thank the Ancients for that.

 “Y’know, I don’t think Gar will be too sad he missed out on this mission,” KF commented as he flipped through the contents of the tome he was tasked to guard. “All we did was beat up some guys, there wasn't even a time crunch. We got here just before they started any of the fun stuff.”

 Robin scoffed good naturedly, “So you’re saying you would rather come face to face with a terrifying being from beyond our understanding?”

 “I mean, it would make things more interesting. It's been boring with no missions to go on, and I didn't even get warmed up from this."

 "Careful KF," Danny smirked. "Or you're gonna start pouting from all this whining"

 Kid Flash shot him a scandalized look, which only made his pout more prominent and sent everyone looking into a fit of laughter.

 A soft hum took Danny out of his laughing fit earlier than the others, and he turned to see Connor inspecting the statue he was asked to guard. As he floated closer he could see the statuette in more detail; over six pairs of wings centered around the body of a bird, warped and elongated to fit its limbs, with a long neck ending in a goose head. It looked like something out of Greek mythology, but for all Pandora’s lessons on their culture, Danny couldn't place what it was.

 “Whatcha looking at SB?” He asked as he floated over his shoulder to get a look at what Connor was looking at. The teen of steel startled, for once not hearing someone approach with his super hearing. He shot a glare at the ghost boy before going back to inspecting the base of the statuette.

 “There are words on the bottom of this thing,” he explained, pointing to the etchings on the underside of the base. “They're faint, but I think I can make them out.”

 Danny peered at where he pointed, indeed finding the faint markings. Curiously though, they weren’t in english. “Y’know these are in greek, right?”

 Connor blushed faintly, keeping his eyes on the statuette in his hands. “I’ve been reading up in between your lessons,” he muttered.

 Danny smiled, it had been a while since they had started their language lessons. In the beginning he had almost thought it was a ploy from the rest of the team to keep him around more often, but Connor had asked him to keep the lessons a secret from everyone else, saying he wanted to try something new on his own, without their help. He did surprisingly well with languages, as they came to learn, and were currently going through both ancient and modern Greek pretty quickly. It also helped Danny, as he found he was able to learn better when he taught.

 Danny brushed his thoughts aside for the moment, looking back at the small statue in the clone’s hands. There was a name, along with a few other words that had long faded into the stone.

 “An… Acan…” Danny figured out the name a second before Connor, but wasn’t fast enough to stop him from saying it. “Acanthus?”

 A blinding light erupted from the statuette, flinging Danny back from Connor and blinding everyone else in the room. Danny could hear the surprised cries from the others from where he had impacted against the wall, but couldn’t move until the light died.

 Ancients, please let nothing bad happen to Connor. He was just getting the courage up to ask him out.

 As the light died and the spots cleared from Danny’s eyes, he could start to make out the silhouettes of the team, most of them had crouched or crumpled to the ground due to the sudden bright light, but Connor was still standing. There was something off about him though, and Danny had to squint and blink away the after images.

 Danny quickly lunged forward as Connor flailed, the newfound weight on his back throwing off his center of gravity and tipping him backwards. He caught him just before the clone could hit the ground, grabbing him by the shoulders and putting him gently back on his feet.

 “Woah,” Connor mumbled at the sudden elevation shifts and totally not at how easily Danny could sweep him off his feet. No, that was just Danny imagining things about him. He should really stop doing that.

 The other members of the team had gotten back on their feet by now, cautiously approaching the clone and the ghost boy as Danny checked out the reason for Superboy’s new balancing issues.

 ‘Damn, these might be bigger than mine,’ he thought as he looked over the two large wings now sprouting from Connors back, just below his shoulder blades. They were large, ash grey on the outside and white mottled with more grey on the inside. Danny had to reposition how they were sitting on his back or the primary feathers would drag on the floor.

 “Superboy, what the hell did you do‽” Robin shouted at the now feathered clone, who scowled at the approaching Boy Wonder.

 “Nothing,” he replied sharply, crossing his arms defensively even as the blush of being practically held up by Danny was still present.

 “Well clearly that's a lie,” Wally retorted. “Last time I checked SB, you didn’t have massive bird wings coming out of your back.”

 Connor shot Wally a heated glare that quickly let into a surprised squawk as Danny lifted one wing to see how far it extended. He turned his head to look at the ghost boy stretching the new appendage, unable to turn fully with the wing still in the other's grip.

 They watched as the ghost boy moved and tested the wing, pulling lightly at the primary feathers, moving to test the full range of the wing, then collapsing it as close to Connor’s body as it could go. When he looked done with his examination Robin spoke up. “Uhhhh, Phantom, what are you doing?”

 Danny snapped to attention, before meeting the others curious gazes. “Ope, uh… Sorry,” He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, not realizing he had let go until he was almost hit by a flailing Connor and swiftly put his hands back. “I was just curious about them. You don’t see wings like this in the Realms often, so I wanted to see how they compared.”

 “Curious?”

 “Compare?”

 “You've seen something similar to this, Phantom?” Kaldur asked the ghost boy.

 “Uhh, yeah?” Danny went to scratch his neck again, this time making sure he kept one hand on Connor to help him balance. “Some ghosts in the Realms have them as like, physical manifestations of what they used to like?” He still hasn't told the team about Obsessions, so while he wasn’t lying it wasn’t the whole truth.

 “So you know of some way to reverse this, then?” He pressed, to which Danny shook his head fervently.

 “Nope, nu-uh. This isn’t ghost stuff, this is magic stuff. I wouldn’t be able to tell you the first thing about getting rid of these, just how to take care of them.”

 The rest of the team looked between themselves, unsure of how to proceed. Even Connor was starting to look uncomfortable with the situation. Danny was sure there was some telepathic conversation he wasn’t in on happening, but right now he was just trying to keep the teen in his arms upright.

 Finally, Robin sighed. “Do you have any idea on how this happened in the first place, at least?”

 He nodded, motioning to the statuette on the floor as he spoke, “Nearest I can figure is that when Superboy spoke the name of the god on the statue it reacted like a word of power to the surrounding magic. It ended up invoking a portion of the gods' power and this happened.”

 Robin nodded, crouching to pick the statuette up and store it in a side pouch. He then turned for the nearest exit. “C’mon, M’gann already has the bioship ready and waiting. We’ll figure out how to get superboy back to normal when we get back to the cave.”

~~~~~

   “So how do you know how to take care of them?” Wally broke the silence of the bioship on their way back.

 “Huh?” Danny turned in his seat, before looking back out the window. “Oh, right. It was a pain when I couldn’t hide mine when I first got them, so I had Frostbite introduce someone to help me take care of mine.”

 A beat of silence, then the bioship erupted in questions.

~~~~~

   By the time the team had gotten back to the cave, each of them had asked at least a dozen questions each, and Danny very much regretted answering Wally. He’d been able to stall for time in bringing out his wings by saying that there wasn't enough room in the bioship for two winged people, even though Robin pointed out how he could’ve just phased what couldn’t fit outside.

 Danny didn’t want to freak the bioship out like that again, and he said as much.

 As soon as the drop hatch lowered Wally ran into the common room, saying something about needing the others to see what was about to happen. Floating down, Danny almost wanted to disappear, were it not for Connor still needing help in balancing. Danny had told him the best way to manage the weight, but without visuals he was forgetting and accidentally tipping back as he walked, leaving Danny to catch him and reposition him as needed.

 Seems even super strength couldn’t help with this kind of weight.

 They made it to the common room where Danny managed to position Connor on the couch before Wally came rushing back, now changed out of his costume and with Garfield right behind him. Zatanna would be out for at least another day, leaving their main magic specialist indisposed.

Great.

 “C’mon, Phantom! Show us those flappers already!” Wally cajoled, making Phantom flinch from where he was about to float off.

 Danny dropped to the ground, sighing in his failed attempt at escape. Moving over to the more open section of room, Danny turned to face the couches, arms spread as he dropped the invisibility on his wings. A round of gasps came from the group as pitch black wings speckled with white spread out from behind the ghost, the white specks glowing even brighter than his usual glow making them look almost like stars in the night sky.

 “Holy-”

 “Beautiful!”

 “How does that even work‽”

 “Impressive.”

 “Alright, you’ve seen them. Can I go now?” Danny asks the crowd, folding his wings in so the bend of the wings sat next to his shoulders, keeping his wingtips off the ground and crossing.

 “You seem very used to them,” Robin pointed out from behind Danny, startling him to turn and glare at the Boy Wonder as he inspected his wings from behind. Did Danny detect a smidge of awe in those microexpressions?

 Must be his imagination again.

 “I mean, yeah,” Danny conceded with a half shrug, keeping the mini-bat in his field of view. “They formed a while ago, before I came on as auxiliary for the Team, so I’ve had time to get used to them.”

 “And you never told us or showed them to us before, why?”

 “Because they’re useless in combat and I don’t need them to fly? Even if I can use them, they’re really only a help for flight in the Zone, and since I’m an earthbound ghost…” He made a ‘there you go’ gesture, figuring the others could complete the statement themselves.

 Robin sighed exasperatedly behind him, moving so Danny had to switch which shoulder he was looking at him over.

 “Is there nothing you can't do?” The Boy Wonder asked as he crouched down.

 Danny snorted, “Can’t pass a math exam to save my life,” he joked.

 Gar piped up from his place on the couch, “But you’re dead?”

 “Exactly,” Danny smirked, finger gunning at the shapeshifter. He was pleased to be met with one snicker and a resounding round of groans. They had finally got used to his dead jokes. Good.

 Something light brushed against one of his feathers from where Robin had crouched and he hastily moved his wing out of reach, startled.

 “The hell are you doing?” He asked shrilly, finally turning to face the detective.

 The Boy Wonder stood, masked scrunched as he examined the clean slice on the tip of his glove. “Your wings, they’re sharp?”

 “Very,” he backed up a step, making his wings intangible again just in case the bird brain went in again for another touch.

 Which he did.

 “What kind of bird has sharp wings?” Garfield piped up from behind him, tone ever curious.

 “A ghost bird,” Danny rolled his eyes, quickly becoming gone with this conversation and being stared at like some sort of sideshow attraction. Unfortunately his little quip only got Gar more interested.

 “There are ghost birds‽” The shapeshifter nearly shrieked with excitement, and Danny realized that any chance of him going home tonight just went out the window. Ancients, what did he do to deserve this?

 With a droop of his shoulders he faced the young shapeshifter. “Yes? Sort of? It's hard to explain. Can I at least put my wings back?”

 “No,” Connor stated from his place on the couch. “If I have to suffer, so do you. ‘Least yours look nice, mine look like I got covered in mud.” He let that last bit out with a grumble, almost incomprehensible if not for Danny's hearing. The insinuation that Connor liked his wings made his face frost over slightly with blush.

 Hastily Danny cleared his throat and moved his legs to sit crossed-legged in the air, looking back to Gar and his expectant stare.

 “So, y’know those old myths about things like unicorns and the Minotaur and all that?” A quick round of nods from the group on the couches. “Well they’re all actually real. Not really sure about the history of them, haven’t gotten that far in my history lessons, but the gist is that either monsters were mortal realm creatures that were all eventually hunted to extinction from the myths, or they were born ghosts that went to the mortal realm because the veil between worlds was much thinner back then.”

 “And how does that tie into you having sharp wings?” Wally asks in between mouthfuls of chips. When did he get chips?

 “We- that is, me and my friend-slash-doctor Frostbite- found that my wings have similar qualities to the myth of the Stymphalian birds, a greek legend about birds with wings, talons and beaks made of bronze that like to terrorize the villages around the swamp they were named after. It's pretty much the only relation, ‘cause the wing shapes are different, but myths have never been a hundred per-cent accurate to begin with.”

 Robin rounded into Danny’s view, a ‘I must know more about this’ look on his face. ‘This is going to take a while,’ the ghost boy thought to himself as he got comfy where he was floating, taking questions about the ghost zone from the curious group of teens he’d found himself a part of. Eyes every so often trailing back to Connor, who was looking at him like he did during one of their private lessons.

 That same look that always gave him blobs in his stomach and frosted his cheeks. He hoped Connor didn't notice his core metaphorically melting over it.

~~~~~

   When ‘late’ finally became ‘too late’ and Danny had answered everyone's questions (To the best of his ability, some got a little too close to things he wasn’t ready to talk about yet) the team finally meandered off to their rooms for sleep, leaving just Danny and Connor in the living room. Danny because he didn’t really need to sleep (as far as they knew) and Connor because he couldn’t get off the couch by himself. Not that he seemed all that adamant about getting up, and Danny enjoyed the newfound silence.

 Floating around on his stomach in the now dim light Danny found himself lazily using his wings to steer and row himself around, flipping to kick himself off walls when needed and half listening to what Connor had put on the TV to relax.

 “Hey, Danny,” Connor called up to him just as he flip kicked off another wall. Angling for his descent he gave an acknowledging hum in response.

 “Why are you still here?” The clone asked when they were back within regular talking distance.

 “Why aren’t you going back to your room yet?” He responded, question for question.

 Connor looked to his lap, stern expression softening ever so slightly and Danny could almost see him worrying his lip (though he could have been imagining it, probably. The light the Tv was casting was doing fun things to the shadows of those strong cheekbones). Seeing the gears turn in the other teens head, he decided to settle himself down on the loveseat and finally think a little.

 First thought was about what kind of bird those wings could belong to. They were strong looking, but shorter than his own, so probably meant for shorter flying, but the range of flexibility was impressive. Some sort of raptor maybe? It would make sense for a bird of prey to need good reflexes to change the direction of flight while hunting.

 Connor was definitely deadly enough to be a bird of prey- nope. No, bad Danny! We don’t think about things like that! We don’t even know if he likes you like that!

 … But Ancients, the hugs he could give-

 “I was wondering…” Danny snapped out of his daze, eyes shooting up from where they had rested so he could admire the other teens arms. Was it just the light, or was Connor blushing?

 “Could you teach me to use these?” He finished the sentence slowly, like he was afraid Danny would ever say no to him. A smile crept onto his face as an idea popped into his head, something he couldn’t mess up if he tried and would (hopefully) keep him in the mood too much to try and back out.

 “‘Course I can, Connor! You wanna start now?” The clone turned to meet his gaze with an incredulous look.

 “Now?”

 “Mmhm!”

 They stared at each other, and for a second Danny was worried Con would say no. To his slight relief he got a shrug as the other teen turned the TV off. Danny was pretty sure his glow got twice as bright as he zipped over to grab the clone's hands and drag him off the couch.

 Maybe he got a little too excited as he flew through the cave and through the nearest outer wall, feathered clone still in hand and no doubt restraining some sort of embarrassing noise.

~~~~~

   “Phantom, this really isn’t what I meant by this!” Connor shouted over the wind as they soared over Happy Harbor’s coast. Danny looked down to see the mildly startled face of the clone in his hands with a grin that hinted he was about to do something stupid and/or dangerous.

 “Extend your wings Connor!” Danny called back, untwisting his arms so he was now flying backwards and pulling the clone along with him, extending his own wings intangibly as demonstration.

 Shakily, Connor did as demonstrated, and Danny felt the moment his wings caught the air with a sharp pull of their joined hands. Rather than keep hold like Connor probably hoped he would do, Danny instead phased out of the other steel grip, leaving Connor to flounder his arms about for purchase as his wings froze. Panic set in on his face as he thought he would fall, and screwed his eyes shut to wait for the impact to hit.

 “Connor,” Danny coaxed gently, prompting the taller boy to open his eyes as they did not, in fact, start plummeting toward the beach below. The clone didn’t budge, keeping his eyes shut and his wings stiffly outstretched. With a sigh, Danny positioned himself underneath and facing his crush in the air, admiring the view of the Harbor below them and the way the wind tousled Connors wings as they flew and the strong shoulders those wings sprang from and the blue eyes looking back at him-

 A chill bloomed across his face to the tips of his ears, unrelated to the cool air keeping the clone aloft above him as they held each other's gaze. This close Danny was sure the red that bloomed over Connors face wasn’t just a trich of the light, and his core gave a trill at the thought of all those other imagined times possibly not being just his imagination.

 “I’m flying,” Connor commented, breaking both out of their trance. The frost on Danny's face flared as he finally looked away.

 “Ah, uh-huh! Yup! Totally flying all on your own!” He stuttered, voice a smidge higher than he personally thought acceptable. Danny tried to clear his throat exaggeratedly, but his voice still betrayed him and came out slightly squeaky, “Though you might wanna relax yourself, you don’t want to get wing cramps.”

 The teen above him kept his eyes on Danny, but did as told and relaxed his posture, unintentionally angling his feathers and banking softly back inland. Wind rushing past the two was the only sound beside the buzzing in his core that Danny could hear for what felt like ages, and as the silence stretched he could feel a cold sweat start at the back of his neck.

 Ancients, this is awkward. How do normal people confess again? He doesn’t even remember if he was the one to ask Valerie out freshman year.

 “It's beautiful up here,” Connor’s comment interrupted the panicked spiral his brain was about to go into, and he hummed in response. Twisting, Danny let himself face the ground again, letting go of his intangibility and let the wind catch, using his wings for flight instead of his ghost powers.

 “It is.” With the lights of the city below them casting off the waves of the beach, and the cars traversing the streets so small they looked like toys, it really was pretty here. A perfect night for a first flight.

 “Hey Connor,” Danny starts, the scenery below helping to calm his nerves and find his tongue. A soft hum from above him encourages him to continue. “About your lessons-”

 “Are they too much for you?” Connor interjects suddenly, a hint of insecurity creeping into his voice.

 “No, no, I love helping you learn!” And he really does, the moment Connor gets something right in their lessons and smiles lives in Danny's core, powering him like a battery. He has to cut that train of thought off ASAP, right now, so Connor isn’t getting the wrong idea. “I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out outside of our lessons, y’know, maybe come to Amity once in a while.”

 A pregnant pause elongated itself with the sound of a car horn from the streets below, and Danny had to resist turning his heat to peek at the face of the clone behind him.

 “Like a date?” Connor finally asked, tone hesitant and… hopeful?

 This time Danny didn’t stop himself from looking back at the teen flying above him, meeting his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, Con, like a date.”

 A small “oh” escaped his lips as the almost faded blush came back with a vengeance. It made Danny giggle, and Connor smiled at the sight.

“Well, do you?” Danny pressed, feeling much more hopeful about the answer than a few minutes ago.

 With a small nod and a smile only slightly bigger, Connor replied, “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

 Danny couldn’t stop the almost inhuman grin that spread across his face any more than he could stop the whooping holler he gave as he brought in his wings and dove, leaving Conner as he picked up speed towards the ground. As his glow started to be matched by the glow of the streetlights he snapped his wings out, using the gained speed along with a few powerful wingbeats to soar back up and over his new boyfriend, spinning and rolling around him in excitement as he laughed.

 “Okay, okay, you’re happy. I get it!” Connor laughed, smile smoothing over his usually stoic features. “Now can you teach me how to land? I’m pretty sure I’m getting cramps from keeping my wings out like this for so long.”

 With an excited giggle and energetic hum in his chest, Danny showed his boyfriend how to turn, and eventually land when they got close enough to the mountain. Zatanna still wouldn’t be back for a few days, and Danny could see more than a few dates they could go on while Connor still had those big beautiful wings.

[theroseceleste]

Pilot Miguel - Part 10 - An Unexpected Visitor

In this short, but fluffy chapter, you reminisce about your stay in London and snuggle with your man in his penthouse. This is until someone unexpected turns up...

Word count - 1619

Contains : A little bit of fluff and a confrontation conversation via text.

Enjoy! xx

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

If you enjoy this fic, please consider liking, commenting or re-blogging. Many thanks xx

London was great, you definitely want to go back again. There’s so much there to see and do. England itself has a lot to offer, along with Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland which make up the United Kingdom. So much history happened all around the country, and there’s too much to fit into just two days of staying over between flights.

You never enjoyed history at school. It was boring learning about it in a dull classroom. But, walking around in the streets the history took place makes it all the more interesting.

Naturally, you wanted to see Buckingham Palace. Many pictures were taken outside of the iron gates in front of the grand building.

You took romantic walks with Miguel around St James’s Park and Hyde Park and then you went shopping in the famous shop called Harrods in Knightsbridge.

The Tower of London was another point of interest. A castle with effectively a small town concealed within its fortress walls.

Connecting all of these places in the city, is the London Underground network. Locally nicknamed ‘the tube’ as the tunnels that the trains snake through on a daily basis are round, exactly like a tube.

It amazed you to learn that the tube stations were used as bomb shelters during World War II. Helping residents of London take cover from the air raids that took place at night.

During your stay, some tube lines were busier than others, particularly during the rush hours. You found yourself pushed right up against Miguel as the train was crammed full of commuters.

The weather gods had been kind to you during your visit. Typically, it rains a lot in England - that’s why it’s so green. But the English summers can be stunning when the sun does finally come out and say hello.

You’re back in Nueva York now, sitting in Miguel’s penthouse, curled up on the sofa with him. His big arms wrap around you as you both flick through the pictures on your phone. The latest cute couple picture is the one of you both standing in a pod on the London Eye. The sights of the historically-rich city below you with your loved up, slightly jet lagged faces being the main focus.

Every now and then you feel kisses on the back of your head as he holds you close. His nose pressed against your recently washed hair, taking in the scent of your favourite shampoo.

This is the first time you’ve visited his apartment, and you can see why he didn’t bat an eyelid when booking your stay in Versailles. You’re certain he’s paid exceedingly well, but that doesn’t matter to you.

Everything in his apartment is expensive, or the latest model or whatever. You’re not interested in what his smart screen, 4K, ultra HD, thingy-ma-whatsit TV does. So long as you can snuggle with your man and watch a film on it, you don’t care.

It’s evening and you’ve not long had dinner together. He cooked and it was surprisingly scrumptious.

“I never had you down as skilled in the culinary arts,” you say to him as he nuzzles against your neck.

“I had to help my mother around the house, which meant doing stuff in the kitchen.”

You ponder for a moment as you think about the delicious food that’s now in your stomach.

“Your mother must be a good cook if you learned from her.”

“Yes, she certainly knows how to throw together a few things and prepare a tasty meal.”

He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, like he doesn't like where the conversation is going.

“You like the penthouse?” Miguel finally asks after deciding to change the subject.

“You have a beautiful home, very techy too, no surprise there…”

He chuckles at your comment before leaning in closer slightly.

“I’d love it if you—“ his whisper in your ear gets interrupted by a knock on his front door.

“That should be a delivery I’m expecting, could you grab it? I need the bathroom real quick.”

You both get up from the couch, you watch him stride off to his en-suite in his grey sweatpants and black t-shirt - for some reason, he looks incredibly sexy in that outfit.

There’s another knock at the door, reminding you to open it before Miguel misses his delivery.

The door creaks as you open it to reveal a woman, not dressed as a delivery driver. She has mid-length black hair and blue eyes. She seems surprised to see you.

“Oh…”

Her shock intrigues you.

“Can I help you?” you ask her.

“Oh, no - it’s okay, I didn’t know Miguel was… um… entertaining…”

She begins to turn away, but you open your mouth to speak again.

“Who shall I say came to the door? I can ask him to get back to you.”

The woman considers your offer for a moment.

“That would be great, thank you. Tell him Xina tried to visit, but will try some other time.”

You nod and smile.

“Sure.”

“Thanks,” Xina replies and hangs her handbag over her shoulder before turning around to walk back to the elevator.

After closing the door, you return to the couch and begin to wonder why a woman would be calling around Miguel’s so late in the day.

Miguel returns from the ensuite and joins you on the sofa again.

“Where did you put the package?” he asks, looking around for a box.

“It wasn’t a delivery,” you reply.

He looks back at you and raises an eyebrow.

“Who was it?”

“Someone named Xina? She said she’d try again some other time.”

Miguel’s smile drops the instant he hears Xina's name. What could she possibly want with him? A sinking feeling in his stomach means he suspects that whatever it is she wants, it’s not going to be good news.

“Mhmm… thanks.”

He lays you down with him on the couch and puts a film on for the both of you to watch. An uncomfortable thump in his chest pounds against his ribs as his mind wanders over what Xina wants. He kisses your head as he pulls his phone out while the movie starts. Calling up Xina’s contact on his screen, he begins to type a message to his ex-wife.

“What do you want?”

It doesn’t take long for Xina to reply. He suspects she’s sitting in her car outside the apartment block.

“You’ve moved on quickly…”

Miguel’s lips press into a thin line as his heart thumps harder in his chest.

“What’s it to you?” he replies, trying to not jab at the screen with frustration and jog you too much.

His message is left on read for a moment, like Xina is thinking about what to say next. A nauseous feeling develops when he sees that she eventually starts typing again.

“I feel like perhaps I was too hasty in wanting a divorce.”

Another text comes in shortly after.

“I miss you. And I miss what we had, the good times we did share together.”

The urge to launch the phone across the living room is almost too tempting. She wants to come back into his life after pushing and fighting for a divorce? He didn’t think he’d get a shot at happiness again, especially so soon after the end of his marriage. Now that he has you, he’s not giving what he has up for someone who can’t make up their mind and seems to think they’re at liberty to mess people around. As far as he’s concerned, Xina can find her happiness elsewhere, because he gave up fighting for her when he was pushed to sign the papers.

He types out another reply.

“You made your bed, now you go lie in it.”

Xina starts to type back almost instantly.

“Are things serious between you two?”

Miguel does everything he can to not growl with annoyance. To make himself better, he snuggles into you more and kisses the back of your head again, sniffing your scent.

Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, he starts to type again.

“None of your business.”

His response is left on read once more for a moment, he can feel her frustration through the screen with her lack of a reply. She’s probably resting her head against the steering wheel of her car, seething - good.

Spending time with you, making plans with you, dating you, he feels has done him the world of good. Some might say he moved on too quickly, that he was on the rebound, but you were too good of a person to let pass by.

He has defence walls for a reason, and you are one of the select few who sees who he really is. You are his and he is yours. You bring out such happiness in him. He doesn’t want to lose you and he’ll do anything in his power to make sure that doesn’t happen.

He finds himself surprised that Xina doesn’t reply, but he suspects that this is not the last he’ll hear from her.

A gentle snore suggests you have fallen asleep. He smiles as he tenderly nuzzles into you again. His hand strokes your hair before he subtly turns you on your back so he can see his perfect chiquita sleeping. You look so peaceful. It’d be rude to wake you and he wants this moment to last a little while longer. Strong arms wrap around you after he tosses his phone onto another sofa and he settles down, hoping his pounding heart will relax soon. Listening to your deep breaths is already having a calming effect on him. You’re so much better for him than Xina ever was.

I hope you enjoyed Part 9!

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