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charliemwrites · 7 months ago

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Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Brandon the crash dummy

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suguann · 4 months ago

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an. another ex-husband gojo fic because i'll die with this trope. this ends exactly how you'd expect (if you know me)

Satoru doesn’t take it well when you tell him you have a boyfriend after bumping into him in the grocery store parking lot. At least, you don’t think he does. It’s hard to tell, his expression inscrutable as ever behind his dark sunglasses—the sharp arch of his brow the only indication he’s heard you at all.

“Is that so?” he finally says, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. Has you grasping at straws to make something right that isn’t even wrong yet. Has any thought of this being an easy conversation shattered at your feet.

You clear your throat. “Yeah…he’s nice. You might even like him.”

No, he wouldn’t—a little voice in the back of your head tells you. Knowing it's because all of the unreadable parts of you are no longer connected to him, but instead to a man you've barely spent two months dating, and that must infuriate him.

He doesn’t ask (not that you expect him to) when you find yourself prattling on about how you met Rin through a friend, how he’s an investment banker and takes you out to his cabin on the weekends, that he’s predictable—stable is what you really mean, but don't say—with an ordinary life who wants kids—

Satoru seems to chew on that last bit of information like he’s suddenly tasted something unpleasant, the line of his brow flat and unimpressed, the slant in his mouth mutinous. He’s uttered all but three words, and so far, this entire conversation leaves you with nothing short of a stomach ache.

“He really is a good person,” you add, just because you have nothing else to say and your penchant for filling awkward, empty spaces.

Then he smiles, and you relax a little. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

You smile, too, a soft, sure thing this time that makes his widen.

But if you'd been more level-headed and less flustered about bumping into your ex-husband after several months of silence—since he signed his name beside yours in front of your lawyer—you’d realize how dangerous that smile is.

You’re unsure if it’s too contingent to be considered a coincidence, but he starts showing up in odd places after that all-too-uncomfortable one-sided conversation in the parking lot.

First, it’s at your favorite coffee shop you usually stop at on your way to work. It’s strange because you remember him hating coffee, how he'd always preferred to load it with creamer and sweetener just to get rid of the bitter taste. But you don’t mention it when he offers—no, insists on paying for your coffee and blueberry streusel muffin.

When the total pops up on the register, he doesn’t even blink when he opens his wallet.

Of course, you can't let him pay. There must be something in writing somewhere that says ex-husbands shouldn't pay for their recently divorced ex-wife's coffee.

He shrugs, smiling, after you tell him it’s expensive—has that ever bothered me?—and slides a shiny black card across the counter to the barista.

“You can't show up out of nowhere and start buying me things,” you hiss afterward, slightly flustered by the whole ordeal. The city’s big, but you still worry about one of your friends or colleagues seeing you with Satoru—they may get the wrong idea. “We’re not together anymore.”

"Do I have to message you the next time I want to get you coffee?" he tucks his hands into his coat.

"No, we shouldn't even be getting coffee together."

“Am I not allowed to be nice now that you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s not what I said,” you huff. “And you didn’t even buy yourself anything. How am I supposed to look at it?”

He shrugs, “I decided I didn’t want anything,” and you don't even think he notices that he holds your hand when you go to cross the street.

Habit. You'll write that one off as a habit, but he doesn't let go until you're in front of the tall, shiny doors of your office building.

The second time he shows up unannounced is while you're walking through the quaint park near your apartment, which you know is far from his sleek penthouse on 5th Avenue, the one with a perfect view of the city and the bay—a thirty-minute drive, at least.

“I bought a house out here,” he tells you when you ask. “It’s up on the hill.”

You know which one he’s talking about. You’ve driven past it a few times. It's a cozy brick stone with lots of windows, a white picket fence, and a large backyard, something you’ve always wanted since before you were married. According to a real estate website, his house is a little over a million.

Interest must be written all over your face because he asks: “You want to see it?”

There are a number of reasons why you shouldn’t say yes, why you should politely decline and finish your last lap along the trail and run to the grocery store afterward to pick up something for dinner and call Rin to let him hear about your day—

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “But make it quick.”

He smiles down at you, eyes crinkling at the corners with something akin to affection. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to remind him, again, that you’re not together, so he’s not allowed to use pet names, but a large hand on the small of your back to usher you towards the shiny, sleek SUV across the street leaves you with a mouth full of cotton.

He watches you take in the hardwood floors and tall ceilings trimmed with crown molding. When you stop in the massive kitchen to run your fingers over the granite countertops, it almost feels bittersweet walking through the house of your dreams while your ex-husband eyes you questioningly as if he's looking for your approval.

“So? What do you think?”

The smile you give him is genuine. “It’s beautiful.”

Satoru matches your smile with a bigger one, almost blinding. “That’s good, that’s really good.”

You feel like you should ask why he bought a house this big in the first place, but there’s a pebble in your stomach if you think about family photos on the walls with him happy and smiling, his arm around a pretty wife who wears frilly aprons and kisses him on the cheek when he comes home. A future where you don’t exist, yet he’s letting you take a peak into it, anyway.

So you don’t say anything.

You meant to leave an hour ago, but he plied you with dinner— friends can have dinner together, can’t they? —which leads to two glasses of wine and then watching movies together on his very soft couch. If everything didn't feel so fuzzy around the edges, you probably would have noticed the signs sooner, that he’s trying to—

(He presses you into the couch cushions, biting marks into your neck and chest until your breaths come out fast and high-pitched.

“We shouldn’t,” you manage to say, still tipsy and tongue heavy in your mouth from the wine you had. "Toru, I should really go."

He huffs a laugh against your cheek—you note how he still wears the same cologne you bought him all those years ago when everything was so new, and there wasn't a ring on your finger yet—pressing a messy kiss there that makes you squirm. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times, though?”

“B-but I have a boyfriend.”

In retaliation, he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh around the fluttering pulse in your neck, just shy of too rough, though your fingers in his hair pull him into you like you can’t get enough.)

That maybe this means he—

(Satoru bunches the lace of your panties in his fist, shoving them up around your knees, trapping your legs together against your chest. A long, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest at discovering the creamy mess between your thighs. “Always had such a pretty wet pussy, fuck. Do you get this wet for him, too?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs because he hears what you don’t say: No, you’ve never been this turned on when it’s with Rin. Satoru’s the only one to ever leave you wet and shaky just from a few words.)

It’s an insane thought, but it’s almost like Satoru—

(He holds his hand up to your mouth, telling you to lick before he wraps it around his cock, pressing the tip into the slick seam of your cunt. And you forgot how big he is, just on the side of too much, the bit of effort it takes for him to sink in a little, and then all at once, rending you right down the middle.

You whimper, fingers scrabbling clumsily for one of the throw pillows near your head, needing something to hold on to.

“There you go, pretty girl,” Gojo breathes, hips tight and close, grinding into you so that you can feel how deep he is. “I see she can still take it.”)

No, he wouldn’t—

(He fucks you hard enough to send you skittering up the couch, only to pull you back down again, grinding you on his cock to touch places inside you that he’s only ever managed to reach. You whine into where your face is pressed against the back cushions, biting down to muffle how loud you’re being.

He makes a displeased sound and forces you to look at him again with his fingers digging into your cheeks.

"What if I give you a little baby, huh? We'll be a family together. You, me, and our baby in this big house. Doesn't that sound nice? We'll fill the house with babies," he mutters, bending down to suck a nipple into his mouth, forcing your legs further against your chest.

The angle rubs just right inside you. You make an unintelligible noise at the back of your throat, unable to move or get better friction in this position.

“We did it your way last time, didn’t we, baby?” his little laugh is breathless, kind of mean. “I let you leave with all those silly thoughts in your head; thought you knew what you wanted, but now we’re going to do it my way from now on.”

His words should strike alarm bells, but when he fits his hand between your bodies to strum his thumb against your clit, your mind empties.

"You've always been mine." Words barely audible, he still sounds breathless; wrecked. "It's about time you get that through your head.")

Except you know he would.

A month later, you’re packing away the fine china in your apartment, wondering how the few things you own will fill a house so large.

#.things i write #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo imagine #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #fem!reader #gojo satoru

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snowballseal · 22 days ago

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Them as supernatural creatures (LaDS)

Summary: This is my take on what supernatural creature each guy would be. They're pretty long, and either a fic where reader discovers what they are or a domestic moment they share together.

Rafayel - kitsune

Zayne - vampire

Xavier - guardian angel

Sylus - demon

Word Count: all roughly 1500 words

Note: These honestly came out soooo much longer than I expected. I might add a fic for Caleb, cause honestly, I'm really warming up to him. What supernatural creature should he be?

I'll probably come back and edit later, so let me know if you catch any mistakes!

---

Rafayel / Kitsune

“Rafayel…” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?! They deserved it,” Rafayel defends himself as he flops down onto the couch.

“That doesn’t mean you can screw with people whenever you want,” you chastise softly and sit next to him, “You’re supposed to keep your identity a secret.”

Rafayel gives you a pout. Letting out a dramatic huff, he falls over into your lap, stretching out lazily instead of giving you any kind of response. You bite back a laugh, his weight pressing you into the couch, effectively trapping you as he makes himself comfortable. It takes everything in you to not give in to his usual cute tactics, the concern gripping your chest not quite letting go.

“Seriously, Raffie, it could be dangerous,” you continue, worry seeping into your voice.

“It’s fiiine,” he sighs, ocean eyes glinting up at you with amusement, “You worry too much, cutie. You wouldn’t even know if I hadn’t told you.”

“Still-”

“Nope, no more worrying,” he cuts you off quickly, reaching up to pinch both your cheek with a teasing, cheshire grin, “Miss Bodyguard is off duty now. This spirit wants his girlfriend to cuddle with him.”

Swatting at his hands, you can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Sometimes it still surprises you how care-free he is, like nothing could ever touch him. Which maybe he’s right. And you know he’s never going to stop his antics. Still, you worry. It’s a part of your nature, wanting to protect people, especially the ones you love, especially him.

But Rafayel is persistent, coaxing you to relax with playful touches and banter. He knows exactly how to unwind you, and how to rile you up, every button, every nerve. You feel almost powerless to resist, to hold onto your lingering doubts. And it’s not even his powers, it’s just Rafayel, your Rafayel.

And of course you give in. With a weak sigh, you settle into the couch, your fingers finding their way into his curls to calm what’s left of your frazzled nerves. Rafayel hums, low and content, his eyes flickering shut as he arches up into your touch like a cat.

“Do you want to stop hiding your ears?” You ask quietly, something warm and tender winding through your ribs.

Rafayel lets out another low rumble, eyes opening a fraction to look up at you suspiciously, “You know, sometimes I wonder if you like my ears more than you like me. That wouldn’t be true, now would it, cutie?”

“Of course not,” you tease, ruffling his hair, “I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Mhm, sure.” A small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, because of course he knows that you do truly love him for him, but the fox does love his games.

It’s almost unnoticeable, the way he dismisses his transformation magic. Every time you can’t help but watch, fully enraptured by the change. A pair of soft ears flicker up from his hair, as if they were simply hiding in his curls the whole time. And his tails. You blink, and suddenly they appear, fluffy and plush, the same color as his hair. They curl around you, as if seeking out your warmth, the same way Rafayel turns to nuzzle into your stomach. The spirit gives a happy rumble when you rub his ears, pressing impossibly closer.

“You have no idea how irritating it is to hide them all the time.” His voice comes out muffled by your sweater, his ears flicking back before pressing to your fingers again. “I imagine it’s how you humans feel when you wear itchy clothes.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” you agree, “I’m glad you don’t have to hide them around me anymore.”

“You’re the first human I’ve allowed to see my true form in a long time, ya know.”

Your heart flutters a little at that. It’s a fact you’re well aware of, and one you try to never take for granted. It had taken a long time for Rafayel to share this with you.

Ever since you met in the park, you knew something was different about him. He was beautiful, after all. More beautiful than you thought a person could be. And there was always something about his smile, something that set you on edge but also drew you in. The mischievous glint in his eyes never wavering, the almost unnatural grace he moves with, even the way he talks, as if he remembers times long gone by.

It all clicked when he finally told you. When he showed you his true form. A fox spirit. Everything made complete sense, but also no sense at all in that moment. First, you couldn’t comprehend it. Wanderers, yes, those you could wrap your head around. Mystical fox spirits? No. No, that took a few days to really settle in.

Still, it was Rafayel. It was always Rafayel. And the moment he came to you after those few days of distance, tentative and quiet in a way you had never witnessed from the artist, you made your decision.

A life without him wasn’t possible. Not for you. Not with how you had fallen in love with him.

“So, tell me again why you tricked those guys into thinking a bear was chasing them?” You ask, tone fond as you continue to rub the soft fur on his ears.

Rafayel huffs, rolling on his back to meet your gaze more easily. The swirling colors of his eyes gleam with that familiar mischief, his canines flashing sharply in a dangerous grin, “They were hunting for sport, so I showed them what it’s like to be hunted.”

He really is scary sometimes, you think to yourself, biting back a smile.

“I’m sure they’ll think twice about hunting in your woods again.”

“They better,” he snips, “If I catch them again I’ll send a real bear after them.”

“I’m sure the forest thinks you’re quite a good guardian, mister fox spirit,” you tease, ruffling his hair fondly.

Rafayel suddenly shifts, and in the blink of an eye he’s leaning over you, his arms braced against the couch on either side of your head. You freeze, eyes going wide as you look up at him, pulse racing in your ears. The fox spirit leans down, nose brushing yours, that same dangerous smile pulling at his lips.

“And what do you think, miss hunter?” He asks, breath warm against your lips.

A lump forms in your throat, making it hard to speak, to even breathe with him this close. And Rafayel can tell, his eyes narrowing with amusement. He lifts one hand, fingers tracing delicately along your cheek so you feel the faint edge of his claws.

“What? Fox got your tongue?” He all but taunts, leaning closer. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips, his grin widening. “I could show you what that really feels like if you want.”

…

Heat flares across your cheeks. You gape at him, shock mixing with embarrassment mixing with something you don’t want to admit to. Did he just say what you think he did?

Rafayel keeps his cool facade for only a few more seconds before he cracks, bursting into a fit of laughter. You stare at him, blinking wildly, brain slowly catching up with it all. And then you’re shoving him.

“Rafayel!” You squeak, and he only laughs harder, which in turn, makes you more flustered. “You’re such a- I can’t believe you! God, you’re insufferable.”

The artist catches your hands when you go to hit him again, his ocean eyes crinkling along the edges. Snickering softly, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your angry pout.

“Sorry, my bride,” he hums unapologetically against your lips, pressing a scattering of chaste kisses along your pink cheeks. “It felt like the best way to change the subject.”

“My lover is such a sadist,” you grumble, trying to turn away from him. It’s difficult to keep pouting when he showers you in such soft affection. “My poor heart can’t take this, you know.”

Rafayel cups your face, drawing you back to face him so he can press another kiss to your lips, this one tender and gentle and slow. And just like before, you’re powerless to resist him. Your fingers brush against his neck as you return the kiss, letting the warmth of his touch wash over you. Everything about him is so addicting, so enthralling, like you could get lost and never find your way out. It almost scares you, how much you’re willing to lose for this man.

Eventually Rafayel draws away, if only to let you catch your breath, still teasing you, “Now do you forgive me, cutie?”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh, pretending to be appeased. Your fingers trail innocently up into his hair, until you’re close enough to give his fluffy ear a playful pinch. Rafayel squawks and pulls away, giving you the most dramatic look of betrayal. Grinning, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Okay, now I definitely do.”

Rafayel whines, reaching up to rub his ear, “Who’s the sadist now?”

“Watch it, or I might just pull your tail.”

“Okay, okay, we’re even…Now can we cuddle?”

---

Zayne / Vampire

You’ve known Zayne practically your whole life. Well, all of your life that you can remember, at least. He’s always been something constant, if not distant at times. And while you never assumed you knew everything about the doctor, you thought you knew more than most.

That is, until you wander into his office one day to find him passed out on the floor.

“Zayne?” You freeze in the doorway to his office, eyes blowing wide.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t show a single sign of life. Fear sinks deep into your bones, wraps around your lungs like a noose. And then your legs are moving. Your shoes desperately try to grip the tile as you dash across the room, panic dulling the throb in your knees as you drop to the ground beside him.

Pulse. You need to check his pulse. And his breathing.

Hands shaking, you press your fingers below his jaw, only to inhale sharply at the shock of how cold his skin is. Like ice. Too cold. No one should be this cold. And you can’t find a pulse. You skim your fingers down his neck, looking, looking, but still nothing.

Leaning over the still doctor, you press your ear to his chest and wait. Your lungs start to ache from how you desperately hold your breath, but it’s nothing compared to the terror gripping your heart. Because you hear nothing. Nothing at all.

You draw back, lips parting, ready to call out for someone, anyone.

Until a hand clamps firmly over your mouth.

A surprised scream escapes you, muffled by cold fingers, as you find yourself flipped, a hand holding the back of your head to prevent it from hitting the ground. Chest heaving, you draw a fist back, ready to fight back against your attacker, only to freeze when your eyes meet a pair of hazel ones.

Zayne.

Relief washes over you. Quickly followed by confusion. You quickly push his hand away, brow knitting together.

“What the hell, Zayne?” You bark, pushing yourself onto your elbows.

The doctor quickly backs away, resting back on his haunches. You take a moment to look him over, worry still clinging to your bones. He’s pale, somehow more pale than usual at least. Dark shadows rest under his eyes, which appear almost bleary as he gazes back at you. He looks exhausted.

Dead, even.

“You weren’t breathing,” you whisper, getting to your knees so you can check his temperature again. “Your heart wasn’t beating. I checked. What happened? How are you awake right now?”

Zayne grimaces, flinching away from your touch, and you freeze.

A deafening silence fills the office. It’s an odd stand-off, you staring him down, confusion burning behind your gaze, while he does everything he can to avoid it. For a split second, though, you see something you’ve never seen in the doctor. Uncertainty.

“Zayne?” You call again, voice going soft, “Talk to me. Please.”

Zayne hesitates, seemingly debating in his head before he speaks, his voice a low rasp, “I apologize for scaring you. That must have been startling to walk in on.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, slowly making your way closer to him, “I’m more concerned about you right now. You were dead. At least, I thought you were. So what happened?”

Another beat of silence.

“I must have lost consciousness from exhaustion. I haven’t slept much the past few days,” he tries, but even to your ears, it sounds like a weak excuse.

“Zayne, your heart wasn’t beating. You-” You press a hand to his chest, perhaps to prove a point, perhaps to knock some sense into him. To do something.

Except his heart still isn’t beating.

You're paralyzed. Eyes locked on his chest. Confusion creeps over you, like tendrils of ice spreading through your chest. Sharp. Suffocating. This isn’t right. This can’t be real. It can’t.

Zayne lets out another sigh, this one resigned and tired. Like he’s finally given up. His cold fingers gently cover yours. He draws your hand away from his chest, though he never lets go of it.

“I suppose there’s no hiding it anymore,” he murmurs, voice stiff, like how he speaks when he’s working. “Come, let’s sit on the couch. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

You don’t say a word as he helps you to your feet. You can’t. Your tongue feels like a dead weight in your mouth. And even if you could talk, you don’t know what you would say. A million questions rush through your head, so blurred that you can’t pick out a single one, except-

“What are you?”

It echoes in your head raucously as you take a tentative seat on the couch. Zayne’s lips press into a tight line, and he clears his throat.

“That depends. There are many names for my condition.” His leg bounces ever so slightly as he continues, eyes still not meeting yours. “Though I suppose the most common term is vampirism.”

Vampirism.

You blink.

And blink and blink.

Vampire. He’s a vampire.

A vampire?

“Those aren’t real,” you immediately breathe out, mind racing.

A humorless smile pulls at the doctor’s lips, “I assure you, it is. I’ve suffered from the symptoms for as long as I can remember.”

A vampire. He’s a vampire. Your childhood best friend is a vampire.

“How did I not notice?” You all but squeak, examining him with this new information.

Sure, he’s pale, but Zayne’s always been pale. And it’s not like he avoids the sun. Aren’t vampires supposed to be weak to the sun or something? Plus, he’s aging, isn’t he? A million new questions race through your mind.

“Wait, do you have fangs?!”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re touching his face, basically making him open his mouth. Zayne startles, brow raising at your brazenness, but he does nothing to stop you. At first, his teeth look normal, the only thing worth noting being the excellent care he’s given them. But then you notice it. His canines seem to sharpen, just a touch longer than they should be.

And that’s all the proof you need.

“You’re a vampire,” you breathe, fingers settling along his jaw.

Zayne watches you carefully, waiting for some kind of reaction. Horror. Fear. Anger. All of those would be appropriate. But you don’t show any of them. Instead, you look at him with a mixture of disbelief and…curiosity?

Brow knitting together, Zayne reaches up to touch your wrist, just to check your pulse to make sure you haven’t gone into some sort of shock. Your pulse is steady though, if not a little accelerated.

“You’re not…frightened? Of me?” He asks slowly, confusion gleaming in the depths of his eyes.

You shake your head, a smile threatening to break out across your features, “No, Zayne, I’m not scared of you. I probably should be, but hey, I fight wanderers for a living. Do I have a lot of questions? Yes. But if you’ve really been like this since we were young, that means you’re not going to suddenly do something to me now, right?”

Your lack of concern should be worrying, but Zayne finds the tension is his shoulders slowly dripping away. Of course you would surprise him like this. You’ve always been too trusting, in his opinion, though he’s not about to correct you now.

“So, do you drink blood? I’m guessing you don’t hurt people, considering how strictly you follow your oath.” Head tilting, you give him a questioning look, eyes wide and almost innocent in their curiosity. “So where do you get it from? Blood bags? I’ve read that in a few books. Or animals? I’ve read that, too. How accurate are all those stories?”

“I could answer your questions if you slow down,” Zayne murmurs, fighting an amused smile. “I assure you, we have plenty of time.”

You flush, biting off the rest of your questions. Right. You’re not really giving him an opportunity to answer, are you? So where do you start?

“What is your first question?” The doctor prompts, thumb brushing calmly over your pulse.

“Hmm. The blood question. Do you have to drink it?”

“Yes,” he answers, though his voice rings with distaste, “I have to consume some form of blood every few months to keep my senses about me. I’ve perhaps waited too long this time.”

“Do you need some right now?” You press, brow furrowing.

Zayne hesitates. His lips pinch together again, a sign you recognize.

“No.”

“Liar. That’s why you passed out,” you accuse, though you keep your voice somewhat gentle.

He says nothing for a long moment, a mixture of guilt and discomfort crossing his features. Sighing softly, you give his cheek a light pinch.

“Zaaayne.”

“I’ve tolerated longer periods than this between feedings,” he murmurs, trying to sound dismissive, though you can hear the exhaustion creeping back into his voice, “My body must simply be enduring higher levels of stress due to the season. As long as I rest more, I’ll be fine until my next supply arrives.”

“Oooor,” you hum, hesitating only a moment before you offer, “You can draw some of my blood. Just enough to get you through till then. We know it’s clean since you always run so many tests on it, so that shouldn’t be a concern right?”

Zayne blinks in surprise. Even if you were taking this all well, he certainly wasn’t expecting you to make such an offer. But you meet his gaze, unwavering, expectant, mind already made up.

If his heart were beating, he’s sure it would stutter.

While he hates his condition, hates what he has to do to appease it, he can’t deny that the smell of your blood has always been tempting to him. Cloyingly sweet, like the sweetest dessert.

He should say no. He should just endure, as he always has.

But the determination in your eyes makes him waver. And Zayne is a weak man when it comes to anything related to you.

“It’s not advisable…” He starts, jaw tightening.

You perk up, not actually expecting him to consider it. It was a crazy idea after all, but you want to help. You hate the idea of him suffering by choice when you can do something about it.

“But…?”

“But I am not completely opposed to the idea,” he concedes, almost looking ashamed.

“Good,” you chirp, a smile lighting up your face as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Then let’s get to work, doctor.”

God, you would be the death of him.

Well, if he were fully alive, that is.

---

Xavier / Angel

“How is it that you seem to find danger wherever you go?” Xavier murmurs, voice as even as ever, yet cradling a hint of exasperation.

Biting back a smile, you keep your attention focused on his fingers. They work with a practiced precision to bandage the laceration on your arm, adept from the years of dressing your wounds. It has become a near weekly occurrence because of your work. Getting hurt is an unfortunate side effect of being a hunter.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so reckless if I didn’t have such a sweet angel to take care of me afterwards,” you hum, tone bordering on teasing.

Xavier’s ears flush a soft pink, his wings ruffling in some kind of indignation, which only makes your smile stretch wider. He’s always so easy to fluster, and his wings give him away every time. It makes you want to tease him even more, but when you go to do exactly that, all that escapes you is a low hiss when he swipes a pad of alcohol across another of your cuts.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his thumb brushing tenderly along your knuckles.

“S’okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath, “Just stings. I hate the shallow ones more than the actual cuts, you know?”

Xavier gives a low hum, neither agreeing or disagreeing. You’re sure he would prefer you avoid all physical injury, but that is an argument the angel lost a long time ago, not long after you first met. And what a day that was.

Xavier came into your life in a flash of light. Literally.

You remember the day with quite a bit fondness despite how horrible it was. Everything had gone wrong that day. Exams were kicking your butt, as was training for the Association. To say you were down in the dumps was an understatement, which is why you had been out in the woods, trying to enjoy a bit of silence.

That is, of course, when a wanderer decided to appear.

You did your best to handle it, but you were still just in training at the time, and it was clear you were outmatched. Things would have taken a turn for the worse if Xavier hadn’t shown up.

All you really remember is seeing a blinding light, almost like a flashbang, and then there he was. Ethereal, face set with stone-cold focus, hair silvery white like a star, but most striking were the large wings stretching from his shoulders, impossibly white, the edge of each feather glinting like a knife. With a flourish of his sword, he clashed with the wanderer, killing it in seconds.

In that moment, you were convinced you were dead. That made a lot more sense than what you were seeing, after all - an angel. Sure, he didn’t have the halo, but what else could he be? And how could you be seeing an angel if you weren’t dead?

It took him kneeling down in front of you, eyes sharp with concern as he scanned your entire body for injuries, for you to realize you were, in fact, not dead. And that’s when the questions started.

“Who are you?”

“What are you?

“Where did you come from?”

Xavier being Xavier, he danced around each answer. And you being you, you didn’t relent until you got the answers you wanted.

Not only is he an angel, he’s a guardian angel, and you’ve become his charge. And since he revealed himself to you, he can’t go back to his realm without getting in serious trouble.

That’s how you ended up here, with an angel as your roommate. What else were you supposed to do with him? The man was like a lost puppy with wings. Sure, he can take down a wanderer like it’s nothing, but ask him to work a toaster and he’ll sit there for about an hour just staring at the thing. You couldn’t leave him to fend for himself.

And it was the best decision of your life, really. Not only has he become your best friend, but maybe something more.

“I do wish you would stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger,” Xavier rumbles suddenly, pouting a little bit as he examines your now bandaged hand.

“It’s not unnecessary,” you chime softly, slipping your hand from his to poke his cheek playfully. Satisfaction curls in your chest at the blush that spreads across his beautiful features, his pout only growing cuter. “If I don’t put myself in danger, then other people will, and then innocent people can get hurt.”

“Being so selfless could get you killed,” he sighs, rising to his feet, wings flaring behind him.

Your eyes follow him, steady and warm, head craning up to hold his gaze, “I’m perfectly capable of staying alive, Xavier. And if I’m ever in trouble, I know you’ll be there to help me.”

The angel huffs. You’re not wrong, as much as he’d like to argue. What was once just a job to him, a responsibility, is now something more, something carved deep into his soul. Every fiber of his being longs to keep you safe, even if it means breaking every rule he once followed. Even if it means he must fall some day.

Ignoring that thought, Xavier settles onto the bed next to you, letting out a heavy sigh as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. His hair brushes your neck, soft and ticklish, drawing a light giggle from you as you curl your arms around his shoulders.

“You really shouldn’t worry so much, starlight.”

“You make it incredibly difficult not to,” he grumbles, voice low and muffled, “I just want to keep you safe…”

“Hmm, such a sweet angel,” you hum and card your fingers through the feathers at the base of his wings.

Xavier holds back a shiver, his body arching into your delicate touch. His wings have always been sensitive, especially when you’re the one touching them. You don’t miss the way his blush spreads down his neck, or the way his wings instinctively curl around you, as if they can block out the rest of the world, as if to make a space just for the two of you. The smile that pulls at your lips is overwhelmingly fond, just like your touch.

You love the feeling of his feathers under your fingers. At first glance, they look almost sharp, but they’re surprisingly soft, downy and warm to the touch. Without thinking, you trail your fingers along the curve of his wing and fix any out of place feathers with the utmost of care. Xavier lets out another, shaky sigh, his eyes flickering shut.

It’s a soft moment. Everything else is muted, the only sound being that of your steady breath and his lazy, content hums. Xavier nuzzles even closer to you, his body impossibly warm, his weight too much for you to support. A giggle escapes you as you lean back onto the bed, the angel settling on top of you without an ounce of shame in his expression.

“I swear, sometimes I wonder if you’re actually a cat disguised as an angel, “ you tease, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips. He leans into your palm without hesitation.

“Being a cat wouldn’t be so bad,” he murmurs, as if he’s given the idea some thought before. “I’d get to sleep all day and eat whenever I want instead of chasing a certain, reckless hunter around.”

He nips at your finger lightly, but your smile doesn’t waver.

“I think you’d get bored eventually.”

“Is that so?”

“Yah. I think you enjoy chasing me around, you just don’t want to admit it,” you chirp, tilting your head innocently, “And you’d miss me horribly, don’t you think?”

Xavier hums, turning his face to nuzzle into your palm. His lips brush your skin, a whisper of some kind of promise, making your heart flutter unevenly.

“I suppose I would…and would you miss me?” His eyes flicker back to you, narrowed, an undeniable spark of affection kindled in their blue depths.

You both know the answer.

“I’d miss you more than anything, angel.” Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek. “I can’t imagine life without you.”

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Then, I guess I’ll have to stay by your side.”

“You better.”

“Of course, my lady.”

---

Sylus / Demon

“What does your real form look like?”

You perch on the edge of his bed, feet kicking in the air as you watch Sylus get ready for whatever meeting he’s about to go to. Something to do with one of the other head crime bosses in the N109 Zone, you’re sure. One certainly down on their luck and looking to make a deal.

Sylus glances at you through the mirror, long fingers slowing as he fixes his cufflinks. His eyes bore into you, glinting with something violent, something vicious and bloody that should unsettle you to your core, but you don’t flinch, you don’t even blink.

Such a brave kitten, the demon thinks, amusement curling his lips.

“Curious, sweetie?”

The smile he gives you is sharp, too sharp, and your skin prickles with an instinctive kind of unease. It’s something you’ve grown used to, the way your body reacts to him. Like a lamb cornered by a wolf, everything screaming at you to run, yet you chose to stay cornered. Choose to trust the teeth pressing so gently to your throat, violence and desire so perfectly restrained to keep you safe.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you chime, head tilting ever so slightly. “I just…want to understand you better, you know?”

Sylus hums and turns his focus back to straightening his cuffs, “Is that so? Aren’t you scared of what I might look like?”

“No.” Your answer is quick, unwavering, and Sylus perks a brow.

A brave kitten indeed. He’s almost impressed. The rumors about him are none too kind, and yet here you are, seeking the truth. Without knowing what the truth means.

Giving himself one last look in the mirror, the demon turns to you. He studies you for a long moment, gaze dark, pensive, intense in a way that makes your breath hitch. His eyes darken, something predatory glinting in their cardinal depths. You look at him so innocently, as if you’re not staring down the devil himself, as if you know he’d never hurt you. It makes him want to ruin you, to see that pretty blush stain your skin all over, just to curb the morbid desire burning in his chest.

But you are right, he’d never hurt you. You’re too pure, too good. So he lets himself be soft, to the best of his ability at least.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors,” he murmurs eventually.

His shoes barely make a noise as he slowly approaches you. Each step is measured, confident, like he always is, and each step makes your heart flutter a little more. You’re all but holding your breath as Sylus comes to stand in front of you. His fingers, calloused and rough from a life of violence, graze your jaw so tenderly, drawing your face up to his.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sweetie?” He asks, voice almost taunting, though his features remain soft, unassuming.

Still unwavering in your decision, you nod, “I want to know you, Sylus. All of you.”

He holds your gaze for another long moment, as if he’s trying to read your soul. Which he very well could be, you realize. But when you look into his eyes, what you see isn’t his usual smug composure. Instead, you see a flicker in hesitation. Uncertainty. And it makes your heart ache.

Lifting a hand, you carefully cover the one Sylus holds against your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his touch, a gentle smile pulling at your lips, “You won’t scare me away, Sylus. I promise.”

So perceptive. Sylus gives a low chuckle, shaking his head, “You really aren’t like most humans, sweetheart. Most wouldn’t want to know me even in this form.”

“Well that’s their loss,” you hum, eyes crinkling up at him, “But that means I get you all to myself, so I can’t feel too bad for them.”

“My, what a selfish little kitten I have.” His thumb brushes lovingly over your cheek as his expression turns more serious. “If you want to see my true form, all you have to do is ask. Your desires are mine to fulfill, and I will do so with pleasure.”

“I want to see it, Sylus,” you repeat, “I want to see you.”

“Alright.” He draws back, that wicked smile returning, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, kitten.”

You watch, enraptured, as he rolls his shoulders, tendrils of dark smoke curling around his body. It envelopes him completely and the air in the room grows tense, fizzling with a static that has the hair on your arms standing on end. The lights flicker, plunging the room in darkness for a split second.

And when they come back on, you have to swallow down a gasp.

Because there he is. You’re not sure exactly what you were expecting. You had heard the rumors, the whispers about the monster that haunts the N109 Zone, but this somehow seems different from everything you’ve heard.

Smoldering eyes, sharp and cat-like now, stare you down with an apprehensive gleam. A pair of dark horns curl from his silvery hair. Veins of the same color curl around his neck and down his forearms like webs, the skin of his hands bleeding pitch black. His fingers look more like claws, glinting dangerously in the dim light of the room. Your eyes catch on the tail waving behind him, the spade-tip just as sharp. And the wings. They unfurl slightly, ink-like feathers brushing the floor.

What’s most shocking though, is his size. He stands almost a foot taller, his already imposing stature now threatening. The air shivers around his form, and you can feel that familiar, foreboding sensation creeping up your spine.

But the only thought running through your head is that he’s beautiful. Beautiful like a storm. Devastating and destructive, yet you can’t tear your eyes away. And you just want to be closer.

“Are you scared, kitten?” His voice rumbles with an almost imperceptible dissonance, a hint of concern beneath his tone.

You blink, gaze snapping back up to his, “No, of course not, Sy.”

The tension seems to fall away from his shoulders at that, but he still doesn’t dare move, like he’s still worried you might run away. So you, in a bout of confidence, push off the bed and walk right up to him. Sylus watches you carefully, expression reserved.

“Can I?” You ask, keeping your tone soft as you brush your fingers against the back of his hand. You look up at him questioningly, and Sylus relents, allowing you to take his hand in yours. Your touch is unbearably soft and curious, trailing along the dark tendrils marking his skin. “Does any of it hurt? To change, I mean. Are you comfortable in this form?”

“I used to spend more time in this form,” he hums, tail flicking back and forth, “but to do business in the N109 Zone, one must be able to live in the shadows without being noticed. This form did not benefit me, so I took the form of a human to…blend in, one might say. Humans are more willing to make a deal when they believe they’re on equal ground.”

“That makes sense, but it didn’t answer my question.” You pout, tapping his hand. “Does it hurt to switch between the two?”

A small grin pulls at Sylus’ lips, revealing a sharp set of fangs, his eyes narrowing in amusement, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t.”

“Good.” You nod and brush your thumb over his knuckles. “Then I want you to take whatever form you’re more comfortable in when it’s just the two of you.”

Surprise flickers across his face, barely noticeable, but you catch it. Sylus covers it up quickly, his smile turning mischievous, “I didn’t expect you to be so comfortable with this. Does my kitten have a soft spot for monsters?”

“Maybe,” you hum, stretching up to curl your hands around his neck despite how much taller he is than you now.

Sylus relents once more, leaning down so you don’t have to balance on the tips of your toes, even though he finds it quite cute. His hands rest tentatively against your waist, his fingers nearly interlinking at the small of your back. The size difference makes you bite the inside of your cheek, heat creeping up your neck.

Pushing the thought away, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek, humming happily, “You’re not a monster, though. I think you actually look quite…charming like this.”

The demon huffs out a laugh, his forehead coming to rest against yours, “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I’ll be whatever you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

“You make me happy, Sylus.”

“Well then, I suppose this arrangement will benefit us both greatly.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips, “I suppose it will.”

---

I felt most of my choices were pretty expected, but let me know if you guys think they'd be other supernatural creatures! And Happy almost Halloween!

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honey-on-your-tongue · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober day 6

Sex pollen, part 2 <3

Part 1 here!!!

Logan’s healing factor means that his body is constatly healing. Therefore, his stamina goes way beyond what should be normal for any human.

Take that ability and add in the fact that the pollen he happened to accidentally inhale is a plant that increases libido whilst extending the body’s physical limitations. Logan now has, virtually, the ability to not only fuck all night, but all day—maybe even two whole days.

He’s well-aware that your body cannot keep up with his, but the pollen has made his brain fuzzy and all he can feel is this raw desire to fuck and fuck and fuck you until he’s ensured you’ll have his baby.

That’s why you’re currently spread out on a lab desk, one leg dangling off the edge while the other is up on Logan’s shoulder.

He’s grunting and groaning like a fucking animal, his hips slamming into you hard enough to bruise.

His cock has never been this hard, the veins all prominent, the head engorged and an arngry-red from all the blood flowing to it.

He’s made you come…five? No, six or seven times. And he’s not even close to done. He hasn’t even reached his first orgasm.

You’ve been running tests on the plant, studying it and its components for a while now. You know that Logan’s body will not be done with just one release. It’s going to take at least three orgasms for his body to finally get rid of the pollen and its effects. You just hope you’ll survive through all that.

He gasps, leaning his head down, his pupils blown wide as he wtches your cunt take his entire cock without restraint.

“Fuck, look at her. So pretty, so ready to give me a baby,” he groans, reaching a hand down to spread your folds open. He watches himself slip in and out of you, the way your pussy creams all over him, the way he’s fucking you sore.

“L-Logan,” you say weakly, voice hoarse from moaning and screaming, almost stupid with pleasure. “You can’t—You can’t get me pregnant,” you tell him through the haze.

He growls. “‘f course I ca. ‘s a matter of whether or not I should,” he replies, groaning.

Fuck, you want it. You want it so bad. The idea of giving him a baby…But how will you explain that to the others? You and Logan aren’t even dating, but you’re willing to carry his child?

Logan’s eyes meet yours. He’s nearing his first orgasm.

“Bub, look at me,” he says firmly, grunting as his cock slams all the way into you, the tip meeting your cervix. “Look at me.”

Through half-lidded eyes that keep fluttering shut, you glance at him, whimpering, tears filling your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Please, lemme come in you. Please, I need to,” he tells you, his voice almost breaking. “Please. Fuck, I wanna fill you up so bad. Don’t deny me this, please…”

Oh, God. You want it, you want it so much. It feels so good and you like him so much.

You allow yourself a moment of fuck it when you reply, “Y-yeah, alright. You can come in me, Lo.”

It doesn’t take long for Logan’s cock to twitch, his mouth falling open as he comes in you. Rope after rope of his thick load fill you up, the creamy substance spurting into you. There’s so much of it, that it spills out of you even as he keeps shallowly thrusting into you, still coming.

Even once he’s come down from his climax, Logan’s cock remains hard, and he knows he has so much more to give you.

His eyes, still wild with that animalistic need, meet yours. “You think you can handle some more, bub?” he asks, hands moving to angle your hips in a position that makes you feel fuller than you already did.

“I-I think so,” you reply breathlessly.

His eyes darken dangerously and he smirks. “That’s my girl.”

---

Taglist - if you wanna be added, lmk <3

@wolviesgirl

---

Mmmm this one’s not my best, but I hope you al enjoy it babes!!!

Blog masterlist

Kinktober masterlist

#logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlet smut #logan smut #logan wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine smut #x men wolverine #wolverine xmen #the wolverine #kinktober

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thegalleonsnest · 28 days ago

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OK since I haven't seen too many people talk about this since twitter news usually strikes pretty fast over here whenever e'usk does anything ever, let me give ya'll the run down on two things that will go live on NOVEMBER 15TH and why people are mass migrating to Blue Sky once more; and provide resources to help protect your art and make the transition to Blue Sky easier if you so choose:

The Block function no longer blocks people as intended. It now basically acts as a glorified Mute button. Even when you block someone, they can still see your posts, but they can't engage in them. If your account is a Public one and not a Private one, people you blocked will see your posts.

They say because people can easily "share and hide harmful or private information about those they've blocked," they changed it this way for "greater transparency." When in reality, this is an extremely dangerous change, as the whole point of blocking is to cease interaction with people entirely for a plethora of reasons, i.e. stalking, harassment, spam, endangerment, or just plainly annoying and not wanting to see said tweets/accounts. or you know, for 18+ accounts who do not want minors interacting with them or their material at all (There is speculation saying these changes are specifically for Elon himself so he can do his own kind of stalking, and honestly, with the private likes change, it lowkey checks out in my opinion)

Also, this straight up goes against and may violate Apple and Google's app store policies and also is straight up illegal in Canada and probably other countries as well.

If this ACTUALLY goes through, twitter will only be available in select countries, probably exclusively in the US, which would collapse the site with the lost of users and stock, and probably be the last push it needs to kill the site. And if not, will be a very sad and exclusive platform made for specific kinds of people who line up with musk's line of thinking.

2. New policies regarding Grok AI and basically removing the option to opt out of Grok's information gathering to improve their software.

And anything you upload/post on the site is considered "fair game" with "royalty-free licenses" and they can do whatever they please with it. Primarily using any and all posts on twitter to train their Grok AI. A few months ago, there was a setting you can opt out of so they couldn't take anything you post to "improve" Grok, but I guess because so many people were opting out, they decided to make it mandatory as part of the policy change (This is mainly speculation from what I hear).

So this is considered the final straw for a LOT of people, especially artists who have been gripping on to twitter for as long as they can, but the AI nonsense is too much for people now, including myself. Lot's of people are moving to Blue Sky for good reason, and from personal experience, it is literally 10x better than twitter ever was, even before elon took over. There is no algorithm on there, and you can save "feeds" to your timeline to have a catered timelines to hop between if your looking for something specific like furry art or game dev stuff. It's taken them a bit to get off the ground and add much needed features, but it's genuinely so much better now

RESOURCES

Project Glaze & Cara

If you're an artist who's still on twitter or trying to ride it out for as long as you can for whatever reason you have, do yourself a favor and Glaze and/or Nightshade your work. Project Glaze is a free program designed to protect your art work from getting scrapped by AI machines. Glazing basically makes it harder to adapt and copy artwork that AI programs try to scan, while Nightshade basically "poisons" works to make AI libraries much more unstable and generate images completely off the mark. (These are layman's terms I'm using here, but follow the link to get more information)

The only problem with these programs is that they can be resource intensive for computers, and not every pc can run glaze. It's basically like rendering a frame/animation, you gotta let your pc sit there to get it glazed/nightshade, and depending on the intensity and power of your pc, this may take minutes to hours depending on how much you wanna protect your work.

HOWEVER, there are two alternatives, WebGlaze and Cara

WebGlaze is an in browser version of the program, so your pc doesn't have to do the heavy lifting. You do need to have an account with Glaze and be invited to use the program (I have not done so personally so I don't know much about the process.)

Cara is an artist focused site that doubles as both a portfolio site and a general social media platform. They've partnered with Glaze and have their own browser glazing called "Cara Glaze," and highly encourage users to post their work Glazed and are extremely anti-ai. You do get limited uses per day to glaze your work, so if you plan on doing a huge backlog uploading of your art, it may take awhile if your using just Cara Glaze.

Some twitter users have suggested glazing your art, cropping it, and overlaying it with a frame telling people to follow them elsewhere like on Bluesky. Here's a template someone provided if you wanna use this one or make your own.

Blue Sky Resources and Tips

So if your a twitter user and your about to realize the hellish task of refollowing a massive chunk of people you follow, have no fear, there's an extension called Sky Follower Bridge (Firefox & Chrome links). This is a very basic extension that makes it really easy to find people on Bluesky

It sorts them out by trying to find matching usernames, usernames in descriptions, or by screen name. It's not 100% perfect, there's a couple people I already follow on Blue Sky but the extension could not find them on twitter correctly, but I still found a huge chunk of people. Also if your worried that this extension is "iffy," they do have a github open with the source publicly available and the Blue Sky Team themselves have promoted the extension in their recent posts while welcoming new users to the platform.

FEEDS and LABELS

OK SO THE COOLEST PART ABOUT BLUESKY IS THE FEEDS SYSTEM. Basically if you've made a twitter list before, it's like that, but way more customizable and caters to specific types of posts/topics. Consolidating them into a timeline/feed that exclusively filled about those particular topics, or just people in general. There's thousands to pick and choose from!

Here's a couple of mine that I have saved and ready (down below). Some feeds I have saved so I can jump to seeing what my friends and mutuals are up to, and see their posts specifically so it doesn't get lost in reposts or other accounts, and also specialized feeds for browsing artists within the furry community.

The Furry Community feeds I have here were created by people who've built an algorithm to place any #furry or #furryart or other special tags like #Furrystreamer or #furrydev. They even have one for commissions, and yes you can say commissions on a post and not have it destroyed or shadow banned. You are safe.

If you want, and I highly recommend it to get visibility and check out a neat community, follow furryli.st to get added to their list and feeds. Once your on the list, even without a hashtag, you'll still pop up in their specialized feeds as just a member of the community there. There are plenty of other feeds out there besides this one, but I feel like a lot of people could use one like this. They even got ones for OC specific too I remember seeing somewhere.

And in terms of labels, they can be either ways to help label yourself with specific things or have user created accessibility settings to help better control your experience on Blue Sky.

And my personal favorite: Ai Imagery Labeler. Removes any AI stuff or hides it to the best of it's abilities, and it does a pretty good job, I have not seen anything AI related since subscribing to it.

Finally, HASHTAGS WORK & No need to censor yourself!

This is NOT like twitter or any other big named social media site AT ALL, so you don't have to work around words to get your stuff out there and be seen. There are literally feeds built around having commissions getting and art seen! Some people worry about bots and that has been a recent issue since a lot of people are migrating to Blue Sky, but it comes with any social media territory.

ALSO COOL PART,

you can search a hashtag on someone's profile and search exclusively on that profile as well! You can even put the hashtag in bio for easy access if you have a specialize tag like here on tumblr. OR EVEN BUILD YOUR OWN ART FEED FOR YOUR STUFF SPECIFICALLY!

So yeah, there's your quick run down about twitter's current burning building, how to protect your art, and what to do when you move to Blue Sky! Have fun!

#Twitter #Blue Sky #BlueSky #Cara #Project Glaze #Glazed Art #NightShade #Twitter Update #cara artists #art resource #resource #Online resource

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corrodedbisexual · 6 months ago

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@waning-croissant well... I had to.

"Nope. Outside of D&D, I am no hero," Eddie talks as he keeps walking, a step ahead of Steve. "I see danger and I just turn heel and run. Or at least that's what I've learned about myself this week."

Eddie's not even sure what he's saying anymore, he just knows that if he doesn't keep talking over the nightmarish ambience of this hellscape, he might actually go insane. Hearing his own voice, he can at least pretend like he's just narrating a game, and the rest is his overactive imagination. Not that he actually believes that, of course, it's just... irrationally comforting.

"Give yourself a break, man."

Steve reaches for him, but Eddie's body reacts on autopilot to an unexpected touch, practically slapping the boy's arm away. He's on a roll here, words still spilling right over the all-too-late pang of regret in his chest. It would have been nice to experience, that pat on the chest or squeeze on the shoulder, whatever Steve was going for, if it weren't for Eddie's perpetual skittishness.

"See? The only reason—"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"—I came in here was 'cause—"

"Eddie!"

Eddie's head snaps to Steve as he cuts off the rest of his semi-planned speech, which was suddenly inspired by the sight of Nancy Wheeler ahead of them. If he was the cowardly bard in the story, the least he could be useful for is cheer on the real hero of it. Give the courageous bat-biting paladin the motivation to keep fighting.

"Huh?"

"Do you ever stop running your mouth and listen?" Steve's brows are furrowed, but his tone isn't mean, and there's an amused smile playing on his lips. "You're almost worse than Dustin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie opens his mouth, lets his jaw hang for a second, and closes it again with a click of the teeth, as he processes the words he would have perceived as an insult, had he not been piecing together what the kid meant to Steve for the past several days. It was a bit of a revelation that their relationship ran far deeper than just some giant one-sided platonic crush on Dustin's part, like Eddie had mistakenly assumed throughout most of this year.

Steve takes a small step closer, the first one to invade Eddie's personal space for once, after Eddie's been doing it for the better part of their walk together. Unconsciously, like his body just decided that being tucked into Steve meant safety from the bloodthirsty bats, and the creepy vines, and that Vecna guy they could run into any minute.

"We all ran, all four of us. Just now, when we saw that giant swarm of bats in the distance, remember?" Steve speaks softly, waving his arm vaguely in the direction behind them. "Because sometimes, running and surviving is the only thing you can do."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. He just focuses on looking at the boy's eyes, like a normal person, and trying not stare at his lips moving. But then, when he pauses, Steve's eyes flicker down, and... huh. Huh. Wait, what?

"Of course you've been running. You couldn't have fought Vecna when he took Chrissy. Or Carver's crazy mob, or the entire police force of Hawkins," Steve keeps talking intently, looking into Eddie's eyes again like his gaze never wavered south. "Any more than we could fight that whole swarm. Because we'd definitely be dead now if we tried, no matter how metal you think I am," he adds with a tiny smug smile that's entirely Eddie's fault. "So there's a difference between being a coward, and acting stupid and reckless."

Steve pats his shoulder twice, then turns and keeps walking, and Eddie moves to follow him like on a tether, before his flustered brain even catches up.

"H-hey, I never said you were metal! I said what you did with that bat was metal," he grumbles, thankful for the darkness concealing his undoubtedly flushed face.

"I beg to differ," Steve turns around to tease, grinning, and pointedly tugs on his own collar. "You're the resident metalhead, and I'm wearing your vest, that does make me at least a little bit metal."

Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Harrington. Eddie's not sure what possessed him to throw that thing at the boy. At the time, he only thought of how he wouldn't survive the whole ordeal of Steve's hairy tits on display for much longer, but him in Eddie's clothes? Even worse.

"Fine," Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets, catching up to Steve in three quick strides. "Only a little bit though." He sneaks a glance at the boy; Steve's not looking back, once again on guard, surveying their surroundings with his flashlight, but the pleased smile makes its way to his face regardless.

"Doesn't matter why you jumped after us, Munson, you're here now. And don't try to act all modest when you've just saved a guy's ass. Which, by the way..." Steve turns his head to Eddie again. "Nice job with that oar. Too bad you hate jocks, you'd have made a fine hitter on the school baseball team."

Eddie gasps and grips his own chest in mock offense, even as warmth spreads up his neck and pools in the tips of his ears, thankfully hidden beneath his hair.

"How dare you, with these vile insinuations."

"I'm just saying," Steve shakes his head, laughing. "You're pretty... bat-ass, too, Eddie." He glances over again with a shit-eating grin. "Get it? Bat-ass?"

"Oh no, Steve Harrington is actually a dork with terrible puns," Eddie mumbles to himself and sighs, rolling his eyes up to the dark sky.

"Shut the fuck up, my puns are amazing." Steve elbows him in the ribs and chuckles. "You know what, I'm starting to understand why Henderson was obsessed with getting us to hang out."

What is that supposed to mean?

"He... he was?" Eddie gapes.

Another earthquake saves him from the mortifying ordeal of re-assessing the whole Munson doctrine, for the hundredth time this week. And as they hurry along to catch up with the girls, and Steve's hand grips his bicep whenever he falls behind, Eddie wonders if maybe he should just set fire to the doctrine and let it turn to ash.

#steddie #steddie fic #misha-bawlins fanfic

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solbaby7 · 15 days ago

Note

I would like to order a Vodka Cranberry neat please, with a salt rim and add a lime if that’s allowed please 👀😏🫶🏼

if that’s allowed? honey we all know by now i will ride the angst train until the wheels fall off🫡

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + smut/angst + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

“Will you—will you just stop for a second and listen to me?”

“That’s all I ever do, Az.” The words wobble, a combination of anger and sadness ruining its stability. Tears stream down your face, staining the silk of your dress and smearing makeup that took you entirely too long to perfect. “Listen to you and all your bullshit promises that you never fucking keep.”

His stealth is frustrating but not more than the pure self-hatred that brews when you can’t fight the desire to glance over your shoulder; foolishly allowing your chest to bloom with heat when you realize he was following you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this anymore.

He promised to stay away.

Too dangerous, he said. Worried for your safety, he insisted.

Refused to be responsible for the guilt that would ensue if something horrid ever happened to you; a truth he can’t confess but you’re well versed in reading between the lines.

“I know, I’m sorry—just please hear me out. Put me out of my fucking misery because I can’t keep watching you go out with males who don’t even deserve to share your air.”

If you weren’t so hurt, maybe your mind would’ve latched onto the last part of his sentence rather than the first. “Put you out of your misery?” The harsh click of your heels on cobblestone halts so abruptly it makes Azriel bump into you a little. Bare arms brush against the sturdy material of his leathers as they cross over your chest, goosebumps staved off by the steady warmth he radiates and you pretend that’s why you don’t create more distance. “Why do you even care?”

You’re not sure to really even want the answer.

Certain, it won’t be good enough.

After everything Azriel had put you through, this never ending game of tug of war. Giving you an inch only for him to rear back and snatch a mile. Your expectations are unrealistic; a soldier hanging up his sword just for you.

“Because, I do.”

And yet, you still amuse the possibility.

Dusting off your hands and re-familiarizing yourself with the burn of rope in your grasp before taking a sharp, experimental tug.

Bodies gravitate closer like magnets, attempting to resist until the pull becomes too much.

Your heart hammers in your chest, silence filling the air for one, two, three whole seconds before the collision happens. Your lips against his own; a frenzy of a kiss where you can’t really tell if your hands are running through his hair or tracing down the strong line of his neck and shoulders just to feel him or just to remember.

All hard lines and harsh breaths as tongues grow reacquainted. The pathetic little whimper he lets out when nails scratch along the back of his neck, a bite that toes the line of too much. “Shouldn’t matter to you who I date.”

It only makes him hold you tighter, tugging your hips in closer. “I know it shouldn't.” His words muffle against your mouth, too stubborn or too selfish to pull away for even a second—not when he's finally gotten you close. “But, it still does." Shadows stretch forward, cloaking you in darkness; shielding you from the hopeless male you'd left back at the restaurant, as if they feared he'd come stumbling out in search of you.

They make it clear that you're already taken; trapped even, by a male too greedy to allow even a drop of you be spilled. Azriel's tongue trails down the length of your neck, nose nuzzling in the inviting scent of your body oils. Memorizing parts of you he’d thought long forgotten.

A mole here. Scars there. Soft pudge that warms him down to the marrow when pressed against his hardness. “You can’t just keep following me around.”

Following was a light way of putting it—stalking was more right.

His figure looming in your blind spots, lingering around corners and watching like a hawk that’s locked onto its prey. Your routine is committed to memory from the moment your fire tokes in the morning to the bakery you stop by in the middle of the week for a slice of fresh key lime pie. A reward for refraining from replying to his letters or pointedly ignoring the stunning floral display that arrives on your porch every week like clockwork. “Can’t stop even if I wanted to. Not when I know you’re out with someone who can’t even make you laugh.”

“At least they don’t make me cry.” Damn you for leaning in closer, basking in that familiar brood and the masculine musk that sends all five senses into a fritz. A defeated sigh escapes you when you melt to mush under his palms; too vulnerable to lie. “It’s easier with them.”

“Easy’s overrated.” He’s kneading at the swell of your hips until bravery grows or restraint snaps and he’s pawing at handfuls of your ass. Guiding you back until you can feel rough brick catching on strands of your hair. “Boring too—bet he wouldn’t have been able to make you cum. Even if he actually tried.”

Takes everything in you not to bite back. Especially because Azriel’s sort of right but admitting that out loud is more humiliating than your body just giving it away. By now, he has to feel the frantic pulse of your jugular under his tongue. “Maybe I should go back and find out.”

If his warning growl doesn’t send shivers down your spine, the nip of his teeth on such sensitive flesh does. “I dare you to try.”

A challenge that comes with stipulations.

Skillful hands work their way under your dress, teasing at soft thighs until his knuckles are bumping against lace—it locks you in place. Azriel lets out a mean chuckle when you hike one leg up on his hip, spreading yourself wide; presenting yourself instead of running away like you should.

It just feels so good.

Lower lips are spread wide, dripping with slick as two thick fingers glide through with ease. Azriel knows his way around, just barely dipping into a greedy hole before retreating only to tap at an achy bundle of nerves so he can see the desperate jolt of your hips. “No,” He speaks more so for himself than you, too occupied with prying you open and feeling your arousal pool in his palm. “You wouldn’t do that. Probably haven’t had a cock in this cunt since that last time I filled it—feels just as tight as I left it.”

If the nights chill wasn’t nipping at bared skin, you know your blush would’ve burned all the way down your chest. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying.”

You shouldn’t have said that. Probably wouldn’t have if Azriel’s thumb wasn’t working perfectly against your clit, calloused fingers rubbing against slick inner walls, abusing nooks and cranny’s that leave your knees buckling. “Don’t you know that you can’t give away a pussy that doesn’t belong to you?” Salacious sounds squelch between your thighs, head thrown back and eyes rolling in your skull as Az takes and takes; unlocking the doors to your sex and greeting it with a warm welcome. “Not if I still own it.”

#acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #blurb bar #azriel fic #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #azriel smut #acotar smut #acotar fics

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greenglowinspooks · 1 year ago

Text

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #liminal scarecrow #Jon’s PTSD is triggered by the smell of ectoplasm because his life is a nightmare #HDJFNDNDNFKDJF #I am the master of emotional whiplash #rip Jon just trying to have some peace in this fucking house #never gonna happen king 🫡#oh also Eddie is not lying that bat can manwhore #and like half the rogues in Gotham know this from experience #and also most of the JL #and some of JL dark #btw Eddie and Jon are besties #they’re both awful but they make it work #when Jon full-names Eddie that just means that if he doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing he’s gonna get a dose of fear toxin #Eddie isn’t intimidating enough to full-name anyone so if he gets mad he just bashes whoever in the head with his cane #Jon is the living embodiment of ‘me and my girl don’t argue she bash me in the head with a rock and I walk it off like a man’#also side note I’m not doing any ships in this #because I don’t want to #they are just Like That #if you wanna read it that way though it’s completely fine #also shoutout 2 that one scriddler fic on ao3 that helped inspire that riddle LMAO

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ruth-odyssey · 4 months ago

Text

༺✩༻ D is for Delightful (part 2)

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

wc. 1.9k words

summary: after pairing up with a slytherin for a potion project, you somehow find yourself unable to tear away from him

tw. fem!reader, reader is implied to be a gryffindor, party, mention of minors drinking. Set in sixth year but everyone is 17

a/n. This is part 2 of D is for Dangerous. Mattheo is actually so hot I had to physically stop myself from turning this into smut 😔

Quidditch season has its way of bringing students of the same house together. No matter your opinion on your fellow housemates, quidditch is quidditch. Heading down to the great Hall for breakfast, you can feel the excitement of the first match of the season; Ravenclaw against Slytherin. You sit down at the Gryffindor table, serving yourself some porridge, fruits and a cup of coffee. As you start eating, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn around, meet with Mattheo, smirking at you. “We’re hosting a party tonight after the match, wanna come?” You knit your brows. “Already planning a party? You didn't even win yet!??” Mattheo flashes you a confident smile. “Winning is guaranteed, Ravenclaw’s team isn't winning anytime soon.” You snort, teasing him. “Nah yall gonna lose.”

Mattheo gasps dramatically at your response, clutching his heart, pretending to be under some sort of great physical pain. “How dare you. Do you have no faith in me???” you laugh at his dramatic antics. “Are they even gonna let you play? You skipped detention the whole week.” Mattheo grins slyly at you, as if you had asked an absurd question. “Of course they’ll let me play, I'm the best chaser we’ve got” He says cockily, earning himself a glare from Blaise. “Besides, I’ve already got out of those detentions with a little help from Theo, no need to worry.” You roll your eyes, serving yourself another cup of coffee. “Please don't bring Theo into your shit…” You look around, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy. “Theo isn't even here, is he still asleep???” Draco pipes up. “He's up, probably still under the shower.” You nod. “Well you better catch the snitch quickly, it's cold as shit outside.” Draco rolls his eyes at your comment and scoffs. “Don't tell me what to do, I'll catch it at my own pace.” You sigh, already regretting not bringing something hotter against the cold November weather. Before anyone can add anything, Theodore arrives, greeting everyone with a nod. “Well well well, look who decided to join us…” At Theo’s arrival, you decide to take your plate and cup, sitting down at the Slytherin table. Blaise smiles, knocking your shoulder with his. “Finally decided to join us huh?” You salute him. “Yes sir.” He lets out a soft chuckle, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. You glance to your right, Theo still standing up, still half asleep. You pat the spot next to you. “Sit down and eat. You have 10 minutes before you guys have to leave.” Theo’s eyes meet yours, he nods and takes the stop next to you, you serve him a cup of coffee and Lorenzo starts piling up food on his plate. Theo blinks a couple of times, trying to chase the fatigue. “How are you so… hyper this morning?” His voice is still laced with sleep, deeper than usual. You smile, hoping he can't tell how his voice alone is affecting you. “This is actually my fourth cup of coffee.” Theo shakes his head, mumbling Oh dio under his breath. He takes a bite of food. “If we win, will you come to the party?” Mattheo sends him a look “You mean WHEN we win.” You smile and glance at Mattheo who's already looking at you.

The next few minutes are spent by Draco, Mattheo and Blaise discussing the best way to beat ravenclaw – in the most humiliating way possible – Theo nodding along, playing with the food on his plate. They leave in a hurry to get changed in their quidditch robes. Lorenzo gets up and starts heading to the quidditch area, you and Pansy following. The three of you head out of the school, the freezing November breeze making you shiver. Tucking your face into your scarf you decide now is the perfect time to talk. “I am NOT lasting ‘til the end of the year, Riddle is gonna be the death of me.” Pansy laughs, as if she was expecting you to bring up Mattheo, Lorenzo on the other hand looks concerned considering how much you ramble about him. “May I ask why Riddle out of all people is gonna be the death of you?” He inquired, his voice tinged with playful judgment. You flash him an apologetic smile and start gushing about Mattheo. “Did you see how he looked at me earlier??? I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.” Pansy grabs your arm, a delighted laugh escaping her lips, as Lorenzo gives you a weirded out look – he's not quite sure what you mean by that.

—————————————

The match finally came to an end, Slytherin completely obliterating Ravenclaw with a whooping 250 to 50. You meet up with the rest of the group in the Great Hall for lunch. “Mattheo that goal was something else, I mean throwing the quaffle all the way from the Slytherin goalpost and scoring? It was amazing.” Blaise nods in agreement, headlocking Mattheo, ruffling his hair. “You were insane out there mate, I didn't expect you to score like that.” Mattheo finally getting out of Blaise’s tight grip, he smirks at you. “Told ya we were gonna win. Now you better come to the party angel” You roll your eyes trying to ignore how your stomach seems to be doing cartwheels because of a simple pet name. Pansy smiles. “Bring your dress so you can get ready in my room.” “Okay!”

—————————————

“You look great.” You make eye contact with Pansy through the bathroom mirror, adding some mascara to your lower lashes. You’re wearing a black slip dress, with black high knee boots and your hair is down. You smile. “Thanks Pans, I love your dress by the way. It's so cute!” Pansy smiles, crouching down to put on her heels. You let out a yawn, feeling the lack of sleep of last night – as well as the caffeine crash – getting to you. You set the mascara tube down, giving yourself one last once over, before heading into the Slytherin common room with Pansy. As you both get down to the common room, pansy whispers “Go get your man.” in your ear. The party is in full swing, music blaring and people drinking and dancing everywhere. The room is dimly lit with Slytherin color, the atmosphere lively and electric. In the sea of partying students, you spot Mattheo, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. He spots you too, greeting you with a hug. “Hey, nice dress” He speaks loudly, trying to make himself heard over the loud music. He hands you a drink. “Thanks! Pansy kinda left me. Do you know where she went?” Mattheo looks around, trying to find her. He taps your shoulder, giving you a shrug. “I can't see her sorry angel.” He pauses, taking a hit of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into rings. He smirks, eyes roaming around your body. “Seems like you’re stuck with me sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, unable to meet his – suddenly finding the content of the drink he had handed you interesting. You glance at him

You take a sip of your drink, face scrunching at the taste of alcohol burning your throat. You turn back to look at Mattheo, only to find him already looking at you. It's not the way he usually looks at you, with mischief because saying or doing something that would get him in trouble, there’s something different in those eyes and it seems whatever changed somehow makes you even more drawn to him. You can already feel your body loosening up, the alcohol making its way in your system. You grab the half burned cigarette from his grasp, taking a hit. There's a hint of surprise in Mattheo’s expression, that's quickly replaced by delight and something else you can't quite place your finger on.

—————————————

You are not God's strongest soldier. Three drinks in and you somehow found yourself resting your head on Mattheo’s chest, arms around his waist, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other holding onto his – technically yours since he stole it – drink. The scent of his cologne – a citrus and musky scent– filling your nostrils. The party is still raging, people everywhere and it doesn't seem to stop anything soon. Mattheo gently whispers in your ear. “Hey sweetheart can't have you falling asleep on me, why don't you call it a night huh?” – you can practically see the small smirk that must be forming on his face – You distance yourself from him, just enough to see his face. His eyes find yours and he smiles. It's a smile you could get used to seeing – it's sweet and it makes you believe you might actually have a change with the boy – you nod, silently agreeing to call if for today. “Mkay… I'll go to sleep.” Maybe it was because of the smile he’d flashed or maybe it had only to do with the alcohol you had, but you get on your tiptoes, kissing him goodnight. “I think you missed darling, you must be very drunk if you don't know where my lips are” Its harmless teasing really, usually a simple eye roll to brush it off would have done the trick. But today, you decide that yes, maybe you should kiss him if it means he’ll finally realize you’d like to be the only one he flirts with, the only one he kisses. And so you roll your eyes, “You’re so demanding Riddle, you’re lucky I love you.” and kiss him. It’s sweet, you can taste the lingering taste of the alcohol on his lips. He pulls you closer, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against yours and you're suddenly aware of what you're doing. You break the kiss and mumble a quick “good night” before heading upstairs, crashing in Pansy’s room

—————————————

Drinking was not a good idea. At all. Whatever was in the drinks, it was strong, strong enough that you find yourself waking up the next morning having absolutely no recollection of why you were not in your bed. You can tell Pansy is in bed with you by the steady sound of breathing behind you. You try getting up an arm wrapping around your waist, someone snuggling into you. You freeze, turning your head slightly – to your surprise Mattheo is behind you, seemingly still asleep. “Hm Mattheo? Wake up.” You try shaking him awake. He makes a noise between a groan and moan but he opens his eyes, taking you in. “what?” You look at him bewildered, wondering how he could be so calm. “What??? What do you mean ‘what’??? The hell are you doing in Pansy’s room and why are you sleeping next to me???” Now it’s Mattheo’s turn to look confused. “Hey hey hey, calm down princess, I'll have you know last night you crashed in MY room, and i need my beauty sleep so I slept on my bed. I was sure you wouldn't mind… you know since you love me.” he adds teasingly. Oh the bastard. You can already feel your cheeks flustered and unfortunately for you, the memories of last night are finally becoming clearer. And you can clearly remember not only telling him you loved him but the feel of his lips against yours. You blink trying to chase the memory from your mind. “I- ok maybe I do. But so what?” He smiles as if he knew you would say something like that. “I was thinking about asking you out so that we could share our first kiss more… romantic setting but looks like you beat me to it angel.” “Oh shut up Riddle.” He smirks. “So, can I be your boyfriend?” “Yes”

#༺✩༻ravenwrites #harry potter x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x reader #slytherin x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo x you #hp fanfcition #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfic

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koqabear · 9 months ago

Note

congratulations on 2k!! im so proud of you so heres a song equation that i think is so genius

the weeknd, one of your girls + beomgyu + smut and fluff = popular fuckboy!beomgyu x popular sweet!mc

this song is so beomgyu to me😵‍💫😵‍💫

♫: One of the Girls, The Weeknd // [2K Masterlist]

"Beomgyu’s a lot more obsessed with you than he’d like to admit."

beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 2.1K // genre: smut, pwp, only a bit of fluff sorry <3 MDNI.

warnings: dom!beomgyu, sub!mc, oral (m & f rec), name calling (slut), finger sucking(?), spitting, praise, pet names (pretty girl, good girl, etc.), deep throating, dacryphilia maybe, possessiveness, overstimulation, cumming untouched ig. unprotected sex.. lmk if i should add anything

Notes: 2k followers ended months ago and this bitch is still here

Beomgyu never intended to keep you around this long.

Pretty girls like you were never his type. Saccharine sweet, innocent smiles, bright eyes and an energetic attitude that brought people to you like flies to honey. You had the world in the palm of your hand, opportunities at your feet and friends that were loyal like dogs— you were perfect, untouchable, untainted.

Everything he was not.

Maybe that’s how he got where he is now, low lidded eyes observing you carefully, watching as your shining doe eyes plead up at him, careful hands smoothing up and down the rough material of his jeans; you’re so pretty like this, he finds himself thinking, all pliant and weak to him, waiting for his command like a mindless puppy— your throat bobs and your tongue darts across your lips, dainty fingers playing with the loops of his belt as you silently plead for permission to let him feel good.

“My friends were talking about you today,” Beomgyu murmurs, tilting his head and reaching down to caress your face gently; warm hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone, smiling at your head that immediately goes to lean into his touch, “said they couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout the way you looked in the dress you wore to last weeks party.”

Memories flash in your mind; the party your friends dragged you to, only complying because you were aware of who was taking part in hosting it— the pure, innocent image that hung over your head causing heads to turn the whole night— you could hear it, practically, the whispers and comments wondering what you were doing in such a place, all having speculated you the type to hate loud, rowdy environments like these.

They weren’t wrong; you barely lasted an hour in that dark, crowded place, finding yourself having a much better time in the back of Beomgyu’s car, pretty dress bunched at your hips and your makeup smudged by the time he dropped you off at your place, greedy hands refusing to let you go so easily, not one to put up much of a fight yourself; you’ve always been fond of waking up to the sight of Beomgyu first thing in the morning, anyway.

Beomgyu’s eyes darken; you’re snapped out of your reverie by the feeling of blunt nails digging into your skin, your head tilted back as you’re forced to stare back at Beomgyu’s dangerous gaze.

“They also couldn’t stop talking ‘bout how bad they wanna fuck you,” he seethes, nails digging in deeper at the very thought; your eyes glisten and you shift restlessly on your knees, a shaky sigh escaping your lips at his tone— his thumb quickly reaches over to weigh down at your bottom lip, parting your lips slowly.

“Would give anything to feel your mouth,” he recounts, thumb pushing into your mouth, a gentle pressure against your tongue as he surveys how easily you obey him; his brows knit together and his thumb hooks down against your tongue, opening your mouth roughly as he hovers over you; his face is inches away from yours as he speaks, his voice barely audible. “Said it’s such a shame they didn’t get their hands on you that night.”

Beomgyu could only sit back in his seat and listen; a spectator to it all, jaw clenched and arms crossed as he took in the way they spoke about you, salivating over you— the very reminder is enough to have his blood boiling. But, who was he to lash out at them? As far as the world was concerned, you were a pure, pretty girl that was expected to marry the son of an influential family friend. Beomgyu was never supposed to be in the picture.

“Wonder what everyone would think if they saw you now,” he mutters, voice patronizing and eyes filled with a sick arrogance as he stares down at you, “a good little slut on her knees for me.”

Without further warning, he spits; you flinch slightly at the action, a whine ripping through you as he straightens back up. Deft fingers smooth down your head, digging into your scalp and forcing your head forward— your hands are quick to undo his jeans, not needing another word from him for you to know what he wants.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu breathes out, dazed at the sight of your eager actions, quickly undoing his jeans and getting to his leaking cock; your hand is warm and soft against him, and he feels himself twitching pathetically the moment you finally pull him free from his underwear; your pace is familiar and your lips are plush as they kiss at the tip of his cock, doe eyes glancing back up at him for approval.

“So perfect for me,” Beomgyu coos, caressing your cheeks and watching as you take him in your mouth slowly, lidded gaze glued onto the lewd scene like he’s determined to ingrain everything about this moment into his mind, “Know just what I like, such a good girl.”

His voice is soft and deep as he purrs out praise to you, hand wandering down until it’s placed at your throat curiously— you relax instinctively, jaw falling slack as he begins to thrust shallowly, whispered curses and rumbled groans making your thighs clench pitifully— but your hands simply fall down on your thighs, knowing that Beomgyu never likes it when you touch yourself like this.

Your tearful yet determined gaze has Beomgyu’s pace stuttering— you just look so damn pretty under the dull lights of his room, the feminine and cute outfit you’ve put on today not helping at all; your makeup is already getting smudged from the tears that cling to your lashes and the drool that builds up at the corners of your mouth, taking everything Beomgyu gives you with nothing but a wide doe-eyed look.

“Shit…” Beomgyu groans, his thrusts a lot rougher than they were moments ago; he’s getting closer, you can tell, your hands balling into fists on your thighs as you continue to let him fuck your mouth just how he likes— his hand is frantic to grab at the back of your head, fingers stinging at your scalp as he pulls you flush against his pelvis; he’s still, and you can feel him throbbing in your mouth— your throat stings and your eyes squeeze shut, hot tears running down your cheeks as you swallow instinctively; Beomgyu lets out a sharp moan at the feeling.

“D–Don’t— don’t… do that,” Beomgyu huffs out, hips grinding subconsciously against you, your lungs starting to burn as you place a frantic hand on his thigh— but Beomgyu pays no mind to you, clearly lost in his head as he lets out a shaky sigh; at the sudden feeling of you placing a slight pressure on him, he looks down at you curiously.

“Hold it,” he tells you, lips twitching darkly as he feels you swallow again, body tensing as he simply ruts into your throat gently, “just a bit longer… you can take it baby.”

Your throat constricts around him, your eyes sting and you whine on his cock that continues to stuff your mouth— Beomgyu only pulls out once he feels you tapping weakly at his thigh, watching with low lidded eyes as you immediately begin to sputter and cough, a string of spit connected from his tip to your lips; he leans down to get a good look at you, watching you with a deceivingly soft smile as you try to regain your breath— his hand smoothes down your hair fondly, head cocking to the side as he prompts you to look at him.

“Good?” he asks gently, watching you nod without hesitation; he chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before he takes your hands in his, pulling you up and beginning to walk you backwards toward his bed, “Good.”

As Beomgyu hovers over you, your he can’t help but find himself thinking about how fond he’s grown of this sight; of you, your breathless figures and your shiny eyes that catch his every movement, from his gaze that takes you in hungrily to his hands that slowly push the skirt of your dress up.

“Such a pretty girl,” Beomgyu breathes out, your wide eyes watching as he shifts down to lay on his stomach, slow, warm hands running up and down your thighs— you squirm impatiently at the feeling, hips bucking and lips parting in a gasp as he places a slow kiss onto your clothed cunt; mouth lingering for a moment, smiling coyly at the wet patch that already seems to have formed— and he looks back up at you, fingers hooking under your panties to pull them down as he speaks. “All mine too, right?”

Without thinking, you nod.

“Wouldn’t let anyone else see this perfect body,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to wander up and down your slit, toying with your clit and watching the arousal leak out of you desperately, “It’s all for me.”

Beomgyu always seems to get like this, you think to yourself— his touches are teasing, needy, and his tongue is warm as he licks at your clit, fingers picking up where he left off so he can talk— he’s insatiable, possessive, and his words always make you clench a little tighter against him; you think he must feel the way you react to him, and that’s why he’s taken a liking to running his mouth so much.

You couldn’t be any more incorrect, though— because as Beomgyu finally begins to use his mouth on you, tongue fucking your hole and nose pressing insatiably against your clit, he can only find himself thinking about how he’d like to spend the rest of his life like this— here, with you, listening to the way you keen and cry and bury your fingers in his hair, whining incoherently into the air.

“I’m— I’m close,” you stutter, your hips bucking and chasing after Beomgyu’s mouth; he simply hums in response, eyes closed with bliss as he feels your thighs shake and close around his head— your voice is pretty and airy as you stutter out mindless praise, every moan of his name causing his cock to twitch and leak against your mattress, unable to stop the way he grinds against it stupidly.

“R-right— Right there, oh my god, please don’t stop, please— coming, I’m coming, Beomgyu—!”

Your hips buck up and your back arches— your nails dig into his scalp and pull at his hair, shaky moans falling from your lips as your body tenses up and your orgasm washes over you. Beomgyu remains keen to it all— every sound you make, the way your body shakes and falls limp, he takes it all in, tongue still lapping hungrily at your arousal and hips still grinding into your mattress.

He helps you ride it all out— your eyes prick with tears all the while, sensitivity sending shocks throughout your body as you feel him groan against your cunt, burying his head further in even after you’ve begun to whine that it’s too much; when his head emerges from between your legs, he looks just as dazed and out of breath as you— if not more so.

“Gyu…” you mumble out, eyes drifting down to his chest that heaves, down to his stomach and noticing something that makes your eyes widen; Beomgyu follows your gaze, glancing down and looking away with red tinted ears.

“Can’t help it,” he huffs, not ashamed in the slightest as he hovers over you, cupping your face and leaning down to capture your lips, barely parting so he can speak, “you’re so hot when you cum.”

“Am I?” you ask softly, laughing at the immediate nod you get; your hand wanders down between your bodies, fingertips brushing over his cum-stained stomach and on his already hardening cock— your brows jump, and you smile. “Need me to clean you up?”

Beomgyu’s fervent shake of his head catches you by surprise; he’s never been one to deny the feeling of your mouth on him, so to say that this unexpected was an understatement.

“Just wanna be inside you,” he mumbles against your lips, the feeling of his cockhead grinding against your clit bringing about a sigh from both of you, “wanna see you cum again.”

The whine you let out at his words is enough to have him entering you slowly; dark eyes taking in every change of your expression, watching as your brows furrow at the stretch— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of the sight.

No other girl has ever managed to do what you have; the man above you feels entirely enamored as he watches the way you cry and clench around his cock, gasping his name and clinging onto him desperately— you drive him crazy, and this only serves to prove it further.

You were never supposed to leave such an impact on him. But now that you have, Beomgyu will do anything to make sure that you don’t escape his clutches.

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