#can you hear that? its the sound of me in shock beyond words staring at the screen tears rolling dowm my face | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raccoon-eyed-rebel · 25 days ago

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Part 32

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 🟣 Part 33

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, Melot's ongoing identity crisis, purple (or at the very least lavender) prose, angst, mentions of: child marriage, cheating, (internalized) homophobia, religious trauma, abuse, SA. Mentions of grey sweatpants, inappropriate anger at the inventor of jeans, Awkward Virgin trope, blood, biting, bruising, praise kink, the untimely demise of a shirt, awkward groping, (awkward everything), handjob, blowjob, premature-ish ejaculation, wasting water by taking a shower that later proves to have been absolutely fucking useless, Frotting/rubbing/dry humping (not sure what to call this, tbh. A butt-job?), rimming (eating ass, analingus, pick your fave), light D/s dynamic, light brat behavior, hair pulling, more praise (possibly slight feminisation? Depending on how youd define that?), masturbation, deepthroating, throatfucking, oral creampie, cumswapping/cumkissing, elements of subspace + subdrop, aftercare.

Word count: 14.004 (Yes. 14k. You read that correctly.)

A/N: Well, well, well, what here we have? It started with this sweet ask from @geralts-yenn, and... what can I say? Things got out of hand? (Understatement.)

It quickly became clear to me that there was a lot more to unpack than I had originally counted on, and then the boys turned out to be... well, dirty little whores. So...

I considered making this a bonus-chapter because this is written from Melot's POV, but since it slots into the timeline, I decided against that. I will, however be changing the tense and POV (from past tense to present, and from 2nd person to 1st person POV) from here on out, because over time I've simply come to prefer writing that way. I'll also be writing more chapters from the boys' perspectives—I'm working on one from Leon's POV that isn't too far off in the future (storyline-wise... actual real-life time-wise, one can never know.)

Also: I'm literally begging everyone to come into my comments (or DMs, or asks) to talk about these boys because... Well, I just love them so much. I already did, but it's literally so much worse now, lol.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

I’m afraid to open my eyes, knowing that if I do, I’ll be staring right back into the reflection of my own soul.

There’s no hiding from him—not that I want to. At least, I think I don’t.

I sit still, counting the seconds as they tick away on the clock in the living room. I’m the only one who can hear it from anywhere in the house—anywhere on the property, even. If I try hard enough, that is.

The sound has been my anchor for centuries. Sometimes, it feels more familiar to me than the beating of my own heart. Unsurprisingly, I might add. How could it not be, when everything about me exists for the sole purpose of looking outward.

Oftentimes, my visions have prevented me from gaining a more intimate knowledge of myself, and they continue to do so to this day. It’s been this way throughout my entire existence.

Fourteen hundred years. Fourteen centuries.

My senses are honed to perfection. Beyond it, even—although many would argue the impossibility of the proposition, but it’s exactly what a millennium and a half will do to you.

I know that better than anyone. How could anyone know better? For all we know, I might very well be the oldest vampire on the planet.

The scoff I attempt to choke back finds its way to freedom as a nigh imperceptible faltering in my otherwise steady breathing.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispers softly. I feel his fingertips creep closer to mine before they actually do, yet I am startled by the sensation of him touching me.

I resist the urge to pull my hand back, just as I’ve been resisting the urge to flee the room and never return. A part of me, I am most unwilling to admit, even wants to attack.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

He’d be dead before he even realized I’d moved.

Oh, to become something you’ve been taught to fear—and to think this is hardly my first battle of the sort. I’d give up the hope that they ever get easier, if I hadn’t known for a fact they don’t for the longest time.

‘You like boys.’

These words have haunted my dreams for the past two days. Left me alone for nary a second since the moment they fell freely and innocently from Mike’s beautiful lips.

Spoken with no ill intent, they wrapped themselves around every inch of every branch of my consciousness, constricting it more and more with every last breath I took, their truth so immediately undeniable that I was forced to admit to it.

And that means there is no way back for me now.

When Mike told me that I’d have time for an identity crisis later, I don’t think he realized just how right he was, and I can’t blame him for his ignorance. I don’t doubt for a second that it was completely unintentional.

As much as he hates it when we say it, he is just a baby, born into a fairly secular household in the sixties, but more importantly; involved in all kinds of generally more accepting subcultures from a relatively young age…

He’s had his struggles, of course. But as strange as it is to say, because one has to admit they were significant, they are irrelevant at this current time.

On the other side, we have… well, me.

Forced into a political marriage at fourteen in early medieval Cornwall, to a girl even younger than I was, our wedding night consisting of nothing but a tear-filled pact made between two terrified children under the cover of darkness, to forego the consummation of our marriage.

Instilled in me, a fierce loyalty and the staunch belief that a man lay with no one but his own wife, and a wife with no other person than her husband, I devoted myself to her as best I could, given our circumstances.

That there was no love between us mattered not, for we had been united before God.

Not unlike today, however, inappropriately crude and explicit conversations with my peers had made me far more knowledgeable on the subject of reproduction than I otherwise would have been, given my lacking experience.

For years, I slept by her side, riddled with guilt over our failure to fulfil our marital duties toward one another, praying every waking minute for the ability to be a better husband.

I shed my tears over her betrayal in private as I prepared to welcome a child into my life—a child I knew couldn’t possibly be mine.

Every day of my life, I am grateful for the existence of specialized historical trauma psychologists: They were of indescribable and immeasurable value when I was struggling to unite the unpleasant aspects of my upbringing and ‘early’ non-human life—the first thousand years, give or take—with the modern world I somehow found myself in rather more suddenly than I had ever expected.

The past certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, but I wouldn’t dream of underestimating the present in that particular respect.

Alas, as helpful as my therapists have been, their efforts feel wasted in this moment, because Mike dragged me onto a new road of self-discovery that appears to contain several unexpected challenges.

Challenges I am afraid of.

Challenges I am ashamed of.

As mentioned before: for the second time in my fourteen hundred years, I have become something I was taught to fear, and despite my convictions that I had overcome my prejudices, that I had moved past this darkness of fear and hatred, it seems to be the case that nothing could be further from the truth.

A shocking revelation. Truly.

I find no solace in the fact that I was never taught to hate, though it is true. One is almost never directly taught to hate, for the simple reason that it is far easier to teach fear than hatred.

But fear breeds hatred.

I learned to fear the sin, which led me to hate the sinner, and there is no excuse for that.

This, I have always known.

Over time—more time than I care to admit—my hatred disappeared, and I took pride in that, for I had shown growth, and an ability to learn and adapt.

I had evolved.

How upsetting it is, then, to be forced to come to the realization that somewhere along the line, I seem to have come to the conclusion that to cease fearing for others’ condemnation would suffice in terms of accepting them.

In other words: If they want to go to hell, let them!

And now that it’s me, I find that I suffer still from that very same fear of a god I have long since stopped believing in.

The line between truly knowing that something isn’t sinful, and simply not caring when others sin, is remarkably thin.

And I am standing right on top of it.

“It wouldn’t help,” Mike whispers, just as my desire to ask him what I want surges, threatening to wash me away.

Two lonely tears escape my still closed eyes, allowing me to focus on their path down my cheeks as they fight the resistance my skin provides.

I thank them silently.

“Why not?” There is no point in trying to keep the defeat from shining through in my voice.

“Because you want it all,” he replies. I expect to hear pity in his voice, and its absence surprises me nearly as much as his answer. No matter how much I want to ask him, my voice refuses to lend me its cooperation.

Not that it matters. After all, Mike knows.

“There is no ‘one desire’, Melot,” he continues, making me shiver as he drags a single finger down the back of my hand. “In the past thirty seconds alone, you’ve cycled through ‘fight, flight, freeze’ more times than I can count. You want to jump me—either to kiss me or kill me. You want to run, hide, talk, think, cry, scream, punch something—not me, please. You want answers, and to desperately not need answers because you want there to not be a question that needs answering to begin with.”

“I never wanted to kill you,” I mumble, the characteristic heat of embarrassment creeping up to my cheeks in a staggering tempo.

Mike chuckles. I’m not proud of what the sound does to me, but good Lord it feels amazing. “That’s the thing, Melmel,” he muses quietly, “the fact that I felt it, means it was a genuine desire. Granted, it didn’t last long, but it was there. And I get it.”

“I was never going—” More tears tread in their predecessors’ footsteps, their heat blending in nicely with the scorching glow of embarrassment that plagues my skin.

“I know,” he reassures me. “You have a whole rational brain I don’t have access to—that’s Marshall’s territory, not mine. My point is: you can’t ‘sorta’ want something. Okay, you can, in the sense that there’s a scale to how much you want something—a range from ‘want’ to ‘need’—but there’s no such thing as a half-desire. A desire is a desire.”

I wince at the implication of his words as guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, while Mike continues: “Your tiny little—but genuine—want to brutally murder me was immediately overshadowed by a very strong need for me to be… not dead.”

“Was there anything useful in the entire list?” I’m surprised by my ability to squeeze out an entire sentence, if I’m being honest.

Mike chuckles again, and my whole body feels like it’s made of carbonated liquid. “The desire to call your therapist is probably a good one,”—he pauses for a moment, letting out a cheeky chuckle—“and I would selfishly vote in favor of any of the many more eh… carnal ones.”

I scoff. He speaks in jest, at least partially, and I refuse to dignify his nonsense with a response, so I move on. “Which is the most, eh… potent?”

“That’s a great way to phrase it, yeah,” Mike confirms. “And it’s definitely your overwhelming—and permanent, by the way—desire to be held by someone.”

I finally open my eyes, staring at Mike wide-eyed in nothing short of pure horror. How disappointing that the floor doesn’t melt away from under me right this second to spare me the mortification…

“Get your priorities straight, Melmel,” Mike admonishes me, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You should be way more embarrassed about wanting to kill me than wanting to snuggle up to someone.” He scooches closer to me, quickly adjusting the mountain of pillows as he moves, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Especially since we share that particular need.”

We sit in silence for a while, Mikey’s head on my shoulder, his arm around me. It triggers my visions, which isn’t at all surprising. In them, I feel none of the shame and guilt I do now—or did, moments ago—which is very reassuring, but as much as I would like to luxuriate in that feeling after my meltdown, Mikey’s much stronger reaction forces me to let them pass, acknowledged but without much further investigation.

He struggles to keep his fingers still, and I am facing similar difficulties in strangling whatever sound I feel I can’t afford to make freely.

“What do you need from me?” I practically have to force the words out of my mouth. “In this… courtship?”

Mike laughs. “As far as definitions go, that’s fair, but do you know a twenty-first-century word?”

“To describe you?” I elbow him in the ribs and roll my eyes. “I know several, and I doubt you’d be happy with any of them.”

“Jerk,” he huffs.

“That was one of them, yes.” I struggle not to laugh when Mike pouts and nudges me, failing miserably, and before I know it, I’m on my back with him hovering over me. My gaze is pulled towards his lips through no fault of my own. In my fourteen hundred years, I have never known anyone who scowls as adorably as Mikey does, and every corner of my thoughts occupied by the sight of his bottom lip sticking out slightly.

Completely involuntarily, my eyes follow the contours of that lip, and my mind gravitates towards images of us. Together.

I—

I bite back the moan that threatens to escape, and fight to regain control of my teeth. “We should talk first,” I manage, my words punctuated by labored breaths.

Mike nods, dropping onto his side next to me and propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s really simple,” he says plainly. Clearly, the past thirty seconds have been less taxing on his self-restraint than they were on mine… “We can take this as slowly as you need, obviously. But I need you to know the difference between what you’re ready for now, and what you know you’ll be ready for in the future.”

I nod. That’s the easy part of the equation.

Unfortunately, Mike may be a clown at times, but he wasn’t born yesterday. “And I need you to stick with the now-boundaries.”

I nod again, much less sure of myself this time, but I promise him to give it my very best effort.

“Of course, I’ll help. If necessary,” he continues. “But I refuse to rely on my gift to guard your limits. I need to know you feel comfortable, and safe, and confident enough to communicate your needs, okay?”

His concern for my safety and wellbeing is almost enough to bring me to tears all over again. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that time does, in fact, not heal all wounds, and although I have come a long way, I cannot deny the lasting—possibly permanent—damage inflicted upon me by the coldest, darkest days of my past.

The times without love.

The times when I had no one but myself to care about me.

I sob my agreement to his terms, rather than say it. The sound of my breaking voice draws his brows together in a pitiful frown.

He bites his lower lip as he contemplates his next words, and I struggle to keep my head clear as his lips once again draw my attention away from the conversation, while the sorrow in his expression has me teetering on the edge of panic.

His expression hardens as he breathes in deeply before looking at me very directly. His eyes are cold, and my heart rate quickens at the sight.

“And,” he says softly but with unmistakable determination, “I’m not doing this behind closed doors.” He looks down, fidgeting with the duvet covers as he continues: “I’m not saying you have to come out to the entire world tomorrow—or explicitly to anyone at all, unless you want to, of course—”

“I wouldn’t even know what to come out as,” I admit almost reluctantly. At this point, I haven’t even begun to think about labels and definitions and whatnot.

“I mean… If we’re going to be dating, then one label that definitely applies is ‘the guy who’s dating Mikey’,” he says matter-of-factly. I have to admit he has a point. “I’m kinda big on PDA—I promise I won’t suck your face off in public, but hugs, or a kiss here and there… Like, I’m not going to let some guy who can’t even hold my hand at the movies, dick me down when we get home.”

He laughs at my expression, and I can’t blame him. I, myself, imagine it to be quite the sight; wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land while my entire vocabulary seems to have vacated the premises…

“I’m sorry,” he snickers, “I didn’t mean to scare you. My point is: If you can’t love me in public, you don’t get to love me in private, that’s all.”

“Mikey…” I hesitate, attempting at the same time to swallow away the lump in my throat. It doesn’t work. “I promise—swear, even—that I will try, but I might need some time.”

“Progress, not perfection, Melmel,” Mike says as he leans forward to rest his forehead against mine for a moment. “I just want you to make an effort, okay?”

I nod furiously. Of course, I never truly expected him to toss me aside because I can’t adjust to all of this in a matter of days, but it’s a relief, nonetheless.

Now that my fears have been taken away, more visions come to me. The doom scenarios are entirely of my own making—I learned to tell the difference several centuries ago, but I can’t say that that knowledge has been in any way facilitative to my ability to disregard them.

However, I cannot deny that it is comforting that the majority of them are overwhelmingly positive, setting my body alight with a warm, soothing glow.

It makes me calm.

Happy.

It also makes me…

“For someone who’s struggling to come to terms with all of this,”—Mike’s voice is strained, the sound of it more of a moan than regular speech—“you are incredibly horny.”

My lips tremble as his hand cups the side of my face, his thumb gently trailing over my cheekbone.

I have to swallow before I can even speak. “I’m coming off a fourteen-hundred-year dry spell, Mikey.”

Mike’s eyes go wide with shock, perhaps even terror. “Fourt— w-what?” He looks adorable, his mouth slightly open, brows drawn together in disbelief. “Two days ago… That wasn’t your first kiss, right?”

I chuckle, but not from the heart. “It was certainly the first one I was a willing participant in,” I admit bitterly. The realization bites, digging its filthy, razor-sharp claws deep into my soul. “Not that the collection of instances of the other sort is by any means impressive.”

“Every last one of those is one too many, Melot,” Mike sighs.

I can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes, so I close mine again, focusing on his scent instead.

Every member of my coven—past or present—has an odor so unique to their person that I would happily wager that I’d be able to identify them from a mile away.

With everyone else, smell certainly serves as quite the handy tool when it comes to ascertaining their intentions—hostility, for instance, reveals itself quite readily by means of a distinct and exceptionally foul sour note—or their species—vampires in this day and age always smell faintly of blood and garlic, and however cliché one might deem it, werewolves reek perpetually of wet dog.

And then there’s my own family, blood and garlic aside.

I may have known Sherlock the longest, but I know Charles the best, which is why I can say with absolute confidence that I’d recognize the dark, brooding combination of leather and smoke in my sleep. It’s luxurious and alluring, its complex sophistication undeniable, but at the same time, it’s cold, distant and uninviting. It used to be different, but what little remains of the welcoming seduction of the past, is now dull and faded.

Sherlock, on the other hand—although every bit as strong and refined—smells warm, approachable and comforting, with a very pronounced overtone of sweet vanilla—which Mike, should I ever decide to discuss this particular subject with him, would probably find very typical and likely even funny. At some point in my life, I developed the strange habit of sitting outside Sherlock’s bedroom door when I miss him, just so his scent can comfort me—he has a way of showing up whenever I do.

August and Leon share the dark, bold and spicy edge to their scents. They’re matched for sensual promiscuity, but Leon leans further into the direction of exotic rebelliousness and playful deviance. August smells… calmer. More grounded.

Marshall smells remarkably similar to Sherlock, in a way. Only he trades the sweetness for something crisper and fresher, reminiscent of pine and fresh herbs. It feels almost strangely grounded and familiar, with a quiet strength and weight to it that borders on intimidating.

And then there’s Mike. It should surprise no one that he’s the odd one out, and although I wouldn’t describe the scent as that of bubblegum and jellybeans, I wouldn’t necessarily not describe it as such. It’s a rather untidy fragrance, that has an energetic flamboyance to its almost cacophonous complexity. Touches of woods and herbs ground the otherwise discordant bouquet of lush, tropical fruits and crisp, fresh citrus, combined with a selection of floral aromas that expresses something of a delicate… femininity. It’s youthful, vibrant, playful and mischievous, and more importantly, it’s the best damned thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to smell.

Unthinkingly, I pull Mike closer, the tip of my nose tracing a gentle path up the side of his neck as I inhale deeply, savoring not only the scent, but also his warmth, pulse, and the feeling of his skin against mine as it transitions from the smoothness down by his shoulder to the scratchy stubble of the five o’ clock shadow on his jaw I’m embarrassed to admit I find quite attractive.

My senses are so thoroughly occupied with the attempt to soak up every crumb of these new, delightful experiences that I completely forget to care even the slightest bit about the quiet moan that slips past my lips.

Mike whines impatiently in reply, and when he suddenly moves, I struggle to keep up with the innumerable sensations that wash over me in rapid succession.

His breath on my ear, the delectable feeling of his weight on top of me, the tangling of our legs, his hand at the back of my neck, and its long, slender fingers traveling over my scalp… But much more pressing—and more annoying, I might add—is my acute and absolutely insufferable awareness of the suddenly too thick, coarse and rigid denim of my jeans as it moves over my skin in all the wrong ways while we adjust our position on the bed.

Not to mention that these godforsaken trousers, which fit me perfectly and comfortably less than half an hour ago, suddenly seem too tight—an experience that wouldn’t be unique to my person in the least, if Mike wasn’t very likely completely unbothered by such atrocities sensations due to the fact that he is wearing sweatpants.

Sweatpants which, much to my dismay, contribute to my own discomfort far more than I care to admit.

That is not to say Mike is unaffected by this situation. In fact, the evidence heavily favors the contrary, and the fact that I can feel his pulse… there, in combination with the thought that that means he can probably feel mine in approximately the same location, keeps distracting me from mentally drafting the letter of complaint I wish I had sent to Levi Strauss & Co. back in the 1870s.

I have never wanted out of a pair of trousers—or any other type of garment, for that matter—this badly in my entire existence. And for all the wrong reasons, too, for crying out loud!

A displeased whimper hits my ear, and by the time it dawns on me that I was the one who made it because Mikey suddenly disappeared, an unidentifiable pile of dark grey fabric lands on my stomach.

The person who put it there is standing next to the bed, towering over me with his arms folded across his chest. It would have been intimidating, if not for the hint of a smile that peeks through the stern mask on his face.

Mike points to the bathroom. “They’re sweatpants,” he says impatiently, “go put them on. Now. Please.”

My brain cycles through countless motives and explanations, but I’m so hopelessly behind on processing the events of the past minute, that it comes up completely empty.

I must look at least half as confused as I feel, because Mike can no longer fight back his smile. “Hey, normally I’d tell you to just take the jeans off, but I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves,” he chuckles. “If this is what it takes to keep you from violently longing to invent time travel so you can smack Jacob W. Davis and Levi Strauss over the head with a comically large wooden mallet, then…”

He makes a series of vague, impatient gestures at me, the sweatpants and in the general direction of the bathroom, all accompanied by an equally impatient and exquisitely adorable whine.

When I laugh, after deciding against telling him how cute he looks, Mike frowns, and his eyes narrow. “Mel, please,” he whines, “I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

Nervous as that makes me, I can’t deny that it’s exactly what I want too, and despite my legs feeling exceptionally uncooperative, I manage to make it to the bathroom in one piece.

I lean my shoulders against the wall, steadying myself as I attempt to regain control over myself, my chest heaving with every new breath.

The cold of the tile creeps through the fabric of my shirt with ease, grounding me.

Soothing me.

My thoughts, which are normally fairly organized, are a mess—an un-unravelable heap of pure chaos.

It’s anarchy!

Mike somehow manages to match the energy of an eight-week-old puppy attempting to herd sheep, with the exact same, very predictable and equally—if not more so—undesirable result.

And I’m the sheep.

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip with force until I taste blood, but the visions keep coming.

My fingers—are they mine? If they were, one would assume I would know how to get them to fucking work, correct? When I put these jeans on this morning, this wasn’t the world’s most challenging button, so why won’t it open, for God’s sake?

I swear under my breath, screwing my eyes shut as if to squeeze the last bit of focus out of my brain that way. I must, however, come to the unfortunate conclusion that I am not a tube of toothpaste.

“You’re impossible.” Mike’s voice is hoarse, his chest moves rapidly in time with his equally erratic breathing, and his long fingers close effortlessly around my wrists with punishing force. “Get these hands out of the damn way and let me help you with that.”

Apparently, his wish is my command. Or perhaps, his command is my command. Either way, my hands are out of his way in a flash.

Barely a second later, the button and zipper of this treacherous denim contraption are no longer an obstacle, and I struggle to breathe as Mike leans his forehead against mine, dipping his fingertips tentatively into the now-loosened waistband of my trousers.

He holds me firmly in place as he steps closer, grinding his hips into mine. Out of reflex, I bite down on my lip again, piercing my skin, which lures a soft whine from my throat.

Before I can do anything, Mike passes his tongue over the wound before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, and I seem to have suddenly forgotten how to breathe altogether.

“Now,” Mike says—‘growls’ would be a more apt description, perhaps, “take these off, put the sweatpants on—or don’t. Strip completely bare-ass naked for all I care, but get in my damn bed, please.”

Hearing my own desperate need echoed in his voice makes my heart stutter—the cruel cold or Mikey’s sudden absence makes me restless.

I rid myself of my jeans as quickly as I can, and as I exchange them for the much more comfortable sweatpants, I can’t resist the urge to squeeze my throbbing erection through the fabric, desperately attempting to fight the thought of how much I need that hand to be his instead of mine.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mikey snarls, his voice close to my ear and the scorching heat of his body comforting me once again. “I should drag you to bed by your balls, you little tease. Why are you out here wanting all these things, when we can be doing them in there?”

I want to say something, but even if my voice were cooperating, my vocabulary certainly wouldn’t be. In the end, nothing but a pathetic whine escapes me, making Mike chuckle.

He hooks two fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants, no doubt with the intention to tug me along towards the bed, but one catches behind the band of my underwear as well, putting more of me on display than I anticipated. I know Mike well enough to expect him to take a peek—and the urgency with which he does so immediately—and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the look of utter desperation and pure carnal need on his face as he fails to fight off a crooked smile, dragging his tongue along his upper lip.

I struggle to identify the feeling that washes over me, wringing out my insides as Mike’s playful smile widens, his gaze still locked on my groin. There is a strange sense of pride to it. At the same time, waves of anticipation struggle for power against nervousness.

The longer I look at his face, the stronger the anticipation becomes. He’s cute, with his mischievous smile, fangs out as he fights off the ragged corners of the desires he knows would likely push me a tad too far at this time.

But Mike can think of six things either simultaneously or in awe-inspiringly quick succession.

“Why does it happen? The fangs?” he asks quietly, amusement poorly concealed in his tone.

My laughter rings involuntarily, the sound bouncing off the tiles, echoing in my own mind as it once again struggles to keep up with everything that’s happening. “You’ve clearly never lived in a large coven,” I chuckle. “One so powerful that hiding your nature—and teeth—becomes completely unnecessary. Our natural instinct is to have them out. Even after centuries, one must have his wits about him in order to control them, and I don’t know about yours, but mine are halfway to Argentina by now.”

Mike’s grin widens as he takes a step back, finally guiding me back to his bedroom.

When the back of my legs meet the edge of the bed, his eyes darken. “I really want to do some dirty things to you, Melmel,” he whispers. The high-pitched whine that meets my ear must be mine, and unthinkingly I chase the pathetic sound away with a scornful chuckle which, most unfortunately, is followed by a sharp gasp as Mike pulls me closer by my hips until my body is flush against his. “Will you let me?”

The art of speech eludes me still, so I nod.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Mike says as he gently places a hand on either side of my face.

To be overcome with desire does not mean what I thought it did until now in the slightest. As soon as Mike’s lips touch mine, true desperate need comes crashing down on me, drowning out everything else.

His mouth is soft, but firm. His hands gentle as they move from my face, down my chest and stomach, to the sides of my hips, until they reach the back of my thighs. He picks me up effortlessly, of course, wrapping my legs around him before laying me down in the middle of the mattress.

Our moans effortlessly overshadow everything else that attempts to occupy my thoughts, only leaving room to experience pleasure. It’s all-consuming.

Powerful.

Cathartic, even.

Mike’s tongue licks gently at the seam of my lips, which part as if by magic to grant him entrance.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I greedily reciprocate until…

“Fuck!” Mike pulls back, still laughing when he sticks out his tongue. It’s bleeding. “I forgot you have spare teeth.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t bear to look at him as guilt washes over me, drowning out all the wonderful feelings from before.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, giving me a reassuring peck on the tip of my nose. “You can poke as many holes in me as you want, this just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He presses his lips to mine again, this time with significantly more restraint—to start with, that is. Every time he rolls his hips, grinding them into mine, he loses a bit of that control.

I could say the same does not apply to me, but it would be such a blatant lie that it would be laughable at best.

When he bites my lip, he is careful not to break the skin, but the force is still enough to bruise me.

Whatever mark he leaves on me, with very few exceptions, will be gone before we’re even done here. Why does that strike me as such a tragedy?

The last remnants of Mikey’s gentle touch have disappeared now, as his fingertips dig into my shoulders, my hips, my thighs, with brutal force. It would certainly be enough to cause serious harm to someone less sturdy than either of us…

“God, I haven’t done this with another vampire in years,” Mike groans. The sound, deep, dark and dripping with lust, vibrates throughout my entire body.

I know he’s been with nymphs, shifters—were- or otherwise—and demons, and I don’t doubt that there have been many more rendezvous with many more species I haven’t the faintest clue about, but that knowledge proves to be of surprisingly little impact on this moment. “Tell me if I’m too rough with you, Mel. Please.”

Not at all, I wish to scream. I’ll take everything he’s willing to give me and more. So much more.

But I can’t seem to find my voice. Instead, I slide my hands into his shirt on a whim, dragging my nails down his back, reveling in the sense of pride and sensuality I feel as he arches to my… well, ‘touch’ would be quite the understatement, I suppose.

“Guess not, then,” he says with a devious grin as he grabs the hem of the t-shirt I just decided to ignore and pulls it over his head.

I’ve seen him without a shirt, of course. Goodness, I’ve seen him damn near naked on several occasions, but this time…

As he sits there, straddling my thighs, towering over me, my eyes wander down, taking in his broad shoulders, chest and abs. He’s lean, toned, but I wouldn’t describe him as particularly muscular. His pale skin is smooth all the way down to his navel, where my attention is captured by the thin line of dark hair that leads… down.

My hands make their way up his thighs until they rest on his hips, and without realizing, I speak. “You are so beautiful.”

I realize my error instantly, an overpowering sense of confusion surging through me as I watch Mike’s face light up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly as I continue my attempt to grasp why he sounds so pleased. My confusion must be apparent, because Mike laughs sweetly. “It’s okay, baby, you can call me beautiful all day, every day. Can I see if you’re pretty too?”

It clicks as soon as the word ‘pretty’ leaves his mouth, and I am suddenly overcome with the fear that he won’t see me that way while Mike fusses with the top button of my shirt.

He groans out of frustration. “Do you have any emotional attachment to this thing?” he growls almost aggressively as he grabs me by the collar of my shirt. I shake my head, once again unable to speak. “Good.”

The fabric tears almost too easily, and several buttons—four, to be exact—find their way onto the floor.

A long, desperate whine meets my ear as Mike rakes his fingers over my chest, down to my stomach, where he traces the faint line of hair with a single finger, all the way down to the waistband of my trousers, while I dig my fingers into his hips with more force than I intended. It makes Mike’s cock twitch, causing it to bump against my thumb, which lures a sharp gasp from me.

Mike reacts to it and the expression that has appeared on my face in the meantime without my knowledge, and certainly without my consent.

“Okay,” he taunts, “my pretty boy wants to play in the big leagues then?”

Despite my nerves, I find myself nodding in reply to his question, attempting once again to swallow the tightness in my throat away.

Mike kisses me, softly but enthusiastically—and most importantly: repeatedly—as he lies down next to me. Heat rises to my cheeks as he flashes me that goofy smile of his.

I was always under the impression that I found that smile particularly annoying. I guess I was wrong.

The one hand that is still on his hip relentlessly attempts to capture my attention, begging me to acknowledge its proximity to the part of Mike that currently has my imagination spinning completely out of control, but I can’t allow myself to comply with its demands just yet. Lord knows I’ll be swiftly rid of any ability to speak, which would be… unfortunate, to say the least.

Not that that particular ability isn’t greatly impaired to begin with, but we needn’t tempt fate further, I would say.

“I’ll be happy to tell you anything you want to know, Melot,” Mike whispers softly as he moves closer to me. It’s the strange fish-on-dry-land-esque performance attached to it that makes me laugh—and much louder than I had intended, too. In fact, I had no intention to laugh at all…

I snap my mouth shut and look away. Surely, my cheeks must be so red they are in fact aglow right now, mustn’t they?

Mike groans loudly, which twists the uncomfortable knot in my stomach, greatly worsening the unwelcome tightness I was already feeling.

To say I am in no way prepared for his words, would be an understatement.

“Mel, dude, Melmel, babe, Melly, my good sir,” he sighs, “where were you when they sent out the memo that this”—he gestures wildly at the both of us—“all of this, like… sex, is supposed to be fun?”

“Well, I—” Just hearing him describe what we’re doing as ‘sex’ brings forward a host of emotions I can either not identify or desperately wish I couldn’t, and it certainly helps my nerves in no imaginable way.

“Like, babygirl, I get it,” he continues, as I try to prevent having to invent a new shade of red to describe the color my cheeks will turn after this one, “you’re nervous. You’ve never done this. You’ve been told not to do this, with… well, pretty much anyone but definitely not another dude—which I’m sure will come back to bite you in that sweet little butt of yours, and we’ll deal with that fall-out together. But if we’re doing this, I need you to lighten up, okay?”

“But… How?” In my entire existence, I have never struggled to speak two simple words the way I did just now.

“For starters, there are two people here who I’m going to need you to not take too seriously,” he says matter-of-factly. “The first one is me, which is already true for… most scenarios outside of this one, I’d say. And the second one is you. You’re allowed to laugh, okay?”

The way he nips at the tip of my nose makes it impossible not to laugh. “Good boy,” Mike muses as I struggle to figure out why it feels so good to hear him say those words.

Without thinking about it, mostly for fear of discouraging myself, I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him tightly against me as I kiss him.

The added pressure of my arm against the small of his back is not enough to satisfy my need, so I boldly and unthinkingly lower my hand until it cups half of Mike’s backside.

Despite my lacking intentions to lose control of myself like this, I find myself feverishly grasping him, pulling him even closer as I dig my fingers into the flesh of his rear.

It’s surprisingly soft, yet surprisingly firm, and I find myself surprisingly eager to explore it further—the whole situation would best be described as, well… surprising, really, and Mike’s ardent whimpering tells me that he is not at all inclined to put an end to my endeavors.

Due to my sudden preoccupation with Mikey’s lovely behind, I am almost robbed of awareness of the fantastic experience of Mike, gently but greedily sliding his hands into my pants as he gently sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.

My grip around his waist slacks as he pulls his face back, still holding my lip firmly between his teeth, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, giving me the courage to mimic his movements.

For a moment, I am surprised to find that Mike is not wearing underwear, and then I remember who I’m in bed with. I’m not saying I should have expected this, but to pretend it’s in any way uncharacteristic, would be a lie.

His skin is smooth and warm, and the salacious moan he lets out catches in his throat, where it morphs into a gasp as my lips seek out his neck.

The urge to bite is strong, and I already know he wouldn’t mind, so…

“Fuck, Mel,” he moans sweetly as I bite down, effortlessly piercing his skin again and again, until his neck and shoulders are littered with marks.

Mike reaches behind his back, grabbing my wrist in order to drag my hand away from his ass, and towards the front of his sweatpants, where his erection strains against the fabric.

He presses my palm against the sizeable bulge while he begs me to bite him again, and I find myself more than happy to oblige.

A chuckle rolls off my tongue as soon as my teeth connect with his skin, and I softly squeeze his twitching cock, which draws the sweetest whimpers from Mike’s gorgeous lips.

“Mel, please,” he whispers, barely managing to squeeze the words out in between soft swearing and labored breaths as he puts his hand over mine and slowly slides it down his hip, into the front of his sweatpants. “I… I need you to…”

My voice is barely more than a breath as I stammer my concerns about my nerves, lack of experience and the fact that I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mikey whispers in reply, “just touch me. Please.”

Heat rises to my cheeks again as I desperately attempt to resist the urge to pull my hand back and flee the room. “I-I really don’t know what… how…”

Mike lets out a whine that is a mix between impatience and complete and utter frustration. “What do you mean you don’t know? You have one of these, what do you do with that one?”

Lying to him now would probably not be in my best interest, so I ignore the ever-increasing temperature of my face when I tell him: “I, eh… I don’t really, ehh…”

“Mas-tur-bate,” Mike says with a smile. “Jack off. Jerk off. Beat your meat. Tickle your pickle. Flog your log. I can come up with dozens of these, but I think you got the point. But, like… ever?”

I shrug, fighting the resistance of Mike’s hand against my shoulder as I try to hide my face from him. “Not never, but…”

“We can stop, if you want?” Mike says carefully, even though we both know that’s the very last thing I desire right now. “Or take a little step back?”

I shake my head surprisingly decisively. “I want to try,” I whisper. “I want to make you feel good.”

Mike leans closer to me, bringing his lips up to my ear. “Try again,” he says, the amusement in his voice clear as day, because once again he knows as well as I do that I’m not voicing my true desire.

In truth, I’m burning with violent need, and I am utterly bewildered that it’s even possible to feel nervous enough to overshadow that feeling. Yet here we are…

A low growl escapes me completely involuntarily. “I want to hear you moan and feel you squirm in my arms,” I snarl with more vigor than I originally intended. “And I want it to be because of me.”

His sweet moan, right in my ear, makes me tingle all over, and I barely manage to choke back a whimper of my own.

“Mel, please,” Mikey pleads with me again, “stop overthinking and just grab my d—”

He’s forced to end his sentence with a strangled, high-pitched noise that makes me chuckle as I wrap my fingers around his length.

He presses his forehead against mine as I cup the side of his face with my free hand, trailing my thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

The softest whimper stumbles past his slightly parted lips, and I gladly give in to the urge to touch them as well, savoring the feeling of Mikey’s hot breath against my fingertip.

When his tongue darts out, I take my own lip between my teeth, biting down as he sensually sucks my thumb into his mouth. I admire his confidence as he stares straight into my eyes—into my soul—as he does so.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, thrusting carefully into my hand.

His jaw tightens, and every sound he makes, escapes from behind gritted teeth—the way he’s grinding them almost makes more noise than he does, which I have to admit I find quite bothersome.

“Why are you holding back?” I ask quietly, as I attempt to silence the part of my mind that tells me I must be doing something wrong.

“Because I still can,” he admits reluctantly.

So I am doing s—

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, smiling devilishly as he shimmies out of his sweatpants a bit further. “But truth be told, it’s missing something, eh…”

I patiently wait for him to continue, listening to the whiny noises he makes in protest as I don’t do him the courtesy of pausing the apparently good-but-missing-something handjob I was giving him. Mike is adorable when he gets flustered, and I am more than happy to be responsible for the rosy color on his cheeks.

“Fine,” he grumbles, giving in to his desires at last. “Top drawer of the nightstand. There’s a bottle, you really can’t miss it.”

I venture to retrieve the bottle. It’s… A chuckle escapes without warning as I read the label. “Mikey, why do you own cotton candy flavored lubricant?”

“Because it doesn’t come in jelly bean flavor,” Mike says casually before bringing my attention back to the—pardon me—task at hand. “Don’t be stingy with the stuff, I like it wet.”

Rather than simply not being quite sure what to do—or how much lubricant is an appropriate amount, since I’ve never used anything like it before—I am suddenly overcome with anxiety over the fact that I am now forced to look what I’m doing.

Slowly, I lower my gaze, taking in all of Mike’s body I can along the way. I barely notice how my fangs pierce my lip again when I bite down as my eyes reach their destination.

Mike snatches the bottle from my hand and kindly helps me out by pouring some of the liquid in my hand. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I bring my hand to my mouth, quickly dipping my tongue in the small pool of fluid in my palm.

Unsurprisingly, it’s extremely sweet.

Mike spends this time glaring at me, impatiently squirming and making his displeasure known through a series of whimpers, not stopping until I wrap my hand around his cock again.

As soon as I do, a serene smile spreads across his face, and he sighs while I proceed to coat his member with the slippery substance on my hand.

“Better?” I ask him.

He nods, resting his forehead against mine again. “Fuck yes.”

Apparently, the only thing Mike thinks will stop him from becoming excessively loud now, is crushing his mouth to mine and kissing me like his life depends on it.

His hips move erratically as he thrusts almost frantically into my hand while moans, grunts and desperate whimpers stumble from his mouth into mine.

After some time, I feel his hand close around mine, guiding my grip and the rhythm of my strokes while the fingers of his other hand dig into my back nearly hard enough to draw blood.

He swears, softly at first, but becoming louder as he loses more and more of his restraint.

Even with a vision providing me with advance knowledge of what is going to happen—which is technically so predictable that I should have been able to come up with it myself—I am unprepared for the moment his orgasm arrives.

In hindsight, aiming might have been a good idea, but I honestly couldn’t think of a better place for his release than my stomach.

“Sorry for the mess,” Mike pants against my lips. I can feel the lazy smile on his face in the way his mouth moves against my skin. “Can I help you clean that up?”

The implication in the devilish question sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and before I can answer, Mike has pressed his lips to my neck, marking the beginning of a slow, teasing descent downward with a playful bite.

As he moves down my body, he turns me onto my back, leaving me helplessly mesmerized by the sight of this gorgeous man making his way down my chest, licking and sucking at my skin every chance he gets.

The feeling is absolutely unmatched by anything I have ever felt before in my life, and I can’t hold back any of the sounds that well up in my throat of their own volition.

The enthusiasm with which Mike licks his own semen off my abdomen is almost awe inspiring, and I watch him closely, barely aware of the fact that my mouth hangs open, which I’m sure must make me look like a complete and utter fool.

When he finishes his task, he shoots a glance up at me in which lies a burning question, and without thinking, I nod in reply.

Eager hands drag down my trousers and pants until my cock springs free, and for a moment, panic takes hold of me. With some effort, I remember the look on Mike’s face when he was ‘accidentally’—if one chooses to believe it was an accident, which I can’t bring myself to do—presented with an opportunity to look at my erection.

The image manages to calm me down fairly effectively.

My reaction when Mike carefully drags the tip of his tongue along the full length of my cock is admittedly quite embarrassing, but I try not to dwell on that thought, electing instead to enjoy the incredible new sensations brought to me by Mike’s mouth.

“So sensitive,” he muses quietly, trailing a teasing finger lightly down the same trajectory as his tongue. “And so pretty.”

I barely manage to resist the urge to cry out in frustration as Mike abandons my member and instead kisses my stomach, hips and thighs, putting his lips absolutely everywhere but where I so desperately want them.

His hands tease me: playful, eager fingers travel up and down my sides with the lightest touch, threatening to drive me completely beside myself with lustful yearning.

“Please!” The word barely makes it out, my voice so strangled I momentarily wonder if Mike even understood me—his devious chuckle confirming that he did.

In the pit of my stomach, pressure simmers. A pressure I probably should have familiarized myself with a lot more over the past fourteen centuries, but it’s recognizable enough as is.

There is no doubt in my mind that Mikey would succeed in bringing me to orgasm without laying another finger—or any other part of his body—directly on my cock.

Shame heats up my cheeks once again as I am forced to admit that, quite frankly, I’m about to burst.

And it is precisely this moment in which Mike decides that the best course of action is to swallow my whole length down to the root.

It's the hideously arrogant raising of that miserable eyebrow of his that ends up dragging me over the edge, and without any warning, I spill my seed into his mouth.

If dying of embarrassment was a possibility, I would have done it dozens, if not hundreds of times over the course of my existence, but none of those instances could hold a candle to what I’m feeling in this moment.

I could positively die of shame.

Mike, however, seems to be completely unfazed by the circumstances. It’s typical, of course, but it’s also infuriating.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand over my hair. “Don’t feel bad. Come on…”

The next moment, he’s next to the bed, holding out a hand.

“Shower time, Melmel,” he muses happily.

I follow him in silence. Even as he strips me of the pants I put back on before making my way over to the bathroom, or when he ushers me into the shower stall, or when he sweetly and gently caresses me all over to rinse off the remnants of our relations, I remain quiet.

Until we are back in the room, and Mike dives under the covers, leaving me standing there…

“I… Mike, I think I should g—”

“Yeah, that is, like, so not happening,” Mike says, rushing towards me with alarming speed. “You are staying, and that’s an order. Besides, we’re just getting to my favorite part.”

“Didn’t we just do your favorite part?” I ask, my voice thick with bewilderment.

“Ask our girl,” Mike chuckles. “I’m a little cuddle monster.”

He takes both of my hands in his and gently attempts to pull me along. “Back to bed, now.”

I can’t seem to move, other than the involuntary shiver that travels through my body when Mike suddenly appears behind me, pressing his smiling lips to my neck and grabbing my behind. “Are you going to listen to me, or do I have to spank my pretty boy?”

I’m not proud of the way his words bring my cock back to life, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it, either, even when Mike chuckles devilishly in my ear.

“Was it ‘pretty boy’ or ‘spank’ that’s making this happen?” he asks as he gently palms my stiffening cock.

“Both,” I admit surprisingly willingly. “And ‘my’ might have had something to do with it as well.”

“Do you want to go another round?” Mike asks carefully, no doubt to attempt to hide the heady edge to his voice, as if his growing desire isn’t literally poking me in the back right now.

“I thought you wanted to cuddle,” I whisper, gritting my teeth so as not to moan loudly as my erection pushes more and more firmly against Mike’s hand. Thank God, he’s keeping it still, otherwise I would be completely lost.

“I do,” he whines. “But look what you did to me!” He grinds his cock against my ass. It feels heavenly, as does the feeling of Mike’s breath on my neck as he chuckles when my cock twitches against his palm.

This time, I allow him to push me towards the bed again, and when we reach it, I don’t protest when he bends me over—at first.

Panic briefly washes over me as I think about what he might do to me, but I trust him. I know he would never attempt anything beyond my boundaries, so I relax again, leaning into his touch as his fingers close around my length again.

He strokes me in time with the movement of his hips against my ass as he thrusts slowly between my cheeks, pushing his cock down with his other hand.

When Mike disappears, I whine at the loss, and I try to right myself to see where he’s gone, but his hand, firmly pressing down on the small of my back, stops me. The drawer of the bedside table opens and closes, and the top of a bottle clicks. Moments later, Mikey’s hand, now slick with lubricant, closes around my cock again.

His other hand—now also quite sticky—hooks around my thigh, pulling me back a few steps to give him more space to work with, and I moan in delight as I feel my ass hit his hips again.

Mike gently shushes me, squeezing my ass in a strangely reassuring way when the feeling of his hands running down between my cheeks has me worried for a second. “Don’t worry,” he says calmly. “Just wanted a little less friction.”

I must admit, it feels even better this way. For him, too, if the higher speed of his thrusts and increasing volume of his moans are any indication.

When Mike plants a firm kiss on my spine, between my shoulder blades, I can’t fight back a loud moan as I relish the feeling of his weight on top of me. At the same time, I am terribly disappointed when he stops moving his hips.

“I want to try something, okay?” Mike says. His hand stops moving too, and much to my displeasure, it disappears altogether barely a second later. The only redeeming aspect to this unwelcome behavior, is the trail of sloppy, wet kisses Mike leaves down my back.

I resist the urge to swat him in the head when he sinks his teeth into my rear, and I heal the wound immediately in protest.

Mike, in all his silly, playful Mike-ness, retaliates by making another mark, which I treat in the same manner.

We go back and forth like that for a minute, until Mike growls in frustration. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute, Melmel.”

I can hear the pout in his voice, and a grin appears on my face as I spread my legs for Mike without thinking when he moves to grab my cock again, this time by reaching between my legs.

His arm hooks around my hips, holding me in place, and I barely get a second to wonder why.

Mike was more than right to hold me down, because when the tip of his warm, wet tongue touches the tight ring of muscle—

“Mike!” I hiss angrily while I squirm against his solid grasp. That… place has been an exit only for fourteen hundred years, and if he thinks—

A soft kiss on my bottom eases my surging anger. “Put down the pitchfork,” Mike muses, “I just want to touch you. Well… eat you. Give it an honest chance, please? If you don’t like it, you don’t like it, but I think you should try it.”

Mike certainly has a way of inciting one’s curiosity… I take a deep breath before nodding decisively, accompanying the gesture—which Mike can’t see—with an affirmative hum.

Mike continues to stroke me while his tongue gently laps at my puckered hole.

When Mike made his plea, I never pictured a scenario in which I would enjoy this, but to my shame, I must admit that the sensation is quite pleasant. Perhaps a bit more than ‘quite’.

Alright, it feels nothing short of absolutely heavenly! That doesn’t mean I am quite ready to admit that, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Mike seems to get plenty of confirmation from the way my hips involuntarily move in time with his tongue, rather than his hand.

In fact, after a while, he abandons stroking my cock altogether, using both hands to spread my ass cheeks so he can gain better access to my hole.

I occupy my own hands by pressing a pillow firmly against my face, while crying a continues stream of moans and the occasional expletive into it, and when Mike tentatively passes a fingertip over the tight ring of muscle, I find myself begging him to continue.

“Is this something you want now, or something you know you’ll want in the future?” His tone lets me know there is only one answer he will accept, and it’s not the one I think I want it to be now.

I desperately cry out into the pillow, wanting to voice my protest but finding no words, and I turn onto my back rather dramatically while Mike skillfully dodges my legs.

He remains where he is, raising himself up on his knees so he can lay his head on my hip. The sweet smile on his face as he looks up at me annoys me greatly, and I put the pillow over my face again and scream, before glaring down at him as I prop myself up on my elbows.

“If you’re not going to do to me what you know I think I want you to do to me but don’t yet, then at the very least do to me what we both know I’m incredibly amenable to you doing to me,” I growl.

Mike chuckles. “That almost sounds like you’re asking me to blow you,” he teases.

On a whim, I sit up. With the fingers of one hand twisted into his curls, I pull his head off my thigh.

Mike’s swallows audibly, his eyes wide as he stares up at me. My jaw tightens as he bites his lip, and I cock an eyebrow at him, silently asking my question.

He responds by nodding furiously, and when I attempt to pull my hand back, he grabs my wrist.

With unwavering enthusiasm, he pours some more lubricant on me before getting to work, coating my whole length using both of his hands.

It feels divine, and without thinking I ball my hands into fists to prevent myself from swearing.

Mike lets out a long, sweet moan, leaning into my touch as I unintentionally pull his hair, the noise making me all the more disinclined to relax my grip.

He looks up at me, that godforsaken eyebrow taunting me, and the rest of his face guilty of the exact same thing. He’s clearly testing my patience—and to my surprise, I find that I quite like that.

Stil, no matter how much I enjoy his defiance, my annoyance is real and intense enough to be a leading factor in my behavior.

“You know what I want,” I groan, putting pressure on the back of Mikey’s head, urging his mouth closer to its desired location.

His eyes narrow, and his lips pull into an insufferable smirk as he continues to work my length with both hands, and I attempt to keep my composure while the urge to smack that grin off his face surges to previously undiscovered heights.

Mike’s reaction has me staring at him in shock, his yearnful moan dying down as soon as he sees my face, and his expression morphing into something completely different that has his ears and cheeks turning red in a staggering tempo. It’s…

“So sweet,” I mutter as I loosen my grip on his hair and run my fingers over his scalp in circles. “Be good for me, my love. Let me feel that beautiful mouth.”

When he looks up at me again after pressing a sweet, brief kiss to the underside of my tip, the color on his cheeks has deepened.

I am unsure of the reasons behind the effect it has on me, and right now, I could frankly not care even a hair less.

He’s still challenging me, but the shy approach makes it endearing rather than infuriating. I can’t even convince myself fully that he’s putting on an act: He’s never been particularly good at hiding his true feelings.

Before we started this—all of it, from the very first kiss onward—I never would have imagined that I’d see myself in control of any of this. I pictured myself, completely at the mercy of Mike and his fickle whims. No vision I had could have prepared me for this.

For this sense of agency, and of… dominance.

For the overwhelming sense of pride, and the much more intense yearning for this sweet, eager boy between my knees than I had ever imagined possible.

“Sweet, precious Mikey,” I sigh as he delivers the smallest lick to the tip of my cock. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch him squirm beneath me. My best guess is that I’m not the only one who enjoys being called sweet things.

Where I find the words, and how on Earth I suddenly manage to not only use my voice but also seem to accurately remember fourteen centuries worth of English—though it would be remiss not to acknowledge that I never really caught on to the last two centuries or so—is beyond me, but the fact of the matter is that I do.

Words of encouragement flow freely from my lips as I gently nudge Mike’s head forward. “Wrap those pretty lips around me, sweetheart. I know you want to,” I say softly. “I’ll be so proud of you.” Mike whines, staring up at me with big, innocent eyes. “Be a good boy for me, Mikey. You’d make me so happy.”

Strangely, though the only thing missing from my words are the ones that would make this an outright plea, I don’t feel like I’m begging whatsoever, nor do I feel like I’m somehow pressuring Mike into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

Due to my lacking experience, I should be lacking every shred of confidence I feel, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t feel so at peace with this, I—

My doubts die a swift, magnificent death the second Mike wraps his lips around my throbbing erection, and I soon find myself completely bewitched by the sight of him as he works more of my length into his mouth.

He’s dropped one hand into his own lap, and the other soon moves to my thigh, where his fingers dig into my flesh every time he goes down. With every stroke, he takes me deeper, until I’m fully seated in his mouth.

When his throat tightens around me briefly, it startles me, and I involuntarily move my hips, forcing Mike to withdraw, sputtering and struggling to breathe.

I, in turn, gasp for air when he spits on my cock. There’s something wildly erotic to it, and to the thin thread of saliva that runs from my tip to the center of his bottom lip.

“Keep going, beautiful,” I gasp. In no way am I too proud to admit that I’m positively aching to feel his lips around me again. “You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy.”

Mike whimpers, briefly moving the hand with which he’s pleasuring himself quicker, before leaning forward again.

Emboldened by his enthusiasm, I put light pressure on the back of his head and gently thrust my hips forward.

His eyes open wide, and he moans desperately. The vibration created by the sound feels heavenly around my cock, and I push my hips forward again, luring another moan from Mike’s throat.

“Do you… like that?” I ask hesitantly. Surely, it’s better to be safe than sorry in these situations?

Mike hums a vigorous confirmation, his brows drawing together in a deep frown when I ask him—superfluously, apparently—if he wants me to stop.

On instinct, I move closer to the edge of the bed, tightening my grip on Mike’s hair as I thrust forward again—and again… and again.

Soon, there are tears in Mikey’s eyes, and instead of being overwhelmed by guilt, I simply can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he looks—and how incredibly impressed I am with his achievements.

Now, I am hardly under the impression that I have a particularly intimidating manhood where size is concerned, but I would happily place myself somewhat above average without adding any inches for vanity, and on top of that, I’m hardly being as gentle with Mike as I probably should be, thus, I consider my amazement justified.

Mike announces his approaching climax through a series of delectable moans and an increase in the pace at which he sucks me off, his movements stopping exactly when I’m teetering on the edge of orgasm myself.

He pulls back, until the tip of my cock rests on his tongue, and with a few strokes, he seals the deal.

I bite down on my lip while I watch as several thick ropes of my release coat his tongue, the visual so wildly arousing that I briefly worry I will never find anything else even remotely enticing ever again.

“Show me.” I mouth the words, unable to find my voice, as I trail my thumb lightly along Mike’s bottom lip. Audible or not, my words seem to light a devious little fire under him, and after heeding my request, he promptly raises himself up, supporting himself with his hands on my thighs.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard as Mike leans forward, pressing his lips to mine with vigor.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to be disgusted with myself and my behavior later, but right now I want nothing more than to taste myself on Mike’s tongue—I get slightly more than I bargained for when I open my mouth and feel my thick salty seed flow from Mike’s mouth into mine.

At first, I can’t bring myself to swallow, resisting the urge to spit until an idea takes root in my brain.

I can see the apology on Mike’s lips, but before he speaks, I put him on his back on the mattress, taking a moment to rake my eyes over his chest and abs.

Without wasting any time, I lick the evidence of his orgasm off his stomach, and straddle his hips, bringing my nose to his.

There’s no need for further provocation: Mike opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue so I can deliver on my silent promise.

This should feel disgusting. By pretty much any standard, but most of all mine—or rather; the ones that have been pounded into me over the years, either figuratively or, if I was particularly unfortunate, literally.

Instead, a serenity that borders on a sense of heavenly bliss washes over me while Mike and I go back and forth spitting a combination of our semen and saliva into each other’s mouths…

I—

Mike chuckles and falls back to the mattress, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling me down on top of him. “If I came in while you were trying to watch a movie and I randomly spit a fat load of cum in your mouth, you probably wouldn’t appreciate that,” he says. His words seem so out of place that at first, I struggle to wrap my head around them, until I realize I must have looked… I couldn’t tell you how I looked, exactly, but my face must have expressed my thoughts in a way that prompted Mikey to launch into an explanation. “Welcome to your first ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’-moment. It won’t be the last.”

“That doesn’t dispute the accusation that it was, in fact, disgusting. At all,” I mutter against the skin of his neck, hiding my scorching—and therefore probably beet-red—face from him.

Mike sits up again, wrapping his arms around my waist as he does, pulling me even closer. “Melmel… Sex is kinda disgusting. And embarrassing.” He punctuates his words with small kisses to my shoulder and neck. “And sticky, and sweaty, and messy.”

“You might want to put a positive spin on this,” I grumble. “Soon.”

“The point is,” he replies, pulling my head off his shoulder and holding it in both hands so that I’m forced to look at him. “When you’re with the right people, none of that matters.”

One look into his eyes, and I know…

“Well, I’m glad I’m with the right people then,” I murmur, leaning in for another kiss.

When Mike breaks away, he suggests we take another shower, and I’m hardly inclined to decline the offer. He wasn’t exactly lying about ‘sticky’ and ‘sweaty’ in his list of less-than-ideal side effects to sexual relations.

This time, Mike is the one that goes strangely quiet while we clean ourselves—and, both notably and regrettably, not each other—up.

“Mikey?” I ask carefully. “What’s wrong?”

My heart breaks when Mike drops to the floor, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, crawling back into the corner and sitting there with his arms locked around his knees, vigorously shaking his head in reply to my question.

“Mike,” I say sternly as my attempts to pluck him off the floor fail miserably. I do, however, manage to pull him off the wall just far enough that I can sit down behind him, and when I lock my legs around him, he knows he won’t be going anywhere, so he gives in to my touch. “You will talk to me.”

When he moves again, I let him, both knowing that he might be a fool, but not such a big one that he expects to be able to run from me, and knowing—vision-wise—he won’t try. He simply wants to turn the shower head our way because he’s cold.

He sits down in my lap, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, waiting patiently until he feels ready to speak about what’s going on with him.

Another deep, shaky breath, and he starts talking: “This just took a turn… And you’re so new to all of this, I never thought… I should have… But I couldn’t have known, so… And everything was going well, and it was all good, and I was teasing you and so stoked to be showing you all these new, wonderful things and… And then things got turned around, somehow… and suddenly you were… you… And I… I…”

I let him cry for a while, just holding him, tucking him tightly against my chest as I smooth my hands over his back and sides, repeating the phrase ‘shh, it’s okay’ more times than I care to admit because I simply can’t come up with anything else.

After a while, his breathing steadies, and the sobbing comes to an end. “I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not in a ‘I have something to apologize for’ kind of way, but more like… ‘I feel bad for dumping this on you all of a sudden’ kind of way.”

“That’s alright,” I reply truthfully. “All I want is to take care of you and to make you feel better.”

Mike laughs through the last of his tears. “That’s great,” he says, “because you’re going to have to.”

“Just tell me how,” I say. “And, if at all possible, try to explain why?”

“Right,” Mike says on a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “First off, I shouldn’t have let this happen. Like…” He throws his head back and lets out a frustrated cry. “Okay. During that blowjob just now—I don’t blame you if you didn’t even notice, but…”

“I remember suddenly feeling far more… in charge?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mike nods almost enthusiastically. “I really wouldn’t have blamed you—you looked pretty overstimulated—but, damn, I’m glad you noticed. Eh, long story short, you ended up Domming me—dominating, I mean, like… the kinky kind. And you were really good at it, too! So no worries about that, okay? But I should have stopped you, because I know I’m quick to slip into subspace—I’ll explain that later—and it was stupid… well, a little naïve, I guess, of me to think it wouldn’t happen, and…” He takes a moment to catch his breath, and I rub his back while he does.

“A little longer,” I say calmly when he tries to continue his story. My visions are exceptionally helpful in this type of situation, and I don’t want Mike to start hyperventilating.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely after a few more deep breaths. “The… I just… I freaked out because I need someone to take care of me—you, to be specific—but I should be the one taking care of you after your first time… Things just got a little messy.”

“Is there any reason we can’t be taking care of each other?” I ask, taking a moment to think about my own needs at this time. The very first one is for Mikey to feel better. “I think that, after this shower, I would like to watch a movie in bed, and stay very, very close to you.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs happily. “That works for me.”

When we finish our shower, I dry myself off quickly, only to find Mike still standing next to me, soaking wet, when I’m done. He hesitantly holds his towel out to me.

“Please take care of me,” he mumbles, his voice small and soft. He’s avoiding eye contact, biting his lip and constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I never want you to be afraid to ask me that, Mike,” I say slowly, enunciating every word carefully as I take the towel from him.

There’s something wonderful about this. I dry every part of Mike’s gorgeous body with extreme care. When I first resist the urge to press my lips to his skin, Mike laughs.

“You can still kiss me, Melot,” he muses. “Actually, I’d really like it if you did.”

At that moment, things finally connect in my head. “You need to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, nodding slowly. “Put bluntly, I need to know you see me as more than the piece of meat you throatfucked back there.”

Before I can respond, he continues: “I know you don’t see me that way! I mean, maybe you did when you—”

“I was mostly very impressed with your skills,” I admit reluctantly. It’s my turn to blush once again. At least we’re both suffering that terrible affliction this time.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Decades of practice.”

“I think you have put in more hours than most people your age,” I joke before nipping at the tip of his nose.

Mike glares at me. “Well, apparently I have put in more hours than some people your age, so…”

“Hey!” I stick my tongue out at him. “Stop bullying me, or I will—”

“Whatever you say next,” Mike interjects quickly, “never threaten to skip aftercare. Just… little PSA, I guess.”

“Oh, I was simply going to suggest we put on an episode of Downton Abbey and I point out all the historical inaccuracies,” I say plainly.

Mike shudders. “That would actually be worse…”

Mere seconds after we finally get settled in bed, there’s a knock on the door—of course, a few seconds after that, there’s an actual knock on the door. One that isn’t a figment of my… Well, I suppose both ‘figment’ and ‘imagination’ would be inaccurate.

Still, Mike and I look at each other, neither of us in any way inclined to actually see whose unfortunate timing we’re dealing with.

“Melot, can I see you for a second?” It’s Marshall.

Even though I’m wearing pants, I scramble to find the nearest pair of sweatpants and put them on—after Mike gives it a quick inspection. Quick thinking on his part, I must admit.

When I open the door, I open it wide enough to speak to Marshall, but not so wide that he can look into the room.

It makes him chuckle. “I’ve seen him in much worse states than simply naked,” he muses, but doesn’t otherwise protest the minimal state of ajar-ness of the door. “August and I thought you could use this.” He holds out a tray. One side is loaded with snacks—cheese, fruit, crackers… the lack of jellybeans might disappoint Mike—while the other side holds two bottles of water, glasses, and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade—Mike’s favorite. “Keep him warm and hydrated. And see if he wants to eat something. He’ll say he’s not hungry, but… Take care of him, okay?”

“I will,” I promise as I let go of the door to take the tray from Marshall. As soon as I do, someone—must be Mike—yanks the door open. He narrowly misses me as he practically jumps into Marshall’s arms.

“Thank you,” Mike mutters as Marshall hugs him tight to his chest, indeed not caring that Mike is still very much completely nude. “I love you.”

“I know,” Marshall replies with a somber smile. “I love you too. Always have, always will. Go be with your… boyfriend?”

“Official status TBD,” Mike chuckles as he releases Marshall from his grasp. “But at the very least I think we can say we’re hooking up.”

“Well, whatever the case, take care of each other. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappears before either of us can say another word, so we take the food inside and close the door behind us again, making sure to lock it as well.

“What happened between you two?” I ask carefully as we get comfortable under the covers.

Mike shrugs. “Nothing happened. It’s like… We’re as close as we’ve always been, just in a different way. We could never be in a monogamous relationship with each other, that would be weird, for some reason, but with Sweetcheeks in the mix, some old stuff has been coming back, and we’re figuring that out. Not in a very proactive way, I have to admit.” He picks a cube of cheese off the plate.

“So I might have to share you with another person, then?” I ask, jokingly poking at his ribs. The thought should devastate me. Shred my insides like a swarm of angry wasps is wreaking havoc on them.

Instead, I feel completely calm.

“I’m a bottomless pit of love,” Mike says with his mouth already full—yet he stuffs three more cubes of cheese and a few slices of cured sausage in there.

“You know, there’s fruits and vegetables on this plate, right?” I say when he swallows the obscene amount of food—which I’m sure he considered ‘a bite’.

“Fine, you have discovered the limits of my affection,” he jokes. “Hey!”

The first grape I chuck at his face bounces off his forehead, and I catch it before it hits the plate again. On the second try, Mike catches it in his mouth.

The third lands directly in his lap—I can’t seem to come to an agreement with myself as to whether or not that happened on purpose, but I happily put the situation to good use by retrieving the rogue fruit with my mouth, not neglecting to press a teasing kiss to Mikey’s soft cock.

“No,” he warns me, drawing out the ‘o’ as he shakes his head. “I mean… Yes! But no.”

For a moment—one of the kind that sets your soul alight and seems to last forever—we just smile at each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.

In my entire existence, I have never felt as safe as I do now.

Or as loved.

Or as at home.

Or as at peace.

“You were right,” I whisper after a while, as I let go of my fears, and my doubts, and my past.

Just for now.

And for him.

Only for him.

“I’m entirely unsurprised,” he chuckles. “But, eh… what about?”

I swallow hard before looking him right in the eye.

“I like boys.”

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tatumrileyslover · 1 year ago

Text

Shattered Unity

[Fragment One: I] [Fragment One: II]

Synopsis: Jill Roberts had everything, a perfect house, with a perfect family and a perfect little sister, who she cared for far more than she realised.

Pairings: Jill Roberts x Sister! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: nothing so far :) some sibling fluff

34 Elm Street epitomized the pinnacle of luxury in Woodsboro, an affluent community coveted by all. The neighborhood itself exuded an aura of safety, lined with sycamores and white picket fences. In the middle of it all stood the Roberts household, bustling with the loud sounds of a typical Monday morning.

Jill rolled over in her plush bed, pulling her pillow over her ears to block out the loud noise of her alarm. Letting out a deep groan, her arms fumbled around until they found the snooze button. Her eyelids fluttered shut again, aiming to steal a few more precious moments of sleep until a sudden crash echoed from downstairs.

"Sweetheart!" Her mother's voice reverberated through the house. "Are you okay?"

Jill could hear her little sister mumbling something in response, probably attempting to make herself breakfast. She always had this habit of striving for independence. Jill stretched, her long black hair cascading as she released it from the loose bun of the night before. Running her fingers through the tangles, she slipped into a pair of jeans and rummaged through her wardrobe in search of a shirt. As Jill swung her door open, the sound of small feet scampering up the stairs reached her ears. It seemed her sister had an uncanny sixth sense for detecting when Jill was awake.

"Jill!" Her little form came barreling around the corner, running toward Jill's feet. Her face lit up when she saw her sister. "I made you pancakes," she announced proudly. Jill laughed and asked if that was what the crash was. The little one hid her face in Jill's shirt, her speech muffled by the fabric. "I might have dropped the pan." Jill ruffled her hair before manoeuvring around her to start going downstairs.

The kitchen bore the aftermath of a culinary hurricane—flour dusted every available surface, eggshells added a crunch underfoot, and a symphony of pots and bowls occupied the sink. Amidst this chaos sat a plate of hastily assembled pancakes, syrup awaiting its inevitable deployment. As Jill cautiously surveyed the scene, her foot met an unexpected puddle of milk, sending a shiver up her spine as the sock soaked up the liquid.

Suppressing a sigh, Jill turned her attention to her sister, ready to issue a gentle reprimand. However, before she could speak, (Y/n) beat her to it with a spirited declaration. "Don't worry, Jill! I'm cleaning it all up after I eat. I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat before Kirby picks you up." Her bright smile melted any lingering frustration, reminding Jill why (Y/n) was her undeniable soft spot.

"You're such a little troublemaker, (Y/n)," Jill joked, pulling off her damp sock. She walked to the kitchen table, grabbing a few pancakes to smother in syrup. (Y/n) climbed onto the stool beside her big sister, looking at her intently. "Speaking of Kirby, do you think I can say hi when she comes to pick you up? I want to show her the picture I drew of us three!" Jill looked over, shocked at her sister, talking with a mouthful of pancake. "You drew a picture of me?" (Y/n) corrected her, saying it was all three of them together, but Jill's mind was elsewhere. All (Y/n) ever drew was puppies and rainbows—childish things. Never had Jill seen her draw a person, never mind her.

Jill's fork hovered mid-air, laden with syrup-soaked pancake, as she stared at (Y/n) with wide eyes. The surprise etched across her face deepened, a mix of disbelief and genuine awe. For a moment, she was caught in the realization that her little sister had moved beyond the realm of fluffy animals and sunny scenes, venturing into something far more personal.

"You drew a picture of me?" Jill repeated, as if the words needed confirmation. The syrup dripped slowly back onto the plate, forgotten in her slackened grip. (Y/n)'s innocent nod was met with an almost incredulous smile from Jill, as if the simple act of portraying her in a drawing was a revelation.

"(Y/n), that's... incredible," Jill finally managed, her tone carrying a mix of surprise and warmth. The thought that her sister had chosen to illustrate her, amid all the subjects she could have picked, lingered in the air like a sweet revelation.

"I'll show it to you!" (Y/n)'s syrup-sticky hands seized Jill's, leading her in an eager ascent up the stairs, their footsteps an echo of shared laughter. The little haven at the top, (Y/n)'s room, painted in every shade of pink. It was a sanctuary of innocence, adorned with unicorns, magical creatures, and the captured moments of their life.

The walls told stories in crayon and glitter drawings, tales of a childhood untainted by the complexities of the world beyond. Pictures of Jill and (Y/n), frozen in time, grinned back at them. Jill couldn't help but notice the subtle nostalgia woven into the room, a familiar echo of her own youth. The glow-in-the-dark stars overhead seemed to promise dreams as pure and boundless as the universe itself.

Most of the toys strewn across the floor were remnants of Jill's childhood, a nostalgic scatter of innocence now usurped by time. Yet, what tugged at Jill's heartstrings most was the teddy bear lying on the bed, a mirror image of the one resting in her own room. (Y/n) never ventured anywhere without that bear. It was a shared relic, a testament to a bond forged in the simplicity of happier times.

As Jill sank into memories, the room became a vessel of echoes. Most vivid was the recollection of a day long past, a shopping trip with her father to find the perfect gift for baby (Y/n). The brown bear, soft and fluffy, had captured Jill's heart. She pleaded with her father to let her have one too. That day marked the last fragment of happiness she could recall with him.

A small shake brought Jill back to the present. She found herself gently pushed to sit on the edge of the bed. (Y/n) darted to the desk by the door, the chaotic rustle of pages scattering in her wake. Amidst the flurry, a small sound of excitement at her discovery. (Y/n) rushed back, concealing a page behind her back, anticipation dancing in her eyes.

Jill was presented with a page, a kaleidoscope of waxy stripes in every imaginable color. Amidst the vibrant chaos, three figures took center stage. Two of them stood at a similar height, towering protectively over a smaller figure nestled between them. A soft smile graced Jill's lips as she looked at her younger sister, who returned the gaze with anticipation sparkling in her eyes.

Gently, Jill pulled (Y/n) into her arms, the paper the only barrier between then. She whispered softly in her sister's ear, "Kirby's going to love this."

Kirby's car rushed into the driveway of the Roberts household, letting out a loud beep that echoed in the quiet neighborhood. As Jill stepped onto the front porch, the car's blaring music masked the sounds around them.

"Before you get in the car, you need to promise not to kill me!" Kirby shouted over the music, quickly turning it off as Jill approached.

"Why?" Jill asked, walking closer to the passenger door, while her sister eagerly ran toward the car. "What did you do?"

"Trevor called me last night," Kirby explained, and Jill's face twisted in disgust. "Why is he calling you?" She leaned down, poking her head through the car window, while (Y/n) stood on her tiptoes to get Kirby's attention.

"Because you won't take his calls, he knows I have you here and he wants to know," Kirby said. Jill opened the door with a roll of her eyes, and Kirby shifted her focus to (Y/n), greeting her with a warm, "Hi pumpkin!"

Ignoring Kirby's attempt to divert the conversation, Jill pressed, "Know what?" Kirby's eyes darted away from (Y/n), who stood eagerly waiting to share something. "How upset you are." She finished.

Olivia hopped into the backseat of the car, engaging Jill in conversation about Trevor. While they chatted, Kirby shifted her attention to the younger Roberts sister, who stood patiently at the door. With an exuberant greeting, she handed Kirby a piece of paper, saying, "I drew this for you!" Kirby smiled at the young girl, touched by the fact that her best friend's younger sister cared enough to create a drawing. "It’s me, you, and Jill," she explained, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

"It’s amazing, (Y/n)!" Kirby examined the drawing carefully before placing it on the dashboard. "When I get home from school, it’s going straight up on my refrigerator," she promised with a smile. (Y/n) beamed at this news. Kirby glanced at the time; if they didn’t leave now, they’d be late. “We have to go, pumpkin. Have a good day at school!” she called out as she watched (Y/n) run back into the house, waving back to the girls as she did and Jill shut the car door.

Olivia rolled her eyes from the back seat, letting out a scoff. She had something against Jill’s sister ever since she accidentally broke her cell two years ago. Olivia opened her mouth to state something when Jill quickly turned to face her, her stare cold and harsh, quickly shutting Olivia up. She huffed, “I wasn’t going to say anything about your sister!” Her arms raised in the air in defense.

Jill let a small smirk grace her lips; she could see Olivia was lying. “Really!” She turned back to the front, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. Jill wanted to see what kind of stupid story Olivia would attempt to create to dig herself out of the hole she made. “What was it you were going to say?”

Olivia stumbled over her words, desperately trying to come up with a story that would fit, but she couldn’t. “Fine!” She bowed her head in defeat. “But it’s not a crime to dislike your sister; she's just so...” She trailed off, seeing Jill's glare. “Clingy.”

The pulsating beat of a song jolted all three girls from their conversation. Jill's cellphone buzzed near her feet, prompting her to fish it out of her bag. As Olivia grumbled about the ringtone, Jill examined the caller ID.

"Why is Jenny Randall calling me?"

Both Kirby and Olivia shrugged, as Jenny wasn't someone they interacted with frequently.

"I don't know. I don't like Jenny Randall. She threw up on me at Tony Marshall's luau," Olivia interjected. Kirby rolled her eyes, and as Jill answered the phone, "That luau was freshman year!" Kirby turned to Olivia, who threw up her hands, “I didn't say my anger was rational!"

Both girls redirected their attention to Jill upon hearing her asking about the caller. Kirby returned her focus to the road, stealing glances at Jill's now irritated expression. "What does she want?" Jill ignored her friend's question, continuing to reprimand the mysterious caller. "Where’s Jenny?" Confusion deepened on the faces of Kirby and Olivia. Was Jenny Randall attempting to prank call Jill? Jill lowered the volume of the car's music. "Who is this?"

Kirby listened intently to the voice on the other end. It resonated deep and rough, like gravel on the highway. Certainly not Jenny Randall. Panic crept over Jill's face as she abruptly declared, “I’m hanging up.”

After a brief pause, Jill turned to her friends. "That was so weird. I just got a prank call from Jenny Randall." Olivia promptly interrupted with her own story, but Jill remained silent, appearing uninterested. "Jenny Randall is weird. Her and her little Marnie the Carny friend are freaks!" Glancing at Jill, who sat somewhat diminished in her seat and gazing out the window, Kirby sensed Jill might be anxious about her sister after such a peculiar call. Olivia continued to ramble on, it was very clearly not helping Jill. Kirby sighed before trying to reassure Jill.

"It's massacre week. People go looney, remember?"

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regsuns · 6 months ago

Text

Children.

A short excerpt that I have yet to finish, but I hope you like it!

Harry Potter | About 600 words | No pairing (yet) | Canon-divergence

WARNING: Implied Death, Talks of Death

—

Set in the summer after 6th year, the temporary residents of Number 12 Grimmauld Place were disturbed by unexpected guesses. Albus Dumbledore, and a shell of the mother of the boy who let terror into Hogwarts, Narcissa Malfoy.

“Sir?”

“I’m sorry for intruding…” Dumbledore is talking, Harry knows he should listen to understand the purpose of their arrival but his eyes stay on Narcissa Malfoy’s frail form, which is getting more rigid by the second.

“...I believe it’s suffice to say that—”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone pauses, all attention on Narcissa Malfoy as she walks over to stand before Ron. Harry jumps from his seat, his wand ready and prepared to attack. In his peripheral vision, he sees the Order doing the same with wary looks. More so on the Weasley clan. Ron stays frozen and waits for the predator to bite.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she says in a low tone, “Is it alright if I ask you to move seats? I…I need to check something behind you.”

A beat and another, before Ron nods and obliges in his shock, taking a seat far away from the mother of the bully of their childhoods.

It’s only then that Harry remembers Mrs. Malfoy’s lack of a wand and begrudgingly lowers his. The rest in the room follow. They all watch in silence as she relocates the chair Ron used to occupy, turning it sideways by hand to reveal what it has hidden since their occupation of his godfather’s childhood home.

The Black Family tapestry in all its glory.

There is a pause until the Malfoy lady suddenly gasps. A low whine comes out of her and her shoulders start to shake. In the blink of an eye, she falls like a house of cards. Harry, who is closest to her, reaches out to catch her on instinct and holds her to stay upright, “Mrs. Malfoy?”

She doesn’t answer, her eyes glued on the tapestry. Harry realizes with a start that her grey eyes, not so much unlike her son's, bear tears. Curiosity consumes him, and he follows her gaze.

He finds his godfather, Sirius, first, interwoven between the branches and scorched beyond repair without magic. Yet, there is no denying the disinherited son and the skull of death covering his face behind the sear, just like the one plastered on his brother, Regulus, connected as brothers by blood right next to him. Harry looks away, not daring to think about it as he searches the tapestry.

Ironically, he sees Bellatrix Lestrange next, her husband’s name below hers. Harry feels instant rage at the sight of his godfather’s murderer, Sirius’ own cousin, of all people. But then he spots the branches connected to the maniac’s name and follows them to find the cause of Mrs. Malfoy’s collapse. The next person after Bellatrix goes by the name of Andromeda who interestingly, like Sirius, had had her face burnt off the tree. Harry wonders if it had something to do with the name below Andromeda; Tonks doesn’t sound like a pureblood name when he thinks about it. Related to Auror Tonks, maybe? Finally, Harry sees Mrs. Malfoy’s name. And as expected her name is interwoven with Lucius’. Both of their faces are clear of grime and singe. Their blonde hair is a stark contrast to the emerald green of the tapestry.

Somewhere in his mind, a bell rings.

Harry looks down by pure chance and blinks.

He stares for a long time.

Distantly, he can feel the Weasley matriarch taking the crying Mrs. Malfoy away from his arms, murmuring soothing words to calm her down. He can hear Ron and Hermione stepping up beside him and his name coming out of their mouths, worried. He can taste metal in his mouth—blood, his brain supplies, he had bit his tongue—and wishes he didn’t.

—

That's it. Can you see where I'm going with this? I'm not, I was running into this blind. ^^ Thank you for reading, see you next time! 💌

#harry potter #draco malfoy #order of the phoenix #narcissa malfoy #the black family #drarry #but we're not there yet #tw death talk #regsuns

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kaylinalexanderbooks · 8 months ago

Text

Find the word

Thanks @mk-writes-stuff for the tag!

My words: lost, hunt, beyond, awake

Your words: loud, lead, light, letter

Tagging @faeriecinna @mrbexwrites @lesleymoonwriter @i-can-even-burn-salad @dyrewrites @writeouswriter @sleepyowlwrites @elsie-writes @revenantlore @mysticstarlightduck + anyone else!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Keep reading for:

Opening of TSP

Úrsula's daily life

Lexi is in Alium and very confused

Kelsey is low-key freaking out

Lost - from The Secret Portal Part One

Kwasiyaa screamed at the explosion behind her, but the sound that escaped her throat was masked by the deafening eruption. In her state, she lost control of her cloak that she covered over herself and her husband, rendering them temporarily visible. Her ears rang as Dylan wrapped his arms around her. Kwasiyaa breathed slowly as Dylan patted her messy dark hair. She stroked her swollen belly to remind herself why she was doing this. In what could only be a temporary hesitation, Kwasiyaa ensured her cloak concealed them as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder with her free hand. She gave Dylan’s hand a squeeze with the other, and they were off again. The two ran across the road, away from home and toward the dense, dark forest that Kwasiyaa knew so well. She looked back to where Atsila fought against an army set solely against her. Guilt pierced Kwasiyaa’s stomach. She couldn’t let it distract her—she had to keep the cloak steady. She could worry about her sister when she and Dylan were safe.

Hunt - from School of the Legends Year One

“Good evening, darling.” “Good evening,” Úrsula replied. Mamãe didn’t bother closing the door as she stepped inside Úrsula’s room. “How is Papai?” “Papai is tired,” said Mamãe, kneeling down in front of Úrsula, setting the tray on the floor. “He has been working extra shifts.” “Is he happy?” Úrsula asked. Mamãe sighed. “Yes. He is happy.” Something told Úrsula that her mother wasn't being entirely honest, but she didn’t want to press her. “So,” said Mamãe, “what have you been up to today?” “I’m almost finished with my book,” said Úrsula. “How wonderful!” “I’m at a really intense part,” said Úrsula. “The main characters are being hunted by a vampire.” “A vampire?” Úrsula nodded. “Well, then I should let you get back to it.” Mamãe began to stand. “Do you need anything else?” Úrsula bit her lip. “After I’m done with this book, I’ll only have four more of the last set you got me.” “Would you like me to get you more books?” Mamãe asked as she began to walk out the door. “Yes, please!”

Beyond - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

A movement in nearby teal shrubbery caused me to jump, but even more shocking was the creature that emerged: a bright blue hedgehog. Wait, hedgehogs aren’t native to America, right? Was this someone’s pet that got loose because it was mad it was dyed blue? That was the only rational explanation, unless I was somehow in Australia. It seemed like the type of place to have blue hedgehogs. The creature stared at me for a moment before scampering off. I stood and immediately fell over again. My legs were weak. I crawled to the nearest tree—its texture too smooth to be normal bark—and pulled myself up. “ASH!” I screamed as loud as I could. An unsettling sensation shuddered in my chest when there was no response. She had to be here, I reasoned. She had to go through that same tunnel I went through, whatever that was. I looked around for any other signs of humanoid life. Still dizzy, enervated, and using the tree for balance, I turned myself around and was relieved to see structures beyond the trees. Civilization.

Awake - from The Secret Portal Part One (Kelsey POV)

My head ticked, making a noise against the bed. Carmen fell silent. “She’s awake.” Shit! I screamed at my stupid nervous system but still didn’t move. “Are you sure?” Jedi asked. “You didn’t hear that?” “She was twitching earlier; it is likely just a tick that persists when asleep.” “She’s too tense to be unconscious.” “I noticed that as well, but how could she?” Jedi asked. “It’s only been about twenty minutes.” “She must be powerful,” Carmen said. “More than we’ve ever seen, I’d bet. Probably a higher-Leveled Class 4.” She sighed thoughtfully. “Well, that means she’s been listening to our entire conversation. Yay.” She sighed. “Either way, we’re saving her for last. Get the average powers out of the way, see what she’s made of.” Despite them knowing that I was awake, I didn’t move. I tried to figure out what in hell’s name they were talking about. Powerful? What type of power were they referring to? And what the hell does she mean she’s gonna save me for last?!

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koolkat9 · 11 months ago

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Royal Red Bros Week 2024 - Day3

@royalredbrosweek

Prompt: Day 3: Spirits/Ghosts || Secrets

Rating: T

Relationship: England + Canada

Word Count: 841

Read on AO3

Bumps in the Night

It was an old house. There were bound to be creaks and thumps from old plumbing or animals that had made a home in its walls. But the longer he stayed there, and the more he listened, he started to hear laughter along with what sounded like a child running.

Arthur was freaked out at first. As much as he had an interest in the occult and supernatural, actually experiencing it made him tremble. But he didn’t have the funds to move, and it wasn’t like it ever went beyond sounds. So Arthur stayed put and eventually got used to the strangeness.

But still, curiosity remained.

“Hello?” Arthur called out one night, just before going to bed. The spirits seemed most active in the night. “I know you’re there. We’re going to be stuck together for a little while it seems, and well…I figured we should know each other a bit.”

There was no reply. After a few more tries, he went to bed. There was no thumping or laughing that night.

Weeks went by, and each night, he called out to the spirits only to get no answers and a quiet night. He was about to give up when his last call was answered by his closet door swinging open.

Arthur jumped. Cautiously, he rose from his bed and made his way over. In the closet, on the top shelf, an old rag doll with sandy yellow yarn for hair and blue button eyes sat. How had he not noticed it before?

The poor thing was worn, dirty, one of its legs barely hanging on by a thread. Having always had a soft spot for dolls, Arthur decided to fix it up. Perhaps it could be a peace offering for the spirit or spirits in the house.

His next few days off were spent working on this doll, giving it a wash, replacing its split yarn hair, making it a new outfit, and most importantly stitching that leg back up. It almost looked good as new when he was done.

Having worked late into the night on the finishing touches of his project, Arthur started to node off at this desk, body too heavy to drag to bed.

“Um…S-Sir…?” a voice called. The voice of a child.

Arthur groaned, burying his face into his arm.

“Sir. You should get to bed.”

Arthur bolted up, his sleepy brain remembering that he was supposedly living alone. “Wha–Where?”

“Sorry…S-Sorry,” the voice whimpered.

“It’s alright,” Arthur drawled out, looking around groggily. “I assume you’re one of my surprise roommates.”

“Uh…I-I guess?”

“Can you show yourself or…”

“I’m down here.”

Arthur quirked a brow, looking around once more until his eyes landed on the doll.

A whisper came from the doll: “My name is Matthew.”

Arthur blinked. He shouldn’t have been so shocked considering he had been aware of the spirits for over a month now.

“Wh-What’s yours?” Matthew continued.

“Uh…Arthur.”

The two stared at each other in silence. Or at least, Arthur thought Matthew was staring. Though the boy’s voice emanated from the doll, it remained in a slouch position, mouth still drawn in its stitched smile.

“I-I’ll try to get my siblings to quiet down for you,” Matthew finally said. “S-S-So you don’t have to leave or anything. It will be like we aren’t even here–”

“Slow down lad.”

“Sorry…I’m sorry…”

Arthur smiled softly. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You can just relax. I’m not mad at you or your siblings. I have just been curious about what exactly has been going on. How many of you are there?”

Matthew hesitated for a moment. “Four of us. Including me.”

“I see. Brothers, sisters?”

“J-Just brothers. I-I don’t know if I should be speaking about this.”

“Why not?”

“I…I-I…”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay," Arthur sighed, rising to his feet. "Well anyway. I should get to bed.”

“Oh…right…”

“Don’t sound so down. You can always talk to me whenever I’m around. I’ve always wanted to meet some ghosts actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Arthur collapsed onto his bed. “Now I don’t know if ghosts need sleep, but I do, so you should rest a bit too.”

“O-Okay…I don’t have to go back into the closet do I?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

Silence rested over them once more. Arthur continued to watch the doll, and though it did not move and its expression never changed, it was as if he could feel the sadness of the boy possessing it. He got up and picked up the doll, laying it on the other side of the bed.

“There,” Arthur gave a triumphant huff, “I’m sure that’s far more comfortable than a hard desk.”

“Really, I’m fine. It was far more comfortable than the–”

“Shhh. Rest. Now that I’m here, I’m going to make sure you're comfortable. Spirit or not, everyone deserves that.”

Arthur tucked Matthew in.

“Goodnight Matthew,” he murmured.

“Goodnight…”

There was no more argument from the little doll.

#hetalia #hws #royal red bros #royalredbrosweek #royalredbrosweek2024 #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #ghost au #hws england #hws canada #my writing

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 2 years ago

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Beyond the Lights AU, Pt 6

Content warning: suicide attempt, hospitalization

After leaving the hospital, Kara doesn't expect to hear from Lena or her team again. She does her best to ignore the reporters outside her home, and studiously avoids the tabloids that cling to the story of Lena's latest attempt to end her life. This time, there is no way to spin the aftermath, no excuse that can be given that wouldn't be worse than the truth.

This Kara knows, and so she throws herself into work. Her colleagues, at least, know better than to tease this time. Kara feels like a vice has tightened around her chest, pressing tight and ready to burst at the slightest provacation. At home, more than one glass meets its end thrown against a wall or cabinet, but anywhere else, she remains collected, barely.

All she can think about is Lena, dreading that her friend-- if that's what they even are-- has been thrown right back to the wolves. So it comes as a surprise when she comes home to a message on her answering machine from the psychiatric unit of National City Regional Hospital.

"Kara, hi--" Lena sounds hesitant, nervous. "I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I was hoping... I'm at-- well, I've... been getting some help, and I was hoping you'd come and see me. I-- there's something I want you to know, but not over the phone."

Lena pauses, taking a breath that Kara can hear shaking, even over the line.

"I hope you'll come, but... I understand if you don't."

Another beat.

"Bye."

The message clicks its end. Kara stares at the machine, shocked at what she's heard. In the end, she's helpless to resist the pull that tugs her back to the hospital. The nurses don't seem to care that she's there for Lena, for which Kara is grateful-- treating Lena like any other patient could only be good for her.

When she's shown to the visitation room, Lena is already there, seated at a table with a small stack of marble composition books in front of her, gripped in both hands. When Lena looks up at her, it's with a mix of hope and trepidation. Kara doesn't know how to react, so she simply takes a seat opposite her.

"Thank you for coming," Lena says softly. She swallows audibly. "I-- I wasn't sure you would."

"I wasn't sure either," Kara admits. "But I guess I have something to say too." She takes a breath. "I'm sorry, for the way I left things. The way I left you. I just-- I can't--"

"No, no. Stop. Please. That's what I wanted to tell you." Lena meets her gaze. "I want to tell you that I understand."

Kara holds her gaze, waiting.

"Ever since we met, you've been the reason I held off as long as I did. I was a bomb waiting to go off-- Edge only sped a fuse that was already lit. But allowing you to be the my reason for living wasn't fair to you, or-- or to myself."

A tear slips from the corner of Lena's eye, quickly wiped away by long fingers. Kara notices that the bandages on her wrists are gone, leaving the sutures of her injuries plain to see. Seeing them drops the bottom of Kara's stomach out from under her.

"I'm sorry," Lena whispers. "I'm sorry I put you in that position, and I'm sorry I let myself get so lost from myself that I couldn't see the worth of living-- for myself."

Kara wipes away her own tears. She nods, accepting the apology as graciously as she can without breaking down. In a bid to divert attention from her, she nods towards the notebooks.

"What are those?"

Lena blinks, surprised as though she had forgotten they were in her hands. She glances down, then inhales deeply, gathering courage.

"The other reason I asked you here." She slides the books across the table towards Kara. When she nods, Kara takes the top one and opens it. Inside, she finds every page filled to brimming with words, inscribed in graceful, looping script.

Upon a cursory read, they seem to be poems, but as Kara looks closer, the words seem to take on new shape.

"Is this--?" Excitement fills Kara for the first time in weeks.

"Lyrics," Lena confirms with a nod, a small smile on her lips. "The first few days I was here, I slept. Part of it was the meds, and-- what happened. But, once I woke up..."

Lena looks around her, and in the light coming through the windows she seems... at peace.

"Time passes slowly here, now that my days are my own. And every moment of them, words have been coming to me, in a way they haven't before. In a way they couldn't. I was pulled in so many directions, with every piece of me claimed by someone else, I had nothing left to give to my music. But now... they fill every part of me."

Kara stares at her, stunned. In that moment, Kara knows she's finally meeting the real Lena. The one with magic inside her.

"I'm--" Kara's voice cracks. "I'm so happy for you, Lena. Truly."

Lena's sweet smile grows. "Thank you." She clears her throat. "But I have one last favor to ask of you."

Kara nods, her heart all but ready to grant anything Lena asks of her.

"Take them."

"What?"

"Please. My mother-- she's already thinking about how to come back from this, to get back to how things were. And I-- I don't want that. Until I figure out what I do want, I'm afraid-- if Mother finds them, I don't--"

Kara nods, already pulling the books close. "Okay," she promises. "I'll keep them safe. Until you're ready."

This, this she can do. She can keep Lena's secrets just a little while longer.

"But not forever," Kara caveats. She raises an expectant eyebrow.

Lena's features warm into a smile once more.

"Not forever," she vows. "Very, very soon. I promise."

#supercorp #beyond the lights au #suicide attempt #the aftermath #things are looking up

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abbygrabska · 2 years ago

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The Impossible Planet

We step out of the tardis, looking up at her.

“I don’t know what's wrong with her, she’s sort of… queasy. Indigestion, like she didn’t want to land.”

“Oh, if you think there’s gonna be trouble, we could always get back inside and go somewhere else.”

He laughs at the notion, looking around, “I think… we’ve landed inside a cupboard! Here we go!” He pushes the door open and we enter another part of the building we’ve landed in.

“Open Door 15.”

“Some sort of base… moon base, sea base, space base… they build these things out of kits.”

I listen to the sounds coming from outside, “Sounds like a storm out there…”

The Doctor opens another door and the computer speaks again, “Open Door 16.”

I follow him through the door into a corridor.

“Human design, you’ve got a thing about kits. This place was put together like a flat-pack wardrobe, only bigger. And easier.”

We go through another door and into a canteen area.

The Doctor strides into the middle of the room, “Oh, it’s a sanctuary base! Deep space exploration. We’ve gone way out. And listen to that, underneath…” He points downwards, I can hear the hum of a drill, “Someone’s drilling.”

I look up, “Welcome to hell.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad!” He pouts.

I laugh, pointing to the wall, “Over there!”

The words ‘welcome to hell’ are scrawled on the wall, with weird symbols written underneath.

The Doctor stares, “Hold on…” He goes over to it, “What does that say?”

He peers closely at the symbols, but it remains the same, “That’s weird. It won’t translate.” I frown, “I thought the tardis translated everything, writing included. We should see English.” “Exactly. If that’s not working, then it means… this writing is old. Very old. Impossibly old.” he stands and goes over to another door, “We should find out who’s in charge.” He turns the wheel to open the door, “We’ve gone beyond the reach of the tardis knowledge. Not a good move. And if someone’s lucky enough…” The door opens and we both gasp in shock, stumbling back a few steps. There are aliens with tendrils coming from their faces.

“Right! Hello! Sorry! Uh… I was just saying, uh… nice base!”

The aliens speak together, “We must feed.”

“You’re gonna what?” “We must feed.” “Yeah. I think they mean us.”

We back away as they advance.

“We must feed.”

We try to go through the other door, but it opens and more aliens come through it.

“We must feed. We must feed. We must feed.”

Yet another door opens and more walk slowly through it. We are cornered.

“We must feed. We must feed. We must feed.”

The Doctor takes his sonic out of his pocket and I arm myself with a chair.

“We must feed. We must feed.”

We are backed against the wall by the advancing aliens.

“We must feed.” One of the aliens shakes and taps the white orb they hold before them, “You. if you are hungry.”

The Doctor lowers his sonic, “Sorry?”

“We apologize. Electromagnetics have interfered with our speech systems.” I set down the chair.

“Would you like some refreshment?”

“Uhm…”

A door opens and an older man walks through, flanked by two others, holding guns, “What the hell…? How did…?” He approaches us, staring at us before speaking into a communication device, “Captain… you’re not going to believe this. We’ve got people. Out of nowhere. I mean, real people. I mean two… living people. Just standing here, right in front of me.”

I share a glance with the Doctor.

“Don’t be stupid, that’s impossible.”

The man stares at us, “I suggest telling them that.”

“But you’re a space base, surely you must have visitors now and then. It can’t be that impossible.”

He speaks roughly, “You’re telling me you don’t know where you are?”

“No idea. More fun that way.” He grins.

A woman's voice comes through the speaker, “Stand by, everyone. Buckle down. We have incoming. And it’s a big one. Quake Point 5 on its way.”

As the base starts to quake and tremble, the man rushes over to a door and opens it, “Through here! Now. Quickly, come on!”

Sirens sound. We run after him through the door, through a corridor, and into a control room with a few people.

Their mouths drop open, the Doctor beams at them.

“Oh, my god. You meant it.” “People! Look at that! Real people!” “That’s us. Hooray!”

“Yeah, definitely real. I’m Abby and this is the Doctor.” One of the men strides over to us, “Come on… the oxygen must be offline. We’re hallucinating. They can’t be… no. They’re real!”

The man who seems to be the captain speaks impatiently, “Come on, we’re in the middle of an alert. Danny, strap up, the quake’s coming in. Impact in thirty seconds!”

The seconds count down on a computer screen.

“Sorry, you two, whoever you are. Just… hold on. Tight.”

“Hold on to what?”

“Anything. I don’t care. Just hold on. Ood, are we fixed?”

We both find railing to hold on to.

“Your kindness in this emergency is much appreciated.”

“What’s this planet called, anyway?” The Doctor asks.

“Now, don’t be stupid. It hasn’t got a name. How could it have a name?”

The Doctor raises his eyebrows.

“You really don’t know, do you?” “And… impact!”

The entire base shakes violently. Everyone clings on tightly, but it’s over pretty quickly.

The Doctor stands, “Oh, well, that wasn’t so bad…!”

He gets thrown backward as the base shakes even more violently than it did before. He clings to the railing for dear life. There is a small explosion from one of the consoles. Sparks fly around the room. Finally, it stops.

“Okay, that’s it.” The older man rushes forward with a fire extinguisher.

The captain checks in with everyone.

“We’re fine, thanks, fine, yeah, don’t worry about us.”

“The surface caved in.”

The graphics on the computer screen indicate the part of the base that has been lost.

“I deflected it onto storage 5 through 8. We’ve lost them completely. Toby, go and check the rocket link.”

The younger man tries to argue before grudgingly leaving the room.

The woman speaks, “Oxygen holding. Internal gravity 56.6. We should be okay.”

I look around, “Never mind the earthquake, that’s one hell of a storm. What is that, a hurricane?”

“You’d need an atmosphere for a hurricane. There’s no air out there. It's a complete vacuum.”

“Then what’s shaking the roof?” I ask.

“You’re not joking. You really don’t know? Well, introductions. FYI, as they said in the olden days. I’m Ida Scott, science officer.” She gestures to the black man, “Zachary Cross Flane, acting Captain, sir… you’ve met Mr. Jefferson, he's head of security. Danny Bartock. Ethics committee.”

“Not as boring as it sounds.” The Doctor and I grin at him.

“And that man who just left, that was Toby Zed, archaeology, and this…” She places her hand on the other woman’s shoulders, “is Scooti Manista. Trainee maintenance.”

Scooti smiles at us.

Ida goes over to a set of controls, “And this… this is home.” She turns a lever and a whirring sound starts.

“Brace yourselves. The sight of it sends some people mad.” Zach warns us.

The room is flooded with a reddish light as an overhead window opens, revealing a black hole right above us.

“That’s a black hole.” I breathe out. “But that’s impossible.” “I did warn you.” “We’re standing under a black hole.” “We’re in orbit.”

“But we can’t be…”

“You can see for yourself. We’re in orbit.” The Doctor turns to look at Ida, “But we can’t be.” “This lump of rock is suspended in perpetual geostationary orbit around that black hole without falling in. Discuss.”

“That’s bad, right?” I ask.

“That doesn’t cover it… a black hole’s a dead star, it collapses in on itself, in and in and in until the matter’s so dense and tight it starts to pull everything else in too. Nothing in the universe can escape it. Light, gravity… time... Everything just gets pulled inside… and crushed.”

“So, they can’t be in orbit. We should be pulled right in.”

“We should be dead.”

“And yet… here we are. Beyond the laws of physics. Welcome on board.” “But if there’s no atmosphere, what’s that?” I point to the clouds speeding rapidly toward the black hole outside. “Stars breaking up… gas clouds… we have whole solar systems being ripped apart above our heads before falling into that thing.”

“So, definitely worse than a storm.”

The base shakes again. Toby walks in, “The rocket link’s fine.”

Zach taps a button on the controls and a hologram of the black hole appears before us. The Doctor puts his glasses on.

“That’s the black hole officially designated K37 Gen 5.”

“In the scriptures of the Falltino, this planet is called Kroptor. The bitter pill. And the black hole is supposed to be a mighty demon. It was tricked into devouring the planet, only to spit it out. Because it was poison.”

The Doctor stares at the hologram, “We are so far out. Lost in the drifts of the universe, how did you even get here?!”

“We flew in. you see…” Zach presses another button and the hologram changes to one of the planet with a gravity field emanating out from it like a tunnel, “This planet’s generating a gravity field. We don't know how, but… it’s kept in a constant balance against the black hole. And the field extends out there.” He gestures, “As a funnel. A distinct… gravity funnel, reaching out into clear space. That was our way in. By rights, the ship should’ve been torn apart. We lost the Captain… which is what put me in charge…”

Ida chimes in consolingly, “You’re doing a good job.”

“Yeah. well, needs must.”

“But if that gravity funnel closes, there’s no way out.”

Scooti grimaces, “We had fun speculating about that.” “Oh, yeah. That’s the word.” He whacks Scooti on the head with a scroll, “‘Fun.’”

The Doctor seems completely stumped, “but that field would take phenomenal power! I mean… not just big, but off the scale! Can I…?”He gestures to the controls.

“Sure. Help yourself.” Ida pushes the calculator over to him and leaves him to it.

One of the aliens approaches me, “Your refreshment.”

I take it from them, “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“We have no titles. We are as one.” The alien leaves.

I look at Danny, “What are they called?”

“Oh, come on. Where’ve you been living? Everyone’s got one!” I narrow my eyes.

He clears his throat, “They’re the Ood. They work in the mine shafts. All the drilling and stuff. Supervision, and maintenance! They’re born for it. Basic slave race.”

I purse my lips, “Were they born for it or were they a peaceful race with brain structures that left them susceptible to corruption that humans took advantage of?”

“But the Ood offer themselves. If you don't give them orders, they just pine away and die.” Danny argues

One of the Ood approaches me, “You like being ordered around?” I ask.

“It is all we crave.”

“Why’s that?”

“We have nothing else in life.”

Before I can respond the Doctor speaks, “There we go. D’you see? To generate that gravity field, and the funnel, you'd need a power source with an inverted self-extrapolating reflex of six to the power of six every six seconds.”

“That’s a lot of sixes.”

“And it’s impossible.”

“It took us two years to work that out!” Zach sulks.

The Doctor speaks modestly, “I’m very good.”

“But… that’s why we’re here. This power source is ten miles below through solid rock. Point Zero. we’re drilling down to try and find it.”

“It’s giving off readings of over ninety stats on the Blazen Scale.”

Ida speaks enthusiastically, “We could revolutionize modern science.” “We could use it to fuel the Empire.”

The Doctor takes his glasses off, “Or start a war.” “It’s buried beneath us. In the darkness, waiting.”

“That’s a bit morbid.”

“Well, whatever it is down there is not a natural phenomenon. And this, er, planet once supported life. Eons ago, before the human race had even learned to walk.” Toby says.

“I saw that lettering written on the wall. Did you do that?”

Toby nods, “I copied it from fragments we found on earth by the drilling, but I can’t translate it.”

“No, neither can I. and that’s saying something.”

“There was some form of civilization. They buried something. Now it’s reaching out. Calling us in.” The Doctor grins at them, “And you came.”

“Well, how could we not?”

Zach switches off the hologram.

“So, when it comes right down to it, why did you come here? Why did you do that? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because it was there. Brilliant. Excuse me, ah, Zach, wasn’t it?”

Zach nods, “That’s me.”

“Just stand there, ‘cause I’m gonna hug you. Is that all right?”

“I suppose so.”

The Doctor moves towards him, “Here we go. Coming in.” He throws his arms around Zach, beaming, “Ahh, human beings, you are amazing.”

Ida looks bemused.

I let out a laugh as the Doctor releases Zach, “Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

“But apart from all that, you’re completely mad. You should pack your bags and get back in that ship and fly for your lives.”

“You can talk! And how the hell did you get here?”

“Oh, I’ve got this um… this… it’s hard to explain, it just sort of… appears.” “We can show you, we parked down the corridor from habitation area three.” I say.

“Do you mean storage six?” Zach asks.

The Doctor speaks cheerfully, “uh, it was a bit of a cupboard, yeah.” I watch Zach glance uncomfortably at Ida and realize.

The Doctor seems to realize the same, and runs from the room.

I follow him and we run to door sixteen.

He looks out the window, there is a gaping chasm right beneath us.

“The ground gave way. My tardis must’ve fallen down right into the heart of the planet. But you’ve got robot drills heading the same way.” The Doctor speaks to Zach with urgency.

“We can’t divert the drilling.” Zach walks off.

The Doctor stares at him, before following, “But I need my ship. It’s all I’ve got. Literally the only thing.”

Zach speaks, obviously irritated, ”Doctor, we’ve only got the resources to drill one central shaft down to the power source, and that’s it. No diversions, no distractions, no exceptions. Your machine is lost. All I can do is offer you a lift if we ever get to leave this place, and that… is the end of it.” He leaves.

Ida approaches the Doctor, “I’ll uh, put you on the duty roster. We need someone in the laundry.” She follows Zach from the room.

The Doctor looks at me, and comes over, settling against the control panel next to me, “I’ve trapped you here.” “Don’t do that.” I say, “Don’t act like it’s your fault. Because I chose to come with you.” I grab his face and look him in the eyes, “I chose you, and I will choose you every time.”

We are sitting in the canteen area, the Doctor is staring at the ancient text.

Zach’s voice echoes over the speaker, telling Danny to check the temperature of the Ood habitation.

I stand and walk over to the hatch where the food is being served from.

Scooti gestures to the trays, “Help yourself. Just don’t have the green. Or the blue.” She laughs.

I pick up a tray and go to the hatch.

I point at the blue, “Blue please.”

The Ood spoons some sloppy blue goop onto my tray.

“Would you like sauce with that?”

I nod.

The Ood shakes some sauce onto the tray.

“My friend Rose was a kitchen aid once. It was for something we were investigating. Do you get paid though? Do they give you money?”

The Ood speaks politely, “The Beast and his Armies shall rise from the Pit to make war against God.”

I look at the Ood, “What?”

The Ood taps their communication orb, “Apologies, I said, ‘I hope you enjoy your meal.’”

I say nothing, just nod and pick up my tray before walking off.

The lights flicker.

“You might wanna see this. Moment in history.” Ida pulls a lever that opens the overhead ‘shutters’ revealing the black hole overhead and flooding the room with soft red light, “There. On the edge.”

A stream of red light spirals into the black hole, “That red cloud… that used to be the Scarlet System. Home to the Peluchi… a mighty civilization spanning a billion years… disappearing. Forever. Their planets and suns consumed.” She's gazing up at it, fascinated, as are the Doctor and I.

The last of the Scarlet System disappears into the black hole. “Ladies and gentlemen… we have witnessed its passing.” Ida goes to pull the lever to close the shutters again but the Doctor stops her.

“Er, no, could you leave it open?”

I look at him.

“Just for a bit. I won’t go mad, I promise.” “How would you know?”

The Doctor smiles at her.

“Scooti, check the lockdown.” Scooti nods and leaves.

“Jefferson, sign off the airlock seals for me.”

Jefferson and Ida exit, leaving the Doctor and me alone.

“I’ve seen films and shows where they say black holes are like gateways to another universe.”

“Not that one. It just eats.”

“Long way from home…”

The Doctor glances at me, pointing up at the sky, “Go that way, turn right, keep going for um… about five hundred years… then you’ll reach the Earth.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and check for a signal, “No signal. That’s the first time we’ve gone out of range. Even if there was one, what would I tell Rose? Can you build another Tardis?”

“They were grown, not built. And with my own planet gone… we’re kind of stuck.”

“Well, it could be worse. They did say they’d give us a lift.”

“And then what?”

“Find a planet, get a job, live a life. Same as the rest of the universe.” “Pfft… I’d have to settle down. In a house or something, a proper house with doors and things. Carpets! Me! Living in a house!”

I laugh.

“Now that… that is terrifying.”

I tease him, “You’d have to get a mortgage.” He stares off horrified, “No.” “Oh yes.”

“I am dying. That’s it. I am dying, it is all over.”

“Don’t say that. Besides you can always share with me.” He looks at me softly, “Even after getting you stuck here, you still would share a house with me?”

“Of course, I would. Nothing better than being stuck with you.”

He smiles.

The moment is broken by my phone ringing.

I answer it.

“He is awake.”

I fling my phone across the room in shock.

We bound down the stairs to see Danny in Ood Habitation.

Danny looks at us as we greet him, “The mysterious couple. How are you, then? Settling in?

“Yeah, sorry, straight to business, the Ood, how do they communicate with each other?”

The Ood are sat in an area below in what looks like an animal pen. A balcony overlooks the area and there are steps from there.

Danny shrugs, “Oh, just empaths. There’s a low-level telepathic field connecting them. Not that that does them much good. They’re a herd race. Like cattle.”

“This telepathic field, can it pick up messages?” “Because I was having dinner, and one of the Ood said something… odd.”

“Oh, an odd Ood.”

“And then I got something else on my communication device.”

“Oh, be fair. We’ve got whole star systems burning up around us. There are all sorts of stray transmissions. Probably nothing.”

We both stare at Danny, far from convinced.

“Look… if there was something wrong, it would show. We monitor the telepathic field. It’s the only way to look after them. They’re so stupid, they don’t even tell us when they’re ill.” The Doctor nods to the computer, “Monitor the field, that’s this thing?”

The reading on the screen says ‘Basic 5’

“Yeah. But as I said, it’s low-level telepathy. They only register Basic 5.”

While he has been speaking the reading has risen to Basic 6.” “Well, that’s not basic 6.”

It rises, again and again.

I watch as the Ood suddenly raise their heads in unison as the reading ascends.

“20…” The Doctor turns to Danny, “They’ve gone up to Basic 30.”

“But they can’t…” “Doctor, the Ood.”

The Ood turn, as one, and look up at the three of us on the balcony. “What does Basic 30 mean?”

Danny seems baffled, “Well, it means that they’re shouting, screaming inside their heads.”

“Or something’s shouting at them…”

Danny taps on the keyboard, “But… where’s it coming from? What’s it saying? I mean…” He looks at me, “What did it say to you?” “Something about the beast in the pit.” “And what about your communicator? What did that say?” “He is awake.” The Ood speak in unison, “And you will worship him.”

“What the hell?” The Doctor addresses the Ood, “He is awake.”

“And you will worship him.”

“Worship who?” There’s no response, “Who’s talking to you? Who is it?”

The entire base shakes. The Doctor and I are down in the pen with the Ood, Danny still on the overhead balcony when we are thrown violently around and they struggle to regain their balance.

“Emergency hull breach. Emergency hull breach.”

Danny speaks into his wrist communicator, “Which section?”

“Everyone… evacuate 11 to 13, we’ve got a breach. The base is open. Repeat: the base is open.”

We burst into the canteen area and run into the corridor.

“Breach sealed. Breach sealed.”

The Doctor dashes over to the group, “Everyone all right?! What happened? What was it?”

“Hull breach! We were open to the elements. A couple of minutes and we’d have been inspecting that black hole at close quarters.”

I crouch to help Toby, who is still sweating and panting on the floor.

“That wasn’t a quake. What caused it?”

“We’ve lost sections 11 through 13. Everyone all right?”

Jefferson speaks into his communication device, “We’ve got everyone here except Scooti. Scooti, report.” There is no response, “Scooti Manista? That’s an order. Report.”

Zach speaks up, “She’s all right.” Jefferson and Ida breathe a sigh of relief.

“I picked up her biochip, she’s in Habitation 3. Better go and check if she’s not responding, she might be unconscious.”

“Habitation 3… come on, I don’t often say this, but I think we could all do with a drink. Come on.” Everyone but Toby, the Doctor and I follow Jefferson down the corridor. The Doctor crouches down to Toby, who looks severely shaken.

“What happened?”

Toby speaks very fast, “I don’t… I don’t know, I… I was working and then I can’t remember. All… all that noise, the room was falling apart, and there was no air…”

I help him to his feet, “Come on. Up you get. Come and have some food.”

We walk into Habitation three.

“Have you seen Scooti?”

“No, no, no, I don’t think so.”

Ida speaks into her communication device, “Scooti, please respond, if you can hear this please respond… Habitation 6.” “Nowhere here.” Jefferson speaks, “Zach? We’ve got a problem. Scooti’s still missing.”

“It says habitation 3.” “Yeah, well that’s where I am, and I’m telling you she’s not there.”

I look up and scream in horror.

Everyone looks up.

Jefferson speaks quietly, “Captain… report Officer Scootori Manista PKD… deceased. 43K2.1.”

Ida goes over to the controls and closes the shutters.

The Doctor walks over to me and holds me as I cry.

There’s a distant crash, “What was that?”

“The drill.”

“We’ve stopped drilling. We’ve made it. Point Zero.”

I walk into the exploration deck.

I catch the Doctor’s eye and walk over to him.

He checks a device on the wrist of the spacesuit, “Oxygen… nitro-balance… gravity. It’s been ages since I wore one of these!” “I want that spacesuit back in one piece, you got that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He puts on the helmet.

“It’s funny, ‘cause people back home think that space travel’s gonna be all whizzing about and teleports and anti-gravity… but it’s not, is it? It’s tough.”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Not if I see you first.” I laugh, pulling his head down so I can kiss the helmet.

Zach begins counting down as The Doctor and Ida go into the capsule. Jefferson closes the door after them.

The diagram on the computer screen indicates the capsule has reached Point Zero. It causes the whole base to shake. As soon as I steady myself I go over to the comms.

“Doctor?” There’s no reply, “Doctor, are you alright?”

“Ida, report to me…” There’s silence, “Doctor?”

“It’s all right… we’ve made it… coming out of the capsule now.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“What’s it like down there?” I ask.

“It’s hard to tell… some sort of… cave… cavern… it’s massive.”

“Abby you can tell Toby… we’ve found his civilization…”

I turn to Toby, “Sounds like you’ve got plenty of work.” I can hear the Doctor rambling.

From where I’m standing I can hear Zach and Danny’s conversation.

“What’s Basic 100 mean?” I ask.

“Basic 100’s brain death.”

“Keep watching them. And you, Jefferson, keep a guard on the Ood.”

“Officer at arms!” Jefferson readies his gun.

I look at him concerned, “You can’t fire a gun in here. What if they hit a wall?” “It’s stock 15, only packs upon organics.” He turns to the security guard, “Keep watch. Guard them.”

“Is everything all right up there?”

“Yeah.”

“Toby, they need to know, that lettering, does it make any sort of sense?” Toby has his head in his arms, still crouched in the corner, he speaks quietly, “I know what it says.”

“Then tell them.” “When did you work that out?”

“It doesn’t matter, just tell them.”

Toby stands. He turns to us.

“These are the words of the Beast.” I stare at him in fear.

“And he has woken.”

Jefferson points his gun at Toby.

“He is the heart that beats in the darkness, he is the blood that will never cease. And now he will rise.” “Officer, stand down. Stand down.”

“What is it? What’s he done? What’s happening? Abby? What’s going on?”

Toby flexes his arms.

“Officer, as commander of security, I order you to stand down and be confined. Immediately!”

“He’s covered in those symbols all over his face. They’re all over him.” Toby considers us. “Mr. Jefferson, tell me, sir… did your wife ever forgive you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Let me tell you a secret: she never did.”

“Officer… you stand down and be confined.” “Or what?” “Or under the jurisdiction of Condition Red, I am authorized to shoot you.” Jefferson aims his gun at Toby. “But how many can you kill?” His eyes light up and his mouth opens in a low roar as the symbols evaporate off Toby’s skin and leave him as swirls of black smoke.

The smoke enters the Ood, who jerks as the smoke enters him.

Toby coughs and collapses.

Jefferson points his gun at the three Ood on the exploration deck.

“We are the Legion of the Beast.”

“Abby? What is it? Abby?”

“The Legion shall be many. And the Legion shall be few.”

“It’s the Ood. Doctor, I don’t know what it is, it’s… it’s like they’re possessed.” “They won’t listen to us.”

“He has woven himself in the fabric of your life since the dawn of time. Some may call him Abaddon. Some may call him Kroptor. Some may call him Satan… Lucifer… or the Bringer of Despair… The Deathless Prince. The Bringer of Night. These are the words that shall set him free.”

Jefferson, ,I and another crew member are backing away as the Ood advance.

“Back up to the door!”

“I shall become manifest.” “Move quickly!” “I shall walk in might.” “To the door!” We are backed up against the door, “Get it open!”

“My legions shall swarm across the worlds.”

The whole base shakes.

“We’re moving! The whole thing’s moving! The planet’s moving!”

“I am the sin and the temptation. And the desire. I am the pain and the loss and the dead will come.” “Get that door open!”

“The gravity field… it’s going! We’re losing orbit! We’re gonna fall into the black home!”

I and the crew member desperately try to open the door but it won’t budge. Jefferson has his gin aimed at the advancing Ood, but they ignore it completely.

“I have been imprisoned for eternity. But no more.” “The Pit is open. And I am free.”

#doctor who x reader #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x oc #doctor who x oc #autistic writer #autistic!reader #my writing #chrysalis story

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alicenaivory · 3 months ago

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•⊱ 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 •⊱ (written in 2019)

[The word Goodbye could mean forever

for most of us. We say Goodbye aimlessly with a knowing that we’d see the person again. Some of us say it out of anger and if we are lucky enough, we can push through those feelings and actually mean it.

Life puts us in certain circumstances and some of us say Goodbye because we are forced.

We find ways to cope with our pain, anger and anguish. Some people drink, smoke and find harmless distractions.

I’m not one of those people.

I kill and muse on the suffering of others. Its a selfish need to share my pain with others and It lasts a little while until that dark void comes to surface again. Being what I am makes my craving and suffering feel much worse than it really is.

There was no controlling my urge to commit such monstrosity’s even before /he/ came into my life...

but now I can start over. I don’t have to be the person he mended me into being. The naive, impulsive, insane and delusional vampire feasting on her own kind.

I don’t have to be her. I don’t have to be like him.

My skin is stained by black markings from the fire. Whoever I fed from was clearly not enough. I still feel the stiffness in my bones, the burning inside my throat that triggered my hunger. I remain rested against the tree, hoping I can just grow and sprout with it.. but I know I need time.

I can still smell the fire burning to crisp in the distance with every piece of me. I can hear Mystic Falls great firefighters struggling to put it out.

I need a fresh pair of clothes. In this century it’ll be impossible to walk around freely naked. To not be judged and frowned upon..or blamed and shamed for men who would feel entitled to touch me and that’s even worse.

I’m distracted by a sudden sound of leaves as they crackle behind me. I’m convince someone is either sneaking up on me or they are the friend of this lifeless body I’m pushing aside. I slowly rise to my feet as the tall brunette woman slips from behind the other side of the tree. Her long curly hair stopping just below her breast.

I know who she is. In a haunting kind of way I feel like I know her more beyond the stories.

Is she here to laugh at me?

There’s something about her aura, her stance and how calmly she stood looking at me that made me think this wasn’t a normal encounter. I was instantly struck by her beauty, captured by her beautiful dark eyes that I helplessly stared. She makes a ‘tsk’ sound that followed by a disapproval of a head shake. Those pink plush lips of hers part to finally speak.

“You’re going to be a piece of work, little girl.”]

Katherine.. [Her name doesn’t feel the same falling from my lips.] Why are you here? Isn’t this /my/ moment?

[“Don’t be selfish. You think I wasn’t going to watch you drown in your own dramatics?”

The nerve of her to call me selfish. It was like the cat calling the kettle black.

“I thought you were going to die. I had my theater popcorn on stand by but you shocked me, Alice.”

She steps closer to me and in her hand she’s holding a blue colored tank top and some black leggings along with some shoes. All I saw was fabric that wasn’t my style.

“I thought you were going to let yourself die but you got out...

You found a reason to fight.

You’re a survivor.”]

Are those for me?

[I referred to the clothes in her head, reaching to take them as she tosses them at me. I made it no secret that I wasn’t here for her little speech. I shuffle against the leaves having very little strength as I stand using the tree for balance.]

And don’t expect me to be gracious. I know this isn’t out of the kindness of your heart when it’s nonexistent.

[I place on the distasteful pieces of clothing. My nostrils flare as I note the smell of nicotine, liquor, blood and sex spewing off of her...

She smelled like him.

Why do I feel like it was on purpose?]

Guess I’ll be on my way.

[I stated through a blunt tone but I’m caught off guard by a hand to my throat. My back is slammed harder against the only surface I’m near. A painful grunt erupts from my throat as she squeezes tighter to block my airwaves.

“You’re coming with me and don’t push me, Alice. I will end you where you stand.” She releases me effortlessly, not breaking a single sweat. I was over powered so I had to listen. I place my hand against my throat to rub and soothe the pain she caused.]

You never bothered to know me before so what now?

[I found this odd and even convenient how she showed up during me ‘break down.’ I needed to go through this moment alone.

“That boy I sired, you know, who you obsess over? He wanted you alive for whatever reason.”

and yet some how Damon found a way to keep showing up and being relevant.

“Don’t be mistaken, Alice. I don’t care what happens to you but you could be of great use to me.”]

Great use to you? What makes you think I’ll ever help you?

[“You would if I told you I knew a witch who could bring back what you want.”

A taunting smirk spread across her lips as she turned on her heels. Katherine knew I’d followed her like a lost pup at this point.]

I’m listening.

[“I have a private jet waiting for us to head the Paris. If you behave I might be in a mood to explain the rest.”

I wanted to forget him and yet here I was backtracking and walking alongside the devil herself. How could I deny such a chance?

But what if this chance was selfish? He didn’t want to be here...

So who was I to bring him back?

Whatever will I do.]

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acourtofchaos · 1 year ago

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GOD I KNOW I SAY IT ABOUT THIS FIC PRETTY MUCH EVERYTIME BUT I AM BEYOND OBSESSED. LIKE I DON'T THINK I COULD BREATHE THROUGH THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER.

I'M GONNA APOLOGISE FOR WHAT'S ABOUT TO BE A STUPIDLY LONG REBLOG BUT I HAVE SO MUCH I WANT TO SCREAM ABOUT AND HAD TO RESTRAIN MYSELF FROM QUOTING THE ENTIRE THING.

SO FIRST OF ALL... ENZO YOU PIECE OF SHIT, I'VE NEVER CHEERED SO MUCH FOR SOMEONE GETTING THEIR ARSE KICKED. AND THE WAY MATTHEO WENT ABSOLUTELY FERAL...

"Stay the fuck away from her…you don’t fucking look at her, you don’t even fucking breathe near her…do you fucking understand me?” Mattheo didn’t wait for a response, the first punch landing with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Mattheo jostled Enzo in his grip, practically spitting his words against his face. “No one gets to fucking touch her…no one except me…fucking no one…”

PERFECTION. CHEFS KISS. I AM DOWN ON ONE KNEE READY TO PROPOSE FOR THAT MIX OF POSSESSIVE AND PROTECTIVE.

Meanwhile, Mattheo turned his attention back to you, his eyes a tumultuous blend of emotions, the storm within him slowly subsiding as he registered the shock lingering in your eyes. With a soft yet determined expression, he stepped closer, his presence becoming a comforting shield against the aftermath of the confrontation that had left both of you shaken.

"Raven, I'm so fucking-" he began, his voice thick with regret and unspoken apologies.

THESE. THESE!!!!! HIM SOFTENING HIMSELF FOR HER AND EVEN APOLOGISING FOR SOMETHING THAT WAS OUT OF HIS CONTROL. HE'S GROWN SO MUCH AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVE SEEING IT.

"Is it because of me?" Your stare bore into him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Is it because of me that you have this book?”

He didn't deny it; instead, after a long, silent moment, he simply nodded, almost impenetrably, his gaze never leaving yours.

CRYING OVER THE FACT HE HAS THE BOOK BECAUSE OF HER INTEREST IN ASTRONOMY. MY DAMN HEART 😭

NOW FOR A COLLECTION OF QUOTES THAT MADE ME GO SERIOUSLY FERAL. LIKE I WAS SCREECHING AND GNAWING AT MY HAND LIKE A WILD ANIMAL BECAUSE OH MY GOD. THE TENSION AND DESPERATION AND THE VIBE OF THEM BEING UTTERLY ADDICTED TO EACH OTHER WAS SO INCREDIBLE AND SO PALPABLE.

"Salazar fucking save me..." Mattheo's voice was a raspy whisper, a plea and a challenge rolled into one, his vulnerability veiled behind a facade of arrogance. "Who the hell are you..."

"Raven," his voice was a low, raspy whisper, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. "You're really testing my fucking patience here...and you should know I'm not a patient man..."

"You," you whispered, your voice a husky admission. "I want you."

"He exhaled. "Then fucking have me."

I'M FUCKING DEAD. TO HEAR MATTHEO RIDDLE SAY "THEN FUCKING HAVE ME" ✨️THE DREAM✨️

"You're doing so well," he whispered into your stomach. "You're so fucking beautiful..."

"I need you to know how much I missed everything...and I mean fucking everything..."

"Every inch of you is fucking perfect...fuck the drugs Raven, you are my insatiable goddamn addiction..."

HELP I'M SO IN LOVE WITH HIM. YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE WITH MAKING HIM SO PERFECT BUT PLEASE NEVER STOP.

And as you met his gaze, there it was, in his eyes--an unnamed emotion that pulsed between you, an unspoken truth that bound you together in a way words could never encapsulate. It was a force beyond reason, an irresistible pull that drew you closer, time after fucking time again.

"You once called me a plague but fuck...you have no fucking idea..." his voice, raw with desire, clawed its way out of his throat. "I haven't even fucked you, Raven...how the fuck have you done this to me?"

I FEEL LIKE MY SOUL JUST FUCKING ASCENDED. HE'S SO WRECKED AND IT'S EVERYTHING I NEEDED WITHOUT KNOWING IT SO THANK YOU. YOU'RE AMAZING AND ILY FOR THIS.

OKAY THIS REBLOG HAS GOT CRAZY LONG AND PROBABLY ISN'T EVEN UNDERSTANDABLE. BUT IN CONCLUSION, FUCK ENZO, MATTHEO AND RAVEN ARE PERFECT AND CAN DO NO WRONG. AND I'M GIVING YOU A FOREHEAD SMOOCH FOR WRITING SUCH A MASTERPIECE AND SHARING IT WITH US 💖

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Seventeen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, DARK THEMES, Sexual Harassment, Asshole!Berkshire, Extreme Depictions of Violence, Blood, SMUT, PIV, Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Dom!Mattheo, Sub!Reader, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink.

****FIND ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, ELEVEN, TWELVE, THIRTEEN, FOURTEEN, FIFTEEN & SIXTEEN.

Emerging from the closet, you and Mattheo shared one more fleetingly charged moment, your eyes locking in a silent exchange laden with unspoken emotions. With a subtle nod, you both returned to your seats, seamlessly slipping back into the roles you had mastered--the poised Ravenclaw and the bad, rebellious Slytherin. The transition was flawless, but beneath the composed exteriors, a storm of emotions raged.

As the game progressed and the night drew on, your eyes locked with Mattheo's from across the circle more times than you could even begin to count--and as the rest of the room remained blissfully unaware, you were acutely attuned to the dance of hidden desires, an intimate connection that thrived in the shadows.

The game of truth or dare continued, growing more wild with each passing round, until most people involved became to tired to continue. In the midst of all of this, Emily and Tom seemed to hit it off, engrossed in their own conversation which seemed to have started before you had even returned from the closet with Mattheo--and as much as the sight was slightly confusing, you were profoundly grateful for the unexpected friendship between them. It undoubtedly relieved the pressure of having to engage with Tom.

As the night wore on, exhaustion settled deep within your bones. Berkshire, thoroughly intoxicated, was gently escorted to his dormitory by Malfoy, his usual disgusting arrogance now replaced by a drunken stumble. Despite the lingering adrenaline from the evening's events, weariness tugged at your limbs, pulling you towards the comfort of your dormitory.

While Emily and Tom remained engrossed in their conversation, you seized the opportunity to excuse yourself quietly. With polite smiles and casual goodnights, you bid farewell to the remaining members of the circle. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, your energy waning with every movement. The echoes of laughter and conversation faded into the distance as you navigated the familiar corridors, the subdued glow of torchlight guiding your way.

Taking a moment to escape the confines of the castle, you stepped into the tranquil courtyard, leaning against the railing and seeking solace under the vast expanse of stars. The night air embraced you, carrying with it a soothing whisper of tranquility. Breathing in deeply, you let the cool breeze wash over you, attempting to shed the lingering tension from your bones after the intense evening you had just endured.

And in the midst of your attempts to find serenity, the peaceful atmosphere shattered like fragile glass, stumbling footsteps making their way toward you. As you glanced over, you watched an inebriated Berkshire stumble his way into the courtyard, bringing himself dangerously close to you, his usual arrogance magnified by the influence of alcohol. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, fixated on you with a disturbing intensity.

"Shit...what do we have here?" he slurred, his words laced with drunken confidence. "A little bird all alone in the night...don't you know it's fuckin' dangerous to be out here all by yourself?"

Your disgust was palpable as you shot him a withering glare. "Save your pathetic lines for someone who cares, Berkshire," you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain. "The only thing dangerous is my dwindling patience at the mere sight of you."

"Why're you such a bitch, huh?" he slurred, his words carrying the stench of alcohol. His proximity was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against your skin. "Must be 'cause you secretly like me, right?"

Your jaw clenched, a mixture of annoyance and disgust bubbling within you. His words were as repugnant as his alcohol-laden breath. The tension you had been trying to relieve was now replaced by a different kind, a sharp pang of frustration at having to deal with his inappropriate behavior.

"I suggest you find your way back to your dorm," you retorted, your voice firm despite the rising irritation. "Your delusions won't make your company any more welcome."

Berkshire's drunken persistence grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, his obnoxious confidence seeming to inflate with every word you uttered. Before you could process it, he closed the distance between you, his movements erratic, invading your personal space. His clammy hand shot up, gripping your jaw with a force that made your teeth clench, forcing your eyes to meet his in a cruel display of dominance.

"Why won't you just admit it, huh?" he slurred, his words punctuated by the reek of alcohol on his breath. His bloodshot eyes bored into yours, his arrogance seemingly impervious to your clear discomfort. "You can't deny the attraction, sweetheart...I see it in the way you look at me when you think no one's watching."

Your patience snapped like a taut rope. Anger flared in your chest, hot and searing. With a swift movement, you pushed his hand away from your face, your voice cutting through the night with icy precision, a steely resolve in your voice that should have been enough to ward off any sane person.

"Let me make this abundantly clear, Berkshire," you said, your tone as sharp as a blade. "There is no secret admiration, no desire, and certainly no fucking attraction. You're nothing more than a nuisance, and I have no patience for your delusions. Now, back the fuck off before you regret testing my tolerance any further."

Despite your unwavering stance, Berkshire's drunken laughter reverberated through the courtyard, a disturbing echo of arrogance undeterred by your resistance. He jeered, taking another step toward you, his movements unsteady but determined. The cold, unforgiving metal of the railing you had been standing in front of pressed into your back as he cornered you, his breath reeking of alcohol and menace.

Panic clawed at your throat, but you refused to show weakness, your eyes meeting his with a defiant glare. "Berkshire, what are you-"

Ignoring your words, he advanced further, backing you up against the railing until there was nowhere left to retreat. Your heart thundered in your chest, the weight of his aggression bearing down on you. And then, in a moment of terror, he grabbed you, his grip surprisingly strong, squeezing tighter than you had ever expected. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers dug into your arms, pain flaring through your limbs. The situation had escalated far beyond your control, and the realization struck you like a physical blow.

"Let me go," you demanded, your voice strained but resolute, despite the fear tightening your throat. But Berkshire only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, his drunken gaze wild and unpredictable. "Enzo, fuck, stop..."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, he breath grazing over your neck as he pressed himself against you. "You're such a fucking-"

Before Berkshire could finish that sentence, a familiar voice--one usually somewhat smooth and composed, cut through the air with a terrifying intensity.

"Berkshire…if you don't get your fucking hands off of her," the threat in his tone was unmistakable, a promise of unspeakable consequences if ignored. "I fucking swear-"

But Berkshire, lost in his drunken rage, remained heedless, his eyes glazed over with a dangerous mixture of anger and entitlement. “Shut up, Riddle…she fucking wants me…”

You caught Mattheo's eyes from over Enzo's shoulder, ones that once held a glimmer of restraint now blazed with an uncontrollable anger that seemed to ignite the air around him. His usual composure shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fury.

In a heartbeat, Mattheo closed the distance between him and Berkshire, his movements fluid and almost supernatural. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, fingers wrapping around Berkshire's throat like an unyielding vice. The grip was tight, a clear message of the danger Berkshire was in.

“I warned you,” he hissed, and with a swift, powerful motion, Mattheo ripped Berkshire off of you, sending him crashing onto the unforgiving stone ground, a stunned gasp escaping his lips upon impact--Mattheo’s throat was shredded with anger as he growled, “I fucking warned you…”

You stood frozen, your lungs burning as you desperately gasped for air, your vision swimming with a heady mix of fear and relief. Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with fury, descended upon Berkshire like a vengeful deity. His arm darted out, fingers clenching Berkshire's collar in one hand while the other transformed into a merciless fist.

“Stay the fuck away from her…you don’t fucking look at her, you don’t even fucking breathe near her…do you fucking understand me?” Mattheo didn’t wait for a response, the first punch landing with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Mattheo jostled Enzo in his grip, practically spitting his words against his face. “No one gets to fucking touch her…no one except me…fucking no one…”

A momentary pause hung in the air, a fleeting heartbeat of stillness, before Mattheo struck again. And again. And again. He was possessed, every punch a release of the pent-up rage that had been simmering beneath the surface, each blow fueled by a primal instinct to protect, to defend, to punish the one who dared to harm you.

Berkshire's face transformed into a grotesque mask of crimson, his features distorted by pain and fear. The courtyard seemed to pulse with the rhythm of Mattheo's anger, the sound of his blows drowned out by the rapid thudding of your heart--and it wasn't until Draco Malfoy, his normally composed demeanor replaced by wide-eyed shock, entered the fray, that Mattheo's onslaught finally came to a halt.

Malfoy, his strength surprising for someone so slender, managed to pull Mattheo off Berkshire, the latter struggling like a wild animal, his rage still burning brightly, his chest heaving with exasperated fury.

"What the fuck happened here?" Theodore dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched on his features as he met your stunned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind struggling to comprehend the violence that had just unfolded before you. The shock had rendered you speechless, your throat dry and constricted, words caught in the whirlwind of your emotions. "Yes...I'm okay..."

While you attempted to spit out words, Mattheo's heaving form, still seething with raw anger, ripped himself free from Malfoy's hold. With a voice that carried the weight of his fury, he spoke on your behalf, the words sharp and cutting through the air.

"Berkshire thought he could lay his fucking hands on her is what happened," his voice was cold, each word laced with contempt. "After I warned him...I warned him how many fucking times..."

Mattheo's aura, once magnetic and enticing, was now a tempest, an embodiment of wrath that crackled in the air around him. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with his intensity, as if the very stones beneath your feet could feel his fury. It was a chilling reminder, mostly to you, that beneath the composed facade, there was a force to be reckoned with, a protector who would stop at nothing to shield you from harm--and that thought did inexplicable, disgustingly shameless things to your fucking body.

Draco Malfoy, his usual cool composure momentarily shaken, stepped away from Mattheo, his eyes assessing the situation with a discerning gaze.

"Let's get him to the hospital wing," he suggested to Theodore, his voice cutting through the tension. Nott, too, recognized the need for immediate action, nodding in agreement, before briefly meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry about him...there's no way he hasn't learned his lesson now...fuckin' sorry little prat..."

You nodded in response as the two of them lifted Berkshire, supporting his battered form between them. As they glanced between you and Mattheo, it was as though a silent understanding passed between Draco and Nott. Their glances met, a knowing look shared, acknowledging that there was something more beneath the surface of this situation. They sensed the unspoken connection, the invisible thread that bound you and Mattheo together, but they chose not to pry. Instead, they respected the unspoken boundaries, allowing the complexities of your relationships to remain your own.

"Raven, I'm so fucking-" he began, his voice thick with regret and unspoken apologies.

"I'm fine, Mattheo." You cut him off, your heart pounding in your chest, the sight of his breathless, bloodied and dishevelled form doing dangerous things to your cunt--and you knew, more than anything, you just wanted to be alone with him. "Please just take me back to your dorm."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but the desperation in your eyes didn't leave room for questions.

"What-" he started to inquire, but you took a step closer, your neck arching slightly to catch his dark, penetrating gaze.

"Take me back to your dorm," you repeated. "Please."

Upon hearing the raw desperation in your voice, Mattheo nodded, his fingers gently finding yours as he immediately led you down the hall and through the empty corridor to his dorm. The moment he pushed the door open, allowing you to step inside, it felt as though the temperature in the room had increased to a million bloody degrees. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a potent mix of fear, desire, and the undeniable pull that had always existed between you, intensified now by the events of the night.

As you cautiously stepped into his dorm, your eyes were drawn to the familiar sight of the astronomy book lying open on his desk. The memory of the last time you had been in his dorm flashed in your mind--the same book, sitting untouched on his desk, an odd object in the midst of his carefully curated chaos.

"Why do you still have this out?" you questioned, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Mattheo hesitated, his stormy eyes locking onto yours in a moment of vulnerability.

"Can't a man indulge in the mysteries of the stars whenever he fancies?" he retorted with a smirk, attempting to deflect the gravity of the situation. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but the tension beneath the surface was palpable. "Or perhaps stargazing is an art reserved solely for beautiful little ravens, hm?"

"Is it because of me?" Your stare bore into him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Is it because of me that you have this book?”

He didn't deny it; instead, after a long, silent moment, he simply nodded, almost impenetrably, his gaze never leaving yours. It was a silent admission, a confession that hung heavy in the charged atmosphere of the room. In that moment, the undeniable pull between you became almost tangible, the invisible thread connecting your hearts growing stronger, defying the boundaries you had desperately tried to impose.

You stepped toward him. "Did you miss me, Mattheo..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression enigmatic yet stoic, a mask of his usual arrogance and charm slipping back into place. His silence lingered for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, in a voice that held a depth of emotion he was trying to conceal, he replied, "Maybe I did, Raven..."

You moved closer, the air crackling with need as you closed the distance, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you dared to reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm, and beneath your touch, you could sense the subtle tremor that betrayed the restraint he was exercising. Your breath caught in your throat as you tilted your head, your lips hovering just millimeters from his.

"Don't be shy, Mattheo..." you murmured, teasing him with your fingers as you trailed over his jawline. "Why don't you show me how much you missed me..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched under your touch, his dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that matched the simmering desire between you. You sighed when his hands, strong and possessive, found their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a magnetic force that left you breathless. His restraint wavered, the barrier between temptation and surrender growing thinner by the second.

"Salazar fucking save me..." Mattheo's voice was a raspy whisper, a plea and a challenge rolled into one, his vulnerability veiled behind a facade of arrogance. "Who the hell are you..."

You leaned in, your lips hovering dangerously close to his, your eyes locking onto his with a daring intensity.

"Sorry to break it to you, Riddle," you purred, your voice a seductive melody that echoed in the charged space between you. "But I'm afraid not even your maker could save you now..." a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your breath mingling with his. "Better start counting your blessings..."

"Blessings, huh?" Mattheo's lips curved into a half-smirk, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'd much rather count the seconds until I can taste those sweet fucking lips of yours..."

His words sent a jolt of desire through you, your heart pounding in response to his brazen confidence.

"Gods, you really are a changed man, aren't you?" You murmured, fighting your smirk as his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. "You were never one to wait for permission before..."

"Raven," his voice was a low, raspy whisper, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. "You're really testing my fucking patience here...and you should know I'm not a patient man..."

Your smirk grew, heat flushing your cheeks, your fingers tracing a tantalizing path along the underside of his jawline, now, teasingly slow.

"Maybe I enjoy testing your limits…maybe I want to see how far I can push you..." you muttered, your voice laced with playful defiance. "Or perhaps I just like watching you squirm, Riddle...perhaps I want to hear you beg for me..."

Mattheo's patience snapped like a taut wire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and desire.

"Look at you, huh...all fucking smug..." he growled, his voice edged with playful frustration as he peered down at you. "You've kept that pussy from me for over two fucking weeks and now you want to tease me like this? Did you forget how bloody fast I can make you crumble for me..."

Your defiant facade began to crack under the intensity of his gaze, a shiver running down your spine.

"Gods, maybe I did..." your voice barely above a whisper, the defiance replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "Maybe I need you to remind me..."

"Shit...there she is...there's my good fucking girl..." he murmured, his tone a mixture of reverence and desire. "...tell me what you want, Raven..."

A sigh of satisfaction slipped past your lips as his hands tightened their grip, his touch searing into your hips as though he was trying to hang on to his last shreds of willpower. With a trembling voice, you met his dark, penetrating eyes, wetting your lips as you let yourself drown in their depths.

"You," you whispered, your voice a husky admission. "I want you."

He exhaled. "Then fucking have me."

In a whirlwind of desire, his lips crashed onto yours, sending your senses into a frenzy. Your eyelids fluttered shut as both of you inhaled sharply through your noses, trying to catch your breath amidst the electrifying kiss. His hands, strong and possessive, tangled in your hair, pulling you closer with an urgency that matched the racing beat of your heart. Your lips parted in a soft groan of surrender, inviting him in, and his tongue slipped between your teeth with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His lips moved over yours, claiming every inch as though he needed you to survive, and your fingers found solace in the dark waves of his hair, gripping them tightly. Mattheo responded with a primal sound, a low grunt of satisfaction that resonated between your entwined bodies. With a swift motion, he spun you around, his lips never leaving yours, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees met the edge of his bed. The kiss deepened, his mouth exploring yours with a deliberate slowness, his fingers continuing their sensual dance through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, melting the space between you.

Mattheo's tongue danced a tantalizing dance inside your mouth before he withdrew, leaving a lingering connection between your lips. In that moment, silence enveloped both of you, rendering you nearly motionless, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what to say, think, or do. You felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing against your belly, causing a flicker of anticipation to ignite within you. Your hands instinctively moved towards the hem of your shirt, but he halted you with a gaze as hard as stone.

"No," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Let me."

A flush of scarlet painted your cheeks, but you nodded in silent consent, your throat tight with anticipation. His fingers bunched the fabric of your shirt, lifting it up and off of you. As you raised your arms, granting him permission to undress you further, he completed his task with deliberate care. The fabric landed on the floor with a soft rustle, discarded and forgotten, while his eyes roamed over every newly exposed expanse of your skin.

It was a ritual you knew you’d never tired of, the way he looked at your body as if it was a masterpiece, a gift he hadn't been prepared to receive.

Under the intensity of his gaze, a cascade of warmth flooded through you, your skin tingling with awareness. His hands skillfully moved behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He pushed it off your shoulders, the fabric gliding down your arms, his fingers skimming over the surface of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question, before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of you. His warm breath ghosted over your belly, holding your stare as to ask for permission before he hooked his thumbs under the rim of your pants and panties, peeling them down your thighs, revealing your sensitive sex to him--inch by torturous inch.

A shiver rippled through your nerves, sending a thrill down your spine as his molten-gold eyes held yours with hunger that seemed to consume everything in its path. His gaze didn't waver for a single moment, even as he expertly removed your shoes and tossed them aside carelessly. As he rose, his palms trailed over the contours of every curve, his touch igniting a trail of electric sensations in their wake. He towered over you, a commanding presence that left you breathless, and one of his hands delicately cupped your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip with a gentle intensity that sent your heart racing.

"Lie back," he murmured.

Your fingers quivered with anticipation as you nodded, succumbing to the electric tension in the air. Slowly, you eased yourself back onto the mattress, adjusting your position so you could lie flat against the soft bedding.

Mattheo prowled around the perimeter of the bed, his intense gaze scorching your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Each step he took seemed deliberate, his movements exuding a raw, primal energy. After a moment, he paused, his fingers deftly working on the buttons of his bloodied dress-shirt. With a fluid motion, he peeled off the fabric, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest. His pants followed suit, dropping to the floor until he stood before you in just his boxers.

From this angle, the sight of him made your cheeks flush and your breath hitch in your throat. The raw masculinity and confidence he exuded was both breathtaking and overwhelming, leaving you yearning for more as he loomed over the bed, the outline of his throbbing cock straining the fabric of his boxers doing unspeakable things to your body--the sight of it against the background of hard, tense muscle made you clench, and you bit your lip to hide a moan that was sneaking its way out of your mouth.

And even though you knew he noticed, he said nothing, even as his knee dropped into the mattress, even as he shifted, crawling over you, until he hovered above you, looking more fucking angelic than he ever had before, looking like a man filled with devotion, passion and need.

"Mattheo..." fear was mixing with the pull of lust. You'd never seen him like this. "Matty, I--"

"Shh," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from your temple. "Relax for me, princess..."

You drew in a shaky breath, and nodded--and his lips pressed into yours, plush and wet, before he moved, leading a tingling line of kisses down your cheek, to your jawline, to your neck. Leaning in, he caressed your throat with his warm mouth and you gasped, back arcing into him. In response, Mattheo purred, laying layer after layer of soft, wet marks on your sensitive flesh. One large hand slid down your arm while he kissed his way to your breast, nuzzling his cheek into the valley of your chest before drawing a nipple between his lips.

A cry escaped you, your hips bucking into his abdomen. "Oh, Gods..."

"Shh," he said again. "Relax, angel..."

The nickname he called only made you want to writhe more. Your mind internally fucking screaming with need. Taking a deep breath, you nodded anyway.

"My angel," he repeated, planting slow, soft kisses on your stiffening bud. "My fucking sweet little angel..."

He took your nipple into his mouth again, moaning while he suckled it swollen, his hands painting pleasure on your swathes of naked, aching skin. You whimpered, nibbling on your lip to silence any sound, hands slowly slithering their way through his messy, yet beautiful fucking hair. As you tightened your grip on his strands, a groan slipped past his teeth, and he flicked the tip of your peak with his tongue before releasing it, mouth making a hot trail along your navel, his hands massaging up and down the outside of your thighs.

"You're doing so well," he whispered into your stomach. "You're so fucking beautiful..."

"Matty..." you whined, his words creating a storm of bliss in your chest. You didn't know what else to say.

"Keep being good for me..." he kissed his way to the mound of your pussy, holding a rumble in his chest as his lips grazed the top of your slit. "Are you ready?"

Are you ready? He just fucking asked if you were ready. As you gazed at him, his pink lips glistening with saliva, eyes smoldering with desire, the answer became crystal clear.

"Yes," you said. "Yes, I'm ready."

Without further hesitation, Mattheo lowered his head between your legs, your entire body jolting in pleasure as he licked a broad, flat band up your sex, feeling your fingers twirling in the curls of his hair. His mouth was hot and eager as he showered your folds with deep, heavy kisses, sending shivers of delight throughout your entire being. Mattheo's hands held your thighs in place as he slicked his strong tongue in between your slit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Your eyes were fixed upon him, unable to look away from the sight of him worshipping your cunt with his mouth.

"You taste incredible," he cooed, leaving soft kisses along the crease of your thighs. "You know that I thought about this little pussy everyday, don't you?"

Your breath hitched. "Y-you did?"

"Mmhm."

He returned to working his tongue along your inner-folds, gathering your juices along the tip, humming while he swallowed--he was deliberate, taking his time to memorize every bit of your pussy, to draw as much cum from your core as he could. You whined, your clit desperate for attention.

"Matty..." you pleaded, "please..."

Mattheo's gaze met yours as he hummed, sealing his lips around your swollen nub. The intensity of the pleasure collided into you, causing a wracking sob to escape your lips as your eyes closed in ecstasy. His grip tightened on your thighs, tugging you closer to his face. As he sucked on your clit, he gradually built up the pressure, block by block, pushing you towards the peak of orgasm.

Your hips relentlessly rolled into him, urgent moans filling the air as you fell further and further toward overwhelming bliss. "Fuck, Mattheo...Gods..."

His hands left your thighs, exploring your body, gripping and kneading any inch of flesh they could find, until they finally rested on your breasts, thumbs tracing small, gentle circles on your hardened nipples.

"Oh, fuck," you said, "fuck, fuck..."

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, any words leaving your lips devolved into incoherent wailing. You teetered on the edge, straining against a wall of unrelenting bliss that threatened to overtake you completely. Then, with two hard sucks, Mattheo eased you over, drawing out your climax long and slow against his mouth. Ecstasy consumed you, numbing your skin as your limbs shook and trembled. Every sensation was intensified as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, groaning as your juices coated his lips, your core throbbing and pulsing at his chin.

It felt like an eternity before he finally released you, dragging his tongue up the top of your slit as he panted and gasped for breath alongside you. The aftermath of your intense orgasm left both of you struggling to regain your senses.

Your head rolled along the mattress, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Mattheo...that was..."

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your center, and returned his focus to your belly, kissing a steady path to your sternum, his hands still stroking at your skin. "I need you to know how much I missed everything...and I mean fucking everything..."

"Oh," was all that left your mouth, teeth pinching your lip when it began to tremble.

"From your perfect fucking tits to your filthy little mouth..." one hand started to palm at your breast, the other still gliding up your side as he inched forward. "From those delicious fucking thighs to that pretty little pussy..." he was at your neck, now, rasping into it, the heat of his body enveloping you. "Every inch of you is fucking perfect...fuck the drugs Raven, you are my insatiable goddamn addiction..."

Every syllable that escaped his lips seemed to caress your very soul, igniting a wildfire of longing within you. His words were like a spell, weaving around your heart and wrapping you in a cocoon of desire. You craved him in a way that transcended the physical, a hunger that went bone-deep. It wasn't just the touch of his skin against yours that you yearned for; it was the merging of your essence, the melding of your souls into an ethereal dance of passion. You wanted to dissolve the boundaries between you, to lose yourselves in a realm crafted solely for your bodies, where every touch and sigh was a symphony of fervor.

Your heart skipped a beat, fingers instinctively curling in his hair. "Do you want to?..."

Mattheo hesitated, as if time itself hung suspended. His eyes searched your face, seeking the truth in your words, and then, he answered, his voice a low rasp,

"Of course I do..." he breathed. "But after what happened tonight-"

"No," you cut him off, your body moving restlessly beneath his. "After what happened tonight, I only want you more...I've never fucking wanted you so fucking badly, Mattheo...it was you who defended me, not Tom, not Zabini, you...it's always been you..."

Mattheo's jaw tensed, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving. "You want me to fuck you..." he said, as though he was trying to make himself believe it. "You want me to take your virginity..."

You nodded, a silent confirmation of your desire, but Mattheo's fingers found their way to your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet firm. He held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation, any uncertainty.

"Say it, Raven," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You know I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to take your virginity."

Your breath caught in your throat, his proximity overwhelming your senses. With a shaky inhale, you met his intense gaze, your voice coming out as a mere whisper, "I want you to take my virginity, Mattheo."

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, the desire in his tone making your core scream. "You know that means-"

"I'm yours." You cut him off. "Even though all of this could fuck up my entire future, I don't care...I'm yours...I submit my sanity to the disaster that is sneaking around with you, Mattheo...I don't want the safe option, I don't want soft or subtle...I want dangerous, I want messy, I want sins...I fucking want you..."

"Salazar fucking save me..." he breathed after a long moment of staring at you, shifting himself to pull down his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free, smacking against his belly. "You really are a little fucking devil..."

You clenched at the sight of his dick, head glistening with precum, twitching insistently as he shifted, looping an arm under your neck and cradling your head, his face nestling into your neck while his other hand directed the head of his dick against your wet folds, slicking itself along your wetness, your entire body tensing at the foreign sensation.

He was so fucking big...you weren't sure if, "are you even going to fit...you're so fucking-"

"Shh, Raven." Mattheo huffed against your neck, angling back to meet your eyes, that devilish smirk plastered across his lips. "I'll make it fit."

At his words, you clenched again, unable to deny the intoxication of his primal arrogance, his eyes fixed on your face as he angled himself at your core now, the anticipation radiating off of him only fuelling your hunger, sending thrills through every inch of your body.

"Relax," he breathed, eyes boring into yours, the hand behind your head keeping you in place. "And look at me...I want you looking into my fucking eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

With a nod, you held his stare, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself inside of you, inch by inch, letting you gasp and wince while his thick length stretched you open, until he was fully sheathed within your tightness. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching you to your limit, beyond anything you ever thought possible, and Mattheo only seemed to grow harder with each gasp that left your lips. With him completely seated inside of your cunt, you felt him pulsing at the hilt, felt his already urgent need to cum inside of you. But instead of moving right away, he jerked you closer to his chest, his lips softly grazing yours as he brought his hand to cup your jaw.

"Are you okay?" His voice was torn, shredded, nearly unrecognizable.

You nodded, holding his eyes. "I'm okay."

"Shit, Raven..." a deep groan left his chest as he exhaled, pulling out and plunging back in as slowly and carefully as he had the first time. "You're so fucking tight...fuck..."

You mewled--between the passion in your chest and the newfound sensations between your legs, your head was spinning, something was close to bursting. His skin was so hot against you, and you gripped him tighter, another moan leaving your chest, chin shaking beyond your control, the pleasure and pain commingling in your mind as you surrendered to his skilled touch--Mattheo stared at you through it all with gleaming eyes before he smothered your lips with a kiss, burning and short.

"Is this what you wanted?" The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "Tell me..."

Your fingers dug into his skin, your voice torn between gasps. "Yes, Mattheo..." you mewled. "It's all I've wanted."

He leaned forward, lips feathersoft on yours, kissing you, still easing his cock into you with careful rolls of his hips. The grip at your head soothed your scalp--and you could feel it, could feel yourself blending with his body as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you, could feel your pulses pounding in pace, could feel the unspoken, intangible harmony coiling in your blood.

"Who else can make you feel like this, hm?" His embrace constricted you, now, stilling you while he rocked deep into you, stuffing you full, his free hand travelling down your belly, grazing over your clit--and you choked, whimpered, limp in his arms. "Tell me who this tight little pussy fucking belongs to..."

The pleasure was overwhelming, earth shattering, entirely all encompassing. Your lids fluttered, your brain spinning. "Oh, Gods...oh my fucking-"

"Look at me, Raven..." he ordered, voice torn. "Look at me or I'll stop."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, nails biting into his skin, heart pounding in your throat as you felt your sanity dangerously fucking close to shattering, your entire body encompassed in a pleasure that you've never known, a pleasure that only Mattheo fucking Riddle could give you, one that burns you from the inside out, one that shatters every inch of your resolve, leaving you bare before him.

"Tell me..." he whispered, his fingers twirling your clit. You could tell he was close, too. "Fuck...fucking say it…”

"You," you mewled, lost in the melted chocolate swirls of his irises. "It fucking belongs to you, Mattheo...fuck...only you..."

"Shit..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "You love being dirty for me..." his fingers whirled your clit faster. "You love being my nasty little slut, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, Mattheo..." you wailed, body trembling beneath him. "I love it..."

"Fuck--" A feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with long thrusts. "That's it..." he muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum--cum for me, let me feel you..."

You shattered. "Gods--Matty! Fuck..."

Euphoria rended you wide, tearing at the seams of your sanity, and you fractured, convulsing with the sheer strength of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, mouth meeting yours as he came, hips hitting you with every rush of rapture as he quickly followed after you, spilling his release inside your cunt. This seemed to last for minutes, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

You were wilted, spent, a collection of skin and cum and sweat, and when Mattheo finally pulled out, he slumped down on the mattress beside you, pulling you back into his chest, nothing but the collective sounds of your exhausted panting filling the air, neither of you willing to move even though you knew you couldn't stay here all night--but your drooping lids didn't care, your body succumbing to slumber without giving you a choice.

And as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but question how a boy who once had been the bane of your fucking existence, had now become the centre of it.

———————-

Find eighteen here->

#im so in love #everything about this is perfection and im bowing down in worship #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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xienperna · 7 months ago

Text

The Monolith's Deception:

Reality's Veil: Dream or Omen?

With a gasp, the girl moved the majestic door with all her remaining strength. The door opened, revealing an inviting, yet confusing room. Inside, the universe spreads out, replacing conventional walls, while at its center, a giant orb holds a magical sight: the earth, but not just one.

"What is this?" The girl asked as she stepped forward into the middle of the strange room carefully. One hand remained on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw if any danger lurked in the dark corners of the room. Her eyes scanned every corner of the room warily, looking for signs of threats that might lurk behind every shadow. But even though her heart was filled with uncertainty, curiosity and courage still moved her steps, forcing her to face the mystery that dominated the room.

"Oh, look who's here, the first teenager who just finished the Monolith tutorial" the sound of a mysterious man's laughter broke the silence, making goosebumps rise on the girl's neck. She felt as if the world around her suddenly spun faster as the man suddenly appeared behind her, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. No matter how prepared the girl was, the man's unexpected presence still managed to make her jump in surprise.

With quick reflexes, the girl turned her body and took a few steps back from the man who suddenly appeared in front of her. Her face was filled with a mixture of shock, alert, and unstoppable anger. Her eyes stared intently at the man, trying to penetrate the depth of mystery behind his enigmatic smile. True to her words, her caution and distrust towards him were clearly reflected in her wary movements and the defensive stance she was ready to maintain.

"Who are you?! What is this place?! And what do you mean by Monolith tutorial?!" the girl exclaimed, her voice sharp and filled with tension, while her hands trembled as she drew her sword from its sheath, pointing it at the mysterious man steadily. Her gaze was sharp and filled with courage, even though her heart was pounding in confusion and passionate fear.

"Gosh, calm down, I will answer all your questions," said the man in a calm tone, raising his hands as a sign of surrender. He moved towards a chair located near the giant orb in the center of the room, his attitude showing that he had no intention of attacking the girl.

"Don't think you can manipulate me! Quickly, answer my question, damn it!" the girl demanded in a tone filled with anger and tension. Her eyes radiated a burning fire as she waited for the mysterious man's answer, not wanting to be caught in the confusion that enveloped the room any longer.

"Okay, okay. First, you don't need to know who I am. Second, this is just a monitoring room. And third, I'm sure you already understand what a tutorial is," explained the man as he spun the giant orb in front of him steadily, but still with an attitude. calm and full of wisdom.

Hearing the surprising answer from the man in front of her, the girl fell silent in deep confusion. All the sacrifices and efforts she made, all the deaths her friends experienced, all just to complete a tutorial?

Without saying a word, the girl bravely rushed towards the mysterious man, swinging her sword rapidly in a desperate attempt to attack him. However, the mysterious man blocked her sword swing easily, with just two of his fingers, displaying strength far beyond what the girl could imagine.

"Why are you doing this, huh?!" The girl shouted angrily, her voice trembling with mounting disappointment and anger. His eyes flashed with the fire of raging anger, unable to accept that all the suffering she experienced was just part of a simulation.

"Very amazing," the man said quietly, his only response to the girl's boldness. Without mercy, he quickly kicked the girl's stomach with ease, causing unbearable pain.

The girl flew far away, her body slammed hard against the entrance. Sharp pain filled her entire body as her spine cracked. Blood started flowing from her mouth, and her vision started to blur. Even though she had cleared the 99th floor with great effort, her strength had been completely drained, leaving her weak and vulnerable before the merciless enemy.

"But only temporarily," said the man, his voice calm but full of despair. He approached the girl's defenseless body with slow steps.

The man cast his skill, and suddenly, from the floor appeared a large black thorn that stabbed the girl's body viciously. The girl couldn't make a sound, remembering the excruciating pain when the thorns penetrated her body, tearing flesh tissue and causing serious injuries. No amount of healing medicine or healing skills could return her body to its original state, leaving him trapped in an unfathomable agony.

"It's a shame, even though you are a product that is hard to get. But you are disappointing," said the man in a cold tone, cupping the girl's cheek with a hand that was unaffected by the flowing blood. His eyes looked at the lifeless girl before him, without any hesitation or decay in their folds.

"Ri......"

"Rina....."

"Na........"

"Rina, wake up!"

In a flash, Rina, the girl, opened her eyes. However, her presence in the real world seems to be hampered by the 'loading' process that is still ongoing in her brain. However, when forced to wake up by her friend, Zefa, Rina quickly tried to align her mind which was still in the process of rebooting.

"Zefa?" Rina asked in a low voice, her eyes still red and sleepy from waking up suddenly.

"Get up quickly, the teacher already going home," Zefa said without paying attention to Rina's question, her voice was loud and full of urgency.

"Ah, okay, okay," Rina answered in a voice that still sounded sleepy, as she got up from her chair and followed Zefa home. The two of them left the lecture hall with slow steps, but full of solidarity.

On the way to the campus motorbike parking lot, Rina thought silently, remembering the incident that had just happened to her. With slow steps, she placed her hands on her chest, felt her neck, and even tried to reach her own back. Her expression was filled with a mixture of confusion and worry, trying to understand what had just happened.

"What are you doing?" Zefa asked with a confused face, seeing Rina who suddenly stopped and made strange movements in the middle of the road.

"No, nothing," Rina answered while shaking her head, and she gave a sullen smile, trying to hide her confusion from Zefa.

Even though Rina said that there was no problem, in her heart there was still pain, confusion and fear that haunted her. However, she dismissed all those strange thoughts and tried to convince herself that it was just a dream, maybe a karma from sleeping in class earlier. It's just a dream, right?

#fantasy #age regression #oc #adventure #action #tower

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ffirekeepers · 11 months ago

Text

just let me adore you

Summary: Aoi doesn't realise the true depths of her affection for Thancred until he’s beyond her reach

Tags: wolcred, named warrior of light, au ra raen warrior of light, semi-public sex, cunnilingus, pining, getting together, love confessions, idiots in love, light angst with a happy ending

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53016640

Aoi quietly pushes the door to the Dawn’s Respite open and begins to make her rounds, pointedly avoiding the cot that hosts a certain Hyur as she does so. As she steps into the silent, tomb-like room she makes sure to maneuver herself so that regardless of where she stands he’ll never be in her sight, busying herself with instead checking over the twins and their condition. To an outsider it would appear as if she does this out of a desire to spare herself the sight of him, the reality is that her actions are born out of something far more complex.

When she can no longer distract herself with fussing over the twins she moves on to Y’shtola and then Urianger but it’s all in vain. As no matter how hard she tries to avoid it her feet will instinctually bring her to the cot bearing the man she’s desperately been trying to avoid. Her green eyes will be drawn to his chest and she’ll stare at it unblinkingly so she can ascertain if he’s still breathing. Bile rises in her throat as she finds that no matter how hard she tries she can’t turn away from him.

Her nails dig sharply into her palm, hoping the pain will shock her out of her silent vigil but she pays no heed to that nor to the sound of her blood dripping onto the stone floors below. The only thing she’s concerned about is Thancred, his condition and whether he’ll ever come back to her. It’s sickening, she can practically hear the jeers her foster father and Yotsuyu would sling at her if they could see her like this.

She’d argued fiercely against the both of them that the years in Eorzea hadn’t dulled her fangs and softened her edges, but standing here now she can’t help but agree with them. The her of yesteryears wouldn’t have even batted an eye over Thancred’s collapse and yet the person she is today can’t even function unless she visits him every few days.

As a child she’d spent years watching as the pious visitors to Reisen Temple grew decrepit before her eyes and it had never inspired any feeling in her beyond a mild pity. That their lives could be so fleeting in comparison to hers and the other auspices was nothing more than a mere fact of life to her. It was nothing to exalt over nor to cry about, an attitude that had eventually led to her being cast out of her home by the very Lords that had helped raise her. They had instructed her to go out into the world, to learn of it and its people so that she could better appreciate them and in turn become an auspice worthy of their praise.

Decades had passed with her stewing in sullen anger, however, at how casually she had been tossed aside. Her apathy only grew as a result and twisted into something spiteful as the years dragged on and still no word from home came telling her she could return, that they had been wrong to ever send her away so cruelly in the first place. Years spent in the heart of Kugane hadn’t managed to sway her from the opinions she had formed as a child, if anything it had reinforced them, but the years she’d spent besides Thancred had altered her in ways that left her neigh unrecognisable to the people who had once known her best.

It’s with this realisation swimming in her head that she feels her upper lip curl in a vicious snarl as she stalks forward towards the man, finding herself straddling his sleeping form. Aoi’s hands twitch as she plants them on his chest, yet despite the rage boiling in her veins her nails don’t sink into the comatose Hyur’s skin. Instead they trace up his body to circle his throat in a gesture that can only be described as achingly gentle. Her exploring thumbs drag under his choker and stroke firmly against his throat, not to strangle like the fury in her heart demands but to instead seek out his feeble pulse out of a desperate desire to know if he is still truly alive.

“I despise you,” she hisses when she feels just how slow his heart beats, but her tone doesn’t match the words she spits out. If anything it’s more akin to a breathless declaration of affection than a straightforward admission of hatred. “I wish we’d never met.” The words come out choked and watery as if the very thought is too painful for her to even consider. Her jaw aches with the desire for her to sink her fangs against his chest, to bite down until she can reach his heart. Instead she presses her lips oh so gently against his cheek and speaks so softly that were the man awake he would have to strain to hear her. “Why did you do this to me? You promised you wouldn’t leave me again.”

She sets herself more firmly against his prone form as the only sounds to echo in the room are her shaky inhales. As she rests her horn against his chest she can feel the stubborn prickle of tears against her lashes. Time passes like this for a long while with her simply listening to his sluggish heartbeat, realising as she does so that no matter how hard she tries the hatred churning in her gut can’t be turned outward against this man.

No matter how much she claims otherwise she doesn’t hate him, what fills her chest when she looks at him is the opposite in truth. An affection so great that it feels as if she’s drowning if she looks at him for a breath too long. She could never hurt this precious man beneath her, for he is one of the sole joys left to her in this world. The rage that fills her at being brought so low is better aimed at herself, she reasons, she can endure it so long as it means that she can remain by his side. Forcing herself to be content with that even if her heart longs for more.

It’s a fact that has her berating herself for even becoming so soft in the first place as she continues to desperately press herself against him, almost as if she’s attempting to crawl inside of him. As she does this she briefly wonders if a scene such as this had ever played out between Suzaku and Tenzen. It prompts a bitter laugh from her throat as she registers just how closely she’s managed to follow in her former mentor’s footsteps.

“I’ll take it all back,” she pleads brokenly as she props her chin on the Hyur’s chest. “If you wake up, I’ll take it all back. I know you don’t love me in the same way I love you, but please… don’t leave me all alone like this.” Her hands cup his face pitifully, her thumbs stroking gently over his cheekbones, as if in encouragement but a ringing silence is the only answer to her pleas.

She soon quickly loses track of time as she continues to softly beg Thancred to come back to her. Only peeling herself off of him when she hears the sound of approaching footsteps. By the time the intruder has entered she has pulled herself back together and stalks past them without a backwards glance. Ignoring as she does so the way her heart aches at leaving the man she’s so desperately enamoured with behind. The days pass with her feeble attempts at distracting herself but as if summoned by magic she finds herself back in that room sooner rather than later.

For a while the tragic tableau plays out the same, her hands circle his neck and her body presses against him as she desperately seeks out his warmth. Her mouth spews lies about her hatred even as she can barely bring herself to choke the words out against the lump in her throat. Before long she can’t even say them at all, instead her tone is pleading from the start. She makes bargains and divulges the secrets of her heart in the misguided belief that either of these things will bring him back to the waking world. It’s all in vain, however, no matter how sweetly she begs his eyes don’t open. The only one to hear her confessions is herself, a fact that has her wondering if this isn’t in its own way a form of rejection from the man. Surely if he cared for her in the same manner he would wake up and end this farce between them?

She never receives an answer to that query as before long Tataru is informing her of a lead that could result in her discovering just where their missing comrades are located. In doing so she finds herself transported to the First and embroiled in a plot to save its inhabitants from the rampant light that infects their world. Early into her arrival she’s informed by the mysterious Exarch that Thancred has been stranded on the shard for five years. A statement that has her stomach dropping, due in part to her sadness for him and because of the terror that fills her. At the thought that surely five years apart will have extinguished the fire that once burned so brightly between them on his part, that in her absence he will have moved on from her.

When the hour of their reunion finally arrives Aoi has long since resigned herself to the belief that they’ll go back to being nothing more than comrades in arms, perhaps even friends if she’s lucky enough. That the warmth that once filled his face at the sight of her will become a bygone memory that she’ll recall in her darkest moments. As she stares up at him she wonders if he can see the want swimming in her green eyes as her hands idly twitch at her sides. Whether it’s with the desire to pull him close or to wrap around his neck once more she can’t say for certain. All she knows is that her chest is filled with a desperate longing that’s strong enough to have her worrying that her ribs may break from trying to contain it all. Luckily for her the gunbreaker is still adept at reading her tells, as he soon fabricates a reason for them to be left alone in Il Mheg. Dragging her into a forgotten cave and foregoing a greeting in favour of hungrily crashing his lips against hers.

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” He pants against her neck as his lips drag desperately against her skin. Aoi’s breath hitches sharply in her throat as her hands can only fist pitifully against his white overcoat in response to the desperation that saturates his words. Soon she finds herself moaning softly as his tongue laps at her pulse. “It’s been torture without you.”

“I’m here now.” Oh how she longs to drag her nails down the skin of his back, desperate to leave her marks on him so that they both can be certain this isn’t a dream. She lifts her mouth to the shell of his ear and whispers her next words directly against it with a seductive purr. “Show me just how desperately you’ve longed for me.”

She doesn’t need to ask him twice before Thancred is pushing her more solidly against the cave wall, dragging his lips down her body with a slow, careful reverence that should only ever be applied by one who is worshipping their gods. His canines playfully descend against her stomach, an act that has the Au Ra letting out a husky chuckle as her hands card through his snowy hair. As she does this, his thumbs slip beneath her waistband as he drags her clothing with a painful slowness down her legs, leaving her exposed to his hungry gaze.

“I see I wasn’t the only one desperate for this reunion.” He treats her to a roguish smirk as his fingers glide through the wetness at the apex of her thighs. “Have you been thinking about this ever since we got here?” He teases as he presses delicate kisses against her inner thighs, settling one of her legs firmly over his shoulder as he does so.

“Did I ever tell you that you talk too much?” She growls out without any real aggression as she attempts to push his head tighter against her. Settling her shoulders more firmly against the wall at her back so that she can buck her hips up, a motion meant to indicate that the gunbreaker should get on with things already.

“Patience is a virtue, Dove,” he playfully scolds as his hands grip firmly at her hips in order to keep her still. Looking up at her he presses a deceptively sweet kiss to the thigh on his shoulder edging ever so slowly closer to the place she wants him most before finally gliding his tongue firmly up her slit, groaning happily at her taste as he does so.

When his lips settle against her clit in a firm suck Aoi’s reaction is immediate. “Thancred,” she whimpers through kiss bruised lips as her hands desperately clutch at his hair. There’s no gentleness to the Hyur’s actions as he nips, sucks and licks at her like a man starved, actions that have Aoi’s heart singing as she could ask for no clearer sign that he had truly missed her as much as he claims he did. That five years apart hadn’t dampened his desire for her. Before long her hips once more attempt to cant upwards in a desperate thrust against his face, an act that quickly earns her a smack against her thigh in silent reprimand.

She settles back down with a displeased groan only for it to quickly turn into a sigh of pleasure when her obedience is rewarded by the presence of Thancred’s fingers tracing against her entrance. The coil in her stomach tightens further in anticipation as she feels him spread her folds before gently thrusting into her. An action that has the two of them sighing out in unison as Aoi attempts once again to pull him impossibly closer with a desperate whine of his name. “Please, I’m so close.”

No further encouragement is required as the gunbreaker starts to fluidly thrust his fingers inside of her, gently scissoring her open as he does so. All the while his tongue continues its assault against her clit, opening his eyes in order for him to fully take in the rapture that washes over her face as he brings her closer to her release.

With his free hand he encourages her to once more rock her hips against his thrusts. Before long he’s rewarded with the sight of watching her come undone and with her slick dripping down his wrist as his motions continue in their intensity to help her ride out her high. Her hands pull sharply against his hair, an action that pulls a desperate groan from his own throat, as his name leaves her lips in a series of desperate pleas.

His fingers gradually slow to a stop in order to allow Aoi the time to come down from her high and as her gaze locks with his, seeing the way his face fills with warmth as he drinks her in, she finds herself desperate to tell him just how much she loves him. She quickly swallows the impulse, biting at her tongue until copper fills her mouth, as she instead uses the grip she has on his hair to pull him up to her mouth. Desperately crashing her lips against his before ultimately pushing him to the ground and crawling into his lap. All the while the words she refuses to speak ring incessantly in her mind. I love you. I love you. Oh please tell me you love me back.

Her fingers drag down his chest plate and to his trousers only for her to be stopped by his hands capturing her wrists. “Trust me, I would love nothing more than to continue this but our comrades are bound to start looking for us soon.” He squeezes her wrists gently even as he struggles to get his own breathing under control, not wanting her to think for even a moment that there isn’t a part of him that doesn’t desire for this. Before she can move off of him, however, he captures her lips in one final, open mouthed kiss before they both pull apart with an exasperated groan as they hear one of their companions calling out for them.

Aoi gracefully rolls off of him and hastily pulls her own garments back in place as the Hyur stands and offers her his hand in the meantime. Grasping it she finds herself pleasantly surprised when he pulls her once more into his embrace. “I promise, I’ll find you again once we’re done here and we can continue where we left off.” He presses a fleeting kiss against her lips, her cheek and her forehead before he gently pushes her away from him just in time for the two of them to be discovered.

Unfortunately for the both of them it’s a promise that soon turns hollow as the pressure begins to mount on the two of them. Thancred soon finds his free time eaten up by Minfilia and their quickly deteriorating relationship while Aoi has her own demons to contend with. Between having the same young girl look to her as if she magically has all the answers to the enigma that is Thancred and a dissonant voice whispering in the back of her mind about how she’s far too weak to save anyone, she’s now forced to grapple with the fact that she’s losing time, memories and control over her own body. That the face she sees staring back at her from the mirror no longer resembles her own, the once vibrant reds of her hair have slowly been swallowed by a blinding white and her left eye has turned a brilliant golden hue in stark contrast to its still green counterpart.

The result of all this being that the two can barely find time for themselves let alone each other, and yet despite the distance Aoi only finds it more difficult to conceal her true feelings from the man. Where once she had been able to fool herself with the lie that simply being by his side was enough for her, she now finds herself longing for a relationship that goes beyond nothing more than stolen moments where no one can see them.

In the end it’s a conversation with the young Oracle that finally pushes Aoi to make a decision. The Au Ra had been watching over the Crystarium’s marketplace from a distant perch, though in truth her eyes had remained unwaveringly fixed on a singular person for quite some time now. Resulting in her not noticing the approach of Thancred’s young charge as quickly as she once might have.

“He used to tell stories about you.” She begins timidly once she recognises the subject of Aoi’s surveillance. Minfilia eventually relaxes when Aoi gestures with her hand for the young girl to sit beside her. “Even when I didn’t know him well I could tell how happy he would get when he told the tales about your exploits. It was hard to catch at first but whenever he said your name I would see the tiniest hint of a smile, and his voice would get all soft.”

“Is that so?” Aoi says evenly, the low timbre of her voice betraying the sincere effort it takes for her to sound that way. Her eyes tracing over Thancred’s distant form as if she’ll somehow find the answer in her observation of him.

“He really does care about you,” Minfilia insists with all the earnestness of a child. “He would never admit it but I could tell that once he saw you he was much happier. The happiest I’ve ever seen him!” Her eyes never leave the older woman’s face but she’s left disappointed when her words provoke no visible reaction from the Au Ra.

Instead Aoi gracefully lifts one of her hands and carefully drapes it over the other’s golden locks before beginning to gently stroke the top of her head. If she notices the shudder and hitched breath that this simple gesture of affection produces from Minfilia she says nothing. “Thank you for telling me that.” Nothing more is said between the two as they spend the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other’s company, occasionally trading quips about the people below them.

This simple conversation is what had eventually led Aoi to deciding that once the warden of Amh Araeng is dispatched with that she’ll finally sit the gunbreaker down and confess her feelings once and for all. However, her plans are soon dashed by the arrival of Ran’jit and Thancred forcing both her and Minfilia to go on without him, brushing aside her protests as he commands them to leave without him. An all too familiar scene for the Au Ra.

It’s a moment that has her gnashing her teeth as both she and Minfilia do as he bids, desperately prodding at that presence that she’s sure has been taking over her body in the back of her mind as she does so. Desperate for the first time since it made itself known to her to have it take over, to spare her from having to live through this moment. No matter how hard she attempts to provoke the mysterious entity, however, it stays completely still, seemingly content on allowing Aoi to live through the pain and uncertainty of not knowing Thancred’s fate as well as having to witness the emotional farewell between the two Oracles of Light.

The anxiety crushing her chest only eases when she can finally take him in again with her own eyes, battered, bruised and bleeding but still alive. It’s a sight that has a wave of relief crashing through her powerful enough to have her limbs shaking. It’s soon quickly followed by a terrible anger as she recalls just how easily he had sent her away with hardly even a backwards glance let alone a goodbye. Her fellow scions must sense the rage brewing within her for as soon as Ryne receives her new name they depart to leave her alone with the cause of her ire.

“You’re upset with me.” Are the first words he says directly to her.

“Whatever gave you that impression?” Her words are cold and clipped, her tone answering his question even if she herself won’t directly.

He stands with a wince and slowly shambles his way over to her, gently running the backs of his fingers against her cheek with a sincerely contrite look. The gesture does nothing to soothe her hurt but she finds herself leaning into it regardless. “I know, you hate when people order you around and- ” he flinches lightly as Aoi cuts him off with an angry scoff.

“That’s what you think I’m so upset about?” Her eyes narrow even further in agitation as she prods at his chest aggressively. “You’re not stupid so I don’t understand how you could believe something so asinine.” Before he can open his mouth to offer up a feeble protest against her words she continues. “I could have lost you, the last memory I would have of you would have been of your back and you ordering me away. The second time you’ve done that I might add!” Her jaw clenches painfully as she drops her eyes to where her hands have started to desperately clutch at his stained coat. “You could have died and I would have lost the man I’m in love with because he felt the need to off himself in some attempt at a heroic sacrifice.” As she’s looking down she misses the surprise and tentative joy that sweeps across Thancred’s expression. “I know you don’t feel the same way, but I can’t keep this in any longer now without feeling like I might break. I won’t hate you for rejecting me but I just had to let you know.”

It’s Thancred’s turn to scoff, a sound that has the Au Ra’s shoulders curling inwards as she desperately tries to hide her face behind her hair. Despite her words she’s not brave enough to face his rejection of her feelings head on. “Now who's being asinine?” He accuses softly as his hands gently cup her face. “Aoi,” he prompts with a serious tone, causing her to finally lift her face and meet his gaze. “I’ve wanted you as more than a friend for years now, that you could ever think I would reject you is baffling to me.” He huffs a fond breath through his nose as he sees her mismatched eyes widen in surprise, his calloused thumbs stroking affectionately against her cheeks as she does her best to process this new information.

“How long?” She asks, holding her breath as she waits for his answer. Still not entirely sure if this is all an elaborate hallucination she’s having or if it’s reality.

“Since the banquet in Ul’dah,” his thumb brushes against the slope of her nose as he answers. “I wanted to say something to you that night but I didn’t have a chance before it all went to hell. Then after that I just couldn’t find the right moment to tell you, or the right words if I’m being honest.”

”You? Incapable of finding words? Perish the thought.” Despite the way her mind is reeling she can’t find it in herself to resist teasing him.

“Yes, well, I often find myself tongue tied around you, my dear. Oh, don’t look so surprised now,” he chuckles as Aoi’s expression only grows more shocked. “Do you really not know how utterly captivated I am by you?” His lips press against her forehead with an affection that only lends credence to his words. “I’ll have to do my best to make sure you know how utterly enchanting you are from now on then.”

As a blush erupts over the normally collected Au Ra’s face Thancred finds himself taking it in with hungry eyes, savouring the rare sight until he’s broken from his reverie by a whine of his name. “Thancred,” she huffs with an uncharacteristic shyness. “You didn’t say it back.” She whines pitifully while pushing at his chest with no real strength, actions that have the man letting out his first full bodied laugh in years in response.

“Pray forgive me, Dove. I’ll make it up to you.” He does just that by pressing his lips against her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids and the corner of her lips murmuring between each one as he does so. I love you. I love you. I love you. Gestures that once again have Aoi whining but much more playfully, as the brilliant smile painting her lips and the way her hands clutch at his arms do more to display her happiness than her words ever could. “Have I appropriately repented, my love?”

She sways lightly before she melts against his chest with a soft sigh at her new nickname. “It’s a good start.” She teases as her arms wrap themselves tightly against his waist and her tail secures itself along his thigh. “Once we’re done here, make it up to me properly and you’ll be back in my good graces.”

“I’ll do that.” He finally presses a desperate kiss against her lips, doing his best to pour all the love and affection he holds for her into such a simple gesture. The two eventually pull apart with a soft laugh before coming to a mutual, silent agreement to meet up with the others. With a dashing smile Thancred holds out his arm for Aoi to take, his smile only growing wider as she links their arms with a dazzling grin of her own. Their steps are light as they trudge across the sands to their awaiting companions, the two of them finally content with where their relationship stands.

#wolcred #thancred x wol #thancred waters #ffxiv #final fantasy xv #my fic

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