#feels good to be running from the devil / * visage

[nixoon-again]

Sonic doesn't know what he loathes more; being forced to sit in the dark, unable to move in a locked cell for Chaos knows how long or facing the nightmares the occasional light entails.

He grumbles to himself as he shifts in his restraints, the chains clinking against the metal floor as he tries to sit up straight once more. Half lidded, tired eyes look ahead aimlessly, the bright shine in those emeralds has taken on a more dulled shade in these past few months or something. How long has he been here exactly? He doesn't know. A part of him doesn't want to know. 

He's tired.

Sonic places his head on his knees as softly as he can as to not worsen his throbbing headache and then he runs a hand through his dishevelled quills; his fur is a mess — don't get him wrong, Sonic isn't that much into modern fur care techniques, he just lets the wind style his quills but the recent lack of, well, just about everything from proper food and water to even a hint of sunlight has made his fur thinner than it already was. Sticky with sweat, his fur has become dry, dull and matted. It feels horrible, or that's what he would say if he didn't have worse things to worry about right now.

The door to his cell creaks open, a shilling sound that makes him pin his ears down to his skull and grit his teeth — speak of the devil…

Sonic doesn't look up, doesn't want to, not anymore when he hears someone step in and close the door to his cell once more, blocking the onslaught of more light than he's ever granted in this confined space again. 

Again.

It happens again and that's what gnaws at Sonic's guts from the inside out.

Always, he always comes back.

Little, calculated steps patter towards him, a bit scared with the way they move. As if too confused whether or not it's a good idea to reach Sonic and too hasty and terrified that they wish to be next to his side in an instant. 

Or so it seems to be, Sonic knows better.

Because always it starts the same; like a dream he wishes so badly to be true, a vestige he longs to hold in his arms, a visage he never wants to let go of and yet he knows how it ends, how he's painstakingly given a ray of hope and how mercilessly it is snatched from his hands, how quickly the light is snuffed out, just how heartlessly everything is taken from him, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than he's ever been, re-evaluating whether he even deserves to be called a hero when he can't even save the people he holds dearest to his heart, why has he gone so weak that he can't even save someone in his protective embrace.

Nothing scared his little brother in his embrace, nothing.

It's as if the warm barrier of his arms is enough to word off every threat, every nightmare, every strike of thunder.

He remembers it so vividly, holding a scared little fox kit close to his chest and watching his tense shoulders relax, his shivering body calm down, his soft sniffles turning into gentle purrs.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He'll never hold his little brother like that again.

He can't hold him at all.

Tails isn't here anymore.

And it's all Sonic's fault.

The little footsteps stop somewhere before him, not more than a feet or two away. Sonic doesn't want to look up, Sonic doesn't want to see that face again.

(He's lying. He desperately wants to see that face again, he's dying to look in those ocean eyes full of life, to run his hands through the soft golden fur, to wrap himself around that little body and protect him from everything. Everything—)

Sonic's quills bristle when he feels them plop on the cold, metal floor before him.

Nothing happens for what feels like hours. Sonic doesn't look up and his guest doesn't move an inch from the spot they've taken. The silence becomes overwhelming, frightening but Sonic will never say that out loud. Because why should he? Why should he admit he's afraid when he swears he's not. 

(And if he's not afraid why won't he look up?)

Sonic has had many nightmares in his life, why does this have to be the worst one, why does this one has to repeat itself — why can't they just let him mourn once.

Everyone dies.

But everyone dies once.

Then why bring him back every time? Why use his face to haunt Sonic? Why can't they just let his little brother rest? Why does he have to suffer just so they can get to Sonic?

What did he do to deserve this?

A small hand rests on his forearm.

Reluctant, yet Sonic finally raises his head.

Just as he feared, he is greeted by his little brother's face. Not the same as he lost him but the same as he so clearly remembers — the brown fur, the big baby blue eyes open wide, the unsure movements, the oh so tiny hands, the cream tipped twin tails, the three unruly bangs… The weak little toddler he took under his wing, malnourished, scared with a mind brighter than anyone else in the whole world and a determination to rival his own.

He looks what? Four? Barely five?

It makes Sonic's heart crumble.

He shouldn't be here. He doesn't belong here. 

There's no recognition in emerald eyes, no emotion the little cub before him can decipher. Just tired, dull greens that match lively, bright blues.

The cub tilts his head when Sonic doesn't regard him, one of his ears flops to the side when he does, a small frown tugs at his lips as he knits his brows in confusion and Sonic has seen this little perplexed face too many times to count.

Still, the kit words the question assaulting his mind and, Chaos, the small voice tugs at the hedgehog's heart, “Sonic, are you upset?”

Innocence oozes out of the simple question, the cub's bug eyes don't help Sonic's case at all. He knows it will only hurt to reply, but how long can he ignore a child he raised?

“Yeah… I guess you can say that, bud.” Sonic reaches out a hand, seemingly to pet the kit's head but stops midway. The gloved hand hovers over the younger for a moment before Sonic retracts it, resting it on his knee instead.

If it is possible, Tails adds with an even smaller voice, “... With me?”

Are you upset with me?

What a silly question.

Sonic can never be upset with Tails.

The answer is right there, it is not even something he has to think about. Upset with Tails? As if. He can't be even if he tried to, not more than a second at best. Why would he? The kit has never done anything wrong, anything worth getting mad at. Tails is a good child and he's so much better than Sonic in many ways — Tails is polite, he plays ahead, he's a better negotiator, he's almost always the voice of reason, he makes better decisions — Sonic can never be mad at him.

Yet he says none of it out loud.

His reply never comes.

He doesn't know why.

(Is he actually upset with him? For coming back or for promising to make him live through the loss again?)

The kit all but crumbles at the lack of a reply. His ears pinning against his skull as he lowers his head, carefully taking his cold hand off of Sonic's arm and leaving it lying uselessly in his lap.

Instinct yells at Sonic to pick up the fox cub and cradle him in his arms, hush him and tell him whatever self-deprecating nonsense his brain is feeding is wrong and Sonic can never be upset with him, isn't upset with him right now and how he shouldn't beat himself up over little nothings when his big brother is right there to protect him from ill thoughts but Sonic doesn't move. Don't get him wrong, he wants nothings more that to pull the kit in a strong embrace but he can't get himself to do so. 

He always loses Tails in his arms.

He's too scared to hold him, afraid that he will lose him the moment he pulls the boy to his chest.

He doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to go through that again.

Maybe it's selfish of him to think like about his charge but he can't. 

He just can't.

If it was anyone but Tails, Sonic might have done something. He might have pushed himself to at least calm them down even if it will just make the departure more painful.

But not Tails.

Not his little brother.

(Not as a toddler for Chaos’ sake)

“Sonic?” The kit calls again, the hedgehog doesn't acknowledge him. Tails continues anyway, “Did I-I do something bad?”

No. No, he didn't. Of course, he didn't. He can never do anything bad. Not in Sonic's eyes, never. Still, the hedgehog doesn't say anything. He doesn't find his voice strong enough to reply. Instead, he rests his head on his knees again and runs a hand through his quills with a sigh.

Now that he's not looking at Tails, it sounds like the kit is on the verge of crying, “Do you not like me anymore?”

Nothing. The answer is right there but Sonic says nothing.

Tails sounds terrified when asks another question after a brief pause, “Are you going to throw me out too?”

Never. 

Never.

Sonic will never understand those stupid, superstitious villagers who abandoned this sweet child because of something out of his control, chasing him out of every warm place he could find, starving him, abusing him like he wasn't even a person, looking down at him like he was some freak, sneering at him as if he was a curse — they make his blood boil to this day. Irrelevant, they don't matter. What matters is that Sonic will never be like them, Sonic will never abandon Tails, Sonic will never leave him behind. He will always wait for Tails and they will always stay together because that's just who they are; they're Sonic and Tails, they're the unbreakable bond. Nothing separates them. Nothing can.

And yet…

“I'm scared…” Tails sniffs, “It hurts.”

That gets Sonic's head snapping up, eyes wide open as he uncurls to reach for the kit, looking over him to find any injury that may be causing him pain that he hasn't noticed yet. His chains move with him as he cups the younger's face in his hands — and oh Chaos, did he really use to be this small? — and tries to ignore just how cold he is as he gently checks for whatever is wrong.

“It hurts, Sonic…” The kit cries as Sonic uncovers the bleeding wound that was previously hidden by the tail wrapped around the boy's blood-covered torso. Sonic gulps, finding himself unable to breath at the amount of red staining the cream fur. The wound spans over more than half of Tails’ torso with no signs of the bleeding to stop anytime soon.

It's so unfair.

He hasn't even taken the kit in his arms yet and Tails is already… 

“Sonic, please—” Big, fat tears roll down Tails’ muzzle as Sonic wordlessly gathers him in his arms and hastily pulls him to his chest. Tails’ ear flickers with something red as he is moved but Sonic chalks it off as another injury he missed while Tails wraps himself around the hedgehog's middle like his life depends on it. Tails buries his face in Sonic's chest as his voice cracks, “I don't wanna be here anymore.”

“S-Sonic,” Tails calls him again but Sonic doesn't say anything. The hedgehog puts a hand on the boy's back and cradle his head with another as he slowly begins rocking the kit back and forth. None of it helps Tails, “Are you listening?”

He sounds so lost, so desperate. 

“I-It hurts… You promised me… You promised you'll save me,” His claws dig into the hedgehog's sides, “Sonic, why aren't you saving me?”

Sonic just rests his face on Tails’ head, nuzzling into his fur as he holds him tight enough that it must hurt. The kit cries and claws, sputtering out words that each feel like a new dagger stabbing Sonic's heart before being mercilessly twisted out. He hates it. He loathes it. He wants nothing more than Tails’ suffering to end.

He doesn't say anything.

At least that way, he can pretend the little body in his arms going still and lifeless doesn't hurt as much as it did the first time. At least that way he can ignore the tears that fall unprompted from his eyes.

_____

It happens again.

It always does.

The door opens with a screeching noise, footsteps sound against the metal floor. They stop somewhere before him.

This time he looks up.

He's met with the masked face of the jackal.

[alliebriggsart]

“Mephistopheles, The Arch Devil of Baator”

You may have seen this handsome devil floating around the reddit/twitter sphere last year, and he has finally made his way here.

Re-Introductions might be in order. Hi my name is Allie! I am a fantasy artist that loves painting dragons and women with claws, horns, and thorns. Plus, the occassional devious devil.

I joined Tumblr in 2011 to bear witness to my college years and the works I created in school. (You can view the times of old for now... until I feel like making all those posts private.) Now, with everything happening on Twitter, it only felt right to get this page up and running again. I worry about the changes that will come. I had so many opportunities come from Twitter. So many things I don’t think could have happened without the ttrpg community there and the random happenstance of discoverability.

I wish only good things for every artist on Twitter. No matter what happens.

--------

Hints of Mephisto exist in our campaign, which is what originally drew me into creating my own design. Mephisto had a completely different description in AD&D than in the newer editions or even Pathfinder. Something about the ice of Cania and the encompassing detail of blue was a big part of the imagery that I latched onto. No repeat of the red alien beast from the Star Trek movie that was last minute placed into a frosty terrain.

AD&D Monster Manual II description."Mephistopheles is a nine foot tall, blue-black humanoid with handsome, yet diabolical features. He has huge muscles that befit his great strength, and his speech is whispering wind. His wings, horns, and talons are deep blue and his scales are sooty black. His eyes are pale blue with red irises and pupils."

Other lore describes him as a paranoid individual. Always questioning the loyalty of his cohorts, for he himself is constantly trying to reach Asmodeus' throne, which means others could be aiming to covet his place in the Nine Hells. The tendency to show charm and control has been described as a façade, well maintained when present at court but otherwise short fused and quick to lash out when alone or dealing independently with others. Daddy... sorry.

Of course... here he is taking on the visage of something much more charming and devilish than his true form.

[loosesodamarble]

Shadows of the Past

Summary: Nacht reveals the truth of that fateful day. Genre: angst Word count: ~500

..........

Nacht never had a good relationship with the truth.

Honesty was a hassle. He often lied for his own amusement, or to get out of trouble. The truth was only inconvenient to him in those times. But being honest with his feelings, who he was, was downright terrifying. He cared for Morgen but never let it show for fear of tainting Morgen's light. He hid his love for Josele because he felt unworthy of her kindness. He believed that if he remained close to them, he'd hurt them.

But his lying heart was what hurt them.

Nacht could no longer speak to Morgen, not truly. Only to a stone cold grave. He could confess the depths of his heart to the earth that cradled Morgen. But Josele, she lived; her ears and, more importantly, her heart were as open as could be to Nacht's words. He could at least give Josele the truth she deserved.

Nacht and Josele stood in the ceremony room beneath House Faust.

"What is this place?" she asked in whisper, taking in her surroundings.

"It is the scene of my greatest crime," Nacht answered. He stepped away from her side and up the steps to the ritual circle. His grimoire rose to his side. "Shadows of the Past."

A great mass of shadows rose up, momentarily consuming the room in darkness. When they seemed to recede, the Nacht that stood on the dais was replaced by a visage of his past self, with white hair and cold grin. Around Josele, were recreations of Vincent, Adela, and figures in ritual robes.

Josele watched the scene from the past unfold. As Vincent praised Nacht's proficiency with devil magic. Watched him offer Lucifugus' relic to the younger Faust. How Nacht eagerly accepted the manacle. Her heart raced with fear when Morgen revealed himself and tried to make Nacht see reason. Her heart sank and tears filled her eyes as Nacht refused to listen. Even though she knew it was only a recreation of the event, the illusory presence of Lucifugus filled Josele with dread, as if death was upon her. Helplessly, she watched Morgen run to Nacht's side and destroy the relic. When Morgen's pain scream filled the room, she winced and her body trembled.

And as the Nacht from the past sank into the shadows with Morgen in his arms, the shadows in the room slowly dispelled. They melted away until the real Nacht was revealed.

"My star... Can you forgive me, even knowing this?" he asked, choking on tears of his own.

Breathing was difficult, much less speaking. So, silently, Josele joined Nacht on the dais, took his hand, and touched her forehead to his. Their tears ran down their faces and collected on the floor between their feet.

There was no need for words as the sorrow and the love they shared spoke for them.

[bisluthq]

I know I keep sending you asks about the John thing and I apologize for that because the man is vile, but as you said, the Joe/Travis things are just a bit boring. Like honestly the most interesting thing about the Joe relationship was how it started imo (which is why she kept writing songs about it lmao). Anyway, the John Mayer thing runs DEEP. Like I honestly find it both very fascinating and very disturbing. Example:

I read an old interview where she was talking about Ours and she said that it was written "right BEFORE she turned 20 about a relationship she was in that she knew people wouldn't approve of and it was just a matter of time before people found out," which is interesting considering she randomly started spending a lot more time with the crypt keeper around this time (Vevo launch party + Jingle Ball).

But then I read the "official" breakup reports that her and boy Taylor's teams sent to PEOPLE and Us Weekly, and both explicitly stated that they (she) had called things off AFTER her 20th birthday. The Us Weekly kind of focused on how he was way more into her then she was but how they planned to stay friends, and the PEOPLE one really pushed the "it was actually never that serious and the media just blew it out of proportion" narrative.

... And then she proceeded to write Back To December where she apologizes for how terribly she treated him and goes over how guilty she feels about breaking his heart, which makes me think that it either wasn't super casual or was legit full on PR and she just wrote the song to make it a bit more convincing, because the timeline IS messy. The other option is girlie (in her mind) basically had two boyfriends, one that was like *perfect and one that she later referred to as the devil, and she liked the second one WAY more. Which TBF, the John thing predates the Taylor thing by like... At least a year.

It is made worse by the fact that the post her 20th B-Day thing is kinda proved by some photos that got taken of them the morning after, and by the fact that his dumb little SNL skit that they reference in the ICSY music video was aired/filmed the day between the Jingle Ball and her birthday.

It's also made worse by the fact that Owl City AND Boys Like Girls performed that night (alleged love Story guy/guy who thinks she wrote songs about him and didn't & enchanted guy who got GHOSTED). Honestly when she performs with BLGs there is also a bit of a vibe with Martin (though not to the same degree as John. The most stark difference is that when she leaves both performances she hugs J and doesn't hug M).

I know this is already ridiculously long but I will also add that there is an interview of John's from the night of the Jingle Ball where he says that he's "really looking forward to going down these halls and being like are you in Boys Like Girls or are you Owl City? Because I'm getting old now, and I don't know everyone's visage" and yes I am aware there weren't THAT many people to name but that feels a little targeted.

Also she said in an interview that was done 3 days before her 20th birthday that she thought Taylor Lautner and John Mayer were hot, and like... Thanks for the confirmation girlie but I could've told you that. Anyway have a good day, hopefully you find this as interesting as I do so I haven't just wasted your time🙏

she defs did have a situation with Martin because like photos of them exist and his ex said they dated and idk. She dated that dude. She didn’t date Owl City guy lmao but she never claimed to. She was just charmed by him and that’s the point of Enchanted.

John is a huge asshole for the stunt he pulled. I don’t think it’s cool to mess with 19 year olds if you’re over 22 tbh. I don’t think he ever felt deeply about it - he just liked her talent and her looks - and that’s fucked up.

[missgeniality]

A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonna​for hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again.  Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids. 

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.” 

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want. 

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink. 

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’ 

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand. 

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it. 

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all. 

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in. 

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation. 

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek. 

“Sooo I was watching Filter…” 

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through. 

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away. 

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces. 

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way. 

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come. 

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe. 

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup. 

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon-��calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly. 

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast. 

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions. 

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance. 

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge. 

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs. 

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word. 

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time. 

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him. 

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up. 

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in. 

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks. 

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!” 

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.” 

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him. 

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line. 

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up. 

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either. 

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed. 

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition. 

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost. 

But you’re not done being an idiot. 

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient. 

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!” 

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one. 

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral. 

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go. 

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night. 

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow. 

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams. 

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder. 

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now. 

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone. 

So there is no reason for you to be able to move. 

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too. 

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known. 

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise. 

You were a sucker for the whole man. 

But the sucking will probably have to wait. 

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.” 

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this. 

“You know my favorite part?” 

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body. 

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream. 

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward. 

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm. 

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general. 

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work. 

Well, you must get to work. 

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties. 

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard.  Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack! 

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness. 

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes. 

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him. 

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips. 

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.” 

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down. 

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result. 

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth. 

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines. 

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering. 

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs. 

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away. 

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you. 

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him. 

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you. 

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now. 

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you. 

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion. 

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside. 

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue. 

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want. 

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon. 

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.” 

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech. 

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish. 

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole. 

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans. 

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well. 

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours. 

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot. 

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable. 

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping. 

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down. 

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do. 

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

[forever-rogue]

Afterglow - Part 6

A/N: Honey Bee finally made the smartest decision of her life in the last chapter and now...time to deal with the fallout. Thank you guys for supporting and loving this story too! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: None

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Spitting out the toothpaste into the sink, you groaned slightly when you realized that you had left your mouthwash back on your desk. Tilting your head under the tap, you got a mouthful of water and swished it around in your mouth, trying to get the last bits of toothpaste out.

When you were satisfied with the lackluster brushing, you quickly splashed some cold water onto your face to wake yourself up. But it was no use - you still looked as tired and dragged out as you felt. There were dark circles under your eyes, your lips were chapped and cracked, and the joy you normally held in your eyes was all but gone. You had been going through the motions for the last three, feeling more like an empty shell than anything else. 

But you felt liberated - free. More so than you had in a long time. That in itself made your current struggle worth it.

Grabbing your toothpaste, toothbrush, and hairbrush, you stalked out of the bathroom, ready to slink back to your office before anyone else arrived. 

Looking furtively around the hall, you walked the short distance to your own office, almost making it to safety when you heard your name being called softly. Groaning inwardly, you cleared your throat and turned around, plastering on the best smile you could.

"Ally," you said softly, "y-you're here early!"

"I was just thinking the same thing," she joked, and while you could tell she meant no harm, it still caused you to panic slightly. She was well aware of you calling off your engagement, hell the whole world seemed to know, but she never seemed to pity you for it. Her eyes flicked to the items in your hands as a warmth crept into your chest and blossomed over your whole face, "I'm meeting a client early this morning because it was the only thing that fit into his schedule. Are you..."

You remained silent for a moment, hanging your head before letting out a long sigh, "look, I've just been staying here since things ended with Chad. I'm trying to find my own place, but its been a bit of a difficult go. Turns that a lot of people don't want to rent to you if you happen to have supposedly wronged Chad Williams. It seems like everyone knows him."

She reached out and gave your shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. Meeting her eyes, you found a small smile on her face, luckily not one of pity, "I'm sorry he's making things miserable still. I'm guessing your parents are out of the question?"

"Absolutely not an option," you admitted with a stiff laugh, "my mom seemed okay at first but she and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I was in the wrong and making a horrible mistake. They insisted I was just going through a phase because of nerves. When I told them I was sure about my decision and wasn’t going back, they all but...disowned me. Imagine the shame I’ve brought upon them in their minds...they’re so old fashioned. Maybe they’ll come around one day.”

"Yikes," she said as you nodded, "can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

"I never liked him," she admitted softly, causing you to almost give yourself whiplash as you looked over at her, "there was just something about him that was off. I think - I know, you can do so much better."

"Thank you," you said as you laughed lightly, trying to hold the tears that threatened to well up at bay, "I hope so too."

"I mean it," she insisted, "you're kind, smart, pretty, and you've got a good heart. What more could anyone ask for?"

"Apparently a dutiful, quiet little wife..."

"Very funny," she teased, "why don't you come and stay with us? While you get your own place? We've got an extra bedroom that's not being used, and it's much better than staying here. Have you been sleeping on your hard old couch?”

"Yes..."

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "come over when you're done for the day. We'll get the room ready for you. Anna will be happy to see you again too. And you know what, it's not an option, its a demand. Just come over tonight and we'll get you settled. I'll have Anna pick up some wine for dinner and everything."

"Ally, you're much too kind..." you said as her phone stared to ring. She looked at the screen and a big smile spread across her visage as her wife's name popped up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil," she laughed lightly, "tonight! No if, ands, or buts!"

You could only nod as she walked away, chattering excitedly as she went to her own office. Before stepping in and closing the door, she gave you a grin and wave that was enough to cause a single tear to roll down your cheek. It had been weeks since anyone had even shown you an ounce of kindness; most people had decided to scorn you instead, blaming you for everything that had happened. Wiping the warm drop away, you stepped foot into your own office, stashing your toiletries away for what you hoped would be the last time. Hopefully that everything you'd finally be able to have a proper, long, hot shower and sleep in a bed, two luxuries that you had been greatly missing. 

Pulling out a dress from the small wardrobe, you slipped it on, vowing to stop your little pity party. Sure, things weren't ideal right now, but you were still so much better off than others. That was something you did not take for granted.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Men really can be the worst,” Anna laughed, almost snorting into her wine as you held up your glass in a mock salute, “can you imagine being that pathetic and trying to sabotage someone you supposedly loved? I think it speaks volumes to his character.”

“The longer we were together, the more I realized that it was never about love, even if that’s how it started out. It was always about appearances and trying to please everyone else. It was getting so tiring.”

“I can only imagine,” Ally gave her your leg a small pat as you downed the rest of your glass, “but at least you’re free now. It’s easy to fall  into routine and not realize how unhappy we’ve become. We get used to just staying on one path. Usually it takes something big to make us realize what we’re doing isn’t what we wanted in the first place.”

“Okay Dr. Ally,” Anna teased her wife, “we’re not at the office. But I agree...I am curious, and happy, as to what caused you to realize that you deserve more.”

You felt the blood draining from your face almost immediately as you swallowed nervously, mouth dry. You weren’t about to delve into the memories and dreams that had been plaguing you over the weeks, becoming increasingly more frequent the closer your former wedding date had approached. Frankly, you hadn’t even admitted that to yourself yet, not out loud anyway. 

How were you supposed to tell yourself, let anyone else, that the reason you realized you deserved was better because you’d been dreaming of your high school boyfriend again? It had been twenty years, twenty long years without him - there was no reason you should have even given him a second thought. Yet...here you were. Still hung up on Frankie Morales, the boy that had earned your heart...and then brought it into a million pieces. You knew, you would be the first to admit, that it wasn’t all his fault, that you were to blame to an extent as well, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ever since the day that you had run into him again, a day that should have been like any other, he’d been living rent free in your mind. Even if you hated him, even if you were still mad at him after all this time. You couldn’t help but wonder - what if. What if. 

What if he had come to California with you and you’d both stayed there? What if you had waited for him while you went to school and he was in the military? What if he’d come back to you long ago? Would you still be together? Would you be married to him? Would  you have a daughter or son that took on both of your best qualities? Or would you have eventually fallen out and broken up anyway, only to loathe each with every fiber of your being? Would you have stayed together?”

What if. What if. What if. 

It was that haunted you for so long now.

“Umm,” you snapped back into reality and pushed the thought of the boy you had loved out of your mind. You set the glass back down and made a small, noncommittal sound, “it was just a lot of things. The more real things became with the wedding planning the more I realized that I didn’t want this. It was at my last dress fitting actually, that I realized I couldn’t do it.” 

“That must have been quite a wake up call,” Anna’s eyes widened as she imagined the scene as you nodded, taking the almost empty bottle of wine and pouring the remainder into your class. 

“It was,” you admitted with a long sigh, “you should have been the poor dress maker. I almost ran out on her. But you know, even though things are far from perfect right now, I would still do it all again.”

“Cheers to that,” Ally held up her class, and the two of you clinked yours against it, “now to bigger and better things. You can, and will, do so much better.”

“Thank you both,” just being in their presence, let alone their home, had you feeling infinitely better, “I don’t even know where to begin to thank you.”

“What are friends for?” 

“I, however, do have some more good news,” Anna was proud of herself as the two of your gave her an inquisitive look, “I spoke to my friend who is a realtor today, no connection to Chad or anything, and he said he has a perfect little house available! It’s a little on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet neighborhood, but that it would be perfect for you. It’s not big, just a little two bedroom, one bath, but it’s all been redone recently, and it’s quaint. He showed me some pictures and I think you’d really like it.”

“You did...you did this for me?” you felt another wave of tears sting at the back of your eyes as she nodded. 

“I’m not trying to push this on you at all, or anything of the sort,” she promised, “but we were talking and it just came up and I thought of you. I thought I’d just tell you in case you were interested...you are, of course, welcome to stay with us however long you want.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said softly, “truly. I’d love to see the place. If you like, I’m sure it’ll be great. And honestly, it would be nice to get out of the city and be a little bit out of the way and I don’t need anything much. I just want a place that will feel like home...my own place.”

“Obviously it comes with the stipulation that we will get to help decorate and pick out furniture if you move into it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” you agreed, “it’s going to be nice getting my own things and having it be truly mine.”

“A fresh start,” she agreed, “I’ll tell Elijah that we’ll stop by tomorrow and take a look? How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you agreed, feeling your heart finally feel warm again, as a wave of calm washed over you, “absolutely perfect.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next two weeks were a whirlwind of moving, although you technically didn’t have much to move, furniture shopping, unpacking, and organizing your new home. 

The house was cute, an older little home that had been recently renovated with a small yard and  a perfect spot for a garden. You could already picture yourself gardening once the cooler autumn and winter months were over. 

It wasn’t huge, but it had a spare bedroom you decided would serve as a home office and occasional guest room, although you figured you weren’t going to have many of those considering how easily everyone had cut you off. It was open, warm, and inviting, and it was perfect for what you wanted. It had brought up the idea of maybe adopting a dog or cat to keep as your friend. It had made you think of something that Frankie always said: anyone who wasn’t willing to share their home with an animal was as good as heartless.

It served as a sharp contrast to your former living situation; everything in the apartment you had shared with Chad had been cold, dark, and minimalistic. Nothing about it had ever felt truly homey, more like an ornate display at an art museum you were afraid to even look at. Chad had never wanted an animal of any sorts, not even a goldfish, claiming that it would take up too much time, too much space, and he just didn’t want something to take care of.

But your new home was the polar opposite, it was romantic and airy and filled with items and trinkets that made it feel like a home. A little animal friend would fit in perfectly. You were fitting in perfectly already. 

You’d even made it a point to go around the neighborhood and introduce yourself to people. Your justification was that you had literally nothing to lose, your family had turned their backs on you, your ex-fiance had taken almost all of the so called friends you’d had, and were left to your own devices. In the worst case scenario, you’d have met a few unsavory people, and in the best case scenario you’d get to know your neighbors and maybe make a few friends.

Something in the stars seemed to align, as your neighbors turned out to be kind and welcoming, and you were sure the cookies you offered them weren't a deterrent either. They were mostly either older couples, or small families, a few roommates that lived together. The normalcy of it all was endearing, and to know that you had a place that you were welcome was enough to let your heart rest easy. 

The only mystery that remained was your next door neighbor, the one on your left side. Whoever it was had been missing, gone or something, since you’d moved in several weeks before. While trying to maintain a respectful distance, you’d kept an eye on the house to see if you could spy anyone coming or going, see a car...something. But you never did - not even seen so much as a porch light flicker on. It seemed odd, especially in this neighborhood.

One afternoon, in the middle of unpacking the new bits of furniture for your living room and rearranging everything for about the tenth time, curiosity got the better of you. Maybe it was because you were in the middle of watching some true crime documentaries as you worked but you just felt...nervous. You were concerned about the health and safety of this mysterious neighbor that you hadn’t even met. You’d hastily wiped the sweat from your brow before rushing over to the neighbor on the other side of the seemingly nonexistent neighbor. 

Unfortunately, much to your chagrin, the other neighbor, an older widowed man by the name of Eddie, who happened to have an adorable dog that you decided you’d offer to take on walks, was just as clueless as you. 

He said he’d seen the man, at least you narrowed it down to that much, come on and go on occasion, but that he kept odd hours. He commented that he must have worked evenings or something, because he wasn’t around much at that time and it was always quiet during the day. Apparently it wasn’t odd for him to be gone for days at a time, or at least for no one to notice him. At least he’d be a quiet neighbor if he ever appeared again. But the older man hadn’t seemed too concerned, so figured there was nothing to worry about. You ended finding out that he was likely around your age, with dark hair. That was about all that Eddie knew; he said the man whose name he couldn’t even remember had always kept to himself since he’d moved in a few years ago. 

You’d thanked him, given the small fluffy dog a few pets and trudged back to your own place, arms filled with various baked goods, including a delicious smelling loaf of banana bread. Eddie had proudly declared that he had taken up the hobby of baking in his retirement and he always had been plenty to share. You made a mental note to store that little piece of info away for future use. 

And yet still, even as more days passed, you still didn’t see hide nor hair of the mystery man. You’d gone to work each morning, wondering if maybe you just missed him and you had conflicting schedules. You didn’t know why you even cared so much, or what drew you to solving this mystery, but you were just inexplicably invested. 

One evening, as you were watching some Netflix and unwinding with a glass of wine, browsing the adoptable animals at the local shelter, it hit you. It was like the proverbial lightbulb had been switched on and you came up with a brilliant idea. When you’d moved in, you’d taken some fresh, homemade cookies to everyone in the small cul-de-sac - why didn’t you just make some for him? 

It was brilliant, you thought to yourself as you set the wine glass down and almost tossed your laptop to the floor in excitement. You would make your favorite cookies, soft, gooey chocolate chip ones you fancied so much, get them all safely in a container and drop them off when you felt for work in the morning. If they were gone by the time you came home that would mean he had to have been there. 

Yes, you thought to yourself, this is brilliant. No one could turn down a plate of fresh cookies. 

So you’d spent the rest of the evening, bouncing around the kitchen excitedly, pouring your heart and soul into the every little step it took to make the perfect treat. By the time you’d gone to bed, excited and worn out, the little package was sitting on your counter for your to grab on your way out. This was going to be it, you just knew it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You woke up early the next morning, even before your alarm went off, a smile on your face despite being tired. You almost stopped dead in your tracks when you realized that this was the first, the first time in what felt like a small eternity that you woke up like that. It was a good feeling, and you hoped that you would be able to hang onto it. 

Once you’d showered and done up your makeup and hair to your liking, you slipped on a pretty golden dress. It always made you feel pretty, the color bringing a slight bit of joy into your heart. You always felt confident and good in it, and you decided it was just what you needed. If your last session ended early enough, you even planned on stopping by the animal shelter to see if you made a connection with any of the adoptable animals. It was going to be a good day. You could feel it in your bones. 

Once you were ready to go, you grabbed your pre-packed lunch from the fridge, along with your purse and the package for your mystery neighbor. Almost flouncing over to his porch because you were buzzing with energy, you hopped up the steps and set it on the front porch and center, in the middle of the doormat, topped off with a handwritten note introducing yourself. The mat was a generic one, and you did a little look around to see if you could find a name or any personal touches around the porch. But there was nothing - no clue as to who it could be. It was no matter, you told yourself, you would have your answers soon enough.

Giving the neatly wrapped container one last fond look, you headed to your car and off to work. Hopefully you’d be busy enough to keep your mind occupied. It was silly to get so invested in something so trivial and yet...here you were. An eternal dreamer and optimist at heart, just like you always had been, even as a teenager. Even if you had to suppress that side of yourself for some time, more so with each passing year, you were still the same girl underneath it all. 

The day felt like it had like it went by in a blur as you saw several of your regular patients, feeling like you were finally able to help them properly and give them your undivided attention. It went so well that you did manage to finish up early, which meant  you could have your fun and go look at animals. You knew it would be a challenge to meet different pets and not be able to take them all home, but you were willing to give it the old college try. 

You hadn’t bothered to stop home and change, opting to go straight to the shelter.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as you'd gotten there and started looking at the different dogs, you knew it would be hard. 

So many of the sweet dogs came up to you, some wagging their tails in nervous excitement, some just beside themselves, but others were more reluctant, sitting and observing you. You went up to as many as you could, keeping a respectful distance from them and offering them your hand to sniff. A couple of them give you a few licks, letting you reach in and pet them, but getting distracted as soon as they spied other people. Sweet dogs, all of them, but those weren’t the ones for you. As you walked through the various dogs, you were disheartened to find that you didn’t seem to have a connection to any of them. You hoped they would go to good homes soon regardless. Maybe it wasn’t your day to find a companion, which was totally okay with you. You’d just come back some other day and make sure that one of them got a home in your adobe.

But as you neared the end of the last row, you stopped when you spotted a small dog, small for being a pitbull that was, sitting in the corner of her kennel, a sad, dejected look on her face. She was a pretty thing, light tan with white marking on her sweet face, but her eyes contained a deep sadness.

“Hi, sweet girl,” you said softly as you didn’t even hesitate to drop to your knees, dropping on the floor of the kennel, sliding a few fingers under the barrier keeping you from her, trying to coax her to you. She observed you with keen interest, but remained rooted in her spot, “you are so pretty! I bet you’re just as sweet too, aren’t you? I can tell…”

“She’s very sweet,” one of the shelter’s volunteers, a young boy by the name of Lucas that had let you in, said as he walked up to you, “but she’s really shy. She’s less than a year old, but she’s already had a go of it.”

“What happened to her?” you asked gently, keeping your voice down so you wouldn’t startle her, “she looks so sad.”

“She was abused by her former owner, sadly. They found her when they went to raid the owner’s home, apparently he was a small time drug dealer on top of it,” he explained and you made a small in the back of your throat as you just looked at her. It made your heart break to know that this poor animal, and so many others like her, were being abused for no reason - not that anyone, person or animal, should ever have been abused, “it’s made her shy, but she does warm up to people.”

“What’s her name?” you asked as she moved ever so marginally closer to you. You smiled at her, giving her an encouraging little nod.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy,” you called softly as her ears perked up slightly. It suited her, you decided, a soft pretty name for a pretty girl, “hi sweet Daisy. You are a big lovebug underneath it all, aren’t you?”

She turned her slightly to look at as you offered her a small, reassuring nod. 

“How about Miss Daisy Mae?” you asked her and you got a glimpse of her tail wagging ever so slightly, “yeah, I think that’s perfect too. May I pet you?”

It was silent, completely so sans for the other dogs in their kennels as you attempted to gain her trust. You didn’t want to scare her off, but you wanted to see if you could get her to come closer. Lucas told you could stay as long as you wanted, and you decided that you would do just that, plopping onto your bottom as you gently spoke to her. You spent some time sitting there, talking to her about anything and everything, and slowly, inch by precious inch, she came closer to you until she was just a few inches from your hand. When you moved your hand and she didn’t flinch, you gently petted her muzzle, tracing over it delicately with a few fingers. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” you mused quietly and she gently rubbed her head into your hand, “but you’ve got so much life left to live. So many happy things to come. Would you like to come home with me and see? I have a big bed that I have all to myself, and I could really use a companion to take up some of the space. Would you like to help me?”

She made a small sound as she looked up at you, her tail wagging ever so slightly. That was enough to convince you that you were making the right decision. Giving Daisy one last gentle touch, you slowly pulled your hand back to keep from startling her and jumped to your feet. She was yours, it hadn’t taken much to figure that out, and you were going to make sure she came home with you. 

Telling her you would be back in a little bit, you went off in search of Lucas, to tell him to get you all the paperwork so you could bring her home with that day.

»»————-　♡　————-««

As soon as Daisy was all yours, you’d set her up in your car, draping a big, soft blanket over the backseat for her. You were glad you kept one in your car for whatever occasion called for it; this was the perfect time. As soon as she seemed to realize what was happening, Daisy’s eyes had lit up and she already seemed like a different dog, her tail going softly, but nonstop as she stayed close to your side. 

You’d stopped by the pet store on your way home, bringing her in with you as you stocked up on the best dog food, treats, several big fluffy beds (one for each room of the house naturally), and let her pick out several toys. Whatever she wanted she got, honestly, and before you knew it before pushing a huge cartful to the counter to the pay. Daisy, now in a pretty yellow collar and leash, followed closely by your side, a little stuffed bear in her mouth. This felt so right, so natural, almost like you had meant to find her. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had felt this much joy in your heart, and you hoped the feeling would never go away.

“And this is where we live,” you told her as you pulled into the driveway, pulling up to the garage and turning off the car. She stood up and went to the window, looking out eagerly. Your break broke a little when you realize she probably never got to run and play like any puppy should, but you vowed to change that. You got and opened the door, not even bothering to stop her as she jumped out and started to sniff everywhere. 

Sighing contentedly at the sight of the happy dog, the one that had quickly turned from nervous to optimistic, you started to gather everything out of the car to bring inside. Daisy came back to your side, following you with keen attention as you opened the door to the house and let her explore. 

It wasn’t until your last excursion to the car to bring in the last of the toys, that your attention wandered back to your MIA neighbor. When you studied his house, you noticed that all the lights were off, and there was no car in the driveway. The package you had you left for him was still right where you had placed that morning. A small, dejected sigh left your lips as you quickly dashed over and retrieved the package. It was only slightly heartbreaking,  but you knew it wasn’t due to any fault of yours. But still...you couldn’t help but wonder. Who was he? Where was he? Maybe one day your questions would be answered, but at least for now you had your new friend to keep you company. Just as you thought about her, you heard a small, almost tiny bark from your door as Daisy poked her head out and looked excitedly at you.

“Coming sweet girl!” you promised her as you ran back over to her. This day was decidedly not a waste in the slightest, you reminded yourself, you had a new friend and that was more important than anything else.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Several more days passed, and Daisy adjusted to life with you without a hitch. She really was the sweetest girl you had met, and she had won a big spot in your heart, and bed, almost instantly. Gone were the cookies you had baked for the neighbor you thought might not actually exist, eaten with some milk as you watched Netflix late into the evening with Daisy snoozing next to you. 

Something though, whatever little stubborn streak you had, told you to keep trying.

So you did.

That night you dragged yourself back to the kitchen and repeated the painstaking process of making your now neighborhood famous cookies again. He was going to get these cookies come hell or high water. This time Daisy joined you in the kitchen and watched your every move intently, as you walked her through the process, giving her your best impression of some lofty Food Network chef. 

Just as you had previously done earlier in the week, you prepped everything and stuck the same note on the top, making sure it looked perfect. Even if it ended up as another batch that you would eat, you wanted to go through the efforts and ensure it was perfect. 

The next morning, you herded Daisy into the car, allowing her to come to your office with you. She had been enjoying coming to your office and greeting your clients, being a good girl and laying on her bed while you worked. Many of them seemed to find her comforting, and as thought she could sense when they needed something, which she probably did, she’d often go to comfort them with wet kisses and nuzzles. Ally had suggested that you look into her having certified as a therapy dog, which you decided was a perfect idea. 

You wandered over to his porch and left the little package again and turned to head off to work. Whatever was meant to happen would happen. So if he didn’t come and get the cookies, so be it. You’d stop worrying about it and let it go. 

When you got home that evening, you brought everything inside and let Daisy into the backyard to roam around before her dinner time, when you looked through the front windows to try and see your neighbor’s porch. You huffed when you came to the conclusion that you were at just the wrong angle to be able to see anything. Stalking out the front door to get a better look, you sighed deeply when the package was once again there. What had you really expected? You’d struck out for weeks now, the man was an enigma to yourself and everyone else around, it was a far cry that you’d ever really see him. 

Grumbling at yourself for being too hopeful and optimistic, you trudged over to his porch, ready to take the cookies back again and enjoy them for yourself. Maybe you could bring them, and Daisy, over to Eddie and see if he would enjoy them and the dogs would get along. It wasn’t terribly exciting, but it was something anyway.

You bent down to pick up the small container, ready to head back home and get on with your day. But just as you swooped up the container, you heard the door unlock, causing you to jump back in surprise, dropping the container and letting it clatter to the ground. You took a step back and looked up, finding the door open, but the screen closed. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out the person on the other side but found it almost impossible. 

“H-hi,” you stammered nervously, hoping the person wouldn’t think you were stealing or snooping around, “I-I moved into the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and I was just...I made cookies! I was going to introduce myself but I hadn’t seen you or anything, so I figured I’d leave them for you. They-they’re not old though, I made this batch last night.”

Nothing but silence met your ears for several moments as you nervously picked up the container to display it for him. You were nervous suddenly, terrified that you had somehow offended him, or...something.

“I-I’ll get going,” you said as you set the cookies on the bench that was near the door. Unsure why you felt the need to keep speaking you gave him your name, letting it linger in the air for a moment, “I live right next door, so I guess maybe I will see you around. Yeah...well, umm...goodbye!”

But before you made it off the porch, you heard the screen door open, and swing shut. You swallowed the lump in your throat, ready to turn around and make a proper introduction when you heard your name whispered so quietly, that you thought you might have imagined it. That voice...that soft, gentle voice caused your heart to skip a few beats. You knew that voice. 

Turning around slowly, you came face to face with the man that had been on your mind for weeks. You brought your eyes up to the man’s face and a small gasp of surprise left your lips. 

“F-Frankie?” except this wasn’t the Frankie you’d known. No, this man was tired looking, nothing but sheer exhaustion on his face, dark circles, parched lips, no trace of facial hair, his hair flattened from what you knew was a signature hat. This was a different man, a world weary man, a man who you never intended on seeing again. But you knew that voice, you knew it so well, you’d recognize it anywhere, even after all this time. But there was something about him, how he was looking at you that broke our heart. 

He remained silent as his dark eyes watched you, wondering how and why on earth you’d ended up as his neighbor. It was like some force was at play, some weird thing that kept bringing the two of you together. 

He remained silent as the two of you looked at each other, his eyes quickly flicked to your left hand. You straightened up when you noticed that and got ready to walk away, unsure of how to feel in that moment. Once again, your life was thrown in a complete tailspin. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to find any words. 

But before you could leave his porch, his hand went to your wrist, taking it gently in his large hand as you immediately turned around and gave him a wide eyed stare.

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you looked at him in silent question, and he did the same. 

This was Frankie - your Frankie. After all these years, he was still yours.

Before either of you could say anything, he gently grabbed your face and studied it for a moment before crashing his lips onto yours. It took a moment for you to react, and for a few beats before you kissed him back, not even having to think about it. But just as quickly as it had started you came to your senses and while part of you was screaming to continue to kiss him, the logical part of your brain took over and you pushed him away from you. Immediately realizing what you were doing, he let go of you and took a step back. 

“Don’t,” you insisted sharply, your voice crackling on the singular word, “don’t. You don’t get to do that. I shouldn’t have done that. Not anymore. Never again.”

Before he could say anything, you dashed away from him, running back over to your house. This had to be some sort of weird dream, surely life couldn’t be throwing another challenge at you. Surely you’d been through enough.

Surely you weren’t neighbors, after all this time and years, with Frankie Morales. 

Life couldn’t be that cruel...right?

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[yourheartonfire]

 "If you leave me," the hero hissed, "I will ruin you. I will tear this whole city apart. I burn, you burn. That was the deal."

"I know - I know-" God, they knew. The protagonist had made that devil's bargain long ago, begged the hero for their help. The hero could save worlds, protect cities, brilliant and powerful beyond measure. But only when they had an incentive to be good and play nice - and the incentive the hero had chosen was them. 

It was a lie. It was the perfect lie to keep the light from twisting dark as a promise.

But everyone got sick of living lies sometimes.

Prompt courtesy of @the-modern-typewriter , from her amazing patreon! 

"You okay there?"

The protagonist jumped. Their new co-worker stood behind them at the break room sink, eyeing them strangely. Looking at the glass of water the protagonist was filling that was - oh, it was overflowing. How long had that been happening?

"Yes, fine," the protagonist said with a nervous laugh, shutting off the tap and taking a big sip. "Just, um, zoning out, I guess. 'Scuse me."

They tried to squeeze past. Their co-worker didn't move. "Hot day for long sleeves," they said, their gaze drifting to the protagonist's wrist. The cuff had fallen back, the yellow and purple mottled skin clearly visible.

"No - That's - um." The protagonist swallowed and glared at this basic stranger standing way too close. "Look, back off! The situation is... complicated."

The co-worker nodded in mock sympathy. "Because your partner has superpowers?"

"Because - what?" 

The co-worker flicked a hand. The break room door slammed shut, the sound of the rest of the office going unnaturally silent. Their face rippled and reformed into someone the protagonist had only seen on television, on bad nights when the hero came home furious that their prey had eluded them again.

"Oh, shit," the protagonist said as the villain crowded them back into the corner.

"You know, I had you pegged as [hero]'s weakness from the get go," the villain crooned, planting one hand on the wall beside the protagonist's ear. "But this is beyond my wildest dreams."

"Please don't," the protagonist said, feeling deeply exhausted. They had just gotten the hero calmed down, this was going to set it all off again. "Whatever this is. You hurt me or kidnap me, you- you don't want to know what [hero] will do to you."

"Oh, sweetie, that's cute," The villain shook their head with a chuckle and a flash of teeth. "You can't fool me. You're [hero]." 

The protagonist froze. "No. No, sorry, I'm -"

"I mean, yes, I understand you got some lump to fill out the costume," the villain went on with a wave of their hand. "But [hero] is your concept, your moral vision. I bet you script their lines and run their social media."

"No, no, no, no." The protagonist felt light headed from panic. The villain hadn't laid a finger on them, other than boxing them into the corner, but they'd never felt so exposed. "No, you don't understand what they're like without me."

The villain had finally stopped smiling. They studying the protagonist with the same almost-concern they had as the fake co-worker. "I think I do. Do you realize what they'd be like without you?"

The protagonist gulped, hand going to their wrist. "Unstoppable."

"Wrong," the villain said flatly. "Not to you. Or someone on your side."

The villain's face rippled again - into hero's visage. The protagonist gaped as the villain smoothed back that lush hair and puffed their chest in hero's signature pose.

"You turned a villain into [hero] once," they said in a voice that was and was not hero's. "I think it's time you traded up for a better class of villain,  darling."

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Sowing the Seeds of Lasting Love (Part 10)

Vergil helps you with a flowery dilemma before the wedding.

The big day is finally here! Hope you enjoy! 🌹😘🌹

Chapter 1: White Heather

When Nero first told his father about the wedding, he explained that they wanted to keep it nice and simple, only inviting family and close friends to the ceremony. But now that the big day is upon them, Vergil notices that the ceremony is still nice but definitely not simple. And it seems they’ve decided to invite all of Fortuna going by all the numerous names he hardly recognizes in the guest log!

But there’s one name that he knows very well on the very first page…your neat yet bubbly handwriting is indistinguishable among the cursive chaos.

Vergil smiles but then remembers himself as the hustle and bustle of people whiz around the venue’s entryway. He quickly closes the guest book before striding away from wandering eyes, seeking refuge from the morning mayhem before the wedding. But you always manage to wriggle your way back into his mind, occupying his every thought…especially now that he’s confessed his feelings and tasted your kiss. Just the mere memory of your velvety lips parting for his tongue make his cheeks burn with a slight blush!

The lovestruck devil shakes these desirous thoughts out of his head as he approaches one of the designated dressing rooms for the wedding party. He quietly slips in and examines himself in the three-way mirror, checking his appearance and immaculate suit for any obvious flaws. The refined paisley pattern of his dark blue wedding coat contrasts well with the silky black lapels and matching blue vest. He wrings the black bow with a grimace, wishing it were an elegant cravat instead as he adjusts it around the stark white collar of his shirt. Then, he scrutinizes the rest of his suit, noting the pristine matching dress pants and spotless black formal shoes with an approving nod.

This well-tailored ensemble will surely bring that endearing blush to my beloved rose’s cheeks, he muses with a confident chuckle while raking his fingers through his silvery white hair.

The thought of you creeps into his mind again, but he allows himself to reminisce in the privacy of the dressing room. He didn’t have much of a chance to let the events of the previous day fully sink in until now; the time between storming out of the shop and arriving at your doorstep is still a bit hazy. But the warmth of your humble abode, the steaming hot water of your shower, and the comfort of your soothing lullaby and tranquil heartbeat as he fell asleep in your embrace…now that he remembers quite well!  

Vergil also recalls how he swallowed his pride before baring his soul to you, practically pouring every ounce of sincere fervor from within his heart as he revealed his true feelings. And despite hearing all about his past trauma and doubtful hesitancy in matters of romance…you still accepted him with unconditional love, releasing the mounting tension between both of you as he finally gave into his desire by capturing your lips with a passionate kiss. The cadence of your soft gasps and lingering moans, the thorough strokes of your tongue, and the feel of your body beneath him…it all felt so good.

But it’s not enough.

He wants more…he needs more…

A sudden shriek of distress from outside interrupts his amorous ruminations. His eyes widen in alarm as he rushes out the dressing room door, following the dreadful tone of your voice all the way to the venue’s kitchen. And he’s not the only one to come running to rescue; a couple of the staff and Dante burst in with a look of concern. But you barely notice their presence as you continue to stare into the large walk-in freezer with a horrified face.

“What’s going on, Buttercup?”

“Are you hurt?”

Both brothers slowly approach as you turn around to face them. You meet each of their eyes for a moment…then, you take a deep breath and scream at the top of your lungs:    

“FLOWER EMERGENCY!”

Your enraged declaration bellows through the kitchen, making some of the staff jump as you dash towards a countertop. You unpin the delicate flower crown upon your head, being mindful of the white heather blooms and bleeding hearts flowers. Then, you carefully remove it and place it on top of the counter before tying your hair into a low ponytail at the nape of your neck.

Dante lets out a low whistle. “It must be really bad if the flower crown’s coming off!”

“What happened?” Vergil asks while giving his idiotic brother a warning glare.

You turn back around with an exasperated sigh. “I told them to NOT put any peonies to the freezer under no circumstances!” you exclaim, angrily marching into the frigidly cold room with both brothers in tow. “But now look! Almost half of the centerpieces have wilted!” you bemoan while pointing at a group of flowers in fine crystals vases.

Vergil inspects the various peonies in question and immediately understands why you’re so distraught. A vast majority of their petals have shriveled up and turned brown, completely ruined just before the wedding. The sight of you biting your lip and pulling your hair in worry wrenches the growing prickling knot within his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?” he inquires, gently grabbing your shoulders while staring down into your glistening eyes.

Your brow furrows in thought. “I might be able to salvage some of them with fresher blooms…but they’re all back at my garden’s workshop!” you inform while glancing down towards his waist. “Could I borrow the Yamato for a bit?” you implore sweetly as your lips curl into a charming grin.

Vergil smirks at your hopeful plea. “But of course.”

You beam up at him a grateful smile, unwinding the discomforting knot in his chest as you instruct the staff to haul all the half-frozen flowers into the kitchen. Both brothers stay out of your way while sharing intrigued glances, clearly impressed with your command over a highly stressful situation. Your eyes squint at the withered half of the centerpieces, mentally weighing how many more flowers you need to fix them.    

“Hmm, we may need to take one more person to haul all the flowers back in one trip.”

Dante perks up with a wide grin. “I can tag along!”

“I’m more than capable of carrying all the flowers without assistance,” Vergil boldly claims with a determined nod.

“Oh really? I see…” Dante trails off while giving him a knowing grin. “You just wanna be alone so you can put your tulips togeth- WHOA!” he exclaims as multiple spectral swords surround him. “Hey! Don’t ruin the suit, big bro!”

A low and irritable growl emanates from Vergil’s throat. “Cease your prattling and go help Nero,” he demands while relenting to his foolish brother’s request, calling off the summoned swords from shredding his black and red suit to pieces.

Dante lets out a disappointing groan as he stalks out of the kitchen, grumbling under his breath about how all this waiting around is boring. Vergil rolls his eyes and shakes his head before directing his attention back to you, paying no mind to the staff’s slightly perturbed faces while offering his arm. You wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow with an amused giggle and follow him out of the kitchen.

Vergil heads to the closest room with enough space before summoning the Yamato with a flick of his wrist. He insists that you stand back before unsheathing the blade and slicing the air with two intersecting slashes. Then, he sheaths the Yamato with a loud click of the hilt as the portal opens with a bright blue flash. You grab his hand and run through its threshold, popping up just outside the back gate behind your cozy home.    

You quickly undo the latch and dash towards your outdoor workshop with Vergil hot on your heels. The overwhelming perfume of your impressive garden brings a fond smile to his face as both of you run down winding paths between lush flowers and trimmed bushes. He pulls ahead a little when you get closer to the workshop, reaching out and opening the door with a courteous nod as you enter with a sigh of gratitude. You flip the light switch before scurrying off towards a large cold case full of fresh blooms.

Vergil enters the workshop as you begin counting out the number of flowers you have on hand. He shuts the door and lingers close behind you, patiently waiting for your next directive while taking in your pleasing visage. But you seem to not notice his blatant gaze, diligently focused on taking inventory as you take out a step stool to count the flowers on the top shelf. His eyes wander down your dainty body, admiring the delicate flowers embroidered on the lovely pink dress that brings out your natural charm and radiant grace.  

Your pensive hum breaks him out of his adoring stupor. “Looks like I have plenty of yellow peonies but not enough white ones,” you inform with a disheartening pout.

“Can you substitute them with another flower?” he suggests, recalling your lesson on improvising a bouquet when he helped you arrange one for a customer.   

You ponder for a moment. “I do have some white hydrangeas!” you exclaim with a victorious grin while turning to look at him. “Can you- Ah!”

Your feet wobble as you let out a startled squeal, losing your balance on the step stool before tipping over towards the ground. But Vergil surges forward and catches you within his protective embrace, wrapping his arms around your small frame.

“Oh snapdragons,” you murmur while clasping the lapels of his coat.

Vergil smirks at your stunned exclamation. “Are you okay?”

Your lips curl into a gracious. “Yes! And it’s all thanks to my darling devil!”

“You should be more careful, my beloved rose,” he murmurs while looking down at you in concern. “It pains me to see you hurt,” he admits as the gravity of this intimate situation takes control.

Vergil bows his head as you raise yourself up onto your tippy toes, slowly drawing closer and closer until your bated breath caresses his starving mouth. Then, he gently presses his lips against yours, letting out a pleased hum when you return his tender kiss with enthusiastic passion. You let out a delightful sigh as he withdraws from your lips with a warm smile.  

“I’ve longed to do that again since yesterday morning.”

“Me too,” you agree. “We didn’t have much of a chance to talk more at the rehearsal dinner either,” you remind while averting your gaze with a coy smirk.

“Between the chaotic run-through of the ceremony and our rushed practice session,” he recalls, nuzzling your face until your lips brush his eager mouth. “What a most inconvenient time to confess.”

“Since when has love ever been convenient?” you muse with a playful peck. “We’ll have more time to talk after our performance,” you pause as he presses a soft kiss above the corner of your mouth. “And during the reception,” you finish before capturing his lips with your needy kiss.

Vergil growls as his tongue brushes against your lower lip, silently requesting for entry as you wrap your arms around his neck. You part your mouth for him, softly moaning while meeting every stroke of his questing tongue. He basks in your intoxicating scent, so flowery and arousing…the devil inside him clamors to claim you as his own. But he’s able to clamp that instinct down, prolonging that inevitable need when the time is right…which will definitely be later since the door of your workshop bursts open with a loud crack.

“Fiddlin’ Firs!” you exclaims, hastily jumping back from his embrace as the spectral form of his devilish side peeks in with an expectant look.

“Be at ease,” he soothes you with a swift peck against your brow. “It’s only my doppelganger.”

You squint as his phantom form points at the white hydrangeas it collected just outside your workshop. “But he looks so much different than you!” you note with a curious tilt of your head.

Vergil chuckles at your subtle suspicion. “Remember what I told you,” he whispers close to your ear, “the power of Sparda is vast and you have yet to see an ounce of its potential.”

You shiver as he kisses your neck. “Does the power of Sparda include sweeping sweet gardeners off their feet?”  

“I’m not certain,” he remarks, “but it does include…how did you put it?” He tilts his head in thought. “Ah! Charming the petals off of a lovely rose,” he reveals with a smirk while meeting your ardent gaze. Your cheeks grow pink as he dips back down for another kiss…but his doppelganger stops him from indulging in your velvety lips again with its impatient scratching at the door.

You stifle a giggle as he growls irritably at his spectral self. “We better head back with these flowers,” you reason with a sweet smile. “Don’t wanna be late to your own son’s wedding!”

Vergil reluctantly withdraws from you with an agreeing nod. He helps you collect all yellow peonies and white hydrangeas into several flower trays. You manage to pick up a few of them as he opens up another portal with the Yamato, silently commanding his doppelganger to carry as many flowers as possible before following them back into the venue’s kitchen.

A chorus of various shocked gasps and cries from the astonished staff greets them, but they all scamper away as the monstrously tall spectral devil enters the room. You put the flower trays down on a nearby table with a sigh of relief, softly hoping that this sliver of peace and quiet would last as you fix the ruined centerpiece in a timely manner. Your lips curl into a pleased smile when you turn to see his doppelganger wagging its tail proudly next to all the flower trays it dropped off by your makeshift worktable.

The sound of rushed footsteps gets their immediate attention just as the wedding planner enters the kitchen with a worried grimace. You explain the current state of the flowers but assure her that you have everything under control now. She nods her head with a relieved smirk while side-eying the spectral devil standing next to you, clearly curious but not commenting on it as she informs Vergil that the groom’s party is taking their place at this very moment.

“You’re certain that you can do all of this without any assistance?” he inquires as the wedding planner leaves the kitchen.

“Of course! Just be-leaf in me,” you reply with a cheery grin before giggling as he scoffs at your ridiculously bad pun. “Buuuut I wouldn’t mind if you let him stay and help!” you suggest while pointing at his doppelganger, who is currently helping you arrange the assortment of flowers on the table.

Vergil ponders for a moment before nodding his head. “Very well…but you better be on your best behavior!” he instructs his spectral self with a suspicious glare. You laugh as his doppelganger shrugs its shoulders defensively while shaking its horned head.

“And I’ll meet you backstage as soon as I can before our performance,” he softly affirms, swiftly pulling you in close for a quick kiss before heading out of the kitchen.

It only takes him a few minutes to arrive at the designated place outside on the beach. Many of the guests are already in their seats along the elegant runner leading all the way down to a modest arch wrapped in white silky ribbon with sunflowers and blue delphiniums. He can hear their excited murmurs over the soft crashing of the nearby surf as he makes his way towards his assigned spot on the groom’s side.

Nero is already standing in front of the arch, shifting around nervously while adjusting the blue dahlia boutonniere pinned to his crisp white suit. He looks up as his father approaches him and immediately pulls out a matching boutonniere from inside his coat pocket. Vergil gives him a gracious nod while pinning the delicate bloom to the lapel of his coat.    

“Is everything alright?” his soon-to-be wedded son asks with a soft whisper as classical music starts playing over the ecstatic chatter of the guests.  

“It’s nothing for you to be concerned about,” Vergil assures while looking out into the gathering crowd of unfamiliar faces. “Everything is under control.”

Nero nods with an anxious swallow. “Yeah…okay.”

Vergil quirks a brow at his son. “Nervous?”

“What? No!” Nero exclaims in a hushed whisper. “Well…maybe a little,” he admits while scratching the back of his head.

“Don’t sweat it, kid!” Dante exclaims as he pops up behind both of them. “You’ve got this!” he adds with an encourage pat on his nephew’s back.

“I must agree with your fool of an uncle for once,” Vergil avows as everyone begins to quiet down.

His son responds with a grateful smile as the ceremony starts with the wedding officiant taking their place in front of the arch. The music gradually swells as the bridal party walks down the aisle with their beautiful dresses and lovely bouquets…except Nico, who proudly struts down in her black suit. She grins while taking her place as the Best Woman, cheekily wiggling her eyebrows at Nero when everyone stands up for the bridal march.

The crashing waves in the distance grow quiet as Kyrie slowly makes her way down the aisle, leaving only the collective gasps of the guest’s to accompany the sweet melody of her march. She clutches her bouquet of sunflowers below her chest as her pure white dress flutters softly in the sea breeze. Her lips curl into a sunny smile beneath her tulle veil when she sees Nero staring in awe at her warm and graceful beauty. But he snaps out of his amazed daze as soon as his soon-to-be wife reaches the arch, reaching for her hand with a small smirk before facing the wedding officiant together.

An array of emotions fills the salty air as the ceremony commences; one moment there’s silent admiration with some light laughter in between the simple rituals of matrimony, but then there’s plenty of soft sniffling and happy tears as the officiant guides them through their vows. Even the Dark Slayer isn’t immune to the palpable emotions surrounding him, unexpectedly getting misty eyed as they exchange rings and promises of eternal devotion.  

Vergil happens to catch sight of you lurking behind the guests, seemingly watching the ceremony but mostly staring at him with a smitten smile upon your lips. He suddenly finds himself pondering about the prospect of marriage while blinking away his unshed tears. The image of his beloved rose dressed all in white drifts across his mind and he can’t help but to smirk at the thought of settling down with someone like you.

Your eyes widen when you finally notice him staring right back at you with his affectionate gaze. You look away bashfully while your flushed cheeks glow as red as the bleeding heart flowers upon your head. His lips curve into an endearing smile as the officiant allows Nero and Kyrie to seal their blissful union with a kiss. And as everyone showers the newly wedded couple with periwinkle petals, he realizes just how lucky he was to come upon such a lovely rose among his briars.

🌹🌹🌹

Tagging: @drusoona @bettybattaglia @exsultry @thedyingmoon @veenus-ow @meowykittenn @fandomhell97 @vergilsangel @thenightgazer @cherryvane @yesno18 @diabeticsugarush @queenmuzz @mary-v-o-n @tinamalee @a-midsummer-nights-odyssey @ancientwhitefire @agentdedf1sh @divinity-deos  @shiranyaaww @skarlet-red-rose @lucinalu219 @superluckystar

[leviathan-dee]

Okay how about a drabble where Vergil motivates his female s/o who is struggling to do her assignments? Can be sfw or nsfw depending on the suitability of the topic and I may or may not having this motivation problem 😂

Aii!! I’m so sorry this took so long 😓 Tbh, I saw nsfw and took this as an opportunity to get my simp train going. So here goes, a lil bit of...

°°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.· 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓮 °°°·.°·..·°¯°·._.·

Motivational Lessons

Vergil x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Word Count: 1,613

Fumbling on an assignment that was due in less than a week was admittedly not how you wanted to spend your days off. You were surrounded by countless closed study books, dried out pens from their disuse, and an empty word document, a cursor blinking quizzically at your inactivity. It’s been almost three agonizing hours since you began your search for a drop of motivation. Alas, no such luck. Even the cup of tea that your partner brewed at the beginning of your session remained unmoved, the condensation on the mug dripping down to pool onto the blank papers.

You sighed, inadvertently drawing Vergil’s attention.

“You are troubled.” Without lifting his gaze from his beloved hardcover of poetry, he spoke, the comment blending between lines of a question and a statement. You sighed once more, carding your fingers through your hair.

“What gave you that idea?” Your slight burst of annoyance felt like whacking the hornet’s nest, however Vergil’s reply was more gentle and soft spoken than before.

“The lack of movement for the duration of your coursework. What gives, my sweet?”

“I just can’t get into the mindset. I think I’m too stressed with all that is going on.”

Snapping his book shut, he uncrossed his legs and tilted forward, directing his attention now completely to you. The pose he assumed was akin to a cat, ready to pounce on its prey. Perhaps you were imagining it, but the sudden mischievous glint in his eyes unnerved you just as much as his predatory pose.

“Perhaps you are in need of encouragement?”

“I’ll bite. What do you have in mind?” You swallowed thickly, anticipation building like a steady flow of water. Only time will tell if you would regret your words.

“Let me demonstrate.” Moving with a feline grace, his arm swayed in the opposite direction, guiding you to stand from your seat. Once you obeyed, he propped himself upon the cushioned surface, his stern expression morphing into a minuscule smirk.

“Sit,” he presented you his lap by patting his thigh, “you are tense. A prime reason as to why you simply cannot get anything done.”

With an incredulous expression, you gawked at the sudden change in his demeanour. Admittedly, it was a bad idea to disobey the devil, knowing your previous experiences containing punishments of the euphoric kind. You planted yourself comfortably upon his leg, feeling his arms securely tighten around your waist. His palms were warmer than usual. In fact, you noted that his gloves were off. Strange...

“Now focus on your assignment. Need I encourage you, I know exactly what to do.” The growl that rolled off his tongue caused a shiver to travel through every fiber of your being. A wickedness entirely indescribable churned deep within his gaze. It wasn’t often you experienced that; Vergil knew to reserve this part of him for special occasions.

Apparently, this was one such occasion.

The cursor continued blinking, it’s manner now seeming wary. You stared at it, wondering what words might flow from your already exhausted mind. There were so many jumbled thoughts. Some from the carnal closeness between you and your beloved, and very few were of the coursework itself. Vergil propped his chin upon your shoulder, breathing down your neck. Was this a warning? Or encouragement?

“Need I promote your thoughts? Or is your mind elsewhere?” As you expected, it was neither. This was a promise; an invitation. For both of your benefits.

You could feel a smirk ghost his lips, as his hands continued to rest on your waist possessively, their grip tightening to an almost uncomfortable pressure. Unsure of whether to begin your coursework, or to let fate take its course, your fingertips started their sluggish crawl across the keyboard. Vergil seemed to ease his grip, instead shifting to your right thigh, resting his warm palm on top of the plump surface. This made you suck in a breath between your teeth which only Vergil would notice. No matter how much you wanted him to simply have his way, this was a good opportunity to finish what you’ve started studying-wise.

… 

After two paragraphs of constant erasing and rewriting, you sighed, irked at your own scattered mind. Evidently, Vergil watched your entire tirade at the keyboard. It was almost as interesting as a tumultuous nineteenth century drama. Every few words, he hummed in approval, reading and checking your text. However, your gusto seemed to slow to an almost complete stop. You could feel his mischievous smile once again grace his visage.

Bringing his palm up to cradle your chin from behind, he directed your vision behind you, his own smoldering gaze melting you from the inside.

“Is that it? You’re giving up, my sweet?”

“No, I just need a break-” You were cut off by a feathery caress at your loin, promoting whatever feverish thoughts that waited on the cusp of your mind. Instinctually, you leaned into the touch like a starved animal. Vergil seemed to enjoy your reaction, knowing full well that only his fingertips can encourage such a visceral response from your body.

“A break, you say? Let me assist you,” he purred in your ear, heated breath only intensifying the sensation of his digits running circles achingly close to your clothed core.

You couldn’t withhold your lewd mewls, letting them cascade out of your lungs as Vergil’s teeth began sinking into your bare shoulder, followed by promises of ecstasy in the form of trailing kisses upon your skin. His hands teased at your waistband, slipping beneath the fabric to find his goal. Your own fingers searched for purchase, not to lose yourself entirely to this hedonism. They found their way to the blue devil’s hair behind you, and encouraged his tongue to trek along the flesh of your shoulder.

A maelstrom of pleasure spread through you as Vergil’s hand began lavishing your folds with longing strokes. The sheer playful movements of his digits were teasing, daring you to release your tension all over them, there and then. It was almost shameful how easily he could elicit such a reaction from your body. How he forced these noises from you, the pressures of assignment life fading away into nothingness.

Approving hums vibrated within Vergil’s chest, resonating against your back, provoking the throbs deep in your core. You moaned in turn, giving him the greenlight to plunge into your heat with two digits. Admittedly, you were now certain this was his plan all along, usually wearing fingerless gloves even outside of combat. Besides, he seemed too eager to get you in this state.

That sneaky devil.

Nevertheless, that motion was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Your walls tensed instinctually around his fingers as they shamelessly pumped in and out. Vergil knew exactly the spot to caress, seeing how your frame arched itself to accommodate his own. God, he loved seeing you in this state; At his mercy.

“Y/N. You will finish this assignment, as I will finish you. Is that clear?” The sovereign tone with which Vergil spoke alone could send you spiralling over the edge. You nodded eagerly, desperate to release the tide of pleasure rocking against your swollen walls.

Observing your lethargic demeanor, and your eyes glazed over with depravity, the devil decided to send you into paroxysms of pleasure by focusing two hands on your heat. With one swirling your bud, and the other continuing its rhythmic movements inside you, his smug visage in the now blacked out screensaver of the monitor observed your near undone state.

“How are you feeling? Relaxed yet? Encouraged to do your studies? I won’t have you failing. Not in this state.” To your surprise, Vergil's smirk never faltered. His tongue continued to play upon your shoulder and neck as you encouraged his efforts with your incoherent cries.

“Vergil-'' Your fragmented moans, and the bucking of your hips against his working hands only prompted him to intensify his tirade. He left you kicking helplessly, trying to find an object to perch against with your legs, and swing your hips in any direction if only to lessen the overstimulation. Blank papers landed to the ground, and pencils and pens alike tumbled from the force of your pleasured kicks against the furniture. Even the untouched tea spluttered all over the desk, staining amber upon the surface of the paper beneath. But you didn't have a care in the world; right now your focus was on the endless waves of gratification you were bestowed upon by the blue devil.

All of your previous worries seemed to melt away. Even the stress of creeping deadlines and sleepless nights dissipated into a mere sliver of a memory. Your rippling muscles beneath Vergil's hands eased, his own limbs holding you in place as you fell limp from exhaustion on his lap. With a tender trail of kisses along your neck, and the last one behind your ear, he hummed and coiled his arms around your waist to pull you into a warm hug. You hummed in return.

"Was that encouragement enough? Or do I have to resume this motivational lesson?" Vergil purred in your ear, a hint of playfulness meandering in his voice.

"Hmm, I am still feeling a bit tense." You rolled your shoulders to accentuate your 'discomfort', expecting Vergil to react accordingly. And react he did, his immense strength scooping you into his arms from behind, your body weighing a feather on his frame. With proud steps and a teasing expression, he marched towards your bedroom, a saccharine smirk dancing on his lips.

"I was hoping you'd say that. You'll be writing books once I'm done with you, my sweet."

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: heavy drinking, someones arm gets broken, also some very vague mentions of a shootout, reader is in denial about being in denial (so the usual pretty much)

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You thought it would just be one coffee. One simple mistake as a result of you being extra tired, or something like that. You’d give it to him, hear his stupid little remark meant to rile you up, and then it’d be done - it would never happen again. 

Here’s the thing, though: you kept making more. After that day, every morning when you woke up, you’d grab two coffee mugs and make one for the both of you - yours with extra cream, his straight black. You knew he liked to add a shot of whiskey to his, even though you pretended not to notice when he not-so-discreetly pulled his flask out. Whatever he needed to get through the day, you shrugged, watching him out of the corner of your eye. You certainly weren’t about to judge him for his drinking habits in light of your own less than stellar track record. 

Neither of you dared to mention it so far. You hoped to high heaven that he wouldn’t: his little tease on that first day was barely enough to get under your skin though it had stuck to the back of your mind every morning you woke up. You’re not getting soft on him, are you?

Shaking your head furiously, you let out a low frustrated sigh as you moved to reach out for the bottle of wine next to you once more, flicking off the top and pouring almost a good half of the bottle’s contents into your glass. It was a Wednesday night but you didn’t much care - if the hangover was that bad the next morning, and it never usually was with a shiraz, you’d get some painkillers and get on with your day. The same thought as before repeated itself in your mind again, doing nothing short of vexing you further. Partially because you were worried it was true. Maybe you were getting soft on him. Maybe you weren’t as strong and stubborn as you thought if Jack Daniels had managed to worm his way back into your heart.

No. That couldn’t be it. You tossed your head back and indulged yourself in a rather large gulp of wine, letting the liquid rush down your throat in a desperate attempt to dilute the pitiful nonsense that had filled your head. What a ridiculous thought. You weren’t falling for Jack Daniels charm once more. No, you simply wouldn’t do that. You knew better than that. You knew that underneath that smooth facade was a flitting and emotionally unavailable man, the man who had broken your heart and made you suffer for what felt like evermore. You may have felt pity on him for his fall from grace, but anyone else would if they saw the state of him. Discarding the glass off to the side, you wanted to laugh at the simple absurdity of such an idea. Are you always this stupid with a wine-addled brain? 

Speaking of the devil, you heard his footsteps from up the stairs, taking you by surprise as you were certain that he was asleep by now. You crocked your head to the side, your eyes travelling up the stairwell to the small part of the landing that was in your immediate vision - you couldn’t catch a single sight of him. Shrugging to yourself, you returned to your almost empty glass of wine, feeling that familiar haze descend over your brain with every sip you took. This was fine. You could let yourself be swallowed by the alcohol, maybe even enjoy the fact that your nerves were loosened for just this once. If it could take all that shit away, then you’d gladly let it. And as for Jack? You’d continue on as you were: barely acknowledging his existence, and regarding him as nothing more than a ghost from your past. That’s what you wanted, right?

You’re lying to yourself and you know it.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you stared out into the space in front of you, your mind lost a million miles away while you were in complete and utter astonishment over those few words that had crossed your mind. Things were quiet, still, even peaceful in a way, only for a second anyhow. That was before the rush came, that incensed anger that flashed across your mind for barely a moment, settling down into something resembling vague annoyance, directed at none other than yourself. Where the hell did that come from? For god's sake, get a grip on yourself. Standing up abruptly, you didn’t even stumble as you advanced back over to the liquor cabinet, dropping to your knees and scanning the tops of the glistening glass bottles under the dim lamp light. Your eyes landed on the bourbon you had stashed at the back and you reached out for it, carefully lifting it above all the others despite your intoxicated state. Resting the bottle against the palm of your hand, you let your fingers trace the grooves in the molded glass, a small bit of hesitation working its way into your mind, hesitation that was swiftly kicked aside in favour of that pesky little buzz that danced around the back of your head, that stupid little crumb of self doubt that refused to fucking leave. 

Guess I’m gonna need a bottle of something stronger to kick this shit. 

___

He didn’t know why he kept watching you. You weren’t doing anything particularly notable - you’d decided to take one of the horses out for a ride, practicing vaulting and the like. He remembered you’d once told him that as a young kid that you’d entered a number of equestrian competitions, and even won a few - he’d seen the trophies gathering dust on the mantle and the cute photos of you posing with your chosen horse, Buttercup, as a child. You explained years ago that you’d stopped participating in competitions but still liked to take the horses out for a spin every once in a while as a way to relax and clear your head. As he watched you now, he could already see the stressors of the day melting away from your visage, leaving only a steely focused expression in its wake as you cleared another jump. 

It was the first time in weeks he’d seen you truly relaxed at all, or showing any sort of emotion other than your usual show of cheerfulness you splashed on for the customers, woven with a current of underlying stress and irritation. Seeing you like this couldn’t help but remind him of better times: you’d taken him out on the horses more than a couple of times when the two of you were together. Jack had always labelled himself as something of an animal lover, ever since he was a kid. He didn’t, and hadn’t, had any pets for a good ten years now though at some point long ago he wanted something similar to what you had - a nice ranch situated out in his home state of Kentucky with a bunch of animals and his family. That dream had seemed so close to him once that he could have sworn it would be a reality yet fate wasn’t so kind to him in that regard. The memory of it all alone hadn’t ceased to become any less painful to him: seeing the broadcast on the news of a shootout down at a local convenience store only to get the call moments later confirming what he’d already feared to have happened most. 

Not a day passed where he didn’t wish he could go back to a time before that day, where even the simple idea of having a family didn’t seem so foreign and unattainable. He felt himself grip onto the wooden bar of the veranda just a tad bit tighter the longer his thoughts fixated on it, though the sound of a piercing shriek immediately brought his attention back to you, his eyes darting around in a frenzy, determined to know what had caused you to cry out in agonising pain. Upon seeing your body lain flat on the ground he rushed forward, vaulting himself over the edge of the varanda and calling out your name. “Are you alright, sugar?” he shouted, throwing open the gate to the ring and racing over towards where you were lying. The faint sounds of you whimpering did nothing short of send him into panic mode, seeing how much it hurt you to move only adding to his worry. “I’m fine, I just...the dumb horse got spooked by something and bucked me off” you groaned, struggling to pull yourself up, leading you to let out another loud yelp when you tried to move your left arm.

Swooping in to catch you before you fell, Jack gently reached for your arm and pulled it towards him, his eyes widening the moment he caught sight of the horrific fracture done to it. “Darlin’, don’t lie to me, you’re not fine. Arms are not meant to look like this!” he stressed, studying your eyes intensely, trying to gauge if you had some sort of a concussion. They were slightly glazed over, and your gaze kept wandering from him as if you were having trouble focusing. “How’s your head feelin’, sweetheart?”. 

“Kinda dazed. Hurts like a bitch as well” you grumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder slightly. Every bone in your body felt like it was screaming at you like some sort of symphony, the pain in your arm being the worst of all. Your vision had also become slightly blurry and kept splitting double every few seconds, only contributing to your general haziness. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute, scattered around your brain and refusing to slow down. Suddenly, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and up into Jack’s arms, your head lolling slightly against his forearm as he carried you back up to the house. Running through your memory, you couldn’t really remember what had happened fully: you had just made another jump and were circling around the ring to gain speed for another when suddenly you were on the ground and your horse, Molly, was a few feet ahead of you. 

Jack brought you up to the varanda and laid you down on the bench, grabbing one of the old decorative throw pillows you had to rest your head on.“Stay here for a moment, I’m gonna get you some ice, then I’m gonna call an ambulance and get ya to an emergency room” he instructed before ducking back inside the house.

“Is that really necessary, Jack?” you shouted out after him, leading him to stick his head back out the door to look at you incredulously. “Sweetheart, your arm is broken and you're clearly concussed. I think the situation more than calls for it” he replied with a deadpan tone, disappearing back into your house to find you some ice. Resting your head back against the pillows, you turned to see Molly trotting around near the edge of the fenceline, acting as if she hadn’t just thrown you off her back for no apparent reason at all. 

“Yeah, just had to buck me off, didn’t ya? Thanks asshole!” you shouted out, doing your best to ignore the persistent throbbing in the side of your head and the dull ache from where your arm was rested. Thankfully, partially due to the concussion probably, it didn’t feel as bad as before, though at the same time you could have just simply become more tolerant of the pain. Not to say it didn’t still hurt like literal hell or that it was any less easy to take notice of. 

“Honeybee, I get you’re in pain but yelling at the horse isn’t doing anything” you heard Jack say to you as he made his entrance once more, holding a tea towel containing several large blocks of ice in his hand. Muttering out a small ‘thank you’, you took the towel in your hands and pressed it against the swell of your arm, letting out a small hiss the second you felt the sharp sting of the cold on your skin. “I know yelling at the horse does nothing, but it’s making me feel better” you grumbled. 

“Is it? Is it really?” Jack scoffed, subsequently choosing to ignore the sharp death glare you gave him after his flippant remark. “I’ve called an ambulance, they’ll be here to get you to a proper hospital in no time. You really had me worried there when I heard you scream”.

“Oh, so you do care about me after all” you jeered, your signature sarcastic edge seeping through your tone. You shifted slightly to try to position yourself up a little more so that you could face him properly yet as you moved a heavy sting of pain shot through you, causing you to yelp out a little and tense up in response. As if it were instinctual to him, Jack moved towards you and helped you settle back down. “Try not to move too much until the ambulance gets here” he directed. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but you could have sworn his hand lingered on your forehead a second longer than it should have, his fingertips brushing against your skin and leaving a burning sensation in their wake, something that, shamefully so, made your heart skip a small beat. “Now, about me not caring - sugar, when are you gonna accept that no matter what happened between us that I still care about you as a person?” he asked. Shoving those thoughts to the back of your mind, you settled on glaring back at him with a quick witted quip to combat him, because that’s all he was to you: an annoyance, a nuisance, a royal pain in the ass. You were doing him a favour by letting him stay with you. There was nothing more to this.

“Try never, asshole” you snapped, one note harsher than you originally intended. As usual whenever you bit back at his banter, Jack shrugged and rested back into the wall he was standing against. For once, though, you felt bad at snapping at him like that - there wasn’t any need for it, he was only trying to help. Not knowing if you could fully coax the words ‘I’m sorry’ from your mouth, you settled on something less apologetic but still sort of the message across. “But...really, thank you. For, y’know, helping me out here” . 

Jack looked at you for a moment, somewhat taken aback at what you’d said before he softened a bit.“Of course, sugar. Call it returning the favour for taking care of me a couple of weeks back” he answered, giving you that sweet smile of his that hadn’t managed to unweave itself from those old memories. And for once, you allowed yourself to smile weakly in return.

[x-reader-theater]

I've never done a songfic 😅 but maybe Freak by Sub Urban with male reader

Sorry this took so long! I've been kinda distracted these past few days! I actually had a ton of ideas for this but I didn't want it to be too long, so I hope you like this one! I'm actually really proud of it, and I think the character design, while not wholly my own, is still really good. Anyways, please enjoy!

(sorry if there's mistakes, it's unedited)

Freak by Sub Urban

You walk up to the front of the line leading into the nightclub, unbuttoning the top buttons of your shirt so your chest is showing slightly, enough to entire anyone. 

The bouncer puts his hand up and shakes his head. "I'm sorry man, you're gonna have to wait in line." 

You smile and walk closer to him, playing with his lapel and leaning in underneath his jaw to whisper, "Oh come on now. You can make an exception. Just for me."

You smile and bat your eyelashes, something you've seen a couple women do this exact same thing and get in. But the man shakes his head and tries to push you off. "Hey man, I don't swing that way."

"You sure?" You ask, placing a light kiss underneath his jaw. The man backs up, going to wipe the spot you kissed, but he stops. His hand stops moving and he blinks, before smiling at you and moving aside. 

"Hey, come on in man!" He says and you smile, walking past the protesting queue as you walk inside. 

You walk down the stairs, into the basement club, and through a throng of people, looking around for the man you've been tasked to find. 

Looking around, you see scantily clad women dancing all around you, and scantily clad women serving drinks, and scantily clad women serving drinks at the bar. You see a lit sign that says "Lux" in bold letters. 

And you see a man sitting at a piano. He's wearing a very nice, expensive looking suit, and he's staring at the keys like he expects them to play for him. You grab a glass of something as a waitress walks past, and you hear a few shouts of protest, but you ignore it as you walk over to the sad looking man. You sit next to him at the piano and he looks up at you in shock and a little angry. 

"Why is a handsome man like you sitting all alone?" You ask, taking a sip of whatever drink you just grabbed. It's sweet. Maybe too sweet, and you put it down on top of the piano. 

"Please, I just want to be left alone…" he says and you smile. 

You lean in and run a finger down his throat and down his chest, stopping right where the button is. "You? Alone? That doesn't seem possible. I think I know you too well for that, Lucifer Morningstar." 

He looks at you, glaring, and says quietly, "Who are you?" You feel the skin you created melt away, until all that's left are the ligaments and bone that protrude from your skull, the fungal-like bone growth spreading out from your head. "You're a demon." 

"Yes. And I have to say, Hell is really boring when you're not there, Lucifer," you say, leaning back. There are a couple screams, and a lot of running, and soon enough, it's just Lucifer and you alone in the club. "Seriously. The other demons have resorted to torturing each other for entertainment. Torturing humans just isn't fun anymore. And without Mazikeen, we're listless. Without purpose." Lucifer stands up and backs away from you. "I can see why you like it here though. The amount of pleasure human indulge in is… intoxicating." 

"Who put you up to this?" Lucifer asks and you walk towards him. 

You put your hands on his chest and lean in close whispering, "Oh Lucifer. So paranoid. Who said I actually wanted you to go back?" 

"What?" Lucifer asks, grabbing one of your wrists. 

"I happen to actually like humanity. The amount of indulgence, the way they try and punish others. It's intoxicating…" 

Lucifer looks at you confused, before surging forward and capturing your lips in his. You close your eyes and place your one free hand in his hair as his grip tightens on your wrist. 

When you pull away you see the visage of the handsome man has slipped away, replaced with red skin and eyes, a hungry devil staring back at you. 

"Why don't you lock me up and we can have some fun?" You ask, and Lucifer smirks. 

"You've been a naughty demon, haven't you?" He asks and you smirk back. 

"I've been a monster." 

[ppersonna]

vacancy. - kth (part one)

touch me, yeah. i want you to touch me there. make me feel like i am breathing, feel like i am human - a little death, the neighbourhood

summary- spending the night with taehyung was like standing too close to a fire.  the warmth, pleasant at first, became a ravaging inferno soon after.

rating- R/NC17

word count- 4.8k

pairing- taehyung x reader

genre- smut, angst- idol!au

warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), slight dirty talk, real emotional shit, creampie, tae is good with his mouth and his words, unprotected sex (be better than this pls, condoms are your friend)

a.n- hi hello yes i did put out 2 fics in one day. the devil works hard but lindy works harder.  i promise after all this angst i’ve written i will give you the fluffiest fluff i can muster I PROMISE ily! feel free to interact with me, i don’t bite and i am very bored ;)

part two

Neon bathed the smoky room in unnatural green and red light.  It poured over the gaudy, maroon polyester bedspread was likely coated in various body fluids.

You arrived at the room at 1 pm, stamping your cigarette out with your foot before entering the cheap motel room. Your eyes flitted around the room.  You could tell there was a leaky pipe in the bathroom, the steady drip amplified in the otherwise silent room.  

Taehyung would be there soon, ever punctual to his commitments.

But he wasn’t committed to you, was he?

You allowed yourself to feel sad for one moment, no longer.  You let it sit, simmer on low for just a few seconds, then removed from heat.

No use thinking about it for any longer. It never helped in the past, only leaving you cold and lonely on damp sheets, mascara tears tracked down your face.

You peered around the battered room.  It was old, smelled of mildew and regret. 

Carpet bubbled in the corner, damaged and molding.  Wallpaper hung off the walls limply.  Taehyung preferred to meet in rooms like these.  He didn’t want anyone he knew to see him, to see you.

The bathroom wasn’t much better.  Dirty and in disrepair, once white walls a light shade of brown.  You wondered if motel rooms like this could talk, what would it say? How would it feel?  Would it feel just as tired and limp as the carpet and decor?  Or would it feel beaten, abused, left alone to rot?

With a twist of your wrist, the bathtub filled.  The water came out light brown, causing you to grimace.  You hoped you would get to shower before he arrived. You supposed a dirty shower was better than none.  You stripped off your clothing and stood in the grimy tub.

The water coursed over you. It streamed in rivulets down full breasts, thick thighs, enviable waist.   You imagined him in the shower with you, knelt down to attach his supple mouth to your cunt, diving in for treasure with his tongue.  You knew he would whisper to you, sweet epithets and sonnets of devotion as he devoured you.  

You thought about fingering yourself here, desperate to cool the heat in between your thighs at your daydream.  Didn’t seem right, though. You wanted your first orgasm of the day to be wrought out of you by Taehyung.  It would be more satisfying that way.

The shower didn’t last long after you pushed aside thoughts of your paramour fingering you to an inch of your life under the hot spray.  You needed to finish getting ready.

Your hands brushed over the lacey two piece set.  You bought it just for this occasion.  You knew that he was a visual man and was equally stimulated by seeing you wrapped up like a gift as he was by touching you.  You were desperate to please him, ensuring each visit began with a new set for him to touch and disrobe you of.

The lace slid onto your body easily, practiced hands buckling the back of the bra to cup your breasts, and thong sliding over your thighs to rest on your smooth cunt.  Tae also preferred your mound waxed, a wish you were eager to comply by.

Your hair was blown dry and curled.  Your face was free of makeup except a slick coat of red lip gloss.  You dressed exactly to his liking.  Deep down, you knew it was more than just a desire to please him, stimulate his senses.  It was a deep, niggling desire to want him, to want you, all of you.

You couldn’t dwell on those feelings long, as the familiar sound of a key in a lock broke you from your overwhelming thoughts.  You quickly scurried into the bedroom and sat upon the old bed, doing your very best to look hot, ready and waiting.

Taehyung entered looking like a prince.  You thought in another life he was royalty. He carried himself with poise and had an air of elegance around him.

It was why you knew he was too good for this place, too good for you.

If Taehyung was a prince, you were a whore.  A concubine.  Allowed to pleasure and service, never allowed to present it to the world, nothing more than a willing hole.

His eyes raked over your body, drinking in the visage of your dark blue lingerie.  It skimmed your curves perfectly, highlighting the spots you wished to present to the dark-haired man.  

A beat passed, silent, and you held your breath.

Then suddenly, he was on you.  His lips pressed hot kisses on your mouth before trailing down to suck at your neck.

“Missed you,” he murmured against the column of your throat.  You adeptly ignored the jump in your stomach at his words.  You were skilled now at ignoring his empty promises.

A soft sigh fell from your lips.  You were acutely aware of the water in the bathroom, still drip drip dripping.  You hoped it wouldn’t distract you; it had been so long since you had been underneath the idol; you didn’t want to waste a single second not attuned to his needs.

Taehyung dragged his fingers up and down the lace of your body, and you shivered at the feeling of his skin on yours.  He didn’t miss the shudder in your body, grinning now as he continued his plight around you.

“I think this is my favorite of all of them,” he complimented as he grazed over the lace. “Blue is your color.”

Sometimes you would allow yourself to pretend.  What if Taehyung was saying this to you, his girlfriend? How would it feel to hear him whisper his sweet praises to you as his lover?  You imagined him taking care of you in your shared bed, after spending a night together out together, uncaring about who saw you together. You imagined him whispering naughty visuals into your ear at dinner, making you rabid for him by the time you returned home, your shared home.  The domesticity of it all was tantalizing.

Mostly, you imagined loving him freely, out of the humiliating environment of a cheap, run-down motel. 

Taehyung allowed himself to tease you through the lace for a few moments, before his excitement took over.  He dragged his arm behind you to make quick work of your bra clasps, a careful technician.  He inhaled deeply as the fabric fell down your shoulder, revealing soft pink nipples atop creamy globes.  His mouth ran dry at the sight, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

You couldn’t help the shivers, cold air slithering over your fevered skin, causing your nipples to pebble more. They beckoned him like a moth to a flame.  Your body was so beautiful, so deadly. 

His warm mouth enveloped one pert nipple, sucking and lathering it with his tongue.  He always took his time with your body, ensuring you were dripping and begging for him by the time he gave in to you.  He didn’t get nights like this with you often and always used the time wisely by smothering you with his ministrations. 

You willed yourself to steady the breathing, leaving you now in pants.  It had been so long since he touched you last, you often felt as if you were merely living each day now to please him and dissociating any day you went without.

“Tae,” you murmured appreciatively. He smiled against your breast and brought his hand up to squeeze and rub the breast in his mouth.  One at a time, slow, concentrated.  Taehyung loved to wind you until you broke completely in his grasp.   Watching your undoing wrenched more pleasure out of him than nearly any other act.   You came so prettily he was gasping for air by the end. 

“So sweet,” he whispered on your tit, biting the nipple gently.  The sensation made your body burn.  Taehyung was like standing too close to the fire.  It felt so warm, but quickly and dangerously overwhelmed you.  One spark would ignite thousands more.  

He continued his mission of pleasing your breasts, sucking and nipping both mounds until he felt they were thoroughly ravaged.  He pulled away from his work, admiring his masterpiece of bitten red nipples and bruising marks around each globe.  Taehyung loved marking you.  It was the only way you felt like his.

He smiled as he pushed you to lay your head on the thin pillows.  Taehyung wanted you to cum 2, 3 times before he would even undress.  It was torture.  It was blissful.

“So pretty,” he complimented again as he fingered at your thong and pulled it down swiftly.  You offered no rejection, lifting your hips and legs to further the fabric away from you.  Resisting Taehyung was simply not in your vocabulary.  

“I love it when you’re nice and smooth,” he sighed, trailing a hot finger up and down the mound of your cunt.  You knew he wouldn’t even think about getting close to where you needed it, yet.  Taehyung was too busy gazing at the artwork that was your open and pliant body.  He gazed at you as if you were marble, and he, the eager sculptor.  

Taehyung’s gaze did nothing to quell that ache inside you that no finger, no cock, could touch.  It was the ache of longing.  You desired him so thoroughly.  You didn’t want him to just fuck you.  You wanted him to consume you. 

His hands trailed hot around your hips, caressing the soft tissue of your stomach, abdomen and ass. He gripped at your backside with firm hands, squeezing gently and purring with satisfaction.

“Your body was made for me.”

You already knew it.  You hated him for it.  You loved him for it.

He pressed gentle kisses to your tummy, hands still gripped at your ass, and smiled against the soft skin.  He held you as if you were his most precious and treasured asset.  The idea made you burn with need.

“I need you.” Your voice was weak with disuse.

“Ah, she speaks!” He teased, suckling at the skin of your lower abdomen, marking you.  Claiming you.  “Have you missed me as much as I missed you?”

More -you thought.  The loneliness you felt after he left surpassed beyond human capacity.  It often felt as if it would eat you alive.

“Of course,” you sighed as his kisses trailed towards your pussy. “Missed you more than you can imagine.”

He chuckled, not quite reaching your clit, and kissed at the mound there.  “I think I can imagine it.  I missed you twice as much, if not more.”

There was no reason to argue.  Taehyung would speak such sweet ballads all night long.  

You used to believe them.  You used to think he meant what left his mouth at the moment's heat.  It made the crumbling despair that much worse when you later woke to an empty bed.

You gasped your desire as his lips hovered over your core. Had it been any other male alive, you would have wilted under the scrutiny that Tae was giving your cunt.  But Tae was different.  He loved seeing your cunt ooze with your arousal, loved watching his seed slide out after he finished inside you.  It was as if he wanted to memorize it, burn the picture into his corneas.  

“Needy,” he whispered at your moans and begs, before finally allowing the tip of his tongue to trace a circle around your clit.  It felt like a lightning strike. Your half-lidded eyes shot open, gasping for air as his tongue teased the tip of your clit.

“T-Tae-,” you shuddered. You couldn’t finish your thought as he pressed his tongue minutely more forward, adding more delicious pressure to the nub he swirled around.  

“I know what you need, pet,” he cooed. “Don’t worry, I’m here now.”

That was the exact reason you worried.  He was here, flooding your senses, sending you soaring to heights unmatched.  He was soothing you with words of love, of desire.  

And then he would leave.  It made the fall to reality much more painful.

Instead of voicing this, you cried out in pleasure instead.  His tongue was now stroking at your clit fervently.  Occasionally, he would tongue down to your dripping hole and fuck you with his strong tongue, stroking the walls sweetly.

“So perfect, laid out for me like this,” he paused from his worship at the altar of your body to kiss at your stomach again.  “Wish I could see you like this every day.”

Fuck.  That one hurt.  You squeezed your eyes tight, determined not to cry while being pleasured by the only man you wanted to be within you.

He didn’t notice your distress, too minute to catch, and continued his monologue to your body.  

“You taste so sweet, like cream.  I could stay here for hours,” he punctuated with a kiss to your clit again and caressed the bud for a few moments.  “I want to bottle you and drink it.”

Taehyung was good with his words, too good.  Often, you found your steel will dissolving at his words, and you’d float on prose to a world where you could love him, all of him, always.  

At your gasping, Taehyung knew it was time to dive home and grant you your first release.  He dipped his head back down and sucked at your clit, lathing the appendage with his tongue with the pressure that made your thighs quake.  He brought a hand to your cunt, teasing the slit to moisten the long digits, before sliding them inside you.  He thought the act would cause him to cum, finding it more erotic than the actual act of fucking.  

He proved his devotion to your pussy, to your body, with long stripes of his tongue and forceful thrusts of his fingers.  You slicked his fingers completely, and he slid his tongue on the length to taste you.  It drove him wild, the scent and taste of your arousal for him.  

Your first orgasm of the night was quickly approaching; Taehyung was merciless in his pursuit.  He fondled and glossed his tongue on your clit, adjusting the pressure and speed according to the gasps and sighs escaping you.  

“I want you to cum for me, my love,” he ordered with no sense of danger in his tone.  “Cum for me and let me taste you.”

Your orgasm was blazing towards you like a wildfire.  You could feel the licking flames of heat surround you, singeing every fiber and nerve of your being, before completely consuming you.

Taehyung fucked you through your release, relishing in the squeeze of your walls on his fingers and the way your clit trembled in his lips.  Your legs shook, and he steadied a hand on one to soothe you back to homeostasis.  He moved his lips down to lap at your twitching center, lapping up the juices that slathered his fingers and dripped down your nether lips.

“My, what a pretty orgasm,” he cooed, kitten licking your oversensitive cunt.  “I never want to stop eating you.”

You squeaked as he licked along your overworked clit; the sensation causing your thighs to shake involuntarily.  

“Too much,” you cried.  “Need a minute. Please, Tae.”

“Mmm, only because you came so sweet for me,” he acquiesced.  “Would you like to suck my cock? I know how much you love it.”

You sat up quickly and nodded, too eager for your comfort, but found yourself uncaring in the haze of your release.

“Please!”

He chuckled, kissing at your cunt again and promising it to be back soon, before maneuvering beside you on the pillows.  You attempted to move away, to slide down to his waist, but he gripped you tight for a moment.

“Kiss me?” He asked, as if scared you would say no.

His lips tasted like you, and of him.  It tasted of the two of you together, a couple that will never be.  It turned you on as much as it broke your heart.  You pressed against him wantonly, desperate to push away the sadness and revel in the ecstasy of his body and his lips.

He pulled away and smiled at you from his place amongst the pillows, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“My girl,” he sighed. “All mine.”

Your heart clenched, stomach dropped.  

It wasn’t fair.  You knew it wasn’t fair to you, but you leapt at the chance to be with him.  You ignored the sirens in your head, always warning you of immediate danger and to turn back before it’s too late.

His face was gentle, loving.  He was looking at you as if you truly were all his, nothing but his.  And in reality, you were.  You no longer sought the company of other men.  You waited.  And waited.  And waited. For that single “can I see you?” text that came semi annually at best.

It was pathetic, really.  You’d love to find yourself in between the sheets of someone, anyone who wasn’t Taehyung, but the thought made you nauseated.  As if you were cheating on him. Cheating on someone who never loved you.

You kissed him one last time, knowing if you lingered you’d speak something that you’d regret, before sliding down his body. He was fully clothed, tight jeans and a button-down shirt.  You made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off his body to marvel at the toned muscle underneath.  His full-time work kept him active, dancing and singing under a million lights for a million fans.  Your hands traced the lines of his obliques, his navel, his pecs.  He felt like satin. He felt like sin.

“Ahhh, so warm,” he smiled as his eyes shut.  “Love your warm hands.” Taehyung spoke with no filter in bed, voicing every thought that came his mind.  You weren’t sure if you loved or hated it.

You worked on his jeans, undoing the button and pulling down the zip.  His cock pressed up against his tight Calvin boxers, a wet tip where his head sat.  Your mouth watered.  

The jeans quickly dispersed from his body and you pulled his underwear down slowly, tantalizingly.  It was as if you were unwrapping a birthday gift, one you had wanted and waited for all year.  His cock sprung forward, thick and heavy and straining.  He hissed his approval at the freedom.

His cock dwarfed your hand.  It was huge, you couldn’t fist a grip around it whole.  You knew the moment you first had him, so long ago, that anyone else wouldn’t compare.  He ruined you from the start.

“Fuck,” he groaned, losing a piece of his elegance.  You simpered at the notion that maybe, just maybe, you affected him as much as he affected you.

You started a slow and languid pace with your fist, rubbing his satiny length with adoration.  You loved the way it felt in your hands, the slight pull of the skin as your hand ran up and down.  Taehyung moaned in such a way that you knew he agreed with you.

Aching to taste, you pressed forward and licked at the tip, before trailing your tongue just to the underside of the crown of his bulbous head.  You licked at the slight pinch of skin there, knowing the spot was a hairpin trigger for the male underneath you.

“FUCK!” He gasped.  You smirked, knowing you were right.

It didn’t take long for slow, gentle licks and kisses to turn into long passes and brushes along his length with your tongue, then deep, gagging inhalations of his cock in your throat.  Your head bobbed, a fist working in time with your mouth to allow him to feel the sensation along his entire length.  He cried out his satisfaction, loud enough you thought the neighbors might complain.

“Yes, baby, fuck! Yes! You suck my cock so well,” he couldn’t stop complimenting you, couldn’t quit letting those damned words escape him.  “God, I fucking love it.”

You wanted to keep going, mouth begging to bob up and down until he exploded on your tongue and down your throat.  But Taehyung resisted, pulling your head up with a hand under your chin.  He clicked his tongue at you, attempting to move back towards him. 

“Ah, ah, little one.  I only want to cum inside of you tonight.”

It was impossible to fight back, to interrupt at all, because Tae quickly sat up and turned you around, pressing you into the spot he laid previously.

“This perfect, little cunt is all I dream about,” he sighed, rubbing the head of his cock on your aching, dripping core.  

You couldn’t stop the whimper escaping, heart grasping at his words, and cunt clenching for his cock.  Did he know what he did to you?  Did he know that every sestina he uttered tattooed itself on your heart?

His eyes peered into yours, seemingly into the depths of your soul, as he slowly sheathed his cock inside you.  A gasp dissipated from your chest, eyes rolling back into their sockets at the sense of him filling you, completing you, consuming you.

His eyes held so much within them, you noticed as he started a slow pace.  You gripped his forearms and moved your hips with him, meeting him in the center where he was inside to the hilt.  His eyes spoke volumes he would never say out loud.  He looked at you as if you were the center of his universe.  You were sure yours spoke to him you never wanted him to let you go.

“You’re my everything,” he whispered, choking on the emotion laced within his utterance.  

The whimper leaving you was enough reply, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

He kissed at your eyelids, pressing his lips to the tears threatening to spill.  “Shh,” he spoke. He didn’t need to say anything else, knew it would be useless.

He pushed his hips further, picking up a pace now.  His eyes never left yours, scanning your entire face to commit it to memory.  He didn’t want to forget the way you looked at him, unabashed and unwavering in your love for him.  

He wished he could give it back to you.  

His cock stretched your pussy deliciously, a slight burn that melted into a low flame that tingled.  He slipped in and out of you with ease, your tight heat so soaked it was almost laughable. Had it been anyone else, you might have laughed at your wanton display.  Had it been anyone else, it would feel less symbolic.  Both your heart and your cunt eagerly open, waiting, desperate for him. 

His thrusts became harder, faster.  His cock head threatened to bruise your cervix with the severity of your coupling.  You didn’t care if it hurt to walk the next day.  The bruising and pain inside you reminded you he had once been there.  

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, closing his eyes to relish in the feel of you. “Fuck, yes so fucking good around my cock.”

You murmured your agreement, low and gentle moans that encouraged him to continue his plight.  

“I want to be inside you forever, fuck fuck fuck,” he was gasping now, clearly coming to the end of his rope.

“Please, don’t leave me,” it left you before you caught it.  Your eyes widened in fear, terrified to allow yourself to expose your vulnerability.  He stared back at you with wonder, a tinge of sadness, a beat too long to reply convincingly.

“Never,” he reassured. “You’re mine, all mine.”

The power in his thrusts increased tenfold; you were shocked at his ability to continue to ramp up further and further, never reaching a threshold.  Your cunt was soaked, the wet slap and slick squelching as he powered through you mercilessly.  His thumb found your clit, rubbing the bud back to a roaring life.

You cried at the sensation, feeling as if you could claw your way out of your body from sheer pleasure alone.  You screamed his name, ignoring the loud bangs on the other side of the wall from furious neighbors.  You didn’t care who heard you, who saw you.  They were witnessing the culmination of years of love, pent-up desire and pining.  You wished you could film it, not to get off to it another day, but to watch the exact moment that Tae recognized he loved you as much as you loved him.

“Fuck, I love you,” he grunted. “I love you so fucking much, fuck. You’re so fucking tight.”

All sound left you, the only thing you could hear was the roaring of blood rushing, the slap of his balls against your ass, and his whispers of undying, unerring devotion to you.  He loved you.  He loved you.

“I love you, Taehyunnnnnng!” you caught your words in a scream of ecstasy, his thumb working impossibly faster on the nub to bring you to completion. “Fuck! Oh my god, I’m cumming!”

It was there, so close, so fucking close. It was dangling in front of you by a threat, one snap and it would be free.   Taehyung chased after it relentlessly, unwilling to let it slip away.  He fucked you thoroughly, hips colliding into yours hard enough to bruise, thumb rubbing your clit in a frenzy.  He needed to see you cum around him, needed the satisfaction of wrenching those orgasmic sobs and convulsions out of you. Chasing, running, hunting the last bit, holding you together until it finally, blissfully broke.

You plunged off the edge and into pools of euphoria.

Taehyung’s name was the only word you could speak, cry.  Your cunt contracted wildly, squeezing the life from his cock in a way only you could. It was if your walls were molded to him, clenching down on the spots that sent him surging towards his own end.

“Gonna cum inside you, babe, fuck fuck,” he whined. “Can’t wait to fill you up.”

It felt as if your walls would flutter around his cock forever, never allowing him respite from the ecstatic pulsing around his cock.  His orgasm brought him to his knees, crying at the sensation of unloading himself into your hot, willing womb. 

He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to pull out and feel void of the warmth surrounding him.

Your body heaved, attempting to catch your breath from the earth shattering orgasm that Taehyung coaxed out of you with his cock.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he caught his own breath, cock softening inside you.  You didn’t want him to pull away from you.  The void that replaced him was bigger than his cock.  It emptied your entire being.

Your eyes drooped and Tae reached up to push sweaty hair out of your face and kiss you delicately.  

“I love you,” he whispered and reassured. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, begging him with your actions to stay, please don’t fucking leave.  He relented and pulled you into him in his arms on the bed, snuggled into him with his cock still fit inside your spent walls.

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

“I won’t leave you, baby.  Ever.”

Sleep overtook you as Taehyung whispered sweet harmonies of his affection into your ear, a hand gently rubbing down your back.  

The bed was cold when you awoke, cold where a body once had laid beside you, within you.  Your eyes peeled open and confirmed your ugly suspicions that you were alone in the room.

The lump in your throat grew to a boulder.  He left. He promised he wouldn’t leave.  He told you he loved you.  He slept with you, within you, next to you.  

A slip of paper laid on the dingy motel pillow, where his regal head once laid.  Your trembling hands grasped it, and you recognized the succinct and precise handwriting.

‘My sweet, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stay long.  I have to be in Taiwan by this evening.  Please do not mistake my leaving for anything.  I love you. I long for you.  I’ll call you when I can see you again.’

You whimpered at his words, feeling nothing but shame and regret.  Your heart, already so weak, tripped over itself, and crashed into your chest. 

You had gotten your hopes up, after working so hard to protect it from the inevitable.

You crumpled the note and threw it against the wall.

There was no use keeping it. 

There was a stack of handwritten notes in your apartment, each with the same handwriting and same sweet enraptured tenderness dripping from the paper, and never any intention to follow through.

You dressed, and gathered your few items, and left the room.  All resolve crumbled, broken.

You glanced back at the door of room 104, the room Taehyung told you he loved you.

You suddenly understood how the room, itself, must feel.

Tired, worn, used.  

Vacant.

© ppersonna . do not copy, repost, translate onto any website, including youtube, without express permission from author.

[ddarker-dreams]

Affliction II. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: general yan stuff, mentions of previous abusive relationships, isolation and self deprecation. word count: 3k. link to the previous part.

There aren’t many places left where you feel comfortable enough to be yourself. 

Not an identity that was painstakingly crafted for the sake of self preservation, but your genuine self. Here in the midst of Giorno’s grandiose flower gardens, you’re given the scant opportunity. Whether it be paranoia, or if it holds some ground in reality, there’s a possibility that guards are watching over you from afar. Lost in the thickets of nature, even if you’re being fenced in against your will, is preferable to the suffocating walls of the mansion. There isn’t a lot you’re willing to praise Giorno about, but his taste in flora is breathtaking. Palettes of complementing colors mesh together in a wide array of nature, stepping into it like entering a new world.

This particular section is your favorite. Azaleas are in full bloom around you, the sweet scent wafting to your nose. Stone garden benches, slightly aged by weather and covered in moss, make for a nice spot to collect yourself. This time of day, a sizable tree provides shade from the oppressive Neapolitan sun. Taking in a deep breath, you consider what to do for the reminder of the day. There isn’t much in the ways of entertainment, not in the sense you’d grown used to. No using the internet, or interacting with anyone that isn’t Giorno, aside from rare exceptions when you need food. Some of your hobbies are provided for, but the inspiration to partake in them when in captivity is dwindling at best, nonexistent at worst. 

You’ve had plenty of time to mope around the long, seemingly abandoned halls that make up your prison. After nights of incessant tears and sighing, you’ve made up your mind to make the most of the dreadful situation. Biding your time for a possibility of escape is all that can be done. Walking around the gardens almost felt like a form of reconnaissance at first, scoping the foreign territory in hopes of locating a weakness. Frustrating hour after hour would pass, no convenient cracks in the wall or fencing making itself known. Of course he wouldn’t make it that easy, not after all the apparent effort that went into kidnapping you.

The sun is beginning to set in the sky, the lengthier days of summer beginning a downwards trend as September soon approaches. You frown at the sight of clouds bathed in rays of golden light, knowing what unique horrors night time brings with it. During the day you get to be on your lonesome, making as much space between you and Giorno as possible. While there are some fortunate nights where he’s too engrossed with work matters to seek you out, Lady Luck hasn’t been on your side lately. He’s been woefully insistent on spending dinner with you, wanting to form a bond that you hold no interest in. You’d sooner seek out the company of a snail than Giorno Giovanna. 

When the crickets begin their anthems, the moon hanging high overhead, your freedom is restricted even more. The heavy weight of this realization pushes against your chest, a fresh wave of chills running through you. Anxiety is a finicky creature, making itself known at the worst times. Having a choke hold on you at its own leisure, preventing you from making any meaningful progress. It’s been somewhere around a few months now, you believe, since the encounter that changed your life for the worst. 

Shaking your low hanging head at the thought, you occupy yourself with the parchment sitting on your lap. It’s coarse against your skin, a much needed anchor to keep yourself from drifting away from this world. That’s right, you’ve come here for a reason. You’ve had this blank piece of paper, that has beckoned you to fill it for some time now. The problem being, the lack of proper equipment to use on it. Some pieces of charcoal that you found earlier after lunch sprang hope anew, the tool familiar in the best of ways. Holding with it fond memories, a desirable distraction from your bleak outlook on life. 

The guards that take care in shadowing you didn’t protest when you took it, so you assume it must be allowed. Bringing the dark instrument down to the parchment, you begin a rough sketch of an azalea plant in front of you. As you make the various shapes that define the flower, time almost seems to speed up around you. Before you register it, the sun has almost finished its descent into the sky, your hands fully covered in residue from handling the charcoal. Too absorbed in perfecting your work, you fail to notice approaching footsteps from behind. 

“--[First].” 

A surprised gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected greeting, your head whipping around to identify the source of the intrusive noise. Panic bubbles within at the sight of Giorno, who is taking a keen interest in what you are working on. From how at ease he looks, it’s difficult to gauge his thoughts. His visage never offers insight to his mind, always schooled and taciturn. He must be awaiting a response from you, but your mind is a state of panic. This activity isn’t something that’ll get you in trouble, is it? Subconsciously, you move the canvas to the side, your fingers wrapping around the edges uncomfortably. 

You need to say something, but the words die in your mouth before coming to life. Pushing through your storm of dread, you offer a response. “I… I’m sorry, if I wasn’t supposed to.”

Turquoise eyes regard you in kind, taking a seat next to you on the bench. He’s generous enough to leave a respectable gap, but is still too close for comfort. From how his lips are turned into a soft smile, you want nothing more than to believe you won’t be chastised for this innocent indulgence. Spending time in Giorno’s presence is akin to navigating through a minefield, never certain what step may end up being your last. All of the promises he offers feel unfounded, the sickly sweet assurances of never harming a hair on your head. Why should you believe him? He’s given you no reason to take his word as concrete, and you can’t see that ever changing.

You remember the scent of blood. The nauseating sound of bones crunching, how flesh sounds when thrown against a wall. How when approaching death, the eyes grew bloodshot, lips trembling as they took on a haunting shade of blue. It’s the stuff of nightmares, watching a life snuffed out right before you. Matteo, someone who had been your companion, was gone before you could even process it. The strain on your relationship with him is unforgettable, but having to see his body tossed aside by a ghostly force? Witnessing how limp his limbs were, the same arms that once sought refuge in long ago? 

You’ll never forget the devil Giorno is, no matter how much he paints himself as a saint. 

“I had no idea you were interested in art,” he chooses to ignore your previous comment, wanting to redirect onto more positive things. “You have a real talent for it. Had I known, I would’ve prepared a wider array of art supplies for you.” 

The compliment has the opposite effect as intended on your person. Instead of filling you with validation at the wholehearted praise, the words ooze down your skin like droplets of corrosive venom. A sudden disconnect between your creation is torn, and you can no longer stomach to look at it. How an object of beauty can turn into a reminder of your captor in a few measly seconds is a peculiar thing. When he leaves for work the next morning, you consider the possibility of destroying it all together. A last ditch effort to rid yourself of this revolting feeling that creeps down your spine. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself.” 

There are multiple ways of interpreting your words, ranging from a dismissal of Giorno’s presence to humility. He spins it in his favor, as he’s showcased his brilliance in doing so. Your lack of straightforward animosity towards him serves to backfire every time. 

“It’d be no trouble. Truth be told, I’m lacking an in-depth knowledge of the arts. What kind of equipment would suit you best?” Giorno inquires with a tilt of his head, his eyes leaving the impression that he can see the full dimensions of your soul. Ignoring him isn’t going to be of benefit, so you provide the bare minimum to satisfy his quest. 

“It’s… more of a personal preference, what an artist chooses to use.” 

He’s not letting you off the hook just yet. “What do you prefer to use?” 

“The basics. Pencils, watercolors, the like. Nothing too fancy.”

Giorno looks fascinated at anything you offer him. Even if you only speak when spoken to, it’s a good place to start. Your muscles tense as he leans closer, to get a better look at the drawing of flowers. His eyes scan every stroke, seeing how it all culminates into a grander picture. You move your legs over, internally pleading that he’ll leave you alone soon. Speaking for him with any amount of time, no matter how small, is exhausting. 

“Azaleas, correct?” 

At this guess, you nod in confirmation. 

“Please, should you ever need a reference for flowers, let me know. I’d be more than happy to provide it for you.” 

The chance to refuse this offer is fleeting, curiosity taking over at how he reaches for a rock on the ground. Taking it into his hand, he puts it in full view. You blink at the uncanny series of events, wondering why Giorno is putting a simple rock on display. Any semblance of understanding is stolen from you, as the colors twist into a different assortment. The spherical shape shifts into a stem, the bud on top growing light pink petals. He watches with amusement at how you look at it closer, mouth agape.

“W-what?” It’s a weak whisper, betraying the full extent of your awe. How did he pull this off? It isn’t like a cheesy magic trick, where the rock would slide somewhere, only to be replaced by a flower. No, you witnessed the full life cycle of the flower. He chuckles lowly at your childlike wonder, preparing a palpable explanation. 

“It’s an ability of mine,” he elaborates, placing the newly former azalea on your lap. “I can make any living thing.” 

Is this a dream? To test the theory, you rub your eyes, uncaring of the smudges likely left against your skin. When your eyelids flutter open once more, you’re still in reality. Wanting to inspect the flower closer, you lift it up, close to your eyes. Studying every aspect of it, from how soft the petals are to the firmness of the stem. While not a professional botanist by any means, there’s no denying that this is a real flower. 

“Any living thing…” 

The words dance on your tongue, parroting his words back to him to make sense of it all. “Does that include animals?” 

“Naturally. Is there anything you’d like to see, [First]?” He tempts you with promises of spectacle, fully aware of how bewitching Gold Experience’s ability is. Numerous ideas flood through your mind, possibilities infinite. Thoughts ranging from your own favorite animals, to cute creatures that might improve your mood. While creating bouquets of any flower might be an intriguing prospect, you’re more drawn to seeing animals. The only animals you’ve had contact with in the longest time are occasional frogs that congregate near the running foundations at night. Everything else is reduced to sounds, from owls to cicadas. 

It’s when you see Giorno’s knowing smile that something deep inside you stirs. 

He’s basking in the lightheartedness you’re exuding. This… this ultimately doesn’t change a thing. Giorno is a terrible man, who has taken so much from you. The hedges surrounding you both suddenly feel suffocating, a merciless reminder of who it is you’re dealing with. Beauty pales in comparison to real freedom. Every day has been the same as the last, an infinite loop of going through the motions, destined to never make progress. All of this has been thrusted onto you by Giorno Giovanna, a man in relentless pursuit of your heart. 

None of this is right. Being near him is enough to too much to take.

You hold your tongue, eyebrows furrowing at Giorno bringing out all this conversation from you. It’s humiliating how all your efforts to deny him the desires of his flesh never work as intended, this one of the many times he’s bested you. Now that you’ve spotted his game, you clamp shut like a clam, intent on hiding the pearl of yourself from him. You’re intentional in looking away, the luxury of him maintaining eye contact with you a memory of the past. Sensing the barriers you’re putting up against him, Giorno stands, dusting off his expensive pants. He offers you a nod of acknowledgement, pivoting on his heel and calling out to you over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” 

Too absorbed in your self deprecating thoughts and misery, you offer up no response. Footsteps crunching against the vegetation on the ground fade away, your heart pounding violently against your chest. Something wet caresses your face, teardrops falling and smudging your art. Your sniffling grows in volume, becoming a full set of sobs. Hands shaking by your side, you hang your head low, biting your lower lip to the point of drawing blood. 

Feeling like a man possessed, you wildly rip away at the canvas that taunts you so. The sound of paper ripping pales in comparison to the natural ambiance of the summer night, and you pay it no mind. All you want is an outlet for this surge of emotion. Any guilt over littering the ground with remnants of your work dissipates when you remember how servants will scurry like insects to clean up after you. For extra measure, you pick up the former rock, glowering at it. Breaking the stem with your hands, you throw it as far as you can manage, not able to stand the sight of all it stands for. None of this even begins to remedy the abhorrence that clogs your heart for Giorno, but it’s a start.

Exhaustion seeps into every pore of your being, and you retire to your room. 

- - -

He notices a lot of things about you when you’re asleep.

There’s clear serenity on your countenance, far away from the world of unfortunate reality. Giorno catches every rise and fall of your chest, how delicate your breaths are, the way your long eyelashes flutter against the soft cheeks of your face. When you’re lifted from the depths of deep sleep with a dream, frustration overtakes you, eyelids twitching. He’s inquisitive on the nature of your dreams, that must take the form of nightmares. What is it that haunts you? There’s a twinge in his heart at the possibility of it being him. 

The first time you reached out to him in your sleep, he thought it a trick of the lights. A fine delicacy he doesn’t deserve to gratify himself with, as a reminder of his own sins. You’re too good to him when you’re like this, arms subconsciously reaching out for something to grasp on. A few times, you found a pillow, content with it in your arms. In moments like this one, your hands touch the bare flesh of Giorno’s chest, drawing yourself against him. He stays perfectly still, recognizing the humiliation you’d face should you wake. No, this is just fine with him, enough to satisfy a dormant hunger. 

He can’t help himself, ghosting his fingertips up and down your bare arms. Goosebumps dot your skin from the motions. It’s a selfish wish, that you’d always be like this around him. Giorno would be a fool to think of himself as anything but self-serving after all he’s taken from you. Your future, freedom, your life. What is possibly an attempt to justify some of the extreme measures arises, Giorno incapable of hiding the scowl of your former situation. Such a kindhearted person, diluted by scum of society, churns his stomach in repulsion. The original plan didn’t include offing your former partner, but righteous fury overtook him. It isn’t often Giorno’s composure can crack, but seeing you belittled was all it took.

All the damage inflicted on you left gaping wounds, too great for Giorno to heal. 

He witnessed how radiant you’re capable of being, how your face glowed the first time you met. It’s a fond memory now, a way to placate him. Anything less than honoring the memory of you treating his wounds is a disservice to your person, Giorno incapable of offering nothing but high praises for you. This highlight of humanity, a pinnacle of what people are like at their best, is what motivates his goals further. To see Italy become a better version of itself, eradicating the nefarious plots that fester in the shadows. 

You rub your head against his chest, murmuring incoherent words in your sleep. His heart leaps at the endearing sight, wishing he could stay like this with you for eternity. In the midst of his musings, his own Stand materializes into existence, unblinking eyes considering every curve and dip of your body. Gold Experience Requiem wishes you were capable of acknowledging it, having to be content with observing you from afar. It’s a double edged sword. There’s an opportunity to wrap phantom-like appendages around your waist, you only believe it to be a gust of wind. Touch starved as Giorno is, he’s willing to accept any scraps of your touch he has access to.

Tiny pieces are better than nothing. 

Tomorrow will bring troubles of its own, yet he can’t find it in himself to complain. Your scrutiny is wholly deserved, and all that he can offer in meager attempts to reconcile is effort. To be better for your sake, and his own.

[yewfallen]

substitution

   “ You were taking care of orphans before, weren’t you? That’s so wonderful, Febail. ”

He stands there heading into Grannvale, speaking with Lana as their army made their final push back to Chalphy. Her smile is as he remembers it, he almost feels nostalgic for it.

“ Yeah, well that was Patty‘s idea, not mine. I’m really not all that big on kids, you see. ”

“ Hah… I know better than that. I saw all those crying children clinging to you when we were leaving the Munster District. You’re like a father to them, you know. ”

“ S-Stop it, would you? I just… Look, I... ”

But he doesn't finish what he knows he had said that day in a flustered frenzy. He stares, wide eyed as it's no longer Lana and her bouncy, sunshine colored hair that teases him but instead another girl — one so similar yet not at all who beams at him.

Short, dark hair. Sorrowful ashen eyes. Isaachian features.

Who is she? he wonders. She's certainly not his cousin who knows him so well, but here she is in her place, saying the same words and looking at him the same way.

“ Muirne...? ”  the name eventually comes to him. She nods, and suddenly that feeling of looking at a stranger turns oh so familiar until he convinces himself too that, yes, she knows him, knows him as well as Lana, and that they've been fighting together all this time— that Lana doesn't exist and neither does Lester— that they never did, for Aunt Edain never had kids and thus he never had had cousins.

He's never known family besides Patty, he tells himself, and that loss is so keenly felt as the darkness sweeps his vision and takes him elsewhere.

“ Ru, c'mere, ”  his mother calls for him. He's surprised to see her in such clarity for the first time. She lifts him up— his body that seems so small now in this memory— and nuzzles his nose with her own. She wears the same white headband across her forehead that he does growing up, and her golden waves fall and frame her face in such a way that makes her truly look like a goddess rather than a human being just like him.

Though he supposes with the holy blood flowing through his veins, he too was never just a mere mortal either.

“ We're heading to see your old man. Look alive! ”

And when he turns to look at the man the two of them walk towards, he finally gets the answer he was looking for. Besides knowing now what his mother looks like for certain to try and find her, he discovers the identity of his father too.

There he stands, smiling at him, green short wavy hair and a devil-may-care grin. He reaches out to ruffle Febail's hair, but when he does, his visage changes.

His father is now a blond man wearing red with a stern but caring mien. He morphs into a giant with a goofy smile but a big heart. He changes to a shorter man with hair as bright as the flames that consumed all those executed in his hometown of Conote. He becomes a pompous guy with blue hair, one that looks like a good-for-nothing type. Then a man with a low green ponytail. A man with darker skin and brown hair and a mark atop his forehead. A younger looking fellow with a severe expression and blue hair. A gladiator with blond hair that shines like the stars above. A similar looking man, somewhat older, one that surely has been around. A younger Lewyn this time, he's sure. A man of cloth, one with long flowing blond hair that cascades like golden waterfalls.

And lastly, another younger looking fellow with blond hair bunched into a short ponytail as he takes Febail from his mother. The sky grows dark, and the thief is running— from what exactly, he doesn't know.

“ We gotta get ya to Conote. Hang on there a bit more, li'l guy! ”

The world all around them looks as if it might end, and Febail clings to this mystery man as he escorts both him and a picnic basket bearing his younger sister Patty but when she was but still a newborn.

All these memories that had been so hazy to him before return to him more vivid than ever, but he's not sure which is the right one. And as the thief lowers him from his back onto the doorstep of the Conote orphanage alongside the picnic basket, Febail realizes he has returned back to the moment when he had no family at all anymore save for himself and his sister.

All these seasons spent looking for it, looking to be a son again, only to be shown visions that taunt him with contradictory clues and robs him of any progress he's made...

The gods really do enjoy spitting in his face, after all.

He returns from his trance, back at the seedy establishment within Tagzig, and he has to blink a few times before feeling like he's on stable ground again. Was it the drink that gave him those visions? Or that strange magenta-haired person?

Aes had told them all they could connect to all different points in reality, and even without arriving at the lab, Febail wonders if that's what he had just done then in what felt like nothing more than a bizarre daydream...

[captainkurosolaire]

Deadly Scheme

Suddenly after tasting victory for an ilm in facial features, the younger Keeper began fearfully pausing at distraught, unable to continue or use the function of his limbs, against his own design, administering a hold on his own throat and choking violently, squeezing the pressure with white-gloved hands. Choking and trying his mightiest to retrain, Silva's unrelenting power seemed unstoppable. Captain ripped off his shirt to block getting electrified and to safely rush back into the fray only to see the same scenery. “What ar’ you doing, Shiro! You’ve got him finished! Don’t beat yerself up.” Not recognizing that he was being bent against his will and hostage and also the Keeper unable to hear. Struggling under his choke, “I--can--’t con-tr-ol” Shiro’s other hand meticulously aiming at the imbecile scoundrel. Who took in resolve still containing the ice-sword he’d break through and shatter this enemy and give him complete decimation. Only when he got close, the possessed Shiro, manipulated the scimitar into reshaping into a self-impaling halberd that pierced through the pirate. Then combusted in a cryogenic explosion that sent Captain repelling and catapulting back into a harsh thud of defeat a side of his ribs fractured or shattered. Looking bewildered at the Seeker’s palms was surprisingly warm but only in his own sanguine nectar. Shiro forcefully pushed as he was being compelled to release Silv’a from the imprisonment. Otherwise choking and dying for nothing, this attempt was unsuccessful to claim victory. Unable to contest with the wrath no matter how many his backtracking leg’s stunted and relented, his need for oxygen demanded it, instincts kicking in with betrayal. He dissolved and freed his terrible evil from his own encasing and finally found his lung’s catching up. Silv’a cracked out stiffness and bone sores before mercilessly summoning a bundle of shards of ice and puncturing his own son and impaled him to the flooring with nails to his extremities. The injurie’s carried over into the Elder but unlike his son, had complete regeneration and recuperated every harmful effect as if indestructible. The soul-link faded from it’s duration at knick, unfortunately, disappointment continued to follow with his son. If only he endured a little longer, if his resolve of hatred for Silv’a soared higher. Towering over the two fallen moon and sun. He was their eclipse on this doomsday. A mighty debonair voice echoed over in a lecture of supremacy. “You can’t possibly think you’ll win. Even if you managed to kill me, another me will achieve where I failed. Evil, Good. It’ll always exist. None of their definitive methods matter by the end. Both forces believe they’re right.” “I am saving the world from the scar’s of calamity. If we all become immortal. Another catastrophe can’t slaughter us to extinction. We’ll be prepared by any interspiece traveler this time.The survivors won’t have to mourn! Our born mortal flesh is inferior! An imperfect design with an expiration date. Why clamour to be less?” “Those who survive the tormented soul’s who seek to bless every living thing on this Realm, will be the undefined STRONG. We’ll become a unified mutual structure. The hierarchy will shift drastically. Wealth will not be a determining factor. What you were distinctly racially born as, won’t matter! Don’t you see!” “Haven’t you ever questioned why these deities abandoned this realm after the recorded First Era? This world was studied once as an unimaginable beauty. But as creation’s came into, warring Beast Tribes and more race’s began migrating, our flaws served a catalyst corrupting and consuming with wedged separations. We became a lost cause.”

Twitching an angry wavy brow, Captain weakly unleashed an uproar, “SHUT TH’ HELL UP!” He’d begin lifting himself up and rummage a salving herb that bandaged his wound used by his other soul-half that roamed wilds, after wincing out, “I don’t give a shite. You wouldn’t possibly UNDERSTAND what we’ve done to survive while you were gone and hiding like a rat in a gutter inside your own son, by the way. Disgusting. That’s even immoral for me… I never needed the validation of’ the Twelve. Or my many betters. If I made it. So did many others, in a way we struggle more than any predated heroes, innocent’s still finding a reason to smile, t’ still find harmony, they create harboring hope and to endure, that’s strength! They’re th’ attraction! World hasn’t lost its radiance. We’ve only incorporated it into our lifeforms, after having my shared venture’s... If peace was an option, I would pick it! Building our massive societies and cultures, that’s why we pirate’s sailed! Not all forget history, we build and advance continuously, It’s also why the relics you even hold, were found, because of the Scour. We might be a doom cause, but by it all we restore with us joining as one! Many race’s loathe each other from old wounds, now, because of Realm defining Wars we’re getting closer to accepting one another, because this is our ship we share!” Pausing before catching his lungs up then gently, calmly, soothing continuing. A powerful retort was passionately conveyed by the seafarer. “The mortals.” “Dying is ever important for th’ next phase ov’ Living.” “What’ll happen when everyone becomes an immortal demon that eats and devours all living-sources and we run out? Think of that! You preach about invaders that caused Calamities. We’d eventually do it to another Realm n’ be th’ invader and eventually we’ll go back to fighting each other internally. Yer perfect hierarchy is still a BROKEN system! Becoming all equal isn’t th’ answer. Wondrous diversities, that's knowing true treasure.” Shiro was stunned and staggered that Captain even managed to deductively vent at that point, something that would’ve fit his own retort as he regained his hearing to rise with the aspiring pirate. “...Well said.”  Breaking his binding ice that rooted him with a howling defiance. Highlighting a visage with an impressed but still grumbling as the polar-pair resisted and fought as warriors even with their extensive wounds only gathering more, even if they died ultimately here, at least they fought the devil instead of hid. Silv’a crossed his arms before cackling his head back, “As I said. We’ll never agree. You’ll see once it all transpires, I’m right. You’ll all be mended… Well, except you boys, I don’t think you’ll survive. You’ve caused me enough headaches! In Fact… I think you should return to your nursery.” Reading off the Voidal Relic the Scroll of the Twelve with a finger rub over the spell, he’d unleash a terrifying curse. “What now?” Captain wouldn’t like this, Shiro more sensible, “Come on stop gawking, Solaire, we’ve got to stop him!” Silv’a uttered, <”Unvalued flowed time is constantly to be set-back until before they prospered.>!” Empowering it with an old Mhachi tongue. As Shiro and Kuro rushed their next barrage they noticed the world getting larger... or, well, them getting smaller. They began shrinking into their child forms being toddlers but retaining their wisdom, least temporarily. Their bodies however were once again pesky chibi-like kids. Completely harmless and so fragile.   “I feel like my balls were reversed from dropping, so painfully unpleasant.” Captain’s first thing he noticed as his pitch became predated with puberty. Turning to Shiro who was overlooking his own form, “Argh! We've been transformed into runts.” Silv’a laughing gallantly, succeeding in disposing of them. “Precisely you spoiled pest, now sit tight and observe.” He’d create a kid’s play-pen they couldn’t even climb out from their heights being insignificant. See-through fenced with an ice wall barricading them in. Only so they could bewilder failure. A dangerous curse that would constantly become even more potent as time durated as shortly even their own actual age would be reversed until they were drooling infants and slobbering messes who could only crawl, then eventually they’d cease of existence. Shiro and Kuro looked in complete disarray and despair. The sorcerer conducted his actual plan by aligning the Voidal Relics; they were keys for something of a grander scheme beyond their forbidden usages. The more drawn together they could be conduit’s to open up a gateway even more terrifying than that of the Void alone. A teared rift that could endanger all if it came to pass a place deemed of no escape was beginning to be drawn forth with Mhachi blood and the unity of demon’s. The Tormented Plane’s laid to open, so came certain Oblivion. The worst of the worst sinners and tortured would eventually find escape when the Rift fully opened, unleashed after a phase of time and by continuing draining each relic independently.                         (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)  

[othrworldy]

elijah rosiello tag drop