#i didn’t make it with enough love and you could TASTE that

[keepingitformyself]

there’s been no way for me to say (that i felt a certain way)

Synopsis: natasha romanoff has loved you for ages and she could never seem to get it right.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: college AU, fluff and angst.

warnings: angst?

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha met you in a very peculiar way.

it started at a friends of a friends party, in some internet starlet’s brooklyn loft.

drinks were going around, the music was loud, the smell of marijuana was very strong. she doesn’t quite remember it— after having been to a bunch of parties they all seem to blur into one— but she knows it was enough to leave a lasting impression on her.

she’d heard your piercing laugh from across the room. you, in a tight tank top and some black slacks. she could see the shine of sweat against your skin, the colorful lighting of the room making you seem so beautifully human.

everything sort of froze in the coming moments. she watched as you took your top off without a second thought. you were about to shotgun a beer and you stood tall as you did it atop the kitchen island. you didn’t need the attention, nor did you want it, but you had it.

it was a simple behavior. but it stayed with natasha long after you had crushed the beer can and tossed it on the floor somewhere.

natasha thinks you never notice her staring for the rest of the night but you do.

weeks later she sees you again at another party.

clint, wanda, tony and everyone else joins her this time. she isn’t surprised when she sees you. it was the same crowd, similar friend groups. but this time you made it easy for her to approach you.

somehow you end standing next to eachother near where all the drinks had been laid out.

"hey," you said, voice casual but warm. "didn’t expect to see you here again."

natasha smiled, though she hadn’t expected to talk to you at all. nor did she think you noticed her. "i guess we have similar taste in parties."

you laughed lightly. “guess so."

there was a beat of silence before you added, “you know, you were kinda staring at me last time.”

natasha froze for a second, unsure how to respond. she hadn’t thought you’d noticed. but before she could stammer out an excuse, you were already grinning.

“i’m just messing with you. it was funny. i didn’t think anyone would care enough to notice me.”

natasha was relieved, yet still unsure if you were actually joking. either way she felt this was going better than she planned.

the night wore on and you guys carried easy conversation. natasha was still unsure how to even approach talking to you. she felt kind of shy. so she improvised by making references to things she didn’t think you’d get, but you almost always did.

you dropped a reference to something obscure, a movie natasha had once obsessed over, and natasha stared at you for a moment longer than was socially acceptable. she couldn’t stop herself.

“you’re really into that, huh?” she said, and just like that, the bond started to form. it wasn’t immediate or instant, not the kind of connection that screams “best friends forever.” no, it was something stranger, something subtler, like two different puzzle pieces that had almost fit, only to get pushed back together by sheer happenstance.

“your references are spot on.” you laughed. natasha smiled at how easy you made it for her to be around you.

you and natasha started seeing each other more, slowly building this weird, unspoken routine. she’d text you at random, making some kind of sarcastic comment or joke only you would get, and you’d shoot back a meme that only someone with your specific sense of humor would understand. over time, you both ended up in the same circles, passing each other in the hallways of the university, at class, at parties—always just a little bit more than acquaintances, but never quite crossing into the territory of “best friends.”

there was something comfortable about it. easy, even. but for natasha, it was also strange. the more she saw you, the more she felt like there was something else there, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. maybe it was a crush. maybe it was more than that.

it wasn’t as though either of you had been completely oblivious to the passing of time, to the fact that you were both growing older, moving through college with the same bittersweetness that everyone else felt. and yet, there was still this distance between you, an unspoken barrier that neither of you had broken down.

natasha thought about you a lot more than she’d like to admit. how she so badly wanted to cross the line between friendship and something more.

by senior year, natasha couldn’t ignore it anymore. her feelings for you weren’t just fleeting glances or passing thoughts. they were there, constant, sitting beneath her skin, running through her mind like a song she couldn’t shake. but it wasn’t just a crush. it was more. she could feel it. she knew it.

the desperation kept getting worse.

it was a slow burn.

you were months set from graduating, natasha felt it was time she’d try to test her luck.

it was late into the evening at yet another party—music blaring, laughter echoing through the crowded living room, and cups of cheap beer littering the tables. one last semester before graduation, before the "real world" set in. natasha was sitting on the couch, leaning against the back with her legs stretched out in front of her. her eyes roamed the room, scanning for someone to talk to. and then she saw you.

you were in the middle of a conversation with clint and wanda, your hands animatedly gesturing as you told some wild story about a disastrous trip to the beach, the kind of tale that had everyone in stitches. natasha couldn’t help but smile from across the room. there was something magnetic about you—how you lived so fully, how you pulled everyone into your orbit without even trying. natasha had been watching you for months now, always on the edge of your space, always wishing she could be more than just a silent observer.

she didn’t know when it started—when the simple admiration had turned into something else. but now, as she watched you laugh with your friends, something in her chest tightened. this wasn’t a crush she could just ignore.

it wasn’t the first time natasha had thought about asking you out. but tonight felt different. maybe it was the proximity of graduation, the sudden realization that this was it—that you both were on the brink of leaving behind this chaotic, unmoored time in your lives. she could either stay on the sidelines or take the chance.

she stood up, smoothing out her jacket and walking across the room. her friends—clint, wanda, and sam—noticed her approaching and exchanged knowing glances, all but daring her to make a move. natasha could feel the weight of their stares, but she ignored them. she focused only on you.

"hey," she said, stepping into the conversation, a little breathless from the nerves she’d kept hidden.

you turned, giving her that warm smile you always did. "hey, nat! what’s up?"

"not much, just wanted to, uh, ask you something," natasha began, her usual confidence faltering just a little.

“i was thinking about heading to this bar later, just to get away from all… this,” she gestured vaguely to the party around them, “and i was wondering if you wanted to join me? for drinks. just us. you know, before we all get caught up in the whole graduation mess.”

it was casual, maybe too casual. but natasha didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. not with everyone watching.

there was a pause, just a beat too long, before you looked at her, a faint frown pulling at your brow. you were processing. “uh,” you hesitated, glancing at your friends.

clint, wanda, and sam all turned their heads at the same time, giving you the slightest raise of their brows. you bit your lip, clearly unsure, and natasha’s heart sank a little at the hesitation.

"i mean," you said slowly, looking back at natasha. "we’re friends, nat. i just… i’m not sure."

it was a gentle rejection, but it stung all the same. natasha swallowed, masking her disappointment with a shrug. "no, yeah, of course. no pressure." she let out a quiet laugh, her hand rubbing the back of her neck, trying to laugh it off. "i was just messing with you. don't worry about it."

you nodded, a small, apologetic smile on your lips. "i mean, i’d love to hang out more, just—"

"totally fine," natasha interrupted, her voice light but edged with something that made her own heart ache. she smiled, keeping it neutral. "maybe some other time."

she turned away quickly, but she felt your eyes on her as she walked back to the couch, her friends watching the entire scene unfold. clint raised his brows, and natasha just shook her head, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how deeply that small exchange had affected her.

but inside, it stung. it stung more than she cared to admit. it wasn’t just a small rejection. it was the fear that maybe you had noticed her feelings all along and were just too scared to say anything about it.

that night, natasha tried to sleep, but her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. you were everything she had wanted, but in this strange, liminal space, neither of you had been brave enough to admit it.

weeks passed, the semester came to an end, and graduation day loomed on the horizon. natasha and you both moved on in your own ways, starting to make plans for life after college. but something lingered. something unsaid. life became a little more faster, and faces got a little older.

you reached out to her a few times. it was never the same as before. it was different now, with this strange tension lingering between you both. but you kept in touch, as if you both were afraid of letting go of something that might have been, something that might have still been.

and maybe it was ridiculous, natasha thought, but she was okay with it. she had loved you for years, and maybe that was the most honest thing she could admit to herself.

because even if you two had never been the closest of people, you’d always been there. always in the background, always in between. and somehow, that was enough for natasha. enough for her to hold on to the hope that maybe, one day, you’d both be able to finally figure it out.

it had been two years since you both left the university. two years where natasha had started a career in marketing, constantly moving up, climbing the corporate ladder while trying (and failing) to suppress the things she didn’t want to feel about you. she had dated, of course. a couple of short-term relationships, nothing serious. but nothing had ever lasted, and she had never quite understood why until now. the answer had always been there, hovering just out of reach, in the form of a text, a call, a passing thought about you.

as for you, you’d moved across the country for a job in graphic design. you didn’t think much about natasha at first. life had been busy—new city, new friends, new routine—but every now and then, you'd wonder if she'd thought of you. if she remembered how everything had felt when you were both on the brink of something, but never quite dared to cross the line.

and then it happened.

it wasn’t planned. it wasn’t expected. but one saturday evening, natasha found herself sitting at a bar in brooklyn after a long week at work. she’d had a rough day. one of those days where everything felt like too much. and then, as she nursed her gin and tonic, she heard someone call her name.

it was a voice she hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

“natasha?”

she turned, already recognizing the voice before she even saw your face. and there you were, standing in the doorway of the bar like a memory coming to life. your hair had grown a little longer, and you looked different, older in a way that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. but you were still you—the same you who had been in those parties, those late-night study sessions, the one who had always made her laugh with a look or a passing reference.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. just stood there, eyes locking, as if trying to figure out whether this was real.

“i didn’t know you were in new york,” natasha said, her voice betraying the sudden weight in her chest. she couldn’t keep the smile from forming, even though she tried.

“i wasn’t planning on being,” you said, grinning. “work sent me here for a few weeks. i was meeting some friends, but it’s been a while, so i thought i’d just see if you were around.”

it wasn’t exactly casual. but you both knew it wasn’t entirely random, either. it felt like fate had decided that you two were finally going to do this.

you sat down, and the conversation flowed as naturally as it always had. the awkwardness of the past melted away. you didn’t need to pretend anymore. there were no more games, no more hesitations.

just you and natasha, picking up where you left off, though this time, the space between you felt a little different. there was an understanding now, a quiet knowing in the way you both spoke, a recognition that time had done its job.

“so…how’s life?” natasha asked, pushing her drink aside and leaning in a little closer.

you shrugged, but there was something different about you too, something less guarded. “it’s been alright. busy. but you know how that goes. i’ve been thinking about home, though. about—” you paused, then looked directly at natasha. “about people i should have kept in touch with.”

natasha’s heart was thudding in her chest, but she kept it together. she was a master of hiding emotions, after all. “yeah?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“yeah,” you said, with a smile that made natasha’s stomach flutter. “it’s funny how things work out. you don’t realize what you miss until you’re standing in front of it again.”

time had always been a strange thing between natasha and you—something both distant and close at the same time, like a thread that wound its way through your lives, never quite snapping, always lingering. you’d known each other for years, seen each other at parties, shared quiet moments, and laughed at the same jokes. but all that time, there had always been a hesitation. a space between the two of you, filled with something—something both of you had been aware of but had never dared to name.

it was the kind of thing that was easier to ignore in college, easier to pretend it wasn’t there while you were both busy with classes, with your lives, with the thrill of being young and not yet knowing what you wanted out of the world.

but that something between you had always been there, pulling at both of you, quiet but undeniable. the way you caught each other’s eyes a little too long. the way your conversations turned into something more meaningful without either of you intending it. the way natasha would see you at parties and catch her breath for just a moment. the way you’d smile, as if you both knew, but neither of you was brave enough to act on it.

you’d both dated people. tried relationships. but it had never lasted, had it? there was always that nagging feeling in the back of your mind—something missing, something not quite right. as if your lives couldn’t fit together because they weren’t ready to yet. you didn’t have the words for it, and neither did natasha. but you both knew. you always knew.

the things that had once seemed complicated—life, timing, fear—suddenly didn’t feel as big as they once had. there was a quiet honesty between you now, as if you both had grown enough to stop pretending you didn’t feel it. the awkwardness, the hesitation, the “maybe” that had been there before was gone.

it was you. it had always been you. and you knew it too.

“so,” natasha said after a beat, her voice softer now, quieter than before. “what are we doing here, really? we’re not strangers. we’ve known each other for, what, almost four years now?”

you looked at her, your lips curling into a smile that didn’t hide the tension in your gaze. “we’ve known each other longer than that,” you said. “we’ve always known.”

“i think i’ve always been afraid of this,” natasha admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “afraid that i’d say the wrong thing, or that it would mess things up between us. that maybe the timing was never going to be right.”

you nodded slowly. “i’ve been afraid of that too.” you paused, then added with a wry smile, “i was never good with timing.”

“maybe we don’t need perfect timing,” natasha said softly, her gaze meeting yours with something she hadn’t let herself feel before—a quiet certainty. “maybe it’s just the right time now. after all this time.”

you didn’t answer right away. you didn’t have to. instead, you reached across the bar, your hand brushing gently against hers, and just like that, it all clicked. there was no more hesitation. no more waiting. you both knew what this was, what it always had been.

“yeah,” you said, your voice low and certain. “i think you’re right.”

and that was it.

[puckinghischier]

I’m a firm believer that quinn would be the kind of boyfriend who’d use the pink sugar lip balm you left at his apartment bc he misses you and bc it smells good

you’d meet up with him for lunch or something, not having seen him in a few days due to each of your crazy schedules, and you’d notice his lips looked a little…shinier than usual.

he’d give you a quick peck in greeting, noticing the tacky nature and slight sweetness of his lips, but just thinking he lathered them in flavored vaseline or something, knowing how dry his lips get during the season from all the exposure to the cold temps.

during lunch you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything but his glossy lips. and how they almost looked…pinker than usual. all the staring would have you realizing your own lips seem dry, fishing around in your purse for your trusty lip balm.

“what’re you looking for, honeybee?” he’d ask while signing the receipt the waiter had just brought, hearing you let out a frustrated huff, your favorite tube of lip gloss nowhere to be found.

“can’t find my lip balm. s’my favorite one, too,” you mumble out, still searching, determined to find it.

“oh! is it this one? you left it at my apartment, in the bathroom,” your head snapped up, seeing the small, pink tube in-between his fingers.

relief washes over you. you were worried you were going to have to go buy a whole new tube, not wanting to spend another $25 when you had just bought that one a couple of weeks ago.

“yes! that’s it! thanks, q,” you happily take the tube from his fingers and apply a thin layer of the tacky ointment to your lips. when you taste the familiar, sweet flavor, the same you tasted on quinn’s lips when you first sat down to eat, it’s like a light bulb went off.

you look up at your boyfriend, the slight shine to his lips still present, even after eating a meal.

“quinn…why did you-” you start, staring at the pink tint to his lips, making sure you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing. “are you wearing my lipgloss?” you finally ask him, a hint of amusement in your voice.

quinn’s cheeks instantly flush. “well…when i found it i didn’t know what it was and took the cap off to smell it, and it smelled really good. then i figured out it was lip gloss and it was pink sugar flavored, so i put some on my lips to see what it tasted like,” he shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “plus i missed you, and it tasted like your kisses, so i kept wearing it. it makes my lips really soft, though.”

you fight the urge to laugh, ginding it adorable he likes wearing your lip gloss because he misses you.

“guess we need to get you your own tube, then, don’t we? because i love you, but i’m not sharing mine,” you tell him, watching his head raise in excitement, bright eyes latched onto yours.

“really?” he eagerly asks you.

you shake your head at him. “mhmm. if it’s pink sugar gloss you want, it’s pink sugar gloss you get. c’mon, we have a pit stop to make on the way home,” you stand, arranging the signed receipt and tip where the server could see it.

quinn bolts out of his own chair, practically skipping over to you in happiness.

when you walk out of the beauty store 20 minutes later, three tubes of pink sugar lip balm richer, you laugh at how quinn all but runs to the car, sitting down in the drivers seat and flipping the mirror down, applying the sweet salve to his lips.

“how do i look,” he turns his head towards you, puckering his lips dramatically.

you giggle at the action, loving how excited he is to have his own lip gloss to wear. “sweet enough to kiss,” you respond through your laugh.

the words earn you another small kiss, feeling the tackiness of both of your lips smearing together, tasting the sweetness he said reminded him of your kisses.

he gives you a toothy grin before settling back in and starting the car, ready to go back to his apartment and spend the rest of his day off with you. he pauses right before he merges into traffic, though.

“just…do me favor,” he looks over at you, almost worried looking. “don’t tell guys about this,” he references his teammates, knowing they’d have a lot to say about their captain wearing matching lip gloss with his girl.

“wouldn’t dream of it, sugar lips,” you wink at him, earning a small groan from him, another laugh erupting out of you.

[baronessvonglitter]

would you ever consider writing a deeper romantic relationship for the lovely couple from Daddy can fix it??💖 it’s sooo good

I hope you didn’t think I forgot about you 💕 I was so pleased to receive your ask. From one hopeless romantic to another, I hope you enjoy!

Daddy Does Drilling

Handyman! Joel x fem!plus size!Reader

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: what happens when you and Joel blur the line between business and pleasure..

I invite everyone to also read "Daddy Can Fix It" 🩵

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears apron and dress. Reader's age not mentioned so there is as much or as little of an age gap as you want. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped). Oral (f receiving). Sarah and Ellie are mentioned but not named. Divorced Dad!Joel 🤭Slowly falling in love and not realizing it until it's too late. Mention of reader wanting a divorce from her husband. Also catty book club bitches.

"You're crazy, y'know that?" Joel whispers in your ear, his harsh whisper tickling your skin as he guides you up and down on his cock.

You grab the back of the sofa, nails digging into the soft upholstery as he plunges into your soaking wet pussy. "I had to do it," you giggle through your panting. "I couldn't stand my idiot husband doing all the work that you do better."

That earns you a slap on the ass, Joel's large hand giving it a firm grip after. "You're an insatiable lil' thing," he growls in your ear. "'Bout to wear me out."

You smirk up at the patched-up drywall, perfectly smoothed over by Joel's industrious and talented hands. Hands that are now grabbing your curves and molding your body to his. "Can you blame me? I'll never get enough of this cock!" Your sentence ends on a loud moan as he holds your hips steady and thrusts up into you hard and deep so you feel the steady brush of him up close to your cervix.

"Come on sweet thing, ya came twice already, you ready for a third?" Joel rasps in your ear. "Got my lap all fuckin' wet with this juicy pussy."

The moment he'd finished up with the wall you'd pounced on him, crushed your lips and your hips to his, delighted to find him already hard and ready. In the shortest amount of time ever, you both had shoved off and pulled aside whatever clothes were unnecessary and fucked right there on the sofa.

He's working you to your third orgasm, spoiling you, actually, holding back from his own pleasure because it's too much fun giving you yours, watching the beautiful expression on your face, the way your body shakes and trembles.

"There she is," he whispers as your sugar walls convulse around him, rhythmically squeezing his rigid cock, and that's when he lets himself explode, your pussy milking him for every drop he's got.

He's at your house every week, then twice a week, three times a week, until he's just there to fuck you and make you scream his name. No fixing of anything required.

Neither of you notices when things take a turn towards the soft, the sweet. He spends hours between your thighs, tasting and teasing you until you come multiple times, not just trying to get you off but trying to know you. Your time together is marked not by the quick, productive thrusts in positions you haven't tried since college, but in the lingering kisses and knowing stares, the confessions that spill from your lips, the honesty that is born of such intimacy as you've shared.

You find out that he's divorced, has two grown daughters, one married and the other away at university. He loves to work with his hands, that he has a natural knack for figuring out a solution to every problem, and persists until said problem is fixed. That's how he started his company.. and one day the ladies just started coming onto him.

Being older and single, he didn't let those chances pass him. The women he helped were lonely like himself, and if he could give them a bit of something to keep them happy even for a moment, he was glad to do it. It became a well-known secret among the housewives of the community of Royal Hill that he would provide good service at a decent price and give you the fucking of a lifetime if you asked politely.

He liked women, found their husbands to be idiots, more often than not. White collar limp dicks who think a G-spot is street slang for money. Some of them he got to know well: Amirah with the flawless umber skin and always smelled of jasmine; Isabelle who tip-tapped around her tiled home in impossibly high heels with ostentatious feathers on the straps and wore hardly anything under her sheer hot pink robe, also bedecked in feathers; Becky who was quite demanding and rude but submissive once she had a dick inside her.

Then came you. And you threw him for a loop.

You were more than you appeared: sweet, shy, pretty. Once he got you in bed you were a goddess, and the amazing thing was you already knew you were. You gave without asking anything in return.. but how could he ever deny you his strong hands, eager mouth, throbbing cock?

No one else had struck this feeling within him, no matter how many lonely housewives he visited, no matter how hard or rough or passionately he'd fucked any of them, they were just fun. Side quests, as his gamer brother would say.

He liked getting to know you, finding out who was the woman underneath the apron and the rosebud-patterned dress. You told him secrets no one else knew, and he found himself doing the same. You would call each other just to talk, to hear each other's voices when you couldn't be close.

What you didn't know was the impact it would have on the other housewives.

"He doesn't even come over himself anymore. His brother Tommy came by to fix the sink instead."

"Don't get me wrong.. Tommy's cute, but I wanted Joel."

"Daddy Joel."

You ignore the little group that's once again near the dessert table. You grab a couple of cucumber sandwiches and a chocolate-dipped madeleine, oblivious to their prattle.

"I don't know," Becky says pointedly. "His truck has been seen outside a certain someone's house a few days a week." She stops you before you can go back to your seat. "With the amount of time Joel's been at your home, you ought to have the most restored, revamped, upgraded home on the block," she says, brimming over with restrained attitude.

"What's going on?" she asks under her breath.

You can see the others are waiting for you to answer her, but for the first time ever you feel absolutely no need to appease them. You need to win them over like you need a hole in your head. "I don't know what you're talking about," you tell them, lying with ease.

"It's not nice to take up all his time," Becky says with an icy tone, staring you down as if looks could kill.

"Becky, is it just me, or are you jealous over a man you have to pay to fuck you?"

The others are stunned. No one has ever put Bitchy Becky in her place before. Not even she knows what to say.

"I think I'm done with this book club. I can read on my own at my house.. waiting on Daddy to fix whatever I need him to." With an angelic smile you drop the plate of treats back onto the table as you leave.

Walking out into the late afternoon sun you feel more free than you ever have before, as if a whole new chapter has started. The short walk to your house is pleasant, even more so when you see Joel's work truck in your driveway.

"Thought I missed ya," he says, his hands in his pockets as he walks from your front door.

"Fridays are for the book club," you explain, heart racing as you come close to him, and his arms go naturally around your waist. "But I quit. Can't really stand those snobby bitches."

You inhale the clean cotton scent of his red flannel, nuzzling your nose in his shoulder as he kisses the side of your head. "I don't want to do anything ever again that doesn't make me happy."

"So, lil' thing, what's gonna make ya happy right now?" he asks, a small grin playing across his lips.

Looking up at him, you realize Joel is the best choice you could have made. "I think I'm going to leave my husband. No.. I'm definitely going to leave my husband. But there's something else I want right now.."

"Good idea." His arms tighten slightly around you, as if to tether you to him. "And what would that be?"

"I want you to come inside.. you've got some drilling to do," you lead him by the hand and into your home.

dividers by @saradika 👑

[bohemianblasphemy]

It Will Come Back

Billy Butcher x Reader

“Don’t you hear me howling babe?”

Content: unprotected sex, lil bit of fingering and hair pulling, Feral Butcher nailing reader against the wall- enough said.

All that he could think of was you.

The way that you had consumed his being, his desire for you never faulted and god, was he in deep.

Pacing back and forth, his eyes on the counter focused on the black screen of his phone. He needed you, craved the presence and taste of you.

Stopping in his obsessive motions, “fuck it…” he mumbles to himself and takes his phone in his hand.

Billy typed at his keyboard, your name blaring at him on the top of the screen.

Billy: you home right now?

You: yeah I am, you okay?

Billy: need you, now.

He felt the familiar strain in his jeans, the mere thought of you making him harder than you would ever imagine as he anticipated your reply.

The flick in his wrist turned faster than the speed of sound as he felt his phone vibrate, indicating your response.

The words ‘Come over x’ paired with a lewd photo of you in your bathroom mirror- cladded in only a matching bra and underwear set made him groan softly at the sight of you, The image burned into his pupils. He didn’t think twice to grab his keys and race out the door to crawl back to you.

His knuckles turned white from the grip on the steering wheel, weaving in and out of traffic and filtering out the angered beeps of horns from other members of the public.

Butcher did not give a fuck.

Billy could see your apartment come into view, his Cadillac pulling up to the curb with an abrupt holt- parking and striding to your door.

His knuckles rapped on the wood, his impatience filling him to the brim as he waited for you to answer. As soon as he heard the soft click of the handle his eyes averted to your figure before him- still cladded with the matching lingerie set but with the added silky dressing gown, making the tent in his jeans all the more tighter.

Pushing past you he slammed the door shut behind him, turning to face you. His eyes turned black with desire, raking over the way you stood there mirroring his lustful gaze.

Billy couldn’t wait any longer- without saying a word he paced toward you and took you by the waist, backing you up against the nearest wall.

His lips attached to yours, pushing his tongue past your lips almost too desperately. The shared groan of relief you both gave to each other- finally being able to satisfy the craving of each other’s taste.

“Too many fuckin’ clothes…” he grumbled as he pulled away from your mouth, tugging on the knot that held your robe together and pulling it off your shoulders and looking down at you once more.

A low growl left his lips, a predatory glint in his eyes as he ripped off your underwear in one swift motion.

“Billy!” You gasped watching his toss the now broken material to the floor.

“You’ll be right, you got plenty of ‘em…” he whispered trailing his fingers around your hips before dipping his fingers between your thighs, feeling your warm, slick cunt on his digits.

“F-fuck…” you breathed out, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you savoured his touch.

He groaned as he coated his fingers with your essence, dipping them inside you slowly and pumping them in and out, hearing your soft breathy moans in his ear.

“God love I need you, I need to fuck you- now.” He practically howled as he withdrew his digits from you, sucking the wetness off his middle and index fingers.

“Turn around and bend over f’me…” he commanded, watching you comply.

Billy reached for his belt buckle, undoing the flimsy bit of leather until it loosened enough for him to unbutton his faded jeans, pushing them and his briefs down enough so his hard cock could spring free, twitching as it stood at attention.

You turned your head around to look at him, watching him as he pulled your hips close to his- his hard length in his hand as he stroked it softly, guiding himself to line up with your pussy.

The head of his cock ran up and down against your delicate folds, bumping your clit and feeling your body jolt as if you had been shocked by electricity. In a swift and steady motion, he sunk himself into you- a desperate growl erupted from his chest.

“Oh billy…” you panted, feeling him pump in and out of you and slowly picking up the pace. The grip he had on your hips was firm, enough to leave bruises.

His hips collided into yours with fervour, the slapping sounds of skin and groans filling the hallway of your home.

Billy brought his hand and laced his fingers through your hair, tugging your head back.

“I’m fuckin’ addicted to ya, this pussy belongs to me…” he growled in your ear biting down on your earlobe, earning a strangled gasp from your lips.

He could feel his orgasm bubbling inside him; short pants and deep, sloppy thrusts as he rubbed on your clit- feeling your walls pulsate around him as you too reached your peach.

You called out his name, feeling your thighs shaking from the shocks of your orgasm and feeling Billy’s cock pulsate and coat your walls with his cum, groaning in your ear as he came down from his high.

Slowly pulling out of you, he turned you back around - bringing you in for another deep kiss. He wanted more, craved for more of you.

“I ain’t done with you yet…” he breathed out as he pulled away from your lips.

“We’re gonna ‘ave a long night sweetheart…”

[rocknrollbabe14]

Forbidden Fruit (Emperor Geta X Reader)

Part I

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Nudity, teasing, fingering, slight degrading.

Thanks to @josephs-quinns for my header! Love you!

You didn’t come from a wealthy family. It was quite the opposite actually. But your parents needed this and for some reason, the emperor had caught you out as one of the women he wanted to meet to potentially become his wife. Caracalla. Emperor Caracalla was the eldest son of Emperor Septimius Severus. Caracalla and his father were part of the Severan dynasty.  There was a lot of talk about him, his brother Geta, and his father amongst the empire. People had to be careful how they spoke of them, however. But it was Caracalla’s father and mother that were finding it important for their sons to find wives and begin a family. You were sure he could have cared less—he could sleep with any woman he wanted.

He and his brother was in a position of power and authority, two of the most important things this day and age. Any woman in their right mind would not turn down either Emperor. Part of you was hoping he’d choose you—for your family’s sake. They’d be highly favored if the emperor chose you. But you wouldn’t return to your normal life. You’d instantly be taken in by the family, beginning preparations to make you his wife. It was all overwhelming to think about. 

You knew that there would be women lined up for a chance to court and marry Emperor Caracalla. He had been co-augustus with his brother now for some time, getting the real taste of what it was like to rule. His true colors would show through soon enough, they always did. Every ruler, every time. It never failed. He had a huge weight on his shoulders.

One could only imagine the weight he had on his shoulders. It was something you couldn’t imagine—learning the ropes so that one day you could take over the empire from under your father. His life was royalty, but you were sure it probably wasn’t easy. There were standards he had to live up to and achieve. That would be hard in itself, having such an expectation to live up to. You shook your head lightly just thinking about it. 

The journey to get to Caracalla was going to be a long one, one that you weren’t sure you were mentally prepared to endure. As bad as you hated to admit it, part of it felt like a death sentence—a march to your uncertain and untimely death. Maybe that was being a little dramatic. But your life as you knew it was over, wasn’t it? Life would never be the same if he chose you as his partner. This would be a huge undertaking.

Part of you was content that your mother had agreed to take this journey with you. It was comforting to have her near, a familiar faucet in this unfamiliar setting. If Caracalla chose you, the wedding would be extravagant and grand. It would be something you could only dream about, something so far out of your reach. But was it now? That was to be determined. 

Each one of you had to introduce yourselves to him and bow before him. He and his brother were on the throne together, picking over each one of you. When it got to you, you thought you might forget your name that your stomach was flipping so hard. But somehow, you had made it. Geta even had eyes on you, narrowing them as he bit his lip and fiddling with his rings subconsciously. 

Geta looked over at Caracalla before turning back to you. He said something and then chuckled but it was inaudible. It made you nervous. But somehow, something must have went right. You were still here and still in the running to be Caracalla’s wife. They had narrowed it down to just a few of you. There were also just a few for Geta. But he seemed as if he could care less. It was a hot night during summer and you couldn’t sleep. 

You probably shouldn’t have went off by yourself but you were trying to get some fresh air. The imperial palace had many twists and turns and you started to feel like you had just been going in circles. There was a soft sound like water running, peaking your curiosity. It had to be outside, right? Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and opened the door. There was steam and the sound of water splashing. You looked around, trying to find something—anything. 

You saw some clean fabric lying off to the side. 

“Lost?”, a voice echoed against the water. 

You looked up, horror across your face. You were met with the dark eyes of Geta. He was naked, the glisten of water reflecting with barely any soap on his body. 

“Um—I’m so sorry—

“Are you?”

“I am.”, you stammered quickly, grasping at your night clothes. 

He chuckled lightly, making no attempt to cover himself. “Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to see your future husband’s brother naked?”

“I—”

“Aw, can you form a full sentence, love?”

He was taunting you. He knew you were flustered, it was all over your face.  You began to think what a jerk he was. 

“I didn’t mean to—I promise.”

Geta chuckled again and you felt your eyes go south, immediately taking the view in.  He was huge and your brain tried to process how that would even fit inside you—you mean Caracalla’s—if it looked anything like his. You bit your lip subconsciously. You had never seen a man naked before. Part of it made you feel pathetic. 

“Are you sure?”, he smirked, the smile twisting up into his cheeks, becoming more sinister.

“I am—I just wanted fresh air. That’s all.”

He smiled to himself, continuing his bath. “Hm. You know—are you sure you want to marry my brother?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—I.”

“What has you so flustered? Never saw the male anatomy before?”

“No.”, you admitted easily, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, feeling your cheeks heating up.  

Geta smirked to himself before looking up at you. You couldn’t help but watch as he took his hands over his body as if he was tempting you, showing himself off. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, love.”

“What do you mean?”

He smirked, his lips twisting in a crooked smile. “I mean—you can get acquainted.”

“W-when?”

“Now.”

“Now? I’m sorry I don’t see your brother around—”

“Not with my brother—with me.”, he corrected. 

You heard water dripping, him wringing the cloth out in his hands. His curls were dripping with water, the water beginning to cascade down his back and chest. You felt yourself swallow hard, getting distracted by the sight. He noticed, beginning to chuckle to himself. 

“I bet you’ve never even had a man appreciate your body, have you?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. You couldn’t even make eye contact with him, beginning to wringing his hands. “No.”

Your response was meek, even making you feel weak. 

He scoffed to himself lightly. “I thought so. Well, you can come over here—I don’t bite, you know—unless you want me to.”, he laughed.

Your lip curved, unsure if you should take his advice. Your entire body felt like it was shaking and you barely had the ability to move your legs, putting one in front of the other. His golden brown eyes were fixed on you as you walked towards him. He watched you swallow hard before he reached his hand out to take yours. 

“Don’t slip and fall.”, he began. “We need to first—get you out of these clothes.”

“We do?”

“We do.”, he confirmed, beginning to touch the soft cotton fabric on your shoulder. 

Considering it was hot and summertime, you were wearing a thinner gown to sleep in. It was nicer than anything you had at home, if you were being honest. Your mother and father had did their best to give you a good life but this was your chance to make theirs better. Would this one night screw that up? 

His voice was barely above a whisper as he began to carefully undo your grown, sliding the fabric off your shoulders. His fingers sent chills over your entire body as one hand gripped your shoulders and the other helped the fabric slide down until you knew your cleavage was revealed and soon your breasts would be. He noticed your breathing hitch and he stopped, his brown eyes focused on you. 

“Relax.”

You nodded, swallowing again. 

His eyes panned back down to your body, the gown sliding down almost like a curtain falling down. The soft summer breeze was blowing through, only causing the chills to intensify. You felt your nipples harden and wondered if he noticed. But he did. You were left completely naked in front of him. Little did you know, but to him, you looked like one of the sculptures. Perfect in every way. 

“Look at you.”, he cooed as he grabbed your chin, tilting your head up to force you to make eye contact with him. 

“So beautiful.”

“You’re giving compliments?”

“Only to you.”

“I’m not even in the running to be your wife.”

He chuckled. “Just try and relax. Let’s get you cleaned up a little.”

You watched as he grabbed a cloth and dipped it in the bath. Your eyes fluttered shut as you braced yourself for the touch, the sensation of the cool washcloth. He heard your sharp inhale as he took the washcloth over your skin, starting at the top of your collarbone. Even if it was a warm night, the water was cool. He was careful when he was washing you, something you were surprised he even knew how to do.

“How do you feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking how you’re feeling—about all this.”, Geta responded, as if nothing was pressuring him or bothering him.

It was nice that he wasn’t stressed in this situation.

“I’m—fine.”, you finally managed to get out as he moved down your arms. 

His strokes with the washcloth was soft and sensual. He knew what he was doing. 

“Are you?”

Your eyes finally opened to meet his. His eyes were fixed on you, watching you for every reaction as he moved the cloth. 

“Yes.”

“You seem nervous, love.”

“I’m no-not.”, you gulped.

He shifted his shoulders slightly, having stood in one position for too long, 

‘

“You are.”

“I mean—I’ve just never been with a man before—like this.”

“We’re going to learn a lot.”, Geta smiled, his perfect teeth shining. “You just need to relax and let me take care of things.”

“Have you been with women before?”, you blurted out.

Geta gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, love—I’ve been with many.”

You felt a pang in your chest and it was against better judgement. Why were you feeling this way about a man who didn’t feel this way about you? Deep down inside, you knew this was only about sex. Your mom had taught you very little about sex and how the human anatomy worked. All you knew was once a man and woman were married, they’d usually consummate their marriage and end up with a baby. How all that process worked, well—you weren’t sure. 

“I see.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy you, darling.”, Geta smirked, tilting your chin up in order to force eye contact with him.

  You felt weak in this moment. He had power over you and he knew it.

You swallowed hard again. “How do—do you know?”

“Because you’re a virgin, aren’t you? No one’s ever taken a bite from that sweet apple. Have they darling?”

Your stomach twisted and curved in knots. You had never felt this feeling before and you were trying to wrap your head around it. 

“No.”

“Mhm and to think you’re going to let me have that first bite.”, he nuzzled his nose into your neck before kissing it softly.

Maybe there was a side to him that he wasn’t letting others see. 

“And who says I’m going to let you have it?”

You felt his lips pull away from your neck, finding him looking you dead in the eyes, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowing.

“You’d deny one of your emperors?”

That was the look a lot of Rome had saw too much. When Geta gave this look, heads usually rolled. In this moment, you could see ruthless ruler. 

“No—your majesty.”

His face relaxed slightly as he realized he was making you nervous.

“Very well.”

You held your breath waiting for what he would do next. You closed your eyes briefly as his hands slid down your waist and stomach. You heard water splashing lightly before his thick, broad hands found their way on your thighs. His cold rings sending chills across your delicate skin. 

Your eyes popped open. “What—what are you doing?”

“Just admiring you. Wouldn’t hurt for me to feel how tight and wound up you are for me, would it?”

Your stomach twisted into knots. 

“And how-how would you do that?”

Geta smirked up at you. “Just trust me.”

“Your majesty, please.”

“Spread your legs for me.”

With a thick sigh, you did as he requested. Who were you to argue with the emperor? You were glad he was holding your thighs or else you felt like your legs might give out. You felt his thick fingers trail up the inner side of your thigh right above your cunt. His fingers teased the outside of it.

“You’re already drenched, love.”

He heard another thick sigh escape your lips as you closed your eyes shut, almost as tight as they’d go. 

“It isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, love.”

You sighed again. “I know—I just feel like we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

Geta paused, his fingers barely creeped up before entering your cunt causing you to lose your breath.

“I don’t-I’m not sure.”

He had rendered you senseless. You couldn’t even finish a complete sentence. A devilish smile curved across his lips as he continued to work his ringed fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots. You bit your lip, trying to hold back any sounds but you weren’t even sure if someone could hear you out here. 

“Don’t hold back.”, he commanded as he felt you almost go limp in his arms. 

“Can—anyone—hear?”, you asked, breathless.

“No.”

That made you feel slightly more at ease. It didn’t take anything else to make you feel comfortable with him. At first, it was soft moans escaping your mouth. But as he kept pushing his fingers deeper inside you, rings brushing your walls, you began to lose yourself. Your eyes began rolling back in your head and he was barely doing anything to you.

He noticed when your moans picked up, becoming louder. 

“Like that?”

You nodded.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes.”, you managed to choke out.

His finger stroked longer and slower, drawing it out.

“Think my brother could do this for you?”

Your eyes opened, looking at him. He had clearly got your attention.

“The answer is no. My brother has never been with a woman before, if I’m being honest.”

He was cocky but you were beginning to love that quality about Geta. Caracalla seemed to walk more in Geta’s shadows or at least that’s how it appeared. No one dared to say it out loud. There was speculation that there was a lot of tension between the two brothers. Geta seemed so sure of himself and that was another reason he was so convincing. 

Before you could speak, his fingers slid deeper inside you, causing your stomach to twist and turn. He was hitting the spot that made you forget your name. All of this was new to you as you had never ever been with a man. 

“Found the spot, didn’t I?”

You nodded, trying to catch your breath. 

“Just wait until I put my cock inside you.”

Your eyes widened. He didn’t stop moving his fingers inside you which caused the heat in your stomach to build. 

“That’s right, I want to fuck you and make you mine.”, he confirmed. 

“What?”

“What did you think this was all for?”

“And how would—we explain that to your brother?”, you managed to get out in-between moans. 

“I’ll take care of that.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach was intensifying, ready to come to a boiling point. He noticed it too and knew what was coming. He smiled again, his brown eyes watching you—waiting for you to release. It would be instant gratification for him. And he couldn’t wait. He watched with a hellish grin as your back arched and you let out the loudest moan you had all night long and he felt you tighten around his fingers.

He chuckled lightly and he felt you all over his fingers. You looked up at him, confused as to what had just occurred. 

“What—?”

“You came, darling. All over my fingers.”, he smirked as he slowly eased his fingers out of your cunt, causing you to gasp at the loss of contact. 

He brought his fingers up to his mouth, spreading them apart and admiring your juices on his fingers. Before you could speak, he inserted his fingers in his mouth and closed his eyes, reveling in the taste of you.

“You’re finer than anything Rome has to offer.”, he breathed. 

“I am?”

“Yes, you are, darling and now what if we go to my room and you let me take what’s rightfully mine?”

TO BE CONTINUED……

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 14)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smut💦📍

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Where we left off: Alastor and Reader had a misunderstanding and a heavy talk on the back porch. He’d let it slip how deeply he felt but it was muffled by your thighs.

Part 14 Someone like her

Brady says the magic words after finally meeting his elusive radio man. But was that a good thing?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, masturbation, Ace Alastor is trying his best, little smut to start the day, Brenda exists, Reader is also trying her best but it’s less hot, mentions of abuse, thinly veiled racism, Insecure Alastor, an axe, Alastor is the deer and gator」

MDNI ☎️💚🏡

Forehead pressed against the wall of the bathroom, Alastor’s hand gripped the base of his cock and squeezed.

He’d been trying to masturbate more, hoping to prolong things when with you, but the action was just so pointless. Yes it felt good, but so did scratching his back when he had an itch. But there was no itch here. He couldn’t mentally stay in a romantic mindset when it was just fingers and running water. What intimacy existed there? What was the point? Male orgasms were for procreation and pleasure, were they not? He wasn’t going to knock up the drain or make the shower quiver so this seemed just wasteful. 

Images of your pleasured face ghosted behind his eyes. Nothing pointless about that. A twitch to the otherwise bored flesh in his grip. 

Wasteful.

Your laugh at watching Alastor march through the bedroom sopping wet and butt naked choked you when your eyes lowered to see he was also rock hard.

“Oh.” Was all you managed before his shower was soaking through your cotton top and powder blue skirt. “Oh.” Ravenous mouth at your jawline.

“I didn’t want to waste it.” His hips rutted into your side, the evidence of every place he touched were large and dark wet spots on your clothes. “Do you want to —?”

His fingers were already crawling down your thighs and gathering your skirt up. 

You always forgot his strength when looking at him. Until he was holding you up by the hips, for example, fucking you against the bedroom wall. Wet skin slapping against your thighs, panties swinging around your ankle with every thrust. A lovely way to start a Monday. 

The weekend had been spent with a very attentive and clearly apologetic Alastor. His hands had been more present on your body, always holding your hand or pulling your legs over his lap as you both read. Dinners with his feet tangled with yours. Nights with his head buried in your hair.

The words were moaned through his own mind, scared to let them go again.

I just love you so much.

Every time you sighed his name, he clenched his teeth to keep it back. He wouldn’t weaponize it. He’d struggled to keep the compelled confession buried into your lap before, but he could keep it together until the moment was happy and without the bitter taste of his disappointment still lingering on your tongue.

An enlightened gasp dripped into a breathy moan as you realized this must be the make up sex the ladies always talk about. You’d never understood the concept before then. 

He felt you tighten around him, yes, a much better use of arousal. The good thing about his years of experience before you was he had time to learn. To know when to quicken his pace and when to focus on depth. Quality over quantity, he thought.

His mind stayed there long after you finished and he went into work. Leaving you behind was difficult, a small wiggling worm of fear deep in his skull that’d you’d vanish if his body wasn’t touching yours. 

You’d taken off some time from work, partly out of sheer embarrassment and partly to keep the theater safe from Brady. Which meant when he left for work, you kissed him goodbye at the door. You both laughed into the small space between your lips immediately afterwards. 

“Hush.” You warned him, and he pretended to zip his lips shut and slip the imaginary key into your skirt pocket. 

Alastor was happy to hear Brady had been told he had a handful of nothing but he knew his clock was ticking. You’d recounted your time in the station and how angry and disappointed the other detective had seemed with Brady. Brady would be popping up as soon as possible, you warned. There was no way he was dropping the issue. He’d be knocking on Alastor’s office door in no time. 

Much sooner than Alastor had prepared for, but he was ever the performer. 

Brenda far too loudly announced two detectives were there for him. She was side eyeing them with a sneer he could almost appreciate when she popped her head in to yell it. 

“I’ll be right out.” Alastor set his work down and took a deep breath. Every piece of him wanted to rush from the room and strangle Brady on the office floor. He’d seen him many times before but the pesky detective didn’t know that. A tremble of excitement he shook away. Smile on, he left the office.

His observations came quick and loud as he saw Brady’s face in the daylight for the first time.

Bright eyes. Tired. Light hair. Pale. Clothes wrinkled. Sweat stains even though it was autumn already. 

The man beside him was new to Alastor, and Alastor couldn’t tell yet what to do with him. Taller, older, darker complexion. His expression was relaxed in comparison to Brady’s stressed one.

“Good afternoon, detectives. Alastor. It’s a pleasure.” He extended his hand but only Freeman moved to shake it.

Brady was staring with blatant scrutiny. Alastor was quite tall, and much leaner than he had anticipated. His hair was perfectly in place, with clean skin and neat glasses. Was this the right man?

“Edward Freeman. I am a big fan, sir. Your voice is made for radio.” Freeman shook Alastor’s with both of his own, not noticing his partner’s wide eyed horror. “Such a pleasure. I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”

Alastor could have cackled directly into Brady’s face but managed to keep himself in check, “A face for radio too! Ha ha ha,” his laugh was loud, genuinely amused with himself, “Well it’s always a treat to meet a listener.”

Brady thought he’d black out. He’d began his day humming with anticipation, the high of having a name and occupation making him dizzy all weekend. The shock of Freeman immediately cozying up to his prime (and sole) suspect was throwing him off balance.

He’d brought him along so he could show him he’d gotten the right man. He’d thought —- he’d been so sure Alastor would be some second rate employee with rough hands and thick arms. Not the pretty host working behind some desk. Weren’t there large spools of cable and big contraptions radio station employees lugged around? Where were those men?

A string bean of a human in thin circular glasses was charming the wits off his partner.

“Brady. We’re here to discuss an important matter regarding your girlfriend.” Brady leaned in to separate the other two men and their budding camaraderie.

“Girlfriend?!” Brenda choked on her coffee, her desk just some feet beside them. “You’re confused. I’d know if he had a girl.”

“Thank you, Brenda.” Alastor said through a forced smile, “She is right though. I am unattached. Lifelong bachelor.”

“That’s interesting. Because when we picked her up at the burlesque theater,” he was cut off by a shriek.

“Nude dancing?! Sir! My—-you! Alastor would never! He is a man of means and class! I-,” Brenda’s hands were aimlessly shuffling time cards. “The only theater he frequents is the cinema.”

“Brenda.” Alastor laughed, not taking his eyes off of Brady, “Please. Let the man finish.”

“But you’d never! This is slander!”

“No slander. We picked her up for prostitution and her,” again he was drowned out by the receptionist. 

Brenda was on her feet, a second from foaming at the mouth, “Out! You get out of this office at once!” 

“Sure, why don’t we take this to the station.” 

“You want a local celebrity,” Alastor’s eye twitched as Brenda screeched out the words, “to be marched down there like a common criminal! I’m calling the station, you’re mad.” 

“Thank you, Brenda!” Alastor hissed, words heavy, “Let’s continue this in my office, gentlemen.” His arm swung out to gesture to the open door. 

Brenda was left fiddingly with her pearls in horror. 

Alastor followed the men in and leaned back against his desk casually, offering them the two chairs. 

“So, now that we’re … free from that, what were you saying?” He tried to chuckle away the chaos, one hand gently smoothing his hair back.

“We took in a woman last week for prostitution. Charges dropped but  — her friends said you were her beau.” Freeman leaned back too, crossing his legs at the ankle as they stretched out in front of him, “Radio man named Alastor? Not too many of those so, thought we’d just come by and check.”

Brady stood near the door, refusing to sit. “So. Gonna tell me there’s some more Alastors in New Orleans? Or gonna be straight with us?”

Alastor nodded, sighing through his nose. You’d filled him in already on the story.

“Burlesquer, right? Pretty thing with the long lashes and sharp tongue?” He looked up at Brady over his glasses, looking as boyish as a man his age could. 

“So you are her fella?” Freeman’s back straightened. He hadn’t expected that.

“Wouldn’t go that far… I’m embarrassed to admit it but yes I did take out a singer some time ago. Dancer too, I was told. But, I,” his hands slid in his pockets and he shrugged his shoulders, “I had a lovely time with her.” He gave Freeman a shy smirk, “I just didn’t want anything serious. Paid for her cab last time I saw her but I didn’t give her a dime for anything else.”

Brady stared at every inch of the man before him. His white button up was loose at the arms but wasn’t appearing to hide some powerful physique that said ‘I drag bodies around town.’

“We were told you’d been going to see her for quite some time.” Brady had been prepared for every reply.

Alastor furrowed his brow and pretended to think, hand coming from his pocket to adjust his glasses, “Talking about the nice little joint near the park?”

“Yeah.” Brady smiled. “So you admit it.”

“I loved going there. I first noticed her over a few weekends. Asked her out there, too. But after a few nights out she seemed a little… not worth the trouble, I’ll say.” He grimaced, “I really sound like a rake, huh?” He looked to Freeman, asking for the man’s acceptance with his eyes.

Freeman chuckled at the suggestion, “Not at all! Good looking man such as yourself, nice job, no wife. I’d be sowing my oats so to speak too. We’re just hunting down some people for questioning regarding a missing manager.”

Brady thought his head would snap with how quickly he turned to Freeman. He was saying too much.

“He’s uh, drats what’s her name?” Freeman turned around to Brady. Brady looked up to Alastor expectantly.

“Oh! She gave me some fake name. Winter or… August. I didn’t press the matter.” Alastor walked back to his desk and sat down, trying to get eye level with Freeman who was the easier of the two to play, “Missing manager? I frequent a lot of clubs looking for talent. Maybe I knew the guy. What’s his name?”

“Tommy Dupre.” Brady said it sternly. “And I’m the one leading the investigation.”

A twitch to the corner of Alastor’s smile, “Sorry detective, I assumed this here was your superior. He just has … an aura of experienced professionalism to him. Now where was I… a manager,” he shook his head, “Was he at The Bandstand by any chance?” His fingers were flipping through his rolodex of business cards. Brady noted how clean his nails were. But not suspiciously so, not something that seemed overly tended to. He shook his head again more firmly then. “No, never formally met the man at least.”

“He was your burlesquer’s manager.”

Alastor leaned back and crossed his arms, “I never went to her work and I truly don’t visit burlesque theaters. Can't risk my reputation.” Few people out of the club scene knew his face and name so that was a load of shit, but he hoped they wouldn’t stop and consider that much. “We run a clean show here.”

“Here’s the issue, sir.” Freeman patted the tops of his thighs, “Your Ms. Doe-,” Alastor’s brow furrowed in momentary confusion.

“Oh! Ha, clever. I see what you did there.” He laughed, it was light and made Freeman nod his head in thanks.

“She got roughed up real bad by Mr. Dupre around the time ya’ll were seen together.  He disappeared soon after. So, naturally….we wanted to see if you knew anything about what happened to him.”

“Doesn’t shock me to hear that.” Alastor's voice was high pitched and airy. His nonchalance was grating to the younger of the two detectives.

Brady rolled his eyes. Alastor was definitely the man Beth mentioned; a daisy. The kind of man to fret over a stained tie or wet shoes.

“People in …those kinds of establishments can’t expect civility.” His nails were digging through the cotton of his pants. It made him sick to say it. How many days did he kiss your bruises? How long had they lasted? Longer than Tommy, that was for sure. Outlived him by quite some time. His smile spread. Brady noticed it, clearing his throat. 

“What’s the smile for?”

“Ah,” Alastor hid his mouth with the back of his hand, he couldn’t bite back the glee of remembering Tommy beg, “Sorry. I’m just feeling quite grateful I didn’t stick around to be pulled into some dame’s drama. This is exactly why I remain untethered.”

“Wish I’d had that foresight…I’m only joking. My Donna’s a blessing and a half.” Freeman quickly retracted the comment. 

A moment of quiet as they all looked at each other. A natural dead end.

Freeman turned back in his chair to look at Brady once more, this was his impromptu interview. He’d begged Freeman to take the early lunch. Brady promised him this was the guy and that if it wasn’t, he’d never bring it up again.

So he was staring at his partner waiting for the never again to start. 

Brady chewed the inside of his cheek, mind bouncing through thoughts and theories and observations.

This man in front of him was soft. He was feminine in some aspects, definitely quite lanky and seemingly devoid of real muscle. Brady hadn’t imagined his killer to be concerned about style or fashion, yet this man clearly put a lot into his appearance. He couldn’t imagine him killing anyone… perhaps a gun?

“Got any hobbies?”

“Kenny.” Freeman chided.

“Sir.” Brady added it sarcastically.

Alastor whistled, “Besides jazz and piano? I fish. Uh,” Alastor looked for threads of truth to add to the web, “I garden quite a bit, actually. Love to dance.”

Of course he did.  “Sports?”

“I don’t watch nor listen to much of that.”

“No,” an exasperated sigh, “Do you play any sports?”

“Oh!” Another casual laugh that grated Brady’s senses, “No, no. I wouldn’t pretend I’m an athletic man.” 

“Hunting is a popular pastime around here, you ever go out shooting?”

“No sir, not my scene.” Alastor leaned back and swiveled his chair side to side. 

No hunting, really? Brady’s brows rose in suspicion, “….you from New Orleans?”

Freeman crossed his legs, a simple act that somehow conveyed a rising loss of patience.

“Born and raised, detective. Native son if there ever was one.”

He slipped out his notepad and slapped it against the fleshy part of his hand. Brady’s spirit was withering. 

A mistake?

“Understood.” Pushing off of the wall.

“Sorry to cause all this fuss over … my tryst with a dancer not too long ago.” Another bashful bachelor smile. “But it was just that. Fun. I never met her employer. I never even went to her shows. As for the place by the park-,”

“Beth’s.”

Alastor grinned to hide the flinch, “My doe, as you put it sir, was a real canary. But I haven’t been back there since I stopped seeing her. I’m sure if you asked they’d tell you the same.” The phone rang and Alastor apologized, putting a finger up, “Yes, Brenda?” The incessant woman asked what was taking so long. He smiled and nodded, “Thank you, tell them I’ll just be another minute.”

“We’ll be heading out. It seems I need to— to re-examine some things. Dig a little deeper.” Before Brady could retrieve his card to offer it to the radio host, Alastor was handing him his.

“Call anytime, but word to the wise. Brenda will answer first.” Alastor let out a loud and singular ‘ha!’

He rose to walk them out and Brady extended his hand again for him to shake, his stomach curdling at the touch. When the detective squeezed and shook his hand so hard his arm was moving up to the elbow he just laughed. He kept his own grip loose.

The limp and slender hand in his was disappointing. A final nail in his coffin, soft metal bending as it was struck.

Freeman smiled and hopped up, “Been a pleasure!”

Alastor took back his hand from Brady and wiped it off against his vest as soon as the men were turned around.

“Apologies for the disturbance, ma’am.” Brady kept his gaze down as he passed Brenda. Freeman set his card on her desk as he walked past.

“That’s a bunch of applesauce.” She hissed, refusing to stand.

Alastor’s mother taught him many things. Of this world and the other. Of the spirits always roaming and waiting. Of blue ceilings and birds hitting windows.

She warned him of people with heaviness,  people who gathered bad energy like rain on a flat roof. That weight attracted likewise things. A gravity would form and pull in more and more darkness. 

You’d mentioned a storm, and now Alastor was hearing that drip drip drip of the cracking roof. 

He’d been taught to steer clear of those people with that darkness, because you don’t want to be there when the roof caved in. 

She’d likened it to the sword of Damocles, don’t be so close you get cut when the blade finally drops. Don’t become collateral damage. 

When his skin touched Brady’s, he felt that heaviness. The gravity. We’re you both slipping down the sloping pull of his swirling negativity?

He felt the urge to spit, which was uncouth and unlike him. Brenda was talking loudly to him but she was deep under the ocean and muffled perfectly well. His drunken mind had been wrong about many things, but one line of thinking had been on the money.

Something had to be done. An accident playing out in slow motion before him, threatening to take you both down with it. 

A chill, insidious and violent made him turn on his heels and shut the door with force. There it was again, that fight or flight feeling. Twice in nearly as many days. Never did Alastor feel insecure in situations of life or death, not literal life or death that was. He didn’t care about dying. 

The thought of losing you was that first trigger, but what was causing this one? What was his gut trying to warn him about now?

Distance was needed. He needed to get as far from that detective and his gravitational pull as possible. Perhaps not physically, but in every other sense. There was safety in that, he could feel it just over the disorienting whirl of fear. 

If fear was a lark in his chest it’s little spine cracked and popped as it grew and mutated into a rageful osprey, anger opening his lungs and sinuses as blood rushed with renewed vigor. This was Brady’s fault, entirely. He was ruining everything. Alastor finally had what felt like all of the thj he wanted and deserved (anger dampening his usual insecurity of what was meant for him) and Brady was going to tear it apart. 

There was a struggle to decide how to proceed. He thought perhaps telling you would bring him clarity, but if you asked him to not do anything at all he couldn’t be sure he’d be able to stop from lying to your face about his intentions. 

A flash of confidence knowing he’d never lied to you died quickly, oh, he had lied to you. He’d lied to you in the alley before leaving to prepare to kill Tommy. He’d said it was the greater good of the community. A stain on his otherwise pristine morality when it came to you. 

“How could they?”

Alastor’s head popped up, Brenda had opened his door unannounced and continued her raving. 

“How could who do what?” He asked, smile small.

“Those detectives! Accuse you of debauchery!” 

He imagined telling her how his morning started, fucking the nude dancer against his bedroom wall, arleady shacking up out of wedlock. Maybe it’d kill Brenda? That’d be convenient. 

“I wonder if they are even real cops…I promise, I won’t let that nonsense back into this office, Alastor.” She gave him a thumbs up and left, leaving the door ajar. 

Daylight was already creeping away sooner and sooner as the seasons began to change. The first day Alastor was gone and you were completely alone in his home for an extended period of time was passed in an awkward boredom. There wasn’t much to do…his house was kept tidy, food didn’t take much time, and you had no means to get into town. So you listened through his record collection, carefully turning the vinyls over with delicate fingers. You’d heard oils from your hand could ruin the grooves. No idea if that was true, but you couldn’t risk it. Alastor’s job kept relatively regular hours, so when you knew he had most likely left work you headed out front to wait. It was a foreign thing to do, and a little embarrassing. Dogs waited for their masters to come home. You stuffed the comparison down, knowing you were once again comparing apples to oranges. Worse than that, dogs to yourself. 

“Welcome home!” You waited for the car door to close before greeting him, worrying over the timing. He froze between the car and the wooden steps. You stopped your swinging on the porch swing, noticing how odd it was to see someone completely still like that. You remembered the deer along the road. “What’s wrong?”

Every thought flew out his head and into the early setting sun. An odd deja vu came over him. He hadn’t heard those words in literal years. “No one has said that to me…since my mother died.”

Oh. 

Oh. That was….sad. You grimaced. “Should I not say it then?”

“No!” He came to life, “I mean, yes. No, You should say it. If you want. It’s nice.” Staccato sentences as he took the three steps in just two. He leaned over on a novel instinct for a kiss, and you leaned up to meet him. 

Another moment as you parted and both of you realized how odd the situation was. The killer and his dancer playing house. For a brief second, maybe heaven mistook you for something normal and good. When you smiled, trying to not say the obvious as you always did, he decided to not mention Brady. His first night coming home to you shouldn’t have to compete with that news. Tomorrow, he decided. He’d just….leave out which day Brady had stopped by. Not a lie, just an excluded, superfluous detail.

As you ate your dinner and he recounted his day, you made a decision of your own. 

“Hey, Saturday, can you drop me off downtown for a bit? I need to change my shoes and do a little shopping.”

You needed the gift, to set the mood for your confession. You’d survived your first fight, you didn’t combust into a ball of fire when you kissed him goodbye for work, it made sense to do it now. 

“Oh, did you want company? I don’t mind going out.” His little smile made it hard to deny him.

“Ah well, my friend is still staying over at my place and she may get uneasy with a man around. And my shopping….is at the kind of places men shouldn’t go. Frilly lacy places.” A terrible liar. “You should do something fun for Alastor! I’ll be maybe…four hours or so.”

He chewed slowly, since the misunderstanding he was a little more nervous than usual. You didn’t want him to join you, were you worried Brady would see? He shook his head, confusing you.

“...excuse me?” You laughed, “No?”

His head popped up, he still sometimes forgot you were right there and not on a phone, “Sorry, I was thinking about what to do with myself. No problem, sweetheart. You can just call me when you’re ready and I’ll head back into town. I’ll stick around the house, get some stuff ready for winter.”

“Perfect!” Perfect. 

So it was decided. He would tell you tomorrow that Brady came by his office. And you’d tell him Saturday that you were in love with him. 

That was the short lived plan. He couldn’t manage to wait. When the silence of the night settled and you had turned over to try and fall asleep, he broke. 

“I really hate keeping secrets from you.” His fingers were pulling and pushing at the edge of the blanket. 

You have secrets? You turned around and sat up. 

“Brady and his partner came by today to my office, like you’d expected. I didn’t want to ruin our day, knowing how rarely we will live traditionally. But it’s just bothering the hell out of me.” His hands came to cover his cheeks and crawl into his hair out of stress. An overreaction, the weekend having truly discombobulated the man. 

A beat of confusion, tense for Alastor but void of anything for you, until you burst into a relaxed laughter, “You’re ridiculous. You were really eaten up huh?”

“It isn’t funny!”

“It’s a litlte funny.” you pulled his head down onto your lap, “You coulda told me. It doesn't ruin anything. I told you he was going to look for you. I didn’t think he’d do it the next business day, but still.” He shifted his body to lie on his side and let you take off his glasses and set them on your side table. “Do you think he still suspects you?”

He thought about it. A little.

Maybe.

Brady seemed dejected when he had left, but he could see the wheels turning in his head as he was still searching for a way to make this puzzle pieces fit. 

“Probably. His partner seemed to believe me. A listener, it turns out.” Alastor pouted, still upset at your laughter. 

“That’s hilarious. I bet it pissed him off to no end, right?”

“He looked shocked. It was difficult to not laugh.” He let his legs fall off the side of the bed so he could turn onto his back and look up at you. “I told him you were a fling, that I had my fun and then disappeared because you were trouble. I said nude dancers getting beat up should be expected. I don’t mean that.”

“Of course you don’t. I remember your face when you saw through my makeup. Sure didn't look expected to me.”

His legs drew up, knees pressed together. “Was it still a good day?”

“You told me what was on your mind instead of driving yourself mad about it. It was a perfect day.” The open window let in enough light to see his stress melt away from the corner of his eyes. 

He sat up and kissed your nose, “Thank you. You can sleep now.”

“Oh, I've been asleep the whole time. You’re gonna have to do this all again in the morning.”

“That’s not funny.” 

You kissed his cheek and he smiled away the frown before settling back onto his side of the bed to earnestly sleep.

Flowers, you thought. You should buy flowers on Saturday, too. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor nerves hadn’t settled yet, even if he slept well beside you. Every day he came home and you were still there felt like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive. During lunch he’d call the house so you could talk and eat together, in a sense. The conversation eased him, a confirmation you still liked him. An embarrassing fear he couldn’t let you on to. 

He didn’t understand you spent the week calling record shops in search of something specific. Plotting exactly how you’d do it. You’d mastered the phonograph in the room beside the kitchen and found an old vase in the back of the cupboard. 

The panic didn’t settle for you either though. It just shifted to the confession from Brady. As if through osmosis, Brady was now Alastor’s main concern as soon as their hands shook. You were less scared, as he really did seem to be dismissed by his colleague from what you saw. Dejected and forlorn from what Alastor had described. 

Alastor was honest with you that he left work early to check on Brady midweek. He was practically dancing through the kitchen when he reported Brady went home on time for the first night in what could have been weeks. And he did so looking like shit.

And he felt like shit. When they left the radio station, Freeman gave him the silent treatment the entire ride back to work. He opened his mouth to offer an alternative theory, perhaps you or Alastor had a brother, but Freeman immediately shut him down.

“Stop. Enough.” He snapped from his desk. “It is over, Kenny. Let it go. Maybe some monster is out there doing all this crazy shit you think they are but it’s not this man nor this lady so just fucking drop it.”

He sat quietly the rest of the work day, thinking over everything again. It still felt right, but Alastor didn’t look right. Maybe it was a group, some new gang in town. Perhaps Alastor had some business with them. 

Staring at his neatly folded map of downtown, his fingers slid over the last known locations of the various missing people over the past year. 

Is downtown just inherently dangerous, he wondered. He supposed the map lined up with the jazz scene, and where there is dance and liquor there’s crime.

He went home to his wife and startled her with his promptness. While she was elated, he felt hollow. Purposeless. Freeman had warned him he’d invented this conspiracy to make work more interesting. Maybe that was right. Life was boring. Everything was so steady and stable. Nothing exciting anymore. It’s possible. He could have imagined a connection. 

But his wife accidentally stoked the dying flame of his suspicions. 

When he told her everything, about Alastor and the dancer he chased down and the missing Tommy, she hummed. 

“He could be like that Holmes man in Chicago.” She smiled from across the meat and potatoes she’d slow cooked over the day.

Brady asked what she meant. 

“He killed all these people at his hotel. On the outside he was a very fine looking man! Respected doctor, or something.” She took her time to chew, leaving Brady waiting for the point, “Turns out his hotel had some secret dungeon where he killed people. I’m fuzzy on the details, but, he hung for it. Maybe your guy has a secret room in his house or a cabin in the woods.”

He would have kissed her but he was too tired to move. As she continued on, changing to the topic of novels and then movies, he pushed the potatoes around his plate. 

No way work would listen to him if he suggested it. He’d lost all of his goodwill. But, as a citizen, he could maybe just….look into the public records for the radio man. Any convenient structures he owned. No one needed to know, no embarrassment if he was wrong again.

Just, one more check. To be absolutely sure. For his peace of mind. 

“So he murdered the actress for threatening to reveal he was only half white! It was a real shock. I swear talkies just get more and more intriguing.” She beamed sweetly across the table, happy to have him home, “By Hitchcock. Isn’t that a hoot?”

He nodded absentmindedly, “Sounds fun, dear.”

She let the misplaced comment go, and moved to turn on the radio. Something to fill the silence. She wondered if her favorite program was on, though it was a little late for that. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day finally came, your highly anticipated and scheduled confession. Saturday morning you slipped on your shoes, pushing back thoughts of everything they’d seen, and slid into the car. You had a game plan. Apartment, get your stash and change out your shoes. Head to the phonograph shop on Calliope and grab the record. Flower shop, something bright and fragrant. Stop by the theater for a bottle of whatever they were willing to part with. Call him from there to pick you up behind the building.

Flawless.

Honestly, the easy part.

Alastor dropped you off in front of your building and you kissed him hurriedly. You didn’t need Ephi bounding down the steps and introducing herself. 

You didn’t need Ephi, full stop.

“I’ll call you from the theater so I can wait inside. Lo-,” Your mouth opened to say it, as you’d been practicing it in your head all week, “Lucky me I’m still welcome there.” A quick save.

You waved him off and bounded up the steps. Ephi answered when you knocked, hair disheveled and still wearing the dress she must have worn out the night before.

A familiar dress.

“Who said you could wear my clothes?!” You kicked the door closed behind you.

Ephi fell back onto your bed with a creaking of the metal springs, “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Barely a second into the room and you were already reeling with anger. What a skill she had.

Shoes off, you threw them on top of the closet out of her natural reach and searched for something flatter. Not too flat though. Alastor always looked too good for you to look like you didn’t care for what was fashionable.

Deep breaths, you grabbed the dresser with both hands and wretched it from the wall, startling Ephi back awake.

“What the fuck? Are you taking the furniture?! It’s a fucking dress.”

Relief as you saw the handkerchief still taped to the backboard of the shelf. Ripping it off, you shoved it into your bag. No need to count it, had Ephi found the cash the entire thing would be gone already. 

“Are you hiding money around your apartment…,” it wasn’t a question so much as an oddly worded accusation.

Your march to the door paused, briefly entertaining carrying your remaining clothes around with you but abandoning the idea. Let her borrow them for now, you were busy today.

You were gone without a goodbye, anger simmering away and evaporating with every block. 

As the distance between your problem and you became greater, the gap was closing in on Alastor and his.

He was in the kitchen splashing his face with water,  dusty from sweeping the porch, when he heard a car door slam shut. Not a normal sound for him to hear. Even more out of place than a ‘welcome home’. A moment of concern as he quickly dried his hands, maybe you had gotten a ride home already. It was possible he missed your call, but he’d kept the windows open to hear the phone. 

When he came to the front door, no one was there. A car was parked a ways behind his own though. Alastor stepped out and looked around the wrap around porch before turning back and going to the back door. Past the stairs and the kitchen doorway, he could see the shape of a man. He was standing in front of the greenhouse with both hands on his hips, staring at it. Bright hair reflecting the sun.

The screen door whined as Alastor opened it, announcing him much sooner than he had wanted. It was finally happening. The moment that was both inevitable and fiercely guarded against. 

“Census information is quite easy to find with a name like yours.”

Alastor tried to muster a hospitable smile, “Detective Brady. To what do I owe the sudden visit?”

Brady turned around and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “I need to go get a warrant?”

The air between them tightened. “Not at all, did you want to come inside?” 

Brady nodded, a smug smile and a wink, “Sure do.”

Alastor returned to the kitchen for the key, grabbing a small paring knife and placing it in the back pocket of his slacks. Sharp and quick. 

“Wasn’t expecting guests…,” he admitted as he came back down the clean steps. He was never expecting guests, but he had been expecting this. 

“Good.” Brady clapped his hands together, “Quite the building ya got here.” He followed Alastor in and immediately looked up to the tall ceiling. “An uncommon thing to have. Only seen them at real fancy public places.”

Alastor turned right, following the winding path of busy shelves and potted trees with a practiced ease. Brady watched him slip between two large plants and hesitated.

With a hand on his gun, be pushed through.

“Ya know what my wife and I were just talking about?” He followed close behind. He couldn’t see Alastor but he could hear the leaves rustling. “H. H. Holmes.”

“Another missing manager?” Alastor asked from the other side of some crowded shelves.

“It’s thought he killed 9 people up in Chicago.” Brady emerged from the makeshift jungle to see Alastor standing in the center. 

“Busy man!” Alastor stood with his hands behind his back, sheathed in his pockets. “This is where the magic happens!” He nodded to the stainless steel table. “My gardening space.”

Brady looked at the table, then up to the high ceilings again. He took a step toward the table and crouched down.

His heels sunk in. Standing, he pressed his shoe in the soil around the table. Backing off he then tested the ground some feet away. It was noticeably firmer. “Ground sure is soft over there.”

“Water! Turns out plants love the stuff. Who knew!” Alastor’s fingers curled around the knife’s handle, “I prune, propagate, and repot them here and rinse it off after. Due to the shade of the table, the ground tends to stay wet longer.” He wondered if Brady had told anyone where he was. Maybe Freeman? 

The whole thing could be expedited by letting him bleed out on the greenhouse floor. Just a few swipes and this could all be over. He could maybe even have him gone before you called. 

Another little secret. Just one. Brady’s life was an insignificant detail.

Plausible, the detective thought. Brady examined the floor closer, unaware of Alastor’s eyes locked on his neck. He didn’t see much of a soft spot. It’d be improbable to bury all the bodies in such a small space. He’d have to dig too deep. 

“So you actually do like to garden?” He asked.

Alastor laughed, “No, that was a lie. This is all meticulously maintained for aesthetics.” 

Brady’s own laugh was dry in reply, the joke not funny or appreciated, “Night gardening?” He pointed his chin up to the light hanging above them.

“I prefer early mornings, before work.” Alastor leaned back on his heels, he’d waited for this conversation for years. It was almost fun. Brady didn’t know how predictable his arrival had been on some vague level.

Brady nodded and motioned for Alastor to lead him out. He didn’t want the man behind him.

As they snaked their way out again, Alastor fought the sickening feeling in his stomach to just do it. 

But he’d never acted quite so impulsively. He normally had a few hours to think it out beforehand. 

He’d been thinking this out for months now in a way, though, hadn’t he?

Alastor locked the door after Brady stepped out and Brady looked around the land. He couldn’t see any fences, but saw on his way in just how spread out the other homes were. 

“How far is the property line, if you don’t mind me asking? Seems to be quite a large parcel.” He had a rough idea from the paperwork he’d found. 

“It’s about 15 acres, from what I recall.” It was exactly 14.2 acres according to the paperwork. He knew every step by heart. 

As he watched Brady eye the land with a dismissive glance, he realized he’d never killed anyone at his home. It didn’t seem to be a good idea. Like they’d taint the land. Plus, killing the cop in the backyard was about as opposite of what you’d asked of him as he could get. 

The detective slapped his notebook against his palm and whistled, “Radio pays well, huh?”

“Better than a detective, maybe. But this was all my mother’s land.” He said it with pride, one hand leaving his pocket to gesture at the house and beyond. 

“Your mother. And she… how exactly did someone like her get her hands on a plot like this?” Brady squinted at the tree line, knowing full well how he said it. “Quite a bit of land for someone of her… background.” He quickly turned his full body to Alastor, “You see that movie, ‘Murder!’, by Hitchcock? My wife was saying how interesting it was over dinner the other night. Your receptionist mentioned you like the movies.”

Alastor bristled, he’d seen the film and picked up the tone being taken,  “Did you want to see anything else, Kenneth? Or did you drive all the way here to quiz me on your wife's morbid interests?”

“Detective Brady.” He corrected. 

“Maybe in the Orleans parish.” Alastor took a step toward him. He reveled in the confused expression Brady made. “Oh you didn’t realize when you crossed the lake? This is St. Tammany. You’re out of jurisdiction.” Another step. “So I’ll call you whatever I damn well please.”

Brady finally noticed the dwindling space between them and the shadow of the house creeping over Alastor’s face. “Maybe I should head out and get that warrant.”

Alastor’s arms went out in a shrug, “Ah, well, good luck finding a judge to approve you harassing a law abiding land owner for…what exactly? A drugged out criminal who stopped showing up to work? Forgive me for not holding my breath. Now kindly get the fuck off my mother’s property. “  

Brady shook his head, not able to do much more. He couldn’t process the truth in what Alastor had said. “Have a good day, Alastor.”

“And you have a safe night, Kenneth.”

Brady stopped, hand curling into a fist that Alastor didn’t fail to notice. 

“Is that some kind of threat?” It was the way he dragged out the two words. The gleeful range in which he said them. 

“Not at all. A warning really, there’s been some unhinged man harassing dancers lately. Demanding their private information, accusing them of silly crimes. Has the station not heard?” Alastor’s finger came to his chin inquisitively, “Perhaps I should give them a call. Who was your boss again. Freeman, was it?”

Brady felt his stomach drop, “What did you say.” If Alastor hadn’t been with you since before the assault, how did he know that Brady had been struggling to track you down?

“As a man about town who runs in important circles, word travels fast of bothersome people. Helps us learn where to avoid.”

Brady was still holding onto hope that Alastor was your man but now, his throat ran dry. He got more than that.

A man who ran in various circles of the nightlife scene. 

A man above the fray, a position afforded to him by the respect of his job.

A man people talked to often, therefore a man people saw everywhere. So it was never odd that he was always in the places where people went missing. He was ubiquitous. Where the jazz played, Alastor was there. 

A man with no wife to complain so his nights were free. 

A large piece of land. A chip on his shoulder. 

“You son of a bitch…I didn’t tell you Tommy had been involved in drugs. I was right.” The sentence got quieter and softer as he trailed on until he could only whisper, “You killed him.”

Alastor watched the color drain from Brady’s face as the realization hit, but the ‘son’ comment blanketed his frontal cortex and dampened impulse control, “On second thought; yes.”

It was just an expression, son of a bitch, but it’d been the wrong one to use so carelessly. Alastor’s heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes.

The detective kept his gaze locked on Alastor as he fished out his keys. His hand shook violently as he tried to get the car door key in his fingers. “Yes what?” Glancing down for a fraction of a second to check he had the right one. 

“That was a threat.”

Alastor’s hand twitched, he fought the rage bubbling up his throat. His vision was beginning to turn red around the edges. He could hear Aubrey squeaking out the first syllable of that damn word just behind his left ear.

Perhaps he was the blade hanging over Brady’s head. 

With even paces he walked over to the stump where he chopped wood and pulled the axe out, “Ya know! Something about you makes my fucking skin crawl.” He pointed it at Brady, the detective taking note of the arm strength needed to hold the unevenly heavy tool steady and parallel to the ground. “I do hope for your sake this is our final meeting. You should leave now.” His head titled to the left, “And keep your nose clean, Kenneth. It’s a dangerous time for bad men in New Orleans.”

Brady walked backwards to his car as Alastor advanced briskly with the blade still raised. When they reached the front porch Brady turned and booked it, glancing behind to see Alastor standing beside the porch on foot worn grass.

As the car started Alastor dropped the axe until it’s flat top of the blade rested on the ground and he leaned his weight onto it akin to a cane. His free hand’s fingers waved goodbye before dropping down to his side limply. He stood there with eyes fixed and body still as a predator waiting for its opportunity. How many gators had Brady watched from the shore with just that look? He peeled out, sight unseen as he blindly backed onto the unpaved road, and made a beeline to the nearest phone. 

He had to tell someone. He was right. He had been right the whole time. Alastor killed Tommy Dupre. And there was no doubt in Brady’s swirling mind that you knew that fact. 

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk  , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  @fizzled-phoenix   , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl  @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[luvzshy]

friend!!!!! first of all your writing is amazing and helps me get through my long ass work day. if you write angst, can you write an angsty one w billie? mayhaps some cheating on her part or break up sex or something like that. if not its okay!!!!!! you're an amazing writer and i'll read whatever you post idc xx

Afterglow

Summary: After weeks of growing distance, Billie’s infidelity becomes the breaking point for you and her. In a tense, heart-wrenching confrontation, the truth comes to light, and the emotional fallout is undeniable. In a desperate attempt to hold on, you both share a final, messy kiss that speaks volumes of what’s already been lost.

Warnings: Angst, infidelity, breakup, emotional turmoil, and messy breakup dynamics.

Word Count: 480 words

a/n: Hey, you’re so sweet, thank you for the kind words! I’m so glad my writing helps you get through your day baby!!

Billie’s fingers grazed your cheek, her touch gentle but distant. Her usual warmth was gone, replaced by a coldness that seemed to have crept in over time. You knew something was wrong. It had been weeks since she’d been fully present, and now, here you were, in the quiet aftermath of what had been, what felt like, your last chance to fix things.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to you, still in the clothes she’d worn out that night—clothes that weren’t hers. They weren’t meant for you, though. You could tell by the faint scent of someone else’s perfume that lingered in the air. Your heart twisted, and you took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself.

You stood there, silently, for a long moment, before speaking. “Who was she?”

Billie flinched, her shoulders stiffening. “I… I don’t know,” she whispered, not turning to face you. “It just happened.”

The words stung. It just happened. That was all it was to her. Something fleeting, something easy.

Your heart cracked a little more, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to not let your anger spill out like it desperately wanted to. You had every right to be angry, to demand more from her, but part of you felt like you had already lost her in ways words couldn’t fix. You approached her slowly, the space between you feeling like miles.

“When did this start, Billie?” you asked quietly, trying to make sense of the wreckage. “When did we stop being enough?”

She hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it…”

The silence between you was suffocating. You could feel the distance between you both now, more tangible than ever. You stepped forward, wanting to bridge that gap, but all you felt was the weight of her absence.

“Billie… do you even still love me?”

Her voice cracked when she replied, and it broke you even more. “I thought I did. But I don’t know anymore.”

You felt a pang in your chest, like your heart was breaking in slow motion. Her words were the final blow, but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Instead, you reached out, placing your hand on her shoulder.

“Please,” you whispered, a tear escaping. “Don’t do this.”

She let out a shaky breath, finally turning to face you. Her eyes were red, her makeup smeared, but there was a look there—a kind of finality you couldn’t ignore. Her lips trembled, and for a moment, you thought she might say something to fix it, but she didn’t.

In one swift motion, she pulled you toward her, her lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss—like it was the last thing she knew how to do. You didn’t pull away, even though your heart was screaming at you to do so. The kiss was messy, full of need, and the taste of her lips mixed with the remnants of someone else. You kissed her back, trying to hold on to the fragments of what you once had.

But the truth was, this was over. This had been over long before tonight. You both knew it. And when she pulled away, her hands shaking, you knew you didn’t need to hear anything more.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, the words barely audible.

And just like that, you were left standing alone in the aftermath of it all.

[deadgirlsnoring]

Sub!Lestat

Biting, degradation, praise, feeding(he’s a vampire), begging, blood warning

“I’d never want to hurt you, love.” He was pretty nervous to be honest, even though it was his idea he didn’t know you’d be crazy enough to accept.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll even tell you to stop and keep going. I know you like it when I tell you what to do.” You brought your hand up to play with the ends of his hair.

A whimper left him, it was small, but enough for you to catch.

When your palm fell flat on his cheek it’s almost like he melted into the touch. The smallest touch from you felt amazing, he couldn’t explain it.

“Hm? You wanna start no—Mhmm.” He interrupted, clearly eager.

Lestat pressed his lips against yours hungrily, your back falling onto the bed while he crept on top of you.

When your hands laced around his throat he couldn’t help but moan loudly, his fangs seeming to come in due to the touch.

Your eyes shimmered in excitement when you caught a glimpse, such a beautiful sight. Only did you snap out of your gaze when you felt movement against the one knee you held up.

“Oh puppy, don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.” No reply, his breathing simply grew heavier, panting every second basically.

A deep, broken whimper escaped him when you gripped his bulge, halting his very slutty movements.

“Godd, mmfhurtsss!” It probably did, you were gripping him pretty hard, he was so upset until you suggested something that made his ears perk up.

“Come feed on me.” You then added to your statement by showcasing your neck, the vampire could almost feel your heartbeat in his hands.

Your pulse repeatedly going up and down, he could pinpoint every change, you looked like prey.

“Mayb-no, no. Stopp.” Rolling your eyes, you tempted him even more by pulling your hair to the side, showing him you still wanted it.

“You wanna cum?” He nodded, a silent moan falling suit, “Taste me, or no cumming. No touching at all.”

You let go, furthermore telling him you were serious.

“M-Mommy, please tell me you’ll let me know if you don’t want it anymore? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Okay, I promise, you wanna feel good puppy? Give me what I want, it’s what’s best for you.”

He knew that, you always knew exactly what to do, made everything so much easier for him.

Due to his pouting his bottom lip were bleeding a little bit, his fangs digging deep.

Before he began, you helped him take his boxers off, leaving him bare meanwhile you had on a black matching pair of lingerie.

Licking his lips, he sank his teeth right into your neck, moaning softly at the taste of your blood. It hurt just a tiny bit, but you could hold on long enough for your baby.

Lestat started moving his crotch against yours, trying to find any sort of friction to make his mind numb.

The man never pulled away, he couldn’t, not when you tasted so good, and so warm.

Your hands caressed his body, pressing your thumbs into his back dimples almost making him squirm, your dominant hand fell closer to his hole, the anticipation killing him.

When you pressed your fingers hard against the plug sitting comfortably inside him, a gasp followed and he let go of you with a suction sound.

“Mmmff—hah, mommyy..” when he brushed his front hair pieces back he just looked otherworldly.

Blood was dripping from his plump bottom lip, a hungry look in his eyes. He was captivating, and he was yours.

“Please, just, fuck me love, mmplease?” Your eyes never left his as you grabbed hold of his plug with one hand and his waist with the other.

He licked your blood off his lips, preparing himself.

“Deep breath puppy,” You warned, before slowly exiting the plug out from inside, a deep groan emerging from his lips with ease.

Ahhfu..fuckk, mm m-mommy your fingers now?… please?” He end it with a smirk, lightly stroking your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, and they were just playing with his ass, why couldn’t you put them to use?

“You’re so desperate, God why can’t my puppy just shut up for once?” You slapped his ass, before spreading him apart, pressing your fingers against his prepped hole.

He dug back in, ravaging in the taste of your perfect body.

“So c-cute baby.” You pressed two fingers into him and almost immediately he moaned loudly, his arms going up to rest on your shoulder.

Since he was already stretched out, you curled your fingers against his sweet spot, a gasp followed by a high pitch whine.

“Ughhhn, fuckfuckfuckkk, mm feels s’good mommy.” You just kept abusing that spot, your eyes watching how his fangs would come out, then go back in.

“Feels good? You’re such a slut puppy. Say it.” You demanded, playing with his round ass while he began fucking himself on your fingers.

“Mhmm, I—mm fuck! I’m a slut, I’m such a slut mommy!” He sobbed, his whole body reacting when you hit that one good spot inside him.

“Can.. Can I cum, p-please? I’m soooo close.” You shook your head, just watching. He was so cute.

Sometimes you’d just attach a dildo to the floor and watch him fuck it, he knew just how to do it, such a pretty slut.

You took your fingers out of his hole, a whine exiting his mouth.

“Suck em, go ahead.” He looked at you shyly, always acted like he wasn’t a whore.

Grabbing your wrist, he opened his mouth, before he could, you plunged your fingers in yourself, the way he almost gagged was the cutest thing.

Licked them so clean, such a good dog.

“So good, I love you mommy.”

“I wanna use that toy on you, okay?” He nodded, eyeing the 7 inch dildo, it vibrated too but of course he didn’t know that.

Since he was already prepped you just applied lube to the toy, angling it against him before pressing it into him.

The man gasped, a choked moan escaping him, he looked so submissive and beautiful. “S’big.. fuck mommy, c-can I ride now?”

“Help yourself, c’mon baby.” He started moving his hips back against the toy, it was shaped just right, hitting his prostate every time. It made him see stars, all because of you.

“Such a pretty boy, hm? Wanna see a trick puppy?”

“Yes! Mhm, wanna see a-all your tr—OOhh! Fuckk ppl-please mmommmyyy, it hurtsss.” You grilled his jaw, making him look at you, he looked so worn out.

There were different speeds, “you wanna try something faster, hmm? Answer me.”

He didn’t even have to move, it would just find that spot every single time, “Huh? I d-don’t think I cann, I wanna cumm, please?”

“No, of course you can, you wanna?” He nodded, his hair covering his pretty little face.

You gripped his hair, tugging harshly, eliciting a sudden groan from his lips, the tips of his ears blushed.

“Fuck.” He whimpered, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach when you upped the level. His hand gripped your wrist, a squeaked moan escaping him.

“Can I.. shit, Goddd, mommy can I cum? Can I pleaseee, fuck please mmm I- Im cumming!” He was panting, tears collecting in his eyes.

He kept grabbing at you while cum squirted from his neglected cock, poor puppy.

The grip on his hair loosened, and you maneuvered his face to yours, connecting their lips in a soft kiss before pressing kisses to his neck.

While you turned off the toy you could feel the soreness coming in from your neck, and he sensed it, pouting.

He lifted himself of the big cock, the moan he let out almost made you wanna turn it back on.

It wasn’t gushing blood, but it had dried down, just a shocking pain every few.

“Im sorry! Mommy I said tell me when to stopp, I’m sorry. I’ll patch you up!”

Xoxo

[jaggedamethyst]

when matt murdock has allergies…

pairing: matt murdock x reader (not gender specific in this one)

content: matt has allergies and has to tackle every day life without his senses. one shot, angst (i guess)

notes: this is my first official post (omg?) it may not be great, but i hope to get better as i post more. this one is a bit dramatic but i mostly read angst to feel something so it had to be done. 💋 also i have sinus issues and cannot function so he’s a direct representation of me ty. 🥹

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Matt has allergies. He figured that on top of balancing his firm, relationships, and his night time activities, that telling people he had the occasional sniffle was just juvenile.

Trivial, meaningless, and stupid. Whatever negative adjective he could muster up wasn’t enough to describe how pointless it felt to explain himself to everyone he came in contact with.

Having become reliant on other senses to become his sight, the “occasional sniffle” was anything short of minor. As mucus filled his sinuses and blocked his ears—sound became substantially more quiet. Distance was hard to measure. The inevitable fatigue he felt increased all sensations Matt felt—skewing his perception of the everyday item. Usually perfectly tempered coffee now left blisters on his tongue. His soft bed sheets feeling like sandpaper. His nose constantly swollen and red with the many smells of New York streets. His respiratory problems became eras of overcompensation—using one sense here, another there, and none working.

He was always willing to put in the work, to compensate, until it came to you. An immediate wave of defeat washed over him when he couldn’t sense you.

You with an amazing smile he loved to illicit.

You with a laugh so sweet he could almost taste the hint of saccharine.

You with the soft skin, riddled with divots and creases he’d long committed to memory.

When Matt couldn’t sense you, couldn’t compensate and make you smile, hear you laugh, or feel your skin…he wasn’t himself. It seemed counterintuitive to give up, when in all other areas he’d worked so hard to keep up. But with you, the current came. Tides of disappointment and anger continued to sink him further.

When you eventually arrived to his apartment, Matt remained motionless. You both knew that was unlike himself.

It was easy to let your empathy wash over you, to let the tears come knowing someone you love is suffering. But to let that feeling grasp you was to drown, and what good is that to someone already fighting the tides?

You quickly sprang into action, looking for the medication you knew worked best for him. He didn’t take it yet, you knew. Matt was in self destruct mode.

As you softly approached the couch, hand outstretched, his lack of reaction struck you. To Matt, the cushion beside him dipped, the filling scratching at his ear drums like the incessant rats that ran the street. Your hands, enveloping his cheeks with an otherwise soothing touch, felt like two ice packs—endlessly cold from the harsh weather outside.

The chill traveled to his own hands. Then, a slight sensation he could only assume was an affirming squeeze. The frost of your hands subsequently moving up to his mouth, giving him something. He couldn’t care enough to resist if he wanted.

Matt let the idea of you be his Moon—controlling his ocean of emotion and pulling the tides back slightly. Hearing you continue to mumble to him was a tranquility that saved him time and time again.

Matthew couldn’t hear you, but he knew that everything would be alright. The bliss of rest quickly approach and with it, a prayer to God that he would be reunited with his love again.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Micro idea/prompt: Ken Lemmons confesses his feelings for Curt Biddick to the Buckies, and his fear of being inadequate in bed since he's only been with a couple of people and he himself is only a teenager.

They agree to *ahem* teach him, but they also find his fumbling touches endearing, and he turns out to be really good at some specific things

This “cute unedited ficlet” turned out significantly longer and a smidge raunchier than I meant it to😅 I hope this fits your vision though! I also combined some previous asks that I’ll link to later when I eventually put this up on AO3! Thank you for the brain rot 🥰

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hair Pulling, Light Spanking, Praise Kink, Cuck Bucky (Kind of but Maybe Not Really?), Ken/Buck/Bucky

“How do you like to get fingered?”

A not so innocent question, but entirely earnest and genuine. Ken had almost felt a little guilty when he watched Buck choke on his powdered eggs at the question.

Maybe asking it in the crowded officer’s mess where dozens of other men could hear wasn’t the best idea. Ken wasn’t deterred though. He refused to feel any type of shame about trying to learn how to please an omega. Especially when the omega that would be on the receiving end of such information was Curtis Biddick.

Ken had taken longer than he would have liked to admit to his feelings for the handsome pilot, 7 years his senior. Curt’s pursuit of him had been relentless though and was eventually enough to convince Ken that it was okay to be stupid in love with the older omega.

It still didn’t solve Ken’s problem of being an inexperienced 19 year old alpha. He was no blushing virgin, but he had nothing to on Curt’s 26 years of raunchy stories of passionate, rough, wild sex.

This was the love of Ken’s life, his future mate. He just wanted to make sure he was enough for Curt.

Which brought Ken to where he was now.

In a king sized hotel bed with Buck and Bucky as Buck rode Bucky like a bull. Tears streamed down Buck’s face while Bucky used the leverage of his feet being planted on the bed to meet every roll of Buck’s hips with a thrust of his own.

Buck was wailing every time Bucky’s hip met his ass. Bucky was grunting and whimpering with each snap of his hips.

Ken was unbearably turned on.

He had never realized that two people could fuck like feral animals and still be making love. It was rough, wild, passionate. Everything Curt banged on about at nights at the pub and O-club.

However, the absolute love and devotion Buck and Bucky had for each other was evident. The way they clearly trusted each other with every fiber of their beings, the smitteness that sparked in their eyes every time their gazes connected.

This hadn’t been what he intended to happen when he’d marched into the officer’s mess and asked Buck about being fingered. It didn’t come close to what he had imagined would happen when Buck and Bucky dragged him outside and asked: “What the hell, Lemmons?”

After stuttering out his embarrassed admission that he felt inadequate and unprepared to bed Curt, Ken did not expect this when they had offered to teach him, mirth dancing across their faces. He had expected a lecture of sorts, maybe even some lewd drawings from Bucky. Ken had shown up at the hotel room door with a notebook.

Ken had not been prepared for this.

His fingers were still sticky with Buck’s slick after Bucky had demonstrated then coached him through exactly how to finger an omega. His tongue was still ripe with the taste of Buck’s pussy.

While he hadn’t been able to make Buck come with his mouth like Bucky had, or like Ken had with his ‘clever, talented’ fingers, Ken would never forget the experience. Buck’s raspy, honeyed voice crooning about how precious and eager he was. Bucky’s nasally but fond tone as he pet through Ken’s curls and told him how cute he was.

Ken would forever melt when he remembered them praising how good he was doing despite him fumbling around like a nervous virgin.

“No!” Buck cried out, yanking Ken out of his aroused musings.

Bucky had pulled out and was rolling Buck over onto his back.

“It’s okay,” Bucky soothed, a low purr accenting his words. He brushed Buck’s sweaty hair back as he settled between his legs and started to jerk off over Buck’s prone form. “Kenny’s gonna take care of yah. Ain’t that right, Lemmons?”

A roguish smile and wink were tossed Ken’s way before Bucky’s focus went solely back to Buck.

“Now, you saw how we found a rhythm and I was still giving it to him even though Buck here was in charge?” Ken nodded, lips parted in awe as Bucky leaned down enough to wrap Buck’s dick in his fist alongside his own to Buck’s apparent delight. “Soldier?”

Ken had forgotten to verbally answer but the barked check in had him snapping to attention.

“Yes sir,” Ken answered, voice thick with arousal as he watched Buck writhe against the sheets while Bucky shuddered between his legs. The sound of Bucky working their cocks together was slick and loud.

“That’s what you wanna do when you’ve got incredible omegas like Buck and Curt,” Bucky explained, voice growing ragged. “They’ll show you what they need if you just pay attention.”

“Yes sir,” Ken agreed easily.

“We’ll always let them lead unless they ask otherwise. It’s ‘cause we love ‘em, right?” Bucky panted, the flex of his bicep was frantic. “Because they can take care of themselves, but they trust us to help them.”

Buck’s keen cut off any response Ken might have had. He watched, mouth filing with saliva as Buck’s knees snapped tight around Bucky’s hips, his head tossing back against the pillow as he came for the fourth time that evening. His rich honey scent spiked, flooding the air and making Ken’s knot ache.

Apparently, it had Bucky feeling just as turned on because he made a concerning choking noise, his muscles tensing impossibly tight. Ken’s worry was cut short as Bucky’s warm whiskey scent peaked and intertwined with Buck’s to create a smell that was both mouth watering and comforting all wrapped into one.

He saw Buck reach down between them. Bucky hissed and used the hand not already between them to pin Buck’s before leaning down and whispering to him between sweet kisses.

“Promise I’ll knot you real good later, doll.” Ken felt like he was intruding on a private moment. It was silly, he’d just watched them fuck, had participated in the foreplay, but this felt like a line. “Kenny’s gonna take care of you. He already had you squealing with his fingers and he’s so sweet and eager. You’ll love it, Gale.”

Ken flushed as Bucky rolled to the side, fist wrapped tight around his knot. He wasn’t sure if he could do this anymore.

He loved Curt with his entire being. Wanted to be the best alpha he could possibly be for him. This was a commanding officer though and said commanding officer was another commanding officer’s mate.

“Don’t got all day Lemmons,” Buck drawled drily, still a little breathless.

Bucky grinned, petting his free hand over over Buck’s sweaty hair once again. Ken swallowed thickly.

He cautiously made his way back in between Buck’s legs. His knot throbbed as his gaze landed on Buck’s come covered dick and belly. Still feeling like he was overstepping by looking, Ken shifted his gaze up to Buck’s face.

It somehow felt even more covetous.

His bite swollen lips, flushed pink cheeks, and wide sky blue eyes nearly overtaken by pupils left Ken dizzy.

“C’mon Lemmons,” Bucky encouraged next to them. “Got him all warmed up for yah and you’ve got everything you need right here.”

A knobby knuckle knocked against his forehead softly and Ken could only nod in answer.

He grabbed a hold of the base of his cock and guided the head of it towards Buck’s entrance. Buck twitched and Ken’s breath stuttered as he watched Buck’s hole clench and relax.

Ken’s eyes darted to Buck’s face worriedly and he received a warm, encouraging smile in return. Buck cupped is cheek gently, his calloused thumb stroking over it.

“Give it to me, sweetheart,” Buck commanded softly.

Ken was helpless but to obey such a direct order.

Slipping inside slow and gentle, Ken burned at Buck’s sharp inhale as he filled him. He was well aware that he wasn’t as big as Bucky, but it fueled his alpha fire to have an omega react like that to his cock.

“That’s it,” Bucky commended him, slapping the back of his shoulder playfully. “Now, let’s see if you can make him scream again or maybe even cry this time.”

Ken still didn’t have high hopes, even with the half dry tear tracks streaking down Buck’s cheeks. He was eager to try though. He gave a few experimental rolls of his hips, trying to find the right angle before trying to attempt the rough, wild pace he’d just seen Buck and Bucky accomplish together.

Bucky was so patient and quiet, letting out only the occasional pleased hum. It was sweet, Ken kind of wanted to cry himself.

“Remember how you crooked your fing-”

Buck gasped up at Ken when he followed Bucky’s reminder with his hips. Bingo.

He picked up the pace a bit, going a bit harder and faster. Ken wasn’t sure how he was supposed to treat Buck rougher than this though. He didn’t want to hurt him.

“You can go harder than that,” Buck told him, hand sweeping down to cradle Ken’s nape.

Ken bit his lip worriedly. He’d seen Bucky treat Buck much rougher than this, but they were mates. Ken would rather die than cause Buck pain. Or worse, Curt.

“They’re tough, Lemmons,” Bucky reminded him.

Which was so unbearably true, Ken was almost embarrassed by how much he had fretted. All of the omegas he knew were some of the toughest people he had ever encountered. Especially Buck and Curt.

Hell, Curt wouldn’t shut up about passionate and rough he liked it if you got him drunk enough.

With that in mind, Ken picked up the rhythm of his hips until he was fucking into Buck hard and determined like he was working on a particularly difficult engine. Buck seemed to appreciate it if the way he fought the fluttering of his lashes was any indication.

“Atta boy,” Bucky crowed, ruffling Ken’s curls.

It was probably weird to not feel threatened by another alpha touching him during sex. Ken couldn’t focus on that though.

His attention was dedicated to the way Buck’s pussy spasmed around his cock. He was enraptured by the little moans getting caught in Buck’s throat. Ken was consumed by the fire burning through his veins.

“Now, pull on his hair,” Bucky ordered.

Ken did not hesitate.

Buck keened, back arching as Ken yanked on the soft, spun gold hair. It had him snapping tight around Ken’s cock and he struggled to find oxygen for a few beats.

“S’good,” Buck groaned throatily when Ken did it again. “You’re so good Kenny.”

The fire in Ken’s belly flared at the praise. He planted his other hand in the pillow next to Buck’s face to give himself more leverage and really put his back into it. Buck moaned, shocked and delighted, his breath picking up considerably as he dropped his hand from Ken’s neck and flung it towards Bucky.

“There you go,” Bucky encouraged. “Feel how much wetter he got for you?”

He had. Ken could also smell Buck’s scent sweetening and took his eyes off of Buck’s Adonis face to see his cock thickening between their stomachs.

“Tell him how pretty he is,” Bucky ordered as he shifted on the bed next to them.

“Pr-prettiest man I-I ev-ver sssaw,” Ken mumbled breathlessly.

Ken had to be in shape to keep up and work on the big birds but fucking The Gale “Buck” Cleven was a sport in and of itself.

He hard Bucky huff a laugh at his stumbling complement before the older alpha was leaning in to steal a quick kiss from Buck. Ken’s chest ached as he watched Buck lift his head to follow Bucky’s mouth and Bucky smacked an indulgent kiss, that was mostly a grin, to Buck’s mouth.

“Hear that, doll? Lemmons thinks your prettier than Curt.” Ken rankled at the insinuation, hips reflexively snapping into Buck so hard it forced a wail out of him. He only realized he’d fallen for a trap when Bucky smirked devilishly at him. “Tell him how nice his tits are. How tight his pussy is.”

Buck groaned, shaking his head and Ken wasn’t surprised when Buck lifted his and Bucky’s conjoined hands up to his face to bury his nose against Bucky’s worst. An order was an order though.

“P-pussy’s ssso t-tight-t, feel lik-ke I c-can’t-t breathe,” Ken admitted haltingly, a little too honestly, steering clear on commenting on Buck’s chest.

It somehow felt like a step too far.

His efforts were rewarded with Buck letting out a guttural moan, knees clenching around Ken’s waist. Ken couldn’t help his appreciative whimper. He had been inside omegas before, but it had never been like this.

“Good boy, Kenny,” Bucky praised, town full of delight.

The Major’s were certifiable.

“Use your grip on his hair to start pulling him back into your thrusts,” Bucky commanded, brushing Buck’s sweaty hair back from his face.

Buck’s mouth dropped open around a wild keen, neck straining as he tossed his head back when Ken complied. He watched Buck’s lips split into what could only be described as a feral grin. Ken was not prepared for Buck to screw up purposefully tight around him like that and nearly popped his knot right then.

“Feel’s good doesn’t it?” Bucky crooned. Ken wasn’t sure if Bucky was talking to him or Buck, but they both gave answering moans, confirming just how much they loved it. “Now, slap his ass.”

Ken paused for a moment before releasing his grip form the pillow and bringing his hand down against Buck’s ass.

“Harder,” Buck demanded through gritted teeth.

Complying immediately, fire blazed through Ken at the way Buck’s lashes fluttered. How his honey scent sweetened even more.

“Know for a fact that Curt likes it harder than that, Lemmons,” Bucky goaded.

Ken brought his hand down so hard on the next slap that reverberation of it rang in his ears like a bell. He couldn’t hear Buck’s answering whine over his desperate whimpers. It was all starting to become a little too overwhelming. The fire in his veins was going to consume him.

“Can you tell how close he is?” Bucky’s question was whispered, almost reverent. Nodding, Ken took note of just how flushed Buck’s neck and chest had gotten, how his honey scent had crested and seemed to blanket all three of them. “Touch his dick.”

With that final order, Bucky pulled Buck into a filthy kiss. Buck moaned helplessly into it as Bucky fucked his tongue into his mouth in time with the rhythm of Ken’s hips and his fist around Buck’s cock. It had Buck snapping so tight around him, Ken forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“Don’t knot,” Bucky reminded him before licking back into Buck’s mouth.

Buck groaned, back arching impossibly as he screwed up so tight around Ken the fire inside of him caught. A sudden liquid warmth coated Ken’s hand and just as he felt the roaring of the fire peak, he pulled out and used that same hand to wrap around his popping knot.

He watched in awe as come spilled all over Buck’s pussy and softening cock, mixing with the spend that was already there. Ken’s ripe fig scent mixed intoxicatingly with the Majors’ honey whiskey notes. Ken wanted to feel embarrassed by how pitchy his whimpers went as he felt like he burned alive.

Collapsing on top of Buck, Ken allowed himself to be maneuvered to the side. A strong hand cradled the back of his head, pushing his face against Buck’s chest until the roar of the fire in his ears dampened enough to hear a comforting coo vibrating under his cheek.

Never, in a million years, did Ken think Buck would be the type to give in to such an omega instinct. He felt so overwhelmed in that moment thought that he was nothing but grateful for it.

“Well done, Kenny,” Bucky crowed, slapping Ken’s shoulder gently.

“Such a good boy,” Buck agreed, his fingers carding through Ken’s hair.

Ken couldn’t help but to preen.

“You fuck Curt like that,” Bucky mused. “I bet he’ll be begging for you to mate him the first time.”

Bucky was entirely correct.

Ken, of course, complied.

Afterwards, when Curt and Ken were basking in the afterglow, Curt swore when Ken fucked him he had:

“Heard angels singing.”

[livi-in-digital-circus]

The Abuse || a short Bunnydoll angsty story

I wrote this only because I'm having worse days now (also I started writing the new fic but I'm already stuck at the beginning of TwT)

TW: abuse

Through the glass wall of the infirmary, Ragatha stared at the guests of the Digital Circus. Once in a while, people from the real world had the chance to meet their favorite characters in person, not knowing that they were actually normal humans just like them. It was unfair that they could go home the moment their visit ended. But that was what the circus was all about. Every single member of the crew was an animal trapped in a cage, released only to perform silly and often dangerous acts.

And since Caine was especially busy when they had visitors, Ragatha couldn’t ask him to help her get back to her pristine self. Instead, she had to spend the entire day under the care of a nurse-like NPC who stuffed her with more pills, like painkillers, hour after hour. Even though the rag doll didn’t seem to have any bones in her plush body, she felt like her bruised arm was broken. Not to mention that she had vomited at least three times that day and felt dizzy all the time.

It was a pure torture.

The girls in the main area were loud enough for Ragatha to hear what they were saying, so she leaned carefully against the wall. Due to her current state, she wasn’t allowed to greet the visitors. After all, Caine had to keep the reputation of the circus at its best, and if anyone found out there was a serious case of abuse going on behind the scenes, he would lose everything he had worked on for years.

“Did you see the way he looked at me? I’m definitely his type!” One of the girls exclaimed. Her digital avatar resembled a cute Lolita-style doll, making her look like an innocent angel. Another one, Ragatha thought.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t mention our shrines full of his limited merch.” The other said, her cat ears and tail moving on their own from time to time. “But then again, who wouldn’t want lots of Jax for themselves?”

Ragatha trembled. These two clearly had no idea who they were talking about. Judging by their behavior and appearance, they were mostly underage and delusional. The rag doll looked at her arm again. She should be jealous, it was her boyfriend who was the center of attention that day.

Instead, she felt anger, especially when she heard the girls mention all the things they wanted Jax to do to them. Ragatha smiled bitterly to herself, the familiar metallic taste tickling her tongue. She had lived too long in the circus to understand today’s teenagers. Some of them were born into rich families and had everything they could wish for. It could be anything, like an expensive dress worn by many famous models, or a bottle of sweet-smelling limited edition perfume. And yet they chose to be used by none other than Jax.

Little do they know that he is a real abuser.

And abuse is not something you should wish for.

Year after year, the rabbit became more mentally unstable. Several times he promised Ragatha that he would change, that he would try to be a better boyfriend. She was very proud of Jax when he managed to go a whole week without hurting her. But when she was about to visit him in his room after one of their adventures to watch a movie, she found him torturing the little version of herself that she had made for him to hug when he felt alone.

Caine had no idea how to fix Jax. His first assumption was that he would soon abstract, but Ragatha quickly shook her head. That had been going on for a long time, with no clear signs of improvement. However, she didn’t feel any hatred for Jax, even though she was sore and bruised the last few days. She knew it was because of his poor mental health and that inside he was still the bunny she had fallen in love with.

The girls disappeared from her view after a while. Ragatha groaned as she made her way back to bed. All she wanted was to fall asleep and wake up the next day. The moment her head touched the pillow, she heard someone enter the infirmary.

“Feeling better?” Jax sat on the edge of the bed, his gloved hand gently stroking the bandage on the rag doll’s cheek. Ragatha shivered, yet her lover’s soothing touch was all she needed at the moment.

“Still a little sore, but it’s okay. Did you enjoy the meeting with the viewers?”

“Not really, this group was annoying as hell.”

“I don’t like what those girls said about you.” Though Ragatha didn’t want to tell him exactly what. She knew Jax felt bad after each time he lost control and hurt her, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable now that he was temporarily sane again.

Jax let out a soft laugh and pressed his lips to Ragatha’s forehead. God, she loved his kisses so much.

“I actually brought you something to drink. You must be thirsty after I… you know.”

Ragatha gladly accepted the water bottle and began to pour the liquid into her mouth. But just as she was about to stop, she felt Jax’s hands suddenly tighten around her neck, causing her to cough and choke. The taste of water and blood mixed sickeningly in her mouth.

Jax knew it was only a matter of time before she started vomiting all over the circus from the ‘water’ he gave her.

Everyone told Ragatha to break up with Jax, but she was too kindhearted to do that. He was mentally ill and she wanted to help him. She hoped that one day everything would be okay, that her boyfriend would overcome this.

And before that happens, she would be tortured in many more different ways for the next few weeks, months, or maybe even years.

Still, Ragatha would manage to survive all this. It was impossible to die in Digital Circus after all.

Thanks for reading!

(I'm sorry, please don't be mad at me for writing this ;-;)

[danothan]

makes me sad when ppl (esp other viet ppl!) say that pho is overrated 😞 okay yes, i think there are definitely other meals that deserve the overseas recognition just as much if not more, like bun bo hue or banh xeo, and i have no idea why pho, the dish whose broth takes 6hr AT LEAST to make, was the one to hit the mainstream, but i don’t think that makes it overrated either. it’s cozy, it’s warming, it’s simple yet complex, it’s like chicken noodle soup on a sick day if chicken noodle soup could also give you a kiss on the forehead…

i can’t think of a dish that says “i love you” more than pho, you guys don’t deserve her.

[tonycries]

Corpse Groom - G.S.

Synopsis. Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, CÓRPSE BRIDE!AU, arranged marriages, period-typical mísogyny, Naoya is awful, accidental marriage, ángst, major character(s) déath, HAPPY ENDING, talks of déath, kníves, poíson, reíncarnation, Gojo YEARNS, he loves you sm I cried, hándjobs, fíngering, spítting, cúmplay, BRÉEDING, creampíes, mentions of having kids, pússydrúnk Gojo, overstím, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.7k (ohoho)

A/N. K!nktober isn’t over until I had to make a rewrite of my favorite Halloween movie mhm <3

“Mother, I refuse-”

“Nonsense, child!”

That sharp snap! of your mother’s feathered fan is loud enough that the whole carriage rattles on its hinges, creaking you noisily to what seemed like your very doom. 

You gulp when she’s tilting her head down as far as her best, high-collared gown would allow, eyes narrowing. “The Zenin’s are the only nobles left in this wretched town, and I will not have my daughter marrying some commoner.”

The unsteady cobblestone pathway jostles you in your cushioned seat ever-so-slightly, a pertinent little reminder of that fact.

In the deafening silence, your father pipes up - ever-the-pacifist, “Now now, why don’t we all calm down, especially before such a glorious wedding.” But his words wither out into nothing but a whisper in the simmering tension. “Like your mother said, dear, the Zenin’s are a good family, with a uh-” Coughing nervously, “-good son. We just want you to be taken care of.”

As if that was the only thing.

But there was no use arguing. 

Facing back to the gray window with a sigh, and you can only whisper. “I’d rather die than marry Naoya Zenin.”

---

“With this hand-”

“Louder.”

“With this-”

“More passionate.”

“With this damn hand-”

“Not a threat.” The older woman in front of you wrings her satin gloves, turning towards your fuming parents with a tone that matches their expression. “Honestly, I know that you new money people find it hard to adjust but this is our special tradition! My poor baby Naoya is going to be heartbroken tomorrow.”

Dutchess Zenin had a cruel sort of beauty to her, high cheekbones, and cutting eyes that picked apart every fray at your dress - the spitting image of her son.

And her “poor baby Naoya” was currently finding it impossible to hide his smirk. Swiping away invisible dust from the velvety-clad shoulder of his overpriced suit, he sets down his wine bottle from the vows.

“Don’t be too harsh, mother.” Naoya’s smooth voice comes out in a dangerous purr, and you jolt when one of his strong arms slither around your waist. Possessive. “After all, it’s this one’s face that’s what’s important.” 

God, if it weren’t for your parents’ pointed looks you would have shoved this overly-perfumed bastard away from you and bolted through those high doors faster than you could say “I do.” 

The Naoya Estate was as beautiful as its occupants could never be, brutal, looming architecture intended to make you feel smaller than you were. All those high cemented pillars, plush furniture, and gleaming chandeliers spoke of exactly what your parents wanted - power. 

It wasn’t the sort of home you’d like to call your own, but then again, you didn’t have any choice in the matter. 

“My deepest apologies on behalf of my daughter, madam-” your mother’s gritting out the words, painted lips curling ever-so-slightly towards the end with a bitter taste. “-or should I say, co-mother-in-law? Ah, come now, we might as well be family already, right?”

“Sure.” Dutchess Naoya turns, arching a needle brow. “Might as well, thanks to your family assets- if your daughter doesn’t make a joke of the vows, that is.”

The wisened officiary standing at the altar nods solemnly towards you. “Do you even want to get married tomorrow, young lady?” No, you want to answer, but bite back. “Zenin house traditions dictate that the mark of a good wife is one to follow the vows to its every syllable.”

You wince - and your features sting where they’d been perfectly stretched into a plastic smile. Your next words come out small, strangled in a way that makes your future husband smile. “I apologize, I know how important these vows are, and I’ll- I’ll do better next time.”

“Good.”

With a click of Dutchess Zenin’s fingers, a hushed, swirling piano melody fills the hall once more. 

Your wedding ballad. 

Something that Naoya had prattled on and on about being an esteemed tradition in the Zenin household, a tender tune to accompany their sacred vows. Modeled after the long-lost royalty of this kingdom, and this was the closest you’d get to a taste of it. 

It was your one initiation into power - saying those sweet, special promises - and the one thing you found impossible to get right.

“-for I will be your wine.”

Shit.

You didn’t even realize that Naoya had polished off his own vows, before you jolt at the hefty weight of wine being poured into your cup. 

And you could practically feel the burning stare of every eye in the room. Watching. Waiting. 

You’re fighting against your intricate corset to gulp in a deep inhale of the stale, thickening air. Clearing your throat ever-so-slightly, you raise the hand holding onto his wedding ring. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Y-your cup will never empty-” Fingers tightening around the silver goblet in your other, your breath hitches at the bile rising to your throat already. “-for I will be your- your uh- wine.” 

In the corner of your vision, you could spot Naoya’s smug smirk already. You could hear his tiny “As if you have any other choice.”

You knew what he was thinking.

That whisper is enough to make your jaw grind, your hand clench in a way you’d been taught by your mother not to - in a way that she’d unfortunately forgotten to tell you was for the cup’s sake, rather than your own.

Because it only takes one harsh squeeze before it just bursts.

Red, red wine trickling all down your wrist, splattering onto the gauzy curve of your gown - but more importantly, onto Naoya’s crisp suit. 

It bleeds through the velvet in thick smears, seeping into the fabric as if catching on fire. Only staining further and further with each second he’s flailing frantically to wipe it off. 

“Shit- My apologies- oh, shit-” you’re gasping, but there’s no one paying enough attention to tell you off for your unlady-like profanity right now. Body moving before your mind, you snatch some of the officiary’s papers from him, “Wait, it will only get worse- let me-”

Only to forget what was in your hands.

Honestly, if this was any other time you would have laughed watching the rest of the wine nestled safely in your cup come gushing down onto whatever was left of his unmarred suit - every single inch. 

It’s chaos.

Then it’s silence. 

Every single breathing being in the room can only watch as the last few crimson droplets drip! drip! drip! onto Naoya Zenin’s lapels.

Wordlessly, you look to the aghast officiary, your stony-faced parents, and finally, your gaping fiancé. You’re the first to speak - to hold back your chuckles, more like. “I- I cannot apologize enough…”

“You- you witch! This was on purpose, wasn’t it? Do you know how much this custom suit cost? How it was worn by the late highness himself.” Naoya’s screeching, voice shrill. Pointing a finger accusingly at you, it would be menacing if it wasn’t for the big, fat droplets of red dripping from his angry features. More of a drenched cat than the gentleman he pretends to be. “Remember that I’m doing you a favor by marrying you-”

You cross your arms, struggling to keep composure. “I shall reimburse-”

“-and acting all haughty as if you were from the royal family itself.” he’s frantic, mouth running a mile a minute. Tugging at his wet strands, “And my hair, oh my beautiful beautiful hair-”

“I shall reimburse the emotional damages, too!”

Dutchess Zenin tackles her son into a soothing embrace you find almost comical, granting you with a venomous glare that you were sure if looks could kill, she’d be lowering you into your grave and waltzing over it with Naoya already.

Simpering, “It’s quite alright my poor boy, this wedding cannot take place! We can find another-”

“No no no- no, I still want to marry her-” His greedy eyes sweep your trembling figure up and down, “Doesn’t matter if she’s an unfit wife, I’ll fix her up-” You’re quirking a brow, “Swear I’ll marry her and fix her up into-”

THUD!

You’re throwing the cup remaining in your hand as hard as you can, hitting Naoya right in the bullseye of his chest. And as soon as the air leaves his lungs, they leave yours too - in a stubborn, infuriated hiss, “Well, I’d never marry a spoiled, pompous brat like you.”

And with a flick of the stray beads of wine on your fingers at his face for good measure, you lift your heavy skirts as scandalously far as they’d travel to dart out of the door.

Out of the winding corridors. 

Out of the Zenin Estate. 

Ignoring every call of your name, every arm reaching out for you - urgently following your feet wherever they took you. Honestly, you’re so busy gasping in deep lungfuls of the cool, fall air embracing you that you’re half-surprised you only crash into a few people on the streets. 

Again. And again. And again and again, yet never stopping. Afraid of being followed by Naoya. Or even worse - your parents.

You barely even slow down until your tailored shoes crunch against gray snow, eyes taking in lines upon lines of towering trees in front of you. Tall, towering. Weaving their branches with the sky - ominous, almost, against the steadily darkening night creeping its way in.

The forest, you’re realizing with a gasp. Have you really come this far? 

Taking a glimpse over your shoulder at the twinkling lights of the town in the distance, you think of the vows that were waiting for you, and the town rumors you’d definitely sparked. Well, a walk to cool off wouldn’t hurt…

And despite wanting to relax, your thoughts only churn with each step. Replaying the scenes from earlier over and over and-

“And your cup will always- fuck- they probably think I’m such a fool.” you’re spitting, kicking at a pile of snow. “Fuck Naoya and his vows, fuck that stupid wine, should’ve shoved it up his-” 

Just then, a sudden gust of fall air puffs up against your ear, sending goosebumps careening down every bit of your exposed skin. You shudder sharply, hands shovelling for warmth inside your gown’s pockets, “Ugh, today’s such a horrible-” Only to cut yourself off with a gasp- “This is…”

You feel for that metallic cold again, hastily pulling out that solid, silvery ring. Meant for Naoya Zenin.

Admittedly gorgeous, an intricate band with a delicate sapphire embedded in its middle. Your mother had spent months tracking down the best jeweler in the country to forge a ring that even the Zenin’s would be impressed with. 

Fit for a king.

You scoff, “An unfit wife, my ass. It’s not even that difficult.”

Still feeling highly insulted, and only slightly embarrassed for it, you clear your throat. Speaking clearly into the stiff air, “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” Determinedly you stride your way into the middle of a slight clearing, “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.”

Grasping a stray branch, you mock lighting the altar candles. “With this candle, I will light your way in the darkness.”

Before setting down on one knee - customary for the groom, yet feeling so right when you gaze down at a tree root sticking up from the blanket of snow. Poised like the prettiest of fingers at the foot of a towering oak.

“With this ring,” You’re sliding it down easily as you would have to onto the man you hated the most. “I ask you to be mine.”

.

.

.

You don’t expect the sudden shift. 

You don’t expect the wind to pick up, you don’t expect for a murder of crows to materialize from the midnight darkness and crowd on a tree right behind you. Letting the tree root slip from your fingers, you whirl around - what- a storm?

But before you can think of any answers, that withered branch shoots further out of the ground. Barely giving you a split-second to jump backwards before cupping your cheek, gently. 

And you could’ve sworn that one twig glides across your cheek - just the way one’s thumb would have. Like the softest of lovers. 

Gasping in fear, you fall backwards, splaying out into the uncomfortably bone-chilling snow below.

You can only watch as the tree root twitches once. Twice. And your ears thunder with the high-pitched howls of the wind, and a sudden, booming bang! bang! bang!

Shit. 

Your eyes widen, it was coming from under the ground. 

The ground that was splitting open before your very eyes. 

Wider. And wider. Like something was baring itself before you. Something was clawing all the way from hell, that tree root only surging up, up, upwards in a long, limb-like fashion. Branching out into five fingers that dig their way into the ground. Hard. 

And if you didn’t think you were about to faint from just this - you were definitely on the verge of it when the fingers lead their way into a forearm, a shoulder. Miles upon miles of skin - a person, towering above you, silhouetted by moonlight.

He looks at you with sapphire eyes. Close. 

A man.

Beautiful. 

Whispering, “I do.” Nose to cold nose, thick white lashes fluttering shut. “You may now kiss the groom.”

---

You’re barely half-awake when you realize that that was probably the strangest dream you’ve had in your life. 

Groaning, you rub blearily at your eyes - yet, through the bursts of stars and pounding flashes of headaches, all you can think about is him and his chilling lips on yours.

Soft, like a leaving lover.  

Even in your most feverish of dreams, you’d never conjured up anyone so ethereal. Tall, powerful despite the almost-sickly air about him, and the deep circles underneath his gleaming eyes. 

But so gorgeous - sorrowfully so. 

The image burned permanently into your mind, like your most favorite of memories. Every tiny detail down from the almost-blinding reflection of the moon against his cloudy hair, to how that illuminated his soft smile - that tiny dimple at the corner of his pert, pretty mouth. 

You remember how he wore a wedding suit, the kind that nobles these days wouldn’t dare touch with a six foot sword with how it looked centuries out of fashion. Stark white, with fine silver detailing down the velvety fabric for you to admire.

How ironic, somehow, the thought made you sad.

But most of all, you especially remember the way he looked at you.

Just like he was right now.

“Ah!”

“Now that’s not usually the reaction I- fuck!”

He was real. So painfully real.

And clutching his face where you’d claimed a swat at one of high cheekbones.

“Ouch, my wife has a real good arm on her, huh?” Blinking back the haziness in your eyes, you catch sight of that same summer blue gaze, eyes crinkled slightly at the ends. Tender, despite being attacked by you less than a minute after gaining consciousness. “Though, I love a strong woman.”

“New arrival! Looks like we got ourselves a breather-”

“Looks like she fainted, is she alright? You know we can’t keep her long-”

“Can I touch her? Looks so soft~”

White - white fills your vision, too-late are you realizing that you’re being pressed into the soft coat of his chest. Inching you away from a hulking, four-armed creature, he mutters, “She’s my wife, you curse.”

“What-” It takes you a few more seconds to finally find your voice. In those moments you look up to take in his boyishly pretty features - about your age. Human, had it not been for that otherworldly faint blue pallor. “Is this a joke? Where am-”

Choking on your words as you take a sweeping look around the - tavern? Realm? It looked like the very same one in your own town, except bright. Musical. Everything that your home wasn’t. Finding faces you could never imagine looking at you - some beautiful, some mere skeletons, all taken out of your wildest dreams. 

And all dead, it hits you with a jolt. 

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt safer in his arms. 

“Something wrong, my love?”

You pinch yourself, “I need questions- now.”

“You mean answers.” One from the pub crowd scoffs - a towering man, handsome. He’d look ever-so-ordinary if it wasn’t for the completely skeletal arm on his left side. And of course, that same death-like serenity. “Honestly, Gojo, you picked an airhead or what?”

The man that still held you - Gojo, you assume - whines in protest, “Shut up, Toji. I’d always love her regardless- and she said her vows so perfectly.”

“I did…” you breathe.

Shit. 

Shit shit shit- you did.

Cocking your head, you ask. “Who are you?” 

He’s rolling his eyes, gifting you a crooked grin of pearly whites. “Your husband, obviously?”

And before you can pinch yourself again to make sure you weren’t dreaming, and that last time was a fluke - or perhaps smack him again - Gojo shows off one slender hand. Naoya Zenin’s ring adorned proudly across his ring finger. Your ring. With your vows. 

“So…” you let out a giggle of still disbelief. “You’re the tree-”

“Not quite but-”

“Oh! I love this story- could make a skeleton cry.”

“Heh, yeah yeah sing it, king of curses.”

“Please don’t.”

“You see, welcome to the Land of the Dead, doll.” A man with pink hair sets down his drink to throw one of his four arms around your shoulder, much to Gojo’s chagrin. Words dripping with taunt,  “N’ lemme tell you the story of our lovely corpse groom.”

You’re dragged along through the crowded, eerily lit tavern, everyone jostling each other to better get a look at you. Poking and prodding, some even gasping at the feeling of your thundering pulse. 

He hums, “Here we have a pompous prince known miles around-” And you could tell him and Gojo had already known each other long, with how he was toying with the other man. “-fell hard and fast for a cute lil’ peasant girl much like yourself-”

“Sukuna, stop it.” Gojo grits, jaw clenched. 

“-but, alas. When dear ol’ dad the king said ‘no’, he jus’ couldn’t cope. So our dear lovers came up with a plan to elope-”

You’re thrust into the arms of an attractive blond man, almost half of his entire face held together with stitches and bone. Heaving out a sigh in a way you could very much feel akin to, “Meeting up late at night is always a stupid plan, even with all the wine and riches for the road. You might not need much when you have love, but you never know what’s lurking. And, well, on that dark night, our prince here paid the price.” When you look back at the white-haired man his eyes seemed significantly softer, if that was even possible. 

Toji’s the one by your side this time, “Poof! Dropped dead as dust waiting for his dear girl, no evidence, no body, no bride. What a crybaby he was when he arrived. Didn’t even want to stay here-”

“-because then he made a promise to wait upstairs.” Another man - with such gorgeous, long hair makes himself known this time. Forehead littered in strange stitches, as if it’d been opened and fixed many, many times. “And waited and waited asleep for one hundred years to this day until out of the blue, you came along, sweetness. The lovely bride, to our corpse groom.”

You. 

And Gojo looks at you like he can’t look away.

Lone, standing there with his arms open as the story tapers out. Waiting. 

Until you came along.

---

“HERE YE, HERE YE…FUTURE BRIDE OF ZENIN HOUSE SEEN LURKING IN THE FOREST WITH A MYSTERY MAN– now for the weather…” 

“What?” your mother hisses at the bellows of the local newsman, well, rumor-spreader, more like. But he’s never been more useful than now. Sneaking an urgent glance at the stunned Dutchess Zenin by her side, she elbows your father, “We come outside to search for our daughter only to hear this? How could we let this-”

“Maybe it’s a ah- slow news day?”

They’re interrupted by a sudden, sharp clearing of one’s throat - dripping with the distinct tone of condescension that only a member of the Zenin family could possess. “We are one bride short for the wedding tomorrow. What a scandal!” 

“Ah!” she’s gasping. Waving her hands frantically, “W-we promise we’ll find her before the wedding-”

“You better.”

“No.” Naoya Zenin’s voice was brimming with something dangerous, an eerie, steady lilt of determination to it. But he’s not even looking at anyone in the group, eyes trained firmly on the woody entrance to the forest in the distance. “I’ll be the one to find her.”

Finally, something that seems to appease the huffing matriarch.

Only leaving her sullen son with a nod of approval, “And Naoya…” She makes sure the other two bothers were out of earshot, greedily scurrying back to the warmth of the Zenin household. “Remember, the ah- family funds are drying up. Hurry.”

---

Gojo Satoru, you learn, was as nervous about this marriage as you were.

“This is where I always visited after first dying.” he muses, ice-cold fingers wrapped snugly with yours as he guides you gently through various crooked stairs and skeletons of town. “The view takes my breath away- well, if I could breathe, that is.”

You’re startling out a laugh that has both of you surprised, and he turns to you with such breathless awe. 

“Beautiful.”

“What-” your eyes widen - and you don’t know whether it’s from his sudden little compliment, or from where you two had finally stopped walking. 

A steep cliff, overlooking the entire, vast town of multi-color lights. The rigid structure from where you came could never compare. Complete chaos. But as pretty as those paintings you read about in books, views you never thought you’d see. 

You rest your hands atop the spindly barrier surrounding the very edge, marveling. “It is beautiful…”

“It is.” Gojo’s tone is rich, and his eyes never stray from you despite all else there is to drink in. It takes you a few moments of counting all the bustling figures in the distance before you finally mount up the courage to meet his hypnotic gaze. 

Gojo jolts when you look his way, as if he wasn’t expecting it. Hastily, he flusters to pat down the sides of his suit - tattered at places, patchy as if once-pristine but ruined with age. He’s smiling once he ruffles through his breast pocket, pulling out something glinting.

You’re letting out a tiny gasp when he shows off a silver, heart-shaped locket. Intricate, obviously custom-tailored - you’d never quite seen anything like it. Positively beaming with all the shine that the rest of him had lost. 

Treasured. 

“It’s for you.”

“What?” Your jaw falls slack in shock, pushing away Gojo’s held-out hands. But he was ever-persistent. “Please- I can’t, that- that looks like it should be for someone precious.” 

“And it is.” 

This was the firmest you’d heard his sing-song voice, and at your slightest split-second of faltering, he snatches the opportunity to circle his hands around your neck. Deftly clasping it from behind, Gojo only smiles, soft pads of his fingers lingering at your nape. “I’ve had it for years.” You wanted to know exactly how many years that meant. “Consider it a wedding gift~”

Your own dust over the cool metal pendant, heart lurching. “If only you let me know about our wedding in advance, I would’ve gifted you something, too.”

“Heh, you don’t have to.”

“Do too”

“Do not.”

“Do too.” You cross your arms, boring your eyes into his. “I’m not going to be an unfit wife.”

There’s a second of silence. 

One.

Two.

And at this point, you half-expected your parents and Naoya’s to just burst from behind the nearby stairway to tell you this was all some elaborate test - before Gojo just explodes in peels of cackles. 

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I- hah!” he’s barely able to wheeze out, wiping away stray tears of joy. “You never change, huh-” 

It takes the embarrassed tapping of your feet for Gojo to finally straighten back up to his tall figure, muttering out a few more indiscernible phrases underneath his breath. Clearing his throat, “Now who said you’d ever be an ‘unfit wife’, sweetheart- Y’know I really didn’t believe Toji’s airhead comment but- oh-”

You land a half-hearted punch solidly in his stomach - and usually, you’d think twice, thrice before acting this familiar with anyone. Even then, you wouldn’t follow through underneath your mother’s watchful eye. 

Ah, but you’ve never smiled harder when you claim. “I think I won our first argument as a married couple.”

“Oh, can you do this f’me when I have an argument with Sukuna, next?” Gojo chuckles, wiggling his brows. 

He has to dodge your playful hand a few more times - well, he would have had to. But he’s taking them all gladly, pulling you by the wrist to press you flush against his chest. “But fine, you win. Maybe as a wedding gift we can consumm- I’m kidding I’m kidding- follow me, I have the perfect idea.”

And you couldn’t not come with him, with the way that Gojo was eagerly dragging you through the town plaza and back into the now-empty tavern, where you’d remembered had a grand piano nestled away.

Gojo’s pulling out the seat for you, before promptly taking his own flush beside you. Nudging you with one of his shoulders, he starts up a beautifully haunting few lower notes. Delicate. “You don’t have to play, you can listen if you’d like-”

“Hey, I know this one.” you’re gasping, eyes lighting up with the recognition of that familiar somber from the Zenin house. But something about it this time felt so right. 

Before you know it, your hands are moving faster than you can hold them back, joining Gojo in his sweeping melody on the higher notes. It rings in the air around you two, jostling your body up against his. 

“You know it.” he breathes, such a brilliant grin making way onto his pretty features when you two continue your little duet. And you swear you could hear him suck in a sharp inhale before playing even harder on the keys - a challenge.

And you were never one to back down. 

“Heh, you’re not half bad-” But his own little boast gets cut off by Gojo’s half-skeletal wrist snapping off, twiddling up, up, up the grand piano and on its merry way around your shoulder. “Pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”

You help him reattach it back, an interesting quirk of being half-dead, you suppose. “I like your enthusiasm.”

There’s a slow, stuttering silence that echoes afterwards, and you’re shivering from the slightly cold bite of the underground. Gojo wraps his full arm around your shoulder this time, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he was still bone-cold. 

“How…” he gulps, barely meeting your eyes. “How did you know that song?”

But you couldn’t tear yours away from him, “Oh? That song? Well- before I uh- married you, I was actually engaged-”

His pretty lips fall slack, “Oh…”

You’re not sure why you hasten to explain yourself, “B-but he was a prick- and I threw a wine cup at him just before coming here.”

“That’s my girl.” Gojo winks, and you’re feeling your skin heat up.

“Anyway, this song was to be played at the wedding. So my mother made me memorize every single note- she failed to tell me it was a duet, however.”

“It was.”

Something about those two words comes out breathless, barely hanging on. And you’re biting your bottom lip ragged before the question escapes you, “You were engaged, as well? Before- as a prince- I mean- oh, forget-”

To your surprise, Gojo only chuckles - deep voice breaking ever-so-slightly at the very end. His fingers glide across the piano with a familiar sadness that you can’t quite pinpoint. Chest rumbling, “Well, it’s just as the others said. We were meant to run away together, but your dear ol’ husband here died just before we could.” 

You’re swallowing the lead that’d seemed to piled up heavily in your throat, still afraid to push too far. “And the- the bride? What happened to her?”

“I…don’t know…she probably saw I wasn’t there and went back, had a happier life with a more deserving husband- children, even.” He looks towards the perpetual night sky, Adam’s apple bobbing heftily. “It’s funny- today’s a hundred years since that day.”

Something hurt. And your chest churned at the thought of him waiting and waiting in the darkness for years. For someone.

“You loved her?”

He looks at you - really looks at you - and then down at the gleaming locket. “I love her. And I made a promise, I wait for her - in life and death.”

Something really hurt - and it wasn’t just that hollow, aching burn in your chest. No, your head was now throbbing with such a splitting pain that you can’t help but grab your temple with a yelp. Eyes scrunching shut with tears, trying to down out that drilling thrum. 

“Shit-” you’re hearing, foggy, like it was in the distance. “Shit shit shit-” Big arms wrap around you, “Are you alright? Shit-”

The swinging pub doors slam-

“What happened?”

“The bride from upstairs-”

“She’s still here?! She already dead or what?”

More and more voices are joining in - and you’re not sure if you’re thankful that they drown out that harrowing thunder of blood in your ears or angry that they’re making it ache more deafeningly in response. 

“Please- space.” Gojo’s stern command rings across the plaza, for a moment of clarity you’re thinking that he’d make the perfect leader of sorts. The perfect prince. “My wife needs space, and you all will leave-”

Nanami’s strict tremor was distinguishable anywhere. “What she needs is to go back upstairs, Gojo.” Another pair of rough hands grasp your shoulders, and you hear a growl from above you. “With fresh air, with her kind. I don’t know what fantasy you’re playing out but she needs to be back with the breathers, down here isn’t good for her.”

“But-”

Just at that unfortunate moment, your head wracks with another painful burst, making you cry out. Clinging onto Gojo’s soft jacket for dear life. 

“But she’s my wife.”

Everyone goes quiet. 

You were sure he was crying now, and oh how badly you wanted to reach out and comfort him. But, instead, Gojo’s the one soothing a hand down your back, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deep, grounding gasps by the chain of your locket, “N-nanamin’s right- we- I have to get you back.”

Your eyes shoot open, “What- no-”

“It’s for your own good.” Pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, “Trust me.”

“But-”

“Please?”

---

Gojo Satoru had spent so long in the darkness, that he’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.

Even more so when you were by his side. 

“Oh…” And despite not having a beating heart, he swears he could feel it racing at the crisp scrunch! of freshly fallen snow underneath his polished shoes. Arms immediately wrapping around your waist, twirling you to him, “How I missed the beautiful upstairs.”

You’re giggling, batting your lashes up at him. “Well, you’re not doing much sightseeing right now, are you, Gojo?”

“Please.” He rests his icy forehead against yours, waltzing you slowly around the clearing. Your first dance. “Call me Satoru, I would like to part ways having heard my name on your tongue once, than not at all.” 

And ah, it hurt him more than that dull, spreading pain of death to simply see your expression crumble. Lower lip wobbling when you whisper, “Do we have to?”

It’s as if that tiny tremble in your voice jolts him back to his senses, and he’s letting go of you as if you burned. Turning his back so that you won’t see him swipe underneath his dampening eyes, “We do.” he nods solemnly. Still gazing out through the barren trees, the snow breaking in. “But I would…if you’d like- I would really like you to say my name just once.”

Nothing - not one of your quipping insults, not even one of your sweet, sweet giggles. Gojo could barely even hear that shallow breathing of yours. 

“My love?”

Nothing.

Gojo whirls around, “My love?”

Nothing. 

---

“Let me go let me- go-” you spit, voice dripping with a deadly growl that should decidedly not be used in front of your future in-laws. But you didn’t give a fuck right now. “I will never- ah-”

Unceremoniously, you’re thrown like a mere debris in front of Dutchess Zenin’s gold-tipped boots, hands splaying out against the cool marble to dredge up some ounce of balance. You look up into her burning glare, hissing, “I will never marry your son.” 

But it’s like you’d never spoken at all.

She’s turning to Naoya, stood proudly behind you, holding back his snickers. “Ah, my son-” Reaching her arms around to brush off the soft pattering of snow down his coat. “-I see you’ve brought your wife back.”

“Of course, mother.” he’s humming. “Had to walk all throughout that crummy forest until I saw her-” At this, he’s turning towards your parents, who could only watch from the sidelines. “-with another man no less- well, can’t quite call him that if he didn’t even see his woman being dragged off into the dark.”

Dutchess Zenin cackles,and the sound makes you grit your teeth. “That other man is my husband-”

“What?” 

It’s your own mother speaking this time - eyes widened. Fuming. She comes up to you in a few urgent, sharp strides, grabbing at the now-torn and frayed edges of your gown. “What nonsense are you speaking-” Sneaking a glance at your father, “Our daughter seems to have lost her mind, dear.”

He’s just a bit more gentle - cautious, almost. As if confronting a cornered wildcat when he ruffles through your pockets for the ring. Finding none. 

You’re wrenching yourself away, “I’m fine- but father, listen- I was practicing my vows in the forest-” Every eye was on you know, and oh you’ve never felt more of a spectacle. “-and I put that wedding ring on a tree root- and it- it came alive and oh- he was a groom. A beautiful corpse groom-”

“That trip to the forest must have bogged up her mind- yes yes, she must be imagining things.”

“Of course, but the wedding…poor dear-”

“The only thing she’s good for is the money.” Dutchess Zenin gruffs, tired of hiding her disdain. “And maybe a free trip to the hospi-”

“The wedding will take place.” Naoya cuts in gruffly, snapping his fingers at a nearby attendant and pointing at you. “Call the officiary, and as for my future bride, I don’t care if you must force her into that wedding dress, I don’t care if you have to drag her here - she will marry me one way or the other. Now.”

It’s like you’re a puppet - their puppet. Being rapidly walked and bathed about, dolled-up in a white, silken wedding dress that you could never see yourself standing in next to him. 

It fits you like a glove, attuned to your body as if it was made for you - and you almost hated how beautiful it was, adorned with tiny silver inklings and the most delicate of lace. Made with too much love to be borne out of this dreary household, but when you turned to ask your jittery handmaiden about it, she’d only cryptically answered about “the dress being with this family for a long, long time.”

No one here seems to give you answers.

Or grace.

Or anything but locked windows that you crack a nail or two attempting to open and flee and a long, decorated aisle to walk down to your future husband. Naoya. 

Your throat tightens when you’re stepping back into that hallway - now flourishing with bouquets of blue, blue baby’s breath, and twinkling candles. It was almost colorful, for this town, at least.

You shudder out a teary sigh when the tender piano starts up again - the exact same tune you’d played with Gojo. But cold. And suddenly, you’re realizing that you never asked him how he knew the song.

“Pssst! Walk!” Your mother’s high-pitched hiss is enough to snap you out of your little reverie, glassy eyes snapping up to look at her urgent signal to hurry up.

And so you walk, but not to the one man you wanted to.

Naoya’s smirk lies as smugly as ever when you take your place beside him at the altar, poised, and perfect in his pressed suit, his glinting sword. Whispering snidely from the corner of his mouth. “Smile a little, it’s a wedding after all.”

You keep your gaze trained firmly on the officiary starting his speech, “Perhaps in disappointment, we are perfectly matched.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this bride in holy matrimony-” Gesturing a wrinkled hand at Naoya, “You may begin first.”

He raises his hand in a solemn oath, razor eyes boring relentlessly into yours. Voice dangerous, humming. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” This time, he was pointedly the one to pick up that cup on the altar table - a steady, unbreakable metal this time. “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” 

Your trembly fingers wrap around the bottle of wine, starting to slowly pour. “With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty for I- I will be…”

Shit.

Shit, you can’t do it. 

Your words struggle to come out, and you could burn in the sheer anger already wafting from Naoya. 

“I will- I will be-”

“How scandalous to marry an already-married woman~!”

The gasp that echoes throughout the hall is almost as deafening as the booming crash! of those towering, mahogany doors being swung open. Clattering against the walls so hard that your teeth chatter with vibration - but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it because you’re too awe-struck by what was standing in front of you.

Or more accurately, who. 

“Satoru!” The tears are falling hotly down your cheeks, you barely have the patience to lift up your layers upon layers of gauzy skirts before stumbling your way into his arms at the very end of the aisle. Ready. Ever-loving. Catching you easily like he’d been waiting a hundred years for this very moment. 

“I thought you left me waiting.” he breathes.

“I would never- and- and you’re here.” 

“Mhm–”

You can’t help but let out a laugh, “How did you even know where to find me?”

“Our duet- there would be no other but this house that would know it-” He wraps his arms even more snugly around your waist, white locks tickling your nose. “And you did promise to lift my sorrows, what type of husband would I be if I didn’t do the same?”

“You. You- What- what is the meaning of this?” Dutchess Zenin’s squawk tears through your little moment, she’s whirling into a furious stand, fists clenched. “Married woman- husband? You’re dead!”

Gojo remains calm, sapphire eyes narrowing, “I am.”

But the ever-composed woman you’d feared for so long was now running her mouth a mile a minute, half-ripping out chunks of hair in frustration as the officiary held her back from storming her way towards the two of you. 

“You’re dead you’re dead you’re dead-” she screeches, and even Naoya could only watch with his mouth fallen. “You’re dead- my family made sure of that-”

She stops short, mouth opening and closing in a gasp until you breathe, “M-made sure?”

“Yes-” She’s fighting against the hold, still muttering to herself maniacally. “Shit- we made sure to- oh god why- do we have to kill you all over again! Your wretched Gojo royal family is wiped out- I still- I still have the power, the riches- All because we left you-”

“For dead.” he whispers. You’re too shocked to gasp - to do anything but look up at his reaction. “But she came back to me.”

“Her? This one- Once more you found that insignificant little-”

And at this very moment, Naoya just bellows in a guttural scream, everything his mother was restrained from doing with how he’d closed the gap between you two in a few urgent seconds. One hand wrapped roughly around yours, “I don’t care- You forget she was engaged to me first.”

“She’s still my wife.” Gojo spits. 

“Not if you’re-” Naoya’s unsheathing his sword haphazardly. Swinging. “Dead!”

Schwing–!

It would have been sure to hit you. 

Would have been sure to gravely injure your side - if Gojo hadn’t deftly moved himself squarely in front of you, that is. The sharp blade slicing right through his ribs - yet, he still smiles. “You forget I already am.” In one, fluid motion tackling the sword to holt at its bejeweled hilt - pointed right at Naoya’s chest. “Let go of me and my wife, before you join me.”

It’s silence.

Silence and the smell of fear. Sour, and saturated when Naoya’s stepping away, one unsteady foot after the other-

“I will ruin you as my ancestors have, Gojo brat-”

Dutchess Zenin.

Your body moves before your mind - before any form of thinking, as if on instinct. Yet, you already knew what was coming. 

And soon enough, you’re standing in front of a stunned Gojo, face splattered with the red, red wine in her silvery cup. Drip! drip! dripping down your stained lips and onto the marbled floors. 

But something about it tasted bitter. 

Different.

.

.

.

And all of a sudden - you see dark.

“Poison! By gods, the wine was poisoned!”

“How will the wedding go on?”

“No- no no no I just wanted to her sick- to get her will–shit-”

“My love---listen----hear--me?” 

In the foggy distance, you could hear girlish, high-pitched screams that sounded strangely like Naoya’s, and the familiarly dark chuckle of- Sukuna? Sounding ready to pounce on fresh meat. “Heheh, new arrival - and some unfinished business, huh?”

“S’Toru–” you’re whispering, eyes blearily. Heart cold. Suddenly, everything about you was cold. And the only thing you could register right now is the fact that you were still in his arms - always was. “Toru- am I- where am I?”

“You’re here, sweetheart.” he gasps, big fat tears splattering onto your face. The only sense of warmth that you could feel, other than the one in your no-longer-beating heart. And you can’t help but wonder - can a heart be broken even when it stops beating? Because he was living two deaths now - his own - laying there poisoned with wine so long ago on the forest floor, with only the Zenin’s to watch, and you to wait for him much later - and most importantly, yours. “You’re- you’re here, with me.” He places a sweet, sweet kiss onto your lips. “Rest now, I’ll wait for you. I promise- I promise.” 

And through your hazy vision, the only thing that you could quite see was that silver locket you’d never thought to look through, out of fear - sprung open. Baring two grainy, clouded portraits - as good as a photo. 

Of him 

And…you. 

“I’ll always wait for you, in life and death.”

---

“Hey- Toru–” your voice rings out in Gojo’s favorite song, peering curiously at the boyishly grinning prince. “Do you think I’ll be an unfit wife?”

He throws his head back with a cackle, peering through his long lashes from where he was resting his head in your lap. “What- no? Whatever makes you think that, silly girl?”

You’re settling yourself further down the young oak - your favorite little hiding spot ever since you’d introduced your secret lover to it. Grumbling half-jokingly, you thread your fingers through his soft, snow-white hair. “Well perhaps because someone refuses to help me do anything in preparation for tonight-”

“Shhh!” Gojo’s bringing a finger to his lips, glancing around over-dramatically. “You never know when my father will be jumping from behind the bushes.” At your amused laughter, “N’ besides, doesn’t matter if we’re going to elope, I’m not letting my wife pick up a thing.”

“What- no-”

“I’ll snag my wedding suit- and that specially-made dress for you heh- and get the attendants to sneak out some leftovers from the banquet. The Zenin family has just gifted some wine I know you’ll love.” 

Craning his head to press a slow kiss to your forehead, “We’ll drink, we’ll say our vows- you better have memorized them this time-” And another on your nose, “Then I’ll have you drunk in another way~ ow! Okay okay- don’t hit royalty–! And run away to our happily ever after.” Then, finally, lingeringly on your mouth,“Trust me.”

“But-”

“Please?”

You’re fiddling with the chain around your hefty, heart-shaped locket with a huff, finally caving in. “Fine- but then-” Deftly unclasping it, “-you have the responsibility of keeping this safe, too, I have to teach piano to the little ones in town again today, and if anyone catches me with a piece like this I’ll be hanged for thievery before ever getting married.”

“Our duet?”

“Our duet.”

He twirls that delicate pendant around his fingers, brows scrunching in half-seriousness. “I’ll protect it with my life-” Almost flinging it towards the end of the clearing in his haste to salute you, “Ah- pardon my enthusiasm, my love.”

“I like your enthusiasm, dummy.” you’re rolling your eyes at his antics. “But what if I’m late? The music lessons always take so long…”

“Just meet me here at our place - promise I’ll wait for you, of course. In life and death.”

You never did find out if Gojo Satoru waited for you.

You never found him that night - running late to the clearing, only to be met with no sign of him. Not that night. Not the night after. Night after night, you waited for him - watched as the Gojo royal family fell and the Zenin’s raided their palace, as the town started to grow and you stayed the very same.

With stray hope, even in your final ages, waiting for him and the marriage that won’t take place.

Not for a hundred years.

---

You’re waking up remembering the feeling of those cold, cold lips on yours. 

Finally, remembering.

“Sa-Toru-” you’re gasping, gulping in heavy lungfuls of air before you realize - you don’t need it anymore. Eyes startling open, you wince at the even the dim, heady lighting overhead. “I’m…”

“Dead.”

His words are gentle - just above a whisper, as if anything else will scare you off. But his words have the complete opposite reaction, in fact, you’re reeling him in so close by the silvery lapels of his weathered jacket. Wedding suit meeting your wedding dress.

You feel over his broad chest, and then over yours. Breathing out in awe, “I- I really am dead.”

Gojo’s wincing, running the soft pads of his fingers down your scalp. Massaging, “How- how do you feel, my love?”

Too-late you’re realizing that you’re splayed out on what seems like a plush, engulfing bed. Blankets upon blankets of velvety fabrics covering the surface, like someone had tried their very best to replicate warmth. 

“I think I feel…” you’re muttering, the very corners of your painted lips turning upwards at the way that Gojo was hanging onto your every word. Pretty mouth dropped into a soft oh! eyes wide and true. You just can’t help but drag him into the tightest embrace your joints could possibly handle. “-that I haven’t spent enough alone-time with my husband.”

He laughs - he laughs and laughs like he hasn’t before, like it’d been bubbling up in his throat for years and finally set free. 

“Oh, my love.” Gojo reveres, pressing a trail of hot kisses down the side of your face. Lingering in a languid lick where big, salty tears of yours were welling up. “We have all the time in the world- I just- just- do you remember?”

You’re pretending to think, leaving him careening at all your minute expressions. Finally cracking, “Of course, I remember- all of it, dummy-” Swatting his chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s gulping heavily, “I always knew that- that it was you the moment I saw your face- you look exactly as you did. Exactly as beautiful as the day I lost you, after all.” Cupping your cheek, “And oh, sweetheart, what a blessing it would be to marry you. But how could I ever tell you when you didn’t even remember me? How could I so selfishly ask you to throw away something so dear as life for me? Even for a promise?”

“I would have done it.” you’re pouting, brows scrunching. 

“Exactly.” 

“I waited for you, y’know. For years, until my death. No ‘deserving husband’, and no children.”

He gasps a tiny, meaningful gasp. And for all how Gojo loved to run his mouth, right now he only presses a sultry kiss to your forehead, “But in this life, or the last, or whatever comes next-” On your nose now, “-I’ll wait for you. Always have, always will.” Finally - yearningly - on your mouth, “In life and in death.”

Gojo kisses you like he’s been waiting a hundred years for it - and would wait a hundred more before he can again. 

Pressing one, two. Three steamingly hot, open-mouthed on your spit-glossed lips before moving to trail them down the underside of your jaw. Dragging his raw lips in a messy glide, he’s tittering when all it takes is one sudden bite at the soft spot on your neck to get you to jump. 

“Heh- you never change-” he murmurs into your heated skin, licking down the sting with a slow spread of his tongue. 

“T-Toru–” you’re managing to gasp out despite his relentless attack on your mouth. Making him wrench out such a pained grunt when you pull his face back ever-so-slightly to look into Gojo’s eyes. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Gojo can only cock his head in confusion, gaze still half-lidded and locked on your lips. 

“You’re forgetting your promise from all those years ago–” you’re dragging out in a honeyed-tone, giggling at the way his hulking body squirms impatiently. “-to consummate our marriage.”

And oh.

Oh, Gojo Satoru feels he’s dying six times over already. 

He feels like his bleary head is about to go into overdrive - as was the sudden tightening in his pants. 

“W-well then…” he’s rasping out, voice so ragged, dipping into a husky baritone that for a second you almost don’t recognize it. Two of his long fingers cup your face once more - rougher this time, making your lips squeeze together into an almost-embarrassing oh! “Open that mouth f’me, my love.”

You barely even realize it when you do - not until Gojo’s spitting a thick, translucent wad of his syrupy saliva right onto your lolling tongue. 

Nodding smugly when you’re taking him all, he’s swiping the curve of his thick thumb down that purposeful splatter on the corner of your lips. Because you knew the prince of a nation should have perfect aim, you knew he just liked seeing your dewy eyes flutter. 

Whispering hoarsely against your lips, “I ask you to be mine.”

“Yes-” you’re whining, your hands scrambling down the decadent fabrics of his suit. “Yes yes yes- please- n-need more, Toru-”

And the sound of that cute lil’ nickname you’d made for him in that sweetened tone makes Gojo’s entire body wrack with a violent shudder. Head throwing back, white lashes flickering shut- “O-oh, shit- shit you’re gonna be the death of me-”

But whatever little joke playing on your tongue just dissipates when Gojo’s shedding his outer coat off slowly. Bloodied, silken jacket hitting the ground- bloodied? You’ll have to ask about that later.

And then his mouth is on yours again - teeth clashing, tasting metal, his pretty lips wrapping around your hot tongue to just suck. Lazily, like his favorite candy. 

“So beautiful-” his words puff out in a feverish pant. Chest huffing - no, heaving - you can only keen when you feel something so hard and massive nudge up in a gentle kiss against your high. “So perfect–” The sodden curve of his achy tip dragging in a wet smear down your leg. “So mine.”

As soon as you’re blinking your dazed eyes back open, you’re hit with what looked like miles upon miles of Gojo Satoru. Curving muscles sitting prettily and casting shadow in the low lighting - it made you just drool. 

Shit, when did he even take his shirt off?

“Heh, already so needy, sweetheart?” He kisses up the glossy trickle, groaning into your mouth, “So cute–”

But, of course, you weren’t exactly one to be pushed around, either.

With a low purr, you cup that bulging tent right in-between his muscled thighs. Fingers skimming over inches upon inches of his girthy, solid shaft - he just gasps. “O-oh, you little minx- do you enjoy p-playing with my hngh- sanity?”

With a snicker, it doesn’t take you long to smudge the pads of your digits at that thickly spreading pool of precum. Glossing a thin sheen all the way down to your wrists with how fucking greedily he was throbbing at your touch. 

“F-fuck-” he’s hastily clearing his throat as soon as it breaks off into a pathetic whine. Hips bucking forwards in mindless, staggering gyrations into your hand like Gojo didn’t even realize what he was doing right now. “Fuck fuck fuck- honey, I-”

The neediest little grunts spill from his puffed-up lips, and he’s moving urgently - hastily, when sitting upright to all but rip that bejeweled belt off of his slender waist. Tugging his white pants down, down, down and-

Oh. 

“Fuck, Toru.”

Gojo was so unfairly pretty - all of him.

Even every single inch of his long, thick shaft, smeared with glistening precum sobbing out from his fat, round head. Blushed darker than the rest of him - matching his innocent cheeks right now. So hard it looked painful. 

Twitching over and over in saturated gushes coating his prominently throbbing veins, his tight balls. Your fingers. 

Wrapping tight around his flushed base, he was so incredibly big that you’re worried your fingers wouldn’t even close. Scratching up against those drenched tufts of cloudy white at his toned pelvis, the sight is enough to make you gulp. 

“Yes-” Gojo’s rasping, head thrown back because shit did it feel good to have your pretty lil’ fingers all wrapped around him. Hips stuttering up, up, up- “Yes yes yes- c’mon- c-c’mon my wife-”

Shit, those words spilling from his lips are enough to steer into such a loud moan, and he’s letting his jaw fall unhinged. Jaw-droppingly powerful back muscles flexing when he falls into a hunch, kissing wetly at your lips. 

“Tighter- squeeze ah, squeeze me at my tip-” Gojo’s babbling, drunken eyes so thoroughly locked on where you were pumping your fist back and forth. “Y-yeah hngh- and glide your thumb over just—”

You’re swiping the very tip of your thumb underneath that sensitive slit of his, the slightest touch enough to make him bawl out in a dripping sheen of precum. Reddening even more, his hefty girth in your hand jolts sensitively. 

“S-s’this–” you stagger out, wrist aching when you’re moving it faster. And faster. Ears ringing with the sloppy fap! fap! fap! of your fingers clenching around his thick, circular girth, the splatters of precum it’s forcing from him. Kissing gently down his burning shoulder, “S’this good, Toru?”

And god, how dare you even ask that?

With a sudden groan, he crashes his lips into yours again. Addicted. Growling against your whiny mouth, you’re flinching at the nip of his sharp canines. 

“Oh, yer perfect-” he’s blinking back big, fat tears from behind those glassy eyes. And the soft plane of his palms dance ravenously down your body - all your curves, your dips where your wedding dress was hiking up. But most importantly at your sopping wet cunt. “-so so- p-perfect- any harder n’ m’gonna make ya a pretty momma right now, right here.”

His words come out a burst - a beg. 

In that very heady moment he’s just bullying his thick digits past your soaked pussy - absolutely useless with how fucking translucent it was. Sticking to your sopping wet folds like a second skin that he wanted to rip off. 

“S-so oh!” Sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight of that tiny lace wrapped around his fingers, “Such a pretty cunt, wearin’ such a dirty lil’ thing, naughty girl- who was this for?”

And you couldn’t dare bear to wrench your lips open, to meet that dark glint in Gojo’s gaze. Hooded, such a slow, leering grin growing all over his face when the seconds tumble by. When your softened fingers falter around his length.

“Who was this for?” he’s echoing. “N’ no lying to your h-husband.”

“Toru-”

“Tell me, my pretty wife.”

“It was-” you’re mewling out, choking on your tiny confession when he slides his index solidly down the drippingly wet purse of your swollen pussy lips. Puffed-up and sensitive against where he was rubbing that cool metal ring against them. “-w-was for ngh- N-Naoya- but it was Dutchess Zenin that made me-”

Oh, but fuck - it didn’t matter who made you wear those sinful panties. 

Because it’s only taking Gojo Satoru a split-second to crane his hot mouth downwards and bite down on the very hem of your saturated panties. Biting the edge of your skin only slightly - before just tearing the fabric off with his very teeth. 

He takes a few seconds with his greedy gaze boring into yours, crazed. Canines bared glintingly around that tender lace, he just groans. 

Eyes rolling to the back of his head before spitting it out - and kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before. 

“H-hngh, Toru–” you’re moaning, your fingers half-cramping up with the way they were turning around his swollen cock. Swiveling around the heated bumps of his sensitive spots, the drag of your nails gently down his veins make him shiver. “Feels so- ah!”

And ah, for how much Gojo loved those saccharine sweet moans in your ear, how much he loved teasing you - he was hungry. 

Shoveling all the way into your gummy channel, until your puffy pussy lips were kissing his very knuckles, gushing out in spurts of wet slick down his wrist. Twirling those cold digits, so stark against how toasty you were inside. 

It made Gojo’s thickened tip twitch in your fingers, huffing out a humorless laugh when he was easily knocking against that bulbous bullseye of your g-spot. Pressing down. Hard. 

“Mhm—” he’s purring, nosing down the tender crook of your neck. “Tell me how it feels- hngh- gotta tell me- fuck oh fuck don’ squeeze me like that- ah-”

He’s just wrenching out the most dripping squelches with each rummaging pump into your melty cunt, your walls were just molding around his digits. Sucking him back in like you’re trying to milk out something delicious- fuck, how he wished this was his achy cock right now, instead.

Gojo’s biting down hard at that magical spot on your neck, sending shocks of electricity down your sluttily arched spine. “Can’t- hah- can’t take it anymore- shit- needa be inside you soon. Needa fill ya up soon.”

And he didn’t even have to tell you - you could feel it. 

Building up and up with every relentless such of his glistening fingers. Glossy. 

“Need to make you mine-” he’s gasping, heatedly. Tone cracking on almost a bawl, his hips are fucking into your hand like his little cocksleeve, up all the way from weepy head down to thwack into his pulsing base. Fingers bumping messily into his taut, twitchy balls - making Gojo’s mouth water. “Need to- hngh- need to make you cum! Please-”

Tears crinkling at the very ends of his doe eyes, after every single crash along your sweet spot. Thorough wet glides. “Please please please-”

And it’s whispered over and over like a mantra when you’re cumming - again and again, so hard that you didn’t even realize you’re reaching your high before your tight pussy clamps around his fingers. 

“Yeah- yeah yeah, cum all over my fingers.” He’s thrusting his fingers in and out so rabidly, hitting all your forbidden spots. Free hand pushing apart your quivering thighs even further, “Spread wide- heheh, yeahhh–”

Those sudden slurps sounded so thunderous in your ears, and your maw sags open deliriously in a higher-pitched ah! ah! ah! Grinding your hips down over and over in needy swivels, using him. Music to his ears, making his staggering erection just weep so dangerously- but he can’t cum. 

Won’t cum just yet. 

Not until he’s fucked you through each and every one of your peaks, not until your convulses are tapering out into nothing but tiny tingles. 

And then he’s dragging out his ruined fingers from your sodden cunt - out, out, out. Snapping delicate strings of the mess he’s made of your poor pussy, before pushing them through his lips rawly. 

“M-mmm-” he’s rumbling from the very depths of his broad chest, pecs heaving. And through your half-lucid gaze, you’re spying a silvery dribble of drool down the side of his lips. Moaning at the sweet, sweet taste. “Shit- shit, sweetheart-”

You can’t even react before he’s then spitting a steady stream of wispy saliva down to your sloppy hole, swirling it around with one of his thumbs. 

“Better let her know m’coming back for seconds later.”

You whine all brattily, your hips arching into the perfect buck upwards - which only makes him grin. “Heh- my greedy girl, if I waited one hundred years ya can wait a few seconds.”

It’s so admonishing - and Gojo has never told a bigger lie. 

Because he’s the one that’s so painfully impatient right now, angry cock spewing out a few more velvety waves of precum down your gleaming palm. A low string of profanity rips from his throat, and he’s just diving his hands around every inch of your body he could reach.

Deftly untangling those tedious ties at the back, “Damn these little- forgot how many ribbons I fuckin’- ordered-”

In split-seconds, you’re being flipped over with one fluid push of Gojo’s biceps, sinking your front into the royally soft mattress. You felt like you were in heaven.

“Toru–” you’re whirling your head over your shoulder to admire just how much his biceps flex. Twitching with each eager rip down your bodice. Shaky fingers tightening on the silken sheets, “H-hurry up-”

“Easy there, my love.”

It’s ragged, breathed hotly against your ear, and suddenly Gojo’s resting every bit of his body weight on top of yours to pin you down helplessly onto the bed. Holding your squirming hips captive onto one rough hand attached to them, “Arch jus’ a bite more- please- fuuuck like that yeah-”

He’s taking the opportunity to fling your wedding dress down easily, bunching it somewhere towards the corner of the bedroom - right alongside your bra and inner layers. 

You’re gasping - stunned. 

“Don’t l-look at me like that, I’ve had one hundred hah- years to practice this exact moment with my hand n’ imagination-” 

And then Gojo’s gasping, he’s snapping his eyes open, he’s heaving out the most whiny call of your name when you push your hips back in a wet slide against his painfully hard cock. 

Your folds smacking wetly against his shaft, dragging in a dripping trail along his veins - and shit, Gojo really underestimated how fucking hot you’d feel against his cock. How readily awaiting when his slender hips rut down in a furious push and pull. “This is long overdue.”

“Hey!” you jut your spit-sheen lower lip out when he’s rudely smacking away your hand from the clasp of your locket. “Wha’s that for?”

“Keep it on.” Gojo nips at your earlobe.

And then he’s spitting you open - he’s pushing in. 

Inch by fucking inch of his swelteringly hot cock being shovelled into your gooey cunt, stretching out your snug walls to their limits. Pulled taut. Barely giving an apologetic kiss to the side of your head before Gojo’s circling one big beefy arm around your hips, easily tilting your entire body upwards for him to surge his hips even deeper. 

He gasps, he shudders at the faintest of your wet clenches. “C’mon-c’mon c’mon c’mon- a-ah- you can take it please- please take it f’me.” 

How could you not?

Because every one of his tiny, shallow grinds just to fit in have your mouth dropping further and further open cockdrunkenly. 

“Please-” your hands fist at the plushy pillows, the headboards, craning behind at Gojo’s neck. “Fuck me h-harder, Toru- I can-”

“Ohhh- you play a hah- dangerous game.” He swipes away the stray hairs on your forehead, kissing at your sweat-slicked forehead. “My beautiful bride- my beautiful, beautiful bride - ah- almost makes me wanna m-make you more.”

Just that split-second of sultry shock is enough for Gojo to push in fully - all the way until your thighs sting with the sudden thwack! of his hefty, cum-filled balls, your folds kissing up against his thickened base.

He’s hissing when his achy, rounded tip recoils ever-so-slightly against the spongy mess of your cervix, hitting it relentlessly in harsh jackhammer. Spearheading his fat cock to massage up against all your sensitive spots in a more dizzying way than even his fingers could. 

“Wh-what do you m-mean-” They’re falling from your mouth as hastily as Gojo can pump you stuffed full of his cock. Not even easing into it, starting up a sloppy cadence. “-b-by–”

“Awww, don’ hngh- p-push yourself, my love–” he’s simpering out. But oh his hips were speaking a completely different language from how soothing your husband’s tone was, one hand curling deftly around your throat to reel you in even harsher in sudden swats against his ever-pushing hips. Twirling around the chain of your locket, “What I mean is…”

Both of your half-lidded gazes are downturned to where he feels for that tiny nudge at about halfway down your stomach. Drawing an imaginary line about halfway through, before splaying down all five digits. Hard. “-that m’gonna make ya a pretty momma as well as my pretty wife.”

This little confession is followed by a particularly hard slam! from Gojo’s end, and you dart your hand out to grasp desperately onto the wooden headboard. 

Crying out, “Is- is that even possible, Toru?”

But the only actual response that Gojo can give - that he thinks himself capable of giving right now, with how mind-numbingly your pretty pussy was milking any rationality out of him - is a breathless chuckle. His head throwing back with a whimper, brows knitting together. “I don’t know hah! Haven’t got a fuckin’ clue- but that doesn’t mean m’not gonna fucking try–”

And he was fucking you into the mattress just like it, well and fully intent on breeding your tight cunt. Jostling the locket at your chest with rough, reckless abandon. Every sodden drag down your slobbery walls having those dreams from a lifetime ago about your happily every after playing through his mind.

You, with your drooling pussy painted all white with his potent cum, making such a mess of him that he just has to do it all over again, of course. 

You, all round and glowing - full of him, his heir. 

You, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes - another, tinier set held delicately in your hands. His hair, and your smile. Everything that he’s ever wanted in life and death. 

Stupidly. Pussydrunkenly. 

“Oh oh-” Gojo’s groaning, the sudden bump of your fingers against the sensitive curve of his balls making him jolt back into his reality. His heavenly, heavenly reality. “Aww, have I b-been neglecting you, my love?”

No, you want to scream - but you can’t. 

Because he’s only hiking up a powerful thigh to pressurize his harrowing rams with even more power, and you could feel every flex and ripple of his washboard abs. The spatter of pearlescent beads of sweat setting in with fatigue. 

But Gojo wouldn’t listen in the first place, couldn’t even think of anything that didn’t stem from his achy cock pummeling into you. 

Messily, he’s swiping at those fingers of yours that were currently reaching for your angrily puffy clit, aching for more more more- 

Giving a mean little smack onto where your sensitive nub was drenched in all your sweetened juices, it sends bolts of electricity all over your body. Clinging your gummy walls around his girth so tight. 

“This what y-you wanted?” he rasps by your ear, drawing slow, determined circles on the very peak of your clit. And when that doesn’t have you crying out all prettily for him the way he wanted - Gojo just tugs. Unapologetically. “Tell me- ngh- tell me how it feels, fuck- can feel this cunt gettin’ so soaked-”

“Yes-” you’re sobbing out. Hips now aching with the burn of pushing back into his unrelenting hips - it hurts almost. The sting of his skin against you, the hard collision of his fat head against your cervix. But you want more. “Y-yes feels so good, Toru- need more hngh- need you t-to…”

“What?” he’s spitting. Wild. “Tell me, sweetheart- please- please-”

And, hell, Gojo Satoru wanted to hear so badly that he’s just slowing his hips down every so slightly to let you catch your breath. To answer. 

But what he was actually blessed with was another one of your long, drawn-out whines. Grumbling ever-so-slightly as you jolt your hips back with every one of the thorough swivels of his fingers on your clit. Toying. 

Fucking back harder than ever into his rock-hard dick, the locket just slams it’s cool branding onto the heated skin of your chest-

“Need you to f-fill me up-” you mutter wetly, nothing more than a few gurgles wrenched out when his clashing head French-kisses your g-spot. Drawing wet glides of his steamy precum down it. “-make me a hngh- m-momma, Toru-”

Oh, this might just be his third death ever. 

Because the bed creaks riotously with every one of his ragged rams, in a way that made you glad for the ever-present music of this town. 

Over and over.

“Yeah- shit, gonna make you a p-pretty momma-” he’s babbling away, a mile a minute. So sloppy that you’re barely able to understand what Gojo was saying. “Fill you- up- ngh- so they’ll look at you and see me. All me- all pretty and r-round- me me me- oh—”

Right now, Gojo didn’t give a fuck if his little dream was even possible. He didn’t give a fuck if his moans were turning into whimper, staggering thrusts trudging into the sloppiest of grinds. The neediest. 

Because right now you were cumming. 

That rapid throb of your clit increasing twofold when you’re finally plummeting into your high, wave after wave of pleasure that he fucks you through with heavy pound after pound. 

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, toes curling, flashes of white flitting behind your firmly shut eyes. Fuck, it felt so good. 

And your fingers clench hard around where they were still firmly stationed on the headboard to keep at least an ounce of your sanity. Intertwining with- Gojo’s when he slams his hand down hard enough that the entire bed shudders. 

Or maybe that was just him - because so was he. 

“F-finally-” Gojo’s hiccuping, angling his head just right to be able to catch your pretty lips in what could barely be considered a kiss. Just a sloppy suck of your tongue while he pumps you snugly full of sloshing loads of his cum. “Wan’ed this for- so long- finally hngh- consummate- you- most beautiful ah momma-”

His whines were nonsensical at this point, only growing more and more so with each velvety ribbon of cum being poured around into your tight pussy. You could feel it swashing about your soft walls with every one of your hard, convulsing clenches, painting your insides over and over again in a second, sticky skin of his seed. 

“Yeah- fuck fuck fuck, yeah Toru- hah- m-more-”

And just when Gojo thought the almost-painful clenches of his heavy balls were coming to a close, just when he thought his thick streams of voluminous cum were stretching out into thinner wisps - you have to go and say those syrupy sweet words. 

Fuck. 

He’s gasping, locking his finger with yours even harder on the headboard, “Gonna- ngh- gonna be the death of me I s-swear–”

Oh, and then you looked at him with that fucked-out smile of yours. A sight he’s gifted to see. Humming, “In life and in death, r-remember?”

Bang! 

The headboard crashes down onto the floor. Your back is hitting the now utterly drenched sheet below you before the realization hits you. 

In nothing but a split-second, Gojo pulls out his dangerously twitching cock to manhandle you flatly onto your back. Swiftly, he throws your legs over the curvaceous deltoids of his sculpted shoulder, easily bending you down, down, down into half.

Into the meanest mating press possible.

Dredges of thick, hot cum just ooze down your sopping slit, spreading in a milky circle underneath you. And slobbering down Gojo’s swollen hilt as soon as he plugs himself back in - immediately.

The very divot at the end of his cock quivering - for only a split-second before bursting out in streams of more and more cum. Overflowing. Overspilling out of you.

And he can’t help but glide an open palm over that tiny inflation beginning to form where he’d drawn a line just earlier. One hand pressing down on it hard, the other tweaking at your clit to make your walls clench. 

“Oh f-fuck yeah–” Gojo stutters at the glossy coating of his own seed all around him. Reveling in the toasty feeling again and again until his poor, overworked cock can only sputter out wispy strings of nothing. Shooting blanks. “Gonna breed ya- make ya all round and and- ngh full until you c-can’t take anymore. Until we hahh- have that happy ending y-you wanted.”

You mewl when he’s licking away those glistening tears rolling down your cheeks, “-happy ending w-we wanted hngh- Toru–”

“Yeah-” he chuckles. Pecking at your lips with that salty sweet taste on his tongue, “We wanted. It’s why I didn’t reincarnate like you, my love, unfinished hngh- business here s’to spend a long, long and happy marriage with you, y’know?”

You bat your lashes in sweet disbelief, “That’s- that’s mine, too.”

Ah, he reels you in even closer into his arms. Snug. Ever-loving. Seemingly like he’d never let you go ever again - couldn’t bear to. 

He nuzzles against that now-open locket, eyes peering down at those bleary paintings of you two, as loving as if they were taken just today. And in the back of his fried mind, he makes a note to take newer photos for later. Fingers tracing their familiar pathway to press down on the outer edges of the metal - in only the way he knew how, in the way that you should have been taught all those years ago, but was never able to. 

“Then-” His eyes light up as they always did whenever it came to you, when the tiny mechanisms on the locket open up to reveal a delicate, gorgeous ring. Strangely matching his own. Gojo doesn’t think he’s done anything easier in his life when he slides that ring onto your finger, fitting so perfectly. Not even when he was waiting for you, not even when he’d taken care of Naoya in a way that left his coat spattered and stained with red. “-we’re both lucky.”

It’s only after a few soft, lingering kisses that Gojo finally pulls away - like it hurt to.

And it did, sensitive shockwaves erupting down his overwhelmed length. But none of that shows above his drunken grin when Gojo’s shuffling down the bed, all the way until his hot breath was puffing up feverishly against your sloppy cunt. 

Messy. Drooling.

Making such an utter mess on his tongue when he lets it loll out, swiping up the gushing creamy dredges with a long lick. It was so filthy, dribbling down the sides of his mouth, onto his pinkish tongue-

Just a tease for more. 

“Because I keep my promises, my wife.” his murmur wraps all around your thrumming clit. Tongue swirling a milky gloss all over his pert, raw lips. Only wanting more. Waiting. “In life and in death.”

A/N. THIS- THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE N’ GOT ME IN MY FEELSSSS. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ursuguru]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒, fetishes & turn ons . . . 𝐎𝐇 𝐌𝐘 .ᐟ

⭑ SYNOPSIS [ wc﹐893 ] gojo, geto, toji, sukuna & what i think some of their kinks would be.

⭑ CONTENT [ mdni﹐dead dove ] afab! reader. oral (f), overstimulation, p in v, begging, teasing, praise & degrading, cockwarming, slight somnophilia, daddy kink, nippleplay, consensual non con.

GOJO . . . enjoys overstimulation, especially when it comes to giving you head. your clit is already sensitive to the touch, so much so that he cannot place a finger on your bare clit without you gasping and squirming, shooting sensations pulsing from that area. he has to rub you over your clitoral hood, so that there’s at least a soft, cushiony barrier between your most sensitive parts, and his roughened thumb; but when it comes to his mouth, it’s just heavenly. the way he laps you up, tongue peeking into your hole as deep as it will go, pushing in a finger as his mouth works on your clit, sucking and swirling. after a bit, you start to get overwhelmed, the sensations coming from your abdomen making you squirm almost out of his grip. “mmhnnn.” satoru shakes his head slightly, wrapping strong arms around your already shaking thighs. “please, no more, i can’t take it.” you plead with him, just before his mouth releases your clit with a wet and sloppy ‘pop’ before telling you, “you’ll take as much as i want you to. you’re mine.” viciously sucking at you until you’ve came, again and again.

GETO . . . likes cockwarming. sometimes it was while he was on the game, noticing you walking around the house in damn near nothing, whistling to get your attention. he would pull his shorts down just enough, motioning for you to come sit on his lap. of course you had no issue with this, discarding your panties to go sit on his lap, with his cock buried deep inside of you. sometimes you would wiggle around and earn a harsh slap to your ass, or what he could reach of it. other times he was thrusting into you after losing, or even winning a match. you didn’t mind, as long as he was giving you attention. sometimes cockwarmimg geto was a little different, like when he is tired and needy, snuggling with you in bed. he can feel your ass pressed against him, and whether you were trying or not, you made him hard. sometimes he will pull off his shorts, sticking the tip against you and if you’re wet enough, it slides right in. you can hear him hum softly, settling in, feeling the warmth of your walls, he wraps his arms around you to sleep for the night. once he wakes in the morning, and realizes his cock is still hard and inside of you, he fucks you awake.

TOJI . . . has a daddy kink, ironically. it started off as just a joke, him calling himself big daddy, or telling you he was your daddy; and at first, you didn’t know how to feel about it, but weeks of thinking, and possibly some subliminal conditioning from your lovely, perverted boyfriend had changed your mind. “do it, slut.” he was hovered over you, tip of his cock pressed against your slick hole, teasing, but only enough to have you frustrated and almost begging. he wouldn’t put it in until— “say it.” he demanded of you, hand coming up to grip your soft cheeks, keeping your focus on him. you wanted to, but it felt so foreign on your tongue, saying it when you were alone just to get a taste of the word in your mouth. “daddy?” you finally let it slip, your voice light and airy, the word coming out almost as if it were a question. “that’s it, good. say it again, like you mean it.” less demanding this time, but he still wouldn’t put it in until he was satisfied, and he could tell it was bothering you. the way you wiggled your hips and tried your best to push yourself down onto his cock, but it was useless in that position, lying on your back you were helpless beneath him. “daddy please.” this time it sounded better, more natural as the words just fell off of your tongue, begging him to finally wreck you; to which he did, until you were a crying and cumming mess.

SUKUNA . . . likes cnc. he rather enjoys watching you squirm and cry beneath him, begging for him to stop. you’ve already established a safeword, and he always confirms it before going into a scene; knowing that if that word fell from your lips, he would stop immediately. “baby, what’s your safeword?” he asks you, and once you respond he begins to push himself onto you, feeling up your thighs, squishing soft skin and pushing his rough fingers between the warmth of them. “please..” you whimper, knowing it turns him on to hear you beg. he ignores you, his free hand pulling your tank top down to reveal your chest and already budding nipples. with his head dipping down to put one in his mouth, his other hand worked his way up your thighs and right against your panties. “please, stop!” you protest, gasping at the feeling of his teeth, nipping and sucking before releasing their grip, his fingers down below pushing past the fabric of lace, plunging themselves into your sweet dripping hole. “you know you want this, that’s why you don’t fight me.” the man snickered at your obedience, the way your hole clenched around his fingers when he spoke. “relax, enjoy this.” he hums, pumping his fingers in and out until you’re begging for him to let you cum.

© ursuguru 2024. do not copy.

[ofourlee]

megumi x reader

you nudge megumi softly, your head nestled against his chest, the warmth of the blankets making the quiet night feel even cozier.

“i want ice cream,” you whisper, your voice barely louder than a breath.

megumi groans, not bothering to open his eyes. “baby, it’s 1 a.m. you don’t really want ice cream right now.”

megumi’s arm tightens around you, as if to convince you to stay put.

but you’re not so easily deterred.

you shift, sitting up just enough to give him that wide-eyed, innocent look you know he can’t resist.

“i do, though,” you say, a playful pout on your lips. “please, gumi?”

he cracks one eye open, staring at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“first of all, it’s the middle of the night. second, you didn’t call me baby. third, we could literally just go tomorrow,” he mumbles, trying to close his eyes again, but you can see the grin starting to creep up.

you lean closer, resting your chin on his chest, your lips just inches from his.

“but it won’t taste as good tomorrow,” you tease, drawing out the words, “please, baby. i want ice cream now.” you bat your eyelashes dramatically, giving him that final, over-the-top pout

he sighs, dragging it out like he’s in real agony, before he finally opens both eyes. “you’re impossible,” he groans, tossing the blanket aside.

but before you can respond, he’s already reaching for his keys, muttering, “ice cream at 1 a.m. i can’t believe i’m doing this.”

you grin, unable to hide your excitement as you grab his hand, practically bouncing. “you love me,” you sing-song as you head out the door.

megumi chuckles, pulling you close as you step out into the cool night air. “yeah, yeah. lucky for you, i do.”

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.