#i hope he's somewhere warm and safe tonight

[fuwaprince]

I got TWO nice run up and spinny hugs from professor groovy today and I feel so happy 💖 he also gave me a little diamond and told me I warmed his soul. I'm putting the diamond next to the shiny pencil he gifted me

[freedomfireflies]

Our Place*

Summary: An extra for 404*

The one where Harry invites you back to his apartment for the first time and it doesn't go as planned.

Word Count: 1.7k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, breeding kink, angst (happy ending), use of a safe word

Harry’s apartment is nicer than you expected. 

The furniture is cozy, the décor is unique, and his bedroom is well kept. He even has fresh flowers on his kitchen table. 

It surprised you, even though it shouldn’t. Harry doesn’t seem like a dirty guy, but truthfully, you were still shocked to find he had both sheets on his bed and no clothes on the ground.

You take in the tiny details of his life as he kisses down your neck and slips his fingers into your jeans. He’d wrangled you onto the bed only seconds after you walked through the door. He didn’t want to give you a tour of the whole apartment. Just the bedroom. Which you were more than all right with. 

He’s oddly desperate, given the circumstances. Maybe he always is, but tonight feels different. Tonight feels…hopeful.

“Shit, Tink,” he groans into your ear when he feels how wet you’ve become. “S’this just because you rode my bike?”

You gently swat the back of his head. “Stop it.”

“What?” He noses under your jaw. “Felt you squirming back there, Princess. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice how you were trying to get yourself off to the vibrations?”

You wince. You didn’t even realize you’d been doing it. “I was not, I was just…the adrenaline was a lot—”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs and something about it sounds like honey. “S’fine, baby. You know I don’t mind.”

“Well…I wasn’t—”

“Sure. Can I fuck you now?”

You huff. “That’s why I’m here.”

He rips your jeans down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and somewhere onto the floor. The warm air feels good and it’s then that you realize he’s right. You’re soaked, all the way through your panties.

But instead of taunting you further, he only tugs them aside and pulls his cock out. 

“I think…” he murmurs as he lines himself up, “…it’s high time I got you pregnant.”

Your mouth falls open in a moan as he drops a glob of spit onto your clit and pushes in.  

You’ve noticed that his breeding kink makes an appearance more often than not these days. Which you aren’t exactly complaining about. After all, you have one, too. Mostly thanks to him.

But it surprises you all the same as he starts to work himself in and out of your tight cunt, whispering the filthiest promises. 

“Think I won’t do it, hm? I will. Swell this pretty belly with my cum. S’what it was made for, wasn’t it? To take me. Have my babies. Gonna stretch you so pretty…get your tits leaking. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, Princess?”

You try to respond but how can you? You feel as though you’ve been fucked dumb. Unable to hear anything past the pounding of blood in your ears.

His glasses start to slip down his nose. He almost always takes them off—they’re mostly for reading anyway. But you like the look of them. Like how studious it makes him seem...how scandalous.

So, you nudge them back up. Desperate to see him exactly the way he always is.

He smirks. “You all right there, Tink?”

You nod weakly. “Yes…yeah. M’fine.”

“Thinking about what I said?” He kisses down your chest. “Thinking about calling me Daddy for real? Having our babies?"

Our. A word you didn’t think belonged to you. Because Harry doesn’t belong to you. And you don’t belong to him. You’re two separate people. Even when you fuck, he’s in his world and you’re in yours. You weren’t meant to be an “our.”

You chalk this up to a slip of the tongue. Something you say when you're threatening to breed someone. And you choose not to give it any power. Because you know what happens if you do.

The fucking gets harder. Faster. He’s chasing a high. In fact, he's been chasing it since earlier in the bar when he saw you with another man. And you know he’s trying to hold off for you, but he wants to cum. He wants to paint your belly with his seed and fuck it back in. Wants to make good on his word even if he shouldn’t.

Your nails scratch down his back, damp and covered in sweat. But his muscles feel good in your hands and you whimper as you hike a leg over his hip and bury him in your pussy.

In your lust-filled haze, your attention drifts. Head rolling to the side as you focus on the soft grunts in your ear. 

But then, your eyes find something on his dresser.

Your heart stops.

In fact, everything stops. Your breathing, your noises, your gentle rolls to meet his thrusts.

It all stops. And you whisper, “Red.”

He quickly falls still. A rather impressive feat given how anxious he is to find release. From 100 to 0 in only seconds, and you almost feel guilty as you sense him glance at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asks through labored inhales. “What…what happened, what do you want me to do?”

But you don’t look back. You keep your focus on the piece of furniture in the corner of his room and you will yourself not to cry.

Eventually, he looks, too. And when he realizes, the air in the room shifts.

He lets out a soft sigh and drops his hand to your hip. Squeezing it once. “Tink…”

You say nothing. Tears are pooling behind your lashes and your chest feels tight. 

“Tink,” he tries again, firm. His grip tightens on your waist. “Tinkerbell—"

“She’s beautiful,” you breathe. You take in a soft gasp. “Oh, my god, Harry, she’s…she’s so beautiful.”

He’s quiet for only a moment. “Yeah. She was,” he agrees gently.

You can’t take your eyes away from the picture frame. The guilt is so much worse now than it was before. Your heart is in your throat, in your ears, lying on the floor next to your jeans. 

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. In his bed—their bed—fucking the man she died loving. While he promises to get you pregnant and give you his babies.

And how is he so calm? How the fuck is he looking at her picture while still inside of you instead of screaming at you to leave his apartment? How can he be okay with cheating on her with you?

“Princess,” he says again, and grabs onto your jaw to force your focus back to him. “Talk to me, what do you want me to do?”

Your lashes flutter. “What?”

“You said red,” he reminds you. “Which means we stop. But I need to know if you’re in pain or if I can pull out?”

It takes a moment for you to blink the fog from your mind and understand. But when you do, your stomach wrenches. “I…wait, shit, I…I want you to finish, I just…I saw her photo, and—”

“I know,” he interrupts softly. He gives you a gentle smile. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been there. But red means stop. And we’re gonna honor that. No matter why you said it.”

You whimper. “Harry, wait—”

“I’m gonna pull out,” he says, ignoring your plea. “And then we’re gonna talk—”

“Harry…Harry come on, you can’t—”

But he does. Even though he winces as slips himself out, teeth gritting together to keep from coming. 

But once he’s out, he delicately closes your legs, and sits beside you. “Okay,” he begins. He keeps your eyes on him. “What’s going on up there?” 

He nods at your forehead and you want to cry. “Nothing, I just…I…”

“You’ve never seen her before.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

“And you weren’t expecting to see her now,” he says for you. “Especially when we were fucking.”

You sniffle. “It felt like we were cheating. Like I was helping you hurt her. And then…and then I got worried that maybe you only brought me back here so you could pretend I was her. You know? With all the stuff about…about babies…and us, and…and—”

“Okay, breathe,” he instructs. He cups your cheek and presses his thumb to your trembling lips. “Breathe, Tink. Slow.”

Forced to obey, you suck in shallow gasps for air until your heart rate slows and your head doesn’t feel so dizzy.

Pleased, he says, “I know you’re not her, Tink. I don’t want you to be.”

Your expression softens.

“I brought you here because you’re the only person I want to see in the place she once lived,” he continues. His voice is strong. Steady. Like he’s given this far more thought than you anticipated. “After she died, I left it the same. I didn’t touch anything. Not the furniture she picked out. Not the dumb, cute little bowls she insisted we buy. Not the coffee pot that doesn’t work but she loved because she swore it made her coffee taste better. None of it.”

The tears fall down your cheeks, fast and without mercy. 

“I didn’t invite people over because I wanted to pretend she still lived here,” he tells you. “I wanted it to still be our place. Not just mine. And the thought of bringing someone else back here felt…wrong.”

You grab onto his wrist to keep his hand close and he smiles. 

“And then you,” he murmurs, dipping down to nuzzle his nose against yours. A display of affection you’d never expect from him. “And yeah, you’re annoying, and I hate you. But she would have fucking loved you.”

You nearly sob. 

“I want you here,” he says. “I want to talk about getting you pregnant and having our babies. I want to fuck you on this bed and I want to make you cry for a very different reason.”

You laugh through the tears.

“Look, I don’t believe in guardian angels and an afterlife and all that shit,” he admits. “But sometimes, I swear she sent you to me. And yeah, I probably should have moved the picture first. That was my fault, I haven’t had anyone in here in a while. But…you’re not her, Tink. You’re you. And that’s exactly who I want you to be.”

You can’t stop the next wave of emotion as you sling your arms around his neck and pull him close. He chuckles in your embrace but doesn’t fight you. He holds you, too. For as long as you both need.

“I hate you, too,” you finally whisper.

He smiles.

“Harry?”

“Mm?”

“…can we please finish now?”

He leans back to see you. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You kiss him. “After all, you promised to get me pregnant. And I can’t leave until you do, Daddy."

The groan against your lips is delicious and devious.

And it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

“As you wish.”

WHY DID THIS MAKE ME WANT TO CRY!!! ALSO HI I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!

Previous Part:

~ The one where Harry gets jealous (again)

~ Full 404 Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin

@justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda

@vamprry @fdl305 @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach

@lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana

@dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley

@myalovesharry @daphnesutton @love-letters-to-uranus @kirstiea05 @lovrave

@nuggetdean @triski73 @finelinesss

[bookyeom]

to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted. 

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you. 

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks. 

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse. 

Why are you here? 

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw. 

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down. 

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you. 

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this? 

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this. 

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to. 

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself. 

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him. 

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over. 

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t. 

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin. 

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together. 

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was. 

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited. 

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing. 

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over. 

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. 

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face. 

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.” 

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you. 

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him. 

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.” 

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven. 

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut. 

"Is that my sweater?" 

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back. 

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does. 

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?” 

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it. 

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back. 

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.  

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him. 

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out. 

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless. 

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out. 

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

[starlightandfairies]

Hiii 🫶🏼 I hope you're still up for doing an Elijah request! 🤗 I can't get this man out of my head haha

Soo it would be an idea where they met somewhere in Mystic Falls and immediately felt some bond between them, so it happens that they start falling in love (she's human but knows about vampires) but she's too afraid to get hurt so she also tries not to get too close to Elijah. One night he sees some stranger following her home from the Grill and even starts attacking her, Elijah is immediately there saving her and taking her home with him to treat her wounds (mostly some scratches) and he's just super worried. There she realizes that Elijah would never be the one hurting her and they finally share their feelings with a lot of kissing and cuddles afterwards and he holds her, telling how much she means to him.

Oh I hope this is not too weird at all 🙈❤️

Description: Upon meeting Elijah Mikaelson, the feelings start to come but in fear of being hurt, the reader decides to keep her walls up to protect herself. This changes after Elijah protects her after being attacked.

Warnings: fluff, small angst, physical assault (mild), she/her pronouns, maybe swearing?

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thanks so much for making this request! I can never get sick of Elijah, this man is always on my mind and please feel free to request again if you wish :) I really enjoyed writing this, thank you again :D

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 2,125

First Person's POV

Tonight at the Grill was a ‘live acoustics’ night, some of the performers were good and others were quite frankly not that great. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline were off on the next big adventure for the vampiric save-the-day business and while I knew about all the vampires, witches, werewolves and all that extra fun stuff. Besides Matt, I was the only human in the group and somehow I was pushed aside to be kept ‘safe; despite Matt always being dragged into the whirlpool of drama even if he didn’t want to be. 

“The music is wonderful for the atmosphere tonight, don’t you agree?” That voice would haunt my dreams, haunt my every thought, I couldn’t fathom how gentle and warm a voice could sound. I glanced to the side, shooting a polite smile to the impeccably dressed man and nodded in agreement. 

“I do agree, I feel like I’m in like a cute little romance story, the warm lighting and the music-“ I cut myself short, realising I was babbling to a random stranger who more than likely did not care for my ideas and thoughts. 

“I can see how you would see that.” Oh, gosh- those eyes! That smile! This man would haunt me forever, picture perfect and everything I would want in a man. I continued to share a polite smile with the man, fiddling with the straw in my chocolate milkshake and turned myself slightly to face the man a little better. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…?” Realising that he was waiting for my name, I placed my drink down and took his hand. 

“Y/N L/N” He softly cupped my hand, shaking it and proceeded to share his name.

“Elijah Mikaelson.” I wish I could’ve hidden my reaction better, my eyes went wide, and my smile flattened for a moment before I quickly made sure to continue to be nice and polite. Elijah carefully rested my head on the bar, took a small sip of whatever his drink was and gazed at me with a quizzical look. 

“You know who I am…” His tone was neither harsh nor hurt, Elijah seemed to have suspected my knowledge of his name and he even seemed curious by the idea of my knowledge. 

“I know of your brother Niklaus… Elena told me about you, I think she might have exaggerated a bit. You don’t seem like the antagonist she kinda painted you out to be. From what I’ve heard, you’re the nicer brother… the noble one and I'm sure first glances can be deceiving but… I don’t know- you don’t seem like a bad man.”  He briefly licked his lips, eyes shooting up to the ceiling and seemed to be contemplating his next moves. 

“I suppose you know-“ 

“That you’re a…” I leaned closer to whisper so people passing by wouldn’t hear. 

“An Original.” 

“You don’t seem to be phased.”

“Team doppelgänger has built up my immunity to supernatural beings.” I let out a weak chuckle, cringing internally and turned my focus back on my drink. I wanted to keep speaking with him, I really did want to keep speaking with him but I knew the world that I happened to live in and I didn’t fancy the idea of being bait or hurt as collateral damage. 

“It was really nice to meet you Elijah but I have to go.” He nodded, that handsome smile appearing once more, his actions made me gush and brought butterflies into my belly as he grabbed my jacket and assisted in placing it back on. 

“I hope that you have a good evening, Y/N” 

“Same to you Elijah.” He seemed to have a thought pop into his head, I stopped in my tracks, allowing for him to have the benefit of the doubt and give him the chance to speak his mind. 

“May I have the pleasure of seeing you again?” 

“Maybe… There’s always tomorrow.” I knew I had given myself away, I could feel my heart skip a beat, I’m sure he could hear it, his facial expression didn’t change but I could feel that he knew what I was feeling. 

“Have a good evening,” I whispered, brushing past him to carry on my way. 

+++++++

I had seen Elijah a couple of times since our first meeting, we had small conversations and I tried my best to conceal my heart, I didn't want to get close to this man despite enjoying his presence, his voice and the true appearance of his gentlemanly ways made me fall into a daydream greater than any story or dream I could ever have or read. 

The next time I saw Elijah was three months after our first meeting, as I said we had multiple different meetings and they were all the greatest moments of my life despite how much I tried to protect my fragile heart. I had left my home for the park, I wanted to read outside of my home and get some fresh air away from the stuffiness of my bedroom. I rested the picnic blanket underneath a large tree, I read three chapters of my book before I felt a presence looming nearby, I placed the book to the side and stood up, surveying the area for a figure and jumped in my skin seeing Elijah approaching me. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, may I join you?" I nodded, smiling at the man, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and sat down with me on the picnic blanket. He gently picked my book up, staring at the cover with intrigue, I observed him with butterflies growing in my stomach, a blush wanting to form on my cheeks as I continued to drown in what was possibly a huge crush for the Original Vampire. 

"Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi... I'm not sure I've heard of this one before." 

"I doubt you would've, I don't exactly picture you reading a book like this?" He smiled, tilting his head slightly, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth and he handed me back the book. 

"Why is that?" 

"Well... I don't know, I picture you reading older books nothing from the late 20th century to the early 21st century." Elijah briefly nodded in agreement, I smiled proudly at my guess and fiddled with the tassels hanging off of my bookmark. The vampire took off his suit jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his button-up, I bit the inside of my cheek, begging myself to remain calm and avoid giving away any kind of emotions being revealed. 

"Enlighten me, will you though, please? What's it about?" I cleared my throat, leaning closer to him with joy forming, giddy that he was showing interest in something that I liked and enjoyed. 

"It's the third book in the series, I've read it before, and this one is one of my favourites. Essentially the series is all about control some people have these powers and the leaders are trying to control these people. The relationship of the main characters is what I happen to enjoy the most about it, I love how Tahereh created their bond from..." 

"Why did you stop?" Elijah gently questioned, his face furrowing in concern, I wanted to cringe but I forced the words out before I could let that show. Taking a deep breath, I turned my gaze back to him, scrunching my face up briefly and proceeded to explain to Elijah what was going through my head. 

"Whenever I ramble on to the Salvatores and all that, it's clear that they don't care and I'm not wanting to force that onto you. I'm sorry." Elijah tutted, shaking his head and holding out his hand for me to take. Hesitating for a moment, I finally rested my hand in his, holding my breath for a moment and kept my eyes focused on him as he rested his other hand on top of mine. 

"You do that too often, Y/N, I can see you trying to protect your heart and you have a wide range of information waiting to come out and you shut yourself down because you expect everyone else to do that. I hope you find someone... someone who makes you realise you don't need to do that." 

"Could possibly end up being you, Elijah," I whispered.

+++++

When someone unknown came into Mystic Falls, it was always a concerning event, the vampires were always the most suspicious of strangers and most of the time they were typically right for not trusting the stranger. It was late when I left the grill tonight, Elijah was growing on my mind more and more, and I would be hit with a wave of memories at random moments. 

"Up ahead, there's an alley to your right, walk down it. Try anything-" 

"Okay... I understand." I whispered, complying as I walked a little quicker and turned down the alleyway. I cried out as I was instantly shoved against the wall, my head ached and the world spun around me, I bit back a sob as I hit the ground and hissed as the gravel bit into my skin. I kicked off my heels, not fancying a broken ankle and lept to my feet running towards the street but missed as the man tackled me to the ground and which resulted in blood slightly trickling down my forehead and more cuts forming against my skin. 

It felt like something out of a vampire movie, I heard a whoosh and then a light thud. Elijah appeared, holding the man against the wall effortlessly with one hand and easily compelled the man to walk off and not commit any sort of crime again. I let out a few sobs as the pain sunk in and the adrenaline started to fade away.

Elijah swooped me into his arms, effortlessly taking me to his mansion and rested me down on his obnoxiously large bed. He crouched down, gently cupping my face in his hands, observing my facial features and swiftly disappeared somewhere before running back. 

"Are you okay?" He questioned, focusing on grabbing the things from the first-aid kit to treat my wounds. 

"I'm okay..." I whispered, hissing as he wiped an alcohol wipe across the graze on my palm and watched as he apologised profusely for inflicting any added pain onto me. Elijah was so attentive to my needs, he cleaned the blood and dirt away from my cuts and grazes. Covering them with bandaids, doing what he could to assist in caring for me. It was as he was lingering for a moment, observing my form that I realised that Elijah Mikaelson would never hurt me. He would never cause any harm to me, Elijah Mikaelson would protect me and I knew that I wouldn't need to worry any longer. 

"You wouldn't hurt me..." I whispered, staring at the vampire as he grasped my face and held eye contact with me. 

"Y/N L/N I would never dream of hurting you, you... you're perfect... Y/N you are the epitome of perfect, I haven't met someone as intelligent, kind, sweet, and funny in a long time. Y/N I love you and I hope that you'll allow-" I pushed myself closer to him, carefully cupping his face to kiss the man who had possessed my dreams too often. 

"Elijah, please, never let me go, I can't keep guarding myself-" 

"Shhh, I've got you." He kissed my forehead, pulling me into his arms and pushing himself to lay against the headboard of his bed. I inhaled, holding onto the warm and mesmerising smell of his cologne, I curled into his chest and hummed gently as he rested another kiss on my forehead. 

I felt protected, Elijah was my guardian angel, and he made me feel warm and gooey. Made me giddy and the butterflies a constant swarm in my belly, I fiddled with his hands, staring at the family ring that rested on his finger and glanced to him as he pulled my face to meet his. I hummed as he rested a kiss against my lips, sucking in another deep breath and curling in closer as he strokes my hair, his touch comforting and loving. 

"Can I stay here? Just in your arms? Where I'm safe and with you, you Elijah who looks after me and takes the time to listen and know me?" Elijah's smile made the butterflies come to life, my cheeks flushed red and his simple words reassured me for an infinity of time. 

"Always and forever." 

[v1x-x1]

✧𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏: 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞 - 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮✧

✧|| 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ||

✧|| 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 ||

“Well?” Heizou asked, gazing into your eyes with a pleading expression. He had just explained to you what he wanted to do tonight because it was all he could think about at work today.

“Well.. I’m not opposed to the idea,” you reply, letting him know that options are open, “I just don’t exactly get what we’ll do.”

His expression immediately brightened once he heard you comply. “That’s okay, my love!” He takes your hands in his; the loving and gentle look that once played in his eyes was now replaced with a devious and almost hungry one.

You barely had time to become accustomed to it before Heizou was dragging you firmly to his bedroom - a place where the two of you have formed countless desirable memories over the time you’ve been together. His grasp was unyielding and despite the fact that he was currently pulling you somewhere like some sort of ragdoll, you felt really safe.

Before you knew it, you were delicately placed on the edge of the bed while Heizou made his way over to his closet - not before placing a small, almost feather-like kiss on your forehead.

When he turned back to you, he was now holding what looked like handcuffs? No. They were definitely handcuffs.

His eyes trailed down to look at you as you sat on the bed with your curious eyes gazing up at him.

“We can start off simple, I know you said you’ve never done this before.” The gentleness of his words reassuring you. He looked down at the item he was holding and then back at you. “Yeah, cuffs are good enough for now.”

Heizou motioned for you to turn around for him, holding your hands together behind your back. The cold metal of the handcuffs sent a shiver up your arms, causing a small gasp to leave your lips.

A low giggle could be heard from behind you as he interlocked your hands together. “So responsive already? Lucky me~”

The thudding of your heart echoed throughout your entire being.

Oh God did he make you feel weak in all the parts of your body and mind; but especially your body. A specific part of your body..

Heizou didn’t hesitate to press his knee between your thighs after having spun you around to face him once more - your defences down because of the physical restraint and how your mind had transformed into a foggy mess.

Your moan was immediately swallowed by the contact of his lips on yours, only resulting in more moans threatening to escape.

His warm fingers travelled from your cheek, down your neck, all along your body until they reached the skin on the inside of your thighs, replacing his knee.

His hand teased your wet clit, making sure to rub painfully slow, causing your hands to twitch in the handcuffs.

Fuck.

The helplessness you were experiencing was only making you wetter. The thought that Heizou could do absolutely anything to you and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it makes your heart race faster and your lust grow stronger.

“H-Heiz-” Your breathless pleas were cut short with Heizou’s free hand covering your mouth.

“Sh…shh, my love, I don’t want to hear your words, all I crave are your incoherent noises, yeah?”

You simply nod and let him continue teasing you while you silently hope and beg for more, using your limited body language.

The continuous rubbing of your clit caused your body to heat up from inside and out. Your hands were aching to touch yourself, needing friction and something inside you to bring back your sanity.

Finally.

Finally.

He moved his fingers further down, circling your hole watching intensely for more reactions. His free hand moved to your hair and tangled between the strands to grip onto it tightly - a choked noise getting caught in your throat.

Because of the new sensation, it caught you completely off guard when two of his fingers entered you quickly, a gasp rushing out of your mouth and your entire body shivering from the sudden pleasure.

Your wrists hurt from the bruising grips the cuffs kept on you because of how badly your hands wanted to roam over Heizou’s body for more heat. More contact.

And that was when another one of his slim fingers went inside you, moving against your spongy insides so fucking well, urging your hands to escape more - of course, your efforts in vain.

With all the sensations of pleasure from his fingers inside you, his lips claiming yours in a deep kiss and the slight pain from the handcuffs digging into your skin, your body trembled with satisfaction.

Yet you still wanted more.

With your noises getting more frequent and louder, Heizou’s fingers moved faster and with great skill to make every movement feel like a step closer to Heaven.

And when you finally reached it - Heaven, ecstasy - you felt your soul ascend until it was grounded by the feeling of him unlocking the handcuffs and pulling your body into a warm embrace.

Taglist: @lov3-ly @velvetyshu @coffeeisbehindyou

lmk if you want to be added or removed!!

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Taking the Wheel

—

Time Written-10:47 p.m

Dick Grayson/fem!reader smut

—

Clink, clack, clink, clack. The sounds of heels faintly echoed across the long since faded parking lot, carelessly crossing through thin spaces in between cars and trucks to throw the irritating bastard off your back.

Since you didn’t had arrive with friends, and the main reason you arrived to the packed Lounge, especially on weekends, quickly failed, you were left to walk a long ways across the vehicular maze to get towards your car.

A long, irritating walk on eroded asphalt, in obnoxiously irritating footwear.

Honestly? You could’ve cared less for the foot ache, attempting to push your pace to get towards your destination, your club mood spoiled over by a new desire of getting in your warm, vacant bed at home. Your attempt at distracting your endlessly rattled mind by going towards one of the hottest clubs in the city proved to be a complete failure.

This was Gotham. You knew better than to believe you were going to enjoy a night out for clubbing, completely ignorant to the possibility of the last man you ever expected to arrive, clad in his goddamn uniform, on the search for you.

The only way you learned it was him throughout all the blaring music and strong strobe light ambiance was the roar of patrons crowding around the hottest man of the hour around the dance floor.

What a stupid plan honestly, especially with the overwhelming presence of the obnoxious vigilante following shortly behind you, wondering if you were just doing this to get a reaction out of him.

“You can stop following me now, Grayson.”

It was strangely empty tonight, how he managed to shake off the crowds to go after you alone was a question you could’ve cared less to understand or answer.

"You're walking at night? Alone? You realize you live in Gotham, right?”

You only continued walking, holding yourself with your clutch purse tucked under your shirt, your heels scraping along stray parking lot gravel.

"Aren’t you cold?" Dick asks, trying to hide his worry about you being in that dress in this sixty five degree night.

He was right, watching your head shake no, despite how you carried yourself.

"Oh, come on." Dick says in assuming defeat, only to surprise you via cutting off your path by hopping up on the nearest challenger hood, abruptly jumping in front of your path.

“You can't just walk off like nothing just happened between us." Dick asserts, meeting your aggravated stare.

“Get out of my way—“

"Look, I'm tired of giving you space. Call me clingy, I don’t care. We need to talk about what happened, right now." The words sound more desperate than he intended, other than stern and demanding.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” You mutter, attempting to continue your walk before he holds a hand out in front of you, preventing you from squeezing past him.

"There’s always something to say,” Dick says, hoping you’d try to look back at him.

You’re clearly hurting more than you’re letting on. He can’t really blame you.

You’re no party girl, but you are a girl he hurt. Throwing yourself back out into the dating pool was a typical response, even he’s done it, but he can’t let that happen this time. Not with you.

"Let's... let's talk about this somewhere safe, okay?" He asks, looking down at you. You shift your head a bit, giving him an annoyed glare.

“I wanna go home, okay?” You nearly spat back to him, insisting to yourself that you had no patience to deal with him.

Dick doesn't immediately move in response, gazing down at you with sympathy instead of irritation, such a heart throb in his pretty eyes.

He probably practiced this often every morning in the mirror ever since you broke up, keeping you hooked like a mouse with cheese, or a pretty boy who always knew what to say.

“… Okay.”

He offers his hand out, awaiting your keys in his open palm.

“At least let me drive you home.” He offers, remaining stagnant until he received the only answer he expected. It’ll make him feel a whole lot better knowing you weren’t in the worst place in Gotham right now.

You could only huff through your nose before rummaging through your purse, pulling out your keys.

“Fine,” you mutter, dropping the item into his quickly closing hand. “Just home. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Dick confirms with a hand raised before stepping off to the side, allowing you to walk ahead of him. “Promise.”

The car was warm, the heater constantly blowing warm air against your exposed back, nearly bumping back against your leather steering wheel.

The driver’s seat had long since been reclined, the material lightly squeaking in response to your sweaty bodies shuffling against each other. Lips battling in between teeth and tongue for dominance he willingly gave you, giving you the impression of control.

His body completely hidden by the suit, while you were still in your backless, black sequin party dress.

Sure, the car was private and warm, the alley was dark, the only light coming from the tiny radio screen, faintly reflecting off the various tiny black sequins of your dress, now pulled down from your torso, decorating your waist like a belt of dying stars.

You remembered the way his gloved hands impatiently unclipped the seatbelt so he could pull you across to his lap after an unprecedented, filthy make-out. The way he had purposely massaged the insides of your thighs caused electricity to shoot through you, needing you as close as physically possible, your short dress riding up precariously over your thighs.

"I should have done this sooner," Dick grunts against your painted lips while pinching your nipples in his thumbs, your nails rasping down the smooth material of his Nightwing suit, pulling it off his shoulders.

“D’you think someone will see us like this…?”

"No one's gonna be looking," Dick gasps out, his tone confident while dripping with cocky arrogance. "And if they do... who the hell cares."

Dick could barely focus on what was happening outside the car as it was.

For some reason, that thought made this all the more exciting. Not that the thought of being seen with a beautiful woman in Nightwing’s lap ever seemed like a bad thing.

“You looked amazing in this dress..." he runs a hand along the curve of your hip.

"But you look a lot better without it."

You’d physically cringe if you weren’t so damn aroused. Only someone like him could pull off cheesy one liners about eighty six percent of the time.

"So do something about it,” you whisper, nipping his bottom lip in your teeth, nearly contemplating on drawing blood once he chuckled.

"With pleasure, Princess.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he lifted you slightly with such ease, allowing him to pull his hard cock from the torturous material that suffocated him.

It would’ve been a much quicker process to undress if he randomly decided to arrive in that god awful disco suit, but it was far too late to complain now.

Prep was limited to the pleasant view of Dick stuffing three fingers into your warm hole, smirking at your hiss before raising them to his mouth, making a show of gathering his own spit while tasting you, before giving the tip of his red, angry cock a few quick strokes.

His fingers hooked your thin, messy panties to the side, hiding his mused smile from your gaze upon hearing your terribly hidden whimper as you felt the soft, blunt tip poking at your opening. A large gasp of air quickly invaded and evaded your lungs as you pushed down on him, feeling him splitting you open inch by torturously thick inch.

His own lust begged the rest of his consciousness to push further into you, aching to stuff the rest of himself inside your wet, greedy cunt. Luckily, you listened to your own thoughts, sinking yourself the rest of the way until you were properly seated, your bare thighs resounding against his with limited time to adjust.

"Holy-" He finds himself whining out, nearly crumbling apart from your silky, sweet cunt gripping him like a damn vice. Incidentally, his grip on your thong tightened after an involuntary thrust, forcing the weak band to snap apart.

The man could’ve cared less, carelessly tossing the ruined garment before gripping your hips with both hands, fingers hooking along your dress as an additional anchor to feverishly fuck you, hearing your breathing shift into quick, eager moans.

He wanted to take control so bad, but he was losing it before he even began.

The moans he emitted were heavenly, the muscles in his throat constricting as his head tilts back against the rest. He groans out your name in a delightful sigh, his fingers digging into your plush ass.

Lipstick prints littered his neck, eyes squeeze shut behind his domino mask.

“God, I've missed you,” the vigilante whimpers out, admiring your silvery necklace clink along the valley of your perfect, juicy tits bouncing erratically close to his chest, accompanied by the jingle of your matching bangles as you sunk your nails deep into the muscles along his back.

Dick's heavy lidded eyes gazed at your flushed face, your cheeks tinted pink with heavy, orgasmic blush. Your mascara stained lashes littered with cloudy black tears, bits of dappled glitter in the corners of your eyes, your signature touch, remaining poised along your perfect face. The picture he always looked forward to taking after every successful date night.

"Do you feel how much I've missed you?" Dick grumbles against your shoulder, his voice breathless, despite his best efforts to control his emotions. “Feel how hard, how deep, just fucking into this pussy? That’s all you baby.” The seemingly endless cooes against your neck render endless shivers down your spine, garnering the exact reactions he wanted from you; straining against the tight clench of your eager cunt.

"Oh-God. Fuuuck yes, missed you so much, princess,” Dick whispers, his tone filled with lust and excitement. He teetered on the edge of begging you to bite him again, to mark his neck up however with as many nips as you please, eager to see such raw evidence of your teeth marks in the morning.

“Mph— take it, baby. F-fucking take it all.”

You could only moan in response to his many words against his neck, your painted eyes nearly fluttering closed as you persist on your relentless pace. He was enjoying this a little too much, as much as you were, if not more.

Amidst the mind numbing euphoria of fucking his ex girlfriend in her own car, calloused hands full of black sequins and exposed skin, even he was calling himself an idiot in his own mind as he whimpers a lot louder than he intended within your shared ecstasy.

He was a damn idiot, thinking only about how much he’s hated being in a relationship with anyone except you. How much you’ve grown to become his favorite person; the one woman he needs every damn night. Every second of the damn day.

And if he wants to prove it by having you ride his cock in the seat of a car parked in a secluded alleyway, so be it. He’ll spoil you with a white plush bed caked in rose petals once after you agree to get back together with him.

"Ba-Baby..." Dick croaks through his stutter, his voice cracking slightly as he watches you come to an abrupt halt to his dismay.

A weak, pathetic grunt spews from his lips as you roll your hips, rocking along his lap, his bruised Adam’s apple bobbing after each whimper and whine. "Don’t stop—don’t stop. Shiiit, I’m begging you—“

His words muffle in a quick second as you stuff your ruined, bunched up thong into his mouth, cerulean eyes widening in surprise by boldness.

Many times he’s taken the lead, regardless over where your horny selves ended up. Any recollection of him doing this to you quickly faded once you locked eyes, his brows raised in surprise and submission to your taunt, prideful expression, lipstick smeared lips scowling in annoyance.

Right now, right now you wanted nothing more than to take out your frustrations on him. Even if it was one of the least violent thoughts you had when it came to him, you compensated via heavy scratches and relentless bites on his neck, and now this.

He wouldn’t be whining like such a bastard in a rut without your sweet, creamy pussy downgrading him from an arrogant, cocky, fearless vigilante into a raspy, quivering disciple. Bright, pretty putty in your hands.

Your hands grasped along the back of his head, purposefully frazzling his sweaty, perfect locks of hair as you eagerly chased another kiss. Your hands gripped his hair tighter causing him to take a sharp intake of air in.

You wouldn’t be such a quivering mess without the constant spear of his hard, delicious cock. A victim to this nearly endless cycle of ‘Fuck now, ask questions later.’

‘Or, just fuck some more later.’

You knew this, and you knew he’d give you what you wanted first before you even considered the idea of forgiving him.

“I need you to- fuck, j-just shut up. Shut up a-and keep going, Dick. Keep— Keep going. Just- Just keep fucking me.”

He stares straight ahead at the rich goddess amidst the fogged up windshield in front of him, his hands reinforcing his grasp along your thighs.

Obediently, he picked up the pace, the fat head hitting directly on your sweet spot much rougher and faster with intentions to leave you bruised, hoping you’d allow him to care for you for the rest of the week shortly after.

He moaned much louder against the damp, pheromone laced fabric, swallowing up your sickeningly sweet venom while he pistons his hips, making his soaking wet, twitchy balls constantly smack against your overstretched cunt.

Oh, if only you knew how much you drove Richard Grayson wild, if only you knew.

Hell, what was the argument even about? Neither of you could barely remember anymore.

[l0vergirlwrites]

hold steady ; steve harrington

synopsis: life has hit you hard since the events of spring break. but the softness of steve reminds you that you’re not alone, & that you shouldn’t be ashamed for how you’re handling everything.

warnings: post-season 4 setting, descriptions of grief & guilt, mental health issues & trauma, written with fem!reader in mind (but can apply to other identities too)

inspired by role model’s song “so far gone” feat. lizzy mcalpine!

you’re being dramatic you internally told yourself in the mirror, trying to make yourself believe the statement.

you weren’t sure what time it was. it felt like you were in limbo; somewhere between midnight & sunrise. the house was quiet aside from the soft hum of the cold air passing through the vents. you tried making the sound of it louder in your head in hopes it’d ground you. but it wasn’t working.

so you continued to stand in the bathroom with the nightlight plugged into the wall, staring at yourself in the mirror’s reflection. you couldn’t get over how different you looked now in comparison to who you were before spring break. something inside you seemed to have died a bit more than last summer, & you could tell from whatever aura you were emitting.

you had originally came in to wash your face after one of your bad dreams; to remind yourself that you’re in the present & you’re safe & that the past can’t hurt you anymore—at least that’s what your therapist wants you to do, but it doesn’t help as much as you wished it would. you just hoped the sound of the sink running wouldn’t have woken steve up.

he’s been in a bad place like you, despite how hard he’s working to help rebuild hawkins. with soup kitchens, garage & yard sales, donation boxes littered at every street corner, & community programs that have emerged since hawkins was practically ripped apart, steve’s been doing what he can to help. you know steve’s good heart, so you weren’t surprised with how involved he’s been. but you also know how his tiredness has been eating him alive, interfering with his sleep & energy when he’s home. tonight was the first night he feel asleep at before eleven pm, & you wanted to keep it that way.

if crying in the bathroom while clutching the counter meant that steve could continue sleeping without having to help someone else when he needs rest, you’d do it.

luckily most of your crying was silent except when the occasional hiccup or whimper escaped your lips. you tried keeping it together, but it was hard���holding it all in. the weight on your chest was excruciating, but you’ve been through this so much since spring break so you knew you could handle it.

you just needed to hold onto the counter tighter to stay upright & it would pass, right?

moments later, when another shaky breath was exhaled, you could hear a door creak open from the hallway, footsteps padding slowly along the soft cream carpet flooring, getting closer to where you were.

“y/n/n?” you heard a groggy voice say from behind the door, in search of you.

you tried staying quiet, hoping he’d just go back to bed because you didn’t want to talk about it, but you knew he wouldn’t. steve insisted he slept better with you beside him.

“ya’in there?” he asked, his bent index & middle fingers knocked on the door gently.

you closed your eyes shut, feeling the weight on your chest pang heavier. “i-i’ll be back in a minute” you said as clear as you could, but the strain in your voice wasn’t convincing.

steve knew you, & sometimes you hated it.

“can i… can i come in?” he hesitated, afraid of scaring you away.

you didn’t have to say anything because you knew he’d come in aways, finding you with your head hung low & knuckles white from your grip on the counter.

he didn’t have to say anything either as he came closer, his warm touch infiltrating your space as you felt his chest press into your spine, head nuzzling into your shoulder while his arms wrapped around your stomach. the feeling of him made you choke out a sob. you felt like you didn’t deserve his sweetness (your brain was lying to you)

“you don’t have to do this alone. unless you want to” he mumbled into your shoulder, treading carefully because he knew your pain all too well. it’s a hard thing to navigate & he doesn’t want you to feel cornered.

you shivered, tensing up again until you reminded yourself that it’s just steve, that he loves you, that you don’t need to hide—but it just feels like the opposite.

“i know” you said unevenly, breathing in but whimpering when your chest tightened uncomfortably. “everything is just… hard” was the best way you could put it.

steve nodded against you, kissing your shoulder as a way to tell you that he knows, that he hears you.

“i don’t want to feel this way forever” you cried, head dropping low again as your eyes pinched shut. “i just want to go back to before so badly. w-we don’t deserve this—all the shit we’ve dealt with—it’s so unfair” you begin to shake, chest raising up & down with a little more speed than before. the scars of your body burned with each passing second, as if they were fresh from the claws of demo dogs & demo bats—flashes from the past you wish wouldn’t play in your brain.

with tears blurring your sight, you didn’t fight it when steve peeled your hands away from the counter, when he turned you to face him, or when he pulled you tightly to his chest, letting your face press into the crook of his neck & your hands bunch up the material of his t-shirt.

“i know, baby. we shouldn’t have gone through it. it isn’t fair at all” steve agrees, shutting his eyes & letting out a shaky sigh into your hair because he feels the same way.

he feels the same anger & frustration & emptiness that you do. hell, he knows the whole party does too. it’s just how it is.

steve lets you cry as much as you need, lets you grip his back to hold steady & dampen his t-shirt because it helps remind him that you’re still here, that you didn’t face the fate that many others did during spring break & long before. that he still has you to love & work through the mass amounts of grief & fear that are still embedded inside you both.

“i’m sorry for waking you up” you sniffled loudly. “i know you’re exhausted”.

“don’t be. y’needed me. i sensed it” he mainly said the last bit to make you scoff, laugh or anything of the sort. but it was true—he swore he had a sixth sense for you.

lifting your head back, brushing the tear stains from your eyes with the backs of your hands, steve rubbed your back with his finger pads. he knows that it’s calming for you. “i dunno what’s wrong with me” your lips frowned as you looked at him, his eyes shining a tiny bit from the nightlight. he began to frown too at your statement.

“i feel like i can’t get back to normal. l-like i’m broken—can’t move on like everyone else is…” you admitted, trying to find comfort in steven’s repetitive touches.

“you’re not broken,” steve started, moving a hand to hold your cheek, thumb smoothing against your skin. “you’re just healing. & no one expects you to be fine—i’m sure as hell not” he assured you, heart melting when you leaned into his hand.

opening your mouth to speak, the words won’t come out, as if they were stuck in your throat. so steve continued.

“what you went through…,” his bottom lip trembled at the thought, memories of all the blood & screaming & fear racing back. “you didn’t deserve any of it. i-if i could take that pain away, i would—in a heartbeat. b-but i can’t” his tone sounded defeated.

“i wish i could take yours away too” you breathed out, raising one of your hands up to run through his hair.

there was always a part of steve that blamed himself for what you went through. you had a part of you that felt the same thing.

“you always tell me that things take time—that as each day goes by, we’ll feel a little less hurt, a bit stronger than before,” he looked deep into your eyes, leaning his head closer to yours. “we just have to believe it. even if it feels like a lie sometimes” you nodded your head in agreement.

collapsing back into steve’s chest, you smiled a bit when you felt his cheek press into your hair. “i hope me talking about my shit isn’t like weighing you down, you know? ‘cause i know you have your own stuff—“

“hey, hey, hey,” he pulled you back, both of his hands holding your face now. “none of that, okay? i want you to talk to me about this stuff—about anything you feel. i don’t hide from you, so you don’t gotta hide from me” he said sweetly but firmly, kissing your forehead before you could blink.

you couldn’t control the tears that brimmed your eyes, or the shaky sigh that left your lips at his words. you felt extremely lucky.

“i think i’m gonna need you to remind me of that sometimes. is that okay?” you asked, hands resting atop of steve’s chest while his brushed more of your tears away. the pain in your chest didn’t fully disappear, but it was better than nothing.

“i’m more than okay with that” he smiled, pulling your face closer to his so he could kiss you, hoping it could melt away some of your pain for the night.

not long after, steve led you back to bed, just like you did for him the other night when he too had a meltdown. he pulled you to his chest when you both had settled under the comforter, your breath fanning his neck as you shut your eyes, trying to focus on the good & not the bad.

“i love you” you whispered in the dark, pressing a kiss to the skin of his collarbone.

he felt his heart skip a beat. “i love you too”.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 1.2k | tags: rockstar!eddie, drummer!steve, secret relationship, part of @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party and mine project pickup note | @steddielovemonth prompt love is staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can't tear yourself away from them just yet by @starryeyedjanai | art by Kei | story in the same verse by Lex | AO3)

Steve came to slowly, like swimming through molasses, his mind caught somewhere between dreaming and being awake. In his dream, he had been lying in the sun, his head cushioned in Eddie's lap, Eddie's fingers running through his hair, humming a soft melody Steve had never heard before.

Slowly, the melody changes to the sound of soft snoring, and the soft thing under his head isn't Eddie's lap, it's his chest, gently rising and falling with each snore. Steve presses his smile into the warm skin beneath him at the thought of Eddie's face when he tells him he snores.

Some things are worth waiting for, though, and he knows the perfect moment to reveal this particular piece of information will come.

He has no idea what time it is. Judging by the morning light filtering into the room, it's just after sunrise, the sun's rays piercing through the blinds and casting a warm, golden glow that gradually fills Steve's hotel room.

Moving as carefully as he can, he cranes his neck to check the aged alarm clock on the bedside table. It tells him that he was right, it's 7:58 a.m., and the sun has risen just minutes before him. The light filtering in is soft and diffused, making the colors seem muted yet rich, with shades of pale orange, pink, and yellow dancing across the surfaces. Long shadows stretch out elegantly, accentuating the contours of furniture and objects in the room.

It's Steve's favorite time of day. There's a sense of quiet serenity in this early morning moment as the world slowly awakens. It offers a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.

These days, early mornings hold an even more special place in his heart because it's the only time of day he can just look at Eddie.

Sometimes Steve thinks Eddie is like a hummingbird, always moving until all his energy is used up and he falls into a deep slumber that almost looks like he's dead to the world. It allows Steve to soak him up undisturbed and unabashed. His fingers carefully exploring the hills and valleys of hard muscle and soft flesh, he can drink in the swirling ink on Eddie's pale skin.

It's such a stark contrast from the rest of the day.

Eddie often seems driven. By the perceived expectations of others, by his own fears of falling short. By his own demons, which Steve has only glimpsed. But as the darkness of the night gives way to a new day, Eddie looks at ease.

It's probably too soon to think, but Steve hopes it's because he's now sharing Eddie's bed. That Eddie feels safe with him, safe enough to let go of all the things that plague his beautiful but sometimes overwhelmingly loud mind.

That's why it pains Steve to be the one to wake Eddie from his peaceful slumber and bring him back to reality. But they have a sound check at 9:15 because the venue has had some problems lately and they need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch tonight. This whole tour means too much to them, to Eddie, for it not to be perfect.

Pressing a gentle kiss just above where Steve can feel the steady beating of Eddie's heart, he softly calls Eddie's name. Not surprisingly, nothing happens, so another kiss follows the first, this time on Eddie's collarbone.

"Eddie, c'mon," he tries again, this time closer to Eddie's ear, eliciting a soft murmur. "We have to get up, the soundcheck -"

"Mm, they can check the sound without us," his - Eddie's - voice comes in a slightly drawn out tone. "Don't wanna get up."

Eddie, obviously not fully awake yet, wraps his arms around Steve and buries his face in Steve's hair.

"I know, ba-" Steve stumbles over the pet names that want to come out more and more now that they're so much closer than when he first started touring with Corroded Coffin. "I know. But we can grab a big coffee with enough sugar in it to put an elephant into a sugar coma, and when the check is done, we can come back to the hotel and sneak into your room and I can make it worth your while."

Steve's tone is low, almost a purr, as he says this. The others don't know about them yet, although Steve thinks that at least Robin and Chrissy have their suspicions. And Jeff has been watching them more closely as well. He's sure that they'll tell them soon, but first they want to enjoy getting to know each other this way, without their friends getting involved.

"Five more minutes and I will make it worth your while. Whaddya say, big boy?"

Before Steve can answer, most likely telling Eddie no, we're going to be late and how are you going to explain that to the others, Eddie rolls them both over until Steve lands on his back with a soft umph. Above him, Eddie is smiling down at him, suddenly much more awake than seconds before.

"Hi," he says, nudging Steve's nose with his own.

Steve doesn't even try to fight the dopey smile, even as he rolls his eyes at Eddie trying to get what he wants by playing dirty. It's so Eddie, just like the wolfish grin on his face.

"I'll make this the best five minutes of your life, Harrington. Scout's honor."

Steve snorts. "Scout's honor? I doubt you ever talked to a scout in your life."

"Oh yeah. In fact, I'm sleeping with one. And I'm about to kiss one before I rock his world."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

"Is that so?"

This makes Steve laugh out loud. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Eddie replies, then hesitates as his choice of words seems to register with him.

Before the moment between them ends in awkwardness, Steve leans in to kiss Eddie on the nose. "How did you know I was a Boy Scout?"

Steve's distraction works, and the worry in Eddie's eyes is replaced by mischief. "Just a guess, but good to know."

"Ass."

"I have it on good authority that you like my ass," Eddie teases, and Steve has to agree. He really does. As much as he likes everything else about Eddie. How much is becoming a problem.

Instead of saying any of these things, Steve looks over at the alarm clock, which now reads 08:04. He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. "I think your five minutes are up, and I have to say, not the world-rocking I was expecting, Munson."

"Oh you..." Eddie growls before swooping in to capture Steve's lips in a deep kiss. It turns into another, and another, the dim light in the room growing brighter around them as they become lost in each other.

Eddie makes it to sound check just in time, while Steve is ten minutes late, carrying five cups of coffee. He hopes no one notices the bright grin Eddie flashes with the first sip of his overtly sweet coffee, or the wink he gives Steve.

A promise is a promise, and Steve intends to keep them all when it comes to Eddie.

[readychilledwine]

Scream

Summary - You and Rhys have never hid a fetish from each other before, but you had one left the High Lord is more than happy to call you out for

Warnings - NSFW, slight predator/prey play dynamics, mask kink, may feel dubcon-ish to some people, dom/sub dynamics, brief penetration, oral, degradation, pre discussed consent is assumed, spit, overstimulation

A/N - surely if we've all decided Azriel uses his shadows for sexual purposes, Rhysand's tendrils of darkness could be used too, right?

Peep the Halloween 2023 Masterlist here

You sighed heavily. Coming home to a dark, cold, and empty house was never fun and never easy.

Normally loud shouts and laughter filled the halls, echoing every which way, but tonight it was as if all life had stopped existing in the Riverhouse.

You walked inside, body too tired to even bother with faelights and went straight to the room you shared with your mate.

Entering the room sent a chill up and down your spine causing goosebumps to linger.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

You reached inside of you, searching for the mating bond only to find it cold on Rhysand's end. You called for him mentally next. Receiving no whisper of a familiar claw in back.

Then you heard it.

Faint heavy footsteps echoing on the pristine flooring.

You knew the odds of someone being in your home were slim to none. Rhys had so heavily warded and shielded the Riverhouse after you two decided to make it your permanent residence that there were times your own friends had issues entering.

But the chance was still there.

The footsteps were closer now. You could not scent anything to indicate who it may have been, you couldn't place the steps. You couldn't reach your mate.

The footsteps stopped at your open door, and you did the one thing you knew to do in these situations.

You ran. Hard. You first ran to the dark halls, hoping to find somewhere to hide in Rhysands office, but each door you came to was locked shut. You stopped catching your breath and panicking slightly in the hallway. Large calloused hands grabbed your exposed upper arms. They were familiar as they then moved to your throat, not squeezing enough to hurt you, but causing that euphoric lightheadedness to want to set in.

Your body was singing, begging you to realize you were safe, but your mind refused. You slammed your foot down on theirs. You caught the person behind you off guard, body checking them into the door frame before running downstairs and out into Elain's garden. You could hear dark laughter following you, causing your body to plead again for you to relax.

Before you could decide your next move, those strong warm hands grabbed you, pulling you against a solid body and dragging you back inside. You were pushed against a wall, your hands held behind your back as one of theirs began to roam your curves. A familiar heavy scent hit you. The thick scent of mandarin oranges and the sea mixed with musk.

"What's wrong little darling," the deep purr of his voice had you shivering as heat instantly hit your core. "I thought you had always wanted a masked male to fuck you roughly?"

Rhysand took the moment you needed to process the shock of him knowing to knock your legs apart, spreading them wide enough to slot one of his thighs against your core. "Already so wet and I have even done anything."

Cool tendrils of darkness snaked your arms and wrists, pining them so you were defenseless. "Rhys-"

He put a hand over your mouth, "No, princess. Play along." You heard something behind you and froze slightly as the tip of something cold and sharp touched the base of your neck. “Do not move.”

You could not help but to whimper as the knife dragged down your spine, cutting through the expensive outfit you had worn to the meeting with Keir today. He put the knife back, ripping the shredded clothing off and then grabbing you by your hair. Such a pretty little thing, he purred softly into your mind. He kept his hold on your hair tight, forcing you into the family room.

You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and instantly felt yourself melting into the role he wanted. He was already shirtless in tight black pants. He was wearing a black mask similar to the one you and the twins worn on missions for Azriel. You did not have much time to process the mask, to process the heat forming between your legs nor the excitement of everything as he quickly bent you over the arm of the couch releasing your hair but keeping your arms trapped.

Rhys normally took his time with you, worshiping you, praising you, prepping you. With speed that had you mind spinning, he had managed to get his pants down far enough to enter you at an almost brutal forcing ripping a scream from your throat. “That’s it princess, scream for me.”

He set a rough pace, pulling out almost completely and slamming back into you so hard and fast that your only response was loud moans and desperate cries. You were dripping for him despite the lack of foreplay, your inner walls already squeezing him. “Fuck, y/n, so fucking tight.” You could only whine in response as he changed the angle of his thrusts and your body, pulling you back up by your hair and forcing your back to arch for him. The new position had him hitting that sacred spot inside of you with every deep hard thrust of his hips. “This is what you want, huh? Some masked male to come into our house and fuck you like a little whore?” His free hand found your front, calloused fingers circling your clit.

You became a mess of pants and cries as he kept pace. "Please," you managed to choke out. "Please."

Rhysand's deep timbering voice came to your ear. "Is the little whore going to cum already?" You nodded the best you could with the rough grip in your hair. "Such an easy thing, aren't you?"

He gently pinched your clit, sending you spiraling over the edge with a loud scream. Your inner walls began milking him, almost begging him to finish inside of you and making him groan loudly. He stopped suddenly, pulling out of you and moving you again.

This you were used to. You were used to Rhys fucking your mouth while you were told not to touch. You knew the motions like the back of your hand, hollowing your cheeks and keeping your tongue in contact but relaxed as he began hitting the back of your throat more and more. You knew to keep your eyes on him, watching as his head tilted back in bliss, watching his throat bob, his breathing increase. You knew to listen, wetness dripping more and more from your core as he mocked you and teased you for gagging, for crying. What you were not used to was tendrils of darkness and their cool touches on your thighs, slithering around you like snakes prepared to strike.

He paused in front of the mirror, forcing you to look at yourself. “Look at my little whore, already such a mess for me.” And there was no fighting that you were. A faint flush was spread from your chest up to your neck and cheeks, your hair had been destroyed by his hands, your makeup was smeared from the tears of pleasure he had already pulled, a faint sheen of arousal shining between your legs.

“On your knees.” You couldn't help but obey instantly, falling to your knees at his command and looking up at him from slightly damp lashes. “Open.” Again you obeyed, opening your mouth and staring up at him as he pushed his cock between your parted lips. “Same rules apply, darling. I do not want to hurt you.”

A loud moan left you when they finally did, swirling your swollen sensitive clit as he finally buried his cock all the way back into your throat and held you there, pinching your nose to cut off what little air flow you had.

He held you there, unable to breathe until you mentally tapped twice for him, and he pulled all the way out, allowing you to take in air long enough for your vision to fully return. He rose a brow at you, a silent question of if you were okay to continue, and you nodded. Rhys removed the mask, smirking down at you, “Good girl,” and began again, fucking your throat but allowing you every single reaction now.

You watched as his eyes rolled back, as his lips parted with each breathy moan. You watched his brow knit together as you worked his length with your tongue more, hollowing your cheeks to swallow around you as you moaned with each flick and lick of his darkness pulling you apart.

Rhysand’s name became a chant on your lips, repeating over and over like he was your prayer, your salvation. “Cum,” he commanded one last time. The coil snapped and you felt your inner walls begin clenching over and over on his fingers. He allowed you to fall into him, releasing your arms and supporting you as you gripped at his upper biceps. “There we go, princess. Just like that baby.” He whispered to you as he helped you ride through your high, praising you as your moans shifted to soft whimpers of overstimulation.

It wasn't long until that coil began to tighten in your stomach, and Rhysand's thrusts into your mouth grew sloppy. He sent you the image of yourself on your knees for him, of the spit near your mouth, of your mascara stained cheeks. You felt yourself beginning to fall over the edge right as Rhysand did. He pushed deep into your throat again, groaning loudly as he spilled down your throat. "Don't fucking swallow yet."

He pulled out of your mouth, holding your jaw open. His smirk grew feral as he spit into your mouth, "Swallow." He allowed you to close your jaw, still watching as you swallowed every last drop before dropping to his knees and replacing the darkness between your thighs with his own hand.

He quickly forced two fingers inside of you and calmed the stretch by rubbing his palm against your clit. He used his freehand to fist the hair at the nap of your neck, pulling it again before forcing you to kiss him in a mesh of teeth and spit. It was sloppy, driven by sheer lust as passion as his fingers stroked your inner walls, massaging and hitting that spot only he ever found over and over. He pulled back from you, circling your clit with his thumb as his forehead rested against yours, eyes meeting yours and sparkling lust. “Cum for me, y/n,” he commanded. “Let go, darling.”

Rhys removed his fingers from your slick core and brought them to his mouth. He groaned as he licked the juices from them. He laid you back on the floor gently, climbing on top of you and kissing your neck. HIs kisses began to trail lower and lower, pausing at your breasts to pull you nipples into his mouth one at time and mark your breasts. Wet hot kisses then trailed down your stomach. Rhys stopped right above your core, looking at you again. “1 to 10, darling?

You whispered softly in reply. “4.”

Rhysand smiled, licking a long trail through your folds at the response. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”

“We should do this again,” you said breathlessly, as he moved your legs over his shoulders.

“No,” Rhys said plainly. “I do not know how you do it, but I cannot breathe in that damn thing. Azriel and I will be discussing those masks. You and the Twins need better." He paused, looking at your core like a man starved. "This, though?” Rhys licked up you again, sucking your clit into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it. Your eyes rolled back, body falling deeper into the floor as you moaned his name. This I can do all day.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Somewhere Only We Know ♡

♡ Pairings: artist!boyfriend!hyunjin x fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff

♡ Summary: Things have been hard for you lately so you retreat to your boyfriend's apartment where you find all of the love and reassurance a girl could ask for.

♡ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: None really but reader's been going through a lot so she is indeed a little sad tonight.

♡ A/N: This is a request from @jehhskz who I promised to write a literary hug for so I really hope I lived up to my promise. Thanks so much for the request you beautiful human.

The night hangs quietly over Hyunjin’s loft, the fresh earthy post rain air gradually filling the space. Seated at his desk facing the open window, Hyunjin hums along to the music flowing from the record player tucked in a nearby corner. Before him on the desk sits an open sketchbook, textured canvas paper coated in a gradient of pastels that mirror the night sky.

And seated on the floor between his legs, wrapped up cozy and warm in his favorite blanket, is you. Working with his pastels typically dictates that Hyunjin use two hands but tonight he makes due with one, the other preoccupied with more important things like playing with your hair or tracing the contours of your face.

With your head resting against his inner thigh he can only reach one side of your face but that’s more than enough room for him to silently praise those beautiful features that take up more space in his mind than you know. The tips of his fingers are delicate, each brush of them across your skin so deliberate that it’s almost as if you’re one of his paintings. 

Lately it seems that the whole world’s caving in on you. The pressures of life have begun to take their toll and it’s all so much…too much. What you’ve needed more than anything is a safe place to be, somewhere to get away from it all, and Hyunjin couldn’t be happier to be that for you. “Jinnie…” you say—the first thing you’ve said in at least an hour—and the scratching of a midnight blue pastel against paper comes to a halt. In an instant everything around him disappears. There’s only you.

Hyunjin reaches around, cupping your chin, and tilts your head up towards him. You lock eyes, him looking down and you looking up. His eyes are the moon, yours are the sea, and, oh, how he moves you. “Need something, sweetie?” he asks, strands of dark hair falling loose from the hair band keeping it out of his face. You shake your head, the tiny hairs on your arm standing up as he strokes the side of your neck. “No, it’s just…do you ever wanna…I don’t know, run away?”

Hyunjin gasps, pretending to be on the verge of tears, “She said I’m so boring I make her wanna run away.”

“You’re such a drama queen” you giggle, rolling your eyes, “It’s not that. I mean, I do want to run away but not from you. From…” Your chest tightens at the thought of what troubles you, stopping your words short.

Hyunjin leans down to kiss you on the forehead, grounding you in this moment with him. His way of reminding you that you are safe here. “From everything else? Just drop it all and run as fast as you can to escape it? I feel that way all the time. Way more than I’d like to honestly.” 

“So how do you get over it?” you ask, relieved to finally have someone who gets it. “Hmm,” he sighs, glancing out at the endless night and back down at you, “Someone once told me that when we feel bad things that’s just our hearts telling us that something’s not right. So we shouldn’t just get over it. We should pay attention to it.”

You shudder at the concept, paying more attention to what you’re feeling is the last thing you want to do. “But every time I think about it I get so upset. I feel weak.”

Hyunjin’s expression sours the second the word “weak” leaves your lips. Sitting back in his chair, he holds his arms out to you, “Come sit.” Staying snug in your blanket burrito, you make your way onto his lap, quickly adjusting to your new spot. Hyunjin laces his arms around you, holding you close to him like something too valuable to let sit unprotected.

“Never say that again” he says, empathetic but unwilling to let you doubt yourself, “You are not weak. You’re human. Life sucks sometimes and you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with it. Not for anyone.”

Fidgeting with a loose thread in the blanket’s stitching, you fight your hardest to choke back the tears that inevitably come streaming down your cheeks. Life may be overwhelming but this—being loved by him even when you’re falling apart—is overwhelming in its own way.

Hyunjin pulls the sleeves down on his sweatshirt, using the smooth cotton to wipe away your tears as they fall. “So, where are we running to?”

“What do you mean?” you sniffle, blinking through the tears. 

Hyunjin looks at you like his reasoning’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You wanna go so let’s go. Right now. We don’t even have to tell anyone. Let’s just…fuck it…let’s go.” 

“You can’t just go, Jinnie. You have that thing tomorrow and—” 

Hyunjin kisses you, wiping your brain clean of any thoughts of pushing him away. His lips play a game of catch and release with yours. Drowning you in their soft embrace, letting you come up for air, and dragging you back down again. “What’d I say to you when I asked you to be my girlfriend?” 

“You said, ‘It’s me and you’” you recall, as if you could ever forget. 

“Me and you and you and me and me and you” Hyunjin says faster each time until you’re giggling through what’s left of your tears, “We’re in this together. You’re stuck with me.” 

He lingers closely enough to your face that you could steal a kiss of your own if you wanted to and you do. Your body rushes with so much heat that you let the blanket fall away, exposing you to a light breeze. Hyunjin pulls you over so that you’re stadling him, his arms locking around your waist.

“Take me wherever you want,” you whisper, “As long as I’m with you I don’t care.” It gives him butterflies to hear you say that and you notice his cheeks begin to go all rosy on you. It’s the cutest thing. Hyunjin plants his feet firmly on the ground, lifting you up without warning, and carrying you towards the bed. You cling to him for dear life, only letting go once he has you safely on the bed. Even then the two of you can’t quite untangle from each other. Not that either of you try. 

“Cuddle tonight and prison break in the morning, deal?” he asks, lit up with all the possibilities of where you could escape to together.

You yawn, settling into the fluffy mattress, eyelids growing heavy, “Deal.”

Hyunjin pulls you in, your head nestled against his chest, and strokes your hair as he hums along to the music once more. You drift off to sleep in no time. Comforted, loved, protected, and safe in the knowledge that tomorrow won’t be like the others have been because you’ve finally let him in. Finally let yourself trust that it truly is you and him. 

And him and you and you and him and…

[avonne-writes]

do you think you could do #8 “Who did this to you?” From your reblog. Maybe like In the stalag when Bucky shows up and goes to give Gale a hug but Gale flinches away. Bucky is immediately worried and try’s to get Gale to spill but it doesn’t work. Blah blah blah, Bucky might see Gale interact with a guard and understands why. Idk take it your own way if you want 😅

Thank you for the prompt! 💕 Sorry for only getting to it now. I went with a different take, but I hope you like it!

8. Who did this to you?

After stumbling inside their quarters at Thorpe, Bucky tries to make his way to his bed blindly in the dark. He counts his steps to measure a distance he knows well by now, but the haze of booze makes his brain sluggish, and the numbers get all jumbled up. Nevertheless, he finds the frame of his cot, locates it with fumbling hands, and lets himself sink down on the mattress with a relieved sigh.

Except, it’s not his cot.

He lands on something simultaneously soft and bony, and gets kneed in the ribs so hard for it that he falls on his ass. Groaning, he gives in to gravity and goes limp on the floor.

"John?" Gale whispers somewhere above him. When Bucky grunts in response, one of their other roommates hisses a shut up their way. "What are you doing?"

"Sleeping." Bucky replies. He feels rather comfortable where he is. At least the room isn’t spinning. Down here, nothing wants to crawl back out of his stomach to show him exactly how much whiskey he poured down his throat to wipe their last mission from his memory.

Slim, warm hands pat at Bucky's chest, trying to locate his shoulders in the dark. When they find a good place to grip and try to pull Bucky up, Bucky turns his head and nips at Gale’s wrist.

"Come on, you big loony." Gale murmurs, completely ignoring the fact that Bucky's mouth is full of the cotton of his shirt. His teeth dig into Gale's arm. Out of curiosity, Bucky bites down harder, until Gale yanks his arm away with an annoyed huff.

"Son of a bitch." He swears under his breath, but a moment later, his hands return. They hook under Bucky's armpits to pull him up by force. "Up. On your feet, Major."

"Don’t want to." Bucky whines.

As soon as Gale gets him vertical, he starts moving to lie right back down, and finds the bed Gale has just vacated. It’s still warm from Gale’s body. He sinks into that heat with a smile, squirming until the dip Gale's body left in the mattress fits his own. Like coming home. His drunken mind imagines it would be just as comforting to climb inside Gale's body. To be one with him. Always welcome, always safe.

"All right." Gale's tired exhale brushes Bucky's ear as Gale leans over him and tugs the blanket out from under his body to drape it over him. Tucking him in like his mama would've. Or a wife.

"Should've left me on the floor." Bucky sniffs. The urge to cry makes his throat tight, but he holds it back. He’s a man, damn it.

"What kind of best friend would that make me, huh?" Gale murmurs softly. He’s so close still. His hands are on Bucky’s back and arm. He should lean in for a goodnight kiss, Bucky thinks. "Go to sleep, Bucky."

"'S your bed."

"You can borrow it tonight."

Fingers run through Bucky’s curls, a ghost of a touch, then there's nothing. Bucky turns his head into Gale's pillow because it smells like him. He falls asleep in a minute.

-

Morning arrives with a dull, heavy pain behind Bucky's eyes that he welcomes like an old friend. Most fellas get cranky when they're hungover, but it just makes Bucky feel alive. It seems as if fewer and fewer things do. Drinking. Singing, dancing, flirting. Gale.

Speaking of - Bucky should find him. Yes, that sounds like the perfect hangover cure. Getting teased by his best friend.

Still fully-clothed and wearing his boots, Bucky climbs out of bed - Gale's bed, he notes, sifting through his blurry memories from last night and coming up blank when he tries to explain it. He figures he might have tried to get in beside Gale, who thought it was better to just surrender his cot. Bucky ought'a thank him for not kicking him out to sleep on the floor.

He finds Gale by the small sink they all share, just finishing up with shaving. He’s stripped down to his undershirt and his hair is not yet slicked back with product but falls over his forehead in soft bangs. It makes him look younger. Pretty, even, if Bucky were being honest. He tries not to be though. Wouldn’t do him any good.

Grinning with all his charm, he walks up to Gale and leans on the wall beside him, his free hand in his pocket. "Hey, Buck."

"Morning." Gale says without looking away from the mirror, but there’s a small smile in the corner of his lips as he slides the blade over his skin.

Bucky has the strangest urge to offer to do the last few swipes for him. "Thanks for the bed."

"You’re welcome." Gale's voice is amused. Although there's a shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, he looks happy, so Bucky feels safe to joke around a bit.

When Gale rinses the blade and starts wiping his face, Bucky nudges him with his foot. In return, Gale flicks water at him, which tickles Bucky into a short laugh. For the first time this morning, Gale's blue eyes meet his and give him a playful look.

"You look like that chow they used to feed us back in Texas." There it is. The teasing.

Bucky grins. "Delicious, you mean?"

For a moment that steals Bucky's breath away, Gale just holds his gaze, but then he turns back to the mirror to comb his hair. "Not the word I'd use."

That's when Bucky notices the bruise on Gale’s forearm. Without thinking, he grabs Gale's hand and pulls it closer to get a better look at the mark. It’s circular, red and purpling in some places, about the width of a set of teeth. A bite mark. When Bucky brushes his thumb over it, Gale’s fingers twitch in his hold.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" Bucky asks with a frown. His protective anger rises behind the wall of confusion in his mind. It’s a fresh bruise, can't be more than a day old. Did Gale get up to something while Bucky was at the pub yesterday?

Gale uses his free hand to hike his trousers higher up his slim waist, shifting in place, but he doesn’t move the hand Bucky's holding to examine the bruise. He just stares at it, cheeks pinking. He’s standing close enough that all Bucky can smell is his aftershave, fresh on his smooth face.

"I reckon it was one of those bed-stealing fellas around here." He drawls.

Bucky swipes his thumb over the mark again distractedly before realization hits him.

"Did I do this?" He asks, horrified. When Gale hums yes, it’s like a rock of guilt falling right on Bucky’s heart. He lets go of Gale's hand and rubs his palm over his own face. His hangover swells into a wave of nausea he swallows back down. "Shit. I'm sorry, Buck. Can’t even remember."

"It was good whiskey, huh?" Gale smiles and picks up the towel he wiped his face with earlier. When Bucky gives him an apologetic look, he swats at him with it. "It’s fine, John."

A memory hits Bucky like a bucketful of ice. Back in flight school, on one of their first longer leaves, Gale actually went home to see his Ma in Wyoming because she was bedridden with a chest cold, and they feared she might pass. She made it through, but for what good, Bucky isn't sure, because Gale rarely ever writes her and hasn’t been to Casper since.

But that one time, he visited his parents. Bucky won't forget how it went anytime soon. The first day Gale came back to base, he was sporting a fading shiner on his right cheek. Dark blue pain under pale skin. He clammed up about how he got it, but Bucky prodded, kept asking the same question, who did this to you? Until Gale confessed that he had a fight with his father. The man was drunk. But it's fine, John, Gale told him, pursing his lips. Nothing that won't heal.

Discomfort ripples through Bucky, bitter on his tongue and heavy in his heart. Gale's smiling now, unlike that day in flight school, but there are too many similarities. Bucky has to, he needs to make it better.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you." He says sincerely.

"I know." Gale nods.

Bucky bites his lip. He can’t think of anything else to make it clearer that he’s nothing like Gale's bastard of a father. There’s so little he can give. He has nothing to offer but his company. "Let me make it up to you. Come to London with me. We could both use a break. Let's go paint the town red."

The tip of Gale's pink tongue pokes out between his lips for a second as he considers it. Instinctively, Bucky's gaze drops to the motion before he looks back to Gale's eyes again. "I don't know about that."

There's a wariness in his voice that wasn’t there before. Bucky hates it. He doesn’t know what put it there, but he wants it gone. He claps a hand on Gale's elbow and gives him a friendly squeeze. "Come on. We can go look at all the sights you wanna see, then I'll take you to a pub and buy you the best ginger beer you've ever had."

Gale gives him a lopsided smile. "Is that a bet?"

Bucky smirks. "A promise." He moves to take Gale's place at the sink, but Gale doesn’t step back immediately, which puts their faces so close to each other that for a split second, Bucky imagines crossing the remaining distance. "Tell you what. We could even split the hotel costs."

A fond light shines in Gale's eyes. He steps away with a chuckle and throws the towel at Bucky. "Go wash your face, Egan."

Grinning, Bucky opens the tap and does just that. That wasn’t a no, he notes. Excitement tingles in his limbs. His blood pumps warm joy through his body with every heartbeat. He has never felt more alive than this, but he wonders if he could. And if yes... would London do the trick?

[gigabyte-flare]

He Comes Alive (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: The townsfolk decide to hold the annual Harvest Festival despite the police chief's son being found dead. Meanwhile, Leon acts on his instinctual desires.

Word Count: 6.7k

Pairing: vampire/plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Biting, blood, gore, murder, unprotected p in v, masterbation, oral (m and f receiving), stalking, pet names, kidnapping, breeding kink, blood play/kink, age gap, dubcon, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future entries]

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

You’re somewhere in the middle of asleep and awake as you listen to Leon descend the stairs to answer the door, hearing him call out as you hear the squeak of the front door opening. You can’t understand what they’re saying but you immediately recognize the voice as Chief Bob, causing your anxiety to immediately spike.

Had your Dad actually called the police on Leon?

You decide it’s best to get up and look for yourself, so you climb out of bed, your eyes widening at the literal bloody mess that’s on Leon’s sheets. You’re mortified but you’ll deal with that later. Not wanting to put yesterday’s clothes back on just yet, you walk up to what you assume is Leon’s closet, opening it to see if you can find a t-shirt you can throw on. You spot a navy blue t-shirt, grabbing it and slipping it on over your head. It just barely covers everything, but it’ll work. 

You go downstairs, following the sounds of Leon and Chief Bob’s voices to the front door. You walk up from behind Leon to stand next to him rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Everything ok, Leon?”

Leon turns to you, his eyes widening subtly upon seeing your attire before he replies, “everything’s fine, angel, Chief Dion was just telling me about the emergency town meeting later tonight.”

“Oh?”

“With the closure of the hiking trails up in the Notch, we need to decide if it’s safe to have the Harvest Festival,” Chief Bob explains, “I hope to see you both there tonight. It’s at 7:00.”

“Of course, we’ll try to be there,” Leon replies, giving Chief Bob a warm smile.

“Perfect, take care, you two,” Chief Bob says, giving the two of you a subtle wave before walking back over to his police cruiser. 

Leon shuts the front door, looking over at you. His eyes scan up and down your body, a subtle smirk forming on his lips.

“I never thought you’d look so breathtaking in one of my old Raccoon City Police t-shirts.”

“Oh--” you reply, looking down at the faded R.P.D. logo before shifting your attention back to him, “I just threw on the first t-shirt I saw in your closet. I hope you don’t mind…”

“Of course not, angel. Now then, I’m sure you're starving, let’s get you some breakfast, hm?”

You reply to Leon with a nod as you follow him into the kitchen and watch him make breakfast for the two of you; the smell of bacon and eggs soon filling the room.

“Thank you, by the way,” Leon suddenly says as he continues to cook breakfast.

You raise an eyebrow, “for… what?”

You watch Leon plate the bacon and eggs before turning to you, handing you the plate, “for letting me be your first.”

“Oh…” you say, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks, causing your cheeks to turn pink, “n-no, thank you. You were amazing… and sorry that I’m on my period… I can’t imagine that was pleasant…”

“On the contrary, angel,” he says, plating his own breakfast before leading you to the dining table, “I very much enjoyed myself, regardless.”

If your cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly are now as you slowly eat away at your breakfast, glancing over occasionally to see Leon doing the same. After a few minutes of eating in silence, you speak up.

“Do you think they’ll cancel the festival?” you ask, mid-chew on a piece of bacon.

“Only one way to find out.”

The rest of the day had gone by in a flash and, before you know it, it’s time to go to the town meeting. You and Leon get into his Jeep and drive into town. You are taken aback by how crowded it is; Leon had to park in the grocery store parking lot, forcing the two of you to walk about 10 minutes to the town hall. You gather that almost everyone is here; there weren’t even any chairs left in the meeting hall; you and Leon stood in the back of the room, his arms wrapping around you.

You lean into his embrace as your eyes scan the crowd for your parents. Sure enough, your eyes settle on your father’s. The look on his face as he stares back at the two of you could have set something on fire. You watch as your mother suddenly turns to you, smiling before turning to your father and smacking him in the shoulder, forcing him to look away from the two of you. 

You watch as Chief Bob walks out to the podium, tapping on the microphone to get everyone’s attention. The idle chatter immediately ceased, the room so silent that you could hear a pin drop.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Chief Bob begins, “We honestly did not expect this large of a turnout but it warms my heart to see that the festival is something that our town clearly cares about.”

He clears his throat before continuing, “as many of you know, Oakvale has held this festival since 1947, this year marking its 40th anniversary. We’re about two weeks out but the festival committee has been keeping a close eye on the situation with hikers getting attacked and killed on the Franconia Notch trails. With Nate’s untimely death, that hit close to home for many of us, especially for my wife and I.”

You feel Leon give you a reassuring squeeze in his arms upon the mention of Nate.

The Chief continues, “and with the closure of the Notch trails, the committee has gone back and forth on whether or not we cancel the festival for the safety of not just our citizens, but of the tourists that will come here for the festival. However, it was decided that we will discuss this as a town; I’d like to open the floor for questions, concerns and comments.”

You and Leon listen as compelling arguments are tossed back and forth both for and against canceling the festival, the main concern being the loss of revenue for the town. There is no doubt that the festival is a huge money maker for Oakvale. Another concern, one that your father unsurprisingly brought up, is that with the trails now closed, that there’s a risk of the animal wandering into town, drawn by the large crowds.

“That can be avoided with enough police presence, Lincoln and Woodstock have already stated they’d lend us officers in the event we decide to hold the festival,” Chief Bob replies to your father. 

For agonizing minutes, the room bursts into chatter while you and Leon stand in the back of the room, observing the spectacle. Chief Bob taps on the mic once more, the room going completely silent once more.

“Alright, let’s hold a vote. All in favor of canceling the festival, raise your hand.”

You watch as about a dozen hands go up, including your parents’.

“All in favor of holding the festival, raise your hand.”

This time, almost everyone’s hands go up, including yours and Leon’s. You lock eyes with your father once more, his look of disdain going straight into you, causing your blood to turn cold.

“Well…” Chief Bob says, looking around the room full of raised hands, “I guess that answers that question.”

It’s late; Leon doesn’t know what time it is. What he does know, however, is how perfect his angel looks beneath him, passed out from the string of orgasms he gave her some time ago. It’s been a week since she started staying here with him; Leon couldn’t believe his good fortune. He finds his gaze focused on her exposed neck, his hunger becoming ravenous.

No. He made a promise to himself he wouldn’t feed on her until it was time to give her his gift. Climbing off her, he sits at the edge of the bed as he peels the condom he used off. He lifts the condom up to eye level to inspect it, watching as a single larva wriggles around inside his seed trapped in the condom. Letting out a sigh, he stands up, walking into the bathroom, grabbing some toilet paper to wrap the used condom in, giving it a firm squeeze in his hand to ensure the larva is dead before tossing it into the trash.

Walking back into the bedroom, he grabs his boxers and jeans off the floor, putting them on. He walks over, checking to make sure she’s sleeping before he leaves the bedroom, descending the stairs to the padlocked basement door. Digging his keys out from his pocket, he unlocks the padlock and descends the stairs, turning the light on at the bottom. What he finds troubles him.

The young man he had brought back from his hunt over a week ago is clearly dead, his body slumped forward; the only thing keeping him upright is his restrained hands tied behind him around the support beam. Leon walks up to him, grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head and lifting his head up, letting go. He watches as the young man’s head immediately drops forward, confirming that he is very much dead. Judging by how white the man’s skin is, Leon wouldn’t have gotten much out of him anyway if he was still alive. 

“Shit…” Leon mutters to himself. 

Leon walks over to a workbench against the basement wall, grabbing a large knife from it. He walks back over to the dead young man, cutting his restraints. The body falls forward onto the floor with a loud thud. Leon walks back over to the workbench, putting the knife down and picking up a large tarp to wrap the man’s body in. Once the body is thoroughly wrapped, Leon slings the body over his shoulder, carrying it up the stairs, shutting the light off on his way up. He sets the body down onto the floor, turning around to lock the basement door back up.

He then turns to go up the stairs, stopping in the bedroom threshold to admire his angel’s sleeping form for a moment before he walks around to her side of the bed, bending down to give her a soft kiss on the lips. She stirs in her sleep.

“Leon…?”

“Hey angel,” Leon starts with a soft smile, “I have some traps on the hiking trails I need to check for the B.O.W.. I’ll be back, ok?”

“O-Ok… be careful…” she says softly, closing her eyes.

“I will. I promise,” Leon replies, giving her another kiss on the lips before he turns, leaving the bedroom.

He goes into the living room, putting his socks and work boots on before he walks back over to the body to pick it up off the floor, walking outside with it. He walks up to his Jeep, opening the tailgate and tossing the body inside, shutting it. He walks over to the drivers side, putting his keys into the ignition and driving off.

It must be really late because there isn’t a single soul on the road as Leon drives to the trailhead where he originally found the two poor hikers unfortunate enough to cross his path on his hunt. The fact that they were the same two men that gawked at him and his angel as he was courting her was just an added bonus. Coming upon the trailhead, Leon kills the headlights on his Jeep and turns in to park. He wastes no time grabbing the body from the back, unwrapping it from the tarp and heading deep into the woods with it. He finds a good spot to dispose of it, about a half mile from the body of the other hiker he killed that same night. He’s honestly surprised Fish and Game hadn’t found it yet.

After disposing of the body, Leon goes on the hunt, sniffing the air for any signs of anyone on the trails. He knew it was a long shot now that the trails are closed, but he is hoping there would be someone stupid enough to come anyway despite the ordinance. Leon must have walked several miles but can’t find a single scent of human life in the forest. He does stumble upon a deer. He technically can survive on animal blood but Leon is a picky man.

Human blood tastes so much better.

After several hours, Leon can see that the sun is about to come up, so he calls off his search, returning to his Jeep to drive home while it’s still dark. His timing is perfect, because the sun is just starting to rise as he pulls up to his house, parking his Jeep to go inside. He’s surprised to be hit with the smell of eggs and bacon as soon as he walks in; his angel must have gotten up to make breakfast.

“I’m back!” he calls out as he walks into the kitchen, confirming his suspicions upon finding her in front of the stove. 

She turns, smiling at Leon as he walks into the kitchen, “you went out without a jacket or anything? Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah I’m fine, the cold air is good for burning calories,” Leon replies with a chuckle as he walks up next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, “thank you for breakfast, angel.”

Leon kisses the top of her head as he watches her cook. He appreciates the gesture, even if the food will do nothing to sate his hunger. 

“Any sign of the B.O.W.?” she asks, leaning into his embrace as she cooks.

Leon shakes his head, “nope. Nothing.”

While the town is busy getting ready for the Harvest Festival, you and Leon are hard at work on his house. Over the last couple of weeks since you practically moved in with him, you two managed to get the living room and entryway redone and decided to work on the master bathroom upstairs. It’s small, so most of the time it was just Leon working on it while you keep him company. Currently he’s laying under the bathroom sink, redoing the plumbing from the sink while you sit on the edge of the bed.

Over the last day or so, you notice that Leon is looking exceptionally pale and today, you can see some of his veins are dark and prominent, especially on his arms. He also seems to tire more easily, his breaths heavy as he works to wrench off one of the pipes under the sink.

“Leon,” you finally speak up, “have you been feeling ok?”

Leon stops what he’s doing, sitting up and looking at you with a quizzical look on his face, “what makes you ask, angel?”

“You just look… I dunno… sick…”

Leon looks down at his bare arms, seemingly acknowledging how pale he looks as he nods his head before standing up from the floor. 

“I suppose I have been pushing myself pretty hard, lately,” he says, walking up to you before sitting next to you on the bed.

“Maybe you should take a break. The Harvest Festival starts tomorrow and goes until this Saturday, Halloween; let’s pick a day and go!”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, angel,” he says, wrapping his arm around you.

You notice immediately that his skin is cold and clammy, but you chalk that up to his exhaustion from working on the house nonstop. 

The two of you decide to go Wednesday in hopes that it wouldn’t be as crowded. Unfortunately, you were wrong, very wrong. Parking was next to impossible until Leon finally found a spot way in the back of the lot by the forest. It’s late afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky. The Oakvale fairground is teeming with life, the sounds of people laughing and screaming on carnival rides filling the air. The star attraction, a large ferris wheel, lights up the entire area like a lighthouse, drawing everyone to it like moths to a flame. 

Leon is wearing one of his dark leather jackets, but even with that on you could see that Leon looks even more pale than he had the other day, noting dark veins spreading over his muscular neck.

“Leon, are you sure you’re feeling ok, you look worse than you did the other day.”

“I promise, I’m fine, angel. I just need some fresh air, which I’m sure we’ll get plenty of here.”

“Alright… but if you look worse tomorrow, promise you'll go to a doctor.”

"I will, angel," Leon replies, giving you a reassuring smile before he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

He suddenly leans down to you, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deep. You let out a playful giggle at his gesture.

“Leon! What are you doing?”

“You smell irresistible, angel,” he replies, giving you a kiss on the top of your head before he pries his nose from your hair.

It takes several minutes to walk the length of the parking area to the fairground, the setting sun turning everything a brilliant orange as it makes its descent behind the mountains.

“How about we watch the sunset from up there?” Leon suggests, nodding his head towards the ferris wheel.

You feel your cheeks tingle at the idea, “we’ll have to get tickets first, there’s a ticket booth right there next to it.”

“Wait here,” Leon says, planting a kiss on the top of your head before you watch him walk up to the ticket booth.

You watch them exchange words, unable to hear anything they’re saying over the sounds of the crowd and the rides. With tickets in hand, Leon walks back over to you, reaching to take your hand and leading you over to the ferris wheel line. It’s long, but it goes fast; the two of you are next to board before you even know it. Getting into the cart, the two of you sit on one side as the wheel slowly begins to move up. Leon wastes no time pulling you into his embrace.

“So…” you begin resting your head on his chest, “once the B.O.W. is taken care of, you’ll have to leave, won’t you?”

You feel his chin rest on the top of your head, “I should be able to pull some strings to be able to stay here, I wouldn’t be fixing the house up otherwise.”

As the cart makes its ascent to the top, the two of you sit there in silence, but Leon’s gentle rubbing of your upper arm and the occasional kiss he places on the top of your head speaks more than words ever could. The love you feel for him is overwhelming, although for some reason you were hesitant to say it out loud. The cart finally reaches the top, stopping for a few minutes.

“Wow…” you say under your breath.

The sunset is the most beautiful you have ever seen. It looks like the whole sky is set ablaze as the sun slowly creeps behind the mountains. You feel Leon’s nose bury itself back in your hair, feeling him inhale deeply once more.

“Someday soon… I hope to give you something really special,” Leon says suddenly, “a gift.”

You shift in his embrace, looking up at him into his blue eyes, “what kind of gift?”

You can barely contain your excitement at the implication of his words. The first thing that immediately comes to mind is an engagement ring. You watch a smirk cross Leon’s lips as he stares back at you.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, you’ll have to wait and see.”

“You’re such a tease,” you say as you playfully punch his shoulder.

“God, I love you,” Leon replies before he pushes you into the side of the cart, kissing you deeply.

His words give you whiplash, you aren’t even given enough time to process them when his tongue dips into your mouth as he practically devours you. He breaks off the kiss for a moment, his lustful gaze locked on yours.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I fucked you up here?” he says with a smug look.

“Pretty sure they’d notice one of the carts moving erratically,” you reply, unable to contain your bashful giggling. 

“Damn,” he replies, the disappointment evident in his voice as he leans back so that you can sit back up in the cart as it begins to make its descent.

You watch his eyes scan the fairgrounds for a moment before you shift back over to him, his arm draping across your shoulders. After a few minutes, your cart descends back to the ground and you’re let off the ride.

“I need to use the bathroom real quick, I think I saw it over there while we were up on the ferris wheel, I’ll meet you back here, ok?” Leon says, leaning down to give you a quick kiss on the lips.

You reply with a quick nod as you watch Leon head into the crowd. You take this opportunity to look around at some of the vendors in the immediate area. A lot of them were selling cheap knockoffs of popular cartoon characters, funny hats and toys, but there are some homemade soaps and other homemade crafts and foods as well. 

15 minutes go by and Leon still hasn’t come back yet. You do your best not to worry, you figure there is probably a large line to use the bathrooms; there always seems to be a line at the festival. You’re at a stall belonging to a lady that made handcrafted signs when all of a sudden you hear a very distinct sound.

Bang. Bang, Bang. Bang…

“Is that gunfire?!” you hear someone say as you hear more banging sounds ring out. 

You quickly realize the sound is coming from the direction of the bathrooms.

“Leon!” you call out as you make a run to the bathrooms.

As you run closer, you can still hear the gunfire, and as you come upon the bathrooms, you realize the gunfire is coming from the woods behind them. You don’t hesitate and run into them, noting that there are several police officers following behind you with their guns drawn. You run about a quarter of a mile when you find Leon standing over a young man; his gun drawn and pointing to the depths of the woods.

“Leon!” you call out to him, the officers quickly catching up to you, “are you ok?! What happened?!”

Leon turns to you and you’re shocked to find his jacket, shirt and face are covered in blood, “when I got over here to use the bathroom, I heard someone calling for help, so I came to investigate. Something was on top of him. I managed to drive the creature off him but it bolted into the woods. I tried to resuscitate him but…”

You watch Leon’s gaze shift to the young man splayed out on the ground. The man had a large gaping wound in his neck, blood still coming out of it and his mouth. That at least explains why Leon has blood all over him, he had tried to perform CPR.

“Sir we’re going to need to see some identification,” one of the officers states, approaching him.

“Of course,” Leon says, pulling his wallet out and flipping it open to show a federal ID, “I’m agent Leon S. Kennedy, Division of Security Operations. I’m stationed here on official classified business.”

The officer nods, looking down at the dead young man, seemingly satisfied with Leon’s response. Chief Bob suddenly approaches, running his hand through his hair, staring down at the dead young man in disbelief. 

“Son of a bitch…” Chief Bob says under his breath as he gently kicks the body with his foot before turning to the other officers, “evacuate the fairground, we need to shut down the festival.”

The ride home is solemn, you zone out looking out the window into the night as Leon drives. All you can smell is the man’s blood that is all over Leon’s clothes; he thankfully managed to clean off his face in the bathroom before leaving the fairground. You suddenly feel Leon’s hand caress your thigh, making you jump a little as you come out of your daze.

“You ok, angel?” Leon asks softly as he glances over at you.

“Yeah… I guess I’m just shaken. What was that guy even doing out there?”

“From what I saw when I first found him, he went out there to smoke a cigarette. Poor guy…”

“Did you see the B.O.W. at all?”

Leon shakes his head, “not really, it was dark, but I could see it had these back claw things and a long tail before it bolted into the forest. I’d never imagined it’d try attacking so close to town like that.”

“We’re never going to hear the end of it from my Dad…”

“Your father can kiss my ass,” Leon says, his voice full of malice.

“Leon… please don’t…”

“He treats you like shit, tries to control everything you do. It’s a miracle he’s even married to be honest.”

“Leon, he's still my Dad.”

“And you’re my mate. So long as I’m around, your father has no power over you.”

You blink a few times, your brain trying to figure out if you heard him correctly, “I’m your… what?”

You see Leon shake his head quickly, correcting himself, “sorry… city slang. My girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend.”

Hearing him refer to you as his girlfriend makes your nerves spark, you lean your head against the passenger side window in an attempt to calm yourself. The Jeep finally pulls into the driveway; Leon parks it on the side of the house and the two of you head inside. Leon makes sure the front door is locked.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower,” Leon says, peeling off his blood soaked jacket and shirt, walking over to the washing machine adjacent to the kitchen and tossing them inside.

“I like that idea a lot, actually, “ you reply as your eyes move up and down his naked torso, admiring his physique.

Leon smirks at you, seeing you gawk at him, “I knew you would, angel.”

You watch as Leon goes upstairs, you soon follow close behind him. He goes into the master bathroom, turning on the shower to warm it up before he discards the rest of his clothes. Even from where you stand in the master bathroom threshold, you can see that he’s already starting to get hard, meaning the two of you clearly had the same thing on your minds. The second thing you notice is that his skin looks a thousand times better than it had when you first got to the fairground; full of color and life. He was right; he had just needed the fresh air.

You begin to undress as Leon steps into the shower, joining him once you’re fully unclothed. Leon’s hands are immediately on you once you’re inside the shower with him, pushing you against the shower wall as he leans down to kiss the crook of your neck. You feel his hands grasp at your hips as you feel him kiss, suck and gently bite your neck; there will surely be marks later but in that moment, you don’t care; the only thing on your mind is him and how much you want him.

A soft moan escapes your lips as his own begin to trail down from your neck, to your shoulder, then to the front of your chest where his mouth latches onto one of your breasts. You feel his tongue lap the sensitive nipple, causing shivers to travel down your spine and throughout your entire body. With one of your hands, you caress down his toned chest until you’re greeted by his rock hard member, your hand grasping around it to give him slow, but firm strokes. 

“Oh… fuck…” Leon moans, taking his mouth off your breasts to lean down and kiss you.

His kiss is deep and hungry, his tongue invading your mouth as he has your hips in his vice-like grip. You manage to break away, suddenly getting on your knees, gently holding his throbbing cock by the base as your tongue gently runs up the bottom to the tip. It’s a lovely shade of dark pink, crying pre-cum as you take him into your mouth.

“I get to fuck your pretty mouth?” you hear Leon growl as he thrusts into your mouth, his hand grasping the hair on the back of your head.

You gag as the tip of his cock pushes into the back of your throat at an increasingly fast pace; the sounds coming out of your mouth are borderline pornographic. You feel tears tease the corners of your eyes as Leon relentlessly fucks your mouth and just when it's becoming too much, his hand that’s on the back of your head yanks your mouth free, pulling you up to force you to stand.

Leon pushes the shower door open, aggressively pushing you against the bathroom counter. You manage to catch yourself with your hands, looking up into the mirror to see Leon looming behind you. One of his hands is placed on your back, pushing you forward as you feel his cock prod at your soaked hole. He quickly sheathes himself inside you, eliciting a loud moan out of you when he bottoms out inside you, your walls instinctively squeezing around him as he fills you. 

He wastes no time thrusting into you. The thrusts are slow, but powerful, with purpose. A combination of his name and ‘oh my god’ spilling from your lips as you are fucked dumb on his cock.

“That’s it, taking me so well my pretty angel,” Leon purrs as he picks up the pace on his thrusts.

You lean your head forward, your arms shaking as they struggle to prop you up on the bathroom counter. Suddenly, you once again feel Leon’s hand grasp the hair on the back of your head, pulling you up so that your back is against his chest.

“This pussy is all mine, you hear me, angel?” Leon growls in your ear, “I want you to watch yourself as I breed you.”

His thrusts become aggressive, your mind too cock drunk to protest him cumming inside you. Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head as the head of his cock abuses your cervix. A wave of pleasure washes over you as you cum on his length, your walls squeezing him tight as you moan loudly. Letting out an animalistic growl, Leon pushes himself as hard and as deep into you as he possibly can. You suddenly feel a sharp, excruciating pain from deep within your core followed by the warmth of his cum filling you as he pushes himself inside you; you watch as your face contorts in the mirror. Tears stream down your face as Leon’s arms wrap possessively around you while still pushing his throbbing cock inside you.

“L-Leon… it hurts!” you sob out in agony, your body violently trembling.

“Shhhhh… I know, angel, I know. You’re taking my seed so well, baby. I have to make sure it takes. It’s almost over, I promise,” he softly coos in your ear. 

It feels like an eternity before Leon’s member finally stops throbbing inside you. He gives you a gentle kiss on your cheek before he slowly pulls out. You let out a pathetic whimper as you collapse against the bathroom counter, your body still shaking from both the pleasure and the pain. You can feel some of his cum leak out as it runs down the inner side of your leg. You feel Leon’s fingers spread your pussy lips open; you glance up in the mirror to see the look of pure admiration on his face as he stares at your leaking hole.

“So beautiful,” he whispers. 

Saturday morning, Mick’s favorite. His eyes slowly open to see the clock read 7:47am back at him. He rolls onto his back, stretching his arms out to find the space next to him is empty; Sandi is already up. Mick climbs out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers before he walks into the master bathroom to relieve himself. Afterwards, he goes downstairs into the kitchen, the smell of bacon filling the air as he spots Sandi over the stove making breakfast.

“I grabbed the paper, hun. It’s on the table,” she says as she begins plating their breakfast.

Mick sits down at his chair, unfolding the newspaper to be greeted with large bold text reading:

Trick or Treating Canceled in Oakvale

Wild animal attack during annual Harvest Festival prompts town officials to cancel trick or treating. 

Mick doesn’t bother reading the rest of the article. He flips the page, shaking his head.

“Did you see they canceled trick or treating tonight?” Mick asks Sandi as he reads through the paper. 

“I did,” Sandi says as she brings two plates of bacon and pancakes over to the table, setting one down in front of Mick while she sits in a chair next to him, “what a shame.”

“Why does no one listen to me? I told them having the festival was a bad idea and look what happened.”

Not even mentioning Leon was there when it happened…

On one hand, it makes sense that Leon was there given what Leon had made him privy to when his daughter moved in with him, but there is still a part of him that thinks that Leon is somehow involved; he just can’t prove it. 

“Honey, I know, but the festival is a huge part of this town, you know that.”

“I know…”

“Fish and Game found those two hikers from Plymouth State yesterday, both dead,” Sandi says, eating her breakfast.

Mick lets out a heavy sigh as he sets the newspaper down on the table, digging into his breakfast in silence, his mind wandering. He calls back to the first hiker that went missing, which wasn’t unusual around here. People went hiking in the Notch unprepared all the time. Now that he thought about it, he doesn’t think they ever found that person’s body. 

The rest of the day is uneventful. Not getting trick or treaters is an adjustment. Mick spends his evening in his recliner, mindlessly scrolling through channels on TV. There’s a sudden rap on the door, startling Mick so much that he sits up in the recliner. He looks up at the clock, which reads just after 11:00pm. The knocking continues, insistent and forceful.

“Who the fuck could that be at this hour?” Mick asks himself under his breath as he walks over to the front door, opening it to find Leon, clearly out of breath as he leans up against the door frame with one arm.

“Leon!” Mick says, surprised, “what are you doing here?”

“I need your help, Mick,” Leon begins, “I have the B.O.W. cornered but not for long. I can’t take it down on my own.”

“Why come to me for help? Did you run here?” Mick asks, looking around behind Leon but not finding his Jeep.

“I did…” Leon replies, still winded as he stands up straight, “I came to you because you’re the only other person besides your daughter who knows about the B.O.W. and I am not putting her in danger.”

“Shit hold on, let me get my gun,” Mick says as he turns to walk into the house, but Leon grabs his arm to stop him.

“There’s no time, I have a gun for you right here,” Leon pats the holster strapped to his leg, “we need to go. Now.”

“I need to at least tell my wife--”

“No, don’t tell a soul, if it gets out there’s a B.O.W. here, there will be panic. I can’t let that happen.”

Mick is at war with himself, he doesn’t trust Leon, but on the chance that Leon is being truthful, this is his chance to put an end to this nightmare and things can finally go back to normal around here. 

He looks to Leon, giving him a quick nod in acknowledgement, “let’s go.”

Leon pulls the gun from his hip holster and a flashlight from his pocket, handing them to Mick before he gestures for him to follow him. Mick follows, quietly closing the front door behind him before both of them break out into a run. Mick struggles to keep up with Leon, who’s obviously in much better shape than he is being a government agent and all. Within 10 minutes, they’re at the fairground, unsurprisingly; this is where the creature got its latest meal, of course it would stick around.

Leon and Mick head into the forest, Leon leading the way as they continue to run deeper and deeper into the forest. Eventually, they come upon a small clearing, Leon slowing himself to a stop as Mick runs slightly ahead into the clearing. Mick looks around, not seeing any sign of life in the immediate area.

“Where did it go? Did the fucker take off?” Mick scoffs in frustration as he continues to look around ahead of him into the darkness, the flashlight doing little to penetrate it.

“It’s right here.” Leon growls from behind Mick.

Mick turns around slowly, the flashlight confirming his deepest fears as his breaths become ragged with his racing heart. Leon is standing behind him, shirtless. Black veins sprawl across his skin as Leon stares at Mick with piercing red eyes. Leon’s mouth starts to morph into a sinister grin, revealing two long, sharp canine teeth.

“I fucking knew it! What are you, some kind of vampire?!”

“Oh Mick… I’m so much more than that,” Leon purrs, flexing his fists as he slowly approaches him. 

Mick watches in horror as four long, claw-like black appendages burst from his back, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles backwards away from Leon’s approach. Then, a long scorpion-like tail snakes out from behind him, curling to the front to reveal a sharp, blade-esque end. 

“Jesus Christ!” Mick cries out, holding the gun up and pulling the trigger.

Click, click, click, says the empty chamber of the gun.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… you really think I’d be stupid enough to give you a loaded gun, Mick?” Leon taunts, continuing his advance.

In a last ditch effort to defend himself, he chucks the empty handgun at Leon, who catches it with lightning fast reflexes with his hand, putting it back into his hip holster. 

“You certainly had me nervous, Mick, you seem to be the only one who caught on to the fact that there’s something very wrong about me,” Leon says, his voice dripping with venom before he licks his fangs with his tongue. 

“What do you want?!”

“I want what any man wants, to breed with his mate and pass down his bloodline. I’m the last of my kind, you know. I have to do my part to ensure the survival of my species.”

“Your mate? You mean my fucking daughter?!”

Leon lets out a low chuckle, “yes I mean your daughter. You should be proud of her, she’s currently carrying my offspring. She doesn’t know that yet, but she will soon enough, I promise you.”

“You son of a bitch! You won’t get away with this!”

“Oh, but I will Mick,” Leon says, grinning, “you see, the only ones that know what I truly am are you and I. I am quite famished, Mick and lucky for you, I enjoy playing with my food.”

Mick continues to back away from Leon, the light of the flashlight shaking as Leon stalks closer.

Leon chuckles once more before continuing, “I’ll even give you a head start, so I hope you make it fun for me.”

“Shit…” Mick says under his breath as the reality of his situation sinks in, watching Leon grin even wider as he spreads his arms out in a taunting gesture.

“Run.”

Part 6

[gretavanlace]

Blank

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, discussion of poor self image/shaky mental health, praise, degradation, dumbification, impact play (spanking), etc

You’re standing in front of the floor length mirror when Josh’s voice finds you…turning this way and that with your t-shirt pulled tight around your belly and a frown furrowing your brow.

“The movie’s ready, baby.” There’s a smile in his tone, and a dramatic flare, as there so often is, as he leans against the door jamb. “And I made the popcorn on the stove like you like. None of that microwaved bullshit for my darling doll.”

You’d like to find your excitement in order to match his own - movie night is his favorite night of the week. Often, it turns into several nights a week, in keeping with his passion for film and curling up snug and warm with you on the couch.

And normally, you look forward to it as well, but tonight…

Well, tonight you’d just as soon crawl into bed alone and in the dark. How else will you ever manage to tune out all those poisonous thoughts hissing through your mind? Obsidian. Ominous. Hateful.

“What are you doing, babe?” There is concern in his query. He knows you far too well.

Dropping your shirt as if it’s white hot, you slip away from the mirror, praying he’ll let the matter drop. Though, you hope in vain. You know him far too well, too. “Nothing. C’mon, whatever masterpiece you’ve selected isn’t going to watch itself.”

He steps into the room and you suppress a sigh of defeat. “Waterloo Bridge.” He clarifies, studying you intently. “And you’re a shitty liar. What’s wrong?”

“I said it’s nothing, Josh,” there’s a touch too much venom in your tone, but sometimes you wish he didn’t see so damn much. Sometimes you wish you could skate around things with him.

“And that’s a lie,” he points out, sidling up behind you when you turn away. “Do we lie to one another?”

“No.” You concede quietly as his arms cradle you from behind.

“So, would you like to try again?” His embrace is soft, but it makes you feel safe and protected all the same. He has this way about him - he is love and light, sunshine and smiles, gentle poetry…but something lies hidden away behind it all, something only you get to see, and it makes for the most deliciously dark and menacing aura when it comes out to play.

“I just,” now you’re stammering like a child caught with a crayon in her hand and scribbles on the wall.

His lips move along the nape of your neck, brushing over your skin and the whispers of hair that have fallen from your bun, “You just, what?”

“I had lunch with my sister today.” You offer meekly. Can’t he ever just leave things alone? Can’t he ever just let you curl up with your self-loathing?

“Yes,” he nods, now pecking at the curve of your jaw, “And I adore you for not making me come along…she’s exhausting.”

“I know.” His palms are now running along beneath your shirt, circling your belly with tender possessiveness…it’s soothing and filled up full of love, but you wish his hands would land somewhere a little more flattering “But she’s also truthful. She thinks I should start going to the gym with her, and she’s right.”

He stills behind you instantly, and you can feel him shaking his head, though you’ve closed your eyes against the embarrassment of it all.

Eager to fill the room up with words rather than your own vulnerability, you rush on “She’s is, though. Right, I mean. I’ve put on weight, and the older I get, the harder it will be to take off. Obviously, I’ve never been small, but—“

He cuts you off with a loose palm around your throat and a snapped, “Stop.” Breathed in your ear.

“Josh,” Christ, you want to melt into the floor, “I love you for always being so sweet, but I,”

You haven’t the chance to finish your thought and his grip is tightening, “I said, stop.”

A joke will quench the fire burning in your cheeks, “C’mon, what if I got all adorable and tiny like your little hippy girls in the crowd? I—“

A sharp pinch to the curve of your hip shocks you into silence, which he promptly fills. “Don’t say things like that. You’re fucking beautiful. Soft and warm. I want to nestle my face right here,” his hand is splayed out wide across your belly again, “and right here,” his touch drops to find the dimples in your thighs, “for the rest of my life. If we get to choose our heaven, you will be mine. Gorgeous, perfect girl.”

Now you’re struggling to squirm out of his insistent embrace. You feel too seen. And though you know he is nothing if not sincere, always…those lovely words of his, they feel like untruths.

“Josh,” you snap, a little too harshly, “let’s just go watch the movie, okay?”

But it’s too late, he has spotted the quiver at your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he spins you around to face him and you know it’s useless to shut him out at this point. “What’s going on up here, hmm?” He taps your temple gently, “Is it getting loud?”

You know he means those intrusive thoughts that plague you when the love and admiration he beams in your direction isn’t enough. He knows the way they scream and yell at you no matter how badly he’d love to quiet them for good.

Ashamed, you stare down at his t-shirt, toying with the cotton between your fidgeting fingers, “Maybe a little,” you hush.

His fist tucks under your chin, tilting your face upward, but still, you refuse his gaze. “You need it, baby?”

Voice soft and leading, he lures you out of your bashfulness just enough for you to find the bravery to blink up at him with the tiniest of nods.

“Yeah?” He sounds so unlike himself - but also, exactly like himself. “You need me to make it go away? Wipe that wild mind until you’re as blank as you are pretty?”

Josh is small, and he has never shied away from that, but in these moments, he feels larger than life…looming like a God sent to bring you peace. “Can you, please?’

With a taunting flick of your nipple, he switches on. “Well, how could I ever say no to such a sweet girl? You sound like honey when you say please.”

The warmth of his body, so near to yours, is suddenly missing, but you’re feeling a little too meek to glance up to see where he’s gone…opting to stare at your thumbnail in earnest instead, resisting the urge to pick your cuticle.

“Come on, doll,” his voice comes hushed as a siren’s secret song floating through a cove “Miss you already.”

You feel unworthy of this. Of him. Of all the tiny ways he loves you just right. How he has memorized you in and out. The way he looks at you like he could happily stare forever. How he understands even when he doesn’t quite understand…how he took your heart and turned it round and round until he had mapped out every inch. How he dives inside your mind every day and does the same, no matter how tragic and treacherous it can be to wade through those waters.

When you had stumbled upon this, it had been by accident really. A harsh crack of his palm against the globe of your ass by way of quieting you when you’d argued with his stuttering praises as he pushed into you over and over from behind. Your brain had short circuited in the most welcomed and stunning way. That stinging impact, the shock of it, the tangible pain, had left no room for cruel thoughts…your mind was muffled up like lavender cotton with nothing but Josh and what he saw fit to give.

Most times, he loves you hard enough just by being himself. Golden, shimmering aura, grinning heart, sure and tender hands…but sometimes you need this from him - and he is always willing to oblige. You hold the key that turns all his locks, and he would sink into a bed of hot coals for a nap if you thought to ask it of him.

With a clipped call of your name, he’s got you hustling across the room to fold yourself shyly over his knee at the foot of the bed.

“That’s perfect, baby.” He coos down at you, palm stroking over the backs of your thighs before bunching your t-shirt up around your waist. “Gonna make it all go away, aren’t I? Is that what you need? You need me to take it all away?”

“Please.” You sound pathetic, but already it’s a sweeter sort of shame. One you can name. One you can love.

His fingers tuck under the cotton of your panties, hooking at the soft lace that adorns the edges, straightening them as though he’s adjusting the ribbon on a present he’s waited a very long time to receive.

“If I had to guess,” he hums, a little like the kindest bully you’ve ever known, “I’d wager your pretty pussy’s feeling lonely already. Maybe a little whiny. Maybe starting to swell…” his hands continue to pet at your ass, your thighs, your hips, “I love that, you know? Watching how puffy and swollen you get. It’s adorable…and fucking sexy. Your body begs without a sound.”

Your grip is twisting into the blanket beneath you now as your cheek nuzzles against the downy softness “Josh…”

“Quiet,” he bestows a single, much too delicate smack in the wrong place. It’s too far off to the side for your liking, and he knows it. “We’ll get there. You’re gonna listen first.”

An obedient nod tugs yet another delicious hum of approval from him and you squirm lightly under his hands, thrumming with pleasure at the sound of his validation.

“You’re alright, baby…” he’s being so gentle. Too gentle. But you would lie here beneath his hands and his gaze for all of eternity if that’s what would suit him. “My poor thing just needs it, doesn’t she? Busy little head needs to just leave…” a soft swat lands upon your cheek just below the waist, “her…” another, “alone,” and another.

“Harder, Josh…” it’s a piteous plea, one that pairs nicely with the honeyed, condescending melodies drifting off his tongue.

“Tell me what you’d like me to do to you.” He’s coaxing so kindly, but you know what lurks below that shiny surface. “Say the words, my darling doll. Say the words.”

With a deep, centering breath, you find the calm in your storm by way of his scent…eucalyptus and bergamot…woodsy hint of lemon soap lingering beneath. You find strength in his presence, and love there, too.

“Spank me.” It pants out of you like an urgent prayer. “Make it stop.”

As if in punctuation to your begging, he lands a harsh, loud, cracking strike against the fat of your ass. It comes quickly, shaking your equilibrium though this is exactly what you’ve been imploring him for.

“Fuck!” The curse pushes out of your lungs, long and grateful. Blindsided and aching.

Another blow lands in exactly the same place, setting the flesh there on fire. “Yeah? Fuck?” He taunts, “That’s a good fucking doll…you just take it.”

“More,” you’re rocking around, blissful at the pain and the twitching of his hard cock beneath you.

He begins laying into you without restraint, blow after blow raining down on you like merciful salvation. Your brain is numb now - quiet, hazy and clouded with his perfect wrath.

Tears are streaking like fire down your cheeks, a graven image of mother Mary sobbing blood in a candlelit room of worship come to life. He is your alter. He is your God.

“That’s my girl,” his accolades stutter out between smack after smack until he pauses to jerk your legs apart. “You’re dripping all over me. Baby needs it right here, too?” There is his touch, love and reverence woven into the very fingerprints nudging at your covered entrance. “Dirty little cunt needs a spanking, too, doesn’t she?”

Embarrassingly, a mumbled, indecipherable sound croaks out of you, and your entire body flushes hot with an indignity you happen to relish.

“What was that?” He sounds like sex…like he’s thinking with his throbbing cock - but if your mind’s eye could see straight, you would know better. He is careful and controlled in these moments. Never losing sight of himself, never risking a move too far. “Aw, poor doll is just a dumb little baby, now? Spanked all quiet and wet? I like that, beautiful. I like that very much. No thoughts, right? Shh, no thoughts.”

Again, you manage merely a sound, a murmuring of his name no one but yourself could ever transcribe.

A violent strike buries its way into your covered folds. You jolt and cry out, writhing against his thighs, fighting for more.

You want him inside in any capacity. Fingers, tongue, cock..it matters not, just inside. That’s the only word you seem to know in this moment - inside, inside, inside. But with another sound slap against your cunt, it explodes through your nerve endings like a wire kicking up sparks and skittering against desolate, lonely pavement. You’re climaxing hard and fast, releasing all over the fleece covering his thighs, thrusting against nothing, mourning the heat of his impact though it was there for but a breath.

“Yes!” It wails out of you, warbling and wild…teeth clenched and grinding, body wound so tightly your muscles will protest and complain later.

There will come a time tonight where you’ll long for a way to thank him. For a way to call his name and cradle his face and express your absolute gratitude for this blank slate he molds your mind into…for the way he takes all the ugly and chases it right out of your orbit…

But for now, you fall limp and spent against him. Breathing heavily and deeply. Drawing oxygen way down into your chest that no longer feels so tight. And for now he’ll hear no talk of reciprocation, for now he continues to cater to you with devotion in his touch and a worshipful cast in his gaze as he slips away to draw you a bath.

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[jackiepackiee]

chuuya x fem reader where they cuddle n stuff and it's cute

𝒞𝒽𝓊𝓊𝓎𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝓃𝑜, 𝑜𝒷𝓋𝒾

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎

Today’s shift was longer than expected for the both of you. Missions of gun fire and explosions of buildings that may or may not have been abandoned. Meetings with Mori about recent developments in companies that fronted the port mafia.

Like always, you and Chuuya saw each other at least once. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a shared lunch or some quality time in his office. Instead, it was you running down the hall to Mori with important information while he was strolling out the office.

He… well he missed you the entire day. And it only got worse… he had to do Akutugawas paperwork since he had gotten injured!

So, he texted you about an hour before end of shift.

Chuu <3

“Hey love, gonna be home a bit later tonight. Don’t worry about dinner, I know I won’t be hungry so late.”

Safe to say, your car ride home was lonely. The chauffeur even asking “Where is Mr. Nakahara?” When you entered alone.

You sighed, back against the leather and sank into a state of silence.

Feet in pain from missions, wrists cracking from the amount of writing. Your hair was probably a mess, lipstick on your collar from when you tugged at your shirt.

The car was smooth, luckily. A bump would’ve made your head spin.

You wanted two things. Chuuya, and your bed.

So when you finally unlocked that penthouse door, you practically flung off your shoes. Hoping you didn’t hit anything of importance.

First it was your belt, then your bottoms, than your top. At last your bra was off and you stumbled into the bedroom. A trail of discarded clothes behind you.

Instead of scavenging through your closet, you walked into Chuuya’s side.

It was mostly suits and buttons up, but a section was reserved for comfy clothes.

Picking out a simple t shirt he’d were on casual days, you put it on. Probably backwards, but that didn’t matter.

It still smelled like him, warm and safe.

You crashed into bed after turning off the house lights. Forgetting to close the curtains, the city neon illuminated the room blue, pink, green, and red.

Somehow, somewhere, you drifted off.

It wasn’t until you heard the creak of the bedroom door you woke up again.

Sky still as dark as space, neon still piercing your vision.

“Sweetheart… thank fucking god you’re home too.”

He didn’t bother to put on new clothes. The way you saw him was shirtless in some boxers. And god, if you weren’t so tired…

Never mind

He flipped back his hair before sitting in bed.

You pulled yourself closer to him, arms around his waist with your head on his lap.

“Missed you, princess.”

His heartbeat slowed, and his body calmed.

He slowly pet your head, running his hand to your cheek and using his thumb to draw circles.

He giggled, randomly to you.

“What?”

“Your shirt is backwards.”

Damn it, you knew it!

“Can I hold you? Not like this, but fully.”

All it took was your nod for him to hoist you up into his arms and maneuver you both into a laying position.

Your head on his chest, his arms around your waist.

This was a much easier way to hear his heartbeat. And gosh, was it relaxing.

Between the moments, your breathing synced. He kissed your forehead in the quiet.

So high up, no city sound was heard.

Then, he began to hum. A song that sounded to far away, but you could feel the rumble of his chest.

Each note making a different feeling in his skin to your head.

It was mindless, something he must’ve heard on the radio.

“I’ve missed this, I’m so happy you’re awake.”

He didn’t mind your silence, in fact he barely noticed it. His eyes were so focused on you, he likely would’ve seen lips moving without hearing them.

He was memorized.

Tired eyes covered by orange hair, and droopy eyelids from the exhausting life of Chuuya Nakahara.

But every night was a little easier with you around.

[writingforstraykids]

Trouble Sleeping - Soft BinChan Headcanon

Pairing: BinChan

Word Count: 811

Summary: Chan can't find any rest and Changbin is his last hope. Binnie would do everything to grant his hyung some rest.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, comfort

As requested by @chrizzztopherbang I hope you like it, my love. Find the smut version here.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan has always had trouble sleeping. Nights are long, his mind a relentless whirl of responsibilities, melodies, and thoughts he can never quite shut off. He’s tried everything—warm baths, calming teas, even those sleep stories people swear by. But nothing seems to quiet the noise in his head. He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him.

Tonight is no different. The silence of the dorm is deafening, and the emptiness of his bed feels like a reminder of everything he carries alone. His chest tightens with the familiar ache of exhaustion, the kind that doesn't just settle in your bones but seeps into your soul. He’s so tired, but sleep continues to elude him.

It’s in this state, somewhere between desperation and defeat, that Chan finds himself standing outside Changbin’s door. He hesitates, feeling a pang of guilt. He’s the leader, the one who should be strong, dependable. But right now, all he wants is to feel like he’s not alone in this. He knocks softly, almost hoping Changbin won’t hear. But of course, Changbin does.

When Changbin opens the door, sleep still clinging to his eyes, he doesn't say a word. He takes one look at Chan and understands. Without a second thought, he reaches out, gently pulling Chan into his room, into his arms. The door clicks shut behind them, sealing off the outside world, and Chan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

The room is dimly lit, shadows softening the edges of everything. But in Changbin’s arms, everything feels sharp, real. His warmth is immediate, and Chan sinks into it, pressing his face against Changbin’s neck. He breathes in the familiar scent of him—something comforting and safe—and it soothes the frayed edges of his mind.

Changbin's hands slide up Chan’s back, his touch firm yet tender, grounding him. “You’re okay,” Changbin whispers, his voice low and intimate, meant only for Chan. “I’ve got you.”

The words unravel something deep within Chan. He wraps his arms tighter around Changbin, pulling him impossibly closer, as if by holding on like this, he can finally silence the chaos inside him. Changbin doesn’t resist. Instead, he guides them both to the bed, moving slowly, carefully, as if understanding that Chan is fragile in this moment.

They lie down, bodies pressed together in the quiet of the room. Chan feels every point of contact—the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest, the warmth of his skin, the way their legs tangle together naturally. Changbin’s hand comes up to cradle the back of Chan’s head, fingers threading through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” Changbin murmurs, his breath warm against Chan’s temple. “Not here. Not with me.”

The words hit Chan deeply, breaking through the barriers he’s built around himself. His breath catches, and for the first time in a long while, he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He’s always been strong, always been the one to hold everyone else together. But here, in Changbin’s arms, he feels like it’s okay to let go. Just for a moment.

The tears come slowly, silently, and Changbin feels them before he sees them. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds Chan tighter, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his cheek, anywhere he can reach. His touch is gentle, reverent, each kiss a quiet promise that Chan isn’t alone, that he’s loved.

“It’s okay,” Changbin whispers again, his voice soft and sure. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Chan nods against Changbin’s chest, his tears soaking into the fabric of Changbin’s shirt, but he doesn’t care. He’s never felt more vulnerable, but in this moment, it feels right. It feels safe. He clings to Changbin, letting himself be held, letting himself be comforted.

They lie like that for a long time, the world outside forgotten. The steady rhythm of Changbin’s heartbeat beneath his ear slowly lulls Chan into a state of calm he hasn’t felt in what seems like forever. His breathing evens out, and for the first time in weeks, his mind isn’t racing with a million thoughts. It’s just him and Changbin, tangled up together in the quiet intimacy of the night.

As sleep finally begins to claim him, Chan realizes that this is what he’s been needing all along. Not just rest, but the feeling of being cared for, of being loved without conditions or expectations. In Changbin’s arms, he doesn’t have to be the leader, the strong one. He can just be Chan. And that’s enough.

With one last contented sigh, Chan drifts off to sleep, feeling safe, cherished, and more at peace than he’s been in a long time. And as he sleeps, Changbin holds him close, never letting go, watching over him with a quiet, unwavering devotion.

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Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @minh0scat

[hughiecampbelle]

Baby Blue (Billy Butcher Oneshot)

Character/s: Butcher

Word Count: 1,014

Requested: Butcher fic request with Descriptions 16 (sing) and 43 (thunder and lightning) and Dialogue 5 (You're staring)? love your writing!!! - anon

A/N: My love!!! Thank you for requesting!!! My mind immediately went to the fluffiest place imaginable!! I love writing about storms and nature and the weather, I feel like I could describe it a thousand different ways, it brings me so much joy!! I hope you like it :D Feedback is always appreciated!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

The thunder bashes her fists against the apartment windows. Tonight, she and her twin throw their duel tantrums. You are restless, checking the baby monitor, making sure they’re still asleep. Tossing and turning, he sleeps soundly beside you. Stonelike, dead, you watch his back rise and fall, thankful he is still breathing. Thankful he is still around. The rain falls in sheets. You can hear it crash into the pavement below you, the streets and sidewalks, alongside the midnight traffic. Everyone rushing to get out of it, to get home, somewhere familiar and dry and warm. The lightning flashes for a moment, a second, illuminating the bedroom. There’s no hiding from him. The room is messy. Laundry sits overflowing from the basket. His clothes are left in a trail leading to the bed. He’d gotten home an hour ago, maybe two, exhausted. He climbed in beside you, falling asleep quickly. There are toys, and clothes, and shoes strewn across the place. A suitcase sits opened, empty, by the closet. You haven’t packed yet.

You wanted one more night.

You don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep until you wake up to the sound of crying. You pull the blankets back, moving quietly, not wanting to wake him, to disturb him. Through the hall, you find your way to the nursery. Butcher painted it for you before the baby was born, a soft sky blue. It was comforting then, but in the heart of the storm, it seemed dreary. Dreadful. He put together the crib too, swearing when he lost a tiny little screws, apologizing later. It made you laugh, though. He was so worried about being a bad influence. He even bought him a stuffed bulldog you both decided to name Terror. Terror slept in the crib with the baby. After two years, he’s been loved deeply. His missing button eye and frayed ears are proof of that. The baby wails, kicking his feet from under the blanket, fussing. Between sobs they call for you, their baby talk interrupted by gasps for air. You pick him up, hushing him, rubbing his back and reassuring him it would be okay. He was safe. The storm could not reach him. You stood by the window, showing him how the rain fell down the glasses. They're racing, you told him, showed him. Against your chest and shoulder, his body moved with his hiccups.

Butcher called your name. He sounded sleepy, urging you back to bed. When the baby had calmed down enough, when he was soothed enough, you walked back to your bedroom. You brought Terror, too. You placed him in between you, watching him smile up at Butcher. Your whole world was wrapped in this bed, this room. Outside the world was dark, brutal, unforgiving. The trees swayed in the wind, pulled to one side, the leaves torn from their mother's branches. Something in your breastbone spread, a kind of hurt one could only feel watching this sort of thing. You turned your attention towards Butcher instead. He shook Terror, barking for him, “biting” his chubby cheeks. The baby laughed and squealed. It was your favorite sound.

You listened to the thunder, the screaming, the fight she was putting up to be heard. You understood. You didn't like that it had scared him, the baby, but you got it. A begging to be believed. A sort of desperation. That's what everyone wanted. Lying on your side, you watched them, wanting this to last forever. Despite the bags under his bloodshot eyes, Butcher was all easy smiles. He whispered to the baby, afraid of anything louder. He placed his hand over their chest, feeling the flutter of their heartbeat. In return, he watched him, his bright, wide eyes taking him in. The baby cooed his name: DaDa, DaDa, DaDa. Drool seeped through Terrors ear as he spoke. His teething was coming to an end. You were grateful for this.

You're staring, Butcher says a little louder, pulling you from your thoughts. Sorry, you say, though you're not really sorry. His hair sticks up in all different directions. He's got a boyish quality to him you've always loved. He prides himself on having a hard outer shell, impenetrable, but the second he sees you and the baby, he melts. He's not as bulletproof as he likes to believe. Between you, the baby falls asleep eventually. You watch as you have watched Butcher: their chest moving up and down beneath his onesie. Neither of you talk, not wanting to ruin the moment. It's not often you get to do this: sit in silence, be in one another's company. It isn't often Butcher is content, serene. Instead he fills the space with jokes and quips. He doesn't do well without noise. He doesn't try it this time, though. You're wondering the same thing: how many more of these moments will you get?

Tomorrow, when the sun rises, he will go back to work. When he gets home, you won't be there. Neither will the baby. You will do as you have been instructed. You will pack a light. You will pack enough. You will get out of the city while there is still time. He's kept your family secret long enough, but Homelander is looking for you. He is looking for any excuse, any soft spot, any vulnerability to take Butcher down. You won't call, or text. You'll use another name, a different one, and you will disappear. If, not when, it is over he will find you. You're not sure how, but he promises he will. Everything he wants to say, every apology and fear and worry, they go unsaid. Not safe, but selfishly he wants to believe so. Foolishly, he wants to tell you not to go, not to leave him. That'd be silly. That'd be stupid. If you want your son to grow up, this is the only way to ensure that. He doesn't want to ruin the moment. Instead he fights off sleep, wanting to savor the moment a little longer. You and Baby Billy, together with him.