#i made this at precisely 3am

[suddencolds]

. not snz

on healing and on fear (tags)

[sluttywonwoo]

the roster | part one of three

pairing: christopher bahng + lee sangyeon + choi seuncheol x f!reader

summary: what happens when all the guys on your roster find out about each other?

warnings: see here (mdni!!!)

word count: 4.4k

series masterlist

You’d been set up. You should have known something was off when Sangyeon texted you to come over. He never texted you first. He was the most reserved of the three, always letting you be the one to reach out to him if you wanted to hook up. 

You shot him an accusatory glare but he pointedly avoided your gaze, choosing instead to stare at something on the ceiling that was apparently much more interesting.  

Seungcheol was the first to speak, of course. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” 

You figured there was no point in lying. They already had you cornered. “Yeah, kind of.” The three of them scoffed in unison, making you hold up your hands in defense. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other like that!”

In fact, you had chosen each of them precisely because you thought there wouldn’t be any conflicts of interest. They were all in different groups, all the leaders of said groups which you thought would mean that they were almost always busy with their members. You didn’t think they had time for friends. Let alone friends who were of different ages and also leaders. 

Chris was the biggest gamble. You knew that he knows almost everyone in the industry and has a lot of friends but you didn’t think he knew the other two guys you were fucking well enough to put together that you were actually sleeping with all of them. 

Everything had been going so well. You had perfected your system over the months, using the boys’ schedules to your advantage so there was never any overlap. Seungcheol got weekends, Sangyeon got Wednesdays and Fridays, and Chris got 3ams on Tuesdays, Thursdays, (and sometimes Fridays if you weren’t sleeping over at Sangyeon’s) because that’s just when he was free. You keep your Mondays and the last full week of every month free so that you have time for yourself. Otherwise you’d drive yourself crazy spending all your time with men. 

You had never agreed to be exclusive with any of them. You made it more than clear that wasn’t what you were looking for. Still, they must have thought you weren’t seeing anyone else because all three of them had shown up to this confrontation and all three of them looked pissed. 

“Is it just the three of us?” Chris chimes in. 

“How much time do you think I have?” you mutter. 

“Just answer the question.”

You look away from them. “Yeah, there’s no one else.”

“Lucky us,” Seungcheol sneers. 

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted something casual,” you remind him, your tone icy. “You wanted to sleep around with no strings attached and I agreed.”

You’ve known Seungcheol the longest. You were friends first, through your job, but it quickly turned into something more. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other, spending nights and mornings together. Going to sleep and waking up and stealing kisses in elevators. Talking on the phone for hours and planning dates in the different cities he was touring in. 

He shut you down before you could get too delusional about it, though, stating plainly that all he wanted was a strict friends-with-benefits sort of situation. You still remember the feeling of your throat burning as you fought back tears, telling him that was perfectly fine, that you felt the same way. 

You couldn’t let yourself get too attached to a man who didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him so you looked for a distraction and found one in Lee Sangyeon. You met him through Jacob, a younger member of his group. Sangyeon was the perfect distraction. He was charming and funny, never one to take himself too seriously. He was a real gentleman and it didn’t hurt that he had a huge dick. 

You were the one to broach the topic of nonexclusivity with him this time, wanting to beat him to it. You knew exactly what all of these idols wanted. Choi Seungcheol had taught you that lesson early on. Sangyeon took it well, at least, as well as you expected him to. He told you he was on the same page as you, that he was just looking for something casual and you believed him. Now, looking at the expression on his face as he listens to the two other men talk, you’re not sure. 

And then Chris just sort of fell into your lap. You weren’t looking for anything else. Juggling two men was enough work. You just so happened to run into him at some after party, stopping him to compliment his music. One thing led to another and you were shoving your tongue down his throat in a dark closet. Apparently he had a thing for praise. 

Neither of you had to be the one to friend(swithbenefits)zone the other. You brought it up one night as you laid in his bed together and he was quick to agree. 

“Yeah, I don’t have time for anything more than... this, right now,” he sighed. He sounded a little regretful about it, like he thought he was being an asshole despite you voicing the same sentiment. 

So you hadn’t been doing anything wrong- even if your brain liked to tell you otherwise sometimes. You defined the (non)relationships with each of them, used protection with all of them, you weren’t leading anyone on... it had just so happened to get a little bit... messy, for lack of a better word. 

-

“No strings attached doesn’t mean I want you to fuck my friends!” Seungcheol huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I didn’t know you were friends with them!” you cry, throwing your head back onto the back of the couch in frustration and accidentally banging your head against the wall in the process. 

“Are you okay?” Sangyeon asks, wincing. 

The other two side-eye him. 

“I’m fine. But why am I here? Did you bring me here just to yell at me?”

“Not exactly,” Chris says, smirking. 

You look to the other men for an explanation but neither of them offer any further explanation. 

“Then why?”

Chris slides his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “Well, if you’re up for it, the three of us thought we might have a little fun with you.”

“What does that mean?”

Seungcheol steps forward and mirrors Chan’s stance, cocking his head to the side for good measure. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

To be fair, all the posturing would be a lot more annoying if they weren’t the hottest men you’d ever seen in your life. 

“I think you know what that means,” Cheol adds, supplying absolutely nothing helpful. 

“Obviously I don’t or I wouldn’t have asked,” you argue. 

Seungcheol whistles and then looks to his friends. “Is she this bratty with you guys?” Chris gives an ‘eh’ hand motion whilst Sangyeon nods outright. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Did you think you were getting special treatment?” you taunt, surprising even yourself. 

He scowls but doesn’t respond, probably in an effort to maintain some semblance of self-control in front of the other two. If it were just you and him, you’d have a hand around your throat already. And maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe your mouth was working faster than your brain in order to get a specific... reaction out of them like you normally would. Or maybe your mouth just liked to get you in trouble. 

From the way they were acting, they obviously hadn’t lured you here just to hang out. It had to be some sort of sex thing, right? You certainly weren’t opposed, you just needed to figure out what game they were playing so that you could be dealt in. 

“We were curious about which one of us you like the most,” Chris says finally. At least someone was interested in getting to the fucking point. 

You blink at him then turn to look at Seungcheol who just nods in confirmation. “You want me to... rank you? Why?”

“You’re the one who has us on a little roster,” Sangyeon points out, sounding a little mean for the first time tonight. “Surely you’ve thought about it before.”

You shake your head. “I haven’t. I mean, I like all of you guys! I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

“We don’t care about hanging out, we want to know who you think is the best in bed,” Seungcheol clarifies. 

“What?”

“You know, who’s the best fuck?”

“Why do you even care?” you ask. “Like what are you getting out of this?”

“Just a little competition between friends,” Chris assures you with a wink. 

“I... wouldn’t even know where to start,” you insist. 

“We thought you might say that,” Seungcheol hums as he steps closer to you. “Which is why we thought we could test it in real time.”

“In real time?”

“Yeah, let us fuck you, then you tell us who’s best.”

“Right now?” 

Seungcheol shrugs. “You asked why we brought you here.”

“And you just assumed I’d be down?”

“Yeah,” all three of them say at the same time. 

It’s your turn to scoff. So that’s what they think of you. You shouldn’t have expected anything different, to be fair. It wasn’t like you were a saint. You literally had your dick appointments with all of them penciled into your Google Calendar every week. 

“C’mon, baby, we know you by now,” Chris adds, plopping down on the sofa next to you. He stretches his arm across the back of it like guys like to do, opening himself up for you to lean into him if you wanted to. “Are you saying you don’t want us to take turns fucking your brains out?”

You stay silent. 

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sangyeon asks. 

“I’d say so,” Chris agrees.

Seungcheol claps his hands together decisively and then points to the man sitting next to you. “Chan, you’re up first then, yeah? That’s how you do it in your group, right? Youngest first?”

He’s mocking him but Chris doesn’t acknowledge it. If there’s one thing you know about Bang Chan, it’s that he’s not one to back down from a challenge, and while going first in this sort of competition must be daunting he doesn’t look the least bit shaken. 

“Are we doing this here?” he asks the older two. 

Sangyeon considers it and shrugs. “We should probably move to the bed, right?” 

“Dude, it’s your house.”

“There’s more room on the bed,” Sangyeon decides, offering you his hand. 

You take it and he helps you up from the couch. You step in front of the boys and lead them to Sangyeon’s bedroom, calling “it’s this way,” over your shoulder just to be a menace. You can’t see the faces they make behind you but you hear Sangyeon chuckle under his breath. 

You flick on one of his table lamps and make yourself comfortable on the bed, patting the spot next to you for Chris to join you. He does and puts a hand on your thigh, squeezing your thigh comfortingly. Seungcheol and Sangyeon lean against the dresser across from the bed in the most non-awkward way they can manage. 

Somehow, they both still look intimidating despite the fact that they’re essentially about to be cucked by one of their closest friends. 

“What now?” you ask. 

Chris brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek and leans in. “Now, we do this.”

He kisses you gently at first. Whether it’s to ease your nerves or his own, you aren’t sure, but he starts slow, building up to what you’re used to. His thumb strokes your cheek as if to reassure you as he deepens the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth. His other hand that had been resting on your hip fumbles with your pants. 

“Just pretend they aren’t there,” he whispers. 

It’s impossible to do when you can feel the weight of their stares on you but you try to relax anyway, reminding yourself that something like this has been a fantasy of yours for a while now. You never thought it would actually happen and you definitely didn’t think it would be with them but with your luck you honestly shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. 

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t relax,” Chris continues, low enough for only you to hear. “I kind of have something to prove here.”

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you assure him. “You’re great in bed.”

“They don’t know that,” he hisses. 

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot this is just a competition to you guys,” you grumble. 

He chuckles. “What, you want me to make love to you in front of them? Because I will.”

“I think that’d be even more embarrassing, somehow.” 

“Exactly, now lay down and let me fuck you brainless so you can’t overthink anymore.”

He had such a way with words, that Bang Chan did. 

He shifts so you can lay down and take your pants off. Your shirt goes next, leaving you in just your underwear. It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt even though you’ve been completely naked in front of all three men before. 

Chris snaps the elastic waistband of your cotton panties against your hip and smirks. “Cute.”

You pout, ready to defend your granny panties but Sangyeon pipes up from the other side of the room before you can.

“She doesn’t care what she wears over to mine because she knows it won’t stay on long anyway.”

That was actually true. You dressed the most comfortably to hang out with Sangyeon because you knew he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like Chris or Seungcheol cared more, and you didn’t really dress up for them either, but there was a notable difference between the amount of effort you put in for each man, something you hadn’t noticed until just now. 

“She wet yet?” Seungcheol asks, sounding bored. 

You know it’s just a front so his jealousy and impatience won’t shine through because it’s not a very good one. Seungcheol is not and never has been good at hiding his feelings. 

Chris shoots him a look. “I was getting to that.” 

Seungcheol holds his hands up in defense but thankfully keeps his mouth shut. 

Chris sucks in a breath of patience and brings his hand in between your legs, fingers tracing your slit. Your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment because you are, in fact, wet. You have been since they sat you down and stood in front of you like you were going to be scolded for doing something wrong. 

“Yeah, she’s fucking wet,” Chris rasps. “Jesus Christ, baby. I bet your joggers are ruined too.”

His teasing makes you try to close your thighs around his hand but his reflexes beat yours and he catches your knee to force your legs back open. 

“Nice try.”

“You’re the worst.”

His fingers start to wander beneath the fabric of your panties, feather light touches that already have you gasping for breath. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, I really do.”

“Want me to stop?” he threatens.

“What happened to having something to prove?” you mutter back. 

“Always such a fucking brat,” he muses, jaw tight. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love that about me.”

“You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

Chris leans down and kisses you again, presumably to get you to stop talking. It works, of course. He lets his tongue explore your mouth while his hands explore your body, still not giving you what you really want. 

Eventually, he slips a finger inside, taking you by surprise and making you gasp as you grab at him for something to squeeze. He offers you his arm and you take it, fingernails digging into his bicep. 

“It’s just one finger, baby,” Chris coos. 

“Feels.... good, though,” you squeak. 

He adds another right as you start to get used to the feeling of the first and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself from making another embarrassing noise. 

“Don’t hold back. Let the boys know how good I’m making you feel.”

Seungcheol scoffs, tonguing his cheek. “You don’t have to fake it for him, babe.” 

“Are you sure you guys are friends?” you pant. 

They don’t answer, leaving you to draw the conclusions yourself. You’re sure they were friends... whether they would be after this was another story. 

Chris crooks his fingers up, knowing you won’t be able to stay quiet once he does. He’s right. You moan, albeit quietly, and arch into his touch. 

“So what are the parameters of this competition?” Chris asks the other two and turns his head towards them while he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. 

“What do you mean?” Sangyeon asks back. 

“Like, does foreplay count? Or is she judging solely based on our stroke game?”

Seungcheol considers it for a moment before looking to Sangyeon. “What do you think?”

“I think the judgment should include foreplay,” he says. “Foreplay is part of sex after all.”

“Good point,” Chris agrees. “Any other rules?” They shake their heads. “What about you, baby? Do you have any rules for us?”

You purse your lips as you think, trying not to lose focus with his fingers inside of you. “Just don’t go too hard. I do have to work on Monday.”

It’s only Friday night now, but knowing them, you’ll probably be sore for at least a couple of days afterward. 

Chris laughs. “We’ll do our best. Right, guys?”

They mumble what sounds like an agreement and Sangyeon even gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Can I keep going?” Chris asks you. 

“You didn’t really stop,” you point out.

He had still been fingering you lazily throughout the whole aside. It wasn’t enough to get you off but it was certainly distracting. You had to try very hard to concentrate on what they were saying. 

“C’mon, this is nothing,” he teases, bringing his thumb to your clit as he starts to kiss your neck. “How’s that?” he murmurs into your ear, 

“G-good...”

“Just good? Must be doing something wrong, then.”

Before you can deny it, he adds a third finger, earning a loud cry from you this time. You feel him grin against your throat, hiding his smug satisfaction from the other two. 

“Spread your legs wider for me, baby. Let them see.”

You do as you’re told even though it’s hard. It’s so much. You want to squeeze them around his hand again but you know you’ll only get told off if you do. 

“Good girl,” he praises, making you whimper. 

“That’s all it takes, doesn’t it?” Seungcheol mutters. “We just have to call you a good girl and you’re making a mess all over us, right?”

You squirm, arousal and embarrassment pooling in your belly. You can tell Chris wants to give Cheol shit for butting in when it’s supposed to be his turn, but he doesn’t because his words are technically helping him. You get even wetter around his fingers, a detail Chris elects not to share with the room. 

You’re sure they can see it, though, or at least hear it. The sounds are obscene. 

It’s mortifying. You want to die. But first you want to cum. 

Two of your favorite things about Chris are his hands. They’re huge, especially for a guy his height, and absolutely gorgeous. Thick veins run across the backs of them from his knuckles up through his forearms- he’s a nurse’s wet dream, and yours. You’ve spent an absurd amount of time tracing them with your own fingers when you’re laying in bed together after hooking up and more often than not, it’s enough to make you want to go again. 

He’s good with them too because of course he is. Bang Chan is annoyingly good at everything he does, including but not limited to: making you cum. 

“Already?” Chris muses under his breath. “Does having an audience turn you on that much?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who can take their fingers away any time they want to.”

“No, please!” you protest.

“That’s what I thought. Do you want to cum on my fingers? Or should I make you wait for it?” He’s talking to himself at this point but you answer anyway. 

“I-I don’t know...”

“Probably should let you, huh? You’re still so tight.”

You don’t get another word out before it hits you, your body curling in on Chan’s hand as he finger fucks you through your first orgasm of the night. As soon as you come down, he’s taking his fingers out of you and sucking them into his mouth, kissing you right after so you can taste yourself on his lips. 

“Good job, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth as he adds his tongue back into the mix. “Ready for me now?”

“Mhm...”

“Condoms are in the nightstand,” Sangyeon says, nodding in the direction of the bedside table. 

Chris reaches over and pulls the drawer out, whistling at the other things he finds rolling around in the compartment. 

“This hers?” he asks, holding up a vibrator.

“Who else’s would it be?” Sangyeon mutters. 

“I don’t know what you do in your free time, man.”

He drops the toy back in its place and grabs a condom from the box tucked in the corner of the same drawer. The odds of one size fitting three different men were slim, but having slept with each of them you’re sure they’ll be able to make it work. 

Chris hands you the foil packet, allowing you to do the honors of tearing it open with your teeth while he works on getting naked. 

Seungcheol whistles jeeringly at Chan as he takes his cock out and pumps it a couple of times. You can see the back of Chan’s neck flush red but he remains steady as he rolls the latex on. You realize it must be difficult for him to have an audience too, though he has nothing to be self conscious about. Even if they aren’t showing it, you know the other two have to be impressed.

He’s the perfect balance of long and thick and just like his hands, defined veins run up the length of his shaft. You’ve spent what feels like hours tracing those veins with your tongue, watching him shiver under your touch. Most dicks aren’t pretty but Christopher Bahng’s certainly is.

“Ready?” Chris asks, rubbing your thigh with his palm.  

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Since he already made you cum, he’s able to slip in without much resistance- but he’s big enough that the stretch is still intense, making your eyes roll back in pleasure as you stifle a whimper. 

He gives you a moment to adjust once he’s fully inside you, teasing only a little bit with slight movements of his hips. 

“God, that feels good,” you moan.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs sweetly, “you’re taking it so well for me.”

He brushes a couple of strands of hair out of your eyes so that you can see him properly. Obstructed view or not, he’s beautiful on top of you. His own bangs have already started to stick to his forehead and the pink flush of embarrassment has somewhat faded and turned into that of exertion, spreading from the back of his neck to his chest and face and matching the kiss-bitten swell of his lips. The muscles in his arms and shoulders are engaged with the effort it takes to hold himself above you, making him look even bigger. 

His eyes are soft, even as the rest of his features take on a more sinister expression. That was one of the things that made sex with Chris so good. He genuinely cares for you, not just as a lover, but as a person. Lots of guys put effort into making the other party feel good during sex but that doesn’t mean they care about them. It’s not like that with Chris. 

“Want it faster?” he asks you. You nod. “Ask nicely.”

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

“Please...”

He frees one of his hands and uses it to stroke your cheek. “‘Please,’ what?”

“Faster,” you squeak. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Seungcheol scoffs from the sidelines. 

“I’ll let her off easy this time,” Chris responds. “She can hardly think straight as it is, isn’t that right?”

Another nod. 

You get what you want and Chan picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours in quick, shallow thrusts. 

“You’re getting tighter again,” he grunts, faltering imperceptibly. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

One of the other two makes what you assume is a snide remark but you don’t catch it because everything starts to fade into the background as you start to cum around Chan’s cock. It catches both of you off guard, you can tell. It isn’t unusual for you to finish from penetration alone but it usually takes a lot longer. 

“Holy shit, you’re so- fuck, you’re going to make me cum.”

He keeps going after you come down, chasing his own release. It’s almost enough to send you into a third orgasm but he cums before you can get there which is both a relief and a disappointment. 

You whine as the feeling ebbs and let yourself go boneless underneath him. He follows suit and collapses face first next to you on the mattress. 

“Sorry,” he whispers to you. “I would’ve kept going but I didn’t want you to be too sensitive for them.”

You nod in understanding and pat him appreciatively on the back. 

The room is quiet as the three men wait for you to catch your breath. Chris ensures you’re okay before rolling off the bed and joining the other two by the dresser. He mentions something about cleaning you up when you’re all done and offers to fetch you a glass of water. 

“There’s a Brita in the fridge,” Sangyeon tells him after also pointing him in the direction of the cabinet that holds the cups. 

He disappears into the hall and you gather what little strength you have to pop your head up and address the two remaining leaders at the foot of the bed. 

“Who’s next?”

this has been in the works for way too long lol but lmk what you think! i always appreciate feedback!!

tags: @minghaosimp @butterfliesinthenightsky @lelestarmy @stolasisyourparent @brownbunnyb @tinkerbell460 @cixrosie

add yourself to the taglist here

[obsessivevoidkitten]

On The Naughty List

Yandere Krampus x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, spanking, bondage, dick piercings, size difference, Krampus, Christmas, assassin reader, punishment, kidnapping, biting, very mild blood from biting, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1.5k (Hey guys, I hope you all like this. Kinda rushed, not beta read, please forgive any errors. My second Christmas gift to you all. I hope your holiday is amazing <3)

You got yourself settled in your hotel room. It was very early in the morning, not past 3am, on Christmas. But you were not Santa Claus and you were not delivering cheer. You had with you only a simple black suitcase. The furnishings in your room were sparse, but that was okay. You did not select this room because of the accommodations but rather for its view. It was not particularly scenic, merely a view of a road and residential area. But you were an assassin and this room afforded you clear aim into the room of your target’s living room. All you had to do was wait.

Your weapon was easy enough to assemble. A sniper rifle, of course. Finally you saw your designated victim pull up into their driveway and enter their house, so you opened the window and readied yourself. An icy chill filled the room. Your vantage point was clear and your weapon was ready but before you could take out your mark you heard a strange and tumultuous sound from behind.

It sounded like the Earth was being torn asunder and the four winds themselves were howling in unison as they collided.

You turned around and saw the very fabric of space and tear before you leaving a purple portal leaking black mist blocking the door to the hotel room. An odd scent like that of cinnamon and coal filled the room. You were about to flee through the open window, you had the skills necessary to scale the building, but the window slammed shut before you could act.

Not many things made a hardened combatant turned assassin such as yourself scared but you would be lying if you said you weren’t trembling.

You could hear a slow and rhythmic pounding sound getting nearer and nearer as if some unseen monstrosity approached from the other side of the portal. And that’s exactly what it was.

The first thing you saw erupt through the rip in space was the head of a horned beast. It was humanoid and wore a wicked grin full of sharp teeth. Eyes like black coals stared into you, piercing you with unrestrained glee in your fear.

Followed by this terrifying face was its body.

Muscular thighs with legs like tree trunks that ended in cloven hooves.. And his whip-like tail lashed angrily at the air. The demonic beast was covered in thick black fur.

The horrifying creature was at least 7 feet. tall.

The faint scent of burning coal filled the space surrounding it.

It took a thundering step towards you, and you cowered in place, momentarily stunned as it said in a deep booming voice, "I’m Krampus and someone has been verrrry naughty this yeeeear."

Though you felt more fear than you ever thought possible you were still a trained combatant turned assassin for hire and you managed to collect yourself about as well as it was possible for any mere human to in such a situation.

You shot the thing right between the eyes with your high-powered rifle, and he... laughed. The bullet bounced off uselessly, and he just... laughed...

You screamed and shouted as loudly as you could, hoping to attract help. Though what they could possibly do when he had shrugged off, a bullet remained to be seen.

No help came for you. Krampus always magically silenced noise from leaking out of rooms where he was punishing someone.

Suddenly, he closed the difference between the two of you and was upon you in record speed, moving supernaturally fast for such a behemoth.

With precise movements, strong hands and sharp claws made confetti out of your dark clothing before he had you bent over his knee.

"I usually use a birch rute for this, but I wanna feel your skin on my hand..."

You struggled and tried to get away, but there was no chance he would let you go. Krampus had to punish many humans, but you were special. Ironically, it was your defiance, the fight in your eyes, that initially attracted him to you.

His hard, calloused hand came down on your bare ass, causing you to curse and tremble.

With all your training something as simple as a slap to your ass shouldn't have bothered you much, even from such a large adversary, but it was like he had slammed the essence of dread into your very heart.

But that still wasn't enough to still you. You kicked, punched, and clawed ferally at any inch of flesh you could reach, like a feral animal backed into a corner.

But he only laughed more as he spanked you over and over. Until you were crying. Worse than the pain was the total humiliation.

Through it all, though, you never stopped struggling. No matter how much terror and pain you endured. You didn't realize it, but it only made him more into you.

Everyone he had punished before, broke them like a kid with a toy, and left them to deal with the trauma. But you didn't seem so easily broken, and that sealed your fate.

If you kept resisting like you were, he was going to keep you forever.

Krampus finally stopped the assault on your rear and dragged you, kicking and screaming over to the bed. You could now see his cock, large and uncut with a frenum ladder set of piercings going up the underside of his length.

"Stop! Get away from me!!"

"Yeah, because you're really the one in position to give commands right now."

He chuckled and bent you over the bed as you writhed madly, knowing what was about to happen.

"Might need to keep you still for this."

In a puff of black smoke, a coil of rope appeared in his hand that he skillfully used to bind your legs and arms.

While he had tied up many people in his line of work, he had never actually used rape to punish someone. But he wanted to see how far he could take things with you. Though at this point, even if he broke you, he was sure he would keep you anyway, just to fix you up again.

Krampus spit on your hole and plunged his cock in roughly. Hardly enough prep to do anything for the pain. For the fiery burning stretch that came with his big dick breaching your entrance.

Despite being bound you still wriggled as best you could while screaming until your throat hurt.

"Fuck you! Goddamned piece o- AHHHH!!!!"

He smirked as he increased the pace. Good. His toy STILL wasn't crumbling apart.

Sharp claws raked your back as his hot breath cascaded down your neck while he whispered, "For someone so bad you feel so good."

Tears rushed down your cheeks. You were infuriated with him and with yourself for having allowed yourself to be taken with such ease. What was far more reprehensible than that though, was the fact that your body had adjusted to his size and it was actually starting to feel somewhat good despite the pain and discomfort.

You yelped as he lightly smacked your sore ass while fucking you.

"Go to H-hell bastard!"

"Ha, been there."

He pulled out, flipped you over on your back, and slid right back into, profuse amounts of precum now providing more adequate lubrication. Embarrassingly, you couldn't stifle a moan as he entered back into you with his piercings adding to the sensation you were trying to ignore.

If your legs hadn't been tied you would have tried to kick him right between the legs for making your body betray you like that.

He leaned over and nibbled on your neck lightly with his sharp teeth, licking up the little droplets of blood that welled to the surface of your skin

You moaned as he did so, as you were pulled closer and closer to orgasm.

Violently, you twitched as you came hard, blushing deeply and cursing him as you did so. He ignored you and licked the blush on your cheeks, humiliating you even farther.

For a few more moments you thrashed as much as you were able in overstimulation as he continued to breed you. His skin meeting yours with an audible slap at each thrust.

Finally he went in deep and filled you with abnormally hot cum that coaxed another orgasm from your exhausted body.

After a few moments of panting he sighed with content and slung you over his shoulders, cum leaking from you and out on to him as he carried you. Vulgarities rolling from your tongue with each heavy step he took.

Another portal opened and he stepped through with you. The cussing, the fierceness, the unbreakable spirit. A perfect partner.

You were the best Christmas gift he had ever given himself, and there was no way he was ever going to give you up.

[kkuzushi]

Aftercare scaramouche after that intense love making and then date? :00

..... And the "will you marry me" HAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH— yes fluff yeseyssyeysyeyysysyeysjdutnd thank you for taking this :3

-🎐 anon

“ 𝗚𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽 𝗦𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆..𝗶𝗻 𝗕𝗲𝗱 ”

✦ characters: scaramouche x gn!reader

✦ cw: aftercare, fluff, rivals to lovers type of stuff, reader without cat allergies (I’m sorry TT)

✦ word count: 1.824k

✦ notes: My dearest 🎐anon is back with the banger requests. This was really fun to write (I finished at 3am) though I improvised on the “will you marry me” part since I wasn’t sure what you meant. <3

Part 1 | ✦ Part 2

Hours had passed since your productive activity with Scaramouche—the man had practically fallen asleep after cleaning up the mess with you. He’d go to his room as soon as the both of you are done, he said; He just needs to rest his legs for a moment, he said. Now you have the man laid on your bed, head resting on your lap while you occupied yourself with your studies yet again.

Thankfully, the sleepy brat did have some spare notes in his room and lended it to you, saying he just ‘owed you one’. You dared not to waste this opportunity, and luckily enough, his notes were actually pretty neat. It was easy to understand and precise with the topic.

And strangely enough, this moment is as serene as it could get. It’s been a while since you’ve felt at peace with Scaramouche in the same room. His hair sways gently in the breeze from the fan, framing his tired face. If it were before, you’d be tempted to slap him and ruin his sleep, but now, you simply adore how relaxing it is to be with him.

Your lips curled to a smile before turning to a flat line—You can’t think about Scaramouche like that! He’s still an infuriating prick; arrogant, immature, annoying.. and maybe a tiny bit tolerable when getting fucked—what?

Speaking of the devil, the man on your lap starts to stir awake, grumbling as his eyes open and adjusts to the light of your room. With that familiar scowl, he lifts his head up and sees your gaze fixated on the notes he had given you.

“You're still going at it, huh?” Scaramouche prompts with a groggy tone. He rubbed his eyes with his palm, trying to remember what happened right before he passed out, “How long have I been out..?”

“Just a few.. hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours.”

“Ugh, I'm so tired.. and my ass hurts,” He complained, nuzzling your legs more though you didn’t point it out knowing it’ll just explode his stubborn head. “This is all your fault.”

“Oh?” You looked down, seeing him scowling at you, “Says the one who was moaning like a bitch in he–”

“I WAS NOT.” Scaramouche quickly interrupted your rebuttal, his face reddening quickly. “I was making perfectly normal sounds when making love to you.”

That almost made you laugh. “Make love? You have a funny way of saying sex,” You grinned, your gaze going back to your notes.

“It’s the same thing,” He rolled his eyes before adding an explanation, “Making love is just a better term, sex is too casual, fucking is too forward.” It was such an old-school term, you can’t believe it was coming from someone like him.

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic,” You commented, browsing through the notes absentmindedly, “Should I be flattered? Or maybe you’re trying to impress me.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards you from your lap. “Impress you? Pshh, that’s rich coming from someone who needed my notes to pass the same classes as me.”

Your eyes narrowed down to his expression, “Mind you that you were the one who also tore my notes apart.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Whatever, my point still stands.”

The moment drops to silence—Scaramouche’s sarcastic comments were duller then usual, not irritating you to the point you’re both at each other’s throats. Maybe this ‘making love’ thing was getting to you too. Damn this man for being so confusing sometimes.

To surprise yourself even more, your hand travels to his head, stroking his hair that’s been messed up during his nap. He tensed a little before reluctantly leaning to your touch, the way his shoulder slumped was a telltale sign that this is comforting for him as well.

The thought slipped in before you could stop it—Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe you could try something… more.

“Hey,” Scaramouche started, clearing his throat before continuing, though it sounded more like he was contemplating. “Since we... made love,” he added, his voice growing quieter, the pink in his cheeks deepening. “Maybe we should, I don’t know… do something. Together. Tomorrow.”

You paused, “Are you.. asking me out on a date?”

“Don’t make it weird!” He quickly snapped, getting out of your lap as if to get serious, “It just.. wouldn’t feel right to act like nothing happened.. after all we did tonight.”

That was weirdly sweet—Scaramouche not wanting things to be casual after ‘making love’? Maybe he really isn’t so bad after all.

“I suppose I can make time for you tomorrow..” You hummed, attempting to look indifferent though you can feel a smile trying to appear in the corner of your lips.

“Here we are..” Scaramouche says in front of a cat cafe-library. The fact he was the one to lead you here means he goes here often. Cute. And honestly? It wasn’t a bad choice for a first date.

“I didn’t know this was near our university,” You commented as you pushed the door open, the soft jingle of the bell above ringing inside as the both of you entered. “You must be here quite often, huh?”

“Of course not,” Scaramouche scoffed, “I just figured you might like it here.” As soon as he gets beside you inside, a gray Scottish fold cat trotted over to him, nuzzling his legs as it meowed in an affectionate tone.

With a raised eyebrow, you smirked at the sight. “You don’t have to lie. No judgment if this is your go-to for weekends.” You teased, successfully flustering Scaramouche with the accusation. Then again, it’s not really an accusation if it’s true, right?

“I told you—it isn’t!” He grumbled, quickly shooing away the cat, the failed attempt only getting the cute creature to follow him as the both of you get to a comfortable corner—which, again, would be a telltale sign that he’s been here a lot.

“I bet the majority of the books here have your name signed on them already,” You continued, leaning back on the chair with a smug grin.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes at you, his fingers drumming lightly on the menu over the desk. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Your grin widens as the same cat from earlier leaps on to his lap, the man instinctively scratching the pet behind its ears, “So you’re saying I’m wrong?”

“Of course you’re wrong,” Scaramouche replies with half of his attention, eyes glued to the cat, “I don’t sign every book I read, just the ones that are worth my time.”

Before you could retort with another teasing remark, Scaramouche calls for a waiter to take your orders. You simply chose the first thing you saw on the menu, while Scaramouche ordered his ‘usual’. He's really not pretending anymore, is he?

The waiter leaves as you both place your orders, the two of you engaged in a moment filled with purrs and meows. You watched him continue petting the cat, fingers scratching behind the ears or just brushing the fur from its body. His gaze meets yours, the scrutiny making him flustered quickly.

“I know what you’re thinking—and don’t flatter yourself just because you can see this side of me,” He mumbled, “Just call it damage control.”

“Damage control? Since when did you care about what I think?” You mused with a teasing tone yet with softened expression.

Scaramouche froze for a moment, his hand stilling on the cat’s fur. “I don’t.. but I do care about what would happen after last night.” The admission came out easily, so easy that even Scaramouche was surprised he could confess that to you.

“I see..” You nodded. The waiter came back with only Scaramouche’s drink—his drink being most likely prioritized since he’s a usual customer. Other than that, his drink was just black coffee. You almost forgot the same man you’re talking to isn’t fond of sweets. Once the waiter left, you continued your discussion with him.

“Then what would you want to happen after last night?”

“I’m.. not sure. I just know I don’t want things to be casual afterwards.”

Scaramouche took a sip of his coffee, the tension between you two was increasing and he doesn’t entirely dislike it. “What I’m saying is that it wouldn’t feel right to brush things off after making love with each other.”

You almost envied that he had something to drink while talking about this, it felt awkward to just sit there and take his point all in.

“You really are full of surprises,” You finally replied, resting your cheek on your palm as you leaned forward to the table. “What else should I know about you?”

He looks at you, considering whether your question was rhetorical or not. “I’m a date-to-marry kind of person.” Well that much wasn’t surprising, but it gave you another opportunity to tease him.

“Really? Are you saying you want to get married to me then?” Your familiar grin shows up on your lips again, the tension easing up as you watch Scaramouche gradually get flustered over your joke.

The man quickly snapped at your jest, “Don’t be ridiculous! That’s not–” His voice trails off, clearly too embarrassed to continue his rebuttal. “You’re impossible to have a proper conversation with.” He mumbled at the end.

It really seemed like you’re seeing a different side of your roommate, a side you didn’t think existed—especially not from a man that was either always frustrated or frustrating.

You burst into laughter, both from how adorable and hilarious his reaction is. “I’m kidding,” You say with a wide grin, “But I’d make a great spouse, wouldn’t I?”

“Gods forbid you to be self-aware.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Scaramouche didn’t get to reply once the waiter had finally, finally, arrived with your order. As you took the moment to savor what you’ve gotten, the man in front of you smiled—not from just the sight of you enjoying your food, but most likely from your joke as well.

When your eyes returned to him, Scaramouche was already focused on the cat in his lap again. It made you wonder—if he liked the cat so much, why not adopt it? The cat seemed to like him just fine, after all.

Your eyes shifted around the place, seeing multiple cats lounging or playing with other customers. “Are cat adoptions allowed in this place?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

Your question makes him pause for a moment before looking around for a paper that might indicate a solid answer. “I think so, why?”

You shrugged. “If you like that cat so much, we should adopt it.” The words lingered in Scaramouche’s mind. The fact that you said ‘we’ instead of ‘you’; It was a subtle shift, but enough to make the butterflies he’d been trying to drown with black coffee start fluttering again.

Scaramouche then cleared his throat, “So about our marriage..”

[princessbrunette]

waking up john b in the middle of the night by humping against his thigh, whining about “daddyyy, m’sticky” :(((

ִ ۫ ּ 𓂅⋆ 🗝️｡˚. . .♡

getting super deep into subspace because you were frustrated and sleepy and sometimes it just happens when john b isn’t present to help you out! you’d had a long day in particular, and fell asleep early on john b’s bed — your boyfriend draping the blanket over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and letting you rest. a couple of hours later, 3am to be precise — you wake once more, the boy sleeping next to you, and you just can’t get back to sleep.

your heads all hazy and fuzzy, you feel all pouty and needy — and your pussy aches and squelches with each move you make, clearly waking from a dream about the boy beside you. you sniffle, scrambling a little with the blankets, kicking them off as you roll up against john b, looking up at him and letting out a little whine, wanting him to wake up. he stirs, but rolls onto his back — not waking enough to notice you and you let out a sad little cry, fisting his tshirt harder and writhing against his body.

lucky for you, he’s a pretty light sleeper and he wakes up quickly, cupping the back of your head and squinting in the dim light. “wh’sup, hey— nonono, you crying?” he whispers, pushing up on his elbow.

“daddy…” you hiccup, and his brow creases. he knows what that voice means. he knows what daddy means. he sucks in a breath, pushing himself to sit up a little more.

“okay, okay— lemme just, lemme wake up a little more okay? i’m here. deep breaths.” he hums, low and raspy from sleep which only made you clench harder, but regardless you nod, sniffling and convincing your foggy brain to be a good girl.

“‘kay, coooome here. show daddy the problem, pup.” he hums once he’s forced himself awake, having shaken his head like a dog to eradicate the sleepiness quickly.

“s’sticky.” is all you manage to groan, high pitch and desperate against his shoulder as he pulls you onto him, your pyjama shorts sticking to you at your core from how wet you were.

“what even happened, hm?” he coo’s to no one in particular, immediately easing your shorts down your legs and you eagerly kick them off. “good job.” he quietly praises at this.

“just— don’t know, just need you.” you pant in his ear and he takes your hips, moving you to grind on his thigh.

“use your words bubba, can you please tell me what you want?” he speaks a little louder and clearer because you need something to cut through the haziness of your brain and give you direction. you let out a little cry at what he’s asked of you and he rubs your back, kissing the top of your head. “hey, i know you can.”

“need your dick, daddy. please?” you mewl and he tips his head back to the ceiling for a second, sighing out with a little smirk at how pretty it sounded leaving your lips.

“thats what you want? well thats what you’ll get, my puppy.”

ִ ۫ ּ 𓂅⋆ 🗝️｡˚. . .♡

[dee-writes-anime]

Late Night Cravings with Toge Inumaki

FEATURING Toge Inumaki x Reader

SUMMARY It's 3am and you could really go for some nachos

CONTENT WARNINGS pregnancy trope, Toge being the biggest sweetheart, cutie fluffy stuff, I desperately need a nap, DETAILED mansplain of how I like my nachos mmmmm, cod roe :0

AUTHORS NOTE I promise I'm not dead, I've just been a little preoccupied with mental breakdowns and my coursework. ANYWHO, I hope you all enjoy this short little Toge shaped treat as my apology. I promise I will get to your requests soon, I've just been a little busy rotting away.

SERIES MASTERLIST

The clock on your nightstand read 3:24 a.m., and there you were, wide awake with an undeniable craving gnawing at you. It started as a faint whisper in your mind, a vague notion of something savory and warm. But within moments, it was as if your whole body was practically screaming for it. You tried to ignore it, rolling onto your other side and taking a few deep breaths, hoping you might fall back asleep. But the craving just got stronger. It was nachos that you wanted, and not just any nachos—ones with thick, gooey layers of cheese, topped with plenty of spicy jalapeños, all seasoned perfectly.

Sighing, you glanced at Toge, who was fast asleep beside you. You knew waking him up at this hour was ridiculous, but at the same time, there was no way you could satisfy the craving yourself. Your feet were sore, your back ached, and standing in the kitchen for that long just felt out of the question. So, after a moment of consideration, you gently nudged him. “Toge, honey,” you whispered softly, your fingers grazing his arm.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, squinting at you in the dim light of the room. “Salmon?” he murmured, his voice groggy but with a hint of concern. He shifted slightly, reaching for your hand with sleepy gentleness.

“I know it’s silly,” you whispered, your cheeks heating. “But I really need some nachos. Like, really cheesy ones, with jalapeños and a little extra salt. And I need them right now.”

There was a moment of silence as Toge took in your words, processing your request in his half-asleep state. And then, in typical Toge fashion, his mouth curved into the smallest, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “Tuna mayo,” he responded in a soft voice, which you knew translated to don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and stretched, giving you a quick, sleepy peck on your forehead before slipping out of bed. He held out his hand, gesturing for you to come with him. Smiling, you slipped your hand in his, letting him lead you to the kitchen. The quiet warmth of his presence made you feel like waking him up wasn’t such a selfish idea after all.

In the kitchen, he quickly assessed what he’d need, giving you a gentle nudge toward a bar stool at the counter so you could sit and relax. His hand grazed your belly as you settled, and you felt the baby kick lightly, almost as if they were getting excited along with you. Toge noticed the movement too, his eyes lighting up as he pressed a soft palm against your stomach, feeling the tiny kick. He chuckled softly, his expression turning playful as he raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Nachos for both of you, huh?

He went to work with silent efficiency, pulling out a bag of tortilla chips, a block of sharp cheddar, a handful of shredded mozzarella, and a little container of jalapeños. You watched as he grated the cheese with the focus and dedication he brought to everything, making sure each piece was perfectly even. You couldn’t help but admire how his hands moved, steady and precise, as he worked through his drowsiness.

A few minutes later, Toge spread the chips evenly on a baking sheet, layering them carefully with cheese and jalapeños. He added a few special touches he knew you’d love: a sprinkle of smoky paprika, a dash of garlic powder, and a little drizzle of honey, which he knew balanced out the spice and added a unique sweetness. You hadn’t even thought of that last part, but the smell alone made your mouth water.

When the nachos were finally in the oven, he came over to stand beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you both leaned against the counter. He had this peaceful look on his face, and he squeezed you gently, pressing a light kiss to your temple. You could tell he wasn’t annoyed or even inconvenienced by the request. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself, glad to have a reason to take care of you and, by extension, the baby.

While the nachos baked, you both waited in companionable silence, Toge occasionally glancing at you with a warm look in his eyes, his thumb gently rubbing your shoulder. Eventually, the oven timer beeped, and he moved to pull out the tray. The aroma of melted cheese, spicy jalapeños, and a hint of honey filled the air, and you could practically feel your mouth watering.

Toge carefully plated the nachos, making sure to spread them out so each chip had a balanced mix of toppings. He set the plate in front of you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with affection and pride, as if he’d just finished creating a masterpiece.

You took a deep breath, savoring the smell, then reached for a nacho, giving him a thankful glance before you took your first bite. The mix of salty cheese, spicy jalapeño, and that touch of honey was perfect. Toge had gotten every single element just right, down to the exact amount of salt you were craving. You sighed contentedly, the happiness you felt translating into a soft, grateful smile.

“Mm, this is amazing,” you mumbled around a mouthful of nachos, your eyes half-closed in bliss. Toge watched you with a quiet laugh, his own expression softened, clearly pleased by how happy you looked. He pulled a stool closer, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you eat, every so often reaching over to swipe a chip himself.

As you both continued to munch away, you felt a gentle flutter from your belly, a little kick from the baby, as if they, too, were grateful for the midnight snack. Toge’s eyes darted to your stomach, his smile widening as he placed a gentle hand there, feeling the tiny movements under his palm. He looked up at you, a silent exchange passing between you as he leaned in to press a soft kiss on your forehead, then on your belly.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice filled with affection. Toge’s hand found yours, his fingers warm as they laced with yours, his violet eyes soft and full of love. He didn’t need words to tell you how much he cared; it was in every little action, in every quiet smile, and in every nacho he made just the way you liked.

TAGLIST

@makingtimemine @strawbrrycat @soraya-daydreams @shokosbunny @saltypuffin1040 @danilights2021 @startwithrecords @obeythebutler @sparklykeylime @surielstea

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[what-even-is-thiss]

There’s been a lot of debate and philosophical pondering throughout the ages about what makes us different from the beasts.

To a certain extent the answer is, nothing. We’re animals just as much a part of nature as any other animal.

On the other hand though, we have the capacity to look at another animal and go “Well I have the ability to both build a fire and have a discussion about it and that thing doesn’t so what gives? Why can I do that and this thing can’t?”

And there’s a lot of theories both scientific and unscientific that different people might give. As a writer and lover of mythology and history I might be tempted to say that stories are what makes us human. Others might point to thumbs, cooking, domestication of other life forms, language, being intensely social, tool usage, trade networks, the ability to throw rocks with precision, politics.

Thing is though that other animals do a lot of these things or have these traits to a certain degree. And yet we can tell. We can tell we’re different. We made spears and boats. We wear pants. Other animals don’t really do that.

So the human condition is left pondering over the two truths we have. On one hand we are clearly animals with animal behaviors. On the other hand, clearly there’s something more going on with us. We dedicate a lot of energy to these big brains of ours.

So I guess it’s tempting to think there’s one special thing that makes us different. And as much as I’d like to see my position as storyteller as being one of the most important in the world, I’m just one of the ones that write things down.

Part of being humble I think is realizing that doing a keg stand at 3am and throwing up all over your friend’s carpet is just as much of a Human Moment™ as the invention of penicillin.

[shineon3]

Winter Warmers, Day 21

(can you believe I wrote this at 3am on a whim because I was looking at the prompts again and saw this one? me neither)

Prompt: Squirting / Word Count: 850

Max shivers, bed sheets sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty back. Daniel's hands carefully caress up his thighs, spreading him open. Years ago, he would've felt unbearable shame, would've gotten the urge to force his legs shut and run away from everything, but now? In the tender safety of Daniel's calloused palms, Max feels on top of the word, like nothing can stop him.

The press of Daniel’s tongue against his already soaked core, teasing and curious, pulls him out of his thoughts. When he looks down, the brunette is smiling, wolfish, nuzzling against him, his thumb rubbing circles in the junction between his thigh and crotch. Max chuckles softly, one hand reaching out to card through the older’s unruly curls.

“What's up, big guy?”

Daniel's grin widens. His thumb moves to rub against his clit, and Max bites back a groan, feeling himself get even wetter.

“How many times in a row do you think I could make you squirt, hm, baby?”

“What…? Daniel... That has never happened to me. Like, never ever.”

The brunette frowns, pulling himself up so he's hovering above Max, looking a bit confused.

“What do you mean that's never happened to you, baby?”

Max blinks.

“I mean that I have never squirted in my life. I don't even think that's possible.”

Daniel stares at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he grins, wide and mischievous. Max already knows he's gonna get dragged into something questionable at best.

“What if I could make you, huh? What if I made you squirt, Maxy?”

The blonde can feel his cheeks warm up, the inside of his thighs completely drenched at this point. The low rumble of Daniel's voice never fails to get him all hot and bothered, but it's ten times hotter at least when he's challenging him, teasingly pushing and prodding at Max's competitive side. He tries to maintain a composed facade.

“But what if you don't? How are you gonna make it up for me then, big guy?”

Daniel doesn't reply at first, sliding down until he's nestled in between Max's thick thighs, face to face with his already dripping cunt. He presses two tentative fingers inside, groaning when they go all the way in easily, making the blonde clench around him and moan loudly. He noses at Max's clit, licking up a strip from the top to the bottom before looking up at his blushing boyfriend, smirking.

“You can peg me.”

He doesn't give Max enough time to process or reply, immediately diving down to eat him out, sinful tongue joining the fingers already stretching his pussy out. Max shrieks, startled, his legs closing involuntarily. Trapped between his thighs, Daniel groans, licking at his folds with precision, eating him out like a starved man in front of a buffet while his fingers rub at that spot deep inside him that makes him see stars.

After a while, Max is shaking on the bed, reduced to an incoherent mess of babbles and sounds, back arching off the bed as his thighs squeeze around Daniel's head in a way that should hurt but only makes the brunette groan, rutting against the mattress as he skillfully licks, nips and sucks at Max’s pussy. The blonde can feel something building up distantly, and it only gets closer and closer when Daniel adds another finger inside him, pressing intently against his sweet spot. The feeling keeps building up, up, up, until Max feels that odd, desperate feeling you get when you're about to pee but trying to hold it in. He tries to warn Daniel, to do something, anything, but Max only manages to let out some garbled noises, trashing in Daniel's firm hold.

It finally culminates a moment later, the pads of Daniel's fingers pressed snuggly inside him, as far as they can go, Daniel's mouth suckling on his clit, lightly grazing it with his teeth, and Max feels himself let go, feels the dam break open, and he falls back against the bed like a puppet whose strings were cut off. An impossible amount of wetness rushes out from him, so much that he's afraid it is actually piss, and his legs finally fall back down, letting go of their grip on Daniel.

The older looks as wrecked as Max feels, warm brown eyes dazed and glossy. The bottom of his face is all covered in Max’s fluids. His mustache is wet, his beard is drenched, and he looks absolutely filthy. The blonde tugs him up, bringing him into a messy kiss, moaning when he tastes himself on Daniel's tongue.

“Fuck, Daniel-” He whines, words and thoughts and feelings all jumbled up inside.

Daniel blinks in rapid succession, focusing back on Max, a sly smirk stretching his wet, shiny lips.

“See, baby? Told ya I could make you squirt,” He leans in, nipping at the underside of Max’s jaw. “Now do you want to try and see how many times I can make you squirt in a row, champ?”

Max moans, pulling him down to claim his lips in another filthy kiss.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

femto and child griffith

more 3am thoughts when i have an exam tomorrow morning (inspired after seeing this gorgeous art btw): while i've seen my fair share of posts about femto and griffith, i haven't seen one about femto and child griffith specifically, and i'm also in a word vomit mood, so here goes.

imo femto, and neogriffith by extension, can be considered both the precise antithesis of and the fragile armor around that guilt-stricken, tottering child version of griffith that we see in the eclipse sequence. child griffith in the eclipse sequence is a representation of what made griffith human; not the untouchable, invulnerable, superhuman ideal that griffith projected for others, the ideal that made guts feel inadequate next to him. child griffith is griffith's guilt, his passion, his love, his affection, his sense of responsibility, his self-loathing, his fear, his insecurity.

femto has had all of these things excised by the sacrifice. he's the manifestation of the callous, cruel monster that griffith always feared he was, and the opposite in every way of what that child griffith stands for. but at the same time, femto only exists because that child griffith does. griffith only became femto because he had so much guilt and love and self-hatred and fear, and it eventually overwhelmed him. he only made the sacrifice because he couldn't bear those feelings, because he wanted so desperately to get away from them. in making the sacrifice and becoming femto, griffith put up an armor around his child self. he protects that guilt-stricken, tottering child from having to grapple any longer with the weight of his remorse and insecurity and pain, because, at his lowest point, it truly became too much for him to endure. femto may be the opposite of what child griffith stands for, but at the same time, femto could never exist without child griffith; he was born to shield him. he is both an anguished denial of and an enclosed, faraway sanctuary for that sobbing child staring at the castle in the sky, a dead boy in his arms and a mountain of corpses piled beneath his feet.

i think that fits really neatly into an overall theme of berserk too: that humans have different sides, and those different sides are not supposed to be wholly separate from each other. berserk likes to play with and defy dichotomies, and you're not supposed to think of griffith as separated down the middle into two: his "human" side and his "villainous" side. they exist together. his "villainous" side simultaneously rejects, protects, and is fueled by his "human" side. you can't have one without the other.

[itsokguysimquirky]

❥ coffee delivery 📓☕✒️

❥ lip gallagher x reader, no use of y/n, college!au, pre-relationship / potential friends-to-lover, cute little thing i wrote as a writing warm-up because I haven't in ages :p wrote it at 3am. proof read it 2 days later at 1am. so apologies if it's nonsense

❥ w/c -> 988

Consistency and Lip Gallagher were basically sworn enemies. Or at least, they weren’t very familiar with each other. That was until he managed to get roped up into your study sessions. The two of you got paired together for a group project near the beginning of the semester, and considering the near perfect grade you achieved with surprisingly little effort compared to most group projects, Lip hadn’t spent much time debating when you asked if he wanted to be your ‘study buddy’. Plus, he had to admit your time management skills greatly outshined his, hence the project running so smoothly. Sure, he had the natural intellect, but staying on top of things that weren’t survival-related was not Gallagher-forte.

But you kept him in line. He had never seen someone spend so much time organising their google calendar of all things. It was your ‘magnum opus’, you told him when he first questioned the colour-coordinated schedule, and he was starting to get why. Without fail you met three times a week, three hours at a time. If Lip had to cancel or cut a session early, another was scheduled to replace it before the hour’s end. Part of him hated it, little miss life together’s hounding on availability, but he couldn’t deny his more recent grades were too good to complain. And he also couldn’t deny your company was much nicer than most on campus, both in the talking sense and the visual department. Sure, your mind was great, but he didn’t mind the face stuck in front of it either.

“Coffee delivery!” Your cheery voice mock-whispered, sliding into your seat across from Lip and placing the cardboard tray of to-go cups inbetween you. The library’s fourth floor was practically empty, or at least the corner you two had tucked yourselves away in was. Seven pm on a sunday wasn’t usually prime study-time, but with Lip’s work-study, your own obligations, and class, it was a surprisingly good fit for you guys. Plus, the quietness made it much easier to focus.

“Thanks,” Lip didn’t look up from his book, one hand scribbling out nonsense into a notebook and the other grabbing a coffee. It was only after he took a sip did he look up, meeting your eyes with a look of offence. “The hell’s this? I told you, black, two sugars, none-”

“Of that cream shit, I know.” You finished, smiling wide as you recalled his very precise order. Your smile turning a little mean, you swapped your cups, bestowing Lip his beloved cream-free coffee, “Wanted you to learn to look up when you grab a hot beverage through a consequence that didn’t involve burning your hand or spilling coffee all over my notes.” With a wink, you happily took a sip of your flat white.

Lip bit his tongue, fighting back a smile at how proud you looked at your little coffee-swap-prank. It was admittedly cute as fuck, but he couldn’t exactly give you the satisfaction of acknowledging that. Instead, he hid his smile behind his coffee, relishing in the taste of its bitterness. This was how coffee was meant to be, none of that milky crap.

“So, what’s on your agenda today, coffee snatcher?” Lip asked, dropping his pen to give you the undivided attention you seemed to be asking for. He could see through your little tricks, swapping coffees was basically the college girl equivalent of little boys pulling pigtails.

You set your coffee aside, pulling off your fingerless gloves and getting your laptop out of your bag. “Advanced thermo. Shit’s kicking my ass, so I’m hoping three solid hours of that will make it… I want to say ‘make it my bitch’, but I’ll take understandable at this rate.” You laugh, flipping open your laptop and powering it on before disappearing back into your overfilled bag to hunt down the rest of your study material. “You?”

“Physics paper. Put it off for too long, now I have a Monday nine am deadline and only an opening paragraph.” Lip answered, nursing his coffee like it was a warm glass of whiskey. He watched as you dug around in your bag for what was, by his guess, probably just a pen he could’ve offered. But you were specific, you had a study pen, a notes pen, a maths pen, probably a pen exclusively for signing the declaration of independence if you searched in your bag long enough, and you were particular enough to not settle for substitutes until you knew for a fact you had no other option.

Finally emerging with a triumphant smile, your study pen grasped in your hand, you return Lip’s gaze. Offering a sympathetic wince, you slide the pack of pretzels you picked up at the coffee shop towards him, “Brain food. You’re gonna need it with a deadline like that.”

A shockingly genuine smile formed on Lip’s face, willing to admit that the gesture, while small, was sweet. He hid the smile behind his coffee of course, waiting til it schooled down to passively appreciative before he dared lowered his hand to reveal the quirked lips behind the lid. “Uh, thanks. That’s- um, that’s nice.” He cleared his throat, hating how he stumbled over his own words, “I, uh, can still walk you back to your dorm at ten, I’ll just head back here after.” Lip always walked you home after your evening sessions, the late hour and dark skies didn’t exactly make a safe environment for a girl like you, or any girl really, to wander around in.

You shake your head, “No, no, I’ll stick around. If you’re pulling an all-nighter I will too, could probably do with one to get my head around this stuff. We’re in this together, gotta keep you company, right?” You tilt your head, smiling at him.

Your smile’s returned, his grin almost dopey. He nods, messy curls bouncing in time, “Yeah, yeah. You’re good company.”

[makemeimmortalwithahug]

How Could You Think, Darling, I'd Scare So Easily?

Painland Week Day 2 - Myths/Legends

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

y'all remember how I said a few days ago that day 2 for @painlandweek was almost finished? Yeah,, when I went to bed two nights ago, this fic had 500 words. When I woke up again, I thought, hey, just write another 500 words and get back to it to flesh it out sometime later. Yeah, I finished this at 3am and it turned out to be *checks word count* almost 4000 words! Whoops?

Word count: 3726

ao3 link will be added

Title is from Hozier's "Francesca"

TW: body horror (Charles changing forms)

summary:

Hell has made them stronger together, Edwin is sure of that. It has, however, also made Charles anxious to leave Edwin alone for longer periods of time. When Charles doesn't return home for hours and neither Crystal nor Edwin know where he might be, everything leads to a familiar witch who wants to find out how strong the bond between the two ghosts really is when tested.

It had been exactly two months, three weeks and five days since they escaped Hell, found and lost enough to last another lifetime or two and realised the possibility of relative peace existed for them in the form of a trans-dimensional being who had never learnt what “tranquillity” even meant. Edwin agreed that most times, there was too much paperwork to be done to even try to achieve some peace of mind. 

For the most part, though, it was just an excuse. In reality, Edwin struggled with the idea that he could stop running now. After decades of looking over his shoulder, it took an immense amount of effort to direct his gaze at what’s in front of him.

Looking ahead now, all Edwin could see was the empty office, dust dancing over the furniture. The boxing gloves lay forgotten on a table near the entrance door and the football Charles always played with inside despite how much Edwin complained haphazardly rolled under the couch. Everything was still and that was only the beginning of the long list Edwin formulated in his mind of Things That Were Wrong.

Exhibit B: Charles was nowhere to be found. Which, while not particularly sitting right with Edwin, was not an unusual occurrence these days. Charles spent a lot of time with Crystal, helping her get used to her new flat or just keeping her company, watching movies. Crystal always made sure to extend her invitation to Edwin as well and he agreed every once in a while, sitting next to Charles on Crystal’s small but cosy couch, thighs touching. He also enjoyed his time spent with Crystal. She had grown on him and he was quite glad to call her his friend. Edwin lent her the detective novels he loved and in return he listened to what she called “podcasts” about psychology. 

But even so, he knew that the needling to “come over to hers with me, yeah, mate? The movie’s s'posed to be aces” was solely Charles’ doing because he did not like letting him out of his sight ever since Hell. This resulted in Charles excessively checking in on him via mirror every few hours, which most times was met by Edwin with a fondly annoyed eye roll. Edwin was quick to give in when confronted with Charles’ pleading eyes. It was not like he was any different in that regard. Spending time with them was no hardship whatsoever and Edwin had to admit that he found it quite sweet how Charles would look after him.

Which brought him to exhibit C: Charles had been gone for more than five hours and had not checked in on Edwin once in this time. Which had Edwin more worried than was probably warranted. Charles would be just fine, he was sure. He would just take a quick trip to Crystal’s and then he could calmly get back to his work for the Night Nurse. 

Edwin stood up and put the files under their paperweight. Mirror travel had been one of the most fascinating aspects of being a ghost. It required to be precise and focused while not putting any strain on his energy. It took just a fraction of a second until he found himself standing in the middle of Crystal’s living room.

“Holy fuck!” The resounding thump alerted Edwin to their psychic who was clutching her shoulder that she probably hit against the door frame she was currently leaning against, mouth twisted in pain and eyes wide with shock and irritation. “Edwin! How many times do we have to have this conversation until it sticks?”

“Yes, yes, no sudden mirror jumping into your room. I know.” Edwin pursed his lips, looking around. Better get to the point quickly.  “Is Charles here?”

“No, he isn’t. I don’t know where loverboy is, why?”

“He is not home either, has he said anything?”

Crystal flopped down on her couch. “Well, he said he wanted to come ‘round today to help me fix the sink but he didn’t show.” Reaching onto the coffee table for her phone, she checked the time. “Yeah, Charles said he’d be here around two.”

Edwin felt his stomach lurch in anxiety. It was half past five. A chilled silence filled the room as they looked at each other in question.

“Let me grab my jacket.”

“Doesn’t seem any different, right?” 

The agency lay completely untouched, nothing out of the ordinary. Normally, this would ease Edwin’s nerves, seeing as it was his sanctuary, his safe space along with Charles. Now, though, this also meant that there were no clues as to where Charles had gone. 

“Quite,” he agreed. Walking in circles around their desk, he eventually walked up to the window and peered outside. “Maybe there is something outside, he didn’t leave through the mirror.” 

They made their way downstairs, Crystal barely holding onto the railing to not slip on the steps in her hurry while Edwin simply opted to let himself fall through the floor to get to the entrance door as soon as possible. The night creeped in steadily, the shadows growing longer, twisting at their ankles. Their office was located a little off the beaten path, but not too far. When they first started flat-hunting, they were conscious that they had to balance on an incredibly fine line of finding a place just secluded enough to not bear the brunt of the daily London tourism but also don’t attract anyone who might be searching for lost places to scout out. 

This resulted in a beautiful view from their window but dark alleyways that led to seemingly nowhere, cobblestones streets with missing stones and cracks in them. The walls towered over them here, making it harder to distinguish the darkening sky from the roofs and edges. Their living neighbour had hung their bed sheets on the washing lines on the balcony and whenever Edwin blinked and tried to bring his eyes back into focus, they reminded him of David the Demon when they first exorcised him. 

It was dark, dirty and daunting. Nothing looked to be amiss. Except, of course, for the backpack that was sloped against the gutter. Edwin snatched it up and true enough: Charles’ bag of tricks. The straps showed various scratches and the top was stained. Decidedly not a condition Charles would leave his most prized possession in. Crystal was aware of this as well and carefully reached out to read it.

The few seconds that passed while Crystal’s eyes turned white and she stared into the distance were the most agitating of his existence.

Crystal gasped, letting the bag fall to the floor again, supporting herself on her knees. Edwin crouched next to her with his hands fluttering around her, not exactly knowing what he was supposed to do to help her. 

Resurfacing, she stood up again, shooting Edwin a small grateful smile that quickly blinked away again.

“Esther’s back,” she announced and tucked her jacket tighter around her. “She ambushed him here and took him.”

And Edwin’s world broke into pieces, shattering from the sky onto the puddle-ridden street and breaking the moonshine.

He didn’t say anything at first, every word vanished from his mind.

“I might know where they are, though. Or, I can find out.”

“How?” His voice sounded rough - harsh, but Crystal didn’t get angry. She knew that this was not borne of anger but sheer gripping despair.

“She had a business card on her and when Charles tried to defend himself, he caught a glimpse.”

This, more than anything, gave Edwin the determination needed to hoist the backpack onto his shoulder.

“Let us not waste any time, then. Do you think this internet you have might be of help?”

“For sure, Edwin,” she answered, petting his shoulder.

If Edwin hadn’t been out of his mind worrying about Charles, leaving him with sparsely any mental capacities to think about anything else, then he could have admitted that Coupeville, Washington was a tranquil but charming little town. With its little art stores and cafes, it gave a delightfully unassuming appearance.

Edwin hated every moment. For the sake of not leaving Crystal alone - he tried to silence the voice in his head that whispered you couldn’t take care of Charles either -, he had suffered through another flight, a ferry and multiple train rides. 

Crystal huffed as she dragged her suitcase up the stairs.

“She couldn’t have been less creative, huh? Relocating one ferry-ride away.” Which was true. Port Townsend could be reached in less than an hour. 

Personally, he could not care less whether she called this town or the bloody Empire State Building her home. All he cared about was getting Charles back as soon as possible.

They quickly checked into a hotel to get rid of the suitcase. Insisting that she had slept enough while travelling, they immediately headed to the address that Crystal had found out using the business card - a brewery. 

It must have been well visited only a few weeks ago, the dust had not properly set yet. But the lights were out and the doors were barricaded. Quickly nodding at Edwin, Crystal got on the way to find a window she could climb through while Edwin seized the opportunity to phase through the doors. Darkness enveloped him and he could not hear a single sound. 

He slowly made his way across the reception area, trying to get a feeling for how big the building really was and where Esther might have been hiding in here. If there was actually any connection to Charles’ disappearance and this place, anyway. But Edwin couldn’t stop and think about this very real possibility. 

Focusing on his surroundings, he noticed suspicious lines behind a grandfather clock on his left. And sure enough, upon examining them up close, there was a small door hidden behind it. Anxious excitement coursed through his body and he waited impatiently for Crystal’s arrival. 

“Searched for the entrance for celebrities, did you?”

“Shut it. Let’s move this clock.”

Despite taking a few tries, at last they found themselves faced with the entirety of the door. The handle was made out of iron, but Edwin didn’t hesitate to grab it despite the pain and the indignant screech Crystal let sound. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind? You might still need that hand.”

“Irrelevant and inaccurate, I won’t lose it by touching iron for a few seconds, do not be silly. And regardless, Charles does matter more right now.” He tried to hide the red swelling on his palm but he was not ignorant enough to think that Crystal actually hadn’t noticed.

“A plan is needed. I would suggest you wait here, in case Esther is not here and tries to surprise us.” 

“Alright.” Crystal nodded. “Don’t do anything stupid, yeah? Charles wouldn’t forgive anyone if you got hurt.”

Least of all himself went unsaid but they both heard it all the same. 

Edwin inclined his head, opened the door and went inside.

The room unfolding in front of him was surprisingly spacious but shockingly empty except for the enormous carpet. Sliding onto his knees, he felt the cloth and without a doubt: laced with magic. It was easy enough to counter the spell that acted as both a means to soundproof and seal without a lock whatever lay underneath it. 

Moving it aside, he was faced with a basement and without a second thought, jumped down.

Like a moth to a flame, Edwin’s eyes immediately found Charles in the completely dark room. 

“Charles,” he breathed, the name echoing off the walls like a prayer. 

Charles was slumped against the far wall, hands in cuffs mounted next to head which was lolling unoriented. When he finally looked up, Edwin was met with a disbelieving smile. But before Edwin could reciprocate, a look of blinding terror coloured Charles’ face pale.

“Edwin!” he hissed, pulling at his cuffs which brought tears to his eyes in pain. “Please, please leave, Edwin, she’s after you.” 

Edwin didn’t even think about leaving without Charles. All it took was the span of a blink and Edwin fell to his knees beside him, trying to find magical leeway for him to put the cuffs out of action, but to his dismay he realised that Esther had reinforced her strategy, not just opting for simple iron but also a curse. 

“What? What do you mean by that?” he asked, only half listening as he mentally flipped through all the knowledge he had on this kind of magic.

“She,” Charles began, coughing, “She said she was impressed that we escaped last time. She wants to get rid of me first and see how much it’d raise your pain level to drain you again. Put a curse on me too, in case you showed up.”

That got Edwin’s attention. “What?! Do you feel alright? What kind of curse?” 

“Eh.” Charles’ head lolled to the side again, as if he was losing consciousness. “She wants to try sacrificing me and if you tried to rescue me, I’d turn in all kinds of horrible beasts. Wouldn’t want to hold onto me then, she said. Wants to see how far you’d go.” 

“Charles, Charles!” Edwin held him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle him. “I’d go anywhere for you, do you understand? A curse is not going to stop me.”

But Charles was barely there anymore, teetering on the edge of oblivion. “S’ planned for t’morrow. I won’t blame you for letting go, mate, you were scared for so long, don’t need any more of that, yeah?” And then he fell into something close to sleep but what most likely resembled unquiet rest.

There was nothing he could do against the cuffs, not with no grasp on what exact kind of magic he was dealing with and no idea how much time he had left until Esther would show up.

Edwin put a hand to Charles’ cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold onto you, Charles, stay strong.”

With one last glance to his love, he began climbing back out of the basement.

Upon reading up on locations with magical and sacrificial history in Washington, Edwin concluded that their best chance was a secluded part of coastline, the stony beach along with the clear view of the sky providing the perfect atmosphere. 

Edwin and Crystal were hiding in the underwood, watching Esther where she was standing near the shore, when suddenly, something moved right in front of them. 

Crystal gasped. “Did- did the path just move?”

Quickly, he shushed her. “No, there is no path,” he whispered, “there is only the beach. That is a snake.”

True enough: a black snake slithered up to the ritual circle Esther had set up. This snake was even bigger than the one in Esther’s house in Port Townsend and tied to its back, there was Charles.

“Okay,” he said softly, “wish me luck.”

Consolingly, Crystal put her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need luck. Go get him. I’ll deal with Esther.”

They stood up and sneaked closer. From a safe distance, Crystal started tapping into her powers. Edwin trusted her, therefore he turned to Charles straight away. 

Edwin had also found a remedy for the cuffs’ curse, which made it easy to pull him off, hugging him close and making it just far enough away to give Crystal the opportunity to handle the snake.

Tightening his arms around Charles, who was panting against his neck, it didn’t take long until he could feel Charles’ body morph. 

When Charles told him that he’d turn into various beasts, Edwin had thought about what he had been afraid of when he was still alive. After seventy years in Hell, any scary children’s story he had heard lost its appeal. When he was ten, his neighbour’s children had told him a story about Spring-heeled Jack who’d haunt the streets of London but also other areas of Britain. They told him about his terrifying looks with his claws, jumping at passersby to scratch them and then back into the night. 

Thinking back now, though, Edwin would gladly face a hundred variations of Spring-heeled Jack all alone if it meant that Charles would be safe and sound in their office come next morning.

“I’ve got you, Charles,” he mumbled. He didn’t respond and as Edwin looked up at him, he came face-to-face with a doll version of Charles, his eyes unseeing and mouth twisted in a numb smile, a hollow feeling to his body. Edwin could see his own face reflected in Charles’ eyes, unease boiling slowly under his skin. Where Charles’ hold on him had been strong and desperate only moments ago, now it was stiff and felt like porcelain. Edwin’s fear of dolls was real and tangible but he was far more scared of letting Charles go and shattering him on the stones.

He pressed Charles closer to him.

He stayed in this form for a while until Edwin felt a shift again. This time, Charles resembled the demon that had dragged Edwin to Hell. He was a familiar sight albeit an unpleasant one, so Edwin just put his forehead to Charles’ shoulder and waited it out, the haze around them slowly dissipating.

Next was the thing one of his demons had traded him to. He maintained that it was worse than a demon, for the simple reason that there were characteristics one could apply to a demon, it was possible to create a definition and know what to expect when one encountered a demon. This thing, however, was less a physical form and more a foreboding. The feeling deep in the bones that something horrible was imminent and no matter how hard one would try to work against it, failure was predestined. A looming presence - a threat. There was a voice in the back of the mind, whispering knowingly about every mistake he ever made and it was all your fault, right? Niko dying, Charles getting hurt, Crystal being dragged along to all of this, having been in Hell? But you don’t need me to tell you that, you already think so.

It was a sick trick and his only enemy in this was his own mind. But Edwin had grown, he had realised that thinking something didn’t have to reflect reality. And while he did blame himself for all these things from time to time, it was a passing sorrow. None of the people involved in these thoughts would want him to condemn himself and after his second time in Hell, Edwin had understood that he needed to show himself self-respect as well. Hell was an error Edwin had had no control over.

He did, however, have control over not letting Charles fear that he would be afraid enough to leave him. Because he was quite sure that underneath these appearances, Charles was conscious of what was happening and scared out of his mind.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s alright.”

The fourth form was the spider-doll-demon. Its many arms were gripping Edwin’s back, the dolls’ heads pressing into his chest and neck. Edwin tried to slow his breathing. He spent more than seventy years running away from this demon and being so close to it was associated with blinding pain, being torn apart over and over again. 

Maybe now was the time to finally stop running and face his fear head-on. And so he looked straight at it, staring lovingly beneath its surface where he knew Charles was.

One second to the other, the demon was gone. There was no other figure, but Edwin still felt Charles’ presence and he tensed up at once, realising what this particular fear resembled: Charles was invisible, gone from his sight. No means for him to see him again, the only thing left for him to do was anxiously grip where Charles’ shoulders were supposed to be and not let Charles jerk away if he saw the horror on Edwin’s face. This was the only shape that compelled Edwin to screw his eyes shut. 

Time passed until he felt Charles change one more time. This was the only one not tailored specifically to one of Edwin’s fears and it showed him that he had been right in assuming where Esther had drawn her inspiration for this act from.

Charles resembled a burning coal, the heat licking at Edwin’s skin. He embraced him tightly, stood up with him and dragged him into the water. Below the surface, he could see Charles turning back into himself, his bright eyes the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Nothing had ever felt as right as holding Charles in his arms.

Bubbles appeared in front of Charles’ mouth even though he didn't need to breathe and Edwin erupted spontaneously into laughter at the ridiculous sight of Charles trying to speak underwater. Despite being in the water, he felt himself get teary-eyed. He didn’t even try to fool himself into thinking that they would not both be sobbing messes as soon as they resurfaced. But for now all he needed to do was drink in Charles’ smile.

Back on the shore, Crystal was busy brushing off her jeans.

“Boys!” she yelled as soon as she saw them, running towards them and pulling them both into a hug at the same time. “Esther’s gone, let’s hope for good.”

“Yeah,” Charles whispered, putting one arm around Edwin’s hips. 

Crystal pulled back, smiling knowingly but in a comforting way. “So glad you’re both alright. I’ll go check to make sure no one here accidently saw me fighting a huge snake and a witch. Meet me at the hotel, yeah?” With that, she walked back in the direction of the trees. 

Charles turned to Edwin, smiling shyly. “So, you kept holding me,” he stated.

“Nothing has ever been easier, Charles.” He put his hands on Charles’ shoulders again. They fit so well there.

They hugged once more.

“You know,” Edwin mused, playing with Charles’ hair, “it was like Tam Lin.”

“Mhh?” Charles mumbled, he sounded tired. “What’s that?”

“A legendary Scottish ballad. Not letting your love go, no matter what.”

“Oh.” Charles’ eyes were wide. “Does that one end in tragedy too?”

Edwin smiled. “No, it ends precisely like this.” And Charles’ smile was brilliant as he leaned in and kissed Edwin.

[avenging-fandoms]

Hello!

I have this scenario in my head. Pedro and you have a fast growing relationship. The love at first sight kind. You gets pregnant from their first time having sex (yeah they are not safe and that’s the result). Nobody knows they are in a relationship. They don’t know how to announce it , it’s so fast , they know it’s not gonna be welcomed very well. At a press tour for their common movie , you almost faint and Pedro is very worried running to her to make sure she’s ok, all the cameras on them, kinda giving away both their secrets (relationship/ pregnancy).

That’s very precise 🤣😅 sorry

**brief sexual scene **yes this is a pregnancy fic

**alternative ending

-

It all happened so suddenly, you didn't expect it and it made your head spin. But a good head spin, you were deeply in love. And you weren't even looking.

Pedro Pascal had been a name you heard of a few times, but never really looked him up. You were cast in a movie with him where you were his love interest, so when you first met him at the first script reading, you couldn’t catch your breath.

He was charming, creative, and got the giggles very easily which you adored. Pedro would make frequent stops in your trailer to practice lines. Practicing ended up being full out, which led to acting kisses being real heavy make-outs.

Pedro didn’t expect to fall for you either, but 15 months working together something was bound to happen. He would offer to make you an early breakfast at 3am after the shoot day was over. It ended up with you falling asleep on the couch, then asleep on him. Pedro loved being around you and that he could be himself anytime around you.

You two knew each other for over a year, but only started dating for 4 months. You two took time jumping into anything, really getting to know each other over wine.

You sat on Pedro's couch with your feet tucked under you, wine glass resting on your leg with your left hand supporting your head as your elbow rests on the cushion. Pedro plopped next to you with his own glass, turning his body towards you as he took a sip of his wine.

"I'm really glad I'm getting to know you, Y/N. You are something special" Pedro's hand touched your leg, and you looked at him with a smile as you adjust your head, breasts bouncing in your silk dress. Pedro licked his lips softly, leaning over and putting his wine on the table, taking yours as well.

"I'm glad you're allowing me to get to know you" you touch his shoulder and rub your thumb over his shoulder. He leans over and kisses your hand, and you couldn't wait one more second.

You throw your leg over his waist, straddling him as his hand wrapped around your throat. "I was waiting for that" He smirked and pushed your head back, running his fingers down your chest and over your hard nipples poking through your dress. "I've been waiting for this" Pedro dragged his fingers up your thigh and ran his fingers up and down your folds slowly.

"Pedro.." his hard-on poked painfully hard against his jeans and you smile as you pull it out. You lick your fingers and stroke him a bit, Pedro holding your dress up.

"You wanna do this?"

"Fuck it, I want all of you"

-

You two did well hiding your relationship. Hanging out in groups who also didn't know you were together, and hiding your meet up spots. You woke up sprawled out in your bed, eyes struggling to stay open as the sun gave you no choice but to be up.

You sat up in your bed, checking your phone which had a few messages from Pedro, your manager and social media notifications. You swung your legs over your bed and stood up, getting the sudden urge to vomit every where.

Luckily the bathroom was right next to your room and you were able to make it to the toilet. You sat against the tub with your head leaned back, washcloth on your forehead. Your phone buzzed next to your butt and you pick it up, Pedro facetiming you.

"Good morning sweetheart. Are you okay? What's going on?" Pedro voice dropped into concern and you whine.

"I just started throwing up and I feel hot" you pout and Pedro stands up, sliding his shoes on.

You pick your head up as you get a notification from your period tracker app. "Hi, YN! It's been a while since we've seen y.." and your eyes widen. "I have to go, Pey"

"What? What is-" you hung up and opened the cabinet under the sink, reaching in the far back for the pregnancy tests you always had just in case. You peed on at least 5, lining them up on the counter and sitting against the floor with your knees against your chest.

Your pushed your toes against the carpet as you rock yourself back and forth, your timer making you jump as it goes off. You hit record on your phone as you held it pointed towards you, your eyes immediately welling with tears as all 5 read 'pregnant' and had 2 blue lines.

You prop your phone against the mirror and slide down the wall, just then Pedro walks into your apartment. "Babe!" he yells as he hears you crying, running to your bathroom.

Pedro's eyes find the tests immediately, squatting down next to you as he held your head. "Oh, princesa. It's okay, it's alright" he whispers and kisses your head, rubbing your arm. "I've always wanted a baby"

"But we just started dating, Pedro. Are you okay with have a baby with someone you barely know?" you sob and look at him, Pedro smiling as he brushed a piece of hair stuck to your cheek off your face.

"Baby I knew from the moment I met you that I wanted you in my life forever. I am more than okay with having a baby with you" you smile and laugh, looking at him through tears.

"We're having a baby" you mutter and he laughs, hugging you tightly as he rubbed your back.

"We're having a baby!"

-

You hit 3 months pregnant and press tours started to begin. You hadn't popped yet but you had just enough of a bump for people to know. You work a loose blue shirt with a pair of jeans and some black flats, waiting with your microphone on the side of the stage.

Pedro rubbed your arms as they called your name. You walk up the stairs and wave, heading to your seat and watching Pedro walk across the stage as you softly bit your lip.

You tried not to rest your hand on your stomach so much, and it took everything in Pedro not to rest his hand on your stomach which was his favorite thing to do as you two relaxed.

After almost 2 hours of talking, the panel was finally over. You all stood up and waved, walking towards the exit and the audience disappeared as your vision turned white.

Pedro caught you as your legs gave out, holding your body up as he held your face. "Honey, can you hear me?" his hand fell to your stomach and you blink, the room silent with clicking of cameras going off frequently. "There you are, hi beautiful" Pedro smiled at you and you close your eyes as you smile, paramedics bringing a gurney and Pedro carried you down the stairs onto it.

"My baby.." you hum and Pedro nods, looking at the paramedics.

"She hit 3 months pregnant yesterday, could that be it?" he asks as they shut the ambulance doors.

"We won't know until we check her, just hang tight" the sirens wailed, and you were off.

-

Your head rested in your head on your side as you took a nap, Pedro in a chair as he scrolled through social media. Every single place was talking about what happened, and how you were pregnant, and how you and Pedro were together.

Every single secret out in one picture. Pedro locked his phone as you woke up, immediately standing up and heading over to you and stroking your hair.

"Is our baby okay?" Pedro smiles as he kisses your forehead.

"Our baby is okay, you were just dehydrated and needed to eat. Nothing else is wrong" you sigh with a smile and Pedro swallowed. "But.. everyone knows"

You smile at the ceiling then looking at Pedro. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach, his eyes soft. "Our baby is healthy, we're happy. I don't care who knows"

"I'm glad you feel that way, cause I already posted a photo of us" You laugh and he kisses you over and over, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. "I love you, sweetheart"

"I love you, Pedro" you scoot over and he lays in bed with you, and the both of you fell asleep as he held your stomach.

[fantaseawriting]

A Price to Pay

Kraven x named OC. I may update later to be nameless reader.

I wrote this for my own pure enjoyment after seeing Kraven. Thought others might enjoy it as well. Wrote it at like 3am, not beta read. Might have errors but whatever.

Dark fanfiction. Trigger warnings a plenty. Will include non/dubcon. Non-con spanking. Predator / prey / primal play. Non-consensual breeding. Forced breeding. Somnophilia. And more. Read at your own risk.

18+. MINIRS DNI. NSFW.

Spoilers ahead

The elevator scene never made sense to me. How did Kraven not hear the struggle? Because he was talking to some random guy? It didn’t make sense to me. This story fixes that. A woman paid to be the distraction. Then the story cuts to after the movie, where Kraven tracks her down, blaming her for what happened.

The elevator chimed its arrival on the ground floor, and Aurora Zedel stepped in, her white blonde hair bouncing as she moved. Her teal eyes scanned the gleaming metal interior, noticing the faint smudges where hands had gripped the railings. The button for the 14th floor was already lit up, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the easy money waiting for her. As the doors began to glide shut, a large, muscular figure barreled towards her, his bare feet slapping against the marble floor. A man with dark brown hair and scruffy beard, had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days.

"Hold the elevator.” He called out.

Aurora glanced at him, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smirk as she took in his desperate sprint. But she knew better. Her instincts screamed at her to keep moving. She'd heard too many horror stories about being alone with strange, overbearing men in elevators. Her finger hovered over the 'Close Door' button, a silent declaration of her decision. She wasn't going to be that girl, the one who ended up as a tragic headline in tomorrow's newspaper. The doors began to slide shut, and she could almost feel the weight of his glare as they inched closer to sealing his fate.

But fate had other plans. The elevator jolted as something metal smacked into the 'up' button, the doors springing back open. Aurora's eyes widened as she watched the knife, thrown with the precision of a seasoned knife-thrower, lodge itself into the center of the button with a solid click. The man followed, his bare feet crossing the threshold as he reached out to claim his makeshift key. He grabbed the knife with a grin that was more predatory than charming and stepped into the elevator, his six-foot-tall frame filling the space with a sense of palpable dominance.

They stood in momentary silence as the doors closed. Aurora faced forward, but she could feel his eyes on her, a heat that seemed to burn through her clothes. Her heart raced, but she refused to show fear. "I tried to hold the door for you," she lied, trying to break the tension with a nonchalant tone.

"No, you didn't." He said with a smirk.

Her eyes darted to the knife still clutched in his hand. The elevator's smooth ascent seemed to echo the sudden drop in the temperature of the room. The smirk grew into a full-fledged grin as he caught her gaze, and Aurora felt the urge to apologize for her earlier snub, even though she had every right to be wary. His voice was a rich timbre that sent a shiver down her spine, despite the warmth of the enclosed space.

"This?" He said, holding up the knife with a casual air, as if they were discussing the weather. "It's my work knife. I take it with me everywhere."

With a swift, practiced movement, he folded the blade into the handle and slipped it into his pocket. His grin never wavered as he watched Aurora's eyes follow the knife, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the ease of the motion. He could see the question marks popping up in her eyes, the curiosity and fear fighting for dominance. Good. That was the reaction he liked.

"What do you do for work?" Aurora's voice was a bit too high, trying to cover the tremor in her throat.

Kraven leaned back against the wall of the elevator, his towering presence seeming to consume the small space. He took a deep, leisurely breath, his eyes never leaving Aurora. "I'm a hunter," he said with a smirk that sent a shiver down her spine. “I hunt people.”

The elevator jolted to a stop on the 14th floor, and Aurora's heart skipped a beat as she felt his gaze intensify. "And you wonder why I didn't hold the elevator for you?" she quipped, her sassiness belying the racing thoughts in her head.

Kraven chuckled lowly, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "You're feisty. I like that." He stepped aside, allowing Aurora to exit the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing the opulent hallway she'd been told to wait in.

Her legs felt like jelly as she stepped out, the clack of her heels on the marble floor the only sound in the otherwise quiet corridor. She couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze on her, even though she had her back to him. Without looking back, Aurora quickly made her way down the hall, her eyes scanning the gold-plated numbers until she found the one that matched her instructions. She took a deep breath and knocked three times on the door of apartment 1413, the echo of the raps echoing in the emptiness around her.

The silence that followed was thick, unnerving. She checked the time on her phone, the digital numbers ticking away the seconds like a bomb about to go off. She waited, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline in a parade, each beat louder than the last. The air felt charged, like it was holding its breath along with her, and she had to fight the urge to run back to the safety of the elevator. But she'd come this far. No way she was leaving without that money.

The wait was endless, stretching out like a never-ending taffy pull. Her eyes darted around the hallway, taking in the opulent surroundings with their gold-framed artwork and plush carpeting. The quiet was so complete she could hear the faint hum of the elevator's machinery, a steady rhythm that seemed to taunt her with its normalcy. Her eyes kept straying back to the door she'd just knocked on, willing it to open. And just as the clock on her phone hit the ten-minute mark, it did.

The man who emerged was as silent as the hallway itself. He was dressed in a sharp suit that screamed wealth and power, with sunglasses that obscured his eyes despite the lack of natural light. He held out a briefcase with a single nod, his face a mask of professional detachment. Aurora took it, her fingers trembling slightly as she felt the weight of the case in her hands. This was it. This was what she'd been promised. The brief moment of victory was cut short by the sound of the door clicking shut, leaving her standing there with nothing but the briefcase and the echo of the man's retreating footsteps.

Her heart pounded as she made her way back to the elevator, the sound of her heels on the marble floor a stark contrast to the quiet that had just moments ago held the corridor in its grip. She stepped into the metal box, the briefcase feeling like a treasure trove of secrets at her side. The doors whispered shut, and with a gentle ding, the elevator began to descend. The briefcase called to her, a siren's song of cold, hard cash. She couldn't resist the urge to peek. With trembling hands, she flipped the latches open, her eyes widening as the bills greeted her like an old friend.

Holy shit. They hadn't lied. She really got 50k to ride an elevator.

Three months had passed since Aurora's peculiar elevator encounter in London, and she had almost forgotten about the mysterious man with the knife. Her life had returned to the comfortable routine of cataloging artifacts and giving tours at the museum, with the occasional thrill of a new exhibit or an unexpected discovery. The cobblestone streets of London had been replaced with the concrete jungle of New York, but the memory of Kraven's smoldering gaze still lingered like a ghost in the back of her mind. She had moved on, though, using the money to upgrade her living situation and indulge in a few well-deserved treats.

Now, she found herself walking home from the Museum of Natural History, her one-bedroom flat a mere stone's throw away. The apartment boasted a stunning view of Central Park from the windows, which she often enjoyed with a cup of coffee and a good book. The rent was steep, but the 50,000 dollars had been a lifeline that allowed her to chase her dreams without the burden of financial stress. She often mused about what had happened to the man she had met that fateful day, but the chaos of her daily life quickly overshadowed those fleeting thoughts.

The walk home was never particularly long, but tonight, it felt like an eternity. Aurora's eyes darted around the bustling street, searching for the source of the uneasy feeling that had crept into her consciousness. The cacophony of car horns and pedestrians' chatter created a wall of noise that should have comforted her, but instead, it amplified the sensation of being observed. Her stride grew quicker as she wove through the throngs of people, the clack of her heels on the sidewalk a steady beat that seemed to echo her racing heart.

Finally, she reached the sanctuary of her apartment building, the heavy door swinging closed behind her with a comforting thud that muted the sounds of the city. She took the stairs two at a time, her breath coming in short gasps, fueled by adrenaline rather than exertion. Once inside, Aurora double-locked the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, her eyes closed as she allowed the sense of relief to wash over her.

With shaking hands, she made her way to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. The familiar ritual of measuring out the grounds and watching the water heat was a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves. She carried the steaming mug to the living room, the warmth spreading through her fingers and up her arm. She stepped over to the large windows, the twinkling lights of the city spread out before her like a glittering quilt. Her gaze fell upon Central Park, a vast expanse of darkness with the occasional flash of a streetlamp piercing the night.

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a figure standing in the shadows of the trees, his eyes locked onto her apartment. Her heart skipped a beat as she took a sip of her coffee, the bitter liquid scalding her tongue. But when she blinked, the figure was gone, swallowed by the night as if he had never been there.

The days ticked by, and the sense of unease grew stronger. Aurora couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, followed. She'd catch glimpses of dark figures in the corner of her eye, only to turn and find nothing but the cold, unyielding concrete of the city.

Her once-peaceful evening walks were now fraught with tension, her steps quicker, her eyes darting around the street as if searching for a predator that only she could sense. The whispers of the wind through the skyscrapers began to sound like the taunts of a pursuer, playing tricks on her ears.

It was a cold, rainy night when Aurora's fears materialized into reality. She had just stepped out of the warm embrace of the museum, her heels clicking rhythmically against the wet pavement as she hurried towards the safety of her apartment. The rain was a curtain, obscuring her view of the world, and she was grateful for the anonymity it provided.

As Aurora reached her building, she fumbled with her keys, the cold metal slipping through her trembling fingers. The door was heavier than usual, the weight of her fear seemingly adding to its mass. She slammed it shut behind her, the sound echoing through the empty foyer. The climb up the stairs was a blur of wet footsteps and heavy breathing, each step taking her closer to what she hoped was safety.

Finally, she reached her floor, the last bastion between her and the sanctuary of her home. The apartment door swung open with a groan of protest, revealing the welcoming embrace of her cozy living space. She didn't bother turning on the light; the moon's glow was enough to guide her as she shrugged off her soaked jacket and draped it over the hook. Her clothes clung to her body like a second skin, a chilly reminder of the rain's relentless embrace.

Aurora padded softly down the hallway, her damp feet leaving a trail of footprints on the hardwood floor. The anticipation of a hot shower washed away the last of her unease, replacing it with a warm, comforting warmth that seemed to radiate from the bathroom. She was so focused on the thought of the steaming water that she didn't notice the shift in the air, the sudden stillness that seemed to thicken like molasses.

It was only when she reached the threshold of her bedroom that Aurora's instincts screamed at her to stop. Something was off. The shadows in the room seemed to shift, coalescing into a form that didn't belong. Her hand hovered over the light switch, the plastic cool under her fingertips. She knew she should turn it on, illuminate the darkness, but she was frozen, a deer in the headlights of a car she didn't see coming.

The air grew heavy, charged with the electricity of a storm that had yet to break. And then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of fabric rustling against skin, the almost imperceptible huff of breath. She whirled around, her eyes darting through the darkness, searching for the source of the sound. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest, each beat echoing through her body like a warning bell.

A figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette blocking the moonlight that had been her beacon. It was him, the man from the elevator. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light, the gold of his irises piercing the gloom. He was no longer the charming rogue she had met months ago; now, he was the hunter made flesh, a creature of the night with a vendetta to settle.

Her instinct was to scream, to let out the terror that had been coiled in her chest for weeks, but he was faster. Kraven crossed the room in a single bound, his hand clamping over her mouth with the strength of a vice. The warmth of his palm against her skin was a stark contrast to the cold fear that washed over her. Aurora's eyes went wide, the pupils dilating with shock as she struggled against his unyielding grip.

"Hello, Aurora," Kraven purred, the sound sending shivers down her spine. "I've been looking forward to this little reunion." His voice was a dark symphony, a blend of velvet and steel that seemed to resonate in the very air around them.

Aurora's eyes searched for any escape, but the room had shrunk to the size of a cage, with Kraven as her captor. His grip on her was firm, the heat of his palm searing into her cheek, his other hand snaking around her waist to keep her in place. His scent was musky, like the rain-soaked earth after a storm, a wildness that made her want to both lean into it and flee from it.

"You," she managed to whisper through his hand. The accusation was clear in her voice, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface of fear.

Kraven's grin widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Yes, me. You've been a hard one to track down, Aurora. But I always get my prey." His grip on her tightened, and she could feel the power in his arms, the promise of strength that could easily overpower her.

The past month had been a game of cat and mouse, with Kraven following Aurora's scent across continents. Her unique blend of vanilla, amber, and musk had led him through the bustling streets of New York, each step bringing him closer to the woman who had unwittingly played a role in his brother's downfall. It was a scent that had haunted his dreams, a sweetness tinged with the bitter stench of betrayal. And now, finally, he had her right where he wanted her.

"Let me go," Aurora hissed, her eyes flashing with a fiery determination that only served to pique Kraven's interest. She struggled in his arms, her body a thrash of limbs that did little to free herself from his iron grip. His smile grew as he leaned in, his nose brushing against her neck as he took in her scent. It was intoxicating, a blend of fear and something else, something that made his pulse quicken.

"Why are you here?" she spat, her voice muffled by his hand.

Kraven leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. "You helped them, Aurora. You're part of this." His words were a dark promise of retribution, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. "I'm going to make you pay for what you've done."

"What are you talking about?" she choked out, her eyes watering from the pressure of his hand. "I don't know anything!" Her nails dug into his palm, desperation fueling her strength.

Kraven's grin grew more wolfish. "Don't play dumb with me. You were the perfect distraction in that elevator. You delayed me, allowed them to take my brother. And now, I've found you." His voice was a low growl that sent a shiver down Aurora's spine.

Aurora's eyes searched the room for anything she could use as a weapon, but all she saw was her own reflection in the dresser mirror, wide-eyed and terrified. She tried to kick out, but her heels slipped on the wet floor. Kraven's grip on her was unrelenting.

"You're wrong," Aurora managed to murmur, the words barely audible against his palm. "I didn't know what was happening!"

"Ignorance is no excuse," Kraven whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt a sharp pinprick at the base of her neck, and the room swirled around her like a kaleidoscope of shadows. The last thing she heard was the echo of his words, "You distracted me. You helped them. And you will pay."

When Aurora woke, the world was spinning. She groaned, her head feeling like a sledgehammer had taken up residence inside her skull. She tried to sit up, but the world tilted, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a soft thump. The scent of rich, musky wood enveloped her, unfamiliar and comforting in the same breath. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls of the room were made of glass triangles, creating a dome that showcased the dense woods outside. The stark contrast of the opulent furnishings with the wild, untamed nature beyond was jarring, like a jungle queen's palace in the heart of the forest.

Her eyes searched the room frantically, trying to piece together the puzzle of her location. The last thing she remembered was the cold, hard hand over her mouth and the sudden darkness that had swallowed her whole. Her hand shot up to her neck, feeling the tender spot where she had been injected. A sour taste lingered on her tongue, the aftermath of whatever drug had been used to render her unconscious.

Aurora's heart hammered in her chest as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the plush bedding beneath her offering little comfort. Her legs dangled over the side, and she took a moment to let the world settle before attempting to stand. Her eyes fell on the door, a stark reminder of the danger she was in.

With wobbly steps, she approached the glass panes that made up the wall, her eyes scanning the dense foliage beyond for any sign of Kraven. The rain had stopped, and in its place, a serene quiet had descended over the woods. The moon cast an eerie glow through the canopy, painting the leaves in silvery light. She knew she had to escape.

Aurora stumbled onto the deck, the cold wood seeping through her damp clothes, sending a shiver down her spine. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. Her eyes searched the horizon, the distant sound of an owl's hoot piercing the silence. The urge to flee was a living thing within her, a primal instinct that screamed at her to run.

And then she heard it—a growl, low and menacing, that seemed to resonate through her very bones. Her heart stuttered in her chest, the beat of a wild drum that matched the throb of fear in her veins. Her eyes darted to the nearby forest, the dense underbrush hiding whatever creature had made the sound.

For a moment, the world stood still. The moonlight danced through the leaves, painting an eerie tableau of shadows and light. And then, she saw it—a flash of movement, the unmistakable form of a creature stalking closer. A snow leopard, its fur a ghostly white against the backdrop of the night, its eyes gleaming with a hunger that was all too real.

Aurora's heart skipped a beat, and she forgot about the man who took her. Survival instinct took over, and she bolted back inside the dome, the door slamming shut with a resounding boom that echoed through the quiet night. She leaned against the door, panting as she watched the creature prowl closer. The snow leopard's eyes never left hers, a predator sizing up its prey.

It was a snow leopard, a creature of the Himalayas and other high-altitude regions. Aurora's mind raced. How was this possible? The last she knew, she was in the heart of New York City, not in the remote mountains of Asia. Panic set in as the reality of her situation sank in—she was not in her element, not even in the city she called home. This was a place where nature ruled, and she was the intruder.

The beast circled the structure a few times, its eyes never leaving Aurora's as it assessed her. Its tail twitched, the tip brushing the ground with a mesmerizing rhythm that seemed to beckon her closer. But the sharpness of its teeth and the power in its muscles were clear warnings. This was not an animal to be trifled with.

As the snow leopard disappeared into the woods, the night grew quieter, the only sound the gentle patter of rain against the glass. Aurora let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her eyes still glued to the spot where it had been. The tension in her body slowly began to uncoil, and she pushed herself away from the door.

It was only when she heard the soft click of the lock turning that she realized she wasn't alone. She whirled around, her eyes widening as the man stepped into the room, his eyes gleaming in the moonlit night like the predator that had just been outside. The sight of him sent a jolt of terror through her, a stark reminder of the human danger that lurked within the confines of this alien place.

"Welcome to my home, Aurora," Kraven said, his voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down her spine. He was dressed in a simple pair of black pants and a form-fitting shirt that did little to hide his muscular physique. His bare feet were silent on the floor, a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart.

Her eyes searched the room for a way out, for anything that could help her, but all she found was more glass and steel, a prison of luxury that reflected the moon's glow. "Where am I?" she demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Somewhere safe," Kraven said, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made her want to shrink away. "Or as safe as you can be when you're with me."

The room was sparse but luxurious, a stark contrast to the wildness beyond the glass walls. Aurora took in the furs draped over the bed, the heavy wooden furniture that looked as though it had been carved from ancient trees, and the crackling fireplace that cast flickering shadows across the floor. The heat was a stark contrast to the cold she'd felt outside, a seductive warmth that she knew was a trap.

"This isn't New York," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. The trees, the snow leopard—none of it made sense. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the puzzle of her new surroundings. "Where are we?"

"My home," Kraven said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very floor beneath her feet. "Eastern Russia. The heart of the wilderness." He stepped closer, and Aurora could feel the heat emanating from his body, a stark contrast to the cold outside. "You won't find another human for over a thousand miles."

Aurora's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. She had to keep her wits about her, had to find a way out of this insanity. "What do you want from me?" she spat, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

"Oh, I think you know," Kraven said, his smirk growing more predatory with each passing moment. He strolled closer, his bare feet silent on the cold floor. "You see, you've become part of the hunt now, Aurora. You're the fox that led me astray in that elevator, and now it's my turn to set the chase."

Aurora's heart raced, her mind scrambling to understand what he was saying. The elevator job had been a random encounter, hadn't it? Just a way to make some quick cash. But as Kraven prowled towards her, she knew that she had been naive to think she could walk away unscathed from whatever dark world he was part of.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aurora repeated, her voice stronger this time. "We were just two strangers in an elevator. I didn't do anything to distract you from anything!"

Kraven's smirk grew, a dark twist of amusement playing on his lips. "Ah, but you see, Aurora, that's where you're wrong. You're more than just a pretty face and an interesting scent. You're a puzzle piece in a much larger game." He stalked closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Your innocent act isn't fooling me. I know you're part of the reason my brother fell to the darkness. That night, when you stepped into that elevator, you became part of the hunt. And now, you're going to pay for it." His words were a whisper, a promise of retribution that seemed to hang in the air like a mist of venom.

Aurora's mind raced as she tried to form a coherent argument, but her thoughts were muddled by fear and confusion. "Please, I didn't know! I was offered $50,000 to ride the elevator to the fourteenth floor and wait ten minutes. That was all!" she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I had no idea what was happening!"

Kraven's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through the veil of her fear. "Money," he spat, his tone derisive. "Always the same story. You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" His words stung, but Aurora knew better than to let his accusations bait her.

"I don't know anything about your brother or your...hunting," she said firmly, her voice stronger than she felt. "I'm just a curator at the museum. I don't get involved in...whatever it is you think I'm involved in."

Kraven tilted his head, studying her with a predatory gaze. "You're a curator, yes, but you're also a survivor. You've survived in a city that eats the weak alive. You've made a good life for yourself with the money you earned that night. But now, the game has changed. You're in my world, and here, the only way to survive is to become the hunted."

Aurora's eyes searched his, looking for a glimmer of humanity, but all she found was a cold, calculating stare. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the tremor in her limbs.

"Revenge," Kraven replied, his tone as unyielding as the steel bars that seemed to enclose her in this glass cage. "You've cost me everything. For a pitiful fifty thousand dollars, you've taken away the only person I ever cared about. And now, you'll learn what it means to be the prey."

Aurora felt the blood drain from her face, her heart racing like the prey of the snow leopard that had just been outside. "Your brother...he's...dead?" she stuttered, the reality of the situation crashing down upon her.

"Worse," Kraven said, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "He didn't just die. He turned into the very evil I hunt. A monster." His eyes blazed with anger and something else—hurt, a deep, raw pain that made Aurora's chest tighten. "And it's all because of you."

The room felt smaller as he approached, his muscular form looming over her. Aurora took a step back, her heels clicking against the cold, hard floor. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. "How could I have done that?"

Kraven's smile was cruel. "You played your part, Aurora. Whether you knew it or not." He reached out, his hand snaking around her throat, his fingers tightening just enough to remind her of his power. "And now, it's time for you to pay the price."

Aurora's eyes widened with terror, her pulse racing like a rabbit caught in a snare. "Please," she choked out, her voice a desperate plea. "I didn't know. I don't know anything. I don't even know who you are."

Kraven's grip tightened, his thumb pressing against the pulse point on her neck, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath the soft skin. "You can call me Kraven," he murmured. "You're about to find out what it's like to be the hunted. To feel the fear, the adrenaline, the desperation." His other hand reached out, ghosting over her cheek, his touch feather-light but sending a shiver of fear through her. "You're going to regret ever crossing my path, Aurora Zedel."

With a sudden shove, he released her, sending her stumbling backwards. "Run," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'll give you a head start. And don't worry about the snow leopard outside. She won't hunt you." His eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. "She won't hunt my prey."

Aurora didn't need to be told twice. She bolted towards the door, her heart in her throat. Her legs felt like jelly, but she pushed through the fear, her instincts taking over. The door swung open, and the cool night air enveloped her, the scent of pine and rain mixing with the coppery tang of fear.

Her eyes darted around the moonlit clearing, searching for any sign of civilization or a path through the dense woods. The only sound was the distant call of an owl and the thunderous beat of her own heart. Kraven had vanished, leaving her alone in the wilderness, the glass dome of his lair gleaming in the distance like a malevolent eye watching her every move.

The forest loomed around her, a tapestry of shadows and silver light. Aurora took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between herself and the madman who had brought her here. Her feet sank into the wet earth, the cold seeping through her thin shoes as she stumbled through the underbrush, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

Behind her, she heard the faintest rustle of leaves, a disturbance that sent a fresh jolt of terror through her. Kraven was out there, watching her flee. She could feel his eyes on her, his presence a dark shadow that seemed to invade every corner of her mind. Her legs burned, her lungs ached, but she didn't dare slow down.

Kraven's thoughts were a tumultuous mix of anger and desire. Her scent, that sweet, alluring blend of vanilla, amber, and musk, had him in a feral frenzy. He hadn't meant to let her go so easily, but something within him had snapped the moment she'd stumbled away from his grasp. The need to claim her, to make her his, was overwhelming, a primal instinct that he hadn't felt in years. His teeth gritted as he watched her vanish into the trees, the moon's glow playing across her curves like a lover's caress.

He waited, his eyes never leaving the spot where she'd disappeared. His heightened senses took in every sound, every smell. He could hear the racing of her heart, the rustle of leaves beneath her panicked feet. His muscles tensed, and he felt the power within him coil tight, ready to spring into action. But he didn't move—not yet.

Kraven watched the shadows dance across the clearing, his eyes glowing with the excitement of the chase. His mind was a tempest of anger and lust, a maelstrom of emotion that swirled around the image of Aurora. He wasn't just mad at her; he was enraged that she'd been used to distract him from his duty. Yet, the thought of her soft curves beneath him was like a siren's call, irresistible and all-consuming. He had to have her.

He waited, his patience that of a cat watching a mouse. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, every twist and turn, every scent that lingered on the breeze. The rain had stopped, leaving the night air cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of Aurora's fear. It was intoxicating, a pheromone that drew him closer. He could feel the vibrations of her desperate flight, the tremble of the earth beneath her feet, the snapping of twigs as she blundered through the underbrush.

Aurora's breaths grew more ragged as she pushed deeper into the forest. Her legs felt like they might give out at any moment, but she couldn't stop. The darkness was suffocating, the trees closing in around her like a living cage. The only thing keeping her going was the burning anger that had ignited within her at Kraven's accusation. How dare he blame her for something she didn't do?

Her mind raced with scenarios of escape, her thoughts interrupted by the occasional crack of a twig or rustle of leaves. Was he really letting her go? Or was this all part of his twisted game? The forest was eerily silent, the only company the distant hoot of an owl and the erratic thump of her own heart.

Aurora's eyes searched the darkness for any sign of Kraven, but all she saw was the endless dance of shadows cast by the moon's weak glow. The trees stretched out before her like an infinite maze, each step a gamble on whether she was moving towards freedom or further into his clutches

.

As Aurora stumbled through the forest, the moon's weak glow pierced the dense canopy, casting eerie patterns of light and shadow on the damp ground. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she could feel the cold seeping into her bones, but she didn't dare stop moving. The fear of Kraven's pursuit kept her legs pumping, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm in her chest. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves made her jump, her eyes darting wildly in search of the predator she knew was stalking her.

The terrain grew more rugged, the underbrush thicker and more difficult to navigate. Aurora's clothes were soaked with rain, clinging to her body and snagging on branches that seemed to reach out to ensnare her. Her shoes, never meant for this kind of environment, were little more than shreds, leaving her feet bare and vulnerable to the jagged rocks and sharp thorns that littered the forest floor.

Her breaths grew shallower, the cold air stinging her lungs as she stumbled over a fallen tree trunk. A glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye had her spinning around, heart racing, only to find a solitary deer watching her with wide, doe-like eyes before it disappeared back into the shadows. The forest was a silent sentinel, holding its breath as the hunted played out her fate.

The moment of respite was shattered when a powerful force crashed into her from behind, sending her sprawling face-first into the wet earth. Aurora screamed and flailed, her nails clawing at the soil as Kraven's heavy body pinned her down, his muscular frame immovable as a boulder. Panic flooded her veins, and she struggled wildly, her legs kicking and arms flailing as she tried to break free.

He was silent as the grave, his breath hot against her neck as he held her in place, his fingers digging into her hips. Aurora felt his erection, a stark reminder of his intentions, pressing into her through his pants, and a new wave of terror washed over her. Kraven chuckled, a dark sound that echoed through the silent night, his teeth grazing her ear as he whispered, "You're going to make this so much more enjoyable, little fox."

Her mind reeled as she felt the fabric of her pants tear away, his hand rough and unyielding as he exposed her skin to the cold night air. Aurora's scream was muffled by the wet earth, her struggles futile against his immense strength. She could feel the ground beneath her, the dampness seeping into her clothes, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat of Kraven's body as he claimed her.

With a snarl, he flipped her onto her back, his eyes gleaming with a feral hunger that made Aurora's stomach churn. His grip was like a vice around her wrists, pinning her arms above her head as he straddled her, his knees digging into her ribs. "You're mine now," he murmured, his breath hot on her face. "You're going to scream for me, beg for me, and when I'm done with you, you'll never forget the name Kraven."

Aurora's eyes searched the darkness beyond the forest canopy, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild animal's. She could feel the ground beneath her, the cold seeping into her bones, as Kraven's weight bore down on her. His hand slithered up her side, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he cupped her breast, squeezing it roughly. She gasped, arching her back in protest, her eyes never leaving his.

With a feral grin, Kraven leaned in, his teeth bared as he ripped her shirt and bra from her body in one swift motion. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the quiet night, a macabre symphony of destruction. Aurora's breasts spilled out, pale and trembling in the moonlight, her nipples hardening from the cold and fear. Kraven's gaze raked over her exposed flesh, his eyes gleaming with hunger, and she felt a surge of revulsion mingled with a perverse thrill.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she lay naked beneath him, her skin glowing in the moonlit clearing. Kraven took a moment to drink in the sight, his own shirt discarded on the ground beside them, the muscles of his chest rippling as he took a deep, satisfied breath. His pants were already undone, the outline of his erection straining against the fabric.

With a snarl, he descended upon her, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her neck, his tongue laving the wound to soothe the sting. Aurora squirmed beneath him, trying to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. His mouth moved to her breasts, his teeth grazing over the sensitive peaks, his tongue flicking against them in a way that sent waves of pleasure mingling with pain through her body.

Her eyes squeezed shut, Aurora bit her bottom lip, trying to muffle the whimpers that escaped her. She didn't want to give Kraven the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected her. But as he continued to explore her body with a combination of roughness and tenderness that was both terrifying and exhilarating, she could feel her resolve crumbling. His hands roamed, his fingers dipping into her wetness, testing her readiness with a cruel precision.

Kraven's voice was a low, seductive growl in her ear. "You're going to come for me, Aurora. Whether you want to or not." His words were a promise, a dark vow that sent a shiver of fear and anticipation through her body. He was in control, and she knew it, but there was something in his tone that suggested he didn't just want her body—he wanted her to surrender completely, to acknowledge him as her master, her hunter.

He didn't wait for a response, his hand delving between her legs, his fingers teasing her clit with a mastery that had her gasping. Aurora's eyes shot open, her body arching up to meet his touch, her breath hitching in her throat. Kraven's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he watched her react. "See?" he murmured. "You love it. The thrill of the hunt, the fear of the unknown."

Her eyes filled with anger and defiance as she glared up at him, but he just chuckled, leaning down to capture her mouth in a brutal kiss. His tongue thrust inside, claiming her, tasting her fear and her unwilling desire. Aurora felt the heat of his body, the roughness of his beard against her skin, and she hated herself for the way she responded. But she couldn't fight the sensations that flooded her—his touch, his scent, the power that radiated from him like a living flame.

Kraven felt her body's betrayal, her softness yielding to his hardness, her wetness coating his fingers as he stroked her. He broke the kiss, his eyes gleaming with victory. "You're going to come for me," he repeated, his voice a dark whisper. "And when you do, you'll understand what it means to be the hunted."

With a snarl, Aurora bucked her hips, trying to dislodge his hand, but he was unmovable. His grip on her wrists tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pinned her to the ground.

Her body betrayed her, arching into his touch despite her protests. Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the reality of the situation. But the sensations were too intense, too overwhelming. The fear and the arousal swirled together in a toxic mix, a potent cocktail that had her panting and writhing beneath him.

Kraven's thumb circled her clit, his fingers plunging in and out of her in a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart. Aurora's mind raced, trying to find a way out of this, to regain control, but all she could focus on was the exquisite torture he was inflicting on her body. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her back bowing off the ground as he brought her closer to the edge.

And then, without warning, he withdrew his hand, leaving her trembling and exposed. Aurora's eyes snapped open, and she met his, the hunger in them so intense it stole her breath away. Kraven's grin was wicked as he lined himself up with her, the head of his cock pressing against her slick entrance.

In one powerful thrust, he entered her, the sheer size of him filling her completely, stretching her in a way that was both agonizing and exhilarating. Aurora's scream pierced the night, echoing through the forest like the cry of a wounded animal. He was so much larger than any man she'd ever been with, his girth a challenge that her body struggled to accommodate. Her muscles clenched around him, trying to resist the intrusion, but his strength was unrelenting.

Her struggles renewed, a cacophony of limbs and desperate gasps for air as he began to move within her. Kraven's hips pistoned, each stroke sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through Aurora's body. She could feel the heat of him, the power of his thrusts as he claimed her with an animalistic ferocity. And yet, as much as she wanted to fight, there was a part of her that craved more, that reveled in the raw, primal energy of the moment. Her body responded in ways she never thought possible, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hips rising to meet his in a silent plea for more.

The world around them faded away, replaced by the sound of their harsh breaths and the slap of skin on skin. Kraven's eyes never left hers, his gaze a blue flame that seemed to burn into her very soul. He watched her, studied her, his expression a mix of anger and lust. "You're mine," he growled, his voice deep and guttural. "You'll always be mine."

Aurora's body responded in ways she couldn't control, her hips moving with his rhythm despite the fear that gripped her. His teeth sank into her lower lip, drawing blood, and she tasted the coppery tang as she moaned into his mouth. Her nails raked down his back, not in protest but in a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything, as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.

Kraven felt her tighten around him, her muscles contracting with each of his brutal thrusts. He could feel her approaching climax, and the knowledge of her impending surrender fueled his own desire. His hand slammed down on the ground beside her head, the impact echoing through the clearing. "Say it," he demanded, his voice low and rough. "Say you're mine."

Aurora's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and need. "Never," she spat out, trying to buck him off. But his weight was too much, his grip too strong.

Kraven chuckled, the sound low and sinister. "We'll see," he murmured against her ear, his teeth grazing the lobe before his mouth moved to her neck, his kisses turning into bites that left marks. He could feel her getting closer, her body's involuntary reactions telling him she was about to give in. His strokes grew deeper, his grip on her hips tightening, his rhythm unyielding.

Aurora's eyes widened as she felt the pressure building, a coil of need that she couldn't fight. She bit back a scream, her teeth digging into her lip so hard she could taste blood. Kraven's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "That's it," he whispered, his voice a dark purr. "Come for me, Aurora. Show me you're mine."

With a final, brutal thrust, Aurora shattered, her body convulsing with the force of her climax. It was a release unlike any she'd ever experienced, a wave of pleasure that washed over her like a storm. Kraven's eyes glowed with victory, his own orgasm following closely behind, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into her.

For a moment, they lay there, panting and spent, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Aurora felt the weight of his body pressing her into the cold, damp earth, his breath hot against her neck. The reality of what had just happened crashed down on her, and she began to sob, the tears mingling with the rain that had started to fall again.

Kraven pulled back slightly, his grip on her wrists loosening. He studied her face, his expression unreadable. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

Aurora's sobs grew louder, her whole body shaking with the force of her emotions. "You...you raped me," she choked out. "How can you ask that?"

Kraven's expression didn't change. He simply leaned down and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You liked it," he said matter-of-factly. "Your body didn't lie to me."

Aurora's anger flared, and she spit in his face. "You're a monster," she hissed.

Kraven wiped the saliva away with the back of his hand, his expression unchanged. "I am what I was made to be," he said, his voice cold and hard. "And now, so are you." He stood, pulling her up with him, and she winced at the pain of his grip on her bruised wrists. He tugged her pants back up, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're going to walk back to my lair," he said, his voice a low growl. "And we're going to have a little chat about your role in all of this."

The rain was a torrent now, beating against their naked bodies as they walked back through the forest. Aurora's teeth chattered from the cold, her skin covered in a sheen of water and sweat. She stumbled, the pain from her encounter making each step an agony, but Kraven's grip was unyielding. She couldn't help but feel the heat of his body against hers, the way the water traced the valleys of his muscles, making him look like a living statue carved from marble.

But she would not let him see her weakness. As the dome of his fortress came into view, Aurora's panic grew. She knew what awaited her there—more pain, more humiliation. She had to find a way to escape, to prove to herself that she was more than just prey. Her eyes darted around the forest, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon, a means to fight back.

As they approached the clearing where the glass prison loomed, she saw her chance. A fallen branch, thick and sturdy, lay in their path, partially hidden by the underbrush. She waited for Kraven to look away, his focus on the ground as he navigated through the dense foliage. When the moment was right, she reached for it, her hand shaking with fear and determination.

He noticed the shift in her posture, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look at her. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled, his grip on her wrist tightening.

Aurora's heart pounded in her chest, her pulse racing with a mix of fear and anger. She had to act now. With all the strength she could muster, she swung the branch at Kraven's head with a feral cry. It connected with a solid thunk, and he staggered back, surprise flickering in his eyes.

This was her moment. Her legs, though trembling, propelled her forward as she tried to run, the rain stinging her bare skin like a thousand tiny needles. But Kraven was too fast. In a blur of movement, he caught her around the waist, his hand wrapping around her like a vice. "You little bitch," he hissed, his teeth bared in a snarl.

Her breath was ragged in her chest as she kicked and struggled, the branch slipping from her grasp. But Kraven's hold was unbreakable, his muscles rippling with power. He tossed her over his shoulder, her body bouncing with each of his angry steps as he carried her back to the glass fortress. The rain washed the tears from Aurora's face, mixing with the mud that caked her skin.

Inside the prison, he threw her onto the plush bed with a force that made her bounce. "You're going to learn your place," he snarled, his eyes burning with fury. Aurora tried to scramble away, but he was on her in an instant, his hand slamming down onto the mattress beside her, his face just inches from hers. "You're not going anywhere," he growled.

With a swift movement, he flipped her over so that she was face down on the bed, her thighs hanging off the edge, her bare bottom exposed to the cool air. The moonlight spilled in through the skylight, casting an ethereal glow over her skin. Kraven's gaze raked over her, lingering on the curve of her hips and the plumpness of her ass. He couldn't resist the urge to mark her, to claim her in a way that would leave no doubt in her mind of who she belonged to.

One hand remained on her back, holding her in place as his other hand rose, poised to deliver the first blow. "You will learn the price of disobedience," he growled, his voice a low, predatory rumble. The sound of his hand connecting with her flesh was like a crack of thunder in the quiet room, the impact jolting through Aurora's body. She gasped, her eyes squeezing shut against the sudden sting of pain.

Kraven's hand fell again, and again, each smack echoing through the chamber of glass like the beat of a war drum. Aurora's struggles grew more desperate, her muffled cries lost in the pillow she was face down in. Yet, she couldn't escape his punishing grasp. Each hit was deliberate, precise, as if he were mapping the landscape of her ass with the palm of his hand. He didn't relent, covering every inch of her plump flesh with a crimson blush.

Through the fog of pain, Aurora felt something else, something that scared her more than Kraven's wrath. Her body was responding to the punishment, her pussy growing wet with a traitorous desire that she couldn't understand. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't help the way her hips moved, almost as if they were begging for more. It was like a dance of dominance and submission that she never agreed to participate in.

The rhythm of Kraven's strikes became almost mesmerizing, each one a symphony of pain that sent shockwaves through her body. The sound of his hand smacking against her ass, the way her skin jiggled with the impact—it was a macabre ballet that played out beneath the unforgiving moonlight. Aurora's breathing grew ragged, her moans muffled by the pillow she clutched with desperation. The sting grew more intense with every hit, but so did the strange, dark pleasure that seemed to pulse through her veins.

Her struggles diminished, and her body began to move with the force of his hand. Her ass cheeks jiggled in time with the punishment, the red marks standing out starkly against her pale skin. Kraven's eyes never left her, his gaze drinking in the sight of her submission. He could see the panic in her eyes slowly morph into something else—a mix of anger, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like arousal. The way her hips rolled slightly, the way she bit her lip to stifle a moan—it was as if she were built for this, crafted to be the perfect prey for his desires.

With a final, firm smack, he paused, his hand resting on the hot, throbbing flesh of her ass. Aurora's body was taut with tension, her breathing ragged. Kraven leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "You're going to take it," he whispered. "You're going to take all of it, and you're going to love it."

His hand began to caress her, his fingertips tracing the lines of fire he'd painted on her skin. The tenderness was almost too much to bear after the harshness of the spanking. Her body trembled, her legs spreading slightly, giving him the access he craved. He took advantage, one hand sliding down to her slick folds, the other still gripping her bruised flesh.

Kraven's eyes never left hers as he positioned himself at her entrance. She felt his tip probing, and despite the pain, she was wet for him. It was as if her body had been programmed to respond to his touch, to crave his dominance. With a low growl, he thrust into her, filling her completely. Aurora gasped, her body arching with the sudden fullness. The pain from her spanking melded with the pleasure of his entry, creating a symphony of sensation that was almost too intense to handle.

Her ass was still on fire, the sting from his hand a constant reminder of her submission. Yet, it was this very submission that seemed to drive him wild. His thrusts grew deeper, his grip on her hips tightening as he claimed her once more. Aurora's eyes rolled back in her head, a keening cry escaping her lips as he hit a spot that sent sparks of pleasure through her core. It was as if she was a puzzle piece that had been forcibly shoved into place, and now, she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Kraven's strokes grew more deliberate, each one designed to elicit a reaction from her. He watched her face intently, the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her breath hitched in her throat. His free hand slid up to her neck, his thumb pressing gently into the soft spot just below her ear. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the beat of her life pounding in time with the rhythm of their fucking.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mating dance—his grunts, her whimpers, the slap of his skin against hers. It was a cacophony that echoed through the glass prison, a declaration of his dominance. Aurora's body was a canvas of sensations, a battleground of pleasure and pain that Kraven reveled in exploring.

He reached around her, his hand finding her clit, and began to rub in slow, deliberate circles. The contrast between the pain of her bruised ass and the sweet agony of his fingers on her most sensitive spot was almost too much to bear. Aurora's moans grew louder, her body responding to the dual assault despite her mind screaming for her to fight it.

Kraven's strokes grew faster, his breath hot on her neck as he whispered sweet nothings that were more threatening than any curse. "You're going to come for me," he murmured. "You're going to scream my name and show me how much you crave this."

Aurora's eyes snapped open, a fiery determination in her gaze. She would not give him that satisfaction. Yet, the pressure building in her core was undeniable, a crescendo that she couldn't hold back much longer. Her teeth gritted against the pillow, her body trembling with the effort to resist.

But Kraven was relentless, his thumb flicking over her clit with a masterful precision that sent bolts of pleasure through her. She could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, a storm brewing within her that threatened to break at any moment. And when it did, it would be a tempest of ecstasy that she feared would shatter her very being.

Her body began to quiver, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. Kraven's grip on her neck tightened, his other hand still rubbing mercilessly at her clit. "Do it," he growled. "Come for me."

Aurora's eyes squeezed shut, her teeth digging into the pillow as she fought against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown her. But it was no use; her body had been pushed to its limits, and the dam broke. Her back arched off the bed, a scream ripping from her throat as she climaxed. The orgasm was like nothing she'd ever felt before—intense, overwhelming, and terrifying in its intensity. Her inner walls clenched around Kraven's cock, her body milking him for every drop of pleasure he could give.

Kraven's eyes glowed with triumph, his strokes growing erratic as he chased his own release. He watched Aurora's body spasm beneath him, her legs trembling, her breath ragged. The sound of her climax was music to his ears, a symphony of submission that fueled his own desire. He thrust harder, faster, his need to claim her, to mark her as his own, driving him on.

With a final, primal roar, Kraven reached his peak, his hot seed filling her. Aurora felt the warmth spread within her, a stark contrast to the coldness of the room. His weight on her grew heavier, his breaths hot against her neck. For a moment, it was as if time had stopped, the two of them locked in this dance of power and passion.

Slowly, Kraven pulled out, his grip on Aurora's neck loosening. He flipped her onto her back, his eyes never leaving hers as he bent down to claim her mouth in a bruising kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her submission. Aurora's hands reached up to grip his shoulders, not to push him away but to hold him closer, to anchor herself in this twisted reality where she was both the predator's prey and his willing victim.

Their kiss was a battle of wills, a silent negotiation of power that ended with Aurora's soft whimper. Kraven pulled away, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He stood up, his cock still hard and slick with her juices. He grabbed the blanket from the bed, tossing it over her trembling body. "You'll stay here," he said, his voice still a low growl. "I've got some things to take

care of."

Aurora lay there, her body still quivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She watched as Kraven dressed, the muscles of his back rippling with every movement. Her eyes were drawn to the scars that marred his skin, a testament to the battles he'd fought. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him, this creature of pain and anger.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "You're going to stay here," he said firmly, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You're not going anywhere."

Aurora's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of mercy, but she found none. Instead, she saw the cold resolve of a hunter who'd captured his prize. With a sense of dread, she watched as Kraven disappeared through the glass door, leaving her alone in the stark, cold cell of a room. The rain continued to fall outside, the droplets racing down the panes like the tears she refused to shed.

Her body was a mess of bruises and throbbing pain, but the warmth of the blanket did little to comfort her. She pulled it closer, trying to shrink away from the reality of what had just transpired. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, mixing with the scent of rain-soaked earth. Despite her anger and fear, Aurora couldn't deny the lingering thrill of Kraven's dominance. It was as if he had unlocked a part of her she never knew existed—a dark, primal side that craved the very thing she despised.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the patter of rain and her own erratic breathing. Aurora's mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. Why did Kraven think she was involved in his brother's kidnapping? And why did her body respond so readily to his touch, even as her mind screamed for her to resist? The thought of him returning sent a shiver down her spine, one of both fear and anticipation.

Her eyes grew heavy, and despite the ache in her body and the turmoil in her heart, Aurora couldn't fight the pull of sleep any longer. She curled up under the blanket, her bruised and sore body finding a strange comfort in the soft embrace of the bed. The rain outside lulled her into a restless slumber, the cushioned mattress a stark contrast to the harsh reality of her new life.

When she awoke, the world was bathed in a gentle glow, and the sound of water washed over her like a soothing lullaby. She was no longer lying on the bed, but instead found herself submerged in warm water that lapped at her chin, the scent of amber and vanilla filling her nose. She blinked, her eyes focusing on the figure crouched beside her. Kraven, his muscular frame relaxed, was gently sponging her clean with tender strokes.

Her body felt different—less bruised, less broken. She looked down to find the water tinted pink from the aftermath of their encounter. Kraven's touch was surprisingly gentle, his eyes focused on her with a softness she hadn't seen before. The predator had become the caretaker, a role she never would have expected from the man who had claimed her so brutally.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Kraven's gaze lifted to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "I'm taking care of what's mine," he murmured, his tone almost gentle.

Aurora felt a mix of anger and confusion boil within her. "I'm not yours," she spat, her voice filled with defiance.

Kraven's expression didn't change, his eyes remaining soft and caring as he rinsed the sponge in the water. "You are," he said firmly. "Whether you accept it or not, your fate is tied to mine now."

Aurora's eyes narrowed, her body tensing under his touch. "Why are you doing this?" she asked through gritted teeth, trying to hold onto the last shreds of her dignity.

"Because you need it," Kraven replied, his voice still low and gentle. "And because I want to."

Aurora's chest tightened at his words, her anger a flimsy shield against the warmth that spread through her. Despite herself, she felt a spark of something that was definitely not fear as his hands moved over her body. His touch was firm but gentle, almost loving. It was as if he was worshipping every inch of her, memorizing the contours of her flesh as if she were a sacred relic.

The water grew cooler as Kraven continued his ministrations, his gaze never leaving hers. She could see the challenge in his eyes, daring her to look away, to submit fully. But Aurora was a fighter, and she would not go quietly. Her eyes remained locked on his, her spirit refusing to be tamed.

With a final caress, Kraven pulled the plug from the tub, the water draining away with a gurgle that echoed through the room. He lifted her out, wrapping her in a soft towel, and carried her back to the bed. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her, the aftermath of the intense emotional and physical ordeal making her body feel both heavy and weightless.

He laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to dry her off. His touch was firm yet gentle, as if she was a fragile treasure that could shatter at any moment. Aurora's skin felt alive under his ministrations, her nerves singing with every brush of the towel. The tender care he was showing her was a stark contrast to the brutal force he had used earlier, leaving her even more confused than before.

As the last of the water was soaked up, Kraven took a step back, his eyes lingering on Aurora's naked form. She tried to cover herself, a blush rising to her cheeks, but he simply shook his head. "You don't get to be shy now," he said, his voice a gruff rumble. "You're mine to look at."

Aurora's anger flared, but she bit her tongue. She needed to stay calm, to figure out a way to escape. As Kraven turned to grab her clothes, she took the opportunity to study her surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished, the glass walls revealing the dense forest beyond. There had to be a way out, she just had to find it.

He returned with her clothes, laying them out on the bed with a sense of ownership that made her stomach twist. "Get dressed," he said, his voice still carrying that hint of gentleness. "We have things to discuss."

Aurora complied, her movements stiff and slow. As she slid into her clothes, she felt his gaze on her like a physical presence, the weight of his stare as heavy as the guilt and confusion she bore. She had to keep her wits about her, had to find a way to reason with this madman.

Once dressed, she faced Kraven, her expression a mask of defiance. "Alright, what do you want to discuss?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes still on her. "You need to understand what you've gotten yourself into," he said, his voice a low rumble. "My world isn't like yours. There are no museums, no coffee shops. It's a place of survival, where the strong rule and the weak are prey."

Aurora's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her voice steady. "I don't want any part of your world," she said firmly. "Just let me go and I won't say a word."

Kraven chuckled, a deep, dark sound that sent chills down her spine. "You think you have a choice?" He leaned closer, his breath warm on her face. "You're mine now, Aurora. Whether you accept it or not, you're a part of this world. And if you want to see the outside of these walls again, you're going to have to accept your new role."

Her eyes searched his, desperation clutching at her heart. "What role?" Her mouth was dry as she asked the question. She just wanted to go home. She'd do what she needed to to achieve that.

Kraven stood up, his towering figure blocking the light from the windows. He moved with a grace that belied his size, his muscles rippling like the fur of the predators he so often mimicked. He didn't answer her immediately, instead he moved to a nearby table, his movements calculated. Aurora's eyes followed him, her mind racing with thoughts of escape.

"You will see, kitten," he finally said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very air around her. "Soon. But for now, we eat."

Her stomach growled in protest, a traitor to the fear that held her in its grip. Kraven's smile grew, and he turned to the tray of food that had been brought in earlier. It smelled heavenly, a mix of roasted meats and exotic spices that made her mouth water. Despite her best efforts, Aurora couldn't resist the urge to take a step closer, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the feast.

He handed her a plate, the weight of the silverware feeling oddly comforting in her hand. The food was indeed delicious, each bite a symphony of flavors that danced on her tongue. As she chewed, Aurora couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth spread through her body. It started in her stomach, a gentle, soothing warmth that seemed to ease the knots of tension that had taken up residence there.

But as she took another bite, the warmth grew, morphing into something else entirely. It began to tingle, a warmth that grew into a throb, centered in her core. Aurora's chewing slowed, her eyes widening as she realized what was happening. Her body was betraying her again, responding to Kraven's nearness, to the dominance that radiated from him like heat from the sun. She felt herself growing wet, her panties growing damp with arousal. It was infuriating, confusing, and...exciting.

The room grew hazy, and the next thing Aurora knew, she was face down on the table, her cheek pressed against the cool wood. Kraven's hand was in her hair, pulling her head back, his other hand holding her firmly in place against the tabletop. He was deep inside her, hips thrusting at a brutal pace. But it felt so good. So deliciously good.

Aurora's eyes squeezed shut, and she bit back a moan. How could she want this? How could she crave the very person who had taken her freedom? Yet, as she felt the warmth building inside her again, she couldn't deny the truth. Kraven had awakened something in her, something primal and wild that she didn't know existed. Every stroke of his cock sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her quiver and arch her back, silently begging for more.

Her mind was a haze of lust and confusion. Each time she regained consciousness, she found herself in a new, debauched position, with Kraven's powerful body driving into hers without mercy. The couch cushions molded to her form as he took her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the delicious stretch of his thickness filling her up, over and over again.

The smell of the crackling fireplace filled her nostrils, and she felt the heat of the flames licking at her skin as she was bent over the coffee table, Kraven's hips pistoning into her. He held her in place with a firm hand on the small of her back, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of her neck. The occasional pop and crackle of the firewood seemed to punctuate every deep, animalistic thrust he made, sending shocks of pleasure through her body.

Her eyes squeezed shut, Aurora couldn't help but let out a whimper as Kraven's hand found her clit, rubbing it with the same relentless rhythm as his cock claimed her. It was too much, the pleasure and the fear blending together in a toxic cocktail that had her teetering on the edge of sanity. Each time she felt herself slipping over that precipice, she'd open her eyes, only to find the room spinning around her.

And then she was outside, bent over the porch railing, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The rain had stopped, but the dampness remained, adding to the erotic chill that enveloped her. The ground was a blur far below, and she could feel the dampness of the wooden railing pressing into her stomach as Kraven held her in place. His grip was firm, his hands digging into her hips as he thrust the into her with a ferocity that bordered on the violent. The wind whispered through the trees, the leaves whispering secrets that only the predators could understand.

Each bite of the steak he fed her had been a prelude to another round of passionate, claiming sex. The rich flavor of the meat seemed to intensify the haze that clouded her mind, making her want him even more. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glazed over with lust as he offered her another piece, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. She took it greedily, the taste of him still on her tongue from their kiss.

The room was a whirlwind of sensation, the only constant being Kraven's powerful body dominating hers. He'd pull out of her, only to slam back in, sending jolts of pleasure through her that made her toes curl. Her legs trembled, and she clutched at the wood of the table, her nails digging into the grain. With each bite of the steak, Aurora felt her inhibitions slipping away, leaving behind only a desperate need for him.

The aphrodisiac had done its work, weaving through her system like a siren's song, making her crave Kraven's touch in a way she never thought possible. For three endless days, they were locked in a dance of passion, their bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as time itself. Aurora's thoughts were a haze of pleasure, each thrust of his cock bringing her closer to a climax that seemed to stretch on forever.

When she finally awoke in the early dawn light, the pain that suffused her body brought with it the stark reality of her situation. She was back in her New York apartment, the soft pillows and familiar scent of home surrounding her. For a brief, hopeful moment, Aurora convinced herself that the entire ordeal had been a twisted figment of her imagination, a feverish dream born of stress and exhaustion.

But as she tried to sit up, a symphony of aches and bruises sang a mournful tune, each movement a stark reminder of Kraven's unyielding possession. The tender marks on her skin were not the tender whispers of a lover's embrace but the indelible brand of a predator staking his claim. She winced, her muscles protesting the sudden shift, and felt the sticky remnants of their passion clinging to her thighs.

Panic began to set in as Aurora's eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of Kraven's presence. The sheets were tangled, the bed a battleground of passion and power. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and something...else. Something that she didn't dare to acknowledge.

With trembling hands, she reached for her phone, finding it buried beneath a pillow. The screen was cracked, but it still worked. The time read 4:33 AM. Her mind raced. How long had she been gone? What had she missed? Aurora's thoughts were a jumble of confusion and dread.

Her eyes fell upon a piece of paper on the bedside table. It was a note, scrawled in Kraven's unmistakable handwriting: "You're mine. I'll be watching." A cold shiver ran down her spine, the words a stark reminder of his dominance.

Aurora stumbled to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intensity of the previous days. She staggered to the bathroom, the cold tile floor biting at her bare feet. She turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face, trying to wash away the remnants of the haze that clung to her like a second skin. The cool liquid brought clarity, the reality of her situation sinking in like a lead weight.

The idea of the police flitted through her mind, a distant beacon of hope. But what would she say? How could she explain the bizarre turn her life had taken? The words caught in her throat, tangling into a knot of doubt and fear. A man she had encountered by chance in an elevator, a man who had claimed her body and soul, had returned her to her own bed with no evidence of his existence except for the marks that marred her skin and the inexplicable longing that coiled in her belly.

The rain had started again, a gentle patter against the window, a stark contrast to the storm that had ravaged her body just hours before. Aurora stepped into the shower, the hot spray washing away the grime of the past few days. Her mind reeled with the memories, a montage of pleasure and pain that played on an endless loop. Kraven's face, etched with passion and determination, filled her thoughts, his eyes glowing gold like the coins that had paid for her initial deception.

With shaking hands, Aurora applied concealer to the bruises that dotted her neck and chest, careful to cover the teeth marks that stood out like a map of their time together. She pulled on her favorite blouse, the fabric whispering over her tender skin, a gentle caress that made her flinch. The skirt she chose was loose, the fabric brushing against her thighs in a way that made her think of his rough hands. She took a deep breath, forcing the thoughts away as she applied a dash of perfume, hoping to mask the faint scent of musk and earth that lingered.

The bustle of the museum was a welcome distraction as Aurora dove into her work, her mind focused on the artifacts she had devoted her life to. Her colleagues' laughter was a soothing balm to the ache in her chest, their banter a comforting reminder of the world she knew. But even as she chuckled at their jokes and nodded along to their stories, she remained acutely aware of the weight of her secret. Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall, counting down the hours until she could retreat to the sanctuary of her apartment, where she could be alone with her thoughts.

The day passed in a blur, a dance of avoiding mirrors and awkward glances. She felt the phantom touch of Kraven's hands on her skin with every brush of fabric, a ghostly echo of the passionate prison she had just escaped. Yet, as the hours ticked by, she found herself craving the very thing she feared. Her body remembered the heat of his touch, the possessive bite of his teeth, and she couldn't help but wonder when he would come for her again.

That night, Aurora lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her dreams had been plagued by Kraven's visage since that fateful day in the elevator, but she had always woken up with a mess between her legs, a silent confession of her body's traitorous desires. The embarrassment burned through her like a wildfire, leaving her feeling both ashamed and aroused. The sleeping pills she took had become a nightly ritual, a futile attempt to silence the whispers of her subconscious that beckoned for the predator's return.

But one night was different. In her haste to escape the day's memories, Aurora had forgotten the pills. As the first light of dawn kissed her room, she awoke with a start, her body feeling unusually...full. She blinked sleepily, the fog of slumber lifting from her mind. And there he was, Kraven, his dark eyes watching her intently from above, his body a mountain of muscle and sinew pressing her into the mattress.

Her heart leapt into her throat as the reality crashed down around her. The dull ache between her thighs was not a figment of her imagination but the aftermath of his nocturnal visit. His cock was still lodged inside her, thick and heavy, as if staking his claim even in her unconsciousness. Her mind reeled, trying to piece together the moments that had led to this, but the night was a black void, a silent film of stolen moments.

"Good morning, kitten," Kraven's voice rumbled, the smug satisfaction in his tone sending a shiver down her spine. His hand caressed her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. "I wondered how long I'd get away with this before you finally woke up while I was still in you." His eyes searched hers, a silent question lingering in the air. Did she remember? Did she know?

Aurora's breath hitched, her eyes darting to the side, trying to find any shred of dignity in the humiliating reality of her situation. Each morning she woke up with wetness between her thighs was not a wet dream. It was Kraven, the hunter, taking her body as he saw fit, even as she lay unconscious and vulnerable. The thought of his powerful form claiming her in the dark hours of the night, her body betraying her mind, filled her with a mix of horror and a confusing, unwanted arousal

.

Her cheeks flushed, Aurora felt his hand on her hip, his grip tightening as he began to move again. The sensation of his thick cock sliding in and out of her was too much to bear. She tried to clench her muscles, to push him out, but her body had other ideas. Instead, she felt herself tightening around him, her walls spasming with each thrust. Kraven's eyes narrowed, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, the beast within him reveling in her unwilling response.

The horror and anger coursing through Aurora's veins mixed with a confusing cocktail of arousal. Her breathing grew ragged, her eyes squeezed shut as she bit back a moan. The very thought of her body betraying her filled her with rage, but she couldn't deny the heat building between her legs. It was a cruel joke, one that Kraven seemed all too eager to play.

Her fists clenched in the sheets, the fabric tightening around her knuckles as she felt his cock swell within her. His movements grew more urgent, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered dark secrets of his desire. His hand slid down her side, gripping her hip with a possessive force that sent a bolt of pleasure through her core. Her body responded involuntarily, her inner walls tightening around him as she fought the wave of sensation that threatened to consume her.

Kraven's eyes gleamed with triumph, his grin wicked as he watched Aurora's face contort in a silent scream of climax. Her eyes flew open, locking onto his, the blue irises swimming with gold as he claimed his victory. His hips drove into her, each thrust a declaration of ownership, a reminder of who she belonged to. Aurora's breath came in gasps, her nails digging into the mattress as she tried to escape the pleasure that washed over her. But it was futile, the predator had her in his grasp and she was powerless to resist.

As her orgasm crested, Kraven roared his own release, his hot seed filling her to the brim. He collapsed on top of her, his heart hammering against her chest, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the early morning. Aurora's thoughts were a tumultuous storm, a whirlwind of anger, fear, and a disturbing sense of satisfaction. How could she feel this way? How could she crave the very person who had stolen her agency, who had made her a plaything in his twisted game?

After a moment, Kraven's hand fumbled at his side, pulling something out from beneath the pillow. It was a black velvet box, and the way he looked at her made Aurora's stomach drop. He offered it to her, his fingers brushing against hers as she took it, still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. She didn't want to open it, didn't want to accept whatever twisted token of his possession lay inside. But she had no choice.

Inside was a ring. A beautiful vintage style ring with a massive diamond that seemed to suck the light out of the room and refract it into a million tiny rainbows across Aurora's trembling hands. The band was made of some kind of dark metal, cool to the touch, with intricate etchings that looked almost animalistic. Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the ring, feeling the weight of his intentions pressing down on her.

"What the fuck," she managed to murmur, her voice barely above a whisper. Kraven chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, his chest moving against her with each breath.

"You're not listening, Aurora," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You owe me. You're going to give me what I lost."

Her eyes widened, the ring still clutched in her trembling hand. "What are you talking about?" she whispered.

"My brother," Kraven said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "You were there when he was taken. You're the reason I couldn't save him. You're going to give me a new family, Aurora."

Aurora felt a cold chill run through her, understanding finally dawning on her. "You're insane," she spat out, her voice trembling. "I'm not going to marry you. I'm not going to give you anything!"

Kraven's smirk grew, his eyes dark with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You already have," he said, his voice a low purr that sent another shiver down her spine. "You see, kitten, I didn't just fuck you. I bred you. And now, you carry my child."

Aurora's eyes widened in horror, her hand flying to her stomach. It couldn't be true. Yet, deep down, she knew it was. The way her body had reacted to him, the way she had felt different, more...alive. The realization hit her like a sledgehammer, and she felt the world tilt on its axis. Kraven watched her with a sense of satisfaction that made her want to claw his eyes out.

"Wear the ring, Aurora," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "You'll start showing soon."

[natspookie]

the way things go

inspired by a tiktok i saw about ‘the way things go’ also all too well mv

warning : full angst and not proofread

a/n, sorry for lack of updates, im working on kind of a long one right now, have been for 4 days haha, hope you enjoy this short one:)

you and natasha both used to remember each other’s facial features. hundreds of mornings waking up to each other.

it was rare you woke up before her but when you did, you remembered the shape and slope of natasha’s perfect nose, her rosy cheeks as she slept, and her slightly furrowed brows at the coldness.

you admired her piercings that she decorated with precision. natasha’s green eyes would flutter every now and then and you’d be faced with her bright green eyes.

natasha remembered too much it hurt. your slow breathing in the morning, the subtle sway in your hips every time you walked, and your glowing smile. the lovesick look you have her haunts her in her sleep because now that she knows you too well, she gets to replay that moment in her sleep, rather laying awake escaping sleep.

she came home late that night, and not for the first time. you waited up till 3am by the kitchen, sitting at the dinner table with the food cold. you sat on the seat watching some tv show play in front of you when your heard the door close. you heard natasha let out a sigh.

“dekta what are you doing up?” she said, dropping her bag. “dinner” you continued to stay as you were till natasha moved in front of you.

“darling it’s 3am, why are you up? come on” she started to walk to the bedroom “it’s our 3 year anniversary- well… was… 3 hours ago” you kept your eyes trained on the tv but you saw the way natasha visibly tensed at the information.

she checked her phone, confirming it was the 21st. she walked over to you and hugged you from behind. “i’m so sorry dekta, i’ll make it up to you soon, i promise.”

“when is soon?” you looked up at her “when work isn’t always bothering me, y’know how the job is” she kissed your forehead.

“natasha, i can’t anymore” you said quietly “what?” she pulled away

“natasha you know you missed our anniversary last year too? and you’ve said your sorry over 100 times and it’s not even half of the year. i’m tired of waiting for soon natasha” you stood up with a heavy heart, covering the left over food.

“you knew what you signed up for with my job, you know how important it is to me” natasha followed you to the kitchen as you walked back to get your plate and natasha’s untouched one.

“nat you know it wasn’t like this before, you get home at 4 in the morning. when i wake up youre gone, i haven’t eaten with you in months” you turned on the sink and started scrubbing your wine glass.

“well what do you want me to do with that! quit my job?” “nat-“ “no! you know i’m tired every-time i get home and- please just understand” you let out a frustrated sigh and put the plate down angrily.

“you don’t get it do you? it’s the fact that i understand is what hurts. i understand and can’t be annoyed at you but- i can’t do it anymore. you and i both know your job is and will always be your priority and i’ve made my peace with it.” you dried off your hands and looked at her as she had tears streaming down her face.

“please don’t leave me” she grabbed onto your hand, pressing light kisses “i’ve moved all my stuff to my apartment this afternoon, i just wanted to see if you’d remember today” you admitted quietly

“i’m sorry” she whispered “i know” you made your way to the door and left. natasha stood in the middle of your her apartment alone with the tv show of the topic of your first conversation playing. natasha originally wanted to ask you out but chickened out and started asking about your favorite series.

she walked to the room to see all your stuff had been gone. she let herself sit down and take the reality in, you had left and that’s how things would be now.

natasha knew your features all too well up close and now can only see you through her iphone screen. she sees little details that have changed over the year, especially your hair and new piercings.

she clicked the follow button a week ago and received nothing back. she accepted the fact this was the only way she could know you, without you knowing her. that’s just the way things were now.

[thornsofthefuture]

an interview with razorz of EPILEPTICS — a talk about music, molly and life

today, we had the honor to interview razorz, the frontperson of EPILEPTICS, once a witch-house & electronic band, now a reggaeton, post-hardcore & rave one-person project. EPILEPTICS has been in the industry since 2013. the band quickly gained popularity because of the self-titled LP released through the YOUTH 1984 label. the LP has been adored by fans of the witch-house & electronic genre. songs like Esoteric, Heroin Chic and Carpathian hit the charts, making EPILEPTICS a legend and a huge influence in the international Witch House scene, along with their chaotic live shows and then-elusive personas, setting the blueprint of aesthetic and sound for many bands and artists to come.

[this interview includes explicit content & mentions of self harm. some viewers might find this content triggering. proceed with caution.]

thorns of the future: first question: how did you find out that you wanted to be a music producer?

razorz: Out of necessity, I was 15-16 playing in black metal, crust and grindcore bands, I always realized that I was the only one writing songs and throwing ideas. When me and Amanda Failure started EPILEPTICS, we had no idea how to do electronic music, I read somewhere about this software "Reason 4". I cracked a copy and started messing with it, I was amazed that you could do music, an entire song on a laptop, a 2008 HP mini to be precise, we came from the world of guitars, amps, pedals and drums, we couldn't believe it. Now I do records and remixes for other people and I can tell you 100% that I'm not sure of what I am doing, I can't let other people do my songs cause I am very specific with everything, only a couple of occassions this has happened, MYKKA from Argentina, a superstar prod. she produced for Bad Bunny, Duki, Bhavi, Ysy A, and a bunch of other important people and she made some of the heaviest, nastiest dubstep ever before that, she has legit Gold Records and is one of the top producers from Latin America, so she made the beat for Suicide Season because I bugged her for a year and she thought that EPLPTCS was kinda cool and weird and SVGAWA (Ukrainian Witch House rockstar) a brother to me is the only person on earth that reads my mind and knows what I want, they are the 2 only people who have made beats for me, I became a producer but that was never the goal, when we started I did not even know what a producer was.

thorns of the future: tell us about the craziest person you've ever seen in the crowd during your live show.

razorz: On a festival in Moscow 2018 there was this girl and a dude that tried god-knows whatever designer drug and they were on the floor, could not move their legs or talk but they were moving their torsos to the music, they were in the back and I was impressed how unphased everybody was, like "hey, I think these guys are dying" and nobody gave a shit, here in Mexico in like 2017 some girls and dudes showed up with mutilated arms to the front row and I used to cut myself on some shows if I had a vibe going on, at Station Hall in Moscow I stagedived at the end with wounds open in the arms and some girl I believe licked them at the stagedive, that was crazy, after me, King Plague was gonna DJ and she refused to until the stage was cleaned up, I left it full of blood, that's the dumb stuff I was doing at the time, when I saw that followers of the band were destroying themselves from us openly encouraging the use of drugs and self mutilation, I stopped with that, a couple of people I really cared about actually died from that, there was this infectious "bug" on tours that was not healthy for anybody, we were dangerous to ourselves and the people around us, but that's the past.

thorns of the future: what were your thoughts during your first ever live show?

razorz: As EPILEPTICS? I was very nervous because Failure got in trouble and couldn't make it to the show but I didn't know, I played at like 3am at this indie little festival in a hall in here, a girl complained it was too noisy and it was hurting her ears, there is video of that show, gonna upload it to YouTube and about Failure, days later she answered the phone and turns out she was caught  drunk driving that evening so her parents were getting her out of detention that night, I barely remember it, I was coked out of my mind and drinking anisette on that one, but I had played a bunch of metal/punk shows before EPLPTCS which are the worst, after coming from those scenes you are 120% bulletproof to anything, nothing is worse than those shows, you work and play your ass off for nothing in the tiniest places in the worst conditions with the worst crowds.

thorns of the future: what made you switch from electronic music to your current genre?

razorz: We never intended to be a Witch House band, we just wanted to blend what Salem and Glass Teeth were doing with UK rave music and jungle, we were "adopted" and thrown in the bunch by the people and we are grateful for that, I see the impact now that us and the Russian bands and prods had on the current musical landscape, we were a bunch of angsty teenagers that just wanted to unleash. Anyway I lived the Witch House thing to the fullest, I played all the fests, met everybody, got signed twice and made money, I was in Russia when Witch House was mainstream music there, you would walk into a Bershka store and they were playing Crossparty, it was not underground at all, in Spain it was a big deal as well, before Sidewalks toured the circuit, before Crim3s, I did, I saw it and we all knew it was gonna end eventually, everybody was living the lifestyle, everybody was running out of ideas and americans put the final nail in the coffin of Witch House with their stupid songs about ghosts, terror and daft shit like that, around 2019 the scene was dead worldwide and you can ask anybody who was there, Dann K left the band and it was only me now, I always hated rap music but we were played on Mexican radio a legendary station in here called Reactor 105, they believed in us and played our songs, one day I was listening and Bring the Noize by M.I.A. came up, I was floored, I could not believe the sound of that, so I started listening more, started to consume UK grime, weird ethnic stuff like kuduro (it's a music genre) and soundsystems, reggaeton was huge in here always and at that time there were this really dense/heavy loud af tracks coming from South America along with the trap scene from Argentina and I was into that as well, I needed a rebranding of everything and now I was gonna front so I did "lost u" which is a monster witch pop song as a goodbye for the "Version 1" of the band, plus me being razorz and EPILEPTICS being pretty much my life for 5 years at that point, I was not 18 anymore and you have to think like "I guess this is what I am gonna do, so I need to be more commercial" and at that time I was partying a lot and liking commercial af music and seemed reachable so I went for the full selling out if you will and I don't regret it at all, underground is not fun.

thorns of the future: how old were you when you first started making music?

razorz: I always played music, my mum is a huge music fan, she was an 80's goth and she also liked metal so I got my 1st drumkit when I was 3, then a guitar at 6, she was very supportive, my dad didn't really care, I never learned theory, so I would play CDs and learn from there, my first song I'd say I was 12 (?) it was some sort of a Carcass death metal song. So it went from there, there is this ultra depressive neoclassical autumn vibes piano/acoustic guitar project called 'Bläire' (which was my pseudonym in black metal bands I played in) I recorded it alone in my bedroom when I was like 15, it was supposed to come out on cassette on a Finnish black metal label but it closed 2 weeks before the release and that broke me so I put a couple of those tracks as hidden tracks on the 1st and 2nd EPILEPTICS records (Autumnal Black Metal Tape and Santander respectively) I will eventually put that whole EP myself on Spotify.

thorns of the future: who's your biggest inspiration?

razorz: Way too many people to mention, but Liam Howlett (The Prodigy), Skrillex (who I was a fan of since From First to Last) and Ethan Kath (him exclusively, fuck that other person in that band) made it seem realistic cause they were punky guys like me. Nowadays I get inspired by anything, many people wouldn't believe all the shit I listen to, all over the place.

thorns of the future: what's your favourite song that you produced?

razorz: I am very proud of Nadia Comaneci, that song took me 2 years to write when I was homeless (by choice) and on meth, it encapsulates the hate, actually becoming insane and paranoia like no other song, it has this totally incoherent lyrics that range from violence and death to school shootings, me being Hannah Montana, killing police officers, killing rock music, La Santa Muerte, asexuality as a way of living, suicide, life in the 3rd world, anti materialism, etc. 2 minutes, all of that in 2 fucking minutes, the music video is just a masterpiece too, that the director (Conejo Roto) envisioned, very disturbing and grotesque but not in the obvious way, I love it and its like 4 different music genres squeezed in 2 minutes, again: awesome, it's like a manifesto.

thorns of the future: tell us how you start the process of making music.

razorz: Listening to music, and just observing life, I can be listening to Britney and Kylie Minogue and steal a vocal melody from them, then maybe a drum pattern from Diplo and then a guitar lead part from old Bloc Party, The Kills or The Libertines and a synth from 100gecs and then a flow and snare from a Favela Funk song, or a figure from a riff from Darkthrone, my way of writing music is straight up stealing parts of songs from totally opposite genres and mashing them together, it is rare that a song comes to my head but sometimes that happens.

thorns of the future: how did you come up with the name for your band?

razorz: I have a cousin that was diagnosed with epilepsy that I didnt see often back when we started the band, he had a seizure and I was alone with him at our grandma's house, he had this fucked up convulsion and I was alone with him, his eyes went blank and his mouth was tweaking bad, I told Failure about it and she had a crush on Ian from Joy Division (lame) who was an epileptic too, so she named the band, I thought it was a stupid name and I still hate it, we released 'Esoteric' like weeks later and we kicked the Witch House/rave scene along with the russians and it became this minor hit in a matter of days so we couldn't change it, I still hate the name and think it is silly as fuck, almost 10 years still bothers me.

thorns of the future: what would you like to say to your fans?

razorz: I hate the word fans, I like calling them friends, I'd like to tell them to not have kids, that's the best advice I can give and to never listen to anybody, live your fucking lives however you want.

thorns of the future: what's your favourite drug and why?

razorz: I'm gonna go with molly, I had some of the best times of my life on that one and I did lots of music discovery with my then best friend Axl, we would do tons of molly, not eat for a week and just listen to music nonstop, Dann K. (vocalist/synths on The Sun Hurts My Eyes) got me into shooting coke right in the fucking neck for a bit but it was too awesome so I stopped and went to regular snorting I guess, I have a permanent damage on my palate from doing so much coke for years.

thorns of the future: is there a religion you hate most?

razorz: Oh man... haha anything that involves bombing, cowardly unaliving kids in other countries and treating women like garbage, not gonna name it but I think everybody with a braincell will know what I'm talking about.

thorns of the future: your most unliked subculture is…

razorz: Punks, fucking losers, lame mediocre, miserable people who like to pretend they live in 1985, metalheads too, are pretty stupid and childish and anybody who is playing glam music or trying to be Guns N' Roses in 2024 is amusing to me, oh djent is pretty fucking lame too.

thorns of the future: tell us your least liked artist - is it because of their music or their personality?

razorz: Gonna name a few in no particular order: XXXTentacion, Lil Peep, Arca bothers the shit out of me, mediocre techno, this Sarah Landry bitch who plays "hard techno" which is just a kick loop going on for 3 hrs what's that shit about? Nobody likes it but fucking dunces pretend to like it cause it's "cool", Nina Kraviz, dumb fuck thinking she is modeling while DJing, this stupid pop punk revival bands talking about pizza and smelling their mothers ass they are even doing that here in Mexico, it is insulting, bunch of fucking sons of rich privileged idiots, My Chemical Romance, Tool, 98% of American Witch House talking about ghosts and Halloween and shit lmao, post-2013 Grimes (hung out with her in 2016 and she was annoying as fuck) K pop boybands and girlbands, lame electronic like Porter Robinson, that BLAND stupid disco shit that Daft Punk did, white people acting black, Machine Gun Kelly, DJs who have girls twerking at their sets piss me off beyond belief, Drake is one of the softest and most pathetic individuals to ever put music out, etc man, my hate is unlimited and I have chilled out a lot. Honorable mention to this dumb fuck Anyma, he was Grimes' boyfriend or something, that instead of playing MUSIC he just puts this dumbass lame visuals on his shows, J Balvin and Maluma along with all that soft reggaeton pop bullshit is pretty embarrasing as well, they think us mexicans LOVE that garbage and we don't.

thorns of the future: what's the riskiest thing you've ever done?

razorz: For my own security I can't talk much about it but I am amazed that I was not killed, that I never had a fatal overdose and that I am not in prison talking to you today, whatever you think I've done multiply that by 10 and you will be kind of close, I lived the street life to the max when I was a meth addict and I don't like all this people around the world rapping or singing about it like it's cool cause it's not, the fear of police, paranoia, the nothing, hearing voices and seeing things that are not there, the cold, the "I don't know if I'm gonna come back alive from this one" or going to a free clinic to check if you have AIDS are things I do not miss at all.

we would like to thank razorz of EPILEPTICS for answering all of our questions. we really appreciate you. that's all for now.

images & videos: razorz

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