#if i turn all the lights off and black out curtains this might work

[brb-on-a-quest]

Current mood: gaslighting myself that it is actually not Daytime Outside and Time is an Illusion but Bedtime is real and It Is Time For Bed Because Work is in (checks imaginary watch) Not Many Hours.

[astralis-ortus]

placebo effect

✱ boyfriend!bc × fem!reader

— maybe the actual remedy is his smile.

w.count → 1.2k genre → fluff warnings → reader is sick :(, mild cussing, kissing, cute pet names (baby, love, princess) and generally very much in love it makes me sick >:( heh a.n → based on this request! kinda speeding through this (immediately worked on this after i posted the last fic), but i am in need of just pure fluff so here we are, a few hours later. heh♡ ⋆ see masterlist

being sick felt like shit.

growing up, you’ve always been the kid with perfect attendance. be it in school or throughout uni, you’ve always made the effort to attend every single one of your classes—and one of the reasons was all because you rarely ever got sick. maybe it’s because of your parents’ good genes, or likely due to how your mom made sure you always took your daily vitamins, but you’re always known as one the healthiest kids in the class.

that record, however, ended after you graduated a few years back.

you’d like to blame it the shift of environment—you know, given that you literally flew thousands of miles away to chase your lifelong dream, but considering you also moved states away from home for uni… that likely wasn’t the case.

“hey there, sleepyhead.”

a soft groan rolled off your lips when you felt your bed dip to your boyfriend’s weight, his fingers gently ran through your surely messy hair. your attempt to crack a peek at chris wasn’t quite a success, considering how even the slightest bleeding light from the gap behind your curtain was quick to trigger the soft throb in your head to return, fetching another set of low whimpers out of you.

“it’s okay, baby. i’m here. how’s your headache?” he hummed; pads of his fingers now gently pressed against the base of your head as he attempted to relief any pain that might still linger.

chris, your angel of a boyfriend, had been taking care of you since your condition started to decline the day prior. despite your stubbornness about still going to work (which didn’t end well, considering you were sent home by lunch anyway), chris didn’t even peep a word and readily picked you up from work, all geared up with your favorite porridge and cold medicine he picked up on the way.

“it’s fine as long as i don’t open my eyes,” you meekly answered, voice still noticeably very different from your usual cheery ones. “which reminds me, we do need a black out curtain, hun.”

his chuckle filled the rather quiet bedroom, involuntarily tugging the corner of your pale lips into a smile. “we’ll get them after you’re all better, baby,” he assured, hand that rested on the back of your neck now pressed against your forehead, “fever’s pretty much gone. think you could sit up for a bit? gotta fill your tummy with food before the meds, love.”

you know he’s right—you do need to eat, but with the way you’re currently feeling, protesting at any request to shift your body was the only available option.

“can i just eat later?” you pursed your lips, attempting to appeal your plea with a dash of cuteness you knew chris have a hard time standing his ground against. “maybe sleeping more will help…”

“nuh uh, no can do, princess,” chris gently tapped his finger on the tip of your nose, “you need the meds. the food too, but most importantly your meds. i don’t want your suffering to prolong just because you didn’t get your meds on time,” he reasoned, pads of his fingers now gently massaging the top of your head and in turn made you sigh in relief. chris always knew what to do whenever you complained about a headache, and you’re grateful for that.

“fiiine,” you exaggerated, reaching out your arms as a signal for chris to help you up. even with your eyes closed, you knew he had that proud grin etched on his lips when he gently pulled you to sit straight. you winced at the ache, but voiced no complaint as chris planted a light kiss on your scrunched forehead.

“a sec, okay? i’ll bring the radish soup for you,” chris left another kiss on the top of your head, grinning at how excitedly you reacted to the kind of food he had prepared before you heard his disappearing footsteps.

you forced a peek around the room, noticing the dim lighting as chris kept the curtains closed for your comfort. after a quick scan of your and chris’ bedroom, one you’ve been spending a little too much time in for the past couple of days, your line of sight then rested upon your locked phone. a single tap on the screen, and the action easily made your brows furrow.

“babe—”

“chris, it’s 10am on a thursday,” you pointed out as soon as you heard his voice from just beyond the slightly ajar door, “didn’t you say things has been hectic lately?”

“well, yeah,” he shrugged, careful footsteps finally returned to your side, followed by the dip on your bed, “but you’re sick. getting you back to health is a lot more important to me than anything else.”

“christopher,” you groaned, pursing your lips in protest, “i told you to not do things like this! you’re important, what you do is important. you can’t let me stop you from doing all that!”

“but i’m not letting you,” he replied nonchalantly, blowing on the spoonful of soup and rice before he feeds you. “it is my decision. i want to take care of you, and nothing is more important for me than you. as simple as that.”

“but—”

“no more discussion on that matter, baby,” chris warned you, stern gaze immediately shutting off any complaints about to leave your tongue. “it’s on me. you’re my girlfriend, and to take care of you is what i need to do, because i love you and i want all the best for you. okay?”

maybe it’s the fever returning, but you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“…fine.”

with his lips blooming into a content smile, his hand returned to the steady flow of bowl-cooling off-feeding you. he’s happy, and it’s apparent through the way his gaze lingers on you every time you take another bite, slowly finishing the bowl of food in his hand.

maybe it’s your head fooling you with some kind of placebo effect, but you do feel better—simply by watching the tenderness in his face every time he looks at you.

“all done,” he cheerily announced after you took your last bite, gently wiping the corners of your lips with the pad of his thumb. “be back with the meds, okay? just a sec.”

his movements immediately ceased when he felt a tug on the t-shirt he’s wearing, eyes immediately returning to you in worry. “yes, love?”

you quietly looked at him, suddenly feeling a little shy—but why would you be?

“…you.”

“huh?” chris blinked, head involuntarily tilted to one side in confusion. “what was that, love?”

oh god.

“i really wanna kiss you,” you reiterated, lips slightly pursed in embarrassment, “but i don’t want you to catch the cold. but like—you’re just so adorable. why are you like this? i’m—"

any thoughts you had immediately vaporized as soon as you felt chris’ soft lips on yours—smile apparent against your lips. his warm hand gently cradled your cheek, and despite it being short, chris successfully left you feeling dazed.

“…wait,” you eventually blinked, face burning in embarrassment when you realized the cheeky grin he’s sporting just inches away from your face. “christopher! you’re gonna get sick!”

“well, what do you expect me to do?” chris shrugged as he walked backwards, away from you,

“my girlfriend said she wanted to kiss me—how could i say no to that?”

“gosh—christopher!”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[elixirina]

# in my prime — jason todd x fem!reader

synopsis — jason gets awoken with a little surprise.

warnings — none just tooth rotting fluff

notes — was just thinking about jason’s white streak so yk

please please please reblog and like 🤍

© elixirina — all rights reserved. my work is never to be reposted, translated, modified, etc, even if i am credited.

the early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow that gently woke you. you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet hum of the world outside the window and the sound of jason’s steady breathing beside you. he was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. the way he slept so soundly always made you smile. it was a rare thing, something he didn’t often let himself have—peace.

you turned your head slightly, your gaze falling on him. his dark hair, always messy, was sprawled across the pillow in a way that made him look like he belonged in people's sexiest man alive. but there was something more that caught your attention today—something different, something you couldn’t ignore.

near the front of his hairline, you noticed a small streak of white running through his otherwise jet-black hair. it was subtle but striking. you blinked, sure you were imagining it. maybe it was just the light. but no, there it was—clear as day, like it had always been there.

your heart did something funny in your chest, a fluttering sensation that you couldn’t quite explain. the streak was so... unexpected. it was small, but in that moment, it seemed to transform him. there was something beautiful about it, something raw and real. it wasn’t like any hair dye or accidental bleach job, and it definitely wasn't a grey hair—it felt like it was a part of him. maybe it was a mark of everything he’d been through, a silent reminder of the battles he’d fought, both internal and external.

and you found it... well, you found it perfect. you couldn’t help but love it.

you leaned in closer to get a better look, your fingers hovering just above his hair. you wanted to reach out and touch it, but you knew that would be an invasion of his space. so instead, you just let yourself admire it, that little streak of white against his dark hair, wondering where it had come from. it made him seem so much more... human.

suddenly, jason groaned, his body shifting as he stretched out beneath the covers. his eyes fluttered open, blurry with sleep, and the grogginess in his voice made you chuckle. “mornin’, baby.”

you grinned, the teasing glint in your eyes barely contained. “good morning, silver fox.” you couldn’t resist the nickname now that you had the perfect ammunition. a snicker escaped your mouth, despite your best efforts to stop it.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, trying to focus through the haze of sleep. “what? what’re you laughing at?” he muttered, his voice still thick with the remnants of sleep. "what did you do?"

you couldn’t hold it back anymore, your grin growing wider as you gestured to his hair. “i didn't—you might want to look in the mirror, old man.”

jason’s hand shot up immediately, fingers running through his hair as he tried to figure out what you were talking about. his eyes widened in confusion as they found the streak. “what the fuck?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

you bit your lip, trying not to burst into laughter. his reaction was priceless—he was so caught off guard, and it was adorable. you leaned back into the pillow, watching him scramble to get out of bed and rush to the nearest mirror.

“what the actual—?” jason muttered, pulling at the streak like he could just... remove it. “tell me this isn’t real. did you do this?”

you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore and let it burst out, echoing around the room as you sat up on the bed. “no! baby, i swear, i woke up and you were like that,” you teased, your voice thick with amusement. “and honestly? i think it looks good on you. very distinguished.”

jason’s head snapped around to look at you, his eyes wide. “good? angel, i look like—like—” he gestured to his hair wildly, eyes wide in disbelief. “i should be in a nursing home! no! i’m still in my prime!”

you bit your lip to stop your grin before collecting yourself. “you look like jason todd,” you said again, this time your voice softer, more earnest. “you’re allowed to look however you want. and right now? you look...” you paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully as you stared at him. “you look perfect.”

jason froze for a moment, his fingers still tangled in his hair. you could see the gears turning in his head. the way you were looking at him—the soft way you always looked at him—was disarming. he felt it in his chest, that warmth that he never quite knew how to deal with.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

you shrugged innocently, your grin unwavering. “maybe you’ll learn to love it. i’m pretty sure it’s a keeper.”

his voice softened as he tucked your head beneath his chin. “you think it looks good?”

you nodded, your hand resting on his chest. “i do. it’s... you, jason. just another layer to who you are.”

jason didn’t respond at first. instead, he just lay there, the two of you sharing a peaceful silence for a while. but when you looked up at him, you saw the warmth in his eyes, that softness that only ever came when he was around you.

“thanks, baby,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. there was something vulnerable in it, something rare, and you realized it wasn’t just the streak that was making him feel this way—it was you, and the way you always saw him for everything he was.

“no problem, silver fox,” you teased again, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that broke through. maybe the streak wasn’t so bad after all. and maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind looking distinguished for you.

[scarletwinterxx]

game boy - jeon wonwoo imagine

hiiiiiii ~ i know i'm not the only one kicking their feet whenever this man appears on the screen. I can't get him out of my mind (even if i try)😅😅hope you like it!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Since when are you into gaming?" the voice from behind you asked, you immediately put your phone down as your roommate take the seat across from you.

A knowing smirk on her face.

"Since I was a kid, I'll have you know I'm a pro at building houses in Sims" the lie slides out so easy you almost thought your roommate believes it

"Oh so not because you think that gamer dude is cute?"

It's not the first time she's seen you watching his live, sometimes she can hear it from your room behind the closed door or your phone sitting on the counter as you wash dishes.

Maybe you really are into gaming or a bigger maybe you might be into the dude who's gaming.

"Who? Him? I just scrolled past his live, totally random" you shrug your shoulders

"Mhm, so I didn't hear you squeal last night when he went live after going on a break for a month?"

"How did you know he was on a break?" you ask

"How did YOU know?" she asks back. She caught you there, when you don't say anything she just laughs. "It's okay to admit if you're crushing on him, I'd understand. He's all yours though"

"I don't have a crush on him"

"Mhm and I'm not failing Spanish"

"You know what I'll leave you here, you need to study and I need to go" you tell her while you gather your stuff on the table, "You're not actually mad right?"

You chuckle at her question, "You weren't wrong so I can't be mad. Anyways, bye"

It took a few seconds for her to process what you just said, by the time she did you're already out the library.

You walk out the campus premises, the weather's great so you decided to just walk. You put on you're earphones and enjoy the scenery, your feet on auto-pilot ready and set to take you to your destination.

When you got to the building, you let your self in and giving the building's doorman a wave on your way to the elevator. You punch the code on the keypad to let yourself in, the inside of the apartment a stark contrast from the bright sun outside. The black out curtains are drawn making the room dark like it isn't 4pm right now.

You take your shoes off and put your stuff down before getting your phone to see if Wonwoo is streaming and sure enough he was.

He's also a student in your university, he streams when his schedule lets him. Whenever you're alone you let his videos play in the background, kind of like a white noise for you.

You get some snacks from the kitchen, then walk to the window to let some light in before getting comfortable in the living room while you finish some of your pending works.

After a while you hear Wonwoo say goodbye to the stream then the screen turns dark. You turn your phone off, putting it back down on the coffee table.

From down the hall, you hear the door open then footsteps coming towards the living room.

Wonwoo spots you immediately, sitting on the living room floor with books and notes infront of you and your phone lying on the side. You must've been watching him.

"Oh, when did you get here?" he smiles at you, walking towards where you were then taking the vacant space on the floor beside you. He sits sideways so he's facing you, legs resting on either side of you.

"Like 30 minutes ago, you were in the middle of your stream so I thought I should finish some of this" you point at the piles of paper infront of you before turning your attention back to him "You had fun? You probably missed streaming"

"It's fun, some of the viewers and a few followers asked where I was last month I just said I needed a break" he smiles back at you, tucking a few strands of hair back then giving your ear a pinch making you giggle at the action.

That short break was actually the two of going on a trip as your first anniversary celebration. He surprised you with a trip outside the country for two weeks, just in time for term break so it worked out fine.

He could've streamed while the two of you were away, he has a laptop he could bring or stream when you got back after the trip but instead he chose to spend that time with you. It was nice having his undivided attention. Not that he ever made you feel ignored, never.

"You'll break so many hearts when they find out you're not actually single" you let out a short laugh

"I never said I was, after our first date whenever someone asks if I'm single I would say no" he says to you

"1st date? but that was such a long time ago" you recall the memory of your first day. You've been crushing on him for a while, like since you first saw him, and by some miracle one day he asked you out on a date. The two of you went to the aquarium then dinner. He courted you for a while before the two of you became an official couple, but even before that you already know you weren't going to let go of him that easy.

Here you are now a year later.

"I know" he shyly admits.

"So what do you say? You just say you're taken?"

"Kinda, I don't like talking about my personal life online so I just answer in the most simple way. I never denied I had a girlfriend so I guess it's up to them if they didn't get it" he shrugs

"Huh, I didn't"

"Huh?"

"I watch your streams, guess I never caught on"

"You watch my streams? Until now?"

"Yeah, I like watching you. It's comforting, kinda like my own comfort show"

He knows you watch him, whether you're in the same room as him or here in his home or when you're back at your own place you always tune in his stream. You really are his biggest fan.

"You know my roommate is starting to catch on, she thinks I have a crush on this 'gamer dude'" you make air quotes at the nickname, this makes Wonwoo chuckle

"Do you now?" he teases

"Yea, I think he's kinda cute. Apart from that time he wore that black button up. I was ready to throw hands"

He laughs at that, remembering just how you barged in his gaming room after the stream ended.

"You're never letting that go are you?"

"Never, you looked so good I almost grabbed you out of the screen. Not fair they get to see how hot my boyfriend is"

Wonwoo blushes at your words. Those words being used to describe him isn't new to his ears, but it's different when you say it. He can feel the butterflies flutter in his stomach, something only you can do.

Not even the scariest game can make his heart race like you.

"Do you want do drop by on my next stream or whenever?"

"Drop by?"

"I mean like just... be there. If you wanna show your face it's okay but if you don't want to it's okay too. No pressure. I don't want you thinking any of those faceless names on my screen can ever replace you" letting the words tumble out one by one because your gaze is making him nervous

You just stare at him as he talks, slowly a smile forming on your face then you're attacking him with a hug

"You're so cute, you know that?" you mumble against his neck where your face was pressed against, he chuckles at your question. Tugging you closer to him until you're straddling his lap

"Just making sure you know"

"I know, I always know. Don't you worry about that, just do you okay? I'll be here right beside you always. No matter what it is you want to do"

And he knows that too. You've always been his cheerleader, the one who always talks him into things he never thought about doing. In a way, you brought him out of his comfort zone in the most comforting way. You being there always eased his mind.

He smiles at you again before closing the distance between the two of you, giving you a kiss like he's saying he missed you today or all those days you weren't with him. He just always makes you feel like you're meant to be there with him.

[mayasaura]

one problem with a theatrical adaption of tlt is htn, where the reveal that Gideon lives on works because of the change of second person to first.

the only way i can think of it working is that the actor playing gideon works backstage, like the lights system (but is hidden from the audience aside from subtle hints)

the biggest hint is when when wake breaches pal's river bubble she 'breaks' the lighting system and the stage goes dark. harrow is ushered into the wings by pal so she doesn't see anything, but the lights flick back on just before the curtains drop for a scene change, and pal looks directly up at the light box in surprise and smiles. if the audience is quick to turn around they can see a flash of a black robe.

Oh boy my friend, have you come to the right place!!

So, fun fact about ninja. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. The image of a ninja covered head to toe in black, with a hood and mask, comes from Kabuki theatre. It was originally a stagehand uniform. Like stagehands in modern theatre, stagehands in Kabuki would wear all black to signify that they were not really there, and whatever effect they were causing (carrying a prop, creating a breeze, ect.) was to be taken as happening on its own. Basic stagehand stuff, a lot of productions in many styles around the world do it, especially if they don't have fancy rigging systems.

Someone (I don't remember who now, or in what play) had the idea to dress the ninja in a production up as a stagehand. In the convention of the theatre, this made them invisible. The audience was already so used to ignoring stagehands, they didn't know any more than the characters that the ninja was present, despite the actor being clearly visible on stage. Which meant when the ninja struck, it was as if out of nowhere. I can only imagine the uproar in the theatre the first time it happened. It worked so well as to become commonplace, and the rest is history. The popular image of a ninja is still a kabuki stagehand.

So, back to the stage play of Harrow the Ninth. I think you've hit almost exactly on how to incorporate the Gideon twist into a theatrical production. But not as a lighting tech. Gideon is a stage hand. Maybe there would be more than one stagehand, maybe she would be the only one, but she would operate in full view of the audience, literally setting the scenes. I think it works best if she's the only one, but if the production needs more, she should subtly stand out in some way. As the play went on, we would notice that this one stage hand... increasingly interacts with Harrow, though Harrow never acknowledges it. At first it might look like she's playing Harrow's necromancy, because that would be the main special effect she would need to help with. When Harrow is unconscious at the end of a scene, it's always the same stagehand carrying her out. But we all know she's not really there. Until Palamedes acknowledges her. Turns to look right at her, and speaks to her. I can see the scene clearly. He would look at her, stunned, until Gideon finally took off her mask. The line "Kill us twice, shame on God," would be addressed to Gideon, and then he would turn back to Harrow, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her to go. Gideon, always out of Harrow's line of sight, would guide Harrow away while Harrow looked back at Palamedes.

[fourmoony]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⭒⭒⭒

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯. 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐢𝐞. 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭.

𝟏.𝟐𝐤 - masterlist

⭒⭒⭒

“Shit – Jamie!”

The sun is shining through the small gap in the curtains, dust molecules illuminated in the bright light. The air is thick with humidity, hearts racing, lips entangled, skin meeting skin and James – oh, James – is setting a delicious, relentless pace that you think might just kill you. You’ve no idea how he does it. Be it his to the dot Quidditch training schedule, luck, or just plain determination, you really don’t care. It’s benefiting you, his inhuman ability to be anything other than extraordinary, and you’re not one to complain, or question, or have any coherent thoughts, really.

It had started slow, just like it always did, and built into the sweetest, most delicious torture you’d ever experienced. James had you, the minute you’d shown up to his empty dorm room, nothing but a pair of pyjama shorts and his quidditch jersey on. He’d been half hard at the mere idea of your arrival, and it had taken him a breaking record of five minutes to have you naked and writhing, moaning his name with your legs over his shoulders, hands in his messy black hair.

James hikes your leg higher up his waist in response to your keening, hips slamming at breakneck speed into yours and your brain short circuits when he moans your name into the flesh on your neck. You’re both sweaty, worked up, getting needier the longer he holds out. He’s been doing it for hours, it feels. Speeding up, getting relentless, dragging you close, close, close, to the edge, just to stop, slow down, ‘take a breather’ as he calls it. Except he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he knows that no matter how much you whine and complain, that you love it just as much.

“Please, Jamie. Please, please, please…”

You know you don’t make any sense; he’s quite literally fucked you into delirium and the only thing you can think of is how good he makes you feel.

“I know, baby, I know. Gonna make you feel so good.” He promises, his hand that isn’t pressed against the headboard comes to grab at the flesh of your arse, lifting your hips just the tiniest bit but oh, gods, does it feel good.

It’s maddening, really, the feel of him on top of you, hot and heavy, and inside you, even hotter, larger, and hitting every single spot that could ever need to be hit. His hips roll into yours; his teeth graze the pulse point by your neck, your legs wrap tighter around him, the hand previously on your arse comes back around to reach between your writhing bodies, attaches itself to the swollen bundle of nerves that’s been swollen and lacking attention for what’s felt like hours.

James gets frantic the louder you get, babbling nonsense, veins on fire with pleasure, head spinning with desire.

It’s dizzying, the drag of his skin against your hard nipples, and you scream when James’ hand slips on the headboard and he forcibly ruts further into you.

“Baby, baby,” James groans, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a bright twinkle only sex can bring about, “You’re doing so well. Always so well.”

James isn’t making much sense either, barely sentences strung together in an attempt to praise you.

With his hand off the headboard, James switches your position, pulling you up and into his lap as he sits on his haunches. His eyes darken at the sight of you, sweaty, delirious, but a blinding light of ethereal beauty. You know he’s challenging you, about to tell you your least favourite words of all, because James is a dutiful boyfriend, he’s attentive and caring and would bend over backwards for you. It’s safe to say that in the year you’ve been together, he’s singlehandedly – through his own actions, and no fault of your own, definitely not – turned you into that of a spoiled, bratty, pillow princess.

“Get yourself off on me, baby,” James tells you, eyes dark, smile mocking.

He knows this only makes you more frustrated, more needy. And you know that’s what he loves; you, begging for him, needy, restless, at his disposal.

It’s mean.

“Jamie, please,” You pout, circling your hips.

He winces, hips twitching upwards, and you smile that sickly sweet smile.

“You want to finish? Do. It. Yourself.” James orders, hand leaving your hip to slide menacingly up your navel, landing on your neck.

He doesn’t apply too much pressure, just enough to have you seeing stars, your hips lifting on their own accord. He feels impossibly larger like this, dragging menacingly against your walls, a delicious form of torture you’ll never, ever tire of. Every nerve ending is on fire, arching into James, his hand holding you up by your neck. It’s filthy, raw, and you wouldn’t dare to have it any other way.

You build a rhythm, loving the way the inside of your thighs are slick, rubbing against James’ every time you return to his lap. James switches from looking at your face, a contorted mix of pleasure and desperate need, and puts his face between your breasts, licking and biting at the skin there. You whine, moving impossible faster.

You’re tired, past the brink of exhaustion and your muscles hurt, and James puts both hands back on your hips, lifts you up and down forcefully until you’re slamming down onto his lap. It’s wet and messy, you feel yourself climbing closer to that edge again and you’ll be fucking damned if James takes it away from you. You speed up, James’ hands help, strong and steadying and your breath hitches when he takes a hard nipple into his mouth and tugs.

“Ohmygod.” He groans around the skin when you clench around him, hips stuttering as you fall into release.

You see stars, and songbirds, hear crashing waves, a white-hot flush of pure pleasure and you scream his name, over and over like a mantra. You continue to rut against James until he follows after you, biting hard against the flesh of your breast, the pain is dizzyingly amazing, as his release washes over him. You fee him spill inside you, hot and white and it makes you giggle deliriously, happy and content.

“I love you,” He breathes, craning his neck to look up at you, “I love you,” He kisses your collarbone, “I love you,” another kiss to the base of your neck, “I love you,” Your jaw, “I love you,” a soft kiss to your lips.

You smile, floating, and press a kiss to his lips, “I love you, too.”

Your bodies are slick, exhausted, trembling with the last remains of pleasure.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” James says after he catches his breath.

He kicks his legs out from under him, shuffling with you still in his lap toward the end of the bed where he stands. You wrap your legs around him, wincing when his softening member shifts inside of you, he carries you both to the bathroom, giggling and squealing when he swats your arse and sets you down onto the toilet.

The loss of him is debilitating, but with the cheeky smile on his face as he reaches over and turns on the shower, you guess he’s a long way from being done.

James Potter and his never ending stamina.

[hirschkuh-im-traum]

Sunbeam

the plot is: working one early morning you notice a man under the awning, hiding from the rain. you let him in to recognise him as a famous radio star. very soon he becomes the regular customer in your café. and while you're on the cloud with love, the rains become more and more heavily this season, and one day you get caught in a frightening thunderstorm. what alastor will do to comfort you while lighting flashes and thunder roars above you?

part one, part two (smut)

words ≈ 6.4k

tags: romance, age gap (alastor is over thirty and reader is in her early twenties), reader is afraid of thunderstorms, reader is a fan of alastor's radioshow, alastor kisses passionately

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

“-but enough of this eerie gossip about the Butcher! Now we turn to a short weather forecast! It looks as if we’re in for a spell of showery weather over the next few days, dear listeners, so it's just the right time to prepare your umbrellas and mackintoshes! The south of the state is prone to torrential rains and thunderstorms. Be careful, as heavy rains may result in floods, and be warned it's not just downpours that can cause damage — sweltering heat might ruin your weekend plans, but at least you won't drown, for the heavy rains only start on Monday.”

The low burst of thunder made you jump up in surprise. Monday, huh?

“Well, well, well,” His voice swam out of the atmospherics with an irritated buzzing, “I do hope our meteorologists didn't trick you and me, for I have absolutely no desire to get soaked tonight hahaha!” The statement sounded a tad annoyed and his laughter seemed even evilish. But you could understand him. Turning the lamp off and pulling back the curtain, you looked outside.

The sky seemed extremely high, and the stars had just begun to decorate it with their light, but the air was humid, and the trees stood motionless. It was difficult to breathe, the air seemed sticky and too warm for the night. And there were no stars on the horizon. A black spot covered the edge of the firmament, and it seemed that it was about to fall on the forest below.

There must be a thunderstorm tonight.

Regardless of the stuffiness you closed the window more tightly, not wanting to hear even an echo of the thunder again.

Alastor's voice sounded in the static again, “-ut we love our dear NOLA no matter what kind of surprises it springs us, don’t we?” The voice became suddenly serious, as always when the time of Alastor's programme came to the end. But this time you heard unfamiliar notes of tiredness in his tone. You glanced at the small radio on your desk, as if you could see the face of the announcer to read his mood.

“Well, my dear listeners, be careful and don't leave your homes when you hear a storm warning.” Another burst, but this time a bit quieter, thanks to the tightly closed windows. “That's all for today, folks! Goodnight.” And with another harsh rumble the broadcast was over. Through the crackle of atmospherics a piano melody could be heard. You turned off the radio and looked at the window again. A few wet trails were sliding down the glass. You turned off the lights and climbed into your bed,

“It'll be a hard night…” The weight of a thick blanket felt like a loving embrace. You brought your knees to your chest, hid your arm under your head; lying like a kitten on a pillow you felt calmer, safer under this soft shelter, while the rain pelted harder and harder on the window, and the thunder grumbling

clapped closer. You were safe in your bed in the house of your parents, but you were sorry for those who still didn't get home at that hour. And you worried about him too.

“Hope he’ll be alright…” You mumbled in your cover and fell asleep.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

The air was cool when you came out in the morning and headed for the bakery where you were working. It was also a small café, where the customers could order a cup of tea or coffee, or even a glass of liquor, to eat the baked goods right there. And you were one of the two bakers. As it was said before the bakery was small.

It was early morning and the darkness hadn’t yet completely left the streets; everything seemed monochrome, for the weak morning sun couldn't light the world through the dull sky. Your heels clattered loudly on the ground wet and glossy after the night downpour. In your hand you carried an umbrella, ready to use it in any minute.

The silhouette of the bakery came out from the haze, and you hurried to the building, jumping over the puddles on the road. You knew you blundered when you had refused to wear a sweater today, you felt how the chill was creeping up under the wide sleeves of your coat, freezing you mercilessly, and you wished to end up in a warm building as soon as possible.

Finally you reached the backdoor, opened it with an extra key and stepped inside. Immediately your cheeks turned red in the warm air of the room. The café was run by your uncle who was also the other baker at the place. Recently you came in the morning, prepared the oven, baked some most popular options of the regular visitors; in the afternoon your uncle came and you could go home while he stayed until the closing. This schedule satisfied you, anything was better than those days when you were attached to the kitchen for twelve hours per day. The only minus was the early awakening, but you gradually got used to it.

The oven was lit, the dough was made, and you went to the hall. You loved these early hours when nobody had come yet. It was silent and calm, and now only the sound of the light rain outside brushed your hearing. Fortunately, you reached the café before you could get soaked. You didn't turn on the lamps, and the room sank in greyish morning light. The heels of your shoes joyfully clattered as you headed behind the counter to the vac pot — to make this morning better, you needed to sip one cup of coffee.

You boiled the water and settled the glass with the beans on the top of the glass cup with hot water. The steam softened the rich powder, filled the cup with liquid and you stirred the mixture. The soft, bitter smell enveloped the room. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, savouring the scent. A small smile appeared on your face.

You gasped when you opened your eyes and saw a silhouette outside the door in a silver haze of the rain. A man in a coat and a hat on his head stood with his back to the door. He was hiding from the sudden drizzle under the awning. There were still thirty minutes before opening, but as you ran up to the door, you turned the sign “open” to the street and unlocked the door. The bell above rang when you opened the door, drawing the stranger's attention.

“Nice weather we are having today, aren't we? Please, come in, sir!” You said with a smile and went back to the counter.

You heard the steps of the man's shoes behind you, as he slowly walked into the café and looked around.

“That's so kind of you, dear. The rain just caught me off guard!”

The cup you held in your hand almost slipped out of your fingers. Your heart fell somewhere deep the moment you heard the sound of the voice. You hesitantly glanced up at the man, who had just taken off his homburg hat, shook off the droplets from it and ran his fingers through his slightly curled dark hair. He then adjusted his glasses, slightly weeping in the warm room, and cast you a look. You lowered your gaze, blushing brightly as a blooming rose.

It was the voice you listened to every evening. The voice telling you the recent news of New Orleans, the voice announcing to you the jazz novelty, which you liked to sway to, the voice joking on the air and making you laugh even on the most rainy days. The smooth, velvet baritone with transatlantic accent, which was the last sound before you sank into sleep.

And now he was there?! Hiding from the sudden rain because he had forgotten his umbrella, though he was the one who reminded the whole state to never let it off of their hands. A shy smile crept to your face, with slightly trembling hands you filled the second cup with just brewed coffee. Too bad you still hadn't baked the first cakes, what a joy would it be to feed him with a self baked pie. But a fresh brewed coffee was also a pleasant start on the cold rainy morning, so you carefully put the cup filled to the rim with a hot liquid onto the counter,

“You wouldn't refuse a cup of coffee, sir, would you?” You jumped up by surprise when you lifted your head to see Alastor leaning against the counter on his elbows and watching you. His eyes of dark and deep colour, as black coffee in porcelain cups, looked at you with an intelligible intention, as if he was waiting for something from you, or even expecting you to do something amusing.

“Y-your coffee, sir.” You mumbled, feeling heat on your cheeks.

“Mmm.” He was smiling ear to ear, resting his chin on the long fingers, eyes half closed as he glanced down, “Oh, cher, you're turning this dreadful morning into a fairy tale!” He reached to the cup and you hurried to remove your hands, but his fingertips reached to yours to brush your skin slightly, almost unnoticeable. The touch seemed an accident, but even that was enough to bloom up your blush more.

As Alastor brought the porcelain to his lips he didn't take his eyes from you. You also took a cup for a sip, and just as him you locked your eyes to him. The hot liquid warmed you from the inside and you couldn't suppress a smile; Alastor smiled behind his cup too, closing his eyes. “Mmm. Very good coffee, my dear.” He praised in a husky voice. His lips slightly glistened as he put the cup on the table. His tongue quickly cleaned his lips.

You lowered your gaze but immediately your eyes returned to him. It felt wrong and impossible to look aside from him, so handsome and bewitching he was.

You'd like to say what a pleasure it was to give him the drink, but you felt how strange it would sound, so you only smiled back at the compliment.

For a minute none of you said a word, you spent this time looking at him, Alastor seemed to let his thoughts sway freely in his mind as he was drinking his coffee at the counter. You didn't miss a single detail about him, nor the sharp curve of his upper lip, nor the length of his eyelashes, nor the only appearing silver on his temples. Alastor was as handsome as he was famous, and there was no wonder why in last fascicle of the local newspaper he was listed as an eligible bachelor. He looked younger than his age, though there was no doubt he was a man of experience for he had the smile as if he kept a secret unavailable to others. A magnetic smile making you wish to know him better. To share the secret with him. But you didn't dare to dream about such things.

Your stream of thoughts was interrupted by a low clap of thunder. The drizzle turned into a downpour.

“Oh… Seems I haven't got soaked enough yet.” Alastor chuckled, putting the hat on his head. His eyes met yours, “Thank you for warming me, dear, that was incredibly sweet of you.” You didn't know how your hand appeared in his palm, but he was already leaving a light kiss on your knuckles. His eyes were locked to your face. “Have a wonderful day, my dear!” He wished you, turning on his heels.

You hesitated just for a second before shouting out,

“Wait, sir! You can't leave without that!”

Alastor stopped and turned his head back, arching his eyebrow in surprise. You ran out from the counter, squeezing something in your hands. A shining smile didn't leave your face as you stopped in front of Alastor. He was much taller than you, and you tilted your head to side, saying,

“Please, sir, take it with you!” You reached him a black umbrella with a wooden handle. Alastor stared down, a confused smile on his face.

“Oh no, my dear, that's too kind of you! What a gentleman am I if I take away a lady's umbrella? No no no, cher!” He shook his head, hiding his little embarrassment behind the laughter.

“Don't worry, sir, that's not mine.” You wanted to help him one last time. You already could consider this day as the best in your life, you didn't only meet the famous radio star, you also sheltered him from the rain, you treated him to coffee, which he praised. He would remember you, you hoped. And what else could you ask for? Just another act of kindness to make that wide smile brighter, to soften these dark eyes, to take yourself a small place in his memory, for you would cherish this day, and a greedy part of you wanted him to do the same.

“A customer left it last week and still hasn't come back. So I believe it's fine if you take it. And don't worry about me, I have my umbrella in a lovely shade of red.” You handed him the umbrella and he took it. His hand ran down the waterproof fabric, another hand squeezed the handle. He glanced at you, his eyes flashing behind the glasses, and at this gaze you felt heat on your cheeks again.

“Thank you, dear.” He said in a low voice, making you swallow hard.

The door was open, the sound of the heavy rain reached your ears as Alastor stepped outside, hiding himself under a new but lost umbrella.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since Alastor left the small café your image hadn't left him.

At first he was surprised. He didn't even see you then, only heard the sound of the opening door behind him and then a cheerful tone of a young lady inviting him. He knew by the sign on the wall that it was still too early for the place to be open, obviously someone from the staff saw him from the indoors and pitied him. You ran away faster than he had time to have a look at you.

As he stepped inside the scent of coffee enveloped him, making him regret he missed his breakfast and even coffee that day. You'd already hid behind the counter, and your small frame was barely visible behind an empty shop window on top of it. Alastor looked around, listened closely, but there was deep silence in the café, not a sound was heard even from the kitchen, only the jingle of cups from your side. It seemed like you were here alone. And you, a young beautiful girl, let him in. Alastor found it strange. Such kindness and good nature bordering on recklessness in their times? in this city? That was a rarity and oddity.

He thanked you. Your blush and surprised look didn't stay unnoticed for him, seemed like you recognised him and reacted like most others. Though it was not so often that anybody could recognise him just by one phrase. You seemed like a devoted fan.

A smile spread across Alastor's face as he came closer to the counter you were working behind. He always liked a little talk with a fan. Not like it was useful (even when some of them took attempts to give him advice, which was extremely irritating), but their praises always were music to his ears. And on a beastly morning like that why wouldn’t he seize the opportunity and consume the sweet words of an admirer?

So he approached the counter and propped himself against the wood. You were adorable. A lovely shade of red was still on your cheeks, lips curved in a shy smile, you seemed trying to suppress. Your hands adroitly moved around a vintage vac top, filled two cups with just brewed drink, and you didn't notice him at all. Alastor didn't want to interrupt you. He knew it would be delightful to see your surprise blended with fear when you'd raise your head and see him so close. That was actually entertaining to frighten people so innocently.

And Alastor savoured your wide open eyes and speechless mouth, you nervously stuttering words. You were still so young, just stepped over the border of childhood, and the shock on your face looked almost comical like in a picture show and yet very lovely.

But his mischievous intentions were forgotten as you handed him coffee. Unexpected and attentive gesture of you. Before he let his lips touch the warm rim of the cup, he already felt warmth spreading inside him. Alastor didn't take his eyes from you, taking the first sip, but the rich taste made him close his eyes in pleasure. As he looked at you again, he saw how lovely you debated with yourself, as you couldn't decide if you wanted to watch him or to lower your gaze in shame. Once again Alastor found you sweet and well-bred. Although he took you as a usual fan in the start, for all this time you didn't act like that. Quite the reverse, you seemed to hide this part of you, and you only showed your tenderness and politeness. He liked it more than an empty flattery, and appreciated your self control.

The colour of your eyes, peering at him from behind a rim of the cup, their shape and the mood shining inside chained his gaze to yours. But a clap of thunder broke this chain. Alastor noticed how your body tensed at the low sound, you looked up and behind his back as if you could see the thunderstorm forming right there. Were you afraid of thunderstorms? Another thing he found childish and yet lovely. He noticed that your childness, which was presented in your face and gestures, aroused a strange want of protection in him, and as he let himself to daydream for a second, he thought this want wouldn't spoil anything with your tendency to invite strangers in a place while you were alone. Alastor sighed mournfully. He didn't want to leave nor the warm room, nor the pleasurable presence of you. But he had to go and soak in the rain, otherwise he would be late for work. But before that, just one kiss.

But it seemed you didn't let him go so easily. Your voice reached him again.

And now he walked under the umbrella you'd gifted him. Even being far from you, he still was protected by your care, which, despite your young age, was similar to a mother's love. And though you could be mistaken for a young, you were differently not a child.

The next day he didn't think twice before visiting the small bakery again. But it was a surprise for you. Especially when he returned on the next day again. And then again. And again. Now you could even call him a regular customer, and even your customer. Alastor came right to the opening hours, bought a half of the bread you'd just baked, shared his plans for today's show with you, and you told him how much you enjoyed the previous one, and then you always have him a cup of black coffee; and his wish for you to have a good day always came true, for with your mind being occupied with the thoughts only about him, how could you notice something bad happening to you or to others? You became blind from love and saw your life in pink, but you didn't care. It was a pleasant feeling. To have him as the first person you talk to in the morning, to make his teeth bare in a genuine smile after he tasted your food, to feel blessed at his praises and compliments. He made each dull morning brighter, and you tried to do the same to him. And you succeeded. Alastor woke up every morning, even after an exhausting night of a hunt, with a smile on his face. He thought that in a half of an hour he would see you, he would eat your bread and drink your coffee, he would speak to you, he would make you laugh, he would make you happier just as you made him right since the day you met.

Your favourite songs appeared on the radio.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

It was hot as hell. The stuffiness of the oncoming thunderstorm smothered everyone and especially poor souls like you who had to work in a small kitchen near the oven.

Kneading dough is hard, but it's even harder when you're sweating profusely, working in a tiny kitchen with only one open window, and the oven is blazing as if it's about to cleanse a sinner of his sins. The cream you used to decorate an apple pie simply melted and ran down, wetting the already apple-juice-soaked bottom before you even got it out on the counter. But the chaos reigned not only in the kitchen but also in the dining room. After a spell of hard rains a lot of people feel sick with flu, so the small bakery’s staff diminished to only two waitresses, a bartender, who now also managed the cash register, and you. As for your uncle, he was suffering from headaches due to this changeable and capricious weather, but he promised that he wouldn't leave you alone and he would come, which you had strong doubts about, because he was already two hours late.

With your weak hands, as if they were threaded, you were whipping the butter cream, and prayed that your uncle would keep his word. One more minute in a close kitchen and you would pass out, you had no doubt about it. But as it often happened to you, your thoughts took another line, and now you saw the tanned face with glasses and a bright smile before your eyes. The daydreams about Alastor became a routine, there wasn't not even a day but an hour when you didn't think about the radio host. Usually your fantasies about him brought you happiness, but this day your fancies had a more bitter taste. For reasons unknown to you, Alastor didn't visit the bakery that morning. With sadness you started this day and sadly you were living it through. With a bitter smile you even thought that the day was awful because he didn't wish you a good day. You knew it wasn't true, but you still were sorry for not meeting him today.

“Sure it's a scorcher today! How are ya, pie?“ In the door frame your uncle was standing. His cheeks were slightly pink after a walk under hot sun, and the collar of his shirt was soaked with sweat, but the wide smile, baring his big white teeth, was the light you longed for. Suddenly his expression changed, an anxious frown formed between his brows, “Something’s wrong, pie?”

Only then did you realise that a tear was running down your cheek, and as you lowered your head to hide your weakness from him, a droplet fell into a bowl with cream. Well, now you remembered that in bedlam you'd forgotten to add salt.

“It's nothing, really, j-just happy you feel better!” You looked up at your uncle now smiling as softly as you could. The tiredness, solitude and feel of losing control washed over you like strong waves of the ocean, making you drown in your own sorrow. Suddenly you felt yourself so small like a little child, devoid of protection and love. And you hated to feel it, you knew you weren't alone. The soft hands on your shoulders, brushing and consoling you, were the proof of it. But still your heart was aching. It was beyond good sense, you couldn't control your feelings. Not anymore. This day was just too much, your feelings were too much, your unspoken love, that brought more hopelessness than faith, was also too much. And you knew it was stupid to cry over one single day without him but you couldn’t help it.

“I'm fine, really,” You said. Even the traces of your tears had disappeared, only a little redness was still visible. Your strength always bemused your uncle.

“Well, if you say so… But are you sure?” He almost agreed but then again sent you a worried look. You only nodded. “Well then. I'll deal with it.” His grey eyes ran worriedly over the floured countertop, the table covered with eggshells and the oven where the cake layers were browning. He used to work in order, but never blamed you when your working place turned into a pastry chaos. Maybe it spoiled you a tad, but you were glad that now he only encouragingly winked at you and took the bowl from your hands. No reproaches, no advice for the future.

“Hey, where's my doberge?!” A waitress rushed into the kitchen, anger and anticipation in her voice.

“Gee, even a doberge!” Your uncle put his hands on his hips as if preparing to chide the customers for their excessive gluttony and even the waitress, who agreed to take their numerous orders. “My dear, you've done the great work, but enough! Let your old uncle take over!”

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Your uncle was right, it was a hellish scorcher! Barely the temperature outdoors was different from the temperature in the kitchen you’d just left. With disgust you felt your blouse was still stuck to your back. You wished it was windy or even rainy, anything just to wash away all this tiredness and hopelessness from you. But heading for the forest, where you hoped to find some rest in the shadows of the canopies you didn't notice a tremendous grey cloud reaching closer behind your back.

The place you were heading for was a park at the edge of the forest. Your café was located not far and often you took short strolls there. Though the park was beautiful and comfortable, not many people could be seen there, which surprised and also pleased you. Especially now when all you wanted was to be alone, not to meet anyone. Well, to the exclusion of one person. You longed to meet him any time, any hour and minute. But you knew you wouldn't meet him.

You walked along the path, fanning yourself with your palm, your hopes hadn’t been justified, and the grove turned out to be as stuffy as the city. You were ready to whimper from frustration. But then suddenly everything became quiet and dark, as if someone threw a black veil upon the world. Leaves stopped rustling, the trees froze, and the birds seemed to lose their voices. Anxiety and fear lumped in your stomach with ache. You understood that no, you didn’t want it to rain. And as you tilted your head back, a cold droplet fell on your nose.

But nothing more.

Maybe the look of the steel grey sky was frightening but it was inoffensive. You still had time to come back and hide under the roof of some safe place — the café or your house, but as you sighed in relief, the wind, as if imitating you, blew harshly, blowing your hat off your head. You gasped and ran through the bushes after the loss. The wind carried your hat along the green grass and you bent yourself, chasing after it. You ran out to a small glade, covered with wildflowers here and there. Finally the wind calmed down, letting your loss stop and cover a tiny daisy. As you bent lower to grab it, another gust of wind blew this time even stronger, but you managed to catch the hat and put it firmly on your head. Coming back to the path you'd turned off you held your hat by the brim; the wind ruffled your hair and lifted your skirt above the knees.

You stopped, looking around. Was it the very path you left two minutes ago? If so, was this dry tree always here? You were sure you would have noticed such a high, thin and grotesque crooked tree earlier. But you also were sure that you couldn't have lost the way just by stepping aside from the path for several metres. After all, you chased your blown hat only forward, so you simply just turned around to return to the original path.

Right?

Right! you thought and turned to the left, where you came from.

But as you came further no signs of the park were visible. Raindrops rustled against the tree leaves and anxiety grew within you.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

It was obvious, you had chosen the wrong path. You were walking so long you would had already found the park if only you had turned to the right side. Tears formed in your eyes and you were about to cry out loud as a child. After all, what was the sense of hiding your grief? Either way you would never return back home. A few drops fell from your chin, you sniffed, but suddenly,

“Oh dear! What are you doing here, cher? ” You immediately turned around to the voice, which you’d recognised by the first syllable and that caused the familiar thrill and warmth within you. Alastor stood two steps from you, he looked at you with a mix of concussion and embarrassment, amazed that he met you here. He was in a rather unusual state for him, without his jacket or even waistcoat, just a cream shirt tucked in brown trousers and braces. His unexpected appearance was already bemusing, but this informal outfit was enough to make you doubt that all of this wasn't a dream. But all your doubts dissolved as he made a step to you, cupping your cheek in his palm carefully, as if he was afraid he could harm you. This touch wasn’t like in your dreams, it was real. Only now you felt that you were cold and you leaned to his warm touch. As his thumb caressed your skin, Alastor realised you were crying, so he cupped your other cheek too. Now fully in his gentle capture, with your face between his soft palms, you could only stare at him.

“Well, cher, care to tell me why are you here?” He tilted his head and smiled, but you couldn't understand if that was teasing in his voice or warning or perhaps both.

“I-I got lost,” You admitted.

“Ohh, you walked in the park and turned off the path, didn't you?” And as you slightly nodded your head, he clicked his tongue in disapproval, “And that’s exactly how many go missing here and only be found in parts.” His fingers slid down your neck, his fingertips slightly tickled you. You concentrated more on his touch and his face so close to you, his dark brown eyes and these kissable lips, it was more important than the meaning of what he was saying. “Next time be more careful, dear. Forest isn't a proper promenade for a lady. Now let us lead you out of here!” His hand was already holding yours in a firm grasp and Alastor walked ahead.

“A-and why are you here?” You dared to ask. The rain suddenly poured harder, blurring everything ahead with a water wall. With his long legs Alastor was faster than you, and you had to run up after him, which was rather difficult due to slippery grass under your feet and soaked fabric of skirt that stuck to your legs,“C-could you, please, be slowlier?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, dear!” He slowed his pace though still pulled you forward. Your first question he either didn't hear or ignored. You hoped for first and repeated the question.

“Oh that's nothing surprising about this! My home isn't far from here.” He glanced at you, smirking and couldn't help noticing how attractive you were now all flushing, despite the cold weather, with your blouse soaked in the rain and messy hair. But you still looked nervous, you knew it was a thunderstorm and you were waiting for a loud thunder to grumble loudly in any second. You still looked like you were ready to burst into tears, and Alastor had swore you would only smile in his presence. Were there any chances for him to calm you down somehow?

“Are we going there?” You didn't know how these words slipped from your lips. A clap of thunder made you jump closer to Alastor, your palm squeezed his firmly. He felt it and looked down at you,

“And you would like to, cher?” That actually wasn't his intention, but he couldn't miss the opportunity to tease you a little, and he grinned wider when you blushed and lowered your gaze, just that lovely reaction Alastor was expecting and loved. Suddenly he thought why not? His house was in a stone's throw, and the park and your café or even your house was much, much farther. And he saw you were already shivering, obviously not in fear before the coming storm, but simply because of the cold. Though your cheeks were red, your lips were much paler than usual. Your thin cotton clothes soaked and the wind was cold, it was easy to fall ill seriously after such a stroll. Alstort stopped in the middle of a glade, where among the high pines loomed the silhouette of his house. He took your free hand in his. It was icy. Well, what was the sense of observing the decencies if it threatened your health? And moreover Alastor hated to stay in debt, he still hadn't repaid for your kindness that day you first met.

You tried to find words to apologise for your improper question, but his piercing look didn't let you concentrate, just as the grasp on your wrists. His serious gaze, as cold as this showerey rain, and his warm fingers on your frozen hands gave rise to more confusing feelings in you. You wanted to lean to his touch, to believe he could protect you from everything, but you were also afraid to make this step, and the lighting flashing above both of you only increased your worries. You didn't believe in signs, but such a deluge of rain didn't seed any hope into your heart. And also why hadn’t he come to the café that day and why was he in the woods now, obviously not on a hunt (he was unarmed). Just left the house? But why? The place where he found you seemed to far too walk.

Suddenly the sky turned into white, blinding you, and you flung yourself to Alastor, preparing to hear a deafening clap, and then thunder pealed with such force that it seemed the sky had cracked. You threw yourself to him so harshly, Alastor had to take a step back to keep his balance, and when the thunder clapped you huddled up to him more, burying your head in his chest. His hands pressed you to him closely, he felt your trembling and waited until the skies abated their anger.

You felt his hand going higher and stopped on your neck,

“Darling.” His words brushed the shell of your ear, and you looked up and tilted your head back. His gaze was soft and smile radiated warmth you wished to swallow. He didn't say anything else, leaned his face to you and covered your lips with his. A gentle, almost modest touch was enough to melt you in his hands, and you closed your eyes, enjoying the softness and warmth of his lips, his bitterish taste. You didn't notice how you lifted one of your legs as if you were ready to fly, oh you felt yourself flying in heaven, but Alastor saw this move, as the moment his lips met yours and he felt you giving to him, he opened his eyes. You felt him smiling against your lips and stood up on your toes, to be higher, to be closer to him. His tongue brushed your lower lip, testingly, and you parted your lips, letting him inside. He teasingly played with the tip of your muscle, it tickled and sent shivers down your spine, ignited something within your core. Next moment he bent you back, embracing you tightly, his hands curved around you, as he deepened the kiss, now bold and passionate.

Pourdown, wind, thunder, everything was long forgotten. Nothing was matter when Alalstor kissed you. There were only his arms, his lips and his tongue tangling with yours. It slid along your palate, brushed on and under your tongue, he explored every place of your mouth, tasted everything he could reach. And you were devine. He couldn't get enough, so he parted his lips from yours to crush them on you again, to capture your tongue one more time. He took more and more sips of your kisses as a starved, hoping he could slake his thirst, but desire only grew more with every gasp and moan he consumed.

You prolonged a moan, hands reaching to his neck to tap his shoulders, and Alastor parted his lips from you just slightly; a thin thread connected your lips, his eyes were dark with still unfulfilled desire. You panted heavily, being almost suffocating in this passion that took all the air from your lungs. His eyes lowered to your jaw and then neck, and his deep exhalation burnt your face. Only now you realised how firmly and close he was holding you, and that you were no longer standing on your own, with your feet on the ground, but leaning back into his arms, allowing him to be your support. His lips found your jaw and he showered your skin with quick kisses, going lower and lower. He wiped off every cold drop of rain on you with loud and wet kisses, and you felt even weaker in your knees.

“A-alstor…” You whispered, but he only answered with new deep kisses on the curve of your neck.

And when you felt you would swoon, his hands slid to your waist, lips left you. You felt your legs again, feet supported you, though you pressed your head to Alastor's chest, seeking for more prop. Alastor put his chin on the crown of your head, his hands squeezed your sides, the fabric of your clothes could be wrung out.

“Darling,” He breathed out. You heard that it was still pouring, though the wind calmed down, and the thunder sounded far away. “Darling. We're going home. My home.”

A shining smile was on your lips.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

[6ronze]

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋!𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 thoughts..

warning(s) : just smth short w sassy sanzu. you can imagine platinum/white or pink haired sanzu here it doesn’t matter. model!au so no deaths or wtvr. he’s a fucking jerk. model!fem!reader. nsfw. mdni. reader smokes. intoxicated pussy eating. clothed eating out. sanzu having a whole plan to fuck you sloppy so you keep coming back for more so maybe a bit toxic if you squint. wc is 1.5k

MODEL!SANZU who was a male model you were made to work with last minute. You couldn’t even refuse or take a second to at least search up his name to see if he was someone you could work with—your manager decided that for you instead.

On the night of the fashion show, you met with pink haired man backstage, briefly introduced to one another by his manager since yours was busy instructing the girls who had their makeup done to change into the clothes assigned to them.

Amidst the busy, cramped space you guys were in, it seemed like the world around seemed to stop when his uninterested eyes finally met yours, the pretty, unique scars on each corners of his lips curling up to an almost mocking smirk. You hated that look on his face, hated him right off the bat. And you also hated how easily his face gave you butterflies.

“You better keep up. ‘m not slowing down if you fall off the runway,” his velvety voice laced with arrogant teasing reaching yours ears like nails on a chalk board, your perfectly touched up face contorting ever so slightly at him. But you didn’t turn to him, refusing to have any sort of connection with your one-night partner.

Lights dimmed, curtains slid open, music cued—you two opened the show. It was a quick-paced walk, not much pressure since you’ve been opening and closing fashion shows for a few years—but for some fucked up reason, you felt the nerves in your prickle your skin. He walked in sync with you, though it was more like he was leading the whole fucking walk with how inconsiderate he was being, walking like you didn’t even exist beside him.

Once you returned backstage, waiting for the rest of the models to walk the runway so you could join the closing walk, you felt awfully peeved. Trying to find out the cause, you turned your head to the first suspect, MODEL!SANZU.

He felt your glare on him but simply chose to ignore you, knowing it’ll probably piss you off more. A scoff left his lips when it was proven true with how you clicked your tongue at him.

“What? Not like it’s your first time walking with your tits out,” he snickered, standing still as a makeup artist touched up his face and dabbed the sweat from his pale skin. “Unless, I made you nervous,” he added after a short period of silence, mesmerising turquoise eyes glancing your way to meet your glare, brows raised with an amused sneer that told you he had no intentions to stop provoking you.

What made it all the worse for you, was that you were liking his attention, as condescending as he might be. Plus, everything about him made you want to stare at him for as long as you could. From his silky long hair, to his lean yet muscular build, and not to mention the scars on the edge of his lips. He was a work of art, ruined in the best way possible.

The night came to an end, finally. It was a few minutes past midnight after the show. While all the bigshots and guests were at the after-party of the event, you models were taking smoke breaks out the backdoor of the building with nothing but black robes or maybe a faux fur coat like the one you were wearing right now.

“Didn’t think you were a smoker. Such a big girl now, aren’t ya?” You heard a familiar voice call out to you from behind, yours lips pursing to a thin straight line with the light smudges of eyeshadow sharpening your already narrowed eyes that glanced at him.

Flick, “not gonna join the party? Some millionaire’s you could sleep with there,” he muttered with a cigarette between his lips as he directed the flame of his lighter below the edge of it.

“Money without good dick doesn’t turn me on,” you huffed, trail of smoke leaving your lips along with your sigh. You turned your head to look at him, expecting some kind of remark to your response—but all you saw was some shitty grin on his face, eyes looking you up and down without an ounce of subtly. Your hand moved to pull your coat tighter over your body as if you were already naked underneath, save for your panties and lace stockings.

“Oh, please. Trynna hide yourself as if I didn’t already see the shape of yours tits and ass. They were quite the view though, can’t lie,” he teased with an initial roll of his eyes, inhaling the cigarette then releasing the smoke.

MODEL!SANZU couldn’t help the twisted pleasure he felt from the sight of your stunning features contorting to a mask of disgust, or even a nasty glare. He liked it even better when you muttered some nasty comment telling him to fuck off, only to see you not lift a finger to make him really go away. You were feisty, knowing how to keep him on his toes while simultaneously pulling him close.

“Come over. Just for the night,” he blurted out, sounding more decisive than he truly was. He punched himself in his mind for suddenly inviting you over, annoyed at himself in fear of going too fast. But he kept a straight face on the outside—a skill he gained from his modelling work.

Your eyes flicked your eyes over to him again, removing the cigarette from your lips and keeping it held between your index and middle finger. It didn’t take you long to ponder for an answer. And he didn’t seem to question you much either. All that happened was a quick nod from you and a brief trip back inside to grab your bag before heading out again to get in his car.

In a blink of an eye, you were in his apartment—a messy space with essential furniture, his taste in colour and interior design something you almost admired. He didn’t bother opening the lights, letting the city lights from outside illuminate the room from the big windows.

Minutes passed in his apartment, red wine served to you in a glass and cigarettes shared and passed. The conversations between you two were somewhat heavy yet filled with banter, the atmosphere starting to get intoxicating the closer and bolder you leaned into him, legs over his lap, giving him a sight of your clothes pussy if he so wished to peek. And being the opportunist he was, he did. Stared at your figure appreciatively even.

Soon enough, hands began to wander and clothes were stripped. It didn’t take long for him to lift your legs of his lap and hang them over his shoulders instead, shifting on the couch to position himself between your legs, leaning down to give half-hearted swipes of his tongue over your dampening folds. His eyes seemed glazed over, as if he was intoxicated, which he was.

You leaned back against the armrest of the plush dark velvet couch, fur coat slipping off your body to reveal your tits, stomach lazily skimmed over by his hand. He felt you squirm from his licks and it almost made him chuckle, hand on your belly sliding over to grip your hip instead. He buried his face further into the apex of your legs, his tongue flicking up and down your clothed pussy with more effort than before, parting your thighs more so he could delve past your folds and reach your clit.

When he finally found your pulsing buds, you felt a subtle jolt wash over your body, a soft moan leaving your tired lips before sipping a hand down to his head, threading your fingers through his locks and tugging on them weakly at first, matching the rhythm of his tongue that soon picked up the pace.

He was getting greedier in seconds, moving his tongue faster up and down your clit, probing your aching slit that he could barely reach due to the fabric that stopped him. As much as the lace annoyed him, he didn’t want to let you have the full experience of his capabilities, yet. He wanted you needy and curious the next morning, he wanted you coming back for more—he didn’t want you to leave.

Your fingers tangled in his hair only tightened with every passing moment, your legs quivering as he brought closer and closer to that sweet release you craved. His saliva made it better, sloppier, wetter. The lewd suckled he made desperately on your bundle on nerves and on your puffy folds made you whine pathetically, eyes closed shut and head straining to brace yourself for the orgasm he gracefully gave you. You gathered a fistful of his hair, pulling onto him to shove him deeper, riding his mouth with every buck of your hips without care if he breathed or not. But you didn’t worry much about him either, since his hands that clawed the fat of your ass and thighs told you he probably enjoyed it as much as you did.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[silv3rswirls]

Hound

Summary: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end? 

Warnings: serial killer/yandere jk, kidnapping, stalking, references to death, suggestive scenes, delusions, religious themes/trauma, minor description of sick/rotting bodies/animals, murder, reader goes on a weird little adventure with killer jk?? She dies at the end

Note: idk I kind of lost the original plot of this one and this is what it turned out to be. Please mind the warnings and as always, hope ya’ll like it. ALSO, I didn't have it in me to edit this, so mind that. I might come back to this

There’s something in the corner; watching. It’s been there so long, you couldn’t remember when it invited itself in. It’s starving and sickly, black fur clinging to bones and eyes droopy and white. You stopped feeding it a long time ago, but still, it lingers. In every facet of your life, it lingers. You’ve lived like this for so many years, have you always lived like this?

What time was it?

Your eyes shifted from their fixed position on the wall to the clock, passing over the thin, gold cross mounted just beside it. Your eyes strained to read it against your bedroom's dark wood panels and dim, ugly yellow light. Whatever time it was, you knew it was time to get out of bed and start dinner before your husband got home from work. You make your way to the kitchen, the house dims now that the sun has set. You avoid flicking many lights on, it’ll save money your husband insisted. You hated fumbling around a dark house but had given up arguing with him a long time ago.

You peek through the sheer curtains, the sink running and steaming water burning your hands as you finish that morning's dishes. It was dark, and windy as the tree in your front yard shook and branches brushed against the roof. It was the cusp of winter, very cold but snow hadn’t started to fall yet. The neighborhood was quiet, street lamps harsh against the dark backdrop of houses. You stare hard outside, it's there. Standing there, watching you. That sick dog, with hackles raised and tongue hanging from its mouth. 

The curtains fall back into place as you turn the water off and dry your hands. You pass the phone, that’s been ringing for the past five minutes. You don’t answer because it's just your parents again, all they wanted was to guilt you into going to church with them on Sunday morning. They went every day, once upon a time you had gone as well, but now you could only stand to give them Sundays. Last week you had pretended to be sick to get out of it, your husband went along and you were sure he spent most of the day badmouthing and complaining about you not coming.

The last time you found yourself in a church you were standing at an altar listening to a man feed the room empty vows. You stood stiff, draped in satin, with eyes downcast. This is what everyone wanted; this is what you wanted. What a waste, as he fumbled the paper with his crudely written vows. What a waste of a man who couldn’t memorize a few short promises. What a waste of a man who couldn’t stand there and pretend to be in love with you, to dare to call himself righteous, the perfect match to keep their daughter in line with a faith you had stopped believing years ago. 

You didn’t want to get married. You had stopped liking the fantasy of having a husband years ago, and around the same time, you began to feel a sour taste over your parents' religion. What happened to you? What happened to our beautiful girl? They would ask, more so plead with you for answers. Truthfully, you had stopped believing in god. It was restricting; days to weeks to months to years. It was always the same. The same scripture, the same ravings of the pastor that drove such fear of doing anything wrong into you, leaving holes in your body that oozed with guilt and shame; you didn’t know why.

You had begged god to save you, even after all the terrible things he must’ve seen you do. Still, on the morning of your wedding and every day after that, you begged. Knelt until your knees were raw and aching, your hands clasped so tight until your nails pricked your aching skin and drew blood. You begged, for something, anything, you weren’t even sure what anymore. But nothing ever changed. When would god find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

That night you refused to go inside, letting your feet go numb buried in snow in the backyard. Looking into the treeline, you’d rather be fed by the creatures lurking there than by some angry boy playing dog inside. You wanted to hurt him, for him to feel how you had the past year. He didn’t think you could, but you wanted to show him you would. 

But when you looked down at your trembling hands, stiff and half frozen from the cold, you knew there was no way you could show him. How you felt and how you acted were two different things; forever separate as much as you wanted them to be the same. You could talk a big game, think about how so badly you wanted to hurt him, and that was all. It had to keep being enough.

Something in you wanted more, so much more. You could rest because of it. You had stopped fighting your parents now, you were hoping things could change. Maybe you’d find peace again, though you weren’t sure how. You grew weary, tired of hating god and resenting your parents. You wanted so badly to be separate from it all. To no longer have a feeling of guilt hounding you. To no longer hate the church and everyone in it, the teachings and echoes of preaching lingering in your mind. The years you lost there; lost to fear and manipulation. How you hadn’t been able to enjoy a single thing in your adolescence. How after your first kiss you had gone home and sobbed until throwing up. As you were on your knees cleaning it up, trying to hush your cries to not wake your parents, you closed your eyes and pleaded between gasps and hiccups for god not to hate you. How you trembled and sat there until your skin was rubbed raw against the carpet, 

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and looking around the dark living room from the kitchen. You felt like you could see it; that creature lying on the sofa staring at you. Mouth parted, teeth pointed, its soul-bearing into your own. You turned away with the familiar feeling of guilt washing over your body. Your gaze rested on the floor, but the faint outline of shoes made your brow furrow; your husband wasn’t due home for another hour. Very slowly you pick your gaze up to see the man standing in the hall. Faint light from the open backdoor pooled in behind him. You stared at the young man longer than probably should have. Maybe you should've screamed sooner and ran before he got that close to you but you had frozen in place.

Break-ins didn’t happen around your neighborhood, let alone kidnappings.

What horrible luck that you’d be the first? 

What had you done? What had you done to deserve this?

He carried you out of your house, but still, you couldn’t bring it in you to scream for help. You wondered deep down if anyone would help you. He puts you in the back of his car and drives, the windows down and bitter cold pouring in. You’re lying in the backseat, wrists bound tight. He’d been eerily silent through this whole ordeal.

“How come you haven’t begged me not to kill you yet?” He asked, looking back at you. His voice came jumbling from his mouth fast, a bit irritated. Like he had been frustrated with your lack of struggle.

“Were you going to kill me?” Your skin crawls with goosebumps from the cold. 

He pauses and stares at you, “Do you want me to kill you?” He turns back to watch the road, neither of you answering his question. A long stretch of silence follows, he doesn’t look at you again, not even a glance from the mirror. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m going to give you what you want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

You’re throat dries and your face pales. “You don’t know what I want.” Watching you? You felt an uneasiness come over you as you thought back to what you had done the past few weeks. Nothing to be honest. You had barely left the house. You imagined him peeking through windows, hiding in the yard, and watching you collect groceries and throw the trash away. Had he been in your house before? You look at him, he didn’t seem familiar at all. You’d never seen him around before. 

He dragged you from the car, you didn’t struggle but you remained limp, dead weight for him as he covered your eyes and drug you inside. When inside you feel his boot on you, pressing into your shoulder. Pressing into you, your eyes trail over the shine of leather and then up to him. He was standing above you. Taller, stronger, better than you; that's what he wanted right? You’d stare at him, was this what you wanted?

The house was messy, recently abandoned you assumed. It was clear he had been holding up here for a while. He shoved you on the ground, circling around you as you looked up at him. “What are you going to do?” You ask.

“Gonna kill you.” He admitted earnestly. “I know you, I’ve been watching you for a long time- really, I’m just helping you.”

Was he your savior? Was he doing you a favor? Would he do to you what you had never been brave enough to do yourself? Is this what you truly were? An animal built to serve? To be depraved, to crawl across glass and pour blood for someone like him?

“But I…I don’t want to die.” He gives you this pitiful look; his lips pout and his eyes soften for a moment. As if telling you you didn’t know what you were talking about, and how pitiful it was you couldn’t accept it. “What’s your name?” You ask, feeling silly for being hopeful you might be able to get any information out of him. “Jungkook.” You lower your head, wondering if trying to collect any information for authorities was even worth it. Everything about this man was intimidating. He was larger and stronger, it didn’t matter if you fought or not he could drag you around like a ragdoll all he wanted.

Jungkook gets up and walks around the living room, rummaging through piles of what you assumed were his things. “I’ve been watching you for over a year now.” He admits, “Since you went on vacation for your friend's birthday. You were so drunk at that bar, I was going to kill you then, but something told me not to.” He turns back to you with a small bound notebook in hand. “So I followed you back here and got to know you more. Imagine my shock when I realized you were getting married. Was that trip your last night of freedom, is that why you got so messy?” You stare up at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, it was your last night. You came home and your parents pushed you into marriage sooner because of it. He hands you to the notebook, urging you to open it. “I’ve been watching you since. Your life turned out to be so interesting, I couldn’t just kill you after everything.”

You flip through the pages slowly. Pictures of you and your family. Pictures of you at the altar. Scribbled paragraphs about things he heard others say about you, quotes of things you were sure you had said. Notes and bullet points of every piece of information he got. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Can I take a bath?” You ask, mind going a bit blank and voice flat as you set the notebook down and try to take it all in. 

He let you. The water was hot and steaming when he pushed you in and closed the door. No windows, no way to get out. You settle into the water, the sweat from stress and anxiety washing off as you try and fail to relax. Could you be forgiven for things not of your control? You sink further into the water. You could hear him outside in the hall pacing. His steps were heavy and loud, ringing in your ears as you stared up at the night, fluorescent bathroom light. They did this to you, they all did this to you. Why were you being punished? Why had Jungkook laid eyes on the most pitiful woman in town and decided it was to be her? You thought about your wedding day, and your husband back home. Maybe if you had just settled, stayed with them, and did your duty as a wife Jungkook wouldn’t have stumbled into your life. Yes. you should have wanted less, you decide. Because it seems Jungkook was ready to give it all to you.

You raise your hands out of the water, the deep imprints of the zip ties he had kept you bound with were still there. Angry and a pale red color. The bathwater around you, swirling unpleasantly around you. The hot, humid air inside the bathroom, the hum of the lights, and the moths flying around them. 

You felt rotten like your teeth were falling out, hanging just barely to your gums. Truly, you felt disgusting. 

Jungkook is in the hall waiting when you finally get out. You looked up at him and saw nothing. No starving dog trying to pretend. No confusion, or games, or lies. He knew what he wanted to be and he was exactly that. He wasn’t lying, pretending, or trying to make you believe his actions were right. He said it outright; he wanted to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“I want my wedding dress” you slowly say.

“You don’t like the one you wore at your wedding, you cried the day you tried it on.” Jungkook glances at you, watching you silently agree with him.

“So you won't get it for me?”

“Don’t you want more?” He asks, “I’ll get you a new dress, whatever one you want.” 

Jungkook stares at you the same way the beast that lingered in the corners of your house did. An eager stare, unrelenting, you couldn’t move out of its sight. “I just want that dress.” You repeat, clasping your hands together and pursing your lips, “You said I could have whatever I wanted…”

A smile stretched his lips, “I’ll get it for you.” 

You lay down on the floor of the backseat of the car. Your hands are zip-tied again, and you can’t see Jungkook from your position. What an odd turn of events to say the least…you had fully expected to die the moment he dragged you out of the car and into that house, but now you could see faint glimpses of familiar landmarks leading to your neighborhood from what you can make out from the window. You think about the day of your wedding, and the events that even led up to your parents making a match for you and pushing for it so hard. Despite how vocal you had been about your unhappiness with everything about your childhood, how much you never wanted to step food into their church again; they held a firm belief that you’d come crawling back. If they shamed and argued and pushed enough you’d come back.

For as much hate you felt, twice the amount of guilt weighed you down. After a while, it all became so hopeless. It was exhausting. It made you sick, you couldn’t do anything without guilt nipping your heels, chasing you down until you drowned in it. You couldn’t live, so you came home. Let them talk you into marriage because it would fix everything, they insisted. You just needed a husband, the stability of it, someone to care about other than yourself. Have a few kids and you’ll start walking the right path again.

You waited, but it never came. You never felt better about any of your choices. Deep down you had known you wouldn’t, but you had spent so much of your life blind. Going back to it didn’t help, it wasn’t even familiar anymore. Nothing ever changed. When will God find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

You weren’t even sure why you wanted that stupid dress. You weren’t sure if you cared what happened to you, or feared what Jungkook was going to do. Maybe it is comforting, in a weird way. No one paid attention to you, no one bothered with you. They wouldn’t until you changed, and deep down you didn’t want to change. But outside of your life now you had no idea what you would do. You never had higher dreams than staying local and marrying within your church growing up. You didn’t even attend college. You never aspired for more, now it felt like it was too late. Jungkook was talking to you from the driver's seat but you couldn’t hear him. Too enveloped in your head to focus on him, he was spouting things he had found about you the last year or so. How he’d never felt a need to stalk the people went after before, let alone this in depth. It was “life-altering” and you were going to be special to him.

The car stops and you feel a weight on your body; the canine-like creature is standing over you. Paws pressing to your stomach and legs, its breath hot, its ears perked up as Jungkook gets out of the car. You feel an immense guilt weighted on you and you consider stopping Jungkook and telling him to just leave and kill you. 

You didn’t want this. You did want this. You weren’t sure. Your husband was home, he wasn’t going to just let Jungkook in to take what he wanted. 

You lay there for what felt like an eternity until he came back, opening the back door and pulling you out of the car. It’s still dark out, chilly, and unmoving as he hooks his arms under yours and drags you back inside. He sits you down in the entryway and locks the door. You look around. “Where’s-”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jungkook shows your husband's wedding band now on his hand. “Come one” he scoffs, “you knew what I was going to do.”

You stare at him, glance and the very faint outline of the body on your kitchen floor. Had you known? You feel a bit sick, deep down you had hoped for it. He leaves you there to find the wedding dress. Jungkook smiles at you one more time before going towards the back bedroom.

When Jungkook saw you, he had every intention of following you out of that bar to kill you. It was his typical hunting ground. Every few months when the desire struck him again he would wait patiently for the right girl to cross his path. You were hard to ignore that night; annoying, he had half a mind to kill you just to shut you up. But when he followed you outside, watching you slump against the wall and fiddle with your phone he took a moment to watch. Turning away and nursing a cigarette on the opposite side of the entryway. 

The way you sniffled and cried on the phone with your mom, asking if there was any other way than to get married. You were too drunk to give him a coherent story of what you were going through, but apparently, you just hated the dress and the groom so much. He crept closer as you hung up, making some lighthearted comment about how rough you looked, and offered you a cigarette.

You talked a bit more about your ass of a fiance and how you felt like you had no other options anymore. He asked where you were from and you told him. He left you there once your friend found you and would see you again a month later. He’d been crammed in his car for days, a map of the town and surrounding forests resting on his steering wheel as he scribbled out the last few leads he had gotten on where exactly you lived. he looked up and there you were, walking with a group of older women into a boutique down the street, exiting with a pretty wrapped box a bit later. He followed you home, and everywhere after that. Watched you walk down the aisle, the wedding open to all members of the church, and allowing him to walk right in. he watched you go home and cry in the backyard, watched you talk your dress off through the window, watched your husband fuck you for the first time. He watched you sit restless every day after that.

Jungkook found your dress backed away in that same ornate gift box on the top shelf of your closet. He smiled and smoothed a hand over the box. All he knew was that he wanted you, wanted to make you happy, and then he wanted to kill you. Put you out of your misery. You’d be better off, he told himself. Clearly, you needed to be saved, so he’d kill for a better reason this time. 

You were crying when he came back. Looking up at him with red, water eyes and pressing your lips together to try and keep quiet. Jungkook set the box beside you, kneeling in front of you and tilting his head. But all you can see before you is that beast, sitting with flattened ears and tongue hanging from between rotting teeth. Staring at you with those eyes, like they were reflecting everything upsetting right back to you.

“All this guilt, there’s no use feeling it.”

“I can’t help it.” You choke out. “I can’t stop it, I see it- feel it everywhere.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at Jungkook and trying to stop your trembling bottom lip.

“Crying won’t won’t make things different. Just because you’re guilty won’t make this better. Your guilt won’t purify you.” He clicks his tongue, reaching to push your hair out of your face. “You wanted me to kill your husband, and that’s okay.”

“Thank god, the psycho thinks everything is alright. How comforting.” You weep.

“Stop holding back, come on. You want things to change, doesn’t matter how they change right? You hated him, I heard you say it myself so many times. Say it.”

“I wanted him to die.” You admit quietly. Something in you wanted this to happen. Asking Jungkook to come back here, a part of you knew the possibility. “It’s just not fair. It's not fair. I’ve done nothing but what I’m supposed to do. My whole life, I’ve been trying so hard my whole life to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t understand. Everything was supposed to be better, but I hated him. I hated him so much. Then you got here and I…I just wanted to feel all the pain that he’s caused, but I can’t even stomach it. I wanna be cruel, don’t I deserve to? I can’t stop crying though.”

Jungkook coos, pulling you into the chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s why I’m here, I want you to let go, want you to just do what you want. I watch you every day. You’re so miserable, it’s so weird. I felt bad for you.” Jungkook muses, “I’m here for you now baby, we only have a few hours left though.”

“Can I put the dress on?” Your voice was low and tired. Jungkook nodded, shifting over to take the box's lid off and peel back the tissue paper wrapped around your wedding dress. He takes it out, unraveling it carefully as you watch. 

Your wedding had been a disaster. You cried through most of it, though no one seemed to care at the time. Your late husband was glad just to have a woman to take home. He wasn’t romantic at all, nothing about him attracted you to him. He was one of the slimier men you had come across in your time in the congregation. He interpreted things how he wanted to, and often reminded you of all the things in your life you had done wrong and had yet to be forgiven for. This was the man your parents hoped to whip you back into shape. It worked in a sense, you supposed. You had been forced to settle. Your hate faded each dull day that passed, you grew weary and unhappier. 

The dress was modest. Long-sleeved, high neckline, mane with heavy ugly satin. You put it on there in the hall, feeling too numb to worry about any shame you had in front of Jungkook anymore. He zipped it up for you. Jungkook was kneeling, fixing the skirt, and letting it fluff out. He smooths it down and looks up at you. Despite the heavy eyes and tear-stricken face he smiled, “You look pretty.” 

No one told you that on your wedding day, no one told you that the day your mother chose the dress for you. You smiled, feeling a small ounce of joy for the first time tonight. “What do you want to do now?” 

You ignore his question, “Is that why you’re doing all of this, are you obsessed with me or something?”

“I guess in some sick way I am.” He wanted to kill you, but at the same time, you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Something about the repressed guilt and how you teetered on the edge of breaking completely just got him he supposed. “I watched you the night of your wedding, you were so perfect. Everything was perfect until he came in.” He scowls at the thought, “It’s a shame.”

“Do you want to…” you trailed off, your voice a bit nervous. 

Jungkook’s fingers twitch, he's playing with the trim of your skirt. “I do” he murmured, “I’ve thought about you every night since I met you” He raves, “you’re the only one- why? Why do you make me so crazy?” He asks, brushing off any answer you try to give him. “Want you, need you” He breathed, the fabric of your wedding dress bunching up as he pulled at it.

“I can’t-” you grabbed at his hands. You could feel it, the guilt creeping in. Your eyes land on your wedding ring. Torn with morbid want and a last shred of gut-wrenching guilt, you looked into his eyes. Tempting dark pools stare back at you he grabs at your hand. “We’ve come so far already, don’t stop now. Besides” he makes it a point to flash your late husband's wedding band. “I’m your husband now.” you flush, the words twisting in your ears are wrong; everything about tonight was wrong. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“I know you think I’m attractive” he pushes through the layers of the dress, his hands cold as he rests them on your thighs. “It’s so wrong of you baby” he purrs, “you know I’m gonna kill you, but you want me don’t you?” 

“I know” you whimper, chest heaving as you watch him. His fingers trace against your skin, his hand moving between your legs. 

“When’s the last time your husband touched you?” He asks, “This is what you want, right? You want someone to want you?”

Your fingers twist in his hair, gripping tight as if you were about to fall. Your legs trembled under the weight of guilt and need over what was happening. He was right though, it had been a long time since you felt wanted at all. The moment you had sex the first time those years ago, you knew no one would want you. Not in the church, not here. Impure, a whore. Your mother had even said it when you sobbed and told her. 

Your back arches, your thighs tremble, and you let your grip on his hair loosen. You fear toppling over, your breathing a bit ragged. You felt his lips trace your inner thigh, leaving half-hearted kisses and sinking his teeth into your skin. 

“You look so pretty in your dress.” Jungkook reappears, kneeling before you a minute longer. Fixing the skirt of the dress, smoothing the fabric down then reaching for your hand. He traces the wedding ring a few times.

“Where do you want me to do it?” Jungkook’s question falls on deaf ears. You’re sitting in the passenger side of his car, still wearing a dress and still trying to steady your pounding heart.

Where did you want to die?

Did you want to die?

You were scared of living as much as dying; but was there anything left for you anyways? 

Jungkook you supposed, there was a weird want for him. Maybe it was messed up, he was into you. He took all this time to watch you and wanted you to be happy before you died. You weren’t sure if you were happy. 

Before you got out of high school the town church moved to a new building. A bigger, newer, and nicer one. The old one was small, typical of what you would imagine a small, secluded town’s church would look like. He took you there, unprompted. It was fitting maybe. You walked in front of him and listened to Jungkook load the gun and mutter under his breath. Once inside you stand in place, waiting for him to turn and shoot. You look around the familiar space, your stomach turning, memories of the past playing in your mind. 

The cross mounted above you is entrancing, draped in sheer black fabric, and its shadowy outline is stark against the moon's light. Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook, who seems to have caught onto your staring and also happens to stand before you draped in the moonlight. 

Your last moments would be here. Everything around you felt distorted, and unreal as you looked around another time. 

Staining his hands red and tearing into something clean was all he was. All he wanted. You were both ugly in a sense, he was just more open about it. You look up at him. It’s scary now. You had known what was going to happen from the moment he took you. You knew. You knew he wouldn’t give you a happy ending, only give you a temporary release from everything. He killed your husband, it made you happy. He let you prance around in a wedding dress and pretend one last time you could do it all again. He played well with you, you had been able to push aside the dark truth of your situation for a time. But now he was standing before you, reveling in some kind of glory of it all. Did glory taste different to him? You couldn’t imagine- but was letting him kill that man no different than this? In a way, you had killed your husband, was this all some kind of long, drawn-out punishment for that? For lifelong confusion and defiance?

You hoped someone would find you when you were. Find your carcass and see, understand that you had been, still were, always being ripped open. Torn to pieces and dragged to muddy waters, you hoped they’d know you hadn’t been scared, maybe even welcomed it. Let them know this was love; in some twisted way. Love from Jungkook, or god sending him your way. You stopped believing in god a long time ago, grappled with it for so long, but you hoped he had loved you; at least once. Make the struggle worth it, prove you wrong. Or maybe it was love from yourself for closing your eyes and accepting it. 

Please, let this be love. Let your body be stained with love for once.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

[tozettastone]

Maddie & Kakuzu (& Hidan) ficlet that's not really an actual part of the series but which I wrote anyway

---

Buying an actual house changed Maddie's relationship with her father slightly.

"So... Do you want me to make one of those rooms a guest room?" she wondered, leaning heavily on the door frame as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Like with a bed?"

Kakuzu's chakra signature hadn't woken her up when he'd arrived — whenever that had been — and neither did Hidan's much more obvious one. But once she got up, their presence did make her choose to put on pants before coming out here. But that was the sum total of her accommodations.

Her furniture included a massive claw-footed tub, a table that could seat four but for which she'd only got one chair, and a second-hand couch that absolutely did not fit all of Kakuzu's tall, broad body. Or Hidan's. Definitely not both.

"No. The couch is fine."

The couch was obviously not fine.

It wasn't so much that it was ugly and old (although it was), for Kakuzu prioritised utility over aesthetics and, because he was a shambling ragdoll monster in human skin, he had no need to baby his aging joints. Rather, the problem was that he obviously did not fit on the ugly old couch. Currently he was pinned in place upon it by Hidan's sprawled, dozing body, and both their feet were hanging far off the end.

Kakuzu also had one heavily muscled forearm thrown over his own eyes, because he was flat on his back and she hadn't bothered with curtains in the main room. When the sun came out, the light was inside.

"Uh-huh," said Maddie, heading into the kitchen area with the little pat-pat-pat of bare feet. "Can I ask a different question?"

She didn't have an electric or gas stove, but she did have a venerable black iron one. She couldn't, like, make candy or anything that required a really specific temperature, but she'd been cooking over a fire for years. It was easy to just shove some wood in and light it up with a little chakra trick — her lightning-affinity heart gave a deep thump as she coaxed a crackle of elemental chakra from her fingertips.

"Asking is free," Kakuzu said. There was an implied warning in that statement: asking was free, but answers might cost you.

The house had clean running water. She filled her kettle and put it on the stove to heat.

"Do you plan to visit often?"

There was a short silence. "No. Don't mistake anything," he added repressively, because he was a mean old bastard, "I'm here because it's convenient."

Uh-huh, she thought, turning to lean against the table and look at those dangling feet, but will it be 'convenient' often?

"Well, I plan to visit all the fucking time," said Hidan, voice thick and deep with sleep. He didn't move his face from where it was crushed into Kakuzu's chest. He could probably hear, like, a whole drum kit in there. "You went from a camp in a cursed swamp to a permanent beach house."

It really was pretty idyllic here on her little stretch of Wave, in its way: forest on one side, massive stretch of of beach on the other. She even had Barry's cutting, Barry the Second, taking root right in her back yard.

"Right. Okay." She looked around. At least the floors were stone and not wood. They'd clean well, which was a perennial consideration if Hidan visited often.

That morning, Maddie endured the spectacle of Kakuzu's tooth-grinding impatience to leave while his partner tested his temper. He loomed like a storm cloud while Hidan made his own breakfast, consumed it at an obnoxiously leisurely pace, and prayed for a solid half hour, apparently just to try everyone around him.

Then, at last, they were gone and Maddie was left in peace, sipping her tea and considering the cheapest place to get a futon for Hidan's — apparently inevitable — visits. She checked her traps and surrendered a crab to the clumsy grasping of Barry the Second, which was growing like a weed now that she was feeding it so regularly.

There was, of course, no work in town, so she didn't have any of that to do, and there was nobody (yet) to whom to rent her second property. The economy sucked and nobody wanted to move here. But the beach itself was lovely, the fresh air was nice and the local hunting was good, so Maddie was perfectly content to wait for Tazuna to get his bridge-building act together.

She did get Hidan a futon, though. It was second hand, which meant she didn't really want to contemplate what might have been soaked into it over its life. But given the kinds of fluids Hidan rolled around in, she didn't think he had any room to complain.

There wasn't any need to commit to dressing up an extensive guest room or anything, but she figured the futon just seemed prudent.

Then, of course, the following month opened with Kakuzu embarking on a mission in Mist, just across the water, and therefore fetching up on Hidan's futon — obviously, right? Maddie's house was cheaper than an inn and way more convenient than camping.

"Thought you didn't need a bed," she mused, peering into the guest room.

Kakuzu had appeared overnight without a sound, and she'd only known he was there at all because of his chakra signature. Kakuzu alone was a much quieter affair than Kakuzu and Hidan. But... she'd also left the windows unlocked.

"I don't need anything," he said flatly, without even opening his eyes. He said this less, she thought, because he didn't want to inconvenience her and more because he rejected the idea of permanence in another person's home. "But it's stupid not to use it."

"Right," said Maddie. "I'm making myself a pot of tea, and I guess if you so happen to show up near the pot, I'll pour you one."

Kakuzu cracked open one sinister green eye just to glower at her, but she closed the door to leave him to his rest.

[milesmolasses]

Don't Blame Me

miles morales x reader

warnings: nothing i can think of

basically, you and Miles are a cute little couple, and you help him dye his hair at midnight (he has waves)

The time was 12.34pm EST, and most of the apartments in Ocean Hill Brooklyn had their lights off and curtains closed. You and Miles were in a 24HR drug store across the street from his apartment, checking out their hair supplies aisle- just when you were about to grab your hair mask treatment, Miles came running to you from halfway down the aisle.

"YEOOOOO, look what I found! We finna bring the demons out tonight," he said in a playful, scratchy tone. You looked at what he had in his hand and saw the platinum blonde hair dye he was holding.

"You wanna be Frank Ocean so damn bad, don't you? You know you're destroying your hair if you do that, right?"

"Nah, I've had virgin hair for forever; my hair can't get ruined after dying it once. That's just stupid," he waved his hand dismissively to my comment on him literally killing his beautiful hair.

"Miles use your head: it's 12 in the morning, and you aren't thinking straight. Trust, you don't want to do this and wake up in the morning regretting shit," I tried to grab the dye out of his hand, but he held onto the box with such a tight grip and a determined look on his cute face, really telling me he wanted to do this.

"No, no no no no, I am thinking straight; believe me, I have thought about this a lot. I can show you my Pinterest hair board right now, and it's full of niggas with blonde waves. Frank Ocean is calling my name Y/N, PLEASE let me do this," he went on and on. He looked at me with a pleading look in his eye, attempting a cute puppy dog face with his chapped pouty lips.

"... A'ight fine, but we getting you some damn chapstick with your cracked ass lips."

"Alright not too much on me, baby. You gon help me dye it though?"

It felt as if he was counting on me to say yes, so I agreed to help him dye his hair. We soon walked up to the register with my hair mask and a new conditioner for his hair, a bag of mini KitKats, the blonde dye, and some Vaseline. I paid for the items, wondering how much I would have to apologize to Rio for destroying her sons hair.

As we walked back to his place, we stopped by the deli to pick up some more snacks- two bags of chips, jolly ranchers, and a sandwich for Miles. We made it back and quietly snuck upstairs to the bathroom, but not without first dropping the food off in Miles's room. We made our way to the bathroom with the dye and the purple conditioner/toner, and I made Miles sit down on the edge of the bath tub while I prepped all the supplies.

"You're a W girlfriend for dying my hair and buying me snacks..." I was having my doubts about this whole "dying my boyfriend's hair thing" because I really didn't want to be the cause of something Miles might regret later on. Also, I kinda liked his regular black hair- I thought it was cute, plus he already had waves, so I didn't get why he wanted to dye his hair on top of that.

"Look, don't be upset with me, ok? I've been actually wanting to do this for the longest time, and I really do appreciate you doing this for me."

"Oh Miles, I'm not upset with you. C'mon, you know I love you but I'm just a little worried about how this will all turn out. I don't want you to regret this later on. Plus keeping up with dyed hair is expensive as fuck, bro," he looked at me again, this time, without the puppy dog looks; more like a sad and disappointed seal. He didn't want to make me worried I could tell.

"Alright look, imma dye it, fix up your hair, and we'll see how it looks unwrapped in the morning, is that ok?" He smiled and took my hand kissing it softly while looking up at me.

"Perfect."

And so I got to work, giving him a towel to drape over his shoulders, bleaching his hair while listening to his moans and groans about how much it burned, putting in the platinum color in his hair, and toning it after. We washed his hair and dried it with a t-shirt, added light amounts of pomade to his hair, finger waved and brushed it, and finally came the durag.

"How did it look? You was the one doin' it, so tell me, how did it look?"

"You gonna have to find out when you wake up tomorrow. Yo, lemme crash here. I'm mad tired right now," I walked out of the bathroom, already knowing his answer to my question. I walked my way back to his room, opening the black deli bag of snacks.

He turned on the ceiling projector which showed what seemed like trillions of little life-like stars on his ceiling. He plopped down onto his bed with me, turning to the bag to grab his sandwich as we stared at the ceiling projector eating our food.

The sunlight crept through Miles's curtains, basking us in the warm indication that a new day had arrived. My eyes blinked slowly and steadily as I shuffled through the bed I was lying in. I looked to my right and saw that the bed was empty and called out "Miles" absentmindedly.

"I'm in here," he yelled out of what I assumed was his bathroom. I rubbed my eyes as I strolled out of his bed and towards his bathroom. I walked in on a sight to behold;

A Miles I had never seen before was staring straight into the mirror, rubbing the neat blonde waves on the top of his head, smiling a smile I had never seen before.

"You are amazing. I can't believe this is what I look like, holy shit.." his smile grew even larger than before when his eyes finally met mine.

"Oh my lord, look at my mannnn," I squealed as I put my hands over my mouth in shock. Of course, I knew what the waves had looked like— I'm the one who did his hair— but seeing him so happy with my finished work made me even happier with myself and Miles.

"Me and Frank Ocean are literally twinning right now."

"He prolly don't even have them blonde waves no more."

"Why can't you just let me be happy?"

I laughed at his straight face when he said that, knowing it was only a joke. I walked closer to him so that we were both seen in the mirror, just looking at each other. He placed his hands on my shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. Something about this kiss screamed "thank you" or "I love you for this," and it made me feel warm inside as I stared into his eyes through the mirror.

Suddenly, as if he had just come to a realization, he whispered, "I gotta show my mom... shit"

AYEEEE this took me so long to write for literally no reason

can u tell how much i love frank ocean? lol

I DO NOT CONDONE SLEEPING IN BED WITH YOUR OUTSIDE CLOTHES! THAT SHIT IS DIRTY!

[severinageto]

Just a Wednesday————-ONE SHOT

*

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling well-rested. He watched the sun gradually brighten as it filtered through the curtains in his room. The sounds from outside suggested it was probably around eight or eight-thirty in the morning. On Wednesdays, he didn’t start at the Academy until noon, but Satoru had to be there much earlier. He could hear him in the kitchen using the orange juicer, trying, though not very successfully, to be quiet. Then, the smell of coffee. Gojo didn’t drink it, but he did. He smiled contentedly, thinking that not only had Satoru made breakfast that morning, but he’d also let him sleep in.

What Suguru didn’t know was that Satoru had been up for about three hours. He needed to prepare an exam for the day, something crucial about channeling telluric energy. But level 2,978 of Candy Crush had taken up all his time and energy. How was it possible that this ridiculous game was such a challenge? Confident, the albino thought it would take him maybe three minutes, but he was wrong; he was two and a half hours in when his boyfriend’s alarm went off. He looked at the clock, then at his empty teaching papers, and then at his boyfriend. He watched him sleep for a little while.

Suguru’s breathing was calm, his body barely moving. The morning light was beginning to sneak in, almost shyly, through the curtains, softly illuminating the contours of his wonderful face. Dark strands of hair fell messily over his forehead, framing his relaxed features. Time seemed to stand still in those moments when his mouth exhaled a tiny thread of air. The peace surrounding his boyfriend’s strong jawline was worthy of praise and songs, a peace Satoru rarely saw in Suguru when he was awake. He leaned in a little closer, soaking in every detail, from the curve of his lips to the way his eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. In those stolen seconds, Satoru allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability, silently marveling at the simple beauty of having Suguru by his side.

He took a breath and quietly jumped out of bed. Such a work of art deserved, at the very least, breakfast.

Half an hour later, Suguru was covering his naked body with his black silk robe.

“Everyone thinks not, but…” he murmured to himself, “…I hit the jackpot with this guy.”

He sneakily entered the kitchen and wrapped Satoru in a tender hug from behind.

“I thought today was my turn to cook,” Geto whispered in his ear.

Satoru set the toast aside, turned around, and kissed him.

“You’re not off the hook. Instead, you’ll help me with the laundry.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow.

“Are you giving me orders?”

Gojo laughed and playfully bit Suguru’s left cheek.

“Yeah. Only I can give orders to the new Jujutsu Tech director.”

Suguru blushed, partly from the pain of his boyfriend’s childish game, and partly from the hint at what would probably be his new position.

“Ouch, Satoru!” He carefully pushed him away. “That’s not a sure thing yet.”

“The fuck is not,” said Satoru, stuffing a whole piece of toast into his mouth. “The old guy wants to retire and might recommend someone. Nanami’s practically nonexistent, Haibara doesn’t seem like he’ll be back anytime soon, and between Shoko and me…no. Impossible.”

“Satoru…” he began, adjusting the white bandage he’d been wearing lately.

“What?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he said, laughing, as he shoved another piece of toast into the albino’s mouth, which he happily received.

He smiled, calm. The truth was, Satoru was right. The Tokyo academic body was basically reduced to everyone Gojo had named and him. Thoughtfully, he considered his supposed competition. As for Nanami, his situation was a bit murky; the sorcerer split his time between the school and his bakery, with a strong preference for the latter, making his appearances at the academy increasingly rare. In Haibara’s case, there wasn’t much to say; he was also a good teacher, in fact, one of the best, but on a mission to Hawaii, he discovered surfing and became instantly addicted. And Shoko…well, Shoko didn’t even call herself a teacher. Her way of dealing with the kids was offering them cigarettes and talking about the importance of introducing clonazepam into daily life once you hit thirty. And then there was Satoru.

Oh, Satoru. The Six Eyes heir had many virtues, tons of them. He could kick your ass in Mario Kart, read the Critique of Pure Reason, and play three full football matches, all in one day, but teaching wasn’t his thing. As much as he tried, this year he was in charge of the third-years, the class where Megumi was. And considering that Megumi had moved to the dorms to get away from Gojo, things weren’t looking too good. Satoru swore he was trying, but Suguru knew not enough. He just skipped his classes and swapped with whoever was in charge of the first or second-years. So, no. Teaching wasn’t his thing. Less so with Megumi.

Thinking about Fushiguro reminded him of his other kids. Tsumiki was also at the school, but he didn’t hear about the girls.

“Nana and Mimi?” he asked, concerned.

Satoru laughed mischievously. One of the things he’d done before starting breakfast was hand over his credit card to the girls so they could go eat whatever they wanted, wherever they wanted, which included a shopping spree at the mall.

Suguru guessed what was going on. It wasn’t the first time. Both relieved and annoyed, he gave the albino a little nudge.

“Stop spoiling them! They should be in school too!”

Satoru shrugged. He didn’t care much about spoiling them. The girls had their own strong opinions about Satoru, but when he waved the black card in front of their little noses, all resentment disappeared. There, Satoru went from being the scruffy simp that Geto Sama had unfortunately chosen as a partner to the cool albino uncle. That was enough for Gojo. It allowed him moments like this, alone with his beloved curse manipulator.

“And they’re going to school! Just in the afternoon, to train with Maki.”

Suguru took his coffee cup, took a sip, and then looked at Satoru, thoughtful. He knew him well. The albino didn’t want to go to the academy that day, but why?

As if on cue, the albino’s phone rang. Suguru glimpsed Shoko’s picture before Satoru hung up.

“You should let her know if you’re going to be late,” Suguru said, pointing at the phone with his cup.

“Who says I’m going to be late? I’ll get the laundry done in less than ten minutes,” said the albino, as he dashed to the laundry room. “Hey, Suguru, don’t play dumb. You need to help me.”

Suguru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watched as Satoru tossed the laundry into the washer without a care. He smiled, seeing how he picked up the underwear with disgust, as if they weren’t his. He thought he was looking at a kid in a thirty-year-old’s body.

Then, he watched as Satoru grabbed a couple of wool skirts and tossed them in with the rest. He approached cautiously and gently took them from his hands.

“These are Nana’s. You know how careful she is with her clothes. They need to be hand-washed,” he said, setting them aside in a different basket.

Satoru leaned on a pile of shirts, annoyed. He really hated this chore. He’d much rather vacuum or wash dishes. There was always some action involved, whether it was encountering a spiderweb full of flies or preventing a couple of glasses from breaking. But doing laundry was slow, contemplative, and, worst of all, there were always garments that needed extra care, which Satoru almost always forgot. That’s why he always wanted Suguru to help him.

“I don’t think anyone will notice if a robot or their dad hand-washed the skirt,” he said, watching Suguru remove some small lint.

“Wow, Satoru, don’t you remember what happened last time?”

Gojo clicked his tongue. Yeah, he had forgotten the disaster of mixing Mimiko’s red socks with Nanako’s blue ribbons, Tsumiki’s white blouses, and Megumi’s black pants. All he’d heard for a whole afternoon were insults like “you’re the worst,” “that’s why nobody goes to your classes,” and “I don’t understand why Geto Sama even lets you handle things.” Well, at least Tsumiki said she was happy her blouses were now pink.

Gojo reflected on that. Things had been much calmer since Megumi and Tsumiki decided to move to the academy dorms. The twins, however, still lived with them and didn’t seem to have any respect for him. Especially Nanako. But the girl’s mind seemed to calm down on days like this, when she and her sister roamed the best shops in town. Though, now that he thought about it, it might not have been the best decision. Last time had cost a lot. More than he usually spent.

Suguru looked at his boyfriend. He was pressing his cheeks with his hands, as he always did when he was lost in thought or worried.

He moved closer and lifted the bandage, revealing Satoru’s right eye. He smiled when he saw him. For some reason, Satoru with one eye seemed strangely attractive.

“It’s not that bad if you forget to separate the colors, little one. I can handle it,” Suguru said, as he put away the rest of the clothes.

Satoru stepped aside to make it easier for his boyfriend, ending up behind him. He walked backward a couple of steps to stand right by the door. He finished removing the bandage and fixed his eyes on what was in front of him.

Gojo Satoru, at almost thirty-one years old, had traveled all over the world. He knew the Great Wall of China, the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building. He had also heard whale song, petted a free elephant and watched the northern lights at their peak. All of the above were astonishing wonders that any mortal would want to experience. But he was not just any mortal. He was above all others because he, the strongest of all, walked in the company of the most exquisite creature ever created. No sight compared to what he was seeing: Suguru, just being Suguru.

His blue eyes followed the movements of the curse manipulator. They measured his long back, then settled on his pronounced shoulder blades, which, with each folded garment, made their presence known with masculine elegance. Suguru felt his boyfriend's penetrating gaze and, in a now familiar game of seduction, let his hair, always graceful, fall over his shoulders. Satoru bit his lips as he watched how that black silk bathed his back, whose length ended just at his waist.

Shit, his waist. There was little else to say about it, except that wrapping his hands around that tight, narrow curve felt, always, like an invitation to heaven made by St. Peter himself. That is when you consider that heaven, for Satoru, was only a few inches below.

His breath hitched as he rested his unseemly gaze on Suguru's ass. What had he done so well, in his past life, that he could now enjoy such a magnificent view? An impeccable roundness, the firmness that only years of martial arts practice could give him and a magnificent bearing that invited him to fall asleep on it; all that encompassed his boyfriend's perfect backside.

Geto, guessing where his eyes were already, leaned back. His buttocks met Satoru's hard crotch.

"Ouch, what if you move, can't you see there's laundry to do? ",Suguru asked, flirtatiously.

Satoru grabbed him by the waist and pulled him tight against him. He fiddled with the fabric of his robe and slowly slipped two of his fingers inside it, just enough to feel his generous member and stir Geto's breathing.

"I don't think I'm interested in teaching today,” he whispered in her ear.

"Satoru...” he sighed, throwing his head back slightly. His violet gaze met Gojo's blue one right away, “Today it's your turn to take exams for the third year students."

Gojo pressed his hips harder against Suguru's butt. Suguru let out a moan.

Ah, here they go again.

"I might get sick,” Satoru began to unbutton Suguru's robe with his right hand, while his left hand caressed Suguru's butt.

"You...you don't get sick,” Suguru moaned, as he grabbed his boyfriend's neck, forcing him to direct his lips to his.

Gojo inhaled with desire at the nape of Suguru's neck. The fragrance of his hair drove him crazy since the first time he had felt it, more than ten years ago. That clean, fresh scent, similar but not the same as lavender, which also enclosed warm, woody notes that intertwined with the natural scent of his skin, a fragrance that invited him to drown in it. Sandalwood and cedarwood came together in a whisper as soft as his moans, a promise of comfort and familiarity that made Satoru feel at home.

And tremendously excited.

Suguru felt the touch of his nose and knew what the albino was feeling. The tresses, violet from the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains, were as soft as the fur of the most majestic of minks. He closed his eyes and listened to his breathing, getting louder and louder.

He turned and finished removing her blindfold.

"It's okay,” he whispered in his ear. "Let's get sick together."

Gojo smiled and took his face in his hands. He began to kiss him, first tenderly, as he used to do; Suguru's face was, at first, as fragile as porcelain. However, as his hands moved down his neck, reached his ches and ended at his waist, his tongue more explored that of the curse manipulator. Nothing tasted sweeter to him than that sensual mouth.

Suguru pushed him away. Eagerly, he pulled down the albino's pants. He was ready to put between his lips that magnificent member, a creation that, probably, came from the hand of Eros. He opened his mouth and first ran his tongue along its entire length, then thrust it all the way in. He licked and sucked while, with his fingers, he fiddled around the outside of Satoru's hole.

Gojo couldn't help but bite his lips, to the point of almost breaking them. There was a kind of desperation, a hunger, in the way Suguru licked his cock that made his back tighten in an electric shiver. He closed his eyes. The busy morning noises outside, full of voices and horns were not enough to quiet the sound of his moans. Gojo's deep voice transformed into a soft chant as he emptied his cum into his adoring boyfriend's mouth.

Suguru stood up and kissed him, with the same desire as the first time. It couldn't be any other way. The man in front of him was simply spectacular. There was no one like him in the whole damn world. Geto would get down on his knees for him every time he asked. He smothered him with his tongue, then followed with his neck. He rested both elbows on the washer and wrapped his legs around him, so that only Satoru's hands on his firm ass kept him from falling to the floor.

"So that's what you want, huh?"

Suguru just laughed.

"Just do your job, Gojo Satoru."

The albino chuckled. Damn, what a blessed job he had.

"Are you ready?"

Geto squeezed him around the waist with his legs.

"What do you think?"

Satoru ran his tongue over his lips again, eager as a hungry man would be in front of the fullest of banquets. He gripped his ass tightly, almost digging his nails into it, and slowly penetrated it.

The smell of flowers from the detergent that Suguru threw away at the uncontrolled pleasure of having him inside him, invaded the atmosphere. They laughed, and then their loud moans and the rubbing of their skin was the only thing that could be heard.

"Suguru..."

Geto didn't answer. He couldn't speak at that moment. His boyfriend's hard member was accomplishing what he was born to do; the only mission he had in the universe, was to bring him to a satisfying and strong orgasm.

"Suguru...” continued the albino, "say my... say my name...".

Suguru's narrow ass was driving him crazy. There was nothing else at that moment, in all the world, that Gojo would rather be doing. The albino was as sure of how much he loved to penetrate him as he was that the darkest of nights is followed by the sun. Fucking him was, quite simply, inevitable.

Suguru clenched his fists. He was ready. And he wanted his beloved to come with him.

"Sa...Sato...."

Gojo began to ram him harder. Geto couldn't hold on any longer. The pleasure was building up in a dangerous snowball effect, generating that burning hot craving to scream, to drown, to explode, that only the luckiest beings on this earth know.

"Satoru..."

The name of the heir of the six eyes functioned as a kind of magic word. As soon as it was pronounced, his whole body tensed and, for the second time that day, he filled Suguru with his liquid, who, already letting himself be carried away by how delicious it was to feel the tingling of his penis inside him, succumbed to orgasm.

Gojo moved in and kissed him, as Suguru's body settled. They both breathed shakily and looked at each other as if one was the reflection of the other.

Because that's what they were, after all.

Suddenly Suguru began to laugh out loud.

"What? What are you laughing at? ", Gojo asked, while fixing his pants.

"Well...we'll have to wash all these clothes again".

Satoru, looking at the mess they had left, also began to laugh. Then he kissed him on the cheek.

"I love you, Suguru. You don't know how much,” he whispered. "You can't even imagine."

Suguru smiled, touched. He would never tire of hearing those words.

"I love you too, Satoru."

And he would never tire of saying them.

*

A while later, sitting on the living room couch, the sorcerers looked at each other. Satoru’s legs were resting on Suguru’s thighs, and Suguru’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, as always. They didn’t say a word, letting the sounds of bustling Tokyo be the only thing they heard. Each was absorbed in their own thoughts, but also in the face of the other. Satoru munched on sweets and blinked, calm but almost expectant, like a dog waiting for a gentle pat. Suguru moved his fingers, making swirls in his hair, playing with it like the most innocent of princesses.

He smiled to himself. There was a warm feeling in being silent with Satoru, in watching the trivialities of routine pass by together, without the need for constant expressions of anything. An intimacy that couldn’t be shared with anyone else, because Suguru knew, simply knew, that there was no safer place than in his partner’s arms. In those moments, Suguru felt with every cell in his body that Satoru was his home.

In the immovability of that moment, Satoru noticed Suguru’s hidden smile. Even though he didn’t express it, something changed on his face. That’s how ingrained Satoru had become with the face of the man who was with him. He moved his feet, and Suguru began to stroke them. Gojo felt the warmth of his hands, still palpable through his thin fingers, and the rhythm of his breathing. He also smiled to himself, realizing that their hearts were beating at exactly the same rhythm. Probably few people would dare to claim with such certainty that they had met their reflection, their other half; Satoru was lucky to be one of them. The synchronization of their breaths was just another expression of the level of connection they shared. If love needed to materialize, there was no better vessel than the two of them. If it needed a language, only they spoke it. And if love needed recognition, only they could give it. In those moments, Satoru realized that Suguru was, to him, everything. Simply, everything.

Suddenly, his phone rang again. Shoko, once more. Gojo cut the call again and then went to the kitchen.

“I’m soooo hungry,” he said, pulling out flour from the pantry and a plate of spaghetti from the fridge.

With a worried expression, Suguru appeared in the room.

“It’s noon and I haven’t gone to the academy.”

Satoru tossed a candy wrapper at him playfully.

“Did you have to give a class?”

“No… just administrative work but…”

The albino started laughing, moved closer, and picked him up by the waist, lifting him above his head.

“But nothing. We got sick together, remember?”

Suguru signaled for him to put him down and then buried his head in the albino’s neck, embarrassed.

“We need to stop fucking so much, everywhere and at every chance…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence because Satoru interrupted him with a loud laugh.

“Come on, idiot! You don’t believe that for even a millisecond!” he said, throwing a handful of flour at him.

The flour swirled in the air before landing in Suguru’s dark hair, covering it in white. Suguru blinked in surprise for a second before bursting into laughter.

“Is that why you got the flour, you idiot? You’ll see!”

Without thinking twice, Suguru grabbed a tomato from the counter and threw it at Satoru. The tomato splattered against Satoru’s chest, leaving a red stain on his pecs. Satoru feigned an exaggerated look of horror, placing a hand over his heart as if he’d been gravely injured.

“This means war, Geto Suguru!”

Quickly, Satoru lunged for the handful of spaghetti he had pulled out and threw it at Suguru, who was laughing loudly as he dodged most of the noodles, though a few ended up hanging from his hair.

“You can’t even aim properly, Satoru!”

Laughter intensified as Suguru responded by tossing a spoonful of tomato sauce, which Satoru barely dodged in time. But before Suguru could celebrate his apparent victory, Satoru slid behind him and wrapped him in a hug from behind, pressing him against his chest.

“Got you, dummy!” Satoru declared triumphantly, his voice full of affection.

Suguru laughed and relaxed in Satoru’s arms, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll surrender this time,” he said, turning his head to look at Satoru with a smile.

Satoru smiled back, lowering his head to kiss Suguru’s cheek gently.

“You know you’d always win if it were serious,” Suguru murmured.

He turned completely in Satoru’s arms, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Maybe... but I like it better when we play like this,” Satoru replied before kissing him.

As always, their kiss was the culmination of what they were: one, in everything. Everything, in one.

Dizzy from the kiss, Suguru leaned back.

“Wow…” he said.

“What?”

“We’ve just left another mess!”

They both laughed, nearly collapsing to the floor. Suguru wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and headed for the broom. He started sweeping while Satoru watched, mesmerized.

He framed the moment with his hands and pretended to press a fake shutter, taking a nonexistent photograph. Realizing what he’d done, Suguru blushed, but moments later, he threw a dish towel at Satoru.

“You’re not escaping cleaning just because you’re charming, Gojo Satoru!”

As he bent down to clean, Satoru stuck his tongue out at him.

“Bah. Stick your tongue out as much as you want because…” Suguru began.

“I love you, idiot.”

Again, the same words, and with them, the same tenderness, the same emotion, and the same desire to always be within his soul.

Suguru sat on the floor, getting to his level.

“I love you too, stupid.”

He returned the gesture, sticking his tongue out at him as well.

*

After cleaning the kitchen, they returned to the sofa. They decided to order something. They were too tired to cook.

To pass the time, Satoru grabbed the PlayStation controller and turned it on. Suguru, raising an eyebrow, took it from him.

“Shouldn’t we do something together?” Suguru asked.

Gojo smiled at him, showing all his white teeth.

“Yeah, play FIFA.”

The TV screen went dark as Suguru left the controller on one end of the coffee table and the TV remote on the other.

“Let’s flip a coin. Heads, a movie. Tails, FIFA. But not the 2019 version, I can’t build my team properly in that one,” Suguru said, a bit thoughtfully, as he took a coin out of his wallet.

Satoru, with the agility of a cat, snatched it from him and, instead of tossing it into the air, threw it hard onto the table.

“Satoru! That’s not how you play heads or tails! And the wood! It’s walnut!”

Gojo put his index finger on his mouth, sensually making the shushing gesture.

“Shhh. Look, it’s in your favor.”

Suguru looked at the table. The coin was on top of the TV remote. He smiled. He knew the albino had done it on purpose. He couldn’t control chance, but he could control how he tossed the coin.

He was so damn perfect.

“You choose, then. But not Dragon Ball, please. I’m so sick of Broly.”

“It’s impossible to get tired of Broly. You just don’t know, Suguru.”

Geto laughed. His favorite hobby was cinema. That, plus a diploma in film appreciation, contradicted the albino’s statement.

“Fine, impress me,” Suguru said.

Satoru frowned. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Geto hadn’t seen, and knowing which ones he wanted to repeat was like trying to count grains of sand. He tossed him the controller while leaning back on the sofa.

“You win, dummy.”

Suguru smiled, a look of childish mischief in his violet eyes. He was about to start one of his favorite movies when Satoru’s phone rang again. Again, it was his friend and colleague’s photo, and again, Gojo hung up.

He looked at him, worried.

“Why did you really miss today? Satoru, if you have a problem or…”

Satoru pushed the hair from his forehead and kissed him. It made him feel tender that his boyfriend was so disciplined, that he couldn’t conceive a day of pure and simple laziness. Because, hours earlier, seeing him asleep, he felt so ineffably in love, so immersed in the strands of his black hair, so lost in the violet of his eyes, that he couldn’t conceive another way to spend his hours.

“I just wanted to be with you,” he said, while caressing him. He took his left hand and started to play with his ring finger.

Suguru’s heart began to beat hard. He knew what that meant.

“Something is missing here…” Gojo said, laughing.

Suguru took the albino’s left hand and did the same.

“Yeah. Here too.”

Satoru brought his nose close to Suguru’s and rubbed it gently.

“When…?”

“Soon, Satoru. Soon.”

He kissed him on the cheek, took the remote control, and started the movie. Satoru closed his eyes with a smile. He wasn’t worried that they still weren’t engaged. At this point, no ring could symbolize the immense love he had. Besides, he knew it was just a matter of time. Nothing could make him distrust what they had. The best thing he could do at that moment was to enjoy every second with him, even if it meant falling asleep during the Tarkovsky film Suguru had so boringly chosen.

Suguru looked at him, amused. He knew he would fall asleep, but that was what he wanted. He was much more concerned about his erratic schedules than having a ring on his finger. Yes, he wanted to marry Satoru, that was obvious with every laugh he brought him, but it wasn’t the main thing. For now, he just wanted him to stop behaving every day as if he were immortal. If there was one thing Geto was sure of, it was wanting to live many, many years with the man beside him.

Without turning off the TV, he snuggled up next to Satoru and rested his head on his chest. He felt his breathing rise and fall, slowly and smoothly, like few things were in the albino’s life. He stroked his abdomen, outlining each of his muscles. He stopped when he reached his groin. He didn’t want to wake him.

Suddenly, the albino opened his eyes. He looked at him, laughed, took his hand, and kissed it. Then, playfully, he grabbed Suguru and placed him on top.

Geto moved, amused, on his lap.

“You never stop, Satoru.”

Gojo released Suguru’s hair and placed it over his shoulders. He looked at him for a moment. Yes, perfect. The words of Shakespeare, Neruda, and Keats would seem small, insufficient to describe his face. And it wasn’t necessary to do so, not when he was lucky enough to admire it every day, he thought, as he wrapped his fingers in his long hair.

“You’re beautiful, Suguru.”

Geto’s cheeks turned pink. All this time together and he was still embarrassed by the albino’s compliments, not because he didn’t believe them, but because he was touched by the sincere tone of his voice. No one could doubt, ever, that Satoru truly believed that Geto was molded in the image and likeness of the gods of Olympus.

He kissed him, first on the lips and then moved down to his neck. He was thinking of continuing, but this time it was his phone that rang. It was Shoko.

“Let it ring,” Satoru pleaded.

“Honey, she’s called more than three times. If she calls me now, it’s for a reason,” Suguru replied as he put on his black silk robe.

“Hello?” he answered the phone, while he was getting dressed.

“Hi, idiot! What are you doing?”

Suguru tightened his mouth. Shoko was probably the last person who wanted to know he was about to have sex with Satoru. Oh no, that was Nanami. But Shoko was definitely the second last.

“Did something happen?”

“Well, if you call having to cover your classes something, then yes. I hate teaching, you know that. And I’ve been bored all day. I just wanted to talk to you, you wouldn’t believe what happened.”

Suguru moved a little. He didn’t want Satoru to hear that the sorceress had called him just to chat.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Ijichi asked me out. What do you think? Should I say yes?”

He covered his mouth, excited by the gossip. He had a lot to say about it. However, that could wait.

“How about we go out for a beer tomorrow and you can tell me all about it?” He looked at Satoru, who had turned his back with his eyes closed. “I’m a bit busy right now.”

Shoko’s loud laughter came from the phone. Suguru moved the phone a bit away from his ear as the sorceress continued talking about her day.

Just as Suguru was about to hang up, he heard her say:

“…Well, and those are the kinds of things Nanami only says. And you? Did you just stay home with your ridiculous boyfriend? I didn’t think you were the type to do nothing on a Wednesday.”

Suguru looked at Satoru, who had turned back to sleep, mouth open, drooling. What had he really done? Drink coffee, do laundry, have sex with the love of his life, try to cook, propose to watch a movie with him. Look at his eyes, listen to his voice, laugh at his clumsiness. Feel him.

Feel him.

Feel him.

That was something, definitely. But so intimate, so woven into each other’s souls, that telling Shoko about it didn’t make sense.

He walked to the couch and stroked Satoru’s hair, tucking his rebellious strands behind his ears.

“I think you’d rather not know,” he said, laughing.

As Shoko’s disgusted scream was heard from the other end of the phone, Suguru hung up. He looked at Satoru, who opened his eyes, mischievous, and kissed him.

“Shall we go again?” he asked, with a kind of purring voice, his face blushing and full of hope.

Suguru laughed and stroked his cheeks.

“Let’s go again.”

———————————🖤🤍

Art by ©️ Mindiiw.com

—————-AO3:

[sytoran]

double-edged sword | teom part i

Wanda Maximoff's marriage with her husband is not going too well. To add insult to injury, her new neighbour is pretty fuckin' hot.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. established wandavision, implied unhealthy coping mechanisms, infidelity, thirsting, unresolved sexual tension, reader uses she/they pronouns

──── WORD COUNT. 1.5k

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A ray of the morning glow on her eyes takes Wanda out of her sweet slumber. Groggily rubbing at her face, Wanda’s eyes slowly adjust as she scans the room.

Viridescent eyes fall to the empty side of the bed next to her. Of course.

Vision, her husband, had been acting different lately. Private phone calls, late nights at work, leaving early in the morning. She no factual evidence to prove what smelt like infidelity, but it was definitely there and Wanda wasn’t as naive as her husband thought she was.

But well, there was only so much she could do about it.

To any outsider, it might seem like she was already living the high life: With a rich husband who worked as a banker, two sprightly kids who were essentially bundles of joy, a big house with a white picket fence...... She had nothing to complain about, right?

Turns out, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Life was too monotone. too standard, too peaceful, too perfect. Sometimes, Wanda felt like her life was one of those sitcoms she so loved: The picture-perfect family, a portmanteau of situational comedy — But that was it, and that false idealisation of perfection was all Wanda would ever be able to actually achieve.

At the recognition of things going awry, Wanda shudders. the room suddenly wasn’t so comfortable. It was spacious, but it was empty, and it didn’t feel like home.

Home. What was home, anyway?

Was it the nights spent with Pietro and her parents, watching sitcoms and eating stale snacks? Was it her sons’ football games she went to, to cheer them on and scream her lungs out?

Well, either way, it definitely wasn’t how Vision had been treating her.

Wanda lets a soft groan fall from her lips and she stretches. As she’s about to finally get out of bed, the sound of a motorcycle revving from a distance hauls Wanda out of her train of thought.

Her ears prick up, sliding off the covers to look out of the window that had a good view of the house next door.

Wanda watches, with keen eyes, as a moving truck pulls up into the driveway. “Right, I’m getting a new neighbour,” Wanda muses, remembering how Agatha told her last Friday that the Simmons had managed to sell the house for a fair bit and then some more.

A bearded man with long blonde hair gets out of the truck, jogging over to the back to start shifting the boxes.

The brunette is about to shut her curtains and carry on with her day, when a different person pulls up into the driveway on a black motorcycle, then leaping off and kicking the stand in a swift motion. Wanda’s attention is tugged back again, her heart inexplicably thrumming a little faster than normal.

“Thanks, Thor!” the motorcyclist calls out, slapping the older man on the back. “I’ve got it from here!”

Wanda shifts closer to the window, hand gripping the windowsill. There was no explanation for why she was so enthralled by that mysterious woman, with the structured arms and glorious physique.

With a pinch of inquisitiveness, Wanda waits and watches as 'Thor' unloads the truck and drives off with a cheery wave. The tall motorcyclist is left there, face glowing the warm sun, light effortlessly reflecting off their arms.

Wanda peels her eyes from that sin-stained window, shaking her head in a means to stop being a fool. You’ve just been sexually repressed, that’s all, Wanda reasons.

She leaves to make herself a cup of hot tea, but when she’s done she finds herself going back to her bedroom window to stare at the new, hot neighbour again. This time, you’re moving the boxes, a sheen of sweat covering layers of muscle, all the yardwork being unreasonably attractive to Wanda.

“You’re married,” Wanda whispers to herself, eyes going to the wedding photo with vision. It seemed grey, compared to the burst of colours before her eyes.

Despite her chastising, Wanda’s marital state didn’t deter her from the inexplicable enthrallment towards her neighbour, however. When you reached up to stretch, and your black tank top rode up to expose an impeccably-sculpted torso, Wanda let out a shuddering breath.

Almost as if on cue, you chance upon that exact timing to look up at Wanda’s window, and her breath comes to a standstill.

There was no relieving herself from the embarrassing situation. Wanda clutches the cup of tea harder, expression frozen, knowing she must look like some kind of freak. A married lady in her late thirties thirsting over a younger woman in their early twenties?

To Wanda’s surprise and downfall of her beating heart, the motorcyclist sends her a quick wink, and as quickly goes back to unpacking and moving.

Wanda Maximoff’s heart nearly gives out.

She basically throws the curtains shut, collapsing into her bed once again with an embarrassed cry and a suspiciously pleased noise. Already, she finds herself recalling the specks of dirt over their face and arms, their grunts of exhaustion, and that sinful, rouguish, wink.

Shit, living next to someone so effortlessly irresistible was going to be a living hell.

===

Fame was a double-edged sword.

Sure, it seemed like the high life, with countless fans and ungodly amounts of money, and interviews all over the radios, and expensive liquor, and women-

It was never right.

As a basketball player, You were thrown into the unwanted limelight at a mere ten years old – With a play a little too amazing for someone yet to hit puberty, it was all set in stone. From there, you rose through the ranks, faster than the basketball world had ever seen. Match after match, record after record, victory after victory…… it was a means to an end.

A private life was non-existent, something uncalled for, for such an inspirational and famous individual. Celebrity, some might call it. Shoved on a pedestal, more like.

The darker aspects were ugly and scarred. Press interviews so stressful and questions so invading you had to do everything to not throw up there and then. Practice after practice, so grueling and body-wracking, and your head never stopped spinning, and the fans never stopped chanting.

Breakdowns turned into a means for escapism, turned into twisted coping mechanisms. No one knew.

There were……fantasies. Desires. Longing. Wrong, that’s for sure, but it helped. It feasted on you like an apex predator, urging you to tap into it.

You had to escape.

Because fame was a scythe pierced into your neck, missing your jugular vein by mere inches.

Your sweet saviour was something unorthodox, coming in the form of a humble town named Westview. A private area, tucked away and unappealing. There were hardly any residents, and they were of a generally older population.

No media, no paparazzi, no matches, no tournaments. You bought a decently comfy house in less than a month after your discovery. not to appease your public image. Just for you, in fact. Just for you and your much-needed rest.

It was the beginning of something good.

Or so you naively believed.

Remember the aforementioned coping mechanisms? Dark, and twisted little fantasies? Corrupt, and evil, and morally grey?

Well, turns out, your forbidden fruit would happen to lie in the form of your very married next-door neighbour.

===

Yes, your neighbour is hot. Like, really fuckin' hot.

That's the first thing you notice when looking up at the window of the house next door, to find that she was already looking at you.

Your neighbour looked reasonably older than you, but ethereal nonetheless. Slightly curly long brown hair pulled into a bun atop her head, stray hairs somehow impeccably framing her face, small hands gripping onto a teacup adorably.

From a distance, you weren’t graced with the vision of clarity — but from what you could see, the way her green eyes shone, flecks of gold and glimmering with light — you didn’t think your eyes had ever laid on something more breathtaking.

When you winked at her, and she blushed instantaneously while fidgeting with her hands – the desired reaction, by the way – you already knew that your new neighbour would be your latest conquest.

A slow smirk grew on your face, thanking the higher powers that lead you to Westview.

Oh, say it's wrong, to treat a pretty girl like a coping mechanism, to please one after the other, until there were none left.

Then look at me in the eyes and tell me that a pretty girl screaming your name as she falls apart in your hands isn't the best thrill in the world, to conquer and devour and make yourself her world, even if it’s for those few sacred moments.

You shrug off the intrusive thoughts, releasing a short gush of air, reminding yourself once again that you were here for a new change of pace. Your inner urges could take its toll afterwards.

It seemed like keeping those inner urges at bay would prove to be a difficult task, though.

You sigh, averting your attention back the remaining unmoved furniture.

It was going to be a long day.

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[bunnylovesani]

The Bratty Belle

Chapter 1

Summary: You’ve just moved to the city and want to get to know your new neighbours. One very snarky and very handsome one in particular presents you with a challenge.

WC: 2k

After spending all day unpacking, you finally sat down to observe your new surroundings: you’d kept most of your old furniture, like the vanity table perched in the corner along with your beloved princess bed- complete with an intricately carved wooden headboard. The room was pleasantly familiar beside the new addition of white chiffon curtains that hung around your bed, shrouding you in a comforting cocoon. You let out a dreamy sigh, fiddling with the numerous pillows and plushies littered all over your plush bedding. You might be old enough to move to the big city and have your own condo, but you’ll still cuddle your tatty old teddy to sleep.

Peering out the window, you observe the neighbouring houses strewn along the street opposite, a green meadow separating the complexes. Most of them had a door and mailbox per floor, signifying that a different person resided on each of the levels. The same could not be said, however, for the last house at the very end of the street, which stood detached and boasted a single entryway. It was the only house you could see into being that it was directly opposite yours- unlike the other condos, which joined together in rows a little further up the road. You’d only moved in 2 days ago but noticed that the blinds were shut and the lights always remained off. Maybe no one lived there?

As a reward for your gruelling work unpacking, you took some candy along with your sketchpad and headed out to the field outside your new home. Deciding against another layer over your pink mini dress, you grabbed a picnic blanket and staked out the perfect spot - cosy and tucked away so that the neighbours down the road wouldn’t notice you. Your feet kicked the air playfully as you doodled the flowers in your line of sight, humming contentedly with a cherry-flavoured lollipop hanging from your lips. You were so engrossed in your sketch that you almost didn’t notice the shadow looming over you, blocking the warm sunlight.

“Who are you?” A tall man with dark features frowned at you and you looked up, mirroring his frown.

“I don’t talk to strangers.” You huffed, returning your attention to your notebook. That wasn’t strictly true- you were bubbly and befriended anyone who would have you but this man in particular intimidated you.

“What are you, ten?” He scoffed and raised his thick eyebrows, forehead wrinkles deepening.

Much to your annoyance, you could sense that he wasn’t leaving before he got a satisfactory response - so you put your pencil down and looked up at him again. His cerulean blue eyes shone so brightly they practically twinkled and a sharp spark flew through your heart at the sight. Rugged, almost-black hair choppily framed his chiselled face, which had smudges of dirt and sweat flecking his tanned skin. A manual labourer, perhaps?

“I’m Bunny. Jus’ moved in over there.” You turn around and point at the apartment behind you. “And you are?”

“Happy to see you.” His deep, raspy voice replied teasingly.

“I meant your name.” You corrected him snappily.

“My real one or a fake one like you just gave me?” You pout your lips; you didn’t like his sharp tongue.

“I’m James. James Kelly.” He said after a while of staring at your scrunched-up face. “I’ll call you by your stupid pet name if you crave affection that badly.”

Your mouth gaped open at his callous words and you felt as though you’d been unmasked. It was undoubtedly pathetic but the truth was you considered your first name to be too harsh, too cold. You much preferred being sensitively referred to by an affectionate pet name- one that people often didn’t realise they were being duped into using, assuming it was real. But not him.

“You won’t get the opportunity to use it, I’ll make sure of that.” You crossed your arms and furrowed your brows.

“Well you’re just a little ball of anger aren’t you?” He chuckled, finding your short temper adorable. “Very tense for one so young.”

“And you’re very nosy for one so old.” You gather your colouring pencils into your fluffy pencil case, your creative inspiration rattled by his presence. You surmised that he was at least 10 years your senior; his hands looked weathered but still supple, his crows feet visible but not yet entrenched.

“Hey, you don’t have to move, I’m leaving.” He protests but you’re already on your feet. “Alright moody, suit yourself.”

You shoot him a displeased look as you clutch your sketchpad tightly against your chest, turning your back to him and taking a step forward.

“By the way.” He adds and you halt tentatively. “You should really wear a longer dress if you’re gonna be laying down like that. I could see your panties.”

Your cheeks flush a burning red and you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment.

“They’re cute though. I like the strawberry print.” You can feel his grin beaming through his words and you want nothing more than to run away and never see his stupid handsome face again.

“Leave me alone.” You attempt to say confidently but it comes out as more of a squeak. You tried to walk off with as much dignity as you could manage under the pressure of his burning gaze but you ended up frantically skipping back, wanting to go home and bury your face in your pillows as soon as possible.

“What a rude man.” You thought. “Rude and irritatingly attractive.”

Later that evening, you took it upon yourself to bake several lots of chocolate chip cookies- eager to use them as a way of getting into your new neighbour’s good graces since you lived off a steady diet of praise and compliments. You separated the different batches and ordered them into various paper bags, each lovingly wrapped with a ribbon and placed delicately into a woven wicker basket. Glancing into the mirror before you set off, you manoeuvred your lace-trimmed tank top down a little to accentuate your cleavage- you loved to watch men struggle to maintain eye contact with you.

After determining your chest looked too bare, you bounded over to the bedroom to retrieve your favourite necklace- a dainty silver rabbit pendant. As you fiddled with the clasp, something out of the window caught your eye- you noticed that the house usually shrouded in darkness had a glimmer of light peeking through its half-opened blinds.

Curiosity inevitably got the better of you so you grabbed your baked goods and made a beeline to the dark house, intrigued by the prospect of who its resident might be.

Clearing your throat and brushing some creases out of your skirt, you press the sooty doorbell and hope your mystery neighbour is in a sociable mood. The hopeful smile is wiped off your face when the door opens and you see the same rude man from this morning before you.

“Look at that! My very own girl scout.” He laughs incredulously and you form a face of disgust.

“It’s you.” You recoiled.

“Try saying that with less repulsion.” He retaliated, eyes flicking between your frowning face, your tits and the basket of cookies. “Coming to a man’s house and being disappointed that he lives there. That a hobby of yours?”

“N-no, I didn’t know who lived here.” You stuttered, taking in the sight before you: he must’ve just gotten out the shower as his hair was dripping wet and his shirt unbuttoned, a silver cross necklace dangling over his collarbones and positioned between his firm pecs.

“Thought you said you don’t talk to strangers, let alone turn up at their house.” He cocked his head to the side, leaning against his doorframe. “Uninvited, at that.”

“I don’t. At least not the rude ones who make comments about a girl’s underwear.” You retorted petulantly.

“Hey, that was me looking out for you. Don’t know what kind of pervs live ‘round here- they could take advantage of a girl like you. Those for me?” He points at the basket.

“I-I guess.” You go to take out one bag but he snatches the whole basket. “What do you mean a girl like me?”

“Oh you know-“ He speaks casually, mouth half full of his first helping of baked goods already. “Ditzy. Spoilt and naive.”

You huff in disbelief- you’d hardly had two conversations with the guy and he’d managed to insult you several times already.

“Don’t get offended, princess. I’m sure you’re not used to people speaking so candidly with you but welcome to the real world.” He makes a face indicating that he was impressed with your confectionary, licking the crumbs off his fingers. “This your first time living away from home?” He points his second cookie at your face before stuffing that in his mouth too.

“Uh, yeah.” You drawl, confused. What planet was this guy from?

“Alone?” He lowers his voice, staring hungrily into your eyes.

“Yeah.” You squeak, wondering why your confidence had abandoned you.

“Shouldn’t have told me that.” He sneered. “I could be a predator and you’ve just armed me with the knowledge that you have no one to protect you.” His eyes look crazed and you get the sense that he got a kick out of playing around with you.

“Well, are you?” You reply unamused and he drops the act, looking at you through squinted discerning eyes.

“Mm, no.” He sniffed. “Haven’t got the stomach for it. Great cookies, by the way. You’re quite the little baker.”

You can’t resist the smile that creeps up on your face, delighted with his approval. “I try.” You humbly gleam, teetering on your tiptoes.

“Aw, you actually look sort of pretty when you’re not scowling.” Your glowing face drops in an instant, marred by his insult.

“Sort of?”

“Yeah. Like in an endearing but bratty child kind of way.” He notices your sullen face, tensed up with disapproval and confusion. “You’re not really my type, sweetheart.”

“Y-you’re not mine either!” You spit out a little too fast.

“The only difference is I don’t care.” He snorts and you remain in stunned silence, your ego bruised beyond words. “What’s the matter? Never had a man uninterested in you? Come in, I’ll make you a consolatory coffee.”

He gestures for you to enter and you walk in cautiously, following his lead to the lounge. His house was minimalist, fitted with sleek black furniture and a surprisingly clean kitchen at the other end of the living room.

“I don’t drink coffee. And what is your type then?” You sink down onto his leather armchair and cross your arms.

“I like a more mature, developed woman.” You look down at your large round breasts. “I meant emotionally.” He adds before you can say anything.

“I’m plenty mature.” You think grumpily. You knew better than to base your self-worth on the validation of a man but goddamn it, you wanted him to like you even if you didn’t like him.

“My type is also mature men.” You countered haughtily.

“I don’t recall asking.” He pours himself a coffee and sits down opposite you, continuing to steal glances at your chest.

“I also like them wealthy.” You add, spurred on by his disaffection.

“Like your daddy?” He smirks as he takes a sip and you scowl at him.

“Oh no, not the frown again.” He falters mockingly. “If looks could kill…you know Bunny, you shouldn’t let things get to you so easily.”

“Can’t help it. I’m sensitive.” You mumble half-mindedly, preoccupied with plotting all the ways in which you could seduce him. You tried to have self-respect, you really did, but it was just so hard. Especially when you’d just been dealt such an unprecedently juicy challenge; a man who didn’t want to sleep with you? It was practically unheard of and you humbly decided you would take it upon yourself to cure him of this affliction.

Next chapter

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[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Spider Webs Part 2 - König*Fem!Reader

Let’s play a game with our colonel.

Part two of my previous writing:

content warning: 18+, mdni, phone sex, masturbation, monitoring

100% will have part 3 because this isn’t what I’m planning first and I accidentally made myself need to write another chapter to finish this work, but hope you enjoy! :)

part 3 bonus chapter 1

Since the day König discovered your obsession with him at your home, your relationship shifted from “superior and subordinate” to something much more intimate, between lovers and predators with their prey.

Who is the predator, and who is the prey? Nice question.

You would feign that you were going to give him his favorite latte and report some “important information”, went into his office, and came out 20 minutes later.

“gott, your hands... so tight... shit...! ahh...”Your delicate hands wrapped tightly around his cock, moving at a swift pace, and after you gave him a playful squeeze on the tip, König came with a moan in your hand, cum splattered on your black shirt.

“Oooh, colonel.” You said with a fake concerned tone “You’re too loud, and you stained my shirt. Do you want your comrades to know what a slutty pervert you are? Cumming hard in your assistant’s hands behind the door of your office?”

“Nein...” 

His voice was raspy, weakly spoken due to the exhaustion of post-orgasm.

You took out your handkerchief — the one you hid before so he would come to your house to find it — wiping the cum from your hand and your clothes while maintaining eye contact with König.

“Let’s play a game, colonel.” A mischievous smile appeared on your face. “From now on, no more self pleasuring, no more helping each other, or even sex for us."

“Whoever breaks the rules first needs to listen to the other person's order.” He watched you fold the handkerchief into a perfect square, put it on his desk, and left him panting on his chair.

You didn’t give him a chance to reject, not like he wouldn’t oblige though.

You gave him three tiny monitors and told him to set them up in his office and his room, of course, no blind spots were allowed. In return, you gave him access to those monitors you set up before to catch him sneaking into your house.

With these monitors, you both were able to see what the other was doing all the time.

Including the bathroom, because you both were sick perverts.

König’s libido wasn't that high until he met you, so he thought he might be able to beat you by imagining what he could do to you as a reward for the longtime self-control he maintained during your dangerous game.

But apparently, you weren’t an easy competitor to be beaten.

Sometimes he opened his laptop, clicked on the app for the monitors, and saw you walking in a black nightgown, the silky and close-fitting one that hugs your curves and challenged his self-control.

Well, you should admit he was doing much better than you estimated too.

You bought a second monitor for your computer, just for you to watch him every moment, and he really didn’t do anything sex-related.

You praised him right into his ear when he sat on his office chair, noticing him clutched onto the armrest hard enough to make his knuckles white, but he still played the game pretty well.

But no matter how he well performed, it’s still your game, you would win, eventually.

König came back from a two-week mission at night, it’s not arduous, but it’s an annoying one.

He walked to his office, took off his gear, and sat on his chair with a tired grunt.

The curtains were down, avoiding any moonlight pouring into the room,and he sat under the dim light of the lamp, eyes flickered around, finally lying on his laptop.

What were you doing now? 

He missed you, he hadn’t seen you for two weeks, he missed the little praises you whispered to him, missed the heart-warming smile you gave to others, which only turned to a fetching one when you looked at him with evil glints in your eyes.

Open the laptop and clicked on the app he opened countless times before, he searched over the monitors to find your figure.

and there you are, lying on your bed, wearing a silver-white nightgown this time.

Your chest rose and fell at a steady pace, your facial expression was calm.

You looked divine in his eyes, like a goddess.

But his gaze moved down, to the place the strap of the nightgown fell down your shoulder, and down to the part of your skirt riding up, revealing your thigh.

König felt his body was consumed by fire, burning fiercely at the sight of you, even though you looked serene, the dirty thoughts about you were unstoppable in his mind.

How eager he wanted to kiss your soft lips, grab your thighs and ram into your pussy with an unforgivable pace, and left a bite mark on your shoulder until you cry out his name loudly.

He looked at the monitor again, you hadn't moved an inch, dead asleep because it was already midnight at the moment.

He hesitantly put his hand over the obvious bulge his cock made in his cargo pants. You wouldn’t discover if he pleasured himself this time, right?

but when he touched his shaft over his pants, he knew it was unable to stop right now.

He quickly pulled his cargo pants to his knee, letting his cock spring out with how hard it already was, the precum made a mess to his palm when he started moving his hand at a quick speed.

“Hmm...so gut...” He closed his eyes, recalling the memory of you falling to your knees, pink lips swallowing his cock, and he could almost hear the squelch sounds when you took him deep down in your throat.

but his breath hitched and a stuttered groan left him when he opened his eyes again.

You stared right at him through the camera, the corner of your eyes crinkling as your lips formed a cheeky grin.

Oh, he was so fucked up.

He watched you reached your arm, opened the bedside drawer, and took out your phone.

His work phone rang a few seconds later.

“Good evening, sir.” Your happiness was obvious in your voice. “What are doing now? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Schatz...” König moaned out, but his hand only became quicker once your voice flowed into his ear.

“Don’t feel sorry, colonel.” You cooed, and his eyes were glued to your body when you sat up on the edge of your bed, eyes never left the camera.

“Just came back from a tough mission, right? I know, don’t worry.” Your leg are placed over the other. “Let me help you, okay?”

“Bitte... I need you, h-help me...” König’s hand shakily holding his phone, and he knew he must sounded pathetic.

“I missed you so much, König. You know that?” You shift your hips a little bit, pulling your nightgown higher, and higher until fully expose your lacy black underwear to him. 

“How much I want to lay my hands on you..... feel your cock twitch under my touch......” 

You opened your legs. König can see it clearly even through the monitor, your panties were already been soaked by your arousal, making a darker spot at the clothes cling to your pussy, and he moaned out at the sight.

“When you come to the office in the daytime, what should I do to you as my trophy? Should I make you lick all my juices when I sit on your face, making your hood dampen by them? Or should I bring you a collar with my name on it, and make you mine forever?”

König already felt like he was about to cum, too long without having any relief, without seeing your pretty face and hearing your sugary words,making his orgasm build up much faster than usual.

“Ja! Make me yours! Bitte... Mach mich zu deinem...verlass mich nicht...ahh” (Make me yours...don’t leave me)

He tumbled over the edge with a high pitch whine, lukewarm cum spilled all over his skin and his abdomen, and in his hazy mind, he could only hear your enchanting voice, telling him the thing he wanted to hear the most.

“Good...So good for me. Now, ready for your punishment, yeah?”