#it just so easily became second nature to be tender

[mosquito-queen]

the first thing she notices after pushing open the door to her apartment is a breeze. and with it, a fresh layer of annoyance is tacked onto the already simmering anger. yelena is going to drive the electricity bill through the roof - why can’t she just use the door? she has a key for christ’s sake. a key!

the thought of the key makes kate grind her teeth, leaves an ache in her chest, makes her confuse anger and hurt. yelena has a fucking key.

kate steps into the apartment, drops her bag and does a scan for the familiar blonde. she still hasn’t decided how she’s going to approach this conversation, still doesn’t know how to make sense of her own emotions and much less yelena’s, doesn’t know the right words to make sense for either of them. maybe she shouldn’t have it.

claws skittering on the hardwood interrupt her thoughts. lucky is beelining from the end of the hall towards kate, and on his heels comes yelena’s voice, strained, “kate bishop, where is the -“

but kate is stepping into the bathroom doorway, holding up a new bag of gauze. she almost forgets to be angry.

because yelena is in the middle of mediocre surgery: she’s standing barefoot on the bath mat, leaning against the sink counter with her shirt off, and pulling a surgical wire through her skin just above her hip. there are bloody handprints on the porcelain, bandage wrappers littering the floor, and she’s got a split eyebrow that would fare better with some of those stitches instead of butterfly bandages. kate’s frown deepens when she spies the bottles: an open whiskey on the closed toilet lid and the other a beer on the sink ledge with condensation forming a sheen of water speckled with blood. the beer is an ice pack and the other is nursed as tylenol. ridiculous woman.

“ah, yes,” yelena motions between the stitching and bag, “can you?”

“hello to you too,” kate mutters, opening the gauze pack.

kate hasn’t seen yelena in nearly a week. well, yelena hasn’t seen her in nearly a week. she’s shown up to the apartment in worse states, but this one is confusing. yelena had been perfectly fine last night. in a dress. no scratches. perfectly fine with jewelry and her hair up and her eyes had been glittering at someone that wasn’t kate. she had been fine last night.

the humiliation and anger rise with bile in the back of kate’s mouth. why is she so incredibly angry? it isn’t like they’re formally dating. she swallows hard and washes her hands quickly in the sink before taking over, shooing away yelena’s hands from the wounds after yelena finishes the last stitch.

kate starts dressing it. she has gotten remarkably better at playing doctor since noticing yelena does a shit job patching herself up - not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t care enough.

but kate is still mad at her.

yelena lounges her weight against the sink, completely gives up control to kate’s hands. trusts her without meaning to, or understanding why, or even being aware of it. she mistakes the reason for the quiet and the way kate still hasn’t made eye contact, “i will clean up.”

kate blurts: “you know, i saw you.” she swipes the antiseptic a little too harshly and yelena flinches, “last night,” she moves to inspect the rest of yelena’s wounds, planning on returning to the cut on her hip after it’s settled a bit longer, “with him.”

“what?” yelena frowns, and kate is roughly tilting her head to fix the poorly applied bandages along her jaw. yelena’s eyes dart, try to find kate’s, but there’s no luck.

instead, kate grinds out: “at the restaurant. i saw you kiss him.”

but yelena is only half listening. she’s too hung up on the way that everything feels wrong in this room, she’s too caught up in the intensity at which kate is refusing to look her in the eyes. she’s unable to understand why it bothers her so much that kate won’t look. why isn’t she looking? kate is always looking at her.

she’s always looking at her in a way that makes yelena’s heart rate pick up, in a way that makes her palms sweaty, in a way that makes it an easy choice to seek out kate’s bed after a mission. she’s done this a million times now, hasn’t she? where she’s come home - home? - in the dead of night, or lazy afternoons, or right before the birds start to sing (kate hates when it’s in the morning), and kate sits her on the sink or the toilet or the edge of the bath and tends her wounds. and she looks at yelena like she’s trying to make a wish.

and it feels like, fuck it feels like… it feels like more than just patching wounds. kate has gotten remarkably better. and that’s how it always goes. except right now. instead, kate’s fingers are tight under her jaw and she isn’t being careful or soft or even looking at her. god, why does it bother her so much?

“kate, look at me.” yelena is pulling her face away from the archer’s grip, leaning off the counter and standing on her own, and kate instinctually takes a step back. she obeys, looks yelena in the eye, looks at her in way that makes yelena’s mouth go dry. and she barely makes out: “why are you angry with me?”

and it’s the wrong thing to say.

and yelena wishes she never asked kate to look at her.

because the fury boring down on her makes yelena’s insides balk. because she never wants to be looked at like that - like she’s committed the most painful atrocity against the one person her mind always drifts towards. she doesn’t have too much time to reflect on why it hurts so much for kate to look at her like that.

because kate is spluttering, throwing her hands up, “of course i am angry! what did you think was going to happen? i saw you kiss him! and i thought -“

it suddenly becomes stupid, too vulnerable, too much. kate trails off, covering her face with her hands, groaning, “oh god.”

but it’s too late: “what? what did you think?”

“yelena. what in the - what? don’t you - aren’t we…?” she trails off, gesturing between the two of them. gesturing to the past months of yelena using kate’s apartment like her own home, of yelena waking up with nightmares until kate invites her into her bed, of yelena keeping the fridge stocked, of kate patching up yelena in the bathroom and being close enough that they share the same breath, of kate braiding yelena’s hair, of them spending until the break of dawn talking and talking and talking…

and yelena could resolve this. she could easily say: it was a job, and the fresh smattering of hurt was the end result, and that kate should see the other guy. or what was left of him.

but instead, yelena is growing cold and turns her back on kate so she can face the mirror and identify the next section of bodily pain to address. now it’s her turn not to look at kate. she feels something clench in her chest, wants to soothe the fear welling inside, a fear she does not want to address, “i do not know what you are insinuating, kate bishop. spit it out.”

it’s cruel and they both know it. they both know yelena is on the brink of running, and maybe that’s why kate is standing in the door frame with her eyes locked on yelena’s reflection in the mirror: “you treat me like you’re in love with me, but you’re out there kissing him.”

love?

yelena white knuckles the counter top, that frenzied panic tearing up through her heart and lungs and clawing its way up her throat. no. she just… no, kate’s just confused. yelena doesn’t… she can’t do that. right? only the version before the red room had capacity for that. she’s not formed any connection with anyone after the red room in the same way she felt so deeply as a child. a weapon cannot…

love?

she grew up in a way that controlled for that, that didn’t make space for that, that never intended for her to have access to human emotions. instead, everything became a transaction. what was love but another word for manipulate? and yet… what else was it when she felt compelled to be close to kate, and to protect her, and to memorize her overly complicated pizza order just in case she had a bad day? oh fuck. why did it hurt so much when kate wouldn’t look at her? why did she want her hands to be the ones to fix her?

love.

she’s focusing on the wrong thing again. because yelena’s idea of love was defined by whatever disney movies she had watched in ohio. it had never crossed her mind of what love actually looked like in the real world. she had no idea where to even go with this conversation that would be remotely helpful. so yelena leans into the only thing she does know and that she is remarkably good at: pushing people away.

so yelena says into the mirror, “n-no. why would you? that’s not anything i wanted you to think.”

a small part of kate wants desperately for yelena to mean she didn’t want kate to think she had been willingly kissing someone else. a small part of her wants to think that yelena is absolutely in love with her but too pigheaded to admit it. but, that part is small and the rest of kate knows that her face is red hot and her hands are clenched, and she wants to break that stupid fucking mirror, “then what do you want? why are you always here? in my bed, in my personal space, in my fucking clothes. why do you always come back here? just stay gone then, just go. we don’t have to play nice just because we’re hawkeye and black widow.”

for a moment, everything inside of yelena stops.

because for some reason, she had never factored into the equation the possibility of kate being the one wanting to leave. and it feels like an explosion. she whips around so she can face kate, sweat beading around her collarbone and hip aching, she’s steadying herself with a hand gripping the counter and bowl of the sink, and the change in position brings her back to the present. the sheer amount of emotion raging through her body is too overwhelming and she shouts, “i do not know what i want!”

how could she know? natasha was the only person that ever asked her and the only thing she got out of that revelation was fanny. and the way it connects back to natasha makes yelena angrier and she smashes the beer bottle on the floor, “i don’t know what i want! but i know it isn’t that,” it comes out broken at the end, with a hiccup, with a heartbreak, and the exertion from the day and the sudden burst of emotions has her sliding down the the sink, butting the back of head into the cabinet doors when she settles at the bottom in the stick of beer and glass, “it sure as fuck is not that.”

and kate is silent in the doorway, waving lucky off from where he’s standing worried at the mouth of the hallway. she turns her attention back to yelena, looking at this girl turned killer-weapon turned human and she knows there is no way the universes could ever make her walk away from yelena. she knows she would tear herself apart to bring yelena back every single time. she thinks she’s known it since the beginning.

kate hadn’t known what was different about yelena when they met the first night on the roof. she hadn't released the arrow because yelena was not actively striking her - not because she had an overwhelming sense to obey. certainly not because the sight of yelena’s face knocked the air out of her lungs.

it was still different when they fought after that. because kate knew she was good, she had plenty medals to prove it, but she wasn’t win-against-a-black-widow-good. yelena held back her punches. but it was just because eleanor was paying yelena. it was just because her mom said not to hurt her. right?

it was different when kate asked to get drinks and yelena said yes. yelena said yes and it made her heart flip, erupted butterflies and her head felt fuzzy. her head always felt fuzzy when yelena was around. but it was better not to think about it.

and then yelena kept coming around. of course with gaps and no contact and so much reactivity. but yelena kept coming around. and she had flowers waiting for kate the first time kate went to visit her mother in prison, and she took lucky on walks until kate stopped being so fucking scared that kingpin would be just around the corner, and she had her own drawer in the dresser and a toothbrush and brought fanny around (who was a much better guard dog than lucky), and yelena was just so fucking sweet.

so excuse kate for thinking yelena belova had feelings for her. excuse her for thinking yelena was fully aware of what messages were being sent, excuse her for thinking.

except kate was still thinking.

yelena can feel kate looking at her. looking at her in a way that seems like judgment will be weighed. yelena knows she’ll never get into heaven. but, kate exhales and is picking her way through the glass, unfazed, jaw set. like a righteous angel. she crouches down to yelena’s eye level, her hands gripping the sides of her bruised up face, and using the pressure to force yelena to look at her.

this time yelena says: “i killed that man.”

there is still a brilliant anger in kate’s eyes, and it cloaks the desire, so yelena is caught off guard when kate presses her mouth into hers. when kate destroys her with the softest kiss. maybe she would never get into heaven, but this was surely a heavenly way to die.

yelena never had any intent to fall in love. with anyone. ever. she certainly had no intent to fall in love with kate bishop. and yet it seems like her heart never got the memo. it’s hammering now in her chest like a freight train. and then kate pulls back for a moment.

“is this what you want?”

oh. a sharp inhale: “yes.”

and then kate kisses her harder.

[foxy-eva]

Morning Cuddles

Summary: Spencer is late for work but morning cuddles with his girlfriend are more important than being on time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff 

Content Warning: cuddling, kissing, Spencer gets teased at work, Derek makes a suggestive comment

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

“Goodbye, sleepy girl,” Spencer whispered as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead. 

He has been standing by your bedside for several moments, admiring your sleeping form  with an accelerated heartbeat. Even though the morning sun was already tickling your eyelids, you couldn't be bothered to fully wake up just yet. You knew Spencer had to leave earlier than you but even half-asleep every fiber of your body longed to have him close just a few moments longer. 

Instead of answering him, you just whined with your eyes still closed and reached out to grab his arm. He began laughing when he realized that you were pulling him back into bed. 

Only when you finally had him inside your arms did you realize that he was already fully dressed in his work attire. You felt him tenderly kiss your cheek before your eyes slowly fluttered open, blinking the remains of last night's sleep away.

The warmth his golden irises radiated was unlike anything you had ever seen. It reminded you of the color of honey dripping from greedy fingers and you felt the need to chase the sweetness nature had to offer. Your fingertips gently brushed through his curls while your lips found his to soothe your longing for his saccharine taste. 

It was not enough though. All your drowsiness left your body as you pressed against him, greedy to take all of him in. The fabric of his dress-shirt hindered you from accessing his tenderness and you began whining in protest as you tugged on it. 

“I’m gonna be late for work,” Spencer breathed against your lips. 

Finally you managed to pull his shirt out from the waistband of his pants, just enough for your hand to sneak underneath it to feel his stomach. Your fingertips wandered over his skin in circular patterns, brushing over the little trail of hair underneath his navel before moving further up until you could feel his heartbeat. 

"Just a little longer," you begged him between kisses. 

It was then that Spencer couldn't hold back his own eagerness any longer. His palms began gliding over your body as if he tried to memorize every curve and dip of your skin. You were both aware that this act could have easily shifted into something more sinful but that was not what either of you yearned for in that moment. 

Perfectly innocent you explored each other's bodies with palms gliding over skin and fingertips burying into the softness they found. Every piece of fabric that got in the way was shoved aside, not caring about what that would do to neatly ironed work clothes. Almost forgotten were other duties, the only thing that mattered right then was feeling each other's nearness. 

“Okay, you can go now," you finally whispered. "Sorry for making you late."

“No," Spencer protested when you attempted to pull away. "I'm not done yet."

His lips were on yours in an instant while the grip he had on your body tightened. With his legs intertwined with yours it became impossible to tell where your body ended and his began. His hands were curious as they glided over your sides, only slowing down once your skin broke out in goosebumps. 

Spencer leaned back to find your eyes before showering your entire face with little kisses. His adorable way of showing affection made you giggle and he joined in with his own sounds of joy. When he looked at you once more you couldn't help but admire the beauty of the man in front of you. 

"You're so beautiful," you whispered as you reached out your hand to touch his cheek. 

A rosy shade spread over his face at the compliment and it took him a second to find his voice again. 

"You're beautiful." Another kiss was placed on your lips before he cooed, "You're stunning, gorgeous, absolutely flawless."

You glanced over to your nightstand to look at the clock, realizing that Spencer should have left ten minutes ago. With your hands against his shoulders you managed to basically shove him out of your bed. 

"You really need to go now. You’re gonna get in trouble because of me," you told him once he was back on his feet. 

With the sweetest smile spread over his cheeks he purred, "Worth it."

You watched him as he undid his belt and pants to tuck the edges of his shirt back in, attempting to straighten out all the crinkles you had created with your hands roaming over his body. Even with all his effort Spencer couldn't make it look like before.

"You don't happen to own an iron, do you?" He asked when he looked at himself in the mirror. "I only brought this one shirt when I came over last night."

"Sorry, I don't. Do you think anyone will notice?"

He just shrugged before trying to fix his unruly curls to make his look more appropriate for work. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get rid of this endearing out-of-bed look. 

"I think you look amazing even with messy hair and a crinkly shirt," you snickered.

He turned to you and just smiled at your words before checking his watch again, sighing, "Yup, I'm definitely gonna be late."

"If you run really fast you might disrupt the space-time continuum enough to still make it in time."

He raised his eyebrows at you and chuckled, "A physics joke? Wow, you really are perfect." 

After placing another goodbye kiss on your lips he finally made it out of your apartment. His heart was still pounding harder than usual on his way to work and he slowly realized just how much of a besotted fool he had become since meeting you. Spencer was head over heels in love with you and couldn't have been happier about that. 

When he walked into the conference room at the BAU everyone was already waiting for him. 

"Sorry, I overslept," Spencer lied as he sat down at the table. 

It only took a split second for Derek to scan his looks and laugh, "Overslept with who exactly? I knew you would make us proud someday, pretty boy!"

Spencer's thoughts raced to the images of you sleeping peacefully in your bed this morning. The smile forming on his face was impossible to hide, giving away that there actually was someone who had made him late. 

"My man!" Derek almost yelled at Spencer's reaction to his teasing. "I was joking but I think you actually got lucky this morning!"

Spencer's fingertips began tingling when he remembered the sensation of your tender skin underneath them. And even if it was a lot more innocent than Derek implied, he really did feel like the luckiest man now that he had you.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this story you should check out my other blurb about soft morning cuddles Sleepy Golden Storm!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @conniesanchor @ellamaianderson @cynbx @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @amititties @castiels-majestic-wings @torigorie @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @reidtopia @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @jordie-gvf-admin @saturnstringz @missabsey @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs @reiderwriter @snapeknot @enamoradax @hales-17

[trippygalaxy]

Nicknames for you! Pt 1

(This is inspired by @railroad-migraine -sorry for the tag!- and their nickname headcanons for Critical Role! Highly recommend checking them out!)

Includes: Time, FD, Warriors

Pt 2  -  Pt 3

Time

Hon

Actually is the most commonly used pet name between you two. Using it without a second thought, it feels likes second nature the longer you two are together. At the beginning Time called you Honey, but the word slowly got shortened throughout the years. You’re unsure if stemmed from laziness or just because he liked the sound of Hon better. He won’t tell you.

Darling

Whispered in those quiet loving moments with few words exchanged. He hugs you from behind, arms wrapped around your waist, swaying together in the moonlight that shines through the window.

Cupping your face with the softest of touches, while looking at you with eyes so full of admiration and love you feel as though you might burst. You truly feel so loved when he mutters the word, like he’s uttering a pray only you could hear.

Snookums

He heard an elderly couple use it once and it got stuck in his mind like glue. Whenever he’s in a more teasing or playful mood he greatly enjoys calling you all sorts of odd and endearing nicknames, finding your reactings oh so amusing. But snookums takes the cake for his (and your) favourite.

LOVES saying it when the boys are around. He acts so lovely dovey when he uses the name, clinging to you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing, knowing how flustered you get .Those closest to hear the forsaken name let out a choruses of groans from second hand embarrassment and attempt to flee the ooey gooey scene infront of them.

Fierce Deity

My Heart

For many many years, he thought that his “heart” was nothing more the a whole in his chest. It’s been broken oh so many times that there was nothing to “put back together”, that it was simply dust and ashes that scattered in the wind.

Though he soon realize that he was wrong. When you came into his life(?), you brought a heart so full that you shared it with him. You filled that hole he’d been missing for so long, you became his heart. His reason to keep going. His reason to be better.

Dearest 

You easily became the most valued and precious thing the great deity ever found. No amount of gems or offering could ever equant to a single hair on your head. 

His voice rumbles ever so slight as the word rolls off his tongue, looming over you with pupil-less eyes staring you down. Any other would be petrified by the haunting sight of the ancient being, but you? You couldn’t feel more at home.

Beloved

Ever the gentlemen, the god loved nothing more than his Beloved and wanted them to know just how dear they are to him. He quite enjoys seeing them flush under his gaze and tender words, he wants them to know that their very existence gives him so much joy.

Warriors

Gorgeous/Handsome

This man thinks you’re the most stunning being that ever graced the lands of Hyrule and he is more than happy to shout that FACT from the rooftops. (no im not kidding, he will if you don’t stop him). Mostly though, he calls you that whenever he notices you’re feeling down. Hoping to turn that frown upside down.

He understands how some can be insecure about their appearance and if you happen to have to be so, then get ready for the most outlandish and poetic speech of your life. Warriors would rather fight five lynels with a wooden sword and shield than let you feel or think lesser of yourself

Babe

Most common and causal name he’ll use. Yet he most you’ll hear him say it is when he’s jealous and wants to show that you’re together.

 He knows that you are more than capable to handle yourself, especially when it came to dealing with weirdos. Yet sometimes he can’t help the jealousy the bubbles in his stomach, so what does he do? Well he -of course- saunters over to where ever you may be, wraps his arm tightly around your shoulder, brings you closer to him and farer from the creep, kisses your cheek and greets you with a dashing smile and a sickly sweet voice as he states the nickname. All the while, glaring down the weirdo.

Sweetheart

A greeting in a way. Whenever you two are away from one another for however long, he always greets you the same way. A loving smile and open arms, calling out to you and becoming a beacon for you to follow. The name hangs in the air as you two collide, stumbling back as you wrap your arms around him. 

(Apologizes for any typos or miss spellings!)

[thatwithiniswithout]

Daydreamin' // Secondo x Sister of Sin!Reader

18+ naughty papa daydreaming about a particularly interesting sister

He knew better than to allow his eyes to take you in so obviously as he did, but truly part of him assumed you wouldn't notice. From the moment you entered the Abbey you were incredibly difficult to read. There were moments your energy was as warm as the sun, gently guiding around the children or pruning the various plants littered throughout the entire property. There were moments your eyes were as heavy and cold as a steel blade, warning those threatening the ones under your protection to back off or face Lilith's rage.

It took a moment for Papa to even consider his interest in you as anything beyond intellectual. He's seen many types of Sisters come and go, but you seemed to be all of them wrapped into one. Sunny and soft and nurturing, frigid and stinging and wild. He wasn't the only one who's interest you peaked, either. His brothers too noticed your unidentifiable nature, yet Secondo seemed to be alone in his wanting to have you underneath him because of it.

Then began his game. When it came time for confessional, he asked one of his little birds to find your preferred schedule. No one but you batted an eye when he stopped holding his confession during the day, but you were never able to get a straight answer as to why. Moments shared with him in this silence and darkness were always far more tender than you would have expected, yet the second 'Nema' passed your lips his words would freeze again. He constantly pulled you in bit by bit, dodging what he could of your questions, only to return to normal the second your eyes began studying him.

Whenever Terzo required a Sister, he was first to volunteer you. Keeping you close, yet distant enough to toy. Soon Sister Imperator grew impressed by the sheer amount of times she heard your name, and eventually, you became her intermediary right hand. The Papas surprisingly listened to you, the Ghouls respected you, and your fellow Siblings enjoyed you. These were all feats in Sister's eyes.

Despite your popularity among the Church's higher ups, you had nary an inclination any of them thought of you until you found yourself summoned by Terzo on almost a daily basis. You simply didn't care. The Abbey was your home: where you learned and laughed and cried and sinned. The circles you acquired along the way were your families, and there was nothing in the world to intimidate you surrounded by family.

Especially Secondo.

You knew his reputation; you knew he commanded respect in all facets.

Yet, every time his eyes met yours to warn against your lashing tongue during mass, the urge to defy him would bubble within your chest. When his finger met his lips, signaling a congregational moment of silence and contemplation, it took a great deal of self restraint not to stare directly into his soul.

Yes, you played your own games with him too, but you always assumed you were beneath his station to entertain. And how wrong you were, it seemed. With his eyes tracing your body over the brim of his glass as you clicked over to fill it, that same feeling from mass began to bubble once again.

He knew better than to let his eyes take you in so obviously, but the spirit in your own only stoked the fire in the pit of his stomach the wine had lit. All night you dutifully filled everyone's cup, not allowing a single one to run dry. A single one but his. He watched as the neck of your decanter graced everyone's glass but his own, a much younger and greener sister had done so without question. It seemed almost purposeful, a dare. You could easily deny any accusations, but the way your eyes trailed down from his to the emptying glass on his lips he knew better.

Lucifer, how he knew better.

He knew better than to allow his hand to trail just past his hardening cock under the table at the height of festivities. He knew better than to signal you closer as you confidently filled his cup. He knew better than to request your presence at his door after the feast. He certainly knew better than to caress the inside of your wrist with his lips as you turned to leave him wanting.

Yes, he found himself wanting nothing more than to see behind the mask you so prettily wore. You were adaptable, much like Lilith herself. You were a fire of passion burning within a body as beautiful as the Full Blood Moon. And he desired nothing more than to add fuel to your flame and burn down to ash with you.

Oh how he imagined your encounter. The clashing of will and tongue, the satisfaction he would feel the second your lips wrapped around his...

"Fratello, your eyes are as large as the pit Omega crawled out of," Terzo chuckled as he pulled his brother's attention from your figure, "If you do not fuck the dear Sister then someone else is going to do it for you."

He was right, of course, but Terzo was the last of which Secondo wanted to speak of such matters. Still, he too noticed the glances shared between his brother's beloved Fire Ghoul and you. Papa Emeritus II would not accept defeat unless you yourself waved off his advances.

Unashamedly, his eyes fucked you first, for everyone to see. His mind remained full of you bare and shaking beneath him, bare and bouncing on his cock chasing your own release, bare with his hand wrapped around your throat so he could feel himself inside of you. His mind never wavered, not once until your hand outstretched to him asking for a dance.

"Would you grace this sinner with a dance, Papa," you cooed, eyes shining with something he couldn't quite place.

Who was he to deny such a beautiful creature? Taking your hand, he pulled you close as he led you to the floor. Surrounded by the clergy was not exactly where he would have liked to feel your skin against his, but he couldn't find it in himself to waste this opportunity.

He held you against him as you swayed to the piano, eyes undoubtedly on the two of you. His eyes studied your features, a softness you found only in the quiet of confessional wrapped in the heat of lust. Your body was more than receptive, easily following his lead.

It was not unheard of for the Papas to dance with Siblings of office, but the second Emeritus brother was not a regular partaker. The warmth spreading along your cheeks throughout your limbs was undeniably carnal in nature. The way his hands held your skin made you want them to hold you differently, in private, just as carnally as you felt. You pleaded him with your eyes, not daring to break the silence between you.

Lucifer, how you wanted this man you fuck you.

Papa saw the look in your eyes fill with desire, a sight he would not soon forget. To see such a willful woman beg him so readily and quietly filled his chest with pride. Yes, he would fuck you, but not until much later.

As the song came to an end, he brought your hand to his lips. A buzzing settled itself into your bones as he parted with a smirk. No one would know the fire that burned between you, but you knew what was waiting for you to pluck like the fruit of knowledge.

[stargoosie]

New Beginnings ~ Kalluzeb

Chapter 2

The aftermath of Zeb taking Kallus to Lira San.

AO3

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Waking up the following morning and gazing upon the chrono, seeing it was most definitely late morning was nearly enough to give the strict routined Alexsandr Kallus a heart attack. He seized upward in bed with a start before taking in his surroundings and remembering where he was. Lira San. Lira San. He mouthed the planet’s name a few times before relaxing. He slowly laid back down, wiping the embarrassing panic from his brow. Honestly.. He shook his head at himself, closing his eyes. He opened them a moment later to peer over at where he expected to find Zeb. Green eyes were staring back and he frowned. Great. His little episode had woken him up. He felt him shift closer and place a hand on his arm. Such concern, he mused. He didn’t question why. The lasat had helped him through quite a few rough nights in the past. It was second nature by now. Kallus found it rather sweet, Zeb’s care for others.

“I’m alright..” He assured him, turning over on his side to give the other a sleepy but sincere smile. He placed a hand over his and went on to explain,raising his brows briefly. “The time. I lost track and forgot that was alright now.” Zeb chuckled and Kallus joined him, bringing up a knee and hooking his leg around one of Zeb’s. He enjoyed the tenderness of this. These moments were no longer something brief, needing to be set to the side for their higher priorities. Even with how set in his ways he was, this was something he could very quickly get used to. He grinned with a slow sigh.“But I suppose I’m awake now. Might as well start the morning..” He started to prop himself up on an elbow, but Zeb wasn’t having any of that.

“Oh, no you don’t…” He said with a gravelly tone conveying just how groggy he still was. But apparently he still had enough energy the keep Kallus from making any sudden movements. Kallus was cursing that brute strength of his, though you couldn’t tell by the way he seemed to melt into it. 

He chuckled, turning his head first into his neck and then pulled away so he could look at his face. His eyes were closed now, obviously trying to reclaim sleep and hopeful that Kallus would succumb as well. He would not deny it was tempting. “Zeb…” He reasoned, watching his brow ridges narrow a bit more. Kallus bit his lip. There was something so childish about him that was incredibly adorable. “We can’t just lay around…Come now…” Unfortunately, Zeb was the hard headed, stubborn sort. Kallus was sure he would be perfectly okay without budging from his spot for half the daylight. 

“I’m comfortable.”

“I noticed..” He gave him a sleepy smirk, later glancing around to find some way to escape the other’s vice grip. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d be at ease being awake and walking around all by himself on a strange planet, let alone a planet with a strong resemblance to Lasan. However, he was far too awake now to consider getting more rest, even if Zeb and his radiating body heat were inviting. Honestly, if he were that easily swayed, they might just spent the next few years never leaving this room. So, he did his best to disentangle himself from the other, however he wasn’t prepared for the amount of resistance he’d receive.

“Zeb. Can you—

I’m try— 

UggggGh…" 

Okay. It was less adorable now…

He shoved and pulled and this lasat was really taking this serious, wasn’t he? He could not be that tired if he was using this much power in the first place. Kallus was two seconds from admitting defeat and pledging to kill him later but he got his arms free and gained new resolve. He huffed out a sigh. This should not be such an ordeal. Zeb could go back to sleep if he wanted once Kallus had moved. He was being ridiculous. The way Kallus attempted to free himself was a bit more so. Zeb was strong. He pressed forcefully on his shoulders and at one point shoved the side of his face. Kallus became a bit more irritated than merely playfully amused.

”Garazeb Orrelios. You will let me go this instant…!“

And he did.

The momentum had Kallus falling out of the bed backwards with a loud thud. It took him a second to figure out what had just happened. When the stars left his eyes, he was gazing up at a very smug lasat, laying on his side with his head propped up on a hand. Kallus stared at him hard, wearing a look of disbelief. He was thoroughly pleased with himself. "I’m sorry, did you want to get up…?” The teasing tone was enough to earn him a glare. He did love to mess with him. “What? You said let go..” He chewed on a claw.

Kallus was so very tempted to pull the aggravating lasat out of bed and make him kiss the floor. His mouth tightened. “…I’ve decided your death will be slow.” Zeb began laughing and Kallus found the sound was making him blush. He was determined not to let it turn the tide, because he was supposed to be upset with him. He should be! Not only did he knock him out of bed. He was laughing at him. The nerve! “You are insufferable. I want new lodgings..” He got up and dusted himself off, making a mental note of them needing to clean this place. He observed their surroundings, having been too tired yesterday to really take it in. His gaze shifted when he heard the creak of the mattress. He felt a rough hand ruffle his already messy hair.

“Sure. I’ll get right on that..” Zeb promised with transparency. He could likely tell Kallus wasn’t serious. He’d always been pretty good at reading him…and getting him flustered. That seemed to be his specialty. 

Kallus did not hold onto his bitter mood for long, not for more than a few scoffs and indignant looks, perhaps a half hearted punch or two. Zeb was very difficult to stay mad at.  He was so….so….Kallus didn’t even have a word for it. Was it possible to feel so much for someone who could drive you mad on a constant basis..? Sometimes he still felt like he didn’t understand what this was between them. He supposed there was never enough time to focus on your feelings when most of your life was dedicated to a job. A purpose. 

Still, even through all of that, they had come to a mutual understanding of their importance to one another, as well as their interest… But they had never quite elaborated on just what that meant. War had their lives so hectic and how awkward they both were with emotions certainly hadn’t offered any favors. He had no idea why he was suddenly thinking about this… Maybe it was because everything felt so real. It was so fresh. Absorbing that the war was over has a hard one. Even though he had always hoped to see it, he honestly never thought he’d live long enough. And now, here he was; free. And he was with Zeb whom, of his own accord, invited him to the world he now called home. A place he wanted Kallus to call home. It did not feel real to him. That was what had kept him awake last night. He was so certain all of this would burn away and he’d wake up with a start, alone. It was stupid. He knew that.

He watched Zeb work through his morning routine, knowing he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. He felt the warmth of the boyish grins he tossed his way. His chest felt light and he felt almost floating, which was a ridiculous feeling for such a serious man to have. But it was real. He knew it was. He needed to stop living inside of his fears. They held him back. They always had. Zeb had taught him that the only way to find peace and have a sense of fulfillment was by taking risks. It was what had brought them together, wasn’t it…? Preparing for the worst case scenario would always leave a part of him closed off. He did not want to be that way. Not with Zeb. He wanted to give all of himself, as scary as that was.

Suddenly his arms were locked around Zeb’s neck and his lips were brushing his and Kallus had barely been aware he’d crossed the room. His body had moved all on its own. Reality was slow to come back to him. This was slow and satisfying but not bearly long enough. He pulled back to give him some distance, not because he seemed unwilling in the least but because he was feeling a little embarrassed for acting so impulsively.

Especially when the first words from Zeb’s mouth were. “…What was that for…?” Kallus wanted to hide his red face but there weren’t many places he wouldn’t be able to tell when they were this close. Zeb raised his head but Kallus could still feel his eyes on him. “Barely ten minutes ago, didn’t you say you were going to kill me…?” He snickered, “Unless that is what you’re doing..”

“You know, I should kill you…. You ever pull something like that again and I just might..” Kallus said firmly but he was far too distracted by the view of the other’s lips to be taken very seriously. Zeb also knew better. The very apparent blush on his cheeks helped with that. He was still so shy.

“Ooh, you really got me shaking over here…You know, your threats have gotten increasingly weaker over the years..” Zeb gave him a smile that made him weak. It was also a bit contagious.

“Don’t tell me you’re dissatisfied with that fact…?” Kallus tilted his head with a raised brow, reaching up to stroke the back of one of Zeb’s ears. His bangs slid slightly over his eyes. He almost moved to swipe them out of the way but Zeb got there before he had the chance. His eyes widened at that but softened quickly after. He received Zeb’s silent answer loud and clear. He lowered his head, hiding the wide grin. He felt Zeb’s hands find his waist and he paused for a moment before glancing upward.

There were far too many thoughts he wanted to convey. To even try right now would come out a bit of a ramble, especially considering he’d not even had his morning caf. There was no oncoming battle to prepare for. They would have all the time in the galaxy…

“Finish getting ready…” He mumbled into his cheek, stroking his thick sideburn and ruffling the purple strands. He gave him one last look before disappearing into the refresher. Hopefully when he inevitably asked him questions later, he’d have answers..

[nautiscarader]

up high - Chat Noir and Ladybug have sex on top of Eiffel Tower

(Ao3)

"Admit it, my lady, you've wanted to do that for the longest time…"

Marinette only smiled, not wanting to give Chat the pleasure of being right. But he was - ever since she became Ladybug, she had this fantasy in her dreams, and later on a few night missions too, especially as she spent more and more time with her spandex-clad partner…

But only now, a good ten years into her superheroine job, it became reality, as Chat Noir pressed her against the cold metal surface of the dome of the Eiffel Tower itself.

From there she could see the myriad of lights of the city she was sworn to protect, though right now, all she could focus on were two emerald green eyes of her lover, staring at her with animalistic hunger, strengthened only by his hands and tail coiling around her body.

The ever-so-cautious Marinette initially thought that making love here would be risky, as this was one of the places dozens, if not hundreds of cameras pointed to every second, but oddly enough, the couple was shielded by the plethora of radio, Tv and Internet antennas, hiding their bodies locked in a tight, passionate embrace.

She twitched when she felt Chat's fingers between her thighs, sneaking further between her lips, first to just toy with her, gently fingering her to tease her, and later, as he got his claw out, to tear the suit apart with surgical precision.

And though he has seen her naked body dozens of times, it never got old to watch her skin shiver with anticipation as her bare skin became unobscured to him, her polka-dot heroic suit parting ways to let their carnal desires prevail.

With her suit shielding her from the cold metal, Ladybug performed an opposite move, sliding down Chat's bell, watching as it reveals his naked body, until she got to his crotch and found an obvious obstacle there. She gasped when Chat jumped forward and out of his suit, his cock already at her entrance, his slick, twitching head poking at her wet lips. And as Ladybug closed her legs and arms behind him, she welcomed him inside, completely forgoing any subtlety as her voice echoed around.

Chat silenced her quickly, tempering his desirous intentions with tender, yet prolonged kiss, letting Ladybug's mind go blank and immerse herself in the moment, at least until she felt him twitch again. And it was Ladybug's not-so-subtle prod of her foot to his butt that prompted Chat to use his hips, watching as her eyes widen just when he stretched her walls.

He started slowly, deliberately tempering his thrusts, building the appetite inside her. Chat;s lips moved from hers to her neck, provoking a stream of moans escaping her mouth straight into his cat ear.

Despite the metal surface she was being pinned to, Marinette enjoyed the feeling of Chat's weight pressing her into it. She thought it would be uncomfortable, yet it felt as if she was sinking in, reminding her of dozen of times when Chat sneaked into her apartment and put her into a fierce mating press, testing the limits of her mattress. Or a few times when Ladybug visited Adrien Agreste and allowed him to conquer and best the defender of Paris, pushing her into his bed and mountain of comfy pillows…

And here he was again, fucking her with raw temperament only his feline nature could provide, wanting to lift her to cloud nine as easily as her legs were lifting up, allowing him to dive deeper and deeper with each thrust.

"Admit it, Ladybug. You-you want all those antennas to transmit our love and your delicious, carnal noises, don't you?", Chat teased her, finding it difficult to form words with his own oncoming orgasm.

"Y-yes…", Ladybug moaned, her fingers digging into his back.

"You want e-everyone to know, don't you?"

"YES!", she screamed, "Give me all of it, Chat!"

For a moment, she thought she really has done it, that her voice and her carnal desire for Chat to cum inside her really was transmitted across Paris ans France, but it was just her light-headedness from the climax that rolled through her body. But it was just the beginning, as with Chat's final thrust, their bodies became one and she felt each and every fiery flood of his seed filling her, while his lips drank praises she would be screaming.

Marinette felt her body becoming limp and weightless as she was slowly coming down from her orgasmic high, her vision blurring and turning into kaleidoscope of lights, until once again, only two, green ones remained.

"How do you feel, my lady?"

"Like I'm on top of the world.", she smiled and accepted his help as she got back onto her feet. She cleaned herself up a bit, letting her costume become one again.

"You know, Chat, I remember when I would completely scoff you at the mere thought of doing it in public place…"

"Ah, yes, about that-"

Ladybug turned around, noticing odd note in his voice.

"What? What about i-"

She gasped when she looked at the place she was lying on a moment ago. The metallic, grey surface now sported an imprint of her red-and-black polka-dot pattern, most apparent where her backside used to reside, a statement of how strong Chat's love for her really was. And even if that wasn't enough, she saw that on each side the metal was sliced when Chat dug his claws into it in the moment of his climax.

"Chat! Look what you've done!"

"I-I didn't know I could do that, honestly…"

"I WASN'T PRAISING YOU!"

"Right, right. Is your tushy okay?"

"I-I guess.", she began turning around looking back, as if she was a dog chasing its own tail.

"Maybe it's better that way, though?"

"How?", she stopped.

"Well, we kinda left a mark on the city that way…"

For a moment, the two superheroes stared at each other, Ladybug fixated at Chat's emerald eyes, as he spoke his profound statement. She thought about all the monsters they've fought, all crimes they have stopped, all the lives saved…

And then reality hit her back again.

"Chat! Someone will go back here to repair the TV antennas! They will know we've had sex here! I cannot even go back and undo it with my magic! It's all your fault!", she began punching his chest and head, shouting at her lover.

"I love you too, Bugaboo…"

[taylorrama]

The Locked Tomb + mewithoutYou pt. 10/17

Was he a violent man? Well, he had his genocidal moments... Or penned by fiction’s hand? To whom could that phrase not apply?

Song: Red Cow Album: Pale Horses

Something something, cows have complex social relationships. Naturally, I had to see if this song has any interesting images for TLT purposes.

Much of this song is about false idol worship as seen in the Old Testament, but highly recontextualized. This alone is very interesting if we want to read Jod as a false idol, and I think that's a valid reading that he himself might even agree with.

The first chorus.

Behold the snake of brass, the wind was blowing backwards Behold a golden calf, blighted leaves of Law O for the land we knew before the frogs withdrew In the fragrant pomegranate blooms where the tender locust flew

The golden calf is a pretty well-known Bible story about the Israelites crafting various gods while they were stranded in the desert after the Exodus, so that's what's invoked here. What's also invoked is this sense of longing for the place they'd left. What does this have to do with TLT? If Jod is a false idol, and if there is any wide-spread in-world realization of how this universe came to be, then suddenly this sentiment hits very, very hard. There could be longing for a world either before Jod nuked and resurrected everyone, OR for a world before this truth became known, where it was easier to believe in the gentle King Undying.

We get a reference to "milk white tombs" in the second verse, but the only connection there is "hey look, the word 'tomb.'"

The second chorus, though, gives us another interesting idea.

In the wells of livestock vans with shells and garden sands Iron mixed with oxygen as per the laws of chemistry and chance A shape was roughly human, it was only roughly human Apparition eyes apparition eyes Knock Apparition Knock eyes apparition eyes

These lines are about seeing religious/spiritual figures in otherwise random, mundane objects, and believing there's some great meaning behind it. Even if the image is "only roughly human," we might still perceive this as a spiritual experience. In TLT, anything being "roughly human" is much more literal, whether it be constructs, nearly-immortal Lyctors, Jod, necromancers formed of all the dead children of the Ninth House, or cavs reanimated into bodies with speed holes.

Finally, the last part of the song gives quite a kick.

Was he a violent man? Well, he had his genocidal moments... Or penned by fiction’s hand? To whom could that phrase not apply? How much are even lifeless sounds responsive to our listening ear! What Pharoah now, what Paroah now, or Jew or picture holds us here?

The tone of this first line is basically the tone of Jod's entire backstory. It's honestly a line that could easily appear in the books. The next line makes it even funnier and more meta because yes, Jod was, in fact, penned by fiction's hand. And the third line digs at this tendency to find meaning in things that don't actually have life–a huge callout for literally all fans of anything anywhere, including myself writing these silly posts about a weird band and a lesbian space nun book series.

Before cringing at the last line, know that Aaron Weiss, the song-writer, had a Jewish father and grew up in a very eclectic religious environment. Since this song incorporates imagery of Moses and the Red Sea, the reference could be a call back to him, or it could be a more personal reference to the faith of Aaron's father. The idea in general is to question the hold or authority that these powerful figures of have over religious understanding, and that question becomes extremely easy to ask when, in TLT, we learn that God is just some guy.

---

TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 1; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 2; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 3; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 4; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 5; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 6; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 7; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 8; TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 9

[munsontm]

🔐 !

Send 🔐 for a random memory or moment from my muse’s past / ACCEPTING / @langdhon

Childhood memories were a thing that faded naturally with age. Images became distorted and blurry, and some just disappeared altogether. Being a child was temporary. It didn't last like the years of adulthood, but it sure left its fucking mark well into adulthood. Eddie Munson tried to rid himself of those memories quicker than many kids might have with copious amounts of drugs and alcohol at the tender age of fourteen. Yet, no matter how many intoxicants he drowned his organs in, the memories didn't dull in the slightest. What a cruel joke. As if fate hadn't laughed at him enough.

The particular event that haunts him on a frozen January evening when he's so deep into his bong that he shouldn't be able to comprehend thoughts also happened in January. He vividly remembered his father being angry at the eight-year-old him because he didn't want to go out into the cold night to help him steal cars. It was the second night he tried to get out of it, enough to warrant being shoved against the dilapidated wall with a hand wrapped tight around his easily breakable neck. He remembers being scared. He remembers his father's cruel words about how Eddie was a useless and pathetic wimp and that no son of his would be allowed to sit around drawing fruity pictures like some pansy. Eddie didn't realise until many years later what the bastard meant by pansy or that anyone could consider drawings of dragons to mean anything about him other than his liking dragons. As usual, his mother did nothing about the violence pressed upon him. She was too blasted out of her mind on heroin, and she'd be dead within the year. Not that Eddie knew that at the time.

Once the threat of a fist arose, he caved quickly into his father's demands. It wasn't worth the pain of explaining the bruises at school and having no one do anything about it afterwards. He remembers crying for a little while in the bathroom once he realised he could still breathe through his rattled windpipe. He should have known better than to defy his father more than once; it turned into a slippery slope after the first time.

Eddie cleared his face, if only not to give his father another reason to throw unkind words at him, and did as he was told for the rest of that night. It wasn't too different to many nights in his childhood, but they were all different in their own way and determined to worm their way back into his mind when he least wanted them there. And every time they did, Eddie wondered how many poisons of choice it would take to them drive them back out. The answer was always the same. None. None of them would work.

[spicysoftsweet]

summary: gojo’s tired of you resisting him

warnings: home invasion, noncon, degradation, fem!reader

a/n: this was supposed to be a crumb for @mahitopegger i have no idea wtf happened. i didn’t edit this || reposted from sideblog (now deactivated) on 4/17/2021.

It was only after the soft click of your door, and the eerie silence thereafter that seemed to threaten to close you in, that you realized that something wasn’t quite right. Your eyes darted left, then right, and you kicked off your shoes slower than usual, setting them semi-haphazardly to the side of your entryway.

Even if you weren’t paranoid, you were still the type of person to double check, sometimes triple-check your locks on occasion before you left your home, and you did remember your key turning the right way just seconds ago.

Maybe you were overreacting - after all you lived in a relatively safe area, alone save for your cat with a propensity to mewl for food at all hours of the day. Ah, that was possibly the issue, the fact that your little furry friend hadn’t made his presence immediately. But he knew how to be quiet sometimes, and was fond of an early afternoon nap.

The sound of your keys clattering on your coffee table now seemed unceremoniously loud, like you were disturbing a religious service. In your own house.

Your heart started to race for just a moment, and you turned around quickly.

Nothing. No person, no ghost, no cat. Just you, a sudden sense of unease, and your rapidly beating heart.

Why were you so anxious?

You couldn’t recall the last time you’d felt so unsettled for the moments in which you paced down your hallway, ears tuned to the soft footfalls of your presumably sleeping companion. You would have whispered its name but you didn’t want to wake up the needy little bastard unnecessarily.

It was only three paces in that you stilled suddenly, and the memory of the last time you’d felt this way suddenly struck vividly in your mind.

Clear blue eyes, bordered by long, pale white eyelashes. A smile, once easy and bright, with corners turned up far too high into malice.

You froze.

Was it him? Was Gojo in your house? He wouldn’t... would he?

Your last encounter had been... suboptimal, to say the least. You’d all but told him to get lost, that you weren’t and would never be interested, not after knowing who he was, what he was.

You needed a quiet, calm existence. Your imprint on the world would be measured. You had to stay away from bad omens like his.

But his reaction had been unnatural. He hadn’t given you a real response, just a smile, and you had felt just as unnerved then as you did now before you parted.

You were clearly still spooked.

But these nerves were just vestiges of your anxiety. Gojo knew how to take no for an answer. Of course he did.

He didn’t - you opened your bedroom to find the young sorcerer waiting for you, your cat comfortable in his arms.

“Ah! You’re back~”

Gojo didn’t move; rather, he continued to sit in his relaxed position, legs outstretched onto the bed, palm stroking softly at the soft orange fur. The soft purr of the docile animal filled the air with sharp contrast to your wordless mouth, opening and closing once in shock, and the frenzied beat of your heart.

He smiled before his eyes did, and shifted on top of your covers, getting to his feet. Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and a loose pair of sweatpants, as though he’d been lounging around your house the entire day... as though he lived here.

“W-what are you doing here?”  You choked out.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his hold on the little creature relaxed, who remained for just a moment, mewing once before jumping off his lap, brushing by your legs that felt as though they would start shaking any moment, and then promptly sauntered out of the room.

“You didn’t tell me you had a cat,” Satoru remarked, now sitting with legs criss-crossed on the bed, hair mussed and relaxed, and with affect as bright as a child on his first sleepover. He patted the space on the bed next to him, beckoning you to come sit. “Did you have a good day?”

“Gojo, please get out of my house.”

His expression darkened for just a moment before it returned to its natural cheeriness. He patted the space next to him again.

“You must be tired. I can make you something. Tea?”

Your feet were glued to the ground, neither advancing nor retreating.

“P-please leave,” you repeated, more wary this time. Your hands were starting to shake and you watched his eyes flicker to them, then back to your eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He said, tilting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes bore into yours and you felt your stomach turn.

“Don’t you like my attention?”

“Satoru, please,” you continued, your lower lip wobbling inadvertently. “Please, just leave... I won’t tell anyone you came here, just... I can’t return whatever feelings you have, so just go.”

Your fists clenched and unclenched, but you still were so tense, planted onto the floor as though you were a sharp dagger thrust into vulnerable flesh. Why weren’t your feet moving? You should be running. Running as far as you can from this man who could just as easily become a monster if he so pleased.

As though he knew you’d already become powerless - not that it made a difference, the power differential was already so vast - he rose, walking towards you in an open, unguarded stance. He wasn’t afraid of you in the least. The very thought made your blood boil.

Once he stood before you, towering over your shorter, smaller frame, his lips pursed.

“Stop shaking.”

It was a command, given in an annoyed but direct fashion.

You don’t know why you eked out, powerlessly, “I can’t.”

“You weren’t this afraid when you were telling me to fuck off a couple days ago,” he noted. His hand rose to grip your chin, tilting your face to him. You don’t know when you’d started crying, but tears were now streaming down your face, warm and wetting his fingers.

“You’re crying? Where’s the sass you had then?”

“Please...”

Against your better wishes, his lips pressed to yours, and somehow then, your body remembered that adrenaline could also make you fight, and you did fight, thumping your hands balled into fists against his chest and his shoulders, as his hand gripped your chin tighter and his tongue forced its way down your throat. Once he’d gotten tired of your struggle, his other arm hooked around your waist, and he pulled you closer, pressing you against his body.

Your screams were muffled by his kiss as it grew deeper, and at some point, he’d decided on biting your lip painfully, drawing blood once he’d threatened you to shut the fuck up before he gave you something to cry about for real.

You remembered that the first time Gojo had kissed you, it had been soft and tender, nothing like this kiss that was violent and demanded submission; once his hand moved from its grip on your chin, it grasped your hair, fingers twisting and tugging to tilt your head back.

His lips left yours, now red and soon purple and blue, and made their way down your neck to mark them the same.

Every scream was futile, every plea for mercy fell on deaf ears.

At some point, you may have heard your cat meow for something... food? Out of sympathy? You weren’t sure, all you could think about were the painful hickeys on your collarbones and traveling down your bosom.

“I don’t know why you’re so resistant. You yourself called me selfish,” he murmured, ripping the top part of your clothing with the nonchalance with which one would peel a banana. At the sight of your exposed breasts, he was like a man rabid, slamming you backwards into the wall without much regard for head injury. His left arm caged you in, while his right pressed painfully onto your breast.

He paused for a moment, and grinned salaciously.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that~! You look so docile... it’s weird coming from you.”

To that, a fire renewed in your eyes, and you spat directly in his face. His lips curled again in satisfaction, barely reacting to the spittle dripping down his pretty features.

“Fuck you.”

“I will.”

With a small chuckle, he jerked your face painfully to the left such that you couldn’t look at him directly as he took your breast into his mouth.

The idea of this bastard suckling on you, loudly, lewdly as though you’d belonged to him only made the churn in your stomach worse, but the desperate attempts to a knee to his chest were met with barely a resistance. Like he knew you couldn’t hurt him and it was only a matter of time until you stopped and succumbed to him.

The process was already happening - you could feel your nipples hardening and a new flow of heat in your panties. Your tears became more prolific - no longer fear, but rage, but the hand that kept you steady against the wall was impossibly strong.

Your head swam as a confused pleasure started to replace the pain and fear you were feeling. More clothing was torn off of you, more of your skin was marked and licked and sucked. Once your panties were ripped to shreds, he lay your now languid and fight-drained body against him, cooing appreciatively at the new helplessness, pumping two slender fingers up and down your wet inner core as he moved you from the hard wall to the soft bed.

You almost thanked him.

His fingers remained within you as he laid you down, but once he withdrew his touch as your pounding hazy head hit the pillow, he replaced them with the roughness of his tongue, penetrating you without the least bit of shame.

You let slip the moan you had been holding in in defiance.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.”

He continued to lick and you continued to mewl.

Once he’d tired of the taste of your cunt, he invaded your privacy in the most all-encompassing way possible, pushing every inch of a greedy, throbbing cock inside of you. As you cried from the stretch, he shushed you with a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your screams.

As if someone was going to help you. Maybe your cat would come and watch, but he’d found something else to do.

“I know it hurts but you’ll get used to it, I promise, babe,” he murmured, groaning slightly as he seated himself to the hilt. “There.”

He stilled and in the silence of the moment only punctuated by both of your soft pants, you remembered how to sob.

His nose crinkled, and he let out of a soft sigh, cock jerking impatiently inside you.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He mused, leaning against you so that his head rested in the softness of your breasts. He could hear your heartbeat that doesn’t beat for him... but rather it did, because he is the one making it quicken in some odd rhythm of terror and pleasure.

You didn’t speak because there was far, far too much to yell.

As though a timer had rung to mark the end of his empathy, he rose onto his hands again, sighing as he adjusted into the plushness of your walls that didn’t reject him as fervently as you did. He moved, shoving two fingers down your throat to gag your renewed protests as he thrust into you repeatedly.

The short gasps with every stroke only encouraged him, and the immense pleasure he found in the light of your eyes starting to fade into a placid dullness.

“You love me,” he informed you with every rut.

You didn’t answer.  

You weren’t sure what this disgusting repetitive sensation bringing your body to climax was. You were no longer sure what he was even talking about, just that there was a warm thing pumping inside of you and fingers down your throat and pain everywhere else in your body, particularly your neck and shoulders and arms and breasts, and you were staring into precious sapphires littering the base of twin lakes.

“You love me,” he repeated. “I know you do.”

[karlyanalora]

There’s no medic to call for when you’re a spy. You just had to do it yourself. Alfred bit down on his jacket and yanked his shoulder back into place with a sickening pop and blinding agony. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, plastered a smile on his face, and waltzed back into the lion’s den.

----------------------

Bruce learned to bandage his own bloody knuckles at the tender age of eight and a half. Alfred wouldn’t let him get them in training, but Bruce sure got them picking fights at school. His tolerance for bullies had vanished with the death of his parents, especially when the older boys picked on young Molly Jenkins. She’d never been the same since her best friend was killed in front of her during a mugging last year. She was skittish now, jumping at any sound that mildly resembled a gunshot, and was prone to tears. The boys thought it was funny; Bruce did not and he cut his knuckles on their teeth.

After the fifth fight, the nurse stopped tending to him first. He had to admit he had the poor woman overwhelmed today. So he found the bandages and did his best to apply them himself. They stuck to the scabs and at home Alfred had to tear them off, though the process was made a bit easier with the use of salt water. He then taught Bruce how to do it properly next time and decided to tutor him at home.

--------------------------------------

Falling off the R-Cycle was not fun and when you didn’t wear pants meant a bad case of road rash. But Alfred was always there to treat it. But that wasn’t the case anymore, was it? Falling off a motorcycle as Nightwing meant a much more manageable road rash that could be easily treated at his apartment, but Dick could still feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It made him homesick, yet another reminder that he was alone as he picked the rocks out of his skin.

--------------------------------------

Giving yourself stitches was almost a rite of passage in the Batfamily. It’s an important skill, almost second nature, and for some whacked-up reason, Jason finds it soothing. Maybe it’s because in the back of his mind he can hear Bruce’s deep voice walking him through the steps and Alfred’s “Well done, Master Jason” when he ties the knot. Or maybe it’s the fact is that if all it takes is stitches, the wound can’t be that bad. Most of the time Jason just handles it out in the field and goes on with the rest of his day.

That hadn’t been the case when he first became Robin. He’d been much more fond of the superglue method, content to stay as far away from needles as he could. But Alfred had placed a grounding hand on his shoulder as Bruce stitched up his gashed leg, gently explaining everything he was doing.

According to Dick, that Bruce had died with Jason. The light of gentleness had gone out and he had never returned to the man who was good with kids and called you “chum” and “lad.” Just another reason Jason was a mistake and his coming home wouldn’t fix that.

And yet Batman still wouldn’t kill the Joker.

Jason cut the thread with his teeth and went back to work.

--------------------------------

Tim had the Mayo Clinic pulled up on his computer and his poor blistered feet sprawled out in front of him. He’d washed his hands and feet already. He’d nabbed one of his mother’s sewing needles, which was probably an antique since she didn’t sew, and cleaned it with rubbing alcohol. He swabbed the blister with rubbing alcohol as well since their first aid kit didn’t have any iodine. He winced as he pricked the blister near the edge and watched as the liquid oozed out. Already it felt better. He put on some Vaseline and covered it with a bandaid before moving on to the next one. He had school in the morning and he didn’t want his parents to ask why he was limping. If they even noticed.

--------------------------------------------

Cass washed her arm in the river before wrapping an old shirt around it. She’d gotten caught on some barbed wire while out scavenging for food. She would need to find some soap to keep it clean or some of the other things her father had used to treat her training wounds. But this would have to do for now. The air was growing colder every day; wounds she knew how to treat, but how to survive on her own was something new. Her stomach growled as she pulled the knotted sleeves tight and set out once more.

-----------------------------------------

Steph hissed as she gently prodded the giant goose egg that was forming on the side of her head. Stupid Dad. Stupid Steph too; she should have known he was in a bad mood. And with Mom out of commission at the moment, Steph was on her own. She popped down a couple of Ibuprofen and waited for Dad and his “friends” to clear out so she could grab a bag of frozen peas. For now, she wondered how to cover up her newfound lump in time for school tomorrow. Makeup for the bruising and a hat maybe?

-----------------------------------------

Damian had always tended to all his own wounds. Supplies and demonstrations were provided, but that was all. But this scratch, a mere skinned knee, was nothing.

“Grayson, this is ridiculous.”

“I repeat: do you want a Superman, Wonder Woman, or Flash band-aid?”

“I can handle this myself.”

“Yeah, but being part of a family means you don’t have to.”

[caniasfire]

"We did plan to go shopping." He pouted, "but, you know, we'll come back here eventually." He looked away for a second, then back at Astarion. He blinked quickly a few times, as if pretending to be innocent. "For dinner, of course."

Most of the party had been happy to reach the city; everybody had something to do, and Amay was more than willing to help out with whatever they needed, but part of him wasn’t entirely pleased with being here. Their lodging and food were an upgrade, yes – he did enjoy not having to sleep on the floor – but he missed waking up without anxiety coiling around his heart, making it hard to breathe. He missed when it was easier to wake up, and part of him also missed being surrounded by nature. Now it was all . . . grey, metal. And the deeper you got into the Lower City the worst the air quality became. It felt like this place was dying.

Probably what happens when you have people vying for world domination. The crown was right here, after all, so that meant things would be over soon. Whether they win or lose, Amay didn’t think his future was particularly bright, but being with Astarion soothed him in a way no one else could. He watched carefully as the elf placed kisses on his knuckles, and his expression softened. Ever since they got to the city, Astarion had been so loving with him sometimes Amay didn’t really understand why, as though there always had to be a reason behind every gentle touch. What had he done to deserve such tenderness? Was he that happy about the shirt?

The coast is clear. Amay couldn’t help but smile, followed by scrunching up his face as if he felt silly for smiling at such a thing. He walked carefully next to Astarion, making sure to not make too much noise with every step he took as he played into the game of sneaking away with his lover. He nodded, then pressed a finger against his lips.

Once they were outside, he let Astarion bathe in the sunlight. Amay watched him as he did so, his thumb drawing circles on Astarion’s hand, then returning the squeeze Astarion gave him with one of his own.

“Well. . .” He looked at nowhere in particular, just not at Astarion, as he thinks. What is his style? The court robes and dresses he wore. Mephistar weren't really something he'd pick to wear again, but they were the only thing he knew he regularly wore. He didn't really spend his time looking up fashion trends in the nine or in other realms. He will have to wear those outfits again once this is all over, or maybe he'll be reduced to rags and left alone somewhere in the vast frozen wasteland as a punishment. Should he take back the crown just to assure his spot in Mephistar? But then, he's sure that'd mean never talking to the party again, not just because he'd be in another realm but because they'd probably hate him for taking the crown back to an archdevil, the same one that originally plotted all of this to begin with. Gortash's angle of a religious cult was a nice touch though. He sighs. “I do like wearing armor. Leather dyed black looks cool.” If he could sleep in armor, he would. After passing up on every new option of armor back in the wilderness to see everyone else wear it, as it was too heavy for him, finding something in the city that fit him had been a big moment for him. Of course, there was also the surprise he felt when he saw the way the leather bound his body on a profile view.

He noticed Astarion looking into the shop and Amay stops. He considered the mannequins and the fabrics wrapped around them. It looked like something right up Astarion's alley, but he wasn't sure if it’s something he would wear as easily as Astarion wore his tunic. On top of that, would they even agree to let him in the shop? He brushed the thoughts away, turning back to Astarion. “We could see what they sell here. This could be my style.” His whole life he was a mannequin for his patron, but he was a little curious to see what Astarion would like him to wear.

Astarion feels Amay’s hands on him—warm, grounding—and he can’t help but relish every touch. There was a time when contact like this, any physical touch, sent waves of discomfort crawling beneath his skin. When someone’s hand brushing his, someone’s fingers on his face, would tighten his stomach with dread, disgust, and shame. But that time feels so far away now, a shadow lingering at the edges of his memory. Now, with Amay, all he craves is that warmth, that connection. The need for it is almost as powerful as his need for blood. For once, it feels pure. It doesn’t feel tainted.

His lips part in a soft, amused breath as Amay says it’s his turn. The word that sounds like a pet name—spoken in a language Astarion doesn’t understand—makes him smile. He doesn’t have time to ask about it before Amay’s lips are on him again, and then the bite—a sharp pinch of teeth against his lip. Astarion’s crimson eyes widen for a moment, the surprise making a small, startled sound escape him, but the shock quickly melts into something warmer, more intimate. He lets out a low, pleased hum, the kind that comes from deep in his chest, and his body arches ever so slightly into the kiss.

When they finally pull apart, Astarion’s lips curl into a wicked, teasing grin. His voice drops to a husky whisper, playful but laden with promise. ❛ Careful, darling . . . I can think of far more sinful ways to pass the time than a quick bite. ❜ His eyes glint with amusement, with desire, as he lets his gaze linger on Amay for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, but then he chuckles, a soft, knowing sound, and pulls back. ❛ But I suppose we did plan to go shopping. ❜ The words are light, but the look he gives Amay as he speaks suggests he’s already counting the ways they could delay that trip.

When Amay takes Astarion’s offered hand, the vampire brings it up to his lips. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he presses a couple of tender kisses to Amay’s knuckles, letting his lips linger on each kiss for just a moment too long. His crimson eyes never leave Amay’s face, as if he’s studying every flicker of emotion, every unspoken thought in those golden eyes. With a final kiss, Astarion threads their fingers together, and the small, simple act of holding hands feels far more intimate than it has any right to.

Hand in hand, he leads Amay out of the room. Astarion’s smirk returns as they pass through the quiet halls of the inn, listening to the soft rustling of their companions as they go about their morning routines. ❛ Perfect. The coast is clear, ❜ he teases, a sly grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He’s not really worried about the others knowing they’re sneaking off for a little quest break, but there’s a certain pleasure in not having to explain himself to anyone. ❛ I’m sure they’ll be fine without us for a couple of hours. We’re due a break from cults and mind flayers, anyway. ❜ His tone is light, carefree, as if the world outside their little bubble doesn’t exist for the moment.

Astarion steps through the front door of the inn, drawing in a slow breath of the crisp morning air. The city of Baldur’s Gate sprawls out before them, bathed in warm sunlight, and he pauses for just a second to savor the sensation of the sun on his skin. He never gets tired of it, never takes it for granted.

He gives Amay’s hand a gentle squeeze and then turns his attention to him, a playful but genuine curiosity lighting up his crimson eyes. ❛ Now, my dear, ❜ Astarion purrs, his voice smooth as silk, ❛ what should we be looking for today? I’m positively dying to know what your style is. ❜ His smirk widens, but the question is sincere. In all their time traveling together, he’s only ever seen Amay wear the same outfit——the one he arrived in, worn and practical. It’s suited their needs on the road, but Astarion is sure that’s not all there is to Amay. Surely he must have a preference, something more than what the practicalities of their journey demanded.

❛ What makes you feel good? What do you like? ❜ It’s a simple question, but Astarion’s tone is careful, deliberate. He wants to know——not out of some superficial curiosity, but because he genuinely cares. There’s a part of him that wants to help Amay discover something new, something that makes him feel confident and beautiful, something that will make that radiant smile of his last a little longer.

They pass a shop with its doors just opening, and Astarion can’t help but peer inside. Luxurious fabrics drape across mannequins—rich velvet, shimmering silks, dark leathers—and he can already picture Amay wrapped in them, can already see the way the fabrics would cling to his frame. But he holds back, waiting, letting Amay take the lead. He knows what he likes, but today isn’t about him. It’s about Amay.

[deepdarkdelights]

Run Little Red (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Werewolf Namjoon, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of discovering dead bodies, People going missing, Devious Intentions, Depictions of Guns, Mourning, Wolf Courtship Rituals

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals. 

<<Forbidden Fables Masterlist>>

Preview:  A calm life in a small village was all you ever knew, your days spent in the bakery and keeping to yourself. You liked the quiet and gentle nature of your life, but one day a wolf stands outside of your window, a stranger arrives, and people begin to go missing. Do you dare don your red coat and enter the forest?

A/N: Hello babes! My fellow authors and myself decided to change up the order of our release dates for our Forbidden Fables Collab! And, since I recently finished this little beauty, I get to release it first. yay! Now I can sit back and savor the delectable writings of my fellow authors 💜 I hope you enjoy Run Little Red it was fun to make! I can’t wait to read the comments and asks 💜

There was a wolf outside your window. 

It’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light like molten gold with silver fur that melted into the snow. 

You sat up in bed, wrapping your patchwork quilt around your shoulders as you scooted to the foot of the bed. It was staring at you, that much you were sure of. And that startled you, the almost human like appearance to its gaze was intense and unsettling. It was an animal, but it appeared to be far more intelligent than you had first anticipated. 

Maybe it was hungry, perhaps that was why it was so intent on peering through your window.

No, it certainly wasn’t, that was evident. What you had missed before was glaringly obvious now, its silver muzzle was stained in red. It had made a fresh kill before it had wandered over to your cottage mere feet from the woods. 

So, if it wasn’t hungry, why was it here?

You watched in morbid fascination as its tongue slipped out of its mouth and laved over the fresh, thick, crimson blood that decorated its muzzle. You could see the rows of sharp canines hidden within its maw for mere seconds before the wolf clenched its jaw shut and settled on its hindlegs in the drift of snow.

“My, what big teeth you have.” You whispered to yourself, your voice seemingly louder in the empty room.  

You couldn’t help but wonder what it had made it’s meal. Perhaps a deer, or a squirrel, maybe a bird, or even a small, innocent, little rabbit. 

That would have been ideal. But, you knew it was most likely one of the poor farmer’s livestock. Your village was small and self sufficient, rarely reaching out to its neighboring villages and rarely receiving visitors of its own. So, when the cattle and the goats began to disappear, only their entrails remaining, the town quickly became suspicious. 

It was either one of two things, rebellious teenagers making a hassle for everyone, or a wolf amongst you.   

If only you had known what was to come. 

You stared back warily out the window at the creature, suddenly realizing just how easily it could bust through your flimsy window if it wanted to. This wolf was probably the largest you had ever seen, it was almost the size of a pony, with long limbs that held thick muscle from the time it spent chasing down its prey. You were certain a simple snap of its jaws would kill you in an instant if it desired to do so. 

It’s gaze had not left you, petrifying you to your very spot. You felt like the two of you were playing a game, waiting to see who would be the one to make the first move. 

The call of your mother’s voice was the tie breaker. 

You rose to your feet, your bare skin brushing over the cool wood of the floor as you retreated through your door, back first. 

“Yes?” You replied, angling your neck to the hallway for a moment. 

“Hurry, sweetheart! You’re going to be late!” She called back from the kitchen. 

The bakery had been in your family for the past three generations now, starting with your grandfather, then your mother, and now you. Your mother was showing signs of her age now, her hands were unsteady and unreliable creating more of a mess than a sellable meal. So, it was your turn now. It was the only thing you could do for her, besides be married off and you weren’t quite ready for that. No one was. 

At least that was the gentle way of putting it, in reality you had made yourself quite the social pariah. You were a determined woman, one who liked to keep to herself, one who liked owning the bakery and not having to sign over the ownership to a husband. You had your mother to care for, a business to run, and a grandmother that lived deep in the woods to fret over. 

It didn’t really matter what you wanted, you did what was necessary to stay afloat. 

“Just a minute!” You called once more before slinking back into your room. 

There was a noticeable difference about the space now, the wolf was gone. The only sign he had ever been there being the large dip in the snow that his form had disrupted and a track of paw prints headed into the forest. How strange. 

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, you didn’t want to think about what you would have to do if the creature returned. The shotgun looming over you from above the front door said enough.

You couldn’t allow a predator to get comfy around your home, that would only invite trouble into your life.

You dressed yourself quickly that morning in as many layers as you could. The walk to the bakery wasn’t a far one, but it was a frigid one. You made sure to wear your wool stockings and your leather boots, the snow looked to be thick and you didn’t fancy the idea of wet feet all day while you worked. 

You leaned over the side of your bed, scooping up your bag and throwing the keys inside of it in one motion. The extra sleep you had gotten the night before had cost you the time you needed in the morning to ready yourself. 

Once you gave yourself a quick look over and ran through your mental checklist, you rushed out of your room and into the main room of the house. Your house was more like a cottage, it was incredibly small. With only your mother’s room, your room, and the kitchen in one corner with the fireplace in the other it made for a quaint and cozy home. Albeit a cramped one. 

“Your breakfast is on the table.” Your mother said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear with trembling hands. 

You could see her cleaning up the mess she had made that morning in an attempt to show you kindness. Normally, you were the one to wake early and prepare the both of you for the day ahead. But she had also told you many times before that she was your mother and she was supposed to take care of you as well. 

You eyed the bowl of steaming porridge that sat upon the rickety table. “I don’t think I’ll have the time to eat it.”

“Then you’ll make the time.” She huffed, wiping a wet rag over the counter in two swipes. 

“I shouldn’t have overslept.” You sighed, resting your bag on the floor as you took a seat. 

“You needed the rest, dear. You’re up every morning at the crack of dawn and you don’t come home until nightfall. You don’t need to work that much.” She chided you, smoothing her hands over your hair in a fond manner. 

“I do, for you and for Grandmother.” You reminded her. The cost of living was not cheap. 

“And what about you? You should be spending time with people your age, not working yourself to the bone.”

“I don’t need anyone but you, and Grandmother.” You smiled before sipping at your spoon quickly, hissing as you burned the tip of your tongue in your haste. 

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She chided under her breath, spurring a giggle from your throat. 

You finished your food as quickly as you could before excusing yourself from the table and heading for the door. 

“Your cloak, dear!” Your mother called as you pulled the door open, the chill of the snow seeping into your bones. 

“Yes, mother!” You chirped with an amused roll of your eyes as you curled your fingers around the crimson fabric of the cloak. Your grandmother had made it herself two winters ago, as much as you loved it and her you had to admit it was a tad ostentatious and you weren’t exactly one for attention. But it was warm and it served its purpose well. 

The door creaked shut behind you, squeaking softly as it settled back into the frame. The snow had fallen much higher than you had previously anticipated. You tightened the ties of your cloak and delicately flipped the large hood over your head before gripping your layers of skirts and hiking them up as you began your journey. 

It was rather slippery that day, you couldn’t restrain the slight squeals that fell from your parted lips each time the heel of your boot found a patch of ice and sent you sliding. You were certain you should have caught the attention of a few passerbys, but to your surprise a large group of them had become preoccupied. 

There were about fourteen of them, all in one great circle fervently discussing something. They seemed to be worried, panicked even. It had caught your attention now that the group was made up mostly of men excluding the butcher’s wife and daughter. Both’s cheeks were stained red, their eyes brimming with unshed tears as they held onto each other tight in the crisp air. 

Your face tensed in confusion as you approached the bakery, the group not too far away from you. 

“Oh, poor Sarah.” A tender voice cooed worriedly from next door. It was the tailor, she and her apprentice were stood outside, thick shawls wrapped around the both of them. 

You occupied yourself by rifling through your leather satchel, pretending to look for the shop keys you held in that very hand. You knew that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but you also were the curious sort, and that curiosity demanded to be satiated. 

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m sure they’ll find him soon, you know how the young ones are.” The apprentice said, her hand resting on the tailor’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. 

“It’s not like William though, he’s a sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense for him to go up and missing at the crack of dawn.” She replied, her dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just find it funny is all, that a stranger shows up here the same day that Sarah’s boy disappears.”

“Coincidence isn’t evidence.” The apprentice hummed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself  as she began to back up against the shop door, aggravated by the chilly air. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, with a search party that size he’ll be back home in no time.”

With that, you finally retrieved your “missing” keys and unlocked the door, sliding into the safety of the bakery. You knew William as well, he really was a sweet kid...to most. Your heart did go out to Sarah though, you didn’t know the pain of a missing child but you could empathize. The sight of her broken face remained burned into your mind as you readied the shop, lighting the hearth and preparing your materials to start your first batch of bread for the day. Your late start was going to nip you in the behind, most of the women arrived by noon to get their first pick of goods and the two hours it would take to make your batches was going to loom over your head the entire time. 

You were mid kneading your dough when the familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop door demanded your attention. You paused for a moment, your aching arms thanking you for the short reprieve. Almost immediately your breath was caught in your throat. You had been expecting one of the regular mothers wandering their way in, or perhaps even one of their children running errands. Not this man that stood before you. 

This was most obviously the stranger the tailor had been referring to moments earlier, there was no mistake. Your village was small, everyone knew everyone and this stranger looked nothing like any of the people in your town. 

He was so much taller than anybody else, broader too. But most astonishing was his pure silver hair and the deep honey shade of his eyes. You had never seen anyone as young as him with hair that light, it surely wasn’t grey, the shade far too bright to be mistaken with something that dull. He was damn near ethereal and unfairly attractive. His looks had almost distracted you from his attire but now that you were paying attention, he was severely underdressed for the weather. He had to be freezing cold. 

“Hello, can I help you?” You asked softly, patting your hands against your apron to remove the excess flour from your skin. 

He had a rather confident stance, like he was the owner of the shop instead of you, you who was slightly cowering and thrumming with anxiety. 

He sent you a wide grin, his teeth were pearly white and for some unknown reason that sent your heart crashing into your stomach. You could have sworn they even looked slightly pointy at the ends, not unlike those of the creature you had seen outside your window that morning. You had almost been distracted by the sweet dimples that rested in his cheeks. What duality he had. 

He tilted his head back slightly, peering down at you from above, “Hm, I’m looking for something sweet.” He hummed. 

“Sweet?” You mumbled to yourself, resting your hand on your hip in thought.

“Oh! I made some sweet rolls yesterday, how about that?” You said with a snap of your fingers, retreating further into the shop without a response from him. 

Now in work mode you busied yourself with preparing the stranger’s order. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had arrived, what his reason for being there was. Barely anybody passed through your village, and they certainly didn’t stay as long as he had. 

Once you had retrieved the tray of rolls you set them on the counter before grabbing a pot of freshly warmed icing and gently drizzling it over top. Once each roll had been thoroughly coated, you set the pot aside and headed to the cupboard to retrieve a bag for them.  

“Perfect.” You sighed in irritation, craning your neck back to see the top of the shelf. 

Normally, you had endless amounts of bags and never needed the ones stored on the top shelf. But this winter had been far more difficult than past ones and your stock had not been refilled in quite a while. 

Desperately not wanting to search for your wooden stool, you stubbornly resorted to balancing on the tips of your toes, your fingers just barely brushing against the material of the bags. You groaned in frustration, bouncing up slightly only to knock the bags back further on the shelf and worsen the ache in your shoulder. 

Just as you were about to give up and resort to looking for your rickety stool, you felt a hand settle on your waist and a chest press against your back as the stranger reached up and grabbed the bags for you. He was incredibly warm, so warm you thought he may even be sick. He felt as warm as the heat emanating from a fire of fresh coals and that was incredibly alarming, but also explained his state of dress.

You flinched in surprise as you felt him set the bags aside and settle his other hand on your shoulder. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being his slow, steady breaths underlying your panicked ones accompanied by the calm rise and fall of his chest against your back. You had never been this close to anyone before, it was incredibly uncomfortable. 

You felt much like a rabbit, cornered, panicking, and believing that if you stayed still enough he wouldn’t see you and would go away. 

He gently rested his forehead against your hair, nuzzling from side to side before reaching up and playing with a stray strand. You could feel him taking a deeper breath this time, humming softly like he was pleased. 

“Sweet.” He mumbled to himself. 

Oh. Oh, no. Who did this man think he was? You were not on the menu. You shuddered in fear before jerking away, smacking his hands off of you. 

You turned on your heel, backing away from him as you fixed him with an annoyed glare. The look he gave you was one of clear confusion, a layer of hurt and frustration buried beneath. 

“I’m not sure how things work where you come from, but normally you ask for permission before you go touching someone you don’t know.” You huffed, slamming the empty bag on the counter as you began to package the rolls. 

It didn’t matter if he was attractive or not, you were not going to let him touch you as he pleased or get the wrong message that you weren’t even conveying in the first place. 

The stranger rounded the counter, the block of wood effectively separating the two of you, making you feel a little safer. His eyes looked darker than before, less like honey and more like amber. 

His confident demeanor had returned, effectively confusing you even more. 

“Forgive me,” He said, another smile gracing his lips as he rested his forearms on the countertop, “It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot? My name is Namjoon, and yours?” 

So, he did have the capability to be somewhat of a gentleman. He was rather well spoken, and his strange mannerisms and quiet demeanor had all but disappeared in a flash. 

So, begrudgingly, you replied with your name. 

He repeated it after you, his tongue swiping over the full flesh of his lower lip like he was tasting it, sending a chill down your spine. 

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, you were correct in assuming where I come from we do greetings a little differently.” He said with a soft chuckle, his amber eyes tracing every movement you made. 

You did feel a little bad now for how you had lashed out at him. Normally, you weren’t one who was quick to anger, but that still didn’t excuse what he had done. 

“It’s alright,” You said, slowly, “You need to be more careful though, if that had been anyone else I don’t think you would have gone unscathed.” 

“Are most of your people so quick to violence?” He asked, titling his head slowly, a strong sense of intrigue exuding from his form. 

“I wouldn’t say so normally, but we’re all a little on edge as of late. Our livestock has been attacked and just this morning one of us went missing.”

“Missing?” He asked, a new glow to eyes. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The butcher’s son hasn’t been seen all day, it’s very unlike him.” You said, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, unsure if you should tell him more. But, considering it concerned him you felt maybe it was in his best interest to tell him. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around for too long. Some find it suspicious you turned up the same day that William went missing.” 

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving just yet?” He asked, disregarding the information you had just given him as if he had no reason to be worried. 

You had no answer for him, truly you didn’t. The packaged rolls sat between the two of you and a long stretch of silence as he stared at you and waited for a response that didn’t come. And, without another word, he dropped a few too many coins on the counter, gathered up the bag, and headed for the front door. 

He stopped for only a moment, his fingers gently stroking at your red cloak you had hung up beside the door. His amber gaze trailed over each stitch as he lightly grazed the material a few more times. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little red.” 

~~~~~~~

After he had left, your day had not gotten any easier. Just as you had expected, it had been another busy day. You had managed to satisfy all of your customers, despite that late start you had made. 

There were a few upsides to the job you had, one being that it allowed you to tune into any gossip you would normally miss out on. You were more of a hit with the older women of the village, the people your age finding you to be a tad strange and off putting. 

That day your shop had been filled with hushed whispers of what had come to pass, the search party still had not returned from their trip to recover William. The outlook was not in the boy’s favor, not with the increase in predator activity you had been receiving as of late. You weren’t so sure you would be seeing William walking back into town any time soon. 

Once the day had come to an end, the sun dipping just below the tree line and casting shades of red over the snow, you had extinguished the lights of your shop and were locking up, your hood drawn over your head. That was when you found out the horrible truth. 

As you slid the shop keys into your bag and turned on your heel, you saw the search party emerging from the woods. And with them, you could see a blanketed form lying in the snow, the sheet swaddling the body slowing turning red. 

You swallowed harshly, turning as quickly as you could and beginning to make your way through the snow and away from what you knew was coming. You didn’t want to see the look on Sarah’s face, you didn’t want to watch her go boneless in the arms of her husband. But it didn’t matter what you saw or didn’t see, you would never forget the sound of her screams piercing the crisp, snowy air.

Your breath was visible in hot puffs in front of your face as you felt the burn of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. It didn’t matter if you didn’t care for William, it didn’t matter if you knew what he was really like, there was nothing quite like the sound of a mother’s heartbreak. It was enough to send anybody down to their knees. 

Your numb fingers wiped away the warm tears rushing down your cheeks, and amidst your blurry vision you could have sworn you saw a familiar figure slinking off into the woods, a flash of silver hair that just barely materialized. You could have sworn that that was Namjoon disappearing like a ghost into the frigid depths of the forest. 

You shook your head, you shouldn’t bother yourself with what he was doing, your main goal should be getting home before the sun completely dips below the horizon and plunges you into darkness. So, with that thought, you rushed home. 

Once you entered the cottage, things didn’t get any better. Your mother was stood there, waiting anxiously for your arrival. As soon as you had stepped foot inside she whipped the door shut and helped you remove your cloak as you toed your boots off. 

“No more working late, do you hear me?” She said, gripping your shoulders to get you to look at her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Word travels fast then?” You asked humorlessly. 

“It’s a shame what happened to that boy, and I’ll be damned if that happens to you.” She replied sternly. 

“And what about Grandmother then? What do we do about her? She’s out there, all alone, with no one to protect her.”

“She has the lumberjack-”

“And he only checks on her every two weeks.” You interrupted, “Let me go out tomorrow and bring her back to us. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Your mother bit her lip, her hands shakily settling on her hips as she thought to herself. “I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you can’t possibly think you’ll be able to make the trip. The snow is thick and it’s a long walk there, you’ll exhaust yourself. It’ll be better if I go, faster too.” You said as you approached the fireplace, raising your hands to the flames to warm them. 

“And your grandmother, you think she’ll be able to make it back through the snow?” She probed, raising her eyebrow. 

She had a point, if you were saying she wouldn’t be able to make it there how would you expect your grandmother to make it back with you? 

You rested your hand on the back of your neck, pacing the floor and causing your layers of skirts to swirl around your ankles. You came to a sudden stop, your eyes settling on the shotgun that was mounted above your front door. Idea.

You didn’t like the thought of her being out there all alone, but if you knew she had something to protect her from the wild animals that would make you feel much better. 

“Alright, what if I bring her some supplies instead? I’ll grab some things that’ll last her a good while and I’ll show her how to use the shotgun. I’ve saved up some money of my own, I could purchase us a new one.” You mused out loud.

You loved your grandmother, she was the last living member of your father’s side of the family, she was the only connection you had to him at this point. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing her just yet, not when you could prevent it from those creatures that were beginning to terrorize your people. 

Your mother was silent once more, her thumb settled between her lips as she nervously chewed at the nail. She didn’t like the idea of you headed out into the woods alone, but she was comforted by the thought of you taking the shotgun with you, that much you were certain of. 

“We don’t know when the next storm will hit, and the last thing we need is for her to be stuck out there, all alone, with no food, surrounded by the wild. Let me go.”

And that was enough to break her resilience. 

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll come back.” She whispered, her body visibly sagging as those words left her lips. 

“It goes without saying.” You murmured, wrapping her up in your embrace. 

It was easier this way, you didn’t want to make a promise you had no certainty in keeping. 

The air in the cottage had lost all tension, everything was much calmer than before. But your peace could only last for so long. It was when you entered your bedroom that you realized something else was wrong.

The room was positively frigid, and upon further inspection you realized that your window had been pried open, the cold winter air surging forth and snuffing out any traces of heat. 

You surged forward and grasped the window, attempting to swing it shut as quickly as you could to try and insulate whatever warmth was left. But the thick scent of copper quickly stalled your movements. Instead of closing the window, you found yourself leaning forward into the brisk air, sniffing intently as you tried to make out where the scent was emanating from. You didn’t have to look far.

Your hands sealed themselves over your mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to break through them. 

Sitting in the snow where the wolf had once laid, was a human heart. The snow seemed to sizzle around it, the organ still warm and slick with blood that carved rivers and valleys into the pure ice. 

You could feel bile rising up your throat, your vision shaking so violently it made it appear that the heart was vibrating with steady pumps like it was still alive. 

And, to your horror, you could make out a form a few feet back in the snow. The only thing that was visible in the pitch black were it’s molten gold eyes, shining back at you in recognition before it scuttled away into the darkness.

You frantically slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed tight. 

There was no mistake now, someone or something had been following you. 

~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning from a restless sleep, you elected to keep your discovery to yourself.

Although you were incredibly frightened by what you had seen, the last thing you needed was to scare your already frail mother. Your grandmother was still in need of assistance, and you couldn’t allow your mother to halt your plans. You had a mission to accomplish, and you were set on completing it with a shotgun slung over your arm and a picnic basket on the other. 

So, you shakily grasped your red cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders in haste, your fingers struggling to do up the ties at the base of your throat. Once you had completed the normally easy task, you slipped your basket onto the inside of your elbow and pulled down the shotgun from its resting place above the door. 

You regularly cleaned it, a task your father had enjoyed teaching you at a young age, so you were certain it wouldn’t jam if you needed to use it in a hurry. You slid a box of ammunition into your pocket, one for you, and another box into the picnic basket, one for your grandmother. 

And then you were off, bidding your mother goodbye with a hug and a swift kiss to her cheek, and an unspoken promise tittering on the edges of your lips saying that you would be home for supper. But those words were better left unspoken. 

The sun was just barely peeking through the thick clouds overhead, you were certain a blizzard was brewing. This only urged you to move quicker through the cleared paths. 

But the clouds weren’t the only foreboding message that morning, it was the mother’s wailing in the town square. There were three more now, holding each other in a comforting manner as they wept into each other’s shoulders. 

More children had been snatched from their mothers.

Sarah sat by herself, of her own volition, an obsidian mourning veil obscuring her tear stained features. A chill ran down your back as you urged yourself to walk by them quicker, she looked more like an executioner than she did a mourner, surrounded by a choir of weeping women. 

You could still hear the echoes of her cries in the back of your mind, the raw chords striking your ears once more. 

You tightened your grip on the strap of your shotgun, your pace slowing as you reached the bridge that led you into the forest. You felt like you could breathe now, despite the knowledge that people your own age had lost their lives in the thick overgrowth before you. The relief that you felt from the women in the square outweighed your fear.

The bridge creaked in protest as your boots tapped against the wood. It would need to be repaired come spring. 

“Little red!” A voice called from the treeline causing you to suddenly stop, snow kicking up beneath your boots. 

Moments later, a familiar figure emerged from the frost coated trees, tall, ash hair, and honey eyes. Namjoon. 

“Where are you off to, little red?” He cooed, his voice low with a sultry edge that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if they were delighted or terrified chills. 

“My grandmother’s, what are you doing here?” You asked, your body tense and defensive. 

He drew nearer now, a wide grin gracing his lips with a set of teeth so white they resembled the snow beneath your boots. The closer he got the more you noticed about him. His perfect white teeth seemed a little sharper than most, and the clothes he wore were once more, not suited for the frigid weather. 

“I caught sight of this old thing,” He hummed, his finger tracing over your cloak and the strap of your shotgun as he slowly circled you, “And couldn’t help but see you.”

You stepped back hesitantly, his presence was unnerving. Without saying anything more you pulled away from his reach and began to walk by him briskly, headed into the woods. 

“Leaving so soon? We only just met.” He laughed, it would have been a nice contagious laughter had you not heard the bitter edge to it. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to dawdle, Namjoon. I need to reach her before the storm hits.”

“Well then, won’t you let me accompany you?”

“I don’t need an escort, I know my way just fine, thank you very much.” 

“And what about the beasts then?” He asked from beside you, sending you halting to a stop. 

“Beasts?” You asked slowly, gazing up at him from beneath the cover of your hood. 

“Well, surely you know?” He asked in a patronizing tone, his honey eyes narrowing. “Four people from your village have gone missing, red. Surely you know that wasn’t an accident. Great beasts have roamed this forest for centuries and they don’t take kindly to intruders. It would be much safer if I came with you.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating his words. He was not wrong, two people were much safer than just one. 

So, begrudgingly, you accepted his offer. 

His hand quickly captured your own, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed his side tightly to your own with a grin. How bold. You were struck once more by the fact that he was incredibly warm, it was no wonder why he wasn’t bundled up like you were. It felt like he had struck a fever. 

Namjoon filled the silence between the two of you surprisingly well, telling you stories of the great beasts that roamed the woods, effectively scaring you and holding your attention. He had a way of speaking that drew people in, like a siren from the stories your father had read to you. 

It was easy to forget with him, easy to forget why you had been frightened in the first place, easy to sink into his side as his warmth seeped into your flesh, and easy to get lost in his voice. 

That was of course, until you felt him pulling you off of the path. 

You dug your heels into the snow, tugging at his hand violently. “Namjoon!”

“Yes?” He asked.

“What are you doing? Her cottage is this way, we stay on the path, we never leave the path.” You said, gesturing towards the dirt pathway beneath the two of you. 

That was a spoken rule in your village, never go off of the path. 

“That’s ridiculous,” He chuckled, “If we continue the way you were going, that doubles the time it takes to get there, it’s better we take the shortcut.”

“No.” You sternly said. 

“And why not?”

“Because, there’s predators out there! Mountain lions, bears, wolves!”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, “Are you scared of wolves, little red?”

“I’m scared of anything that wants to eat me.” You replied with a dry tone. 

“Well you do smell very sweet-”

“Namjoon!”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between you and the shortcut. “I promise you, nothing will hurt you while I’m here. Besides, did you know some flowers bloom in the winter?”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am, there’s a field of flowers this way, all different breeds that bloom in the dead of winter. Don’t you think your grandmother would enjoy those?” 

You chewed at your lip uneasily. He knew exactly what to say to make you question your own actions. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see what he was talking about, and you knew that yes, your grandmother would be elated by something so cheery in the bleak winter months. 

So, after a few moments of consideration, you agreed.

And Namjoon had not been lying. After a few minutes of trekking through the deep snow the two of you emerged into a clearing, and just like he said, it was filled with flowers of all different breeds. 

You found yourself crouching down into the field, your fingers trailing over each velvety petal that had somehow found a way to survive in the clutches of an icy death. Your favorites were the deep red roses. They were a dead match for your cloak, a beautiful color that was delicately dusted with soft flakes of snow. 

You couldn’t help but greedily pluck several blossoms from the foliage, slipping them into your basket. 

And, amidst your excitement, you hadn’t noticed just how close your companion had gotten until you felt him. That incredible warmth had returned as he crouched down behind you, and just like he had in the bakery, you felt him lightly nuzzling your head and breathing in your scent as he pressed himself closer to you, his arms winding around your body in an attempt to pull you even tighter to him. 

You froze, your finger mid pull on the rose’s stem causing you to slice the appendage on a stray thorn. You hissed in pain as you watched the blood drip from the tip of your finger before rolling down your wrist and carving a pool into the snow beneath you. 

And, without a thought, Namjoon’s hand encircled your wrist and yanked it up to his face. 

His once honey eyes appeared brighter than before, his long lashes fluttering as his warm breath misted over your skin. And before you could stop him, he licked a line up your wrist, collecting the blood, and pressed your finger to his lips swiping his tongue over the wound. 

You yelped in surprise, wrenching your hand free from his grip as your heart pounded violently. You rose to your feet and stumbled backwards through the snow. 

Namjoon remained where he was crouched, a sudden hunger evident in his honey gaze, a gaze that was not so unfamiliar. 

“We-we need to go!” You stuttered, turning on your heel and retreating from whatever had just happened. 

You held your hand close to your chest as you walked, frightened by what had just transpired. A part of you suddenly wished you had made your journey alone as you had previously intended.

But the harsh crunch of snow behind you reminded you of the choice you made, and the molten glare digging into your back exemplified it. 

~~~~~~~

The rest of your journey was made in complete silence, a new tension had settled between the two of you. And, true to Namjoon’s word, the way he had taken you was indeed a shortcut. So, you felt no remorse as you sprinted toward the cottage ahead of you and threw a weak thank you over your shoulder. 

You couldn’t stand the awkward tension anymore, you couldn’t stand being in his presence any longer than you needed to. 

As soon as you approached the front door, you threw it open and let it shut behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath before you shrugged the shotgun off of your shoulder and strung it up on the hook beside the front door. 

“Grandmother!” You called as you began to approach the kitchen door, “I’m here!”

And upon opening it, a blood curdling scream broke free from your lips. 

The sight before you could only be described as a massacre. Your hands desperately tried to cover your eyes, but the damage had already been done. There was blood, so much blood amongst other things laid out atop the counter. 

You fell backwards, your body sliding down the wall as hoarse screams raked through your throat. The unmistakable scent of blood was thick in the kitchen sending your stomach churning in your gut. You knew that scent, it was clear as day whatever had remained in that room had once been human. 

“Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out to you. 

And upon opening your eyes, you saw your grandmother standing before you. The sudden feeling of elation surging through your body at the sight of her alive quickly died out. She wore a leather apron stained with blood, both fresh and old, and her hands were gloved. You quickly stood and began to back away from her, your sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in, your eyes zeroing in on the meat cleaver she held in her left hand. 

“Sweetheart, calm down.” She whispered softly, carefully setting the blade down on the counter beside the gorey mess. 

Your eyes were darting everywhere but her, panicked breaths leaving your parted lips. Your gaze finally settled in the corner of the room where a pile of clothing sat and a familiar axe. The lumberjack, she had murdered the lumberjack. 

“Why?” You cried, trembling as if you had been drenched to the bone. “Why did you do it?!” 

“I had too sweetie, I have to feed them.”

“Them? Who?” You asked, backing out of the kitchen as she followed your trail, her face soft with sympathy despite the flecks of blood that decorated her cheeks. 

“The wolves, of course. I made a deal with them long ago, if I fed them in the winter I could stay here.” She replied, her voice alarmingly calm. “The lumberjack was a sweet man but this winter was a rough one, not many travelers I’m afraid.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s best if you listen to me darling. Your grandfather was one of them, he courted me and then we had your father and your uncles. It’s always tricky with litters, you never know who is going to take after who. Your father though, he was the most human out of all of them. Poor thing couldn’t even shift.” She sighed, her eyes glazing over.

“You need help, you’re not well.” You tried again, doing your best to keep distance between the two of you.

“I know you’re a bit shaken up, but you need to listen to me, it’s in your best interest.” She sighed, untying the leather apron from around her waist. 

“That cloak you’re wearing, it’s a symbol that you’ve come of age and Namjoon has had every intention of courting you. He’s been rather obvious really, he’s becoming quite frustrated with you.” 

You suddenly became still, your mind flashing through every time Namjoon had ever touched the very item you were wearing. What she was saying, although deluded, had some semblance of truth. 

“I-I have to go.” You mumbled, your throat tightening from the copper scent and smell of flesh that hung heavily in the air. You needed to get home and far away from her before she killed you too. 

A deep sadness spread over her features as her head hung low, shaking from side to side. “Don’t run,” She breathed, “They find the chase seductive.”

All this time you had been slowly backing away from the person you loved the most, and now you had been stopped by the feeling of a solid form behind you. You quickly spun around, a shriek of horror escaping you as you met the bright, gold eyes of your escort, Namjoon. 

And, without thinking, you ran. 

Your cloak was fluttering behind you rapidly in the harsh, cold winds, the snow coming down thicker than it ever had before. And, to your absolute horror, a loud howl was echoing throughout the trees. 

You peered over your shoulder as you sprinted to the best of your ability through the snow drifts. The wolf that had sat outside your window days before had returned and was chasing you down. Now that there was nothing separating you from the creature you were terrified, it was massive and hunting you down. It had the clear advantage, you were inevitably going to die. You were never going home again, another child was going to be ripped from their mother. 

Tears were pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls as you blindly ran, unsure as to where you were going. You knew that you didn’t have time, four legs were faster than two and you were greatly impaired by the weather. 

With no goal in mind, no destination in sight, you ran in hopes you would be able to live for a little longer. You did your best to weave between the trees, slide down hills of snow, and keep running for your life. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but still you ran, even as you heard the loud steps of the wolf coming nearer and nearer.

And, just as you had lost all hope, an outcropping of rocks became visible at the base of a snowy hill. And with every intention to save your life, you recklessly threw yourself down the hill allowing gravity to take over for you. 

The second you felt yourself cease rolling, you rose to your unsteady legs and dizzily stumbled into the cluster of rocks, pulling yourself into the shelter away from the blizzard.

But your hope was fleeting as you came to a realization. The shelter was a den, one that had clearly been in use. It was littered with furs, blankets, books, and materials for a fire. The creature had been corralling you to this very location. 

You turned as another burst of adrenaline shot through your body only to be stunted by the sight of the silver wolf blocking the exit to the den. 

It’s bright eyes stared back at you with a gleam of satisfaction as it crouched down, shimming it’s way into the den and backing you up further into its depths. 

You watched, horrified, as the wolf began to whimper, it’s body shaking violently as the sound of bones beginning to snap and crunch echoed throughout the space, reforming and distorting themselves into vaguely familiar shapes as it’s fur began to melt away. 

Those bright golden eyes faded to a recognizable honey shade, and the silver fur disappeared and showed itself as ashen hair. On the floor of the den sat Namjoon in the place of where the powerful wolf had once stood. 

He carefully rolled his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly in response as he rose to his feet. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips, a triumphant gleam to his eyes as he confidently approached your trembling form. 

A broken cry escaped from your throat as you felt him press his forehead to your own, lightly nuzzling his head against yours. His strange behavior now made sense, he had been courting you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but natural to him. 

All of the people that had gone missing were male’s your age, he had been wiping out the competition. 

And the bloody organ he had left outside of your window, had been a horrific present. A show of his dominance and his twisted affection. 

You were crying uncontrollably now, everything you had experienced suddenly crashing down on you. You flinched in terror as you felt his fingers grip your jaw, his lips just brushing against your own and he hummed happily.

“You have nowhere left to run, little red.” 

[leggerefiore]

△Kyurem Emin▼

cw: angst lmao, major character death

● He was the original dragon, the being in which both Ingo and Emmet split from. A dragon of balance, who is believed to have ruled Unova during his time. Long grey wings spread from his back with thick, tough skin with the downy feathers. Horns spread from his head while accented with fluff at its bases. A complicated tail heavy on his back, able to act powerful, freezing ice. His feet are strong clawed paws, while his hands only have the claws. He's taller than the twins, as well.

○ As the ruler of Unova, he was always busy with managing and keeping everything in order. He couldn't recall just when he had become king of this region, but he knew that it was simply his duty. Of course, everyone loved and revered him as he kept everything so peaceful and calm. Emin was a fair, just leader. There are still many, many accounts of his rules. Many following kings and political figures attempted to imitate him, but no one could do it perfectly.

● Emin enjoyed being king, taking pride in how he kept Unova together, but something lurked underneath his kind smiles and stern looks. The Kyurem hybrid was lonely. Dreadfully so. He did his work dutifully, but his heart begged for something more. He was so cold, and he wanted another to keep him warm. His true mate was out there, assuredly. Emin could only wait to meet them.

○ You were a simple servant who worked in the castle. Many of the servantry had never seen the king, so there was often talk and gossip about what one person had heard or seen. You were certain you could easily pick him out in a crowd, but you weren't allowed in the royal quarters or used in the area of the throne room. Though, one night in the gardens, after stress from a rogue bullying campaign by your fellow servants had become too much, you saw him. Noble was the first word in your mind; sad was the second one. Dumbly, you approached him.

● Emin's heart nearly stopped when his eyes spotted a servant walked toward him. He had stepped out into the garden to clear his head after a feeling of longing became too much. His mate was nearby, bug he had not seen them. Well… Now he had. You flinched as the king embraced while blabbing endearments and promises. The hug felt right, however. You returned the affection, ease settling over your wear mind. Eventually, he pulled away and knelt before you. His hand pulled yours to his lips. “My mate… I have finally found you,” his voice was soft like a summer rain, “I love you more than you can possibly perceive…”

○ It was very much a whirlwind romance, but it was hard not to be swept up in it all. The Dragon hybrid was nothing but loving and caring, exciting moments happened more often than you expected. Previous tormentors backing off the instant it was out that you were the mate of someone so close to deity. It was not long before you completed the ritual to seal your bond with Emin and a proper marriage ceremony. You joined, ruling the land at his side.

● When you expected stress and heavy burdens, Emin lifted those pains away from you. You were free to take on the duties as wanted. Naturally, you took on quite a few in order to ease the weight from the icy dragon's shoulders. He deeply appreciated your kindness. Lips pressing to your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours. His hands grasped yours as he whispered about his undying love for you.

○ The king was nothing but a perfect mate to you, patient and kind. He had waited so long for your appearance that he was capable of restraining himself as you needed. Nights were in a comfortable burrow within sheets and blankets, as the frigid dragon stole your warmth for his own. You didn't mind, his tender affections more than making up for the chill. Kisses pressed all over and gentle promises fall from him. You did much the same, easing the stressed man from his title and duties into a simple person who deserved love. He thanked you endlessly.

● Time travels on; people come and go. A new advisor comes along. He's amazingly good, everyone says, and he soon lands in Emin's close circle. The change is apparent. Suddenly, the bliss is covered in dark stormy clouds. Whispers of foreign wars spreading to Unova; plagues and famine to reap the fertile land of your home. You knew exactly who brought such terrible information, but you also knew it was untrue. So long as Emin remained, balance would remain in the land. He was a wonderful negotiator and had strong allies that would never allow such things to come.

○ You pleaded for the removal of that baleful green-haired man, but Emin refused. He argued that these matters were of grave importance. It left you afraid, moments where his voice held too much variance to be natural. Like he was splitting into two. Everything slowly got worse, the ignored dust growing thick and near solid. You moved to find Emin once again, but he was nowhere when you looked. As you headed to the throne room, a figure moved to intercept you in the gallery.

violence and blood under the cut, character death and descriptions of some uncomfy things.

● The very advisor you despised. He sneered at you. “All my hard work is always undone by you…” he growled, a hand moving to grab something from under his robes, “I can no longer take it. I must simply remove you from the picture.” A blade is unsheathed. You are tackled to the ground before you can react, blade buried into your stomach. You couldn't even scream as a hand closed around your throat. Why? Why was he doing this? Tears burned your eyes. Bright crimson stained the white of your robes. Your death would have horrible consequences for everyone, you knew. This was a power struggle.

○ The footsteps echoed, and the advisor dashed to hide behind a tapestry. The door of the throne room swung open to reveal Emin, long silver strands blowing from the change in airflow. Bright yellow eyes shoot wide as he notices you. He runs to embrace your wounded form. You take useless, ragged breaths and cough up some blood. You murmur the advisor's name, unable to say much more. Everything was hazy and sluggish, thoughts were impossible to think. You close your eyes. Letting go was impossible to resist.

● The advisor tries to sneak out the gallery, but a dragon king stands to his full height, freezing the room around him. The doors wouldn't open, and his body was growing weak. Emin turns to the advisor with cold, unfeeling eyes. Balance could be achieved, a life for a life. The advisor yells in vain as crystals flow around him and slowly begin to materialise into chunks of ice. From his feet up, he is slowly encased within a chunk of ice. His last conscious sight is the dragon king in tears.

○ Emin kneels beside your body. Your pulse has stopped; your chest no longer swells with breath. He doesn't feel whole any longer. No longer did he wish to exist in this realm, not without his precious mate at his side. A feeling of becoming unwound blossoms, thoughts splitting into two separate lines. His body feels alight with fire and buzzing electricity. It hurts so badly, and he wants to stay whole. He can't. Not without you. Odd, inhuman sobs echo the room as the feeling of being drained overcomes him. His last proper thoughts of what would become of Unova in his absence. It had never been without his.

● Ingo consoled his sobbing counterpart as he laid their mate's head in his lap. The two instantly knew what they were from the second they separated from their previous entity. The dragon of ideals was freed first, but immediately followed by the one of truth. Emmet and Ingo; Reshiram and Zekrom. They could only pick up the pieces left for them. The disorder and turmoil their existence marked would divide them for the longest of time, but in these few moments of mourning, they could exist together.

[rockruin]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘. like shoes not broken in yet. daisy struggled to find the effortlessness in it — every step she’d made towards her newly rebuilt life, from the very first brick she’d laid down towards becoming not a ghost of seventies’ past but philanthropist, entrepreneur, author, mother — all of it had taken a sharp, aching effort out of her. it demanded effort: it would not concede victory unless it came in exchange for blood, sweat and tears. she measured her words now. contained her feelings, calculated her moves not out of a need for schemes, but a need to dilute her instincts: not spill out like water out of a broken dam. these days, she channeled a gentle river more than a flood — and most times she found she liked it, going with the flow, not endlessly fighting her way upstream.

ah, but some of the fire remained still: on a stage, presenting her fundraiser’s new project — not quite as electric, no guttural scream of liberation echoing from her lungs. but a certain pride glimmered in her eyes as she presented the wildflower initiative’s climate change awareness program — a spark of electricity still jolted through her when the audience applauded. 

and she knew how to work the crowd, still, though it was different now. no belting or harmonizing, but shaking hands and nodding passionately. she flowed along with it, though she looked forward to the after: the warm quiet of her home. bedtime stories for her sons. sandalwood candles burning in her room. a poetry book, a cup of tea — a comfortable stillness. still, even as she entertained mildly interesting conversations with donors and journalists — still, until she wasn't. a gust of wind suddenly breaking into her quiet. a voice, breaking into the scene, gentle but reverberating so loud in her ears: a crack of lightning.

daisy turned, breath stuck in her throat: ❝ billy ❞, she breathed out, as the world came to a halt. the past two decades had been spent carefully erasing his face from her memories — avoiding every book cover, every vh1 special, every poster in every venue she’d ever stepped in. it was almost surprising, to see him so vividly : not a ghost, not the past. just a man she’d once thought of as enemy. in the stillness of her shock, she searched silently for the blame she’d once pinned in him — searched through all of herself for the anger, the regret, all the reasons she’d piled up between her and the memory of him. in the search, what she found instead was warmth: the tender feeling of an affection returned. a certain kind of happiness.

it happened of its own accord — not quite commanded, but sprung from the most natural of chemical reactions. shocked features turning to softness, turning to joy: the brightest smile igniting her as she went to wrap her arms around him, tight — in spite of herself, out of control, taken over by the overwhelming weight of years of unsaid nothings. for seconds, seemingly endless seconds, daisy jones hugged billy dunne and it felt right, and it felt safe, and twenty years seemed pointless, they’d never really happened.

just as easily, then, she regained control of herself: stepped away, cleared her throat, dimmed her smile. but it remained — faded, controlled, but genuine. ❝ billy dunne. my god. ❞. daisy exhaled slowly. ❝ i never really thought i’d see you again ❞. distantly, she became aware of prying gazes cast on them by the rest of the audience — some recognizing, some wondering. she remained still, then smiled. ❝ this is julia’s doing, isn’t it ? ❞

Billy had to have spent half the day staring down at that invitation. rereading its contents, familiarizing himself with its material. The Wildflower Initiative… cordially invites… Julia Martinez-Dunne… to… signed, Daisy Jones, slid across the kitchen counter, before the coffee she’d put on, had even a chance to brew.  his eldest was just as pushy as her mother had been, maybe even more so. “look, Dad… I’m not saying that you should go,” she’d said, in her place, with an inclination that she’d meant the exact opposite, “all I’m saying is… who knows? you could wind up glad that ya’ did.” as if were that simple. though it’d been nearly a year since its release, the public’s attention had yet to stray from the words she’d put to paper. some of which, he never could’ve imagined he’d say aloud, let alone, have publicized, for the whole world to see, for her to see. he’d often wondered if she’d read it, Daisy, or if she, too, had only dared to skim. it’d kept him up at night, the wondering. that was the thing about fire. once mixed with gasoline, it took a whole lot more than water to extinguish. 

still, he’d yet to work up the nerve to call, to actually use her number, that Camila had set aside. what would he even say? it was this same question, that’d kept him glued to his seat, invitation is hand, as day turned to night. until it was nearly too late. 

he’d not a clue what had changed his mind, nor when he’d changed his mind, only that as he’d slipped into the shadows of the event venue, just as Daisy had appeared on stage, to thank everyone for coming, he felt that his heart might just burst through the stuffy, suit jacket, he’d thought to throw on, as he was half-way out the door, and that, later, as he’d approached bright, red curls, from behind, he’d paid no mind to the stragglers who’d watched, as he did. “you never did have much trouble drawing a crowd,” had shattered the last twenty years of silence, his lips, nearly, resembling a smile. 

@rockruin.

[for-ests]

Dosage: Gojo Satoru x Reader

summary: you finally gain the courage to tell Gojo what you are craving. (some requested Gojo smut for me and my simps)

Wc: 4, 587

Few people had seen the mystifying colors that you theorized were present in Gojo’s eyes. You had known him for months now and had yet to intimately glimpse his irises. It was strange to not know what awaited you under the fabric, as eyes were one of the first features another would compliment.

It was a feature that made up a face, that many people needed to see to find someone attractive. You had developed immensely strong feelings, falling for every inch of his body, strength, and personality, without even knowing what color his eyes were.

It had all started after you were paired up on a project with him to train the boy who had consumed Sukuna’s fingers. You were a renowned sorcerer in your own right, yet you knew your power could not compare to what Gojo displayed every time you were thrown into battle beside him.

That was another reason you fell so deeply in love with him. He was there to save you each time. Like today, for instance. After battling and exorcizing until your body was completely out of stamina, Gojo swooped in at the last minute and cleaned up the rest of them as you laughed on the sidelines.

Now he had brought you back to his house, a place where you could always relax. You felt so safe around him, never having a care in the world when you were in his presence.

You sprawled across his bed, a bed you had grown so accustomed to, letting yourself become surrounded by his scent and everything that made him who he was. Normally, you would have immediately drifted off into a peaceful slumber, but the mood that hung low around the two of you felt different this time around.

Though you had been dating for quite some time, there was one action you and Gojo had not participated in--which was sex. There were multiple reasons for not taking pleasure in the wonders his body could provide, yet what it came down to was time management, which was something the two of you were terrible at.

Time management was hard when your livelihood depended on calls of distress.

Yet right then, coming down from the high of combat, after watching him in his element, there was only one thing on your mind. You wanted him. You wanted him in the most intimate way possible.

“Are you going to take a nap?” Gojo closed the door behind him, immediately slipping out of his coat and tossing it onto his desk chair.

Truthfully, a nap did sound wonderful. It was just nice to receive some peace and quiet with him, yet, your urges could not be suppressed again. You at least had to say something about it, let him know what you were craving. “I want something…” You sat up, gaining the courage to face him head-on with the need that was pooling in the pit of your stomach from his unfiltered proximity alone.

Gojo turned, already chuckling from your outburst. “Let me guess… You wanna see me with it off?” he pointed at his blindfold, lips upturned with a smirk.

“I mean…” You trailed off, trying to express your words as nonchalantly as possible. Your boyfriend had only guessed one of the two things you wanted. “If you want to… I’d also like more than that.”

“And what would that be?” Gojo questioned, snaking his way between your legs, towering over you with a playful intensity that was absent before. It was clear that he enjoyed your perturbation, as it was something you rarely expressed, you were always calm and collected.

Your relationship had never gone further than heated make-out sessions, your hands never reaching past the hem of his pants, never gaining the confidence to run across his abs and along his biceps, biceps you constantly eyed every time he was in battle. It was as if he was a life-saving drug that you could never get the proper dosage of.

The sight of him alone turned you on, and you were sick and tired of suppressing those wishes.

“I want you.” Your words came out sheepish, quiet.

Because of your sudden timidness, Gojo’s movements became tender, a far contrast from what you were used to, he was always giddy, cracking jokes left and right. He was rarely serious, even in battle, even in life or death situations.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, signaling that he intended to grant your wish.

“It’s about time isn’t it?” Gojo whispered in your ear, resting his knee between your legs, leaning down until you were almost embracing. “I was just waiting for you to ask, I’m surprised you held out for so long.”

You blushed, trying to look at anything else besides the smug expression he was wearing. Your stomach flipped with butterflies under the touch of your boyfriend, best friend, and mentor—a touch that felt familiar, yet so foreign in its unexplored way. He had never touched you like this before, so compassionate;  laced with hunger in its purest form.

Without another word, Gojo gently grasped your wrists. He guided you to his blindfold, waiting for you to reach out. Your fingers curled excitedly around the silky fabric. What color would his eyes be? Would they be green, or brown, or blue? What if he didn’t have any eyes at all?

Your breath hitched as you tugged it away.

“Gojo-” You whispered, at a loss for words. His eyes were a mystifying glacier blue, a blue that could only be mimicked in the deep crevices of northern hemisphere icebergs. They reminded you of the ocean, of light blue water that stretched to the horizon.

Your hand came to cup his cheek, and at the contact, he tilted his head into your touch.

“I love you,” Gojo confessed, a confession that tore you away from your study. It was strange, viewing him in his entirety, an entirety you knew was a rarity among your pupils and superiors, your underlings, everyone except you and the few he held close to his heart.

The sorcerer was handsome, utterly breathtaking. You held his affectionate gaze for what seemed like minutes, enjoying the silence of his beauty, wanting to engrave the sight of his eyes forever into your memory, cherishing the view as if it could be your last.

I love you.

Then, as you finally processed what he had confessed, your eyes widened. “What?—” You were cut off by his lips connecting with yours, engulfing your thoughts in complete and utter bliss. For a brief moment, your eyes stayed open.

He had never said that to you before. Did he mean it? Did he really love you?

As if he could read your mind, Gojo mumbled against your lips, “I mean it.” The tone in his voice had a faint smirk to it as if he was teasing you for believing he could be anything but serious, teasing you for believing that he would lie about something as important as his affections for you.

You kissed him first, melting against his towering frame, succumbing to your desires. His lips mended perfectly with yours in motions that were so passionate you could hardly focus on breathing.

You clutched onto Gojo’s arm to steady yourself. His kisses became rougher, hungrier, more intense with each passing moment. You became drunk on the lips that you had waited so long for.

“I love…” You gasped, trying to pull away and accept his confession. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Gojo chuckled, curling his arm securely around your waist. You shivered at the contact, prepared to accept whatever he had in mind. You wanted to submit, you wanted everything he would give you.

Steadily, Gojo leaned into you, beckoning you backward until you were flattened against the mattress. In any other situation, with any other person, you would have fought for dominance, you would have resisted such compromising positions. Yet safety radiated off of him, as it always had. Your eyes flickered back down to his reddening lips, your helpless position inviting him for more.

You had months of kissing to cover. And with each movement your lips made, your emotions heightened, begging for more, begging for all of him. Time was finally something the both of you had enough of.

Because of that reason, and only that reason, you sat up the second he pulled away to breathe and pushed him onto his back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gojo laughed, letting the back of his head rest against the headboard. You didn’t answer, only crawled on top of him in response, your actions the perfect answer. You wanted to please him just as badly as he wanted you.

You shifted positions until you were straddling him, placing your lips back against his. Gojo groaned into your mouth, the slightest movement from you causing him to grow hard. Instinctively, his hands moved from your face and latched onto your hips. The man grasped them tightly, almost pawing in hopes that your clothes would fall away that easily. He wanted to take you as soon as he could, infatuated with every move you made, every sound that he managed to etch from your lips.

Your hips bucked naturally, desperate for pressure, desperate for contact, the position you had put yourself in granted you access you had only ever thought to dream of before.

“Baby…” You whined, feeling that same spot in your stomach flipping as his movements followed yours. You kissed him again, and again, hands reaching out and grasping his shoulders, trailing down his biceps, hurting for skin to skin contact.

You needed him. Every fiber in your being was pulsating for the urge to become one. The way he moved his hips in response to your contact relayed that he felt the same. You felt his hardness underneath, pressing against your cunt, tempting to be released, tempting for release.

Refusing to contemplate if you should for another minute, you broke away from the kiss, saliva connecting your lips to his. Blushing, you gained a moment to breathe, cheeks tainted with evidence of your current, sinful state. You wanted more. But was now the right time?

Staring into your own pair of mystifying eyes was enough to give Gojo his answer. Yes, the right time was now. “Only if you want to.” He whispered.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. There was no way you could leave his bedroom without satisfying the sensual urge that filled every sense. You ran your hands through Gojo’s hair, pulling him as close as you could.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered, suddenly becoming shy enough from the desperation in your tone. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, it was more that you wanted it so badly from him, it was the fact that he had been sweet enough to never ask, sweet enough to not need such an act to want to be with you.

It seemed like he had been trying his best to hold back, and now that you were finally ready, he was not going to hold back. Now that you could see his eyes clearly, you could fully understand the emotions he was feeling.

“I’ll do much more than that, sweetheart,” Gojo whispered, proceeding to push you out of his lap and into your back. Recognizing the glint in his eye to be one of animalistic lust, you obediently laid on your back, trying to avert your eyes in embarrassment as the man you loved helped you out of your shirt. As both top garments slipped off your body, you felt the heat creep back into your core, stimulated by the simplest action.

Having your chest exposed for the first time, Gojo ravished the touch, letting his hands linger and brush against all the places you had never let him before. Even if he had always fantasized about doing so, nothing could compare to the reality.

Feeling the hotness of Gojo’s mouth against your breasts caused you to moan out loud.

“Oh… ho...ho…” the man whispered against your skin, grinding his hips into your core for another distraction. He was enjoying himself as much as you were. “Let it out, sweetheart, you can be as loud as you want.”

The hardness in his pants ignited something deep within you. It felt heavenly, the sexual contact so foreign from his hands, something you had wished for just as hard as he had.

But your breaths soon become muffled mewls of erotic pleasure as Gojo bruised the sensitive spot on your neck. He moved his hands down to your thighs, drawing circles softly and sensually, inching closer and closer to your core.

"I want to see all of you..." He groaned against your skin, pulling his head away to stare into your own lust-filled eyes, searching for any sort of confirmation.

You were flustered, pressed entirely against his chest as he continued to play with your body. You didn’t know it was possible for every action to be so pleasurable, to be so intense that you were already growing wet from only being touched and kissed.

That’s what was racing through your mind as Gojo’s hands snaked down your sides and over your panties. Before you could process his actions, you felt his fingers against your clit, fingers rubbing in soft, slow circles.

"Gojo..." You pleaded in short quick whimpers, not wanting him to stop grinding against the incredibly sensitive spot. No man had ever teased you with such tenderness and care.

Confidence surged through your veins at his touch, exciting you and sending waves of passion across your body. With the newfound feeling, you decided to please him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his face into your exposed chest.

"I want you inside me..."You whimpered, grinding against his fingers to display just how badly you were wishing.

"Fuck.. Y/N... don't say that..." Gojo grunted, grasping hold of your chin to bring your lips back together with his.

Despite the heated tongue locking, Gojo continued to massage between your thighs, trailing under your shorts and past your underwear, until he quickly inserted his fingers. You moaned loudly, tears gathering on your eyelids from how blissful it felt. Just his fingers could be enough to satisfy, if you weren’t so hungry for all of him. "P-please..." You whined, hands moving from his shoulders to the sheets, kneading your palms against them as your clit pulsed with heat.

The man’s body was trembling just as much, the nerves finally setting in. All Gojo wanted to do was please you, he wanted to do such a wonderful job that you were unable to think of anyone else. Though no matter what happened, you would always think he was handsome, especially with how apparent he made his emotions known, the sexual and the physical, his own composure coming undone against you.

You tugged on his shirt, beckoning him to take it off. Gojo obeyed quickly, wanting to strip off all his clothing because of how electrified you made him feel.

Your eyes widened, gaze lingering on every curve, everything that made him the masterpiece he was. Moving your hands forward, you touched his toned chest, your fingers exploring and caressing every muscle you could get your hands on. The sorcerer relaxed at the desperation laced within your actions, his breathing faltering for a moment before he grabbed your hands and forced them above your head, against the bed.

You stared deeply into his eyes, him doing the same. Take me. You pleaded silently.  Do it now.

Gojo pinned you down, hovering over on one knee, not wasting another second to finally slide your panties down your legs until you were completely naked. You threw your head back at the coldness of his hands, pressing against your most sensitive parts, inserting one, then two, then three fingers. His own lips parted as he watched you take him gladly, trying to prepare yourself for what you knew was growing in his pants. Goosebumps spread across your entire body as you met his suddenly crazed eyes, no longer composed.

"You're so beautiful," The man whispered huskily. “And you are all for me.” Astounded, he began to slip out of his pants. With every movement he made in between, he made sure to leave a hot, wet kiss on your thigh. Gojo stepped out of his boxers, his staggering length bouncing in front of your face. His cock poked against your entrance within the next moment, hungry for action.

He loved you. Gojo couldn’t fight the attraction any longer. He also couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been pinning over a moment like this for the entirety of your relationship.

Without another second to pass, Gojo abruptly pulled your naked body to the edge of the bed and smiled down at your flustered cheeks. All this for him and he couldn’t be luckier.

Though every subconscious thought throughout the time he had grown to know you had undoubtedly prepared him for this moment, he was still awestruck. Despite his own strength, you had your own overwhelming amount. You had the wits, you had the beauty. You had everything he could ever want and he could only ever think about protecting you, cherishing you, loving you to his fullest extent.

“Gojo…” You whimpered, tone evidently conveying embarrassment. He had been staring at you for a while, something you weren’t used to because of his covering. Though you had only whimpered his name, it had prompted action. The man leaned down over your womanhood and promptly stuck his tongue inside of you.  

You gripped the sheets in panic, never imagining how incredible the feeling could be. "Oh my god..." You whimpered, throwing your head back at the sensation. It felt better than his fingers, hot and wet, and compromising.

Gojo was simulated by your sounds, due to the speed his tongue licked and massaged against your clit. You grabbed his hair and pushed his face down harder, completely satisfied with how it felt.  Yet you couldn’t stop with just this-- you needed more. You needed all of him. All your worries faded into the background noise along with the crinkling sheets and low groan of your lover’s baritone.

You closed your eyes for a moment, only feeling, only touching, only relishing in him. Your mind was filled with his bliss, his passion, his love.

"Make love with me..." You panted, eyes pleading for the high only he could give you. A high that had not been reached with him, though one that had remained in the back of your mind since the day you laid your eyes on him. “Stop teasing me.”

Gojo gazed up at you through your parted legs, a smirk carving into his features. A fervent need suddenly passed between the two of you.

"As you wish..." The sorcerer whispered, standing back up, stroking his length as he eyed your region that was now dripping with his spit and your precum. You knew he was toying with you, moving painfully slow, eyes flickering back to yours with every moment, getting off on the way your face contorted with pleasure.

And at that moment, it was the first time you and Gojo came together as one.

"Gojo!" You cried softly, gasping in pain as his length penetrated your most sensitive spot, pushing in slowly, letting your insides adjust to his massive size. "Shit..." You cursed, squeezing his biceps for support as you felt him slide in farther, bottoming out in the next breath.

Through desperation of a high, you pulled him closer, desperate to hold onto something to ease the pain of his gigantic shaft, burying your face into the crook of his neck. At your moans, Gojo began to thurst, relishing in the sensation of your walls tightening around him. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, feeling on top of the world, feeling like he was in the dream he had always wanted to be in.

"Y/N..." He whispered your name in a strained voice, the veins in his neck defining as he resisted the darker urges threatening to creep into reality.

Your hands moved to snarl into his hair, bringing his face next to yours, flattening his body against yours. “Gojo…” You whimpered his name desperately,  breasts bouncing up and down from his sensual movements, his ravishing desire threatening to push you over the edge. Allowing yourself to be consumed by it, you could hardly feel him paw at your chest, tilting your head back as your body became limp.

"Say my name again..." Gojo groaned, his thrusts sliding deeper and his breath becoming heavier. "Nobody will hear you but me sweetheart..."

The man began to pound into you, shaking your entire body, shaking the entire bed. You were so flustered that you couldn't seem to focus on anything except the sound of his skin slapping against yours, your moans and whimpers for more echoing in his ear, pushing him to continue his lethal pace.

Gojo slid fully out and then back in, and with one swift motion, you felt your body convulse. "Ah!" You gasped, nails digging into his bulging arms wildly. "Gojo... Fuck!"

"Yeah..." The man moaned, leaning down and resting his head back in the crook of your neck. "Just like that baby..." He mumbled, the nickname sounding so dirty upon his lips, everything he said sounded as if he was casting a spell to make you fall deeper in love with him, if that was even possible.  

"Gojo...” you repeated his name as if it was a dream, as if he might leave you at any moment. “I love you…” You choked out between gasps, the pleasurable feeling building stronger and stronger below your abdomen. You couldn’t take the heat any longer, especially when he called you baby, when you opened your eyes and looked into his own. “I’m gonna cum…”

"Cum on me..." Your boyfriend encouraged, looping his arms under your waist and hoisting you up into his arms. Your lips met him in a kiss, one that was sloppy and rough, but one that sent a wave of burning passion down your spine.

“I love you…” You whimpered with each gasp. “I love you Gojo, only you can make me feel…”

“I know.” He grunted, shifting your weight completely into his grip. Your body left the bed, and for support, you looped your arms around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Gojo leaned forward, providing him the perfect angle to let himself slide back in. You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut from the intense amount of pressure. "Oh my god.." you lamented, grasping his shoulders for support. You sunk down on him until it was painful, until you were full with his twitching length once again.

You were dripping, making it easy for Gojo to thrust as softly as he could. He gripped your ass, cursing loudly as you bounced against his cock. You moaned his name over and over again, a stream of curses following as your body began to tremble on the verge of your inevitable orgasm.

“That’s it.” Gojo encouraged, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Come all over me like I know you want to.”

His pace gradually gained speed, causing you to lose yourself completely. For support, your arms reached up to curl around his neck, one hand finding basis in his hair and the other digging into his shoulder blade.

"Gojo!" You whimpered loudly, on the verge of screaming out in pleasure, the motion and the length of his cock sheathed inside you becoming too much to handle in the helpless position. “I’m cumming…” You threw your head back, choking out the confession as your thighs twitched in response.

"That’s it… you’re so fucking tight." Gojo grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead from his erratic, yet rhythmic movements. Though you had become limp from your orgasm, he continued his pace, his thrusts became harder and faster, both of your moans mixing in with the others as Gojo started to reach his high. "Say my name.." The baritone in his voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Gojo..." You whined at the feeling of him so deep inside you, each plunge causing your entire body to bounce violently against him. Barely having time to recover from your last orgasm, you felt yourself climbing higher and higher, your walls tightening. "Gojo...oh my god!!" You finally yelled, unable to control yourself from the quick pace, causing you to orgasm once again all over his cock.

“Yeah…Fuck yeah.” The sorcerer groaned in ecstasy.

You moaned loudly, squeezing onto Gojo with all your might as you released yourself onto his thick cock. "Oh my god..." You whined, the pressure finally fading away so you could catch your breath, despite your climax he refused to stop.

He wasn’t finished with you yet. The two of you fell back against the bed, your legs being thrown back over his shoulders.

"Fuck," He moaned, his forehead beating with sweat. "Keep moaning my name, I'll make you cum again."

"Gojo..." You drew him closer, bodies moving together in sync.

Your face displayed the sexiest, most alluring expression he had ever seen. Gojo was breathless as he pumped in and out of you. He grit his teeth as the indulgence became unbearable, your walls contracting all around him for one final time.

Gojo loved you... he was lost in your beauty. He wanted to marry you, he wanted you all for himself. Was this what love felt like? He could really get used to it...

"P-Please..!" Your moans snapped him back fully. You were scratching his skin, wanting to burst at the feeling he gave you. "Baby..." You bit your lip, gripping his wrists as he reached forward to pinch your nipples.

Your breath hitched and you locked eyes for the final moment, the same stunning pair of blue, a pair you felt you would always get lost in, eyes that held and promised a fascinating future. His gaze held yours as he pounded over and over, jolting your body in tune. Gojo twitched inside of you, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier. Your eyes widened, your back arching against the bed as you climaxed together. "Pull out!" You begged.

You didn’t want the penetration to end, but Gojo pulled out at the last possible second, moaning as he coated your breasts with his cum.

"Fuck..." He drawled, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, his juices glistening against your skin, your hair fanning out above your shoulders, eyes dazed and entranced.

Gojo could tell you were exhausted, so he took the liberty of reaching over to the bedside table and plucking a tissue from the box. After he wiped himself off of your chest, he collapsed on the bed right next to you, eyes closed, but a faint smile upon his face.

He leaned over to kiss you gently. You were trembling but kissed him back just as passionately as the first. "That was amazing..."

Gojo exhaled in agreement, wishing this moment would never end. A moment that was so blissful, so self-serving that he had temporarily forgotten the list of responsibilities that was waiting for him the second his left the bedroom.

But for now, he would lose himself in all that you had to offer. And what you offered was forever commitment, what you offered was something he would never be able to find anywhere else.

[kayfabebabe]

SFW Relationship Alphabet - Regal X Male Reader - Letter G

Hallo and welcome to this AU alphabet.

I, initially, was going to post the completed alphabet together, but the answers become too long for my liking so I’m going to be breaking it up into separate posts. This is centred around the relationship between William Regal and his boyfriend (Reader) that I first posted about HERE in an Ask from some wonderful Anonymous person.

This is Letter G for Gentle  (How gentle are they? When are they gentle with each other?)

WARNING - None. Just fluff and cuteness.  Word count - 650 

~ ~ ~ 

For a cold-hearted Villain, William can be a rather kind soul. It was, understandably, difficult for him in the beginning of your relationship to let down the walls around his heart. He fundamentally understood that not every problem could be fixed with a dark scowl and a scathing tongue. Some situations required tenderness. With time and a great deal of patience, being gentle becomes almost second nature for William. 

This new-found skill is perfectly demonstrated when you’re preparing to face Tyson Kidd for the first time. 

~

“Flower?” 

No response. Your gaze remained fixed upon the computer screen, refusing to acknowledge William’s obvious presence in the doorway. Cast in such a harsh light, it was impossible for the taller man not to notice the dark circles beneath your eyes or the stubble lining your jaw. You were visibly exhausted, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. It has been close to a week since your match against Tyson Kidd was announced and, for all of that time, you've been locked away in William’s office. Studying any clips of Tyson in the ring that were available. Nothing could break your focus from it. 

Tyson was forged in the Hart Dungeon. He was broken down, again and again, then rebuilt into a phenomenal wrestler. One with more in-ring knowledge and experience than any other competitor that you’ve faced before. The pressure to win had sent you into a panicked tailspin that made you forget to eat regular meals and sleep for more than a couple of hours. Seeing you in such a state worried William. 

Despite your own deep-seated doubts, William had true belief in you. It never wavered. Throughout the years, he had the honour of standing across the ring from some of the best in the industry. Legends who shall always be remembered for their wrestling skills. In William’s mind, you could easily find yourself among them when your career came to an end. Was his opinion biassed? Possibly, but anyone could see the immense talent that you possessed. 

An argument sat heavily on the tip of your tongue when William crossed the room and switched off the computer monitor. How long had he been there? Every part of you - neck, shoulders, back - aches from sitting in the chair for too long without taking a break. The sandwich that William made for you at lunchtime sat, untouched, where he placed it beside the keyboard.  

“The night grows old, Dear, and you need sleep.”

There was no question behind William’s statement. A gentle order laced with love that you couldn’t deny, so you willingly followed your boyfriend from the office to your bedroom and proceeded to get changed into sleep clothes. With every second that passed, it became harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Perhaps William was right about you needing to sleep. 

As you crawled beneath the covers, however, your thoughts began to spiral about the upcoming match. The quiet welcomed the doubts. What if you didn’t win? One loss doesn’t mean that your entire wrestling career was doomed, but… It felt as if that was the case. Familiar fingertips brushing over your side silenced the worries in your mind and, for the first time in too long, you could breathe. You pressed yourself closer to William’s side, head resting comfortably on his shoulder and arm draped across his stomach. 

“You shine far brighter than you realise, Sunshine.”

Your eyes fluttered close as William pressed a kiss to the top of your head with his fingers lightly tracing shapes over your ribs. The words wrap themselves around you like a thick blanket on a winter’s night, warm and comforting. You wanted to bury yourself in the feeling and avoid the panic that was sure to hit you in the morning. For now, in the safety of William’s gentle embrace, your stubbornness surrendered and you relaxed into your boyfriend. 

~