#it's a different cloak. they all just look exactly the same

[salty-an-disco]

some more variants/progressions for the voices appearances in some chap 3's, feat Grey and Thorn :)

[kabr0ztrousers]

Love your work, new fan but big fan, I have an Idea for a centaur x fem criminal story

Basically she has a bounty on her head and can't go through the city gates to escape, a centaur offers her a way out, but she has to be strapped to his underbelly while he wears a centaur sized robe/coat/whatever to get past the guards.

Also she has to take her armor off so theres no sound of chainmail to give them away, so she's totally nude under there, nothing between her bare pussy and the centaurs cock. Which was exactly what the centaur wanted all along ;3

Kabr0z Writes episode 51: Daring Escape

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: dubcon; noncon; size difference; belly-riding; creampie; implied impregnation; cum inflation

A/N: This one looks like fun! I always love a centaur being involved, especially when I can make them as downright unpleasant as Hellenic myth depicts them.

They're meanies.

#####################################

The job went near flawlessly. You broke into the castle, cased the joint, got to the war room and learned which routes the army would be travelling. Once the rebellion gets that, they'll have the King by the balls and finally turn the tide. One problem: they saw your face on the way out. Now you're here, in a stinking cistern, propping up a thieves' guild bar. A head full of priceless intel, that you can't risk getting out, only a dwindling handful of copper to your name, and no way out of the city gates.

You could try sneaking out over a wall, but the wards would stop that short. Maybe try sneaking into a grain carriage? You shook your head, no faster way to get a spear thrust through you. You motioned for another drink. You're dead if you stay, dead if you try to leave. You might as well be dead with a bellyful of whatever pigswill grog they serve here.

A man sat on the stool next to you and spoke "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The sign, you knew the response "He rules over Doissetep"

The man nodded, and got up. A piece of parchment lay where he was sat. You palmed it, casually finished your drink and went to an alcove, looking like just another drunk going for a piss.

The light was horrible here, but the enchanted ink glowed ever so subtly: "Seek the hunter under the moon"

You had another round, then left the cistern. It was already night out, but this wasn't the moon you needed. Picking your way across the city you found it. The temple of Luna. Empty at this time of night but for a figure, shrouded in dark. You slid through the door, chainmail clinking gently as you padded in on soft-soled shoes. Your turn to speak this time. "Ever heard of the Wizard Porthos?"

The figure rose. A centaur, the shape of a bow slung across his broad back. "He rules over Doissetep"

You relaxed. Either this centaur was in the resistance, or the whole operation had huge problems

"I hear you need a hand getting out of the city? I'll help, but it won't be easy, or particularly dignified"

You nodded at the centaur. What could you do but hear him out?

"I have a sealskin, when the weather looks bad I wear it. It comes down to about my knees"

You could see where this was going "So you strap me to your belly, and we just walk out?" It was genius in its way. Centaurs hate passengers at the best of times, so checking underneath one's cloak for a fugitive just seems silly. Hopefully the guards would have the same thought process, and even if they didn't, you'd have a four hoofed companion to help run you out of danger.

"One snag though. I heard your armour when you walked in, that'll only be worse when you're under me. I can get it smuggled out separately, but it won't be on you."

"I didn't exactly bring a change of clothes" you weren't supposed to be in the city more than a couple of hours, so luggage wasn't a consideration, besides, travelling light made more sense in the wilderness.

"So you'll be naked. Suck it up, Buttercup. And get some sleep, you've got a big day tomorrow."

You couldn't afford not to take his offer. Laying down next to him, you got as much rest as you could.

It was raining the next morning, the cold predawn light seeping in through the windows. The man from the cistern was there, carrying several loops of rope, a hessian sack and a sealskin. Everything you'd need.

You started to strip. Months in the resistance had beaten any bashfulness out of you, and so you didn't mind the two men seeing your naked body. You could still feel their eyes on you, your boyish hips, slim waist, small tits, not to mention your long, muscular limbs. You glared at them as you stood in the chilly air, feeling your nipples harden in the cold as they started fastening ropes around the centaur's chestnut-furred torso

At last it was time for the finishing touches. You, then the sealskin to hide everything.

"Face up or down?" The cistern man looked over at you "I reckon down, it's a little less comfortable on the limbs, but you won't have a faceful of fur."

You nodded. You've never done this before, but if smuggling resistance members was these people's trade, they probably knew that they're about. Climbing under the centaur you allowed yourself to be tied into place.

The ropes were rough, and itched as they strung around you. Your arms were bound backwards, bent to follow the contours of the equine body, your legs open and lifted behind you, knees bent and ankles secured above. The rest of you was held on with loops of rope, keeping you tight to the centaur and taking some weight off your limbs.

Finally came the sealskin. It hid you entirely, padding disguising your silhouette and the skirts preventing you seeing anything but the flagstones below you.

You heard the cistern man say something to the centaur, but couldn't hear what. They both laughed then the centaur started to walk. He wasn't wrong about your armour. Even trussed up as tight as you were to the horse belly, you were being fiercely shaken. Chain would have been so noisy you might as well have given yourself up.

So you watched the cobbles pass below you. The sound of the rain echoing in your ears as it got heavier. At least you were staying dry under here.

You noticed something. Hanging down from between the centaur's back legs. You stifled a gasp to look at it, his huge semi-hard member dangling down. It swung to and fro with the movement of the trotting centaur, occasionally rearing up to be perilously close to your vulnerable crotch. You could smell it. The warm, tangy scent of his unsheathed member invading your nostrils, moistening your lower lips. It wasn't going down. It gathered length with every swing.

It swung up, pressing against your cunt. Again and again. It pressed hard against the entrance. You felt yourself moving, the centaur was shaking himself, shimmying you down. The expertly tied knots allowing you to slide towards his crotch, cinching tighter and stopping you going the other way. Little by little the flare of his cock was pressing harder and harder against your opening, the steady trickle of precum lubing your hole.

It went in. You stifled a yelp. Who knows what was around you, alerting a guard would be lethal.

Still, the shaking pressed you down. Inch by inch the cock pushing in, your cunt not having a choice but to accept it. You bit your tongue, desperate to stay silent as the cock twitched and pulsed in you. You could feel the flare on the end growing, pressing outwards inside you.

The centaur's chest tightened. His cock stiffened and his hips bucked. Hot liquid started flowing into you in waves. The flare held it in as your womb filled. He stayed hard. You could feel it stuck in you. The flare was receding, but the thickness of it let the cum inside.

You shuddered, the feeling of fullness was sending waves of pleasure up your body. The taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down harder, cutting your tongue on your teeth, desperately trying not to moan.

Voices "Off out today, are we?"

"Hunting. I expect to be back before nightfall"

"Damn poor weather for it"

The cock pulsed in you again. You clenched your body against the urge to moan

"Best time for it. Scent doesn't travel as well in the rain"

"Very well. Wait here."

Another twitch of your cunt, another throb of that cock. Every time you moved, it moved. Every time it moved, your cunt clenched on it. You could feel your eager body trying to milk the huge cock inside you, even as you desperately tried to think of something, anything else.

You ran over the battle plans in your head. The cock throbbed, and you couldn't focus. You planned your travel once you got away. The centaur shuddered, and your thoughts became phallic. You tried to remember the faces of your family back home. Your cunt clenched. The flare surged outwards. Again, cum flowed into you. You felt your skin stretching. The cock plugging you stopped it flowing out. Your belly grew slightly, over-full of hot equine cum.

The centaur's orgasm passed, and the flare receded again. He still wasn't moving, waiting as the guards checked and double checked his papers.

You could feel your belly pushing, trying to force the excess cum out. It was going to start leaking out, if it pooled on the ground, the guards might check under the sealskin.

You didn't have a choice.

You clenched your jaw. Squeezing your cunt as tightly as you could, you rocked your hips. You could hear yourself starting to pant with exertion, you hoped the guards couldn't over the rain. You felt the cock throb and twitch in you, but it had already came twice. It was in danger of going soft, pulling out as it did. You couldn't let that happen.

You quickened your pace, rolling your hips up and down, clenching strategically. You fucked him hard, rubbing the engorged head of his cock against your cervix. His back hoof was clopping on the ground. You could feel his cock thicken. It was nearly there. The flare expanded again

"All in order, you can go"

The centaur staggered on. Steps as regular as he could manage while riding the cusp of pumping another load into you. The cobbles gave way to dirt path. You heard him grunt loudly above you.

He came less this time, but it was still enough to push your belly out further. You allowed yourself a moan, taking deep, racking breaths as the last of the centaur's cum was forced in.

On he walked, the cock softening and dropping out, followed by a jet of cum pouring from your cunt. It left a trail on the road behind you, a thick puddle on the already sodden ground

You made it to the rendezvous with the man from the cistern, who cut your ropes.

You fell to the muddy ground. Limbs tingling as feeling returned.

"She give you any trouble?"

"No" the centaur replied "she knew what was good for her, even got desperate enough for it to get me off all on her own"

They laughed as they walked off together. You lay there, oozing. Your kit was piled in the grass next to you, probably minus whatever money you had.

At least you got out

####################################

As we approach the end of February and volume 1 of Kabr0z Writes, I remind you all that commissions are free and open, just be aware there is a queue, so it may be some time until you see your request.

Most people send requests anonymously, so do feel free to send as many as you like! (I'm also loving how many people are sending in requests for bad things to happen to the Chitinids. I'm so happy I've made villains people love to hate ♥️)

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ But The Night, He Calls Me — Bruce "Batman" Wayne x GN Civilian!Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It was hard to imagine a time where anything noteworthy in Gotham didn't happen during a dark and stormy night. The city was a pretty big pull for raincoulds, low hanging fog, and a general morose look. But above all else, it was your home, though you didn't prefer to walk out at night these days. With the notoriously shoddy work of the GCPD and crime rates almost triple as high compared to the neighboring cities, you didn't exactly feel the wet concrete and dark alley corners beckoning you anytime soon.

The roof, however, was a different matter. Your roof— or, well, the roof to the apartment complex you lived at— became a frequent spot to the one man who could ever make a dent in Gotham City crime. The very same man you could see perched on the edge of the parapet right now. You approached slowly, taking careful steps as to not make a sound. After painfully long moments of inching, you were almost close enough to reach out. You shuffled just a bit more, preparing to make yourself known-

"Go back inside" the dark figure cut in, low gravelly voice clear and familiar. You sighed deeply, giving up and moving to step up to the vigilante's side "How do you always do that?". "I'm a detective, it's my job" the Batman said flatly. You leaned against the parapet he was standing atop "It's uncanny is what it is. After all these months you'd think I'd be able to get the drop on you at least once". "Villains who have been chasing me since the beginning of my career haven't managed it either, don't be too discouraged" Batman replied.

You chuckled a little, looking over the edge of the roof. The crime fighter's dry humor was a reason the two of you got along so well. After meeting by chance a few times, it became a more regular occurrence to meet up like this. Sometimes you'd get to see him spring into action, or maybe even return from a fight. But tonight, it seems, was uneventful. "Slow day?" You asked. "There's never a slow day in Gotham," Batman responded "You just need to know where to find the action". You couldn't help but snort a little at the claim "Okay, tough guy, so why haven't you set off yet?". "There's no point to a stakeout if you jump in before the crook" Batman said, and you gave a thoughtful nod in reply.

"You should really go back inside" the caped crusader spoke up "It's late. You've got work, I'm sure". "Got the day off, actually, detective" You responded "And I can't sleep knowing there's a bat on my roof". That got a faint hum from the dark knight, the closest you got to an amused reaction from him. The wind picked up from the just-passed storm, bringing a chill that bit your cheeks and clung to your clothes in one large wave. You couldn't help but shiver, tugging your jacket tighter around your pajamas.

Batman kept his gaze on the streets below, watching as puddles rippled with the last few drops from the sky and lamps flickered from lack of care. He was in tune with every foot of concrete road, attuned to any and every movement. The only thing that pulled his attention was when feeling his long billowing cape being tugged. His head looked over, seeing you wrapping the inky black fabric around your shoulders. "What- what are you doing" Batman asked, mildly confused. "It's not really fair that you're the only one that gets to wrap up in this thing" you said, scooting closer to him for more coverage.

"I do that to cloak myself" Batman countered, sliding off the parapet to be standing on the top of the roof beside you. "Right. And I'm using it to warm myself" you said casually, shuffling to his side. You honestly expected him to give some gruff, witty comment and snatch the cape back. If it were any other situation, with any other person, maybe he would have. But instead, he just looked back to the streets, using an arm to hold out more of the martial for you. You smiled, tucking fully into his side and now being fully wrapped up. "Better?" Batman asked, avoiding looking down at you. You nodded, leaning on his shoulder "A lot, yeah. Thanks, Bats"

Batman gave a short 'hm' in response, going back to being silent. But he kept an arm around your lower back, keeping you held close to his frame. As much as he was trying to avoid it, it did poor things to his heart to see you shivering in the cold because of him. He very briefly placed his chin atop your head, using his free hand to tap your shoulder. "Ten minutes. Then you're going back to bed"

"Fine, fine" you said, nuzzling up to him a bit more "Ten minutes". Batman hesitated a little, before allowing himself to wrap his arms around you fully. He gave you a brief but strong embrace, letting you soak up his warmth just for now. He could spare ten mintues. It's not like any villain could outrun him for long, anyways.

[entitled-fangirl]

Devotion.

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.

Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women

A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.

Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!

Masterlist

.............................................

"Benjicot!"

The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 

He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.

He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."

"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.

He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."

She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."

He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."

She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"

"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."

"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.

He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."

"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."

Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."

She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"

Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."

She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."

Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 

…

"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."

Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."

"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize-"

"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."

Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."

Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 

Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"

"What did you say?"

Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."

Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."

Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."

Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."

The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"

"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 

He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."

…

"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 

"Aye."

She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.

He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."

She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 

He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.

Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."

He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."

"Benjicot, please." 

"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."

She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."

When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."

And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.

"A- Aeron?"

Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."

Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 

She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 

She spun around. "Did you know about this?"

"What?"

Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"

Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 

She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 

The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"

"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."

Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"

She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"

Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."

Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 

He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."

Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"

Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.

"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Were you there when it started?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body. 

"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.

Benjicot's longsword. 

Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 

Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 

"You killed my brother?"

…

Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 

His sword collided with another and he looked. 

"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 

Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"

Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."

"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 

"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.

Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.

Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 

So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 

Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 

The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 

There it was.

Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.

Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.

But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.

Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.

"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.

Benjicot snarled. "What?"

"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."

Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."

"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."

Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."

Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."

"I said shut up!"

Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."

Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 

He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.

"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."

…

Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.

He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 

"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 

"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.

She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."

He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 

"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"

He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."

"You've done enough, Benjicot."

"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."

"Leave, Benjicot."

He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."

She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"

"Not by will."

"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"

She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."

He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.

"You never wanted me."

Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 

The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.

He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."

"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."

"It's not that easy."

"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"

"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"

She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"

"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"

His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."

She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"

Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."

"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"

He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."

She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."

"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"

She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"

"-Shut up," he ordered. 

She looked up in shock. "What?"

"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."

She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."

She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."

He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 

They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-

He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 

He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"

She let out a whine.

He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."

She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 

"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.

"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.

In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 

"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.

"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 

"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.

She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."

"Darling-"

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 

"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 

"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."

He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."

"I don't think you mind."

He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."

"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."

His brows quirked up. "Will I?"

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."

He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."

…

Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.

The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.

Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."

Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 

Aeron Bracken was wrong. 

Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.

........................................................

[violettwrites]

but daddy i love him! — tp!daryl

a/n: this is something a little different from my trailer park!duo i’ve been writing, but i listened to one taylor swift song and i couldn’t help myself

if you enjoyed my writing, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment! i really appreciate the support 🫶🏻

summary: reader comes from a well off, extremely religious family. when she becomes close with the town’s local outcast, her father, the local preacher, has something to say about it.

pairing: tp!daryl x goodgirl!reader

warnings: none tbh !

word count: 2,778

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

➸ masterlist

➸ ask box

ever since you were a little girl, your life had been laid out in front of you. you had a path to followed and you had never deviated from that path. you kept your faith close to your heart, god with you everywhere you went.

your father was the well known preacher in your small town, where everyone knew everyone.

and everyone knew you— the preacher’s daughter. the one expected to be perfect, sinless, and pure. people looked to you as a reflection of your father’s teachings, a symbol of his devotion. for years, you wore that role like a cloak, heavy with responsibility, but it fit you. at least it did, until you met daryl dixon.

daryl wasn’t like anyone you had ever known. rough around the edges, always lingering on the outskirts of town with his older brother, merle. both of them stuck in a trailer park on the other side of the county line. they were known for getting into trouble— as sinful as they came, as your father said, warning you to stay away from them. but there was something about daryl that drew you in. maybe it was the way he never tried to impress anyone, or how he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever saying a word.

you can remember the first time you noticed daryl dixon— leaned up against the outside of the gas station, his bike parked in front of him as he stood there, a cigarette between his lips. when you had caught his gaze, in that pretty little white sundress, looking like the epitome of an angel, his blue eyes locked onto you. you had left the church once the sunday service was over, in need of a sweet treat in the shape of a slushie. on your way out, with your blue raspberry slushie in hand as you passed him, you had locked eyes with him, those piercing blue ones boring into yours.

it was a few weeks later when you saw him again, this time behind the church. you had come out to get some fresh air after a long sunday service, your father still inside talking with some of the congregation. daryl was leaning against a tree, his eyes scanning the horizon like he was waiting for someone— or maybe something.

“shouldn’t be out ‘ere, should ya?” his voice was rough, like gravel under your feet, but there was a softness in it that surprised you.

you hesitated, unsure whether to run back inside or stand your ground. “maybe not,” you replied, your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “but i could say the same for you.”

he gave a half smile, barely there, before his gaze turned back to the woods. “ain’t exactly my place, is it?”

“no, but it’s not like anyone’s going to come looking for you here either,” you said, stepping closer. there was something exhilarating about talking to him, like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something thrilling.

daryl didn’t say anything for a moment. he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. you could see the faint outline of a bruise under his eye, and it made you wonder what kind of life he lived. you had heard rumours about the dixon brothers, but you had just assumed that was all talk.

“yer the preacher’s kid, huh?” he asked after a long silence, eyes coming back to focus on you— and your heart pounded against your chest again at his piercing blue eyes locked in on your figure.

“don’t call me kid,” you scoffed for a moment, looking down at your white sandals, brows furrowed before looking up at him. you nodded eventually, chewing on your bottom lip. “and you’re one of the dixon brothers.”

daryl chuckled at your defensiveness of being called kid, but left it at that. he nodded his head at your observation. “reckon that’s what people call us,” he hummed, however it seemed there was a bit of defensiveness in his tone too.

“is that all you are?” you asked quietly, somewhat curious about the boy behind the rough exterior with the name he carried.

for the first time, daryl looked at you, really looked at you. his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure you out, figure out why the preacher’s daughter was out here talking to him like he wasn’t the town’s pariah. he didn’t have an answer; but you could see that same quiet rebellion mirrored in his eyes, like he was just as unsure about his place in the world as you were about yours.

from that moment on, your paths crossed more than you’d like to admit. you’d find him by the church sometimes, or he’d show up at the gas station, always at odd times like he was avoiding being seen. the two of you would talk, but never for long, however it was long enough for you to feel like there was something more to him than the town’s whispers could ever capture.

it wasn’t long before you started sneaking out, the weight of your father’s expectations growing heavier with each passing day. you’d meet daryl in secret, late at night, down by the creek just outside of town. the moon would be high in the sky, casting a silver light over the water, and the two of you would just sit there— talking about whatever came to mind those nights you’d spend together. your faith, his avoidance of it, your families, your hopes, your dreams. nothing was off topic.

in daryl, you found freedom— a way to break free from the life that had been laid out for you since birth. and in you, daryl found something he’d never had; someone who didn’t judge him. someone who saw more than just his last name.

but the world you both came from was small, and people talked. it was only a matter of time until your father had you cornered in your room, his voice rising as he yelled at you.

“i will not have my daughter running around with the dixon boys!” you could tell he was mad, it showed by the way his face was red, and more obviously by his tone.

“you don’t— you don’t understand!” you cried, your voice smaller, but still just as loud as his. you could feel the sadness in your bones when people talked down on the dixon brothers— especially daryl. he was just someone, much like yourself, trying to find his place in this world. “he’s good, daddy! he’s good!” he really was. you had never met someone as gentle as daryl dixon. how his calloused hands were so soft against your skin, or how his words weren’t seething with hatred towards you. he was so much better than those boys in your congregation— the ones your father wanted you to be with.

your father looked at you like you’d lost your mind— like the devil had taken over your soul. shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped closer to you. “good? you think that boy is good? i’ll tell you what, (y/n), that boy is trouble. he’s a dixon. you’re risking everything by being with him— your reputation, your future, your soul!” his voice grew louder with each word, a sharpness to them that cut right through you, however you could hear the fear in them, and it left you trembling.

tears welled in your eyes, but you wiped them away, standing firm. “he’s not like everyone says he is, daddy. you don’t see him the way i do! he’s kind, he listens— he cares!” your voice broke as you tried to make him understand, but you knew in your heart it wouldn’t matter. “he cares about me.” daryl dixon would never be good enough for your father, or anyone in this town.

the silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of your father’s disapproval hanging in the air like a storm about to break. another step closer, his voice softened, but it was still filled with authority. “you need to stop this, before it’s too late. before you lose everything.”

you but your lip, choking back the frustration, the sadness, the weight of it all threatening to overwhelm you. “i’ve already lost something.” you paused for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat that was practically choking you. “i’ve lost myself.”

your father froze for a moment, as if your words had slapped him right across the face. his band, once poised in an authoritative gesture, fell to his side. “what are you talking about, darling?” his voice was softer now, edged with confusion. “you haven’t lost anything. you’re just… mixed up.”

you shook your head slowly, your tears finally spilling over, falling down your cheeks. “no— i’m not mixed up. for the first time, i feel like i’m seeing things clearly. daryl— he doesn’t ask me to be anything i’m not. he doesn’t expect perfection from me. he doesn’t see me just as the preacher’s daughter; this image you’ve painted of me. he truly sees me.”

you could see how your father’s eyes softened for a brief moment, but the stern preacher facade quickly retired. “it is my job to protect you from people like him, from this kind of confusing. he’s luring you in, you’re just too young to understand.”

“i’m not too young to know what i feel!” you countered, your voice shaking but firm. “you raised me to have faith, to believe in the good in people. but you won’t even give daryl a chance!”

“because i know where this leads!” he snapped back at you, his voice booming inside the four walls of your bedroom. you stood there for a moment, body shaking as you looked up at him, fear and sadness laced in your eyes. “he’ll break your heart. he’ll pull you down with him. and when he’s done, you’ll be left picking up the pieces, alone.”

the words stung, but they didn’t deter you. you were tired of being afraid, of being conformed into someone you weren’t. you stepped closer, standing as tall as you could in front of him. “maybe he will. maybe i’ll get hurt. but that’s my choice to make. not yours.”

for a moment, your father looked like he wanted to argue further, but his face softened again, the fight draining from him. he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “you don’t understand, (y/n). you have no idea how hard life can be. i’m trying to protect you.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow again. “i’m not a little kid, anymore. i don’t need protecting.”

with that, you turned and walked out of your room, your heart pounding in your chest. you knew this wasn’t the end of the fight. your father wouldn’t give up easily, but for the first time in your life, you weren’t walking a path someone else had laid out for you. you were walking down your own, no matter how uncertain or dangerous it seemed.

and no matter where it led, you knew daryl would be waiting at the end of it, standing in the moonlight by the creek, with those piercing blue eyes that made you feel like, for the first time, you were truly seen.

the tension from the argument with your father was still heavy in your chest, but you pushed it down as you made your way towards the creek, the pale light from the moon guiding you. your heart beat faster with each step, knowing he’d be waiting for you like he always did.

as you approached the creek, the familiar sound of water rushing over rocks greeted you, and there, leaning against a tree in his usual spot, was daryl dixon. his silhouette was bathed in moonlight, the soft glow highlighting the hard lines on his face and the quiet strength in his posture. he looked up at you when he heard you approaching, his blue eyes finding yours immediately.

“you’re late,” he muttered, but there was no way real bite in his words. he looked you over, as if checking to make sure you were alright.

you shrugged your shoulders, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the weight of the evening. “had to deal with my dad. he knows about us.”

daryl’s eyes darkened slightly, and his jaw tightened. “figured that’d happen sooner or later.” he kicked at a rock, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “what’d he say?”

you took a deep breath, stepping closer to him. “he said i’m throwing my life away, that i’m risking everything by being with you.” you laughed bitterly. “he thinks i’m gonna lose my soul just for knowing you.”

daryl’s gaze dropped to the ground, and he shifted uncomfortable. “maybe he’s right,” he mumbled. “ain’t no good for ya, (y/n). you should be with someone better. someone who ain’t…” he trailed off, his voice tougher than usual.

you felt a pang in your chest at his words, but you weren’t about to let him talk like that. without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. his calloused skin was rough against yours, but the warmth of his hand grounded you.

“don’t say that,” you whispered, stepping even closer so you were standing right in front of him, chests almost touching. “you’re good to me, daryl. i don’t care what my dad, or anyone else, says. i know you.”

he looked down at your hands, his fingers tightening around yours for just a moment before he glanced back up at you, those blue eyes searching your face for any hesitation. “you don’t know everything, though. ain’t nothin’ in my life but trouble.”

you shook your head, your voice soft but firm. “i don’t care. i don’t care about the rumours, or what people say, or even what my dad thinks. i care about you.”

for a long moment, daryl didn’t say anything. he just looked at you, his brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out why you were here, why you kept coming back to him when you had every reason to walk away. but then, slowly, his expression softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“yer somethin’ else, ya know that?” he muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. it was barely there, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.

you smiled back in return, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the cool night sir. “maybe. or maybe you just bring out a side of me no one else sees.”

daryl’s eyes flickered, and for a second, you thought he might pull away. but instead, his free hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair from your face. his touch was gentle, careful, like he was afraid you might break.

“yer dad ain’t gonna let this slide,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “you sure this is what ya want?”

you didn’t hesitate. “i’m sure. i want you, daryl. i only want you.”

his gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “alright then,” he whisperer, leaning in just enough this his breath mingled with yours. “if that’s what ya want.”

and before you could respond, his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was giving you a chance to change your mind. but you didn’t pull away. instead, you kissed him back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest as the world around you seemed to fade away. the creek, the woods, the weight of your father’s disapproval— none of it mattered in that moment. all that mattered was daryl, his lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close as if you were something precious. something worth holding on to.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and your heart pounding, you rested your forehead against his, your hands still pressed against his chest. “i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady, even though everything inside you felt like it was trembling.

daryl nodded, his arms still around you, and for the first time, you saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “neither am i,” he said quietly.

and in that moment, standing there by the creek with daryl’s arms around you, you knew that no matter what came next— no matter how hard things got —you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

[mangocurist]

hey so... @jumped-for-the-yaoi guess who spent their evening writing purple eggs and zam!!!!! im going to bed early now god im so cold

followup to my other zincewam (ls s6zam and uuwemmbu) tumblr fics (1) (2)

════════════════════════════════════════════════

There’s something about the way in Wemmbu’s stride that says he’s changed after the one week hiatus he’d taken from Unstable. 

Egg isn’t sure what to make of it at first— he’s no stranger to the way that Wemmbu works, after all. He doesn’t know if what happened to Wemmbu— who he met, because Wemmbu isn’t too subtle at the best of times and Egg knows that there’s someone he’s been messaging on and off, trying to plan some sort of subtle meetup off the server— is a good or a bad thing, and it just… rubs him the wrong way. After all, his friend is someone, who, despite his posturing and cocky disposition, is too kind for his own good. 

It has gotten him betrayed and used, over and over again, and Egg isn’t keen on seeing it happen one more time. 

So when Wemmbu tells him he wants to introduce him to someone, Egg— well. He can’t exactly be blamed for pulling a sword out the moment he notices Prince Zam arrive on the private server Wemmbu pulls them onto.

“Wait! Wait, wait wait, wait, no, Egg, put that down— Zam, shit, I’m so sorry, dude, I didn’t think he’d try to pull a sword on you—” Wemmbu looks to Zam, and for one horrible second, Egg almost thinks that he’s looking to her for some form of approval. He doesn’t know what he wants to do— lunge for her, maybe, try and slit his throat before Wemmbu can stop him, but before he can do any of that, Zam is shaking her head and waving his hands frantically, looking apologetically towards both of them. 

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it! Seriously, I figured that would happen,” Zam smiles awkwardly, one hand fiddling with the frayed edges of his forest-green cloak. The other hand that clutches a bag at his side is metallic and overgrown with moss and vines seeping into its crevices, and it is… unfamiliar.

She’s different from the Zam Egg remembers, and yet, seeing him is just as anxiety-inducing, because it comes with more questions of will he betray Wemmbu again and how much more can he really take, from one person? 

(And Egg is— he’s a little afraid. He knows… he knows now, how close he could have been to becoming the same man he fears. He knows Wemmbu couldn’t take something like that again, can’t take another betrayal that will end with him left behind by yet another friend. So— he’s afraid. About what meeting Zam again means for them, but mostly, about what meeting her again means for Wemmbu.)

Zam continues speaking, “And, anyway, it’s totally justified, considering what your… uh, Zam, did. Um. I honestly expected worse! Like, I mean, if it was Mapicc, he’d probably have cleaved my head in half by now. So, like— don’t worry about it. Uh, and, I’m sorry for startling you, Eggchan. Can— can I call you that?”

Egg’s eye narrows. 

He… doesn’t trust her. If he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t think there’s even a single person out there who could trust Prince Zam, not after all the shit he’s pulled. But Wemmbu is standing in front of him, in a way that tells Egg he’s trying to shield them both from each other, because the only way he knows how to keep people safe is to put himself in the way of harm. 

So. Egg can’t hurt Zam, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t make sure that Zam won’t hurt Wemmbu.

“Egg is fine,” He tells Zam, noting with a critical eye the way that she practically deflates with relief when Egg gives him a stamp of approval. “You’re… forgiven. But, Wemmbu, dude— I thought you guys weren’t… you know. Um, cool with each other?”

Wemmbu turns to him with a sheepish expression. “Oh. Yeah, well, about that… um, Egg. So— how much do you know about, uh. Doppelgangers and stuff?”

Egg turns to look at him. “What— dude, what are you saying?”

Wemmbu scoffs as if he can’t believe Egg is even questioning this, which is, honestly, so stupid Egg doesn’t even have the words for it— because, like, come on. If it was Egg who was trying to reintroduce his abuser to Wemmbu, he’s sure this wouldn’t be a conversation that would have had to be had. “That’s not Zam. Or, well, not the Zam on Unstable, anyway. She’s… from, uh, this silly little place called Lifesteal. And it’s kinda where I’ve been for like, the last week or so.” 

Egg turns to Zam, who startles when he notices, before relaxing again. He squints at her, trying to pick out any details between Zam and the image he has in his mind of the man who had tormented his best friend for months on end. 

Zam’s hair falls loosely in small curls that frame his face, short and choppy as if cut by an inexperienced hand holding a dull blade— a far different cry from the tyrant prince who had gleefully blown up their little nation, not a single hair straying out of place of his picture-perfect braided bun. The clothes that this Zam wears are frayed and slightly ragged, and when Egg looks more closely, he can see what looks like burns and faded bloodstains dotting the hem of the green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. There’s even a pin of Wemmbu’s face on her cloak, which— okay. That’s… something he should probably ask about, too. 

He’s got the metallic arm, and a scar on the left side of her face, and— most notable of all— this Zam lacks the cruelty Egg remembers. 

It’s not enough to dissuade Egg from distrusting him. It definitely isn’t enough to make Egg feel comfortable with letting Zam hang around Wemmbu.

But it’s a start.

“Well,” Egg says, his voice as casual as he can keep it, “tell me about Lifesteal, then. Is that what gave you the metal arm and the scar?”

Zam’s eyes soften, and she shares a glance with Wemmbu, who— finally, thank God— moves aside and out of the way. Egg… well, he probably won’t stab Zam now, but it’s much nicer to be able to move freely without his best friend obstructing his way.

“Let’s go and take a seat before we talk about this. Say, how do you feel about fishing?”

[mygnolia]

TASTE OF LIFE. l. heeseung

THE TALE GOES...heeseung is invisible to everyone, robbed of recognition as people pass through and never acknowledge him. to live as a shadow who observes is hard—heeseung sinks into corners and simply wishes for a chance to be a part of something. but when you finally come to the biggest halloween party of the year and see him, he can’t help but be attached. 

pair -› lee heeseung x fem!reader | trope -› horror, literally no fluff | warn -› major character death, violence, stalking | REN SAYS.. first installment! also this is shit guys im so sorry I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT ASAP ugh writing this much lowk killed me </3 | 3k words | library

---

Mediocre. Normal. Ordinary.

That’s exactly how you’d describe the house that stood before you, with your bags tightly held in both hands as you ascended the few stairs to the porch. It felt like any other house, and you’d even compare it to the old one you were in. 

The previous home was different in one major way—it added years of aging onto your parents somehow, as if something had sucked the life out of their minds. It drove them crazy to stay home, and you couldn’t help but be embarrassed every time they mumbled in public about going home. 

They looked crazy. You just had to droop your head and pretend you didn’t know them. 

Your parents’ eyes lit up when they entered through the door, with wood flooring and a color scheme that reflected on their preferences. It was almost identical to your other house, so why exactly did they choose to move to a home that was no different than the last? If anything, you were just glad they were starting to feel more comfortable within the new space. It felt breathable, and something about the old place you lived in felt dirty and plagued. 

It wasn’t much of a struggle as you began to unpack the bags of clothes and boxes of items you brought with you, considering how little you cared about accents and decorations. With furniture already there, your room felt akin to your other one, but something was off. You tried to move the desk over to the window to gauge the effectiveness of the natural lighting, and when your curtains gave way to slightly clouded rays of sunlight in your room, you hummed with some satisfaction. Good enough. 

As Halloween came around, you understood how much everyone in the local town loved to celebrate. Houses on your way to school were filled with webs, lights, and jack-o-lanterns, and it made you believe that the pumpkin farm on the outskirts of town had a smart business model. On top of having an abundance of fall flavored desserts, the Yang family held the biggest party of the year, seeing as their son went to the same high school of yours. 

You had only heard whispers of the annual Yang Halloween party, rumored to be the best party of all time, was something you were looking forward to every year, even anticipating the post-celebration news to hit you from the town over. 

The day neared, and you got more and more excited to finally get to know people ever since you arrived in town. People knew of you as the new girl, but no one reached out, all too consumed in their own cliques to introduce themselves to you. 

—

“Taste,” you told the man waiting outside. “The password is ‘taste.’ “

The windows were tinted in red as moonlight streamed through one side of the building. The rest of the house was dark, with only flashing orange, purple, and green lights strung carefully to add to the mysterious ambience. Music blasted from the speakers and shelves were lined with decorations, ones that you were careful to avoid knocking over as you slid your way between crowds. There seemed to be never ending snacks, as people with tattered black cloaks always managed to keep the drinks filled and the rows neat. 

It was obvious that the family knew what they were doing when it came to throwing parties—you hadn’t seen one person without a smile on their face. The festivities like horror rooms and games were all through-out the floor, and there was always something for everyone to do. 

You fell into conversation with a few people, cutting it short as you excused yourself to the restroom. Down the same hall was a door that was left ajar, and you went to shut it before returning to the boy who you just met. 

“Hi.” 

You jumped back, eyes darting around as you searched for someone to match the sudden voice, and you heard a small curse in the same direction. Your feet were frozen as you only looked around, your hand still on the knob of the empty restroom as you hoped someone would come to break you out of your stupor.

There was nothing, you promised yourself, and the door shut with a click. Still, your gut swirled with fear as you slowly turned, anxiously rubbing the goosebumps on your skin.

“You can hear me, huh?” 

You knew the sound was coming to your left, where the flashing lights were nowhere to be found. All you had was the phone you fished out of your back pocket before you saw a flash of something pale. You immediately turned, trying to find it once more. 

You could’ve sworn there was something. 

“Hello?” You probably looked insane to any bystander, calling out to the dark when you swore you saw something nearby. 

To both your surprise and horror, someone floats through the closet door, his limbs passing through as a grin makes his way onto his features. 

You’d think the ghost in front of you was attractive, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were experiencing something supernatural for the first time. 

Bile rose in your throat as you became disoriented looking at the figure. With a yelp that caught confused stares from only a few people nearby, you scurried out of the house, bumping into bodies as the door grew closer and closer. 

Like a bubble about to burst, the house feels stuffy and humid until you open the large doors, swallowing the cold air of the night like a lifeline. Your head spins with confusion, and you can’t seem to understand what you just saw until he seeps through the wall once more. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” You yelp at the sound of his voice, taking a few steps back as you look anywhere but his sullen face. 

The sound of your heart won triumph over anything else as you kept trying to make space between you and the creature in front of you. When he begins to glide closer, you take it as your sign to grab your small clutch and begin a brisk walk back home, no matter how dark.

“My name is Heeseung. No one’s ever seen me,” he explains, easily drifting behind you. 

“Get the fuck away from me, Heeseung.” Your voice sounded shaky as the wind rushes past your ears. You felt hopeless, unable to hear his footsteps or gauge where he could be. 

He’s right next to you, speaking directly to your profile all of a sudden. “Please, no one’s recognized me since I died. Please, you have to help me.”

The change in proximity has you jumping from being frightened, and you try to cover your ears to block out his voice. 

The worst part of it all was that Heeseung could touch you. You felt the cold of his fingertips without the pressure of his mortality in his fingertips. Effortlessly drifting next to you, he worked to pry your fingers from your ears as a plea for you to hear him out.

“I don’t care. Leave me alone.” You began speeding up, seeing your house in sight and the ghost beginning to fall back in his misery. You didn’t care about it, only wanting to go home and pretend everything was a bad dream. While the ghost wasn’t ugly by any means, the supernatural facet of his identity kept you up as you feared the creature outside your window at any moment. 

What you didn’t know was that your gut feeling was right–Heeseung wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. 

—

You didn’t know what was louder–Heeseung’s voice in your ear, or the thudding of your heartbeat. 

Your scream echoed around the empty house when he appeared for the second time, your heart dropping as the lack of sleep you got from the night before made you even more on edge now. Everytime you looked down a corridor, shivers racked your body and you were unable to go anywhere without a flashlight. You swore you saw him in the corner of the room, and if not–something was horribly wrong with you. 

There he was again, staying by the edge. “Please, get away from me, I can’t give you what you want, Heeseung.” You tried to keep your voice as steady as possible, as if you weren’t shaking from fear that you’d be joined by an intruder everytime you turned the corner.

You couldn’t shower or change without wanting to tear your hair out, and there was no way to quell the anxiety after you saw him stick an arm through your home. 

There was nothing you could do. No one who you could go to about this. You were truly all alone. 

Class felt like a blur with an ache in your head and an emptiness in your stomach. It was exhausting for you to dart around the room, waiting for him to appear. 

He was waiting for something, you knew it. 

You felt on edge constantly, like you were going insane. Every small movement triggered some sort of reaction, so much so that your classmates began to notice and snicker. 

You felt like your parents–and you had no idea how to make it stop. 

—

It was the third day of your sleepless torment. Your parents often left you alone according to their new work schedules, and you were still stuck having to hide from the apparition until you left for school. He looked torn apart, too, but you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t give you space. It got so bad to the point where you heard whispers of him in every corridor. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your bloodshot eyes and scratched arms were a sign that something had been wrong ever since Halloween. 

There was only one person you could tell about this, and you didn’t even notice how bad your fingers had been when you went to pick at the dry skin once more. 

“Jungwon,” you mumbled as you passed him. He turned around, immediately recognizing you as someone he didn’t know much about. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, concern knitting his eyebrows as you asked for him to talk with you outside. 

Something was off that day. The clouds were gray, dipped with unease. The sky was bathed in dread, and Jungwon could tell something was wrong by the way you couldn’t find the sun no matter where you looked. 

“What’s wrong, ____? You’ve been looking horrible ever since Halloween.” You flinched at the word, eyes stinging with tears as you were pushed back into thinking about that night. You never should’ve worn your black dress or added some cute cat ears. You never should’ve left the house. 

“There’s something in your house, Jungwon,” you pleaded, your gaze frantically searching for any sign that Heeseung followed you. “It’s like a spirit, something happened and it won’t—“ your words came to an abrupt halt when you heard a chuckle from the boy in front of you. 

A laugh tore through as Jungwon crossed his arms and looked at you with a pitiful grin. “You’re funny. Good prank, though,” he smiles, about to turn. 

You had no idea what came over you when you went to grab his arm. Jungwon was practically a stranger to you, but one more sleepless night without a cure would’ve made you go insane if he kept following you. You needed to get rid of Heeseung. 

“No!” Your voice rang out louder than anticipated, and the sudden shout made you wince, still holding onto Jungwon’s arm. “You don’t get it, something’s following me around, he keeps talking to me and no one else can see him—“ 

The boy yanked himself out of your grip, suddenly frustrated, and you feared the worst; Yang Jungwon would tell the whole school that you were crazy. 

“Please, Jungwon—” you tried once more, “he’s real—he’s everywhere and I can’t get rid of him—it was because of your party,” at this point, your eyes were filled with tears as you begged your only hope from leaving. “You have to help me—“ 

“I don’t have to do anything for you, ____.” He sneered, growing impatient. “I don’t know who put you up to this whole prank, but you need to stay away from me.” He spun around, paying you no attention as you crumbled to a heap on the ground and sobbed hopelessly on the pavement. 

The sky was darker than ever, and it was still afternoon.

Even as you walked down the empty dirt roads to your house, you couldn’t help but hear Heeseung’s voice ring in your ears. As you started running to push the sound out and replace it with your heavy breathing, your eyes began to shut with exhaustion. Slowing to an eventual stop in front of your house, you heaved, gasping for air that felt like it was escaping your lungs any moment as you held into the porch railing

“You’re home. What took you so long?” 

Your vision was blurring slightly in the corners, and the corners of your eyes felt puffy. You were slipping out of consciousness, but you remembered that voice anywhere. “Get away from me, please.” 

Heeseung pursed his lips, feeling slightly bad for the state that you were in. “I told you, I can help you.”

When you saw his pale shoes in front of you, your body reacted instantly, scrambling back to create some distance. You hadn’t registered that a wooden splinter from the floor cut into your palm until Heeseung saw the blood seep into the planks underneath you. The porch made no sound under his quick footsteps, and it only instilled more frustration at his lack of perceptibility. His sudden approach left you frightened as you waved a hand in the air, unable to feel the wound from the state of your body. “Go away, Heeseung!” 

He frowned angrily. “Let me help.” He kneeled next to you and reached out for your wound before you yanked your hand back, stumbling as you got back up and tried to make your way to the entrance.

“Please, stop,” you cried, taking two steps towards the railing before your legs gave out. Heeseung tried to reach out for you again. But you pushed away his hand, the slap of the force making no sound. It was almost humorous how much your torture was one sided, but you had no more energy left to defend yourself.

Heeseung went to grab your wrist, worry etched in his features as your state deteriorated in front of him. You kicked his leg, hot tears staging your cheeks as you sobbed for him to leave you alone, but the more carelessly you moved, the more the large splinter dug into your hand. He begged for you to stop–to let him help you before anything bad happened, but you couldn’t understand through the sound of your own hysterics. 

A mix of going days without sleeping, paired with your lack of appetite and delirium left you defenseless no matter how much you tried. You struggled against the ghost of Heeseung’s grip as he tried to stop you from hurting yourself even further. You felt bile in your throat when he was close, and you found the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip. You underestimated the force, however, and your hand hit the wood behind you. Momentarily distracted, you focused on the blooming pain of the impact and the slowly trailing blood. It was out of body how you couldn’t process the sensation of your fingers tracing the messy wound, and you became a slave to your exhaustion as the boy came back.

You fought against him weakly, the blood from your wound becoming a larger problem the more you used your hands to do anything. 

“You don’t get it!” He yelled, tears of his own forming from the anger of having to go against you. 

Why couldn’t you just stop? Why did you keep pushing him away? You were selfish, trying to ignore him as if you didn’t understand his predicament. You were the only one who could’ve seen him, and he was the only one who saw you in return. “Even Jungwon doesn’t believe you,” he mumbled bitterly, seeing you slowly slip in and out. “You wouldn’t even help me, ____. It’s all your fault.” He talked as if you could hear him, the life in your eyes gone by the time he wiped his tears and finally looked at you, with your wrist going limp in his hold. 

“I don’t get it.” He wept angrily, before getting up and leaving you there on the porch steps in a heap. 

Heeseung turned to glance at you again, his semblance of a heart in pain from how things had to end up. “You seemed so nice–so promising. Jungwon swore we could've been friends.”

–

You didn’t know if it was possible to kill a ghost twice. After all, your death turned you into a floating apparition of yourself, as you watched your parents mourn their attempts to shield you from their own fate. Being a ghost wasn’t so horrible, but Heeseung was right; it was lonely. 

When a voice calls your name apologetically from where you sit on your rooftop, your gaze settles on him with fury, and the moment you rush over to him and your fingers close around his wrist, you knew that you wouldn’t stop until you properly got rid of Lee Heeseung.

No matter how long it took.

--

i swear the rest of them will be better. and shorter.

zyvlxqht firstclassjaylee @riribelle @jaylajakey @minfolio @strxwbloody @r1kification @strayy-kidz @mimismenu @jwonistic @haechsworld @machambrx @ririsreverie @hollxe1 @wonnina @heeseungismymanz @cyjhhyj @eunimaybe

[dpwifevein]

Batman saw the teenager enter a small church. He looked in from the window, only for the world to change. The darkness of night in the dark city swallowed everything, leaving a swirling mess of light and darkness in the church that now seemed as large as a cathedral. cathedral Batman found himself inside. The boy's black hair turned white. His body veiled with a cloak, and his legs seeming to disappear. A great scythe appears in his hands. His head turns and his once blue eyes and are now glowing a ghostly green colour. Organ music starts to play, which made Batman desperately trying to comprehend what was happening; desperately trying to think of a way out.

Just then the ghostly eyes focused on the organ, "Sam, do you have to?"

"I'm just trying to set the mood." said the goth girl. She wore a black leotard with a dark green hue, her eyes nearly occluded from makeup, as thorned vines visibly moved about the organ. And following the movement in the corner of his eyes, the vines had spread across the entire cathedral.

The ghostly eyes turned to look back at him, "Look, sorry, this was just meant to open the door. I should have known you've already walked through one."

"Where - are we?" Kevin Conroy Batman's deep voice asked.

"I call it the Ghost Zone, that doesn't doesn't really do a good job of describing it." He looked over to Sam, and sighed, as she continued to play. He looked back to Batman, "Sorry, she's just a bit of a drama queen."

"Gotham's Dark Knight is speaking to the Ghost King." Sam added.

"So, it's real?" Batman asked.

"As real as any ghost is." Danny nonchalantly replied, "I can't exactly say I'm the best king, but the last one was the worst." He then shrugged. In the blink of Batman's unblinking eye he moved towards him as if the space between them did not exist. If Batman had not trained with Giovanni Zatara, and his daughter, there's no way he would have noticed the space seem the warp between the two locations. The boy would have simply appeared in front of him. He turned to glare at the young man. The scythe disappeared, and he held out his right hand.

"What do you want with Gotham?" Batman uttered.

"That's easy." the young Ghost King said, no older than Red Robin. "Your city has a lot of... I guess we can call them ghosts."

"Spirits?" Batman asked, "Demons?"

"They are all really the same." Danny simply replied, and stepped back, without his legs moving. Even without legs. He seemed to just float there. "Tolkien called mortality the Gift of Men. It allows change. Every 20 years, the world of Men is different."

"And for - the spirits?" Batman asked.

"Some are incapable of change, and for others, time does not even pass. In the - Ghost Zone, past and future are one and the same. Without Sam, and the others, the last grasps of reality would slip through my fingers, like falling sand or floating mist."

He slowly floated back towards Batman, holding out his hand.

"And if I take your hand, what happens to me?" Batman harshly asked.

"We shake - and then let go." Danny simply stated. "Your mind is a fortress that not even my wail could penetrate. As I said, I should have known you've done this before."

"That doesn't mean I want to repeat it." Batman harshly uttered, the organ music seeming to reach a crescendo.

"And that's why I'm here." Danny uttered.

"To take over Gotham?" Batman nearly spat.

"Take over?" Danny asked, "You seem to think I have some attachment to this mortal world."

"Then - tell me - why - are you here?!" Batman shouted.

"To help the ghosts of the past come to rest." Danny simply stated. "I'll leave those with the Gift of Men in your hands."

The energy of the organ started to slowly fall, "Do you have to say it like that?" Sam asked, and Danny turned to look at her, and in that instant they both look so utterly ordinary and banal.

"I think we can trust Tolkien when it comes to English." Danny replied, and Sam rolled her eyes. Danny turned back to Batman. "We managed to calm the ghosts of my hometown." he simply stated, "I needed to find some place," he said, and looking between the windows, as if he could see reality beyond the jet-black frames. He then looked back to Batman, "Gotham is an - interesting - place."

"That's one way to put it." Batman crumbled.

"What if - a number of your problems weren't actually crazy?" the nascent Ghost King asked.

"Arkham would beg to differ." Batman grumbled.

"What if the things they saw were... well, not real?" the nascent Ghost King asked, "But as real as I am?"

Batman's eyes instantly grew distant. Anyone doing any research into the arcane knew that those not properly grounded in reality could often see more than what others could. Children, the fevered brains, and insanity. "Is that what the scythe is for?" Batman harshly asked.

"It lets me separate spirits, if some of them is overshadowing, or getting a little too involved in someone."

"And, if you use it on a living person?" Batman asked.

"I can give them a temporary out of body experience." he replied.

"That's it?" Batman asked.

"I know this is had to believe." he said, and turned to the organ as the music came to an end. He then looked Batman back in his eyes, "We have our own rich backers, and so all we really need is an abandoned church."

"Lovely what you've done with the place." Batman sardonically stated.

"Thank you." Samantha replied, as she stood up from the organ, and walked over, the vines seeming to follow her as if they were pets. "Why don't you stop by some time for tea?"

"We could take you to Scáthach's Fortress of Shadow." the nascent Ghost King added. "The cliffs are hauntingly beautiful."

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm a busy man." Batman harshly uttered.

"And I know you are also charitable." the Ghost King replied, "You can stop by, and donate to our food bank."

"Food bank?" Batman dismissed, and a man walked out with a black shirt and pants, grey blazer, and white, clerical collar.

"We are a small church, but we have a group of Blackfriars to run the soup kitchen."

"Dominicans?" Batman asked, and looked around the wyrd cathedral. "Wouldn't they be a bit - uncomfortable working here?"

"They are mendicants." the priest replied. "They go where those who need them most are."

"So, they've given up comfort?" Batman asked.

"Those that come here are often plagued by things they cannot comprehend." the priest continued.

"And that's where the Ghost King comes in?" Batman asked.

The nascent Ghost King simply shrugged. "Crime Alley is where they need help the most."

With that, Batman's life flashed before his eyes.

* * *

Bruce Wayne walked through the small church's front door, and when he stepped inside he was in the cathedral, the windows were occluded by darkness, and he was once again Batman. He quickly looked around in desperation.

"Like I said," the nascent Ghost called to him as he appeared form the ether, "your mind is like a fortress. How many other people in Gotham have that kind of discipline?"

The look of betrayal appeared on Batman's dark face.

"The Blackfriars honestly do not care who Bruce Wayne is." the Ghost King replied, "Other than the fact you want to help them feed the poor."

Batman thought this over. "I have one condition." he stated, and the Ghost King smiled at him, "The Martha Wayne foundation has programmes to help people get off the street."

"You want to put a flyer on the bulletin board?" the Ghost King asked.

"You know who am I?" Batman asked, "But who are you?"

"I honestly don't know." the Ghost King replied, "But Jazz is helping me figure that part out. Let's head to Ireland for tea."

[frvitypunch]

Being seen by the stars

Sung Jinwoo x Constellation!Reader

this is inspired by ORV, i love orv but idk where to read the novel of it since im new to orv 😭

enjoy!

note: you're an unnamed constellation and orv s. C poilers (i also might get spoiled /nsrs)

This was completely different from before, it feels like I'm somewhere else.

Jinwoo thought, he was greeted by the same blue box, a text appearing.

[The next main scenario starts in 30 minutes.]

Was all it said, just that as the blue box disappeared, a purple box appearing in front of Jinwoo.

[You are from another world, please group with people that can help you in scenarios.]

A person walked towards Jinwoo, an unfamiliar guy with a long white cloak and other people along with the guy.

"Hey, I haven't seen you around. May you introduce yourself? My name is Kim Dokja, and these are my friends." He spoke, smiling as the guy next to him, wearing a black cloak frowned as usual, his expression serious.

"Yoo Joonghyuk." Was the only sentence the black cloaked guy spoke, his expression was still serious.

[Demon-like Judge of Fire is curious about you.]

[Prisoner Of The Golden Headband looks forward to your decisions.]

[A Constellation who does not have a name wants to see you in action.]

"May I ask who these people are commenting on about how curious they are?" Jinwoo asked, pointing to the floating screen which had 3 constellations that are looking forward to his actions and decisions.

"That is the Constellations, they watch over us for entertainment, they can also be your support when in need so please pick a powerful constellation if you struggle." Dokja spoke, looking at his blue box that had 3 Constellations curious about him.

[A Constellation who does not have a name wishes you to select them.]

[You have been gifted 5,000 coins.]

"And may I ask about the coins the unnamed Constellation gave me?" Jinwoo asked once more, looking at the blue box of notifications as he had received exactly 5000 coins.

"Coins are to level up your stats, buy things and you can even give them to other people or refund it back, so I recommend investing in your stats instead of refunding it." Dokja spoke, taking notice of how when he tried to use the character profile, it only ended up with failure, so he decided not to indulge further in curiosity.

"I see, and may I ask to join your group perhaps? I'm not sure if it's alright to go fight alone." Jinwoo simply said, thanking Dokja with a nod as he opened up his stats and leveled them equally, feeling himself become a little stronger than before since his power was still the same as before, he obviously took notice of the purple box earlier that suggested it.

"No." Joonghyuk spoke flatly, leaving no buts as an answer.

"Alright then, I'll get going now." Jinwoo simply said, glancing at the group one last time before walking away.

He could still hear Dokja trying to persuade Joonghyuk as Jinwoo heard Joonghyuk say about something.

"I'm gonna break your skull." Was probably the lines Jinwoo heard from Joonghyuk's mouth before the dokkaebi appeared, though it wasn't Bihyung.

"Sorry but, the main scenario has been delayed due to an error, please have a sub scenario as I will be working on fixing the error." The dokkaebi said, swiftly disappearing into thin air as the blue box popped up once again in everyone's eyes.

< (Sub) Scenario – Wack the poles! >

Difficulty: S

Category/Type: Sub

Clear Condition(s):

1. Form a group by 6 members.

2. Wack the pole on the enemies that spawn in the enviroment.

3. take turns each hour per member.

Time Limit: 6 hours.

Compensation/Reward: 10,000 coins

Failure: Death.

Reminds me of wack a mole.

Jinwoo thought, he still had a problem because he wasn't sure if his shadows were considered as alive beings to be considered members of his so-called future group.

All of my ideas are GONE, i need ideas bc they keep popping up and disappearing, i also might make ORV fics since theres not alot, im also planning to make something like Yoo Joonghyuk x Reader x Kim Dokja x Sung Jinwoo? but I hope I actually don't forget what I was planning to write (I don't write on my notes about stuff, I actually don't use them)

btw my wifi disappeared and I had no mobile data sorryuy 😭 😭

[darling-ozzie]

so sorry i havent been posting, i can’t post unless i’m at school BUUUUT I MADE A CHNT AU SO HERES

VAMP HERE AND THERE

au info under the cut!!

so. obviously they’re vampires, but it’s specifically based on vampire: the masquerade! which is a ttrpg similar to dnd buuuut vampire edition

so first!! design notes!

sydney: i gave him a mermaid skirt because they remind me of vampires!! he also has a crown of thorns because jesus parallels yes yes yes

jedidiah: JEDDIE MYDVSGDGGAH okay. so i made his outfit more formal than i usually would, since vampire of course. he gets a bunch of clocks and watches and stuff as always. they all show different times all the time.

elijah: there he is. i feel like i can’t even talk about this design but he gets to be majestic for once. his wizard cloak shifts slightly every moment, it never looks exactly the same. the “our muse” is embroidered on the corner. he also has a halo made of twigs and leaves and his elephant mask is less cartoony and a more dull pink

i’ll post all of their character sheets for vtm in a little, but short lore explanation:

lucille was turned as a clan tremere vampire while sydney and jedidiah were in college. lucille shortly after turned jedidiah, who subsequently went on a frenzy soon after being turned, killing his dad while still not conscious of his action. jedidiah kept the fact that he was a vampire from sydney, and as he slipped into his coma, jedidiah began to study necromancy.

similar to canon, he took sydney out of the hospital and killed him intending to necromance him — but it went terribly wrong, like- nothing was working because of some complications jeddie didn’t consider. so while sydney’s body was almost completely cool, jedidiah turned him. elijah watched it all go down (still human) and considered sydney being brought back to life as a miracle. he was eventually turned (i havent worked out details here yet,, maybe he collected blood from other vampires and turned himself?) and then went on a diablerie (killing higher up vampires for more power) spree, saying all of it was in the name of sydney and the miracle he witnessed, and that he would only use his power to show the world what he was worth

uhhhh YEAH YEAH OKAY there they are!! IF YOU DRAW THEM PLEASEEEEE @ ME AHHDGANS i’m also making tags for when i post about it and if anybody else does you can use them as well!! i don’t expect art but i just wanted to show them off, i plan on making more characters in the au and i’ll post them as i do

(tags are #vhnt and #vamp here and there)

[therogueflame]

The Favorite

hello slutty little angels,

here is this request that i LOST but then the loml found it for me and i was like ??? i already wrote it WHERE IS IT okay anyway here is this request goodness me goodbye. its like sadder than i intended but oh well.

✨ My Masterlist ✨

🖊️My AO3 🖊️

📝 My WIP List 📝

❄️ My ASOIAF/GOT/HOTD Discord Server 🔥

Summary: You learned a long time ago how to survive the men who come and go — but he stays too long, asks for too much, and leaves you with something you never meant to carry.

WC: 4.8k

Warnings: 18+, prostitution, angst/hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, unrequited feelings (bc its certainly not love)

Aegon II Targaryen x BrothelWorker!Reader

MDNI!

You’ve seen men like him before. They come through the doors every night, some cloaked in silk and noble blood, others in sweat and arrogance, all of them thinking themselves untouchable the moment they cross the threshold. They speak too loudly, drink too quickly, drop coin like it weighs too much in their pockets. They want to be worshipped. Seen. Forgotten. Some try to play at gentleness, others at cruelty. Most of them don’t care who you are so long as you let them believe they matter. You learned a long time ago how to give them just enough to keep them quiet—your hands where they want them, your voice soft, your eyes lowered, your smile practiced. A performance. A shield. A means to an end. It’s never personal.

Aegon Targaryen was no different at first.

He arrived already half-drunk the first time, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, mouth moving faster than his thoughts. He stumbled in with the swagger of someone who’d never been told no, laughing too loud at his own jokes, brushing past the girls in the front like he expected them to part for him. He called the madam “darling” and reached for the wine tray before anyone offered. His eyes were restless, searching the room like he was bored already. Spoiled, you thought. Sloppy. The kind of man who wouldn’t last long before burning out.

Then he asked for you.

Not by name. Not directly. Just a quiet, almost offhand, “Is she free?” spoken while pretending not to look at you. As if it didn’t matter. As if he wasn’t choosing. The madam raised a brow at the vagueness of it, but you knew. You saw the flicker of recognition in his expression when your eyes met. You said nothing. Just nodded and took his hand and led him upstairs. Another client. Another coin. Another night.

But then he came back. Again and again. Always the same question. “Is she free?” Like it was an accident, like he couldn’t remember your name, like he hadn’t asked for you the last three times too. The madam didn’t press him. She never pressed the highborn ones. You didn’t either. It didn’t matter why he kept asking. What mattered was that he paid, that he behaved, that he didn’t bleed or scream or demand more than you were willing to give.

The first few nights, he tried to impress you. Talked about his dragon, his brother, the tournament he almost won. He wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but there was a sharpness to him—restless, bitter, like every word out of his mouth was meant to wound something even when he laughed. You didn’t encourage it. You poured his wine, untied the laces at his throat, let him press against you and murmur things you didn’t want to hear. You let him touch, but not take. You kept a careful distance even when his hands wandered too far. And when he finally fell asleep, sprawled across the bed with his mouth slack and his hair stuck to his damp forehead, you slipped out from under him and closed the door behind you before he could wake.

It became a pattern. He’d arrive unannounced, drunk or on the verge of it, eyes half-lidded, voice too loud. He’d ask for you like he didn’t care, like it wasn’t a choice he was making. You’d lead him upstairs without speaking, help him out of his layers while he filled the space with nonsense. Sometimes he tried to kiss you. Sometimes he didn’t even undress. There were nights when he just laid beside you, face buried in your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He never said thank you. Never asked how you were. But he always stayed longer than the others. Sometimes he fell asleep with his hand curled around your wrist. Sometimes with his head in your lap like a child. You never asked what he wanted from you. You never offered anything more than what was expected.

He was a prince. That alone made him dangerous. But he never hurt you. Never raised his voice, never left bruises. He never asked for anything you wouldn’t give. And you never gave him what he truly wanted—not because he asked, but because he didn’t know how to.

You wondered, sometimes, if he came because it was easier to be wanted by someone who would never love him. Someone paid to stay. Someone who would leave when the hour was up. Maybe that was the appeal. Maybe that’s why he kept returning. Maybe that’s why his fingers trembled when they curled around your hip.

The last time he came, he didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a long moment before reaching into his cloak for the coin. His eyes were bloodshot, his mouth pressed into a thin, unreadable line. When the madam asked who he wanted, he didn’t pretend this time.

“Her,” he said.

Like it was a truth he’d always known. Like he couldn’t lie about it anymore.

After that, it becomes routine.

It happens on a night like any other. The air in the brothel is thick with perfume and smoke, laughter curling through the halls, soft music drifting up from the parlor. You’ve just finished with a client—a man from the Crownlands with ink on his fingers and guilt in his eyes—when the madam taps lightly at your door. “Another request,” she says. “He’s asked for you.” And you assume it’s him, of course you do, because who else does she mean anymore? You tie your robe, smooth your hair, open the door.

But it isn’t Aegon.

It’s someone else. Someone tall, older, not unkind. You recognize him. A knight. A friend of the prince, maybe. He smiles when you enter the room, slow and tired, like he knows exactly what he’s here for and doesn’t intend to make it difficult. He asks your name. He tells you his. He doesn’t try to impress you, doesn’t try to take too much. He’s gentler than most, quieter. He thanks you when it’s over. You’re laughing at something he said—something simple, something warm—as you walk him to the door, fingers brushing briefly, easy and unthinking.

That’s when you see him.

Aegon stands at the bottom of the stairs, halfway to the landing, his hand resting on the bannister like he’s forgotten why he came. His eyes are locked on yours. On the curve of your smile. On the way you tilt your head as the knight leans in to murmur something low and fond into your ear. You don’t hear what he says. You barely feel it. Your focus shifts instantly to the prince, and there’s something in his face you’ve never seen before. It’s not anger. Not yet. It’s something older. Something more dangerous.

You open your mouth to speak, but he turns before the words come, disappears into the shadows of the staircase without waiting for you to follow.

He doesn’t come back for three nights.

It doesn’t bother you. Not really. You’ve gone longer without seeing him before. You have other clients. Other things to worry about. But you notice it—the absence, the silence. You notice the way the madam looks at you when another noble walks through the door and doesn’t ask for you by name. You notice how quiet your room feels when no one is waiting in it. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. And maybe it doesn’t.

Still, the nights feel longer.

And then he returns.

He doesn’t knock. Doesn’t ask for permission. Just pushes open the door like it’s his, like you belong to him, like nothing’s changed and no one else has touched you since. His eyes are glassy, his skin flushed. He reeks of wine and frustration, something bitter curling behind his teeth when he looks at you.

You don’t ask where he’s been. You ask if he’s all right.

He laughs at that. Sharp. Cold. Not amused.

“You didn’t wait long,” he says, stepping closer. “Didn’t even take a night off.”

You don’t rise to it. “You’re not my husband, Aegon.”

“No,” he says, and it’s not quite agreement. Not quite anything. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

He sits at the edge of the bed without waiting to be invited, eyes following your movements as you cross the room, gathering the scattered remains of the hour before. You don’t explain yourself. He hasn’t earned that. You pour him a cup of wine instead, set it on the table beside him, and let the silence stretch between you.

“You laughed,” he says finally, voice low. “With him. At something he said.”

You pause. You look at him. “It’s my job.”

His hands flex against his knees. He doesn’t touch the wine.

“Do you laugh like that with all of them?”

You could lie. You don’t.

“I laugh when I feel like it.”

He looks away. His jaw tightens. There’s something unsteady in the air now, something sharp and hot and clumsy. It’s not jealousy, not really. It’s something worse. Something neither of you has the words for.

He doesn’t ask for anything that night. Doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t touch you. He just sits there for a while, staring at the floor like he’s trying to piece something back together. Like he doesn’t know why it fell apart in the first place.

When he finally stands to leave, you don’t stop him. You don’t say goodbye. You don’t offer comfort.

You just watch him go, and try not to think about the way his voice sounded when he said your laugh wasn’t meant for someone else.

The room feels different after that. Still. Dim. Like something’s been taken out of it and nothing’s come to fill the space. The days pass slowly. You work. You sleep. You forget, or try to. But it lingers anyway—in the quiet, in the hours between clients, in the echo of his words when you catch yourself smiling without meaning to.

He doesn’t come back for a week.

And when he does, he doesn’t speak as he crosses the threshold. Doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t smirk. He just walks in like he never left and sits in the chair by the window, the one none of the others ever use, and watches you without saying a word. His hair is tied back. His tunic is buttoned to the collar. No wine stains, no lazy grin, no hands reaching for your waist. The door clicks shut behind him and the air stills, and you know before he opens his mouth that something’s shifted. That something’s cracked open and he’s trying to pretend it hasn’t. You’ve seen this version of him before—tight-shouldered and quiet, too sober to be charming and too proud to be honest—but never for this long. Never so heavy in his silences.

You pour the wine anyway, because it’s habit now, because it gives your hands something to do, because if you stand still too long the quiet might start saying things neither of you are ready to hear. He doesn’t take the cup. He doesn’t move at all. Just sits there, arms folded, jaw clenched, eyes following your every breath like he’s waiting for you to prove something.

When he finally speaks, it lands without warning. “Do you treat them all like that?”

You don’t turn. You don’t ask him what he means. You know. Of course you do. You think of the knight’s hands on your waist, the way you laughed when he tripped over his own boots, the way Aegon’s face twisted when he saw it. You think of the door slamming shut and the echo of his absence for seven straight nights. You think of the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s owed something. Like you gave it to someone else.

You shrug. “It’s a job, Your Grace.”

He scoffs. Not a real laugh, not amused. Just bitter and sharp like a blade dragged across stone. “Right. Of course. Just a job.”

You turn then, meet his gaze fully, and you don’t flinch. You don’t blink. You don’t soften.

He opens his mouth like he might say something else but doesn’t. He swallows whatever it is, like it tastes wrong on his tongue.

“What was I, then?” he asks finally. And he tries to keep his voice even but it cracks a little at the end, just enough to reveal the edge beneath it, the raw thing he’s trying to bury under all that silk and steel. “To you.”

You could lie. You could fold. You could take pity on him. But you don’t. You smile instead, just the ghost of it, not cruel, not kind, just enough to sting.

“A client who thinks he’s not one.”

The silence that follows is thick and strange and brittle. His fingers curl around the arm of the chair, knuckles pale, mouth tight. He looks away. He doesn’t argue.

Because he knows you’re right. Because that’s what’s eating him alive.

A client who thinks he’s not one.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just sits there with his jaw set and his gaze fixed somewhere near your shoulder, like if he looks too closely he’ll shatter whatever’s holding him together. You watch the muscle tick in his temple, the way his chest rises just a little too fast, like breathing around what you said costs him something. You don’t take it back. You don’t soften the blow.

He finally speaks, quieter now. “That’s all this was, then?”

You cross your arms, tilt your head. “You paid for my time.”

His eyes flick to yours and hold. “It didn’t feel like I had to.”

You raise a brow. “But you did.”

He shifts in the chair like it suddenly doesn’t fit him right. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers tight, jaw clenched like he’s biting back a hundred things at once. “You could’ve said no.”

“I never say no to princes,” you say evenly. “It tends to end badly.”

He laughs, but it’s a hollow, bitter thing. “You really think I’d hurt you?”

You don’t answer that. You don’t need to. He’s not asking to know—he’s asking to be told he’s better than the rest, that he matters more than the lords who come in with rings on their fingers and guilt in their throats. He’s asking to be spared from the truth.

Instead, you walk past him, slow, deliberate. You pour a second cup of wine and set it on the table without meeting his eyes.

“You came here like all the others,” you say softly. “You pay like all the others. You leave like all the others. What would you call that, Aegon, if not a client?”

He stands so suddenly the chair scrapes against the stone floor. The sound is loud in the small room, startling, but you don’t flinch. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the way his breath stirs the loose strands of your hair. His hands flex at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You smiled for him,” he says, almost a whisper. “I never saw you smile like that for me.”

You tilt your chin up, meet his gaze. “You weren’t looking.”

“I was,” he says, and it sounds like a confession.

You let that hang there between you, heavy and sharp, and for a moment neither of you moves.

Then you say, low and even, “It wouldn’t have mattered if you were.”

His mouth parts, just slightly, like he wants to argue. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because he knows it’s true. And that’s what makes it hurt.

After that, something in him goes still.

It isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t happen all at once. It settles in slowly, like a fog in the bones. The brat prince charm dulls. The sharp wit turns inward. The wine sits untouched more often than not. He still comes—still walks through the doors with his hood pulled low and his shoulders hunched like someone might recognize the shape of him even in shadow—but the fire is gone from his eyes, replaced by something colder, something harder, something that looks too much like hunger and not enough like power.

He stops pretending it’s coincidence. He stops asking “is she free?” Now he just says your name. Low. Final. Like no one else ever existed. He pays double without blinking. Once he paid triple and the madam tried to thank him and he barely looked at her. Just pressed the coin into her hand and walked up the stairs like the place offended him.

He stays longer now. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t touch you the way he used to. Sometimes he doesn’t even ask for anything. Just sits by the fire with his legs stretched out and his arms folded and watches you, quiet, unmoving, like he’s waiting for something to happen. Like if he stays still enough, long enough, you’ll give him something that can’t be bought. There are nights where he talks. Low voice, slurred sometimes, bitter always. He complains about the court. About his mother. About how everyone waits for him to fail. How it would be easier if he just did. He talks about dragons and war and the kind of king he’ll never be. Sometimes he talks about nothing at all. Just rambles, voice fraying at the edges, barely holding together.

He tells you he hates the Keep. That he hates the godswood. That the air in the Red Keep feels like poison and he can’t breathe in it. He doesn’t ask you anything in return. Doesn’t want your stories. Just your silence. Your presence. The way you look at him without flinching. The way you speak to him like he’s not a prince and never will be. And sometimes, when he forgets himself, the way your hand brushes his shoulder when you pass. The way your mouth softens when you think he isn’t looking.

You never stay past dawn. But sometimes you leave slower. Sometimes you close the door gently behind you instead of locking it fast. And he notices. Of course he does.

One night, he doesn’t sit. He stands at the window, back to you, spine tense, hands clasped behind him like he’s trying to hold something down. The fire crackles behind you. The wine sits untouched on the table. You wait, arms crossed, patient. He’s never been good at silence but tonight he wears it like a cloak. When he speaks, it’s quieter than usual. Careful. Like he’s afraid the wrong word will ruin everything. “What would it take,” he asks, “for you to leave this place?”

You blink. The question floats there between you for a long moment, hanging just above the heat. You walk to the table, pour yourself a cup, take a slow sip before answering. “Why?” you say. “You looking to save me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You glance over your shoulder and he’s still staring out the window, profile sharp in the firelight, jaw set, mouth flat. He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t move. Just waits, as if silence might convince you where his voice can’t. As if the weight of the question is enough to bind you to him.

You take another sip. “You can’t afford me,” you say, not unkind. His mouth twitches at that. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything. You set the cup down gently. “You’re a prince,” you say. “But that doesn’t mean you get to keep what you want.”

He turns then. Slowly. Eyes locked on yours. And there’s something hollow in his gaze, something desperate, something lost. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asks. “Trying to keep you?”

You say nothing. You don’t need to. Because that’s exactly what he’s doing. He steps forward once, then stops. Like he’s afraid of what might happen if he gets too close. Like he knows he’ll shatter if he touches you. Like he already has.

You tilt your head. “You can’t lock me in a tower, Aegon. You don’t get to turn me into something soft and safe and yours. I’m not your bird. I’m not your wife. I’m not your escape.”

“I know,” he says. Quiet. Like it hurts to admit it.

You walk past him, slow, and stop just beside his shoulder. You don’t touch him. But you let your voice brush close.

“Then stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to.”

He closes his eyes.You leave before he opens them again.

After that, he doesn’t come for a few nights. Not long, not unusual. But something feels different. There’s a stillness in the air now, like your absence has shape, like it means something he can’t put down.

Then he sees you.

Not in silk. Not in the hush of a room meant for forgetting. He sees you in the street and it ruins him. You’re not dressed for coin tonight, not painted in perfume or candlelight, not wrapped in artifice. You’re just walking, breathing, existing in daylight, sunlight on your hair, your mouth curved around a laugh that doesn’t belong to him.

There’s a man beside you, taller than you by a head, plain-faced and unremarkable, but your hand rests easy on his arm as you lean in and say something that makes him smile and Aegon watches from the shadow of a stone archway like he’s been struck across the face. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call your name. Just stares. Watches the way you look up at this stranger, the way your shoulders relax, the way you smile without thinking. It’s not what you’re doing. It’s what you’re not. You’re not looking for him. You’re not waiting. You’re not his. And the ache it stirs in him is deep and sudden and stupid, because it’s not supposed to matter and it never has before and it shouldn’t now. But it does. And when you brush your hand over the man’s arm in farewell, when you step into the crowd without glancing back, it feels like a cut.

He’s waiting for you when you return. You know he will be. The air in the room is thick the moment you open the door. It clings to the walls, sticks to the back of your throat. You close it quietly behind you and don’t bother to ask why he’s here. He’s pacing, restless, his hands clenched at his sides, his face already tense and twisted like the words are fighting to get out. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, just spits it toward the floor like it’s an answer to a question he never meant to ask.

“You’re mine.”

You don’t blink. You don’t take a step forward or back. You just breathe in slow and let the words hang there between you for a moment, heavy and familiar and wrong. Then you say it. Calm. Final.

“No. I never was.”

The silence after that feels different. It isn’t cold. It isn’t loud. It just settles in the space between your bodies like ash. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick up to meet yours and he looks at you like he’s trying not to fall apart. There’s something ugly in his stare now, something raw, the beginnings of something that might break if he doesn’t hold it down.

“Why does it feel like you are?”

You don’t answer. You don’t speak at all. You just look at him and let the weight of the question settle in his chest like a stone. Let him carry it. Let him sit in the truth that he made this mess and now he wants you to tell him it means more than it does. Because he’s the one who came back. He’s the one who started asking by name. He’s the one who lingered too long and stared too hard and started treating you like a secret he didn’t want to admit to keeping. And now that he’s ruined himself with want, now that he’s seen you out in the world where he doesn’t own you, now he wants to rewrite the rules.

You just keep looking at him. And say nothing.

He sways where he stands like he might reach for you, like his hands are still trying to decide if they want to hold or destroy, but they stay at his sides. His mouth opens again, closes.” I would’ve,” he says. “If I had—if I could—”

You cut him off without raising your voice.

“You didn’t.”

He flinches like the words hit. Like he was hoping you’d be softer than that. You’re not.

And that’s where it ends.

Because he has no claim. Because wanting has never been enough.

You don’t see him for days after that. You don’t expect to. Some men leave angry. Some leave ashamed. He left with nothing at all. No closing words. No promises. Just silence, and the weight of all the things he never said when it would’ve mattered.

But then, one night, he comes again.

This time it’s different. No bravado. No wine on his breath. No coin pressed into the madam’s hand. He doesn’t ask for you by name. Doesn’t ask for anything at all. He just walks through the door like someone who’s wandered too far and doesn’t know where else to go. His eyes are quieter now. Dim. Like he burned through the last of his fire somewhere on the way here and all that’s left is smoke.

You’re alone in your room, the hearth burning low, the sheets still warm from someone else’s weight. He steps inside without knocking. Closes the door gently behind him. Doesn’t say a word.

You don’t either.

You just watch as he crosses the room like he’s unsure whether you’ll stop him, unsure whether you should. He sits in the chair by the window, the one he used to lean back in like a prince pretending he wasn’t, but this time he doesn’t touch the arms, doesn’t lean. Just sits with his hands in his lap, his shoulders folded inward, his eyes on the floor.

You don’t ask why he’s here. You don’t ask what he wants.

You just sit too.

The silence stretches. Not sharp like it used to be. Not heavy. Just still. He breathes like it hurts to do it. Like every breath is a question he’s still trying to answer. It’s a long time before he speaks.

“I didn’t think it would matter,” he says. “But it does.”

His voice is low. Raw around the edges. Like the words have been waiting in his chest for longer than he’s willing to admit. You don’t ask what he means. You already know. You don’t give him the comfort of saying it aloud.

Instead, you shift beside him, just enough to reach, and brush a lock of hair from his face, gentle and slow and unremarkable. His breath stutters.

“That’s not love, Aegon,” you say. “That’s wanting something you can’t keep.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to make it more than it is. He just nods, barely, eyes fixed on the dying fire like he’s watching something disappear.

You don’t touch again.You don’t speak.

You both sit in silence until the light begins to shift at the edge of the curtains. He stands before the sun has fully crested the sky. He doesn’t look at you when he leaves. Doesn’t say goodbye. Just pulls the door open like it weighs more than it should and walks out into the quiet.

You don’t follow. You don’t expect him back. He doesn’t come.

Days pass. Quiet ones. The room feels the same but lighter somehow, as if his absence left something behind even when he took nothing with him. You don’t ask about him. You don’t look for him. You keep the windows open more often. You stop pouring a second cup of wine.

And then, one morning, you find it.

You don’t hear the door open. Don’t feel a shift in the air. If he came, he didn’t stay long. The bed is untouched, the fire burned out, the scent of the room unchanged. But there it is, resting on the pillow like it had always belonged—one gold dragon, gleaming in the morning light, warm from the sun.

Not payment. Not really. You haven’t taken his coin in days. Haven’t let him buy what he never knew how to hold.

You sit at the edge of the bed and stare at it for a long time. You think about what it means. What it doesn’t. What it never was.

Then you pick it up, curl your fingers around the weight of it, and tuck it into your pocket.

You don’t ask the madam if he left it.

You don’t ask if he’s been back since.

And you don’t wait for him anymore.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 37. Disappointed (Garrick)

Summary: Both Garrick and Dahlia have survived the year in the rider's quadrant, but their now found relationship is already causing some issues for the marked ones.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

I’m thankful for the breeze that chooses to blow my way as I make my way down the path. Despite being late in the evening, the sun having set long ago, the summer heat was still notable. My black cloak only making it worse. The things we do to make sure no one can tell who we are if they do see us.

“You’re late.” Xaden states as he looks over at me from where he leans up against a tree.

“Barely. Not easy to sneak off when there’s no classes or outposts I can say I’ve been called to.” I tell him bluntly.

He nods in agreement. We might be in third year now, but the week between years is usually quiet for all cadets. Barely any classes to attend, and only preparation for the new first years being a priority for anyone in leadership roles.

“She’s not exactly easy to fool either. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.” Bodhi adds as he smirks at me knowingly.

As much as I wanted to snap back at him, he wasn’t wrong. Dahlia was easily one of the smartest and observant people here. Something that was seriously going to be an issue now I’d publicly laid out my feelings towards her. Yes I had been known for sleeping around here and there. But never once had I shown public affection towards someone. Especially like that. But it was fucking worth it.

“Yes, which is why we need to discuss this. How the hell do you plan on hiding our supply runs from her?” Xaden asks with a raised eyebrow.

Yeah. That part I did not think through. Last year it was easy. I hadn’t really gotten to know her till later in the year, and even then it wasn’t like we were hanging out every day. But now, it was going to be significantly harder.

“We just use the same cover up we’ve always discussed. Say we’re out doing third year things. Second years aren’t told about what we go do.” I say with a shrug, walking over and leaning against one of the trees.

“Or we just tell her.” Bodhi says as if it’s the most obvious answer. “We know she’s trust worthy. And she’s defended us on countless occasions. And if she knew what was going on I think she would help.”

The thought had crossed my mind many times once it was clear she was not like her family, and shared very different opinions. Especially with her comments on Reunification Day. But the only way to be certain was if we could read her mind. And that wasn’t something we had access to.

I look over at Xaden who furrows his brow, as if thinking what to say. “That’s a big if. We can assume all we want, but without knowing her intentions it’s too much of a gamble.” His voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

“So now you choose to get iffy on her intentions? At the start of last year you were the one telling him to give her a chance and she wasn’t like her family.” Bodhi adds, angrily gesturing towards me. “And now you’re starting to talk like she could be.”

“This is different Bodhi.” Xaden snaps at him, narrowing his eyes at his cousin. “There is a lot more at stake here. All your lives are on the line if the wrong person gets involved or finds out. Especially not with Dain’s signet. I can’t risk him touching her and finding out.”

Bodhi scoffs and shakes his head. “He’s just as likely to get his hands on her as he is us. Hell she can probably shield him out better than we can with the work she’s been doing to control her signet.”

“He’s right.” I say as I hang my head. I hated having to lie to her. Having to hide this. She was going to be pissed when she found out, because one day she would. “We can’t verify what she would do with the knowledge. One day when we’re ready she can find out.“

Bodhi looks between us and shakes his head, clearly disappointed in the outcome. “Let me guess, you’ll let her train any first years that cross the parapet and need help though?”

“She’s good at combat. She’s nearly got as many patches as Garrick now. I’d be stupid not to.” Xaden tells him. She’d already gotten the most patches of her year for how many weapons she was proficient in. We’d be stupid not to ask for her help, though I’m sure she would offer it all of her own accord. “All your lives are on me. And I’ll be damned if I don’t use the skills of those around me to make sure you all survive.”

“But you’ll keep her in the dark just because of her last name. I thought we were past this with her.” He says sadly, clearly knowing he’s lost.

I hate agreeing with Xaden. I want to fight for her like Bodhi is right now. But there’s too many lives at risk.

“We'll let her in one day Bodhi. Just not yet.” I tell him.

Bodhi turns and looks at me, guilt coursing through me with how he looks at me. Disappointed. Yeah… so was I Bodhi.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus

[chronologically-challenged]

Rambling some theories about @askoverkill AU~

1) Bodies from the previous loops stay. Not sure if it's just previous outer loops or both inner and outer loops. Currently have this theory is because the skeleton under the rock. Very conspicuous that the spot where Siffrins die first has a degraded corpse. We could be seeing more bodies from now on.

2) Dusk was the previous Siffrin before Dawn. (Which makes sense tbh. Dawn being the one now starting while Dusk is losing). I was trying to figure out their role in this AU, but looking back at the intro, the Siffrin who holds the star looks VERY similiar to Dusk's outfit.

The main differences are 1) under clothes are different (which could be just a design change or just a sign of depression. Who knows) and 2) the flowers on the hat, which I suspect Lupus gave him. Other than that, the hats are both pointy, the hair is placed nearly EXACTLY the same, they both have six eyelashes instead of the usual Siffrin three, the collar is very distinctive, and the triangles on the cloak. And considering how even the background Siffrins in the intro are very distinctive, it can't be a coincidence that there are so many similarities between the intro Siffrin and Dusk. Dusk has to have been the previous Siffrin, but how much Dusk remembers of the previous outer loop.... I'm not sure. (In many ways this makes Dusk more of the Loop parallel than even Loop. Overkill AU Loop has been through so much that everything is detached at this point. Dusk meanwhile... for them the feelings of self identity are probably all still raw).

Also uh. This ask? Anon asks if every Siffrin who gives up loses their he/hims and the answer is "Dusk still has their pronouns despite everything". So uh. Implication that they're a Siffrin who gave up!!!!

3) The Director is a bad end act 5 Siffrin. There's another post that goes more into this, made by 3rd-shrike. I'm convinced this is the case especially since Loop has been confirmed to still have been sasasaap Siffrin. So that means the ISAT timeline very likely has to have happened as well (ie: we're not starting from scratch with the timeline in this au).

4) This has to end with Siffrin choosing self care. The entire AU is Siffrin throwing himself into a death chamber for the sake of their friends, choosing to become meat for the meat grinder despite everyone telling him to stop. This can only end if they choose not to go in.

[cannedbananabread]

Heart of Gold- Jonathan Joestar x Reader

word count: 7.1k

CW: smut, size different (c'mon, it's Jonathan), mentions of loneliness, and Dio just being himself

Can also be read on my ao3 if that's your pleasure

A/N: Hiii this is from a tumblr request for hurt/comfort for Jonathan! I know I said I would be taking these on a first come first serve basis but just know that I'm a liar. Really, I wanted to post this since the plot centers around Jonathan's birthday and it's technically still April, so I thought we could still celebrate. Also note that I'm playing fast and loose with Victorian conventions but for all intents and purposes, we're assuming women could attend their university.

Springtime had come to Hugh Hudson Academy and with it, all the gaiety that followed the Easter festivities now that the lengthening days had begun to encroach upon the end of the semester. 

And that feeling of mirth is exactly what should have fallen upon Jonathan Joestar in the early evening hours of what was, all things considered, a perfectly pleasant day in early April. Winter had just waved its final farewell and all around, the earth was beginning to burst into bloom. In spite of the ample pretext for such merriment, Jonathan only felt plagued by an ineffable sadness that left him wandering the soft, verdant grounds of the university alone after such a disagreeable turn of events.

Loneliness had never been a foreign concept to Jonathan, as a child he had often kept to himself with only the companionship of his long-since-departed dog and even into his adolescence, he had never possessed the same proclivity towards fraternization as his social butterfly of a brother. In spite of the wontedness of this particular affliction, there existed certain occasions on which that inestimable loneliness exhibited a more profound effect on him. And, despite his most valiant efforts, today had ended up as one such occasion in which he had been so drearily beleaguered by that nebulous melancholy that, in his despondency, left him with that inescapable feeling of inadequacy that had once been a part of his daily routine. Over the years since his troubles had begun, Jonathan had become quite adept at rising above the challenges that had come his way, but today, it stuck him more virulently than it had in many years and he was left with only his dispirited contemplations. The fragile budding flowers and the golden light of the setting sun only served as a reminder of his insurmountable despair.

The evening had cast long, forlorn shadows across the boundaries of campus that cloaked the entire landscape in a strange and disquieting atmosphere that JoJo found entirely intolerable in his already gloomy state, so much so that he abandoned his excursion altogether and sought solace indoors. 

It was perhaps by some greater force that he was drawn to the same quiet corner of the library where you had spent the entirety of the afternoon pouring meticulously over your studies, with the end of the year approaching there was precious little time to waste before you would be faced with your examinations. Seeing you there, so focused and natural, he felt the first glimmers of hope for regaining a modicum of enjoyment in the final moments of the day.

As if you sensed his presence, you glanced up from your notes and your eyes fell upon him with a look of utter bemusement, as though you had been pulled out of a trance of your own making and were not quite aware of the time of day, “oh, JoJo,” you muttered, half dazed and a bit ill-prepared to entertain a conversation in your addled state, but you were never unwelcoming of your most cherished friend.

“M-my deepest apologies my dear lady, I hadn’t meant to disturb you,” he began, stammering somewhat timorously, and, despite his emphatic attempts to maintain his gallant demeanor, you had noted a solemn dreariness in his usually welcoming eyes  “I… I can tell that you’re busy, I will leave you to your work.”

“Nonsense, JoJo, I always have time for you. Please, sit a while.”

“Are you certain? I would not want to get in the way of your research and it appears as though I’ve already distracted you.”

“Not a bit, you are welcome any time, so please, sit down, stay, and won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” he said softly and forced a smile that was intended to be one of appeasement, but in actuality, it resulted in a look of greater strain upon his face than he had cared to show. Nonetheless, he took a seat across from you and wilted into his assumed silence, he had already done enough to trouble you, he did not need to weave you a dire lamentation for his many misfortunes which he knew were not so terrible in the grand scheme of things. At present, it was enough for Jonathan to find comfort in the form of a familiar face. 

“Hm, I don’t believe that, the truth is written all over your face.” 

“It really isn’t worth mentioning, my brother and I had made plans for this evening, but something came up and he cancelled, that is all,” he said reassuringly, though you were not sure if the words had been to mollify your curiosity or rather conciliate his own negative feelings. 

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry for that, it was quite rude of him, to cancel on such short notice. Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, I shan’t want to burden you with my petty troubles.”

“Oh JoJo, you could never be a burden,” you said, hoping your dulcet words would encourage him to be a bit more forthcoming.

“All the same, I’ve already been enough of a disruption to you, I think I would rather allow you to get back to your work.” 

You gave him a slight but curious nod and turned your attention back to the pages you had before been engrossed in. All the while Jonathan eased into his seat and stared vaguely into the distance as though he might find the answer to some grand question that nettled him. But even in those moments of reticence, he could not see anything but dismal uncertainty and he wondered what it was about him that forced him to endure such loneliness. Was he really so unlikeable that no one would want to spend time with him? Were all of his teammates and friends really only tolerating him because they enjoyed Dio’s company? Was he always destined to play second-fiddle to a brother who had such a penchant for attracting both friends and lovers alike?

“What is it, do you think,” he began in a gentle but shaken voice that broke the silence of the library, “that sets Dio apart from me?”

“Hmm,” you pondered for several moments while he looked through you with tired, glassy eyes that gave you the affectation that he was rather near tears, “really, I can hardly say, I don’t know Dio as well as I know you, though, on every occasion on which we have met, he seems the most upstanding and elegant gentleman, not all too different from yourself, though perhaps a bit more given to arrogance than you, but not any less affable. Why do you ask?”

“I see, so that is how it is,” he said in a voice that was more faraway than was typical for him. “Since we’ve known each other, I’ve always felt as though Dio has gotten ahead of me, no matter what I did or how hard I tried, he was better, smarter, stronger, and made more friends than I. I should not be surprised really, everything about him inspires approbation, even I must laud his abundant achievements… sometimes I feel as though everything he tries comes easy to him, a luxury I have never possessed. He’s graduating at the top of our class this autumn, no doubt Father will be pleased. I supposed he has eclipsed me in every conceivable capacity.” 

“Don’t say that JoJo, you’re plenty good at what you do! You’ve thrilled the entire archeology department with your thesis, not many people can boast of that. At any rate, you needn’t be in competition with Dio, you're both so smart and diligent and it has been an honor to know the both of you.”

“I suppose, though I’m not sure I really compare to him at all.”

“Then you simply shouldn’t. I, of all people, understand how sharp Dio is. I took Latin with him last year and I’m certain he had a better grasp of the language than even our professor, but JoJo, he can never take your accomplishments away! You are so smart and wonderful and…” you trailered off, feeling at once, perfectly abashed by the careless adulation you had gotten so carried away with.

“Thank you for saying so. I must admit that it was hard growing up with him as a brother, he excelled at everything, far better than I ever could. It was as though I was constantly trying to catch up to him. Since he’s become a part of my family, all I’ve heard was talk of his many accomplishments when he’s just so…”

“Just so… what?”

“No, I shouldn’t say anything unkind, after all, it was all so frightfully long ago, I haven't any real evidence of the half of it.”

“Tell me, JoJo. You know that you can tell me anything.”

“It is but the remnants of our childish squabbles, and I curse myself for not being able to get over such pettiness. Dio has been nothing but kind to me for the better part of seven years. I should not cling to the past in this way, it’s incredibly unbecoming,” Jonathan said, feeling that old, weatherworn shame creep back into his soul. Dio had been unkind to him, yes, he knew that he hadn’t imagined the whole of his maltreatment, but as the years had gone on, JoJo wondered whether or not he had unjustly blamed Dio for many of the misfortunes in his life, after all, he never really knew what became of Danny and perhaps he could have won Erina back if he had not been so cowardly, and if being honest with himself, he really didn’t have any proof for most of the misdeeds he had attributed to Dio, it seemed just as likely now that it was simply that he had, in his youthful credulity, merely allowed his resentment to get the better of him. That is, in part, why he had made such a valiant effort to consider Dio both a brother and a friend, though in his heart, he knew that he had never quite found the strength of mind to forgive him. “I believe it is solely my own jealousy that blights me so furiously.” 

“But what have you to be jealous of?”

“I… I suppose I always wished that I possessed the same natural ability to make friends as he does; I suppose I have never been as naturally social as he is and…” he paused for a moment and deliberately looked away from you. That horrible feeling of inadequacy clawed in his chest again and he could not stop the deluge of emotion that was ready to spring forward. He covered his eyes with his hand to hide the tears that had begun to stream indelicately from his eyes. “I suppose I just wished that people liked me as much as they liked him.”

“Oh dear, JoJo, please don’t cry!” You said in desperation and immediately found your arms had coiled around Jonathan’s shoulders, hoping, perhaps in vain, that the subtle contact would be enough to allay his sadness even for just a moment, “tell me what happened.” 

“It really is such an unimportant thing,” he began, trying to muster the resolve to tell you something so thoroughly embarrassing, but his voice wavered and everything that followed came out in a mess of indiscriminate sobs, “but Dio had promised that we would go out to celebrate our birthdays with the rest of the rugby team but I suppose he found it more worth his time to spend the evening wooing a girl and naturally, once it had been made known that Dio would not be attending, the rest of the team lost interest as well, so I was left to spend the evening alone.”

“Oh, my, that was awful of him! He really cancelled on your birthday? I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, my actual birthday was Wednesday and, to be fair, my Father did have a small celebration for us while we were home over Easter, I shan’t make you think me more luckless than I am. I do apologize, I really don’t know what has come over me to be affected by so trivial a matter,” he said, mustering another even more glaringly  false smile in order to dispel your worries, “I just wish that I knew what it is that makes me so unlikeable.”

“Oh, JoJo you can’t think that way, you are so far from unlikeable, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. I really… I think you’re brilliant, I think you’re…”

“I think you’re much too kind to me, I know I’ve never been as popular as my brother and I suppose it’s left me feeling insufficient.”

“JoJo, it doesn’t matter if you don’t have very many friends, you still deserve love and kindness and all the good things this world has to offer,” you said vehemently and held tightly to his arm, “and for what it’s worth, you will always have me.”

“Th-thank you,” he stuttered cautiously and blinked away the remaining tears in his eyes, “I hold our friendship in high regard.”

All at once the feelings you had kept locked away inside threatened to burst free. All the feelings you had for Jonathan that lingered, unmet on the outskirts of your relationship whirled through your brain so alarmingly that you thought every disjointed sentiment might spill from you before you had the chance to properly express them.

“I care so very deeply for you, JoJo. Do you understand what I mean?”

”Of course, you are my dearest friend after all,” he said with a fragile smile that hadn’t quite broken through the sadness in his heart. 

You looked on with bleak determination. All that courage you had managed to summon had been for naught, you would have to see the rejection through to the end and accept the lack of reciprocation with grace, no matter the cost to your heart. Though when he looked back at you, his face was so earnest that all you could do was sigh. Perhaps he really hadn’t grasped the meaning behind your words of confession.

Jonathan was that so singular of creatures, he was gentle and gallant and always tried to see the very best in people, even when it was to his own detriment, and that was why you loved him so plainly. Or at least, so it had been perceived by everyone except Jonathan.  In spite of the myriad of ways you had made your feelings known, he seemed blissfully unaware when it came to any matters of the heart. You had begun to wonder if it was mere politesse on his part to spare you your dignity if he did not reciprocate the same romantic intentions or perhaps another effect of his endearing naïveté. 

No matter, you knew your feelings were true, they had been burning for so many years that the thought of another minute passing with them going yet unspoken seemed somehow torturous. So you mustered a brilliant determination from deep in the pit of your stomach to tell him, you had to. This was precisely the moment you had waited years for, you couldn’t allow it to slip carelessly from your fingers, you couldn’t live with not knowing, you had to tell him.  “JoJo, you dolt, for all the brains in your head can you not see that I am in love with you?” You said in reckless honesty and perhaps a shade more vitriolically than grace would have granted you, but you had to force the words out before your better sense had a chance to tell you to dither. 

Jonathan stared back at you quite blankly, in the wake of your divulgence he had not the words to tell you how he felt. Love, to him, had always been a concept that was just out of grasp. He’d tasted it so briefly in his youth, but the entire ordeal had left a bitterness on his tongue that made him tentative to drink from that well again. But there you were, so frightfully close and abundantly earnest in your appeal that he need only reach out and take it and all the luxury of your affection could be his.

“JoJo, did you not hear me? I said that I love you,” you said again, this time with a timid lilt in your soft, breathy voice, almost pathetic voice. 

“I think…” he began, carefully choosing the proper words through the cascade of thoughts that flooded his mind, “I think that…” he trailed off again, the hesitation caused you to tug surreptitiously at the hem of your sleeve so as to conceal the nervous agitation that had fallen upon you in the moments of uncertainty; it was all you could do to keep from running headlong into the deepest fear that he would reject you. You had to hold firm, to love him was to be unwavering in the face of weakness.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you said, forcing a smile. For all the heartbreak you felt brimming in your chest, you did not want to make him feel worse for his lack of reciprocation. Even if he did not love you, he was still the goodliest man you’d ever known and you would hate to be the cause of any further sadness in his life. For you thought you could go on loving him as you did even if he did not feel the same.  

“You… you love me…?” He finally muttered, though his timid voice still shook with uncertainty as he tried to profess his own feelings so openly.

“Of course JoJo, how could I not?”

“Because I… I don’t… could you not find better than me?” He murmured with his shoulders hung low.

Feeling more bold, you approached him and softly laid your hand upon his arm. “Never, there is no one more kind or gentle or deserving of love than you, Jonathan Joestar, and no matter what you say, I really do love you.”  Your eyes meant for a mere fraction of a seconds before he hurriedly looked away with scarlet covering his face. You stood on your feet and stretched upward to caress the side of his crimsoned cheek, “even if you don’t love me.”

“That is not the case!” He shouted suddenly, a bit alarmed by his own exclamation, “I just… I never thought that… I never thought that you would feel the same so I have never put my feelings into words, but I…” all of a sudden he wrapped his big arms around you and buried his face diffidently in the crook of your neck, “I love you, too.” 

“JoJo—!” You exclaimed, starting back in vapid astonishment, you had dreamed so many times of this moment and all the things you would say if your love had been requited, but standing there in the face of reality you were left in stupefied speechlessness, lacking even the most prosaic of expressions to utter. For several seconds that seemed to you, as lengthy as hours, a silence hung thickly like muggy summer air, neither of you darling to speak and mar the momentousness of the occasion. Then, as if compelled by a force beyond your control, he pulled you into his arms with such force that it caused you to crash against his broad chest. 

“I love you,” he repeated and squeezed you tighter until his chin came to rest on the top of your head.

The enveloping warmth of his embrace left you imbued with a sense of contentment that you’d so rarely felt in your life. 

Without wasting another precious second, you jostled free of his grasp and, leaning up on your tallest tiptoes, you pressed your lips ever so softly softly onto his. The tiny action caused his eyes to widen and a soft hue of pink to crawl across his cheeks. 

It took another moment for him to regain what scraps of composure he had, but once he did, his lips crashed onto yours with unbridled fervor as if suddenly all the barriers that had kept his affection at bay had at least been removed and he could express all of his purest devotion. 

When the kiss finally broke you were left needing several moments to catch your breath, but your search for stability did not go unassisted when you felt Jonathan again wrapping his arms around you.

How long you stayed like that, in the quiet of the library, listening to the pounding of his heart, you could not tell, but when next you happened to glance out the narrow mullioned window, you could see that night had fallen upon the entirety of campus.  

“Come now,” You said to break the silence, pulling away from him and placing your hand firmly in his palm, “I’m going to take you out, your birthday deserves to be celebrated properly.” 

So the two of you found yourselves in a little pub just outside of campus that you knew stayed open late. It was not perhaps the most upscale of places and you would have much rather taken him somewhere more suitable to his tastes, but at that hour and without a reservation, there were not many viable options. In spite of that, Jonathan found himself much enjoying it. The two of you were nestled in the farthest corner of the dingy little pub with only the hazy light of the gas lamps and a few errant votives strewn about the tables to illuminate your wary, lovestruck faces.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been to this place before,” Jonathan laughed, feeling jovial for the first time all evening.

“Well, I would assume that a man of such high esteem does not usually dine in such places, so I hope you won’t mind appealing to my distinctly plebeian tastes.”

“You shouldn’t think yourself beneath me in the slightest, I would love to enjoy all of the things you like and I am most grateful that you care for me enough to take me out tonight.”

“Well, I do love you, JoJo,” you said with a sardonic infection, but the sentiment was quite true and the sheepish smile that spread across your face made it all the more obvious.

“I adore hearing you say that,” he said and reached across the table to cup your cheek, “and I love you too.”

After your meal had been shared and longing glances exchanged, you were once again walking back to campus. The air was cool with the sun having long left the sky, but the breeze carried all the loveliness of April's vernal promise. 

There was a hint of unfamiliarity in the way he took your hand and led you down the cobblestone street. You studied the feeling of his large fingers where they pressed against yours and you realized then, just how infrequently you had shared contact like this, even in all the years of friendship, you could only count a few singular occasions on which  “Jonathan,” you began in a tone that was serious but also brimming with sensuality, “let’s go back to your place.” 

Your voice had spun itself into a mesmerizing lilt that he had no choice but to obey, the proverbial siren’s song, your wants were his so long as he was yours. So, with only an understanding nod, he complied.

The two of you stopped on the threshold of the student lodgings that both Jonathan and Dio called home. It was not quite in keeping for a young man to bring a lady home. That you knew well, you could sense in the hesitation and Jonathan fumbled with the key, but in spite of any apprehensions, he did not give a single word of protest as he finally led you inside and up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. 

Jonathan, green though he may have been, was no fool. He knew very well what inviting you into his room entailed and while it was not something he had ever considered, the mutual confession of love had awakened within him, a distant urge that he had often neglected. Sex, by its very nature, was a concept he had only vaguely toyed with and never dwelled upon in any meaningful capacity, that is not to say he didn’t find himself straying into salacious urges when lonely days turned to lonely nights, but any sort of concupiscence did not become him so he had not ever thought of you in that way until precisely this moment but the strength of his desire had won out against his inclination towards gallantry. 

Even the way your fingers grazed over his palm and the brush of your skirt against his leg had been enough to set him ablaze. He wanted you, there was no denying that, he wanted you as he had never wanted another. Wholly and entirely. Beyond the bond that even sex would create, he wanted you to the depths of your soul. He had not known just how unbridled his devotion and been until the words of love had passed his lips. It has been so many years since he’d allowed himself to feel any kind of fancy. In all his wildest dreams he never thought it would ever be his.

The moment the two of you were in his room, the atmosphere felt different. There was something unmistakable and nearly electric that hummed in the air. Perhaps it was the thrumming of nervous hearts or the ripple of brimming energy that was palpable in every minute touch. 

There was little haste in his actions as Jonathan once again drew you in for another deep kiss that rivaled the one you had shared in the library. Even still, you were immediately swept up in the moment, feeling lost amidst the sea of longing you had heretofore tread with delicate care but now, in the wake of having reified your feelings, you had suddenly been plunged in headfirst. 

The vehemence of the kiss only seemed to increase and all the air between you felt suddenly sweltering, you became ever conscious of his hands roving over your body. Strong and protective, they seemed to still your beating heart and ease the troubles that had abounded as you moved to slowly unlace your dress. The heavy fabric tumbled to the floor and pooled at your feet in an ocean of muted linen.

Jonathan stepped back and admired you tentatively, a ruby glow burned his cheeks as he watched you slowly unlace your corset. Your pretty figure seemed all the more ethereal when seen only in the loose, gauzy fabric of your chemise. Perhaps in a show of solidarity, he pulled open his bow tie and clumsily undid the buttons of his shirt until it hung slackly open and framed his well-defined abs.

“JoJo,” said in awe, “you’re so handsome!”

“Do you really think so?” He asked and you nodded, ogling him with big doe eyes as his shirt slipped from the broad expanse of his shoulders, ”it pleases me so to hear you say that,” he said and with all the tenderness of a lamb, he eased you back into his arms and helped you to slip the meager garment over your head. 

Heat bloomed on your skin where his fingers landed, you let out a lascivious gasp, urging him to continue in your state of heightened arousal. But he was slow and gentle, apprehensive in all his touches. Each action was unfamiliar to him and he made sure to study your reactions to ensure that you were alright first and foremost, as such, his hands lingered, heavy on your waist, just tantalizingly far away from any of your more sensitive regions. 

You guided his hand up to your breast to disarm him of his trepidation and looked up at him with wide, eager eyes, knowing that your hope of the expedient sating of your desires would not be met, but it was a price you would pay if it lended him to be more self-assured. You had wanted him for so long, you certainly could wait a few trifling moments while he learned your body. “It’s okay JoJo, touch me, I want you to.” 

He gave a little nod in response and kneaded the soft flesh beneath his firm fingers. You gave a shuddering moan and instantly, you found your hips rolling into nothing in a blind search for something, anything more. “Does that feel good?” He whispered in abashed earnestness as his other hand began to trail arduously along the slope of your leg, stoking the fire that raged within you.

“Yes,” you mewled, desperate to keep your urges at bay just enough to keep yourself from appearing as frightfully uncouth as you felt, but it very quickly presented itself as a losing battle, “keep going, JoJo, please, I implore you,” you whined indignantly.

“May I touch you here?” He asked as his fingers wandered up your inner thigh, stopping just at the precipice of your aching sex.

“Yes JoJo, I don’t want you to stop.” 

Your consent served to embolden him and though the territory he treaded was unfamiliar, his confidence was bolstered by the silky little noises you made for him and, with resolve seemingly enhanced, he shed the final remnants of propriety to which he had been fettered.

It was then with more alacrity that he dipped his fingers between your legs, having abandoned the lingering degree of trepidation once he felt how incredibly wet you were for him. The tip of his finger traced your entrance, spreading your juices enough to allow him entry. He let out a curt exclamation that cemented itself somewhere between surprise and arousal when your tight walls clamped around his thick digit. Your face scrunched up in an effort to adjust to him, though he found the expression quite darling. He committed to a steady but undemanding pace, swirling his thumb over your clit and curling his finger inside you to stretch you open until he was able to add a second. 

“Oh God, JoJo,” you moaned and your head fell back against his pillow, unfurling your hair in a mess of tangled locks. The lustful utterance of his name caused him to shudder, god, he hadn’t been so acutely aware of his own needs until that exact moment. He shifted precariously in his spot and moved to undo the top button of his trousers, it was all he could do to offset his desire, your pleasure was more pressing at the moment, even more so than the ache he felt between his legs.

He watched each of your little reactions intently, the way your chest heaved and your hips rose in tandem with his ministrations and the syrupy arousal that dripped from your cunt like dew. 

Something came over him then, perhaps it was selfishness, but he pulled himself lower and stationed himself at the foot of the bed and looked to you for consent before advancing of his own accord. “May I?”

There was something so innately tantalizing about seeing him, precious gentleman that he was, in such a vulgar position between your thighs, with that same innocent boyish look he habitually wore that was somehow undisturbed in spite of the unseemly behaviors, “you may, JoJo,” you breathed almost deliriously.

With precision you were certain had to be instinctive, his tongue flicked against your clit, starting slow and soft but gaining more vehemence in no time at all, broadly dragging his tongue over the entirety of your pussy. He hummed as he tasted you, so delicately sweet and made all the better by the way you profusely whimpered his name.

With tremendous skill that was not suggested by his lack of experience, he lapped at your pussy, drinking you like a fine, heady wine. It was with only little effort he rendered you an unrestrained, spasming mess of shaky limbs and lewd squeals. 

Your breath came out harsh and ragged, hardly controllable as you fought against the tightness building in your core to keep yourself from coming undone, but that proved an inordinate challenge.

“JoJo, I’m close,” you moaned and he eyed you with a look that bordered on uncertainty but your body’s quaking response served to placate any confusion, “please, god, don’t stop!”

He took your words with the utmost importance and continued with quite the same effectiveness as before but it did not take much more effort for the tension to snap and the blinding glow of orgasm to suffuse your entire being, burning like wildfire across your florid skin.

“JoJo,” you said through a feeble exhale while you tried your best to return to a semi-coherent state, “thank you.”

He smiled brightly and gave a little chuckle as he pulled himself off his knees. “You’re quite adorable,” he beamed and gently trailed the tips of his fingers across your pelvis.

You felt your face heat up with the embers of embarrassment, you should not have felt quite so self-conscious by his remark after he’d already seen you in such a lubricious situation and yet it seemed to fluster you more than any sexual act ever could.

Still holding tightly to your timorous disposition, you glanced up just in time to watch as Jonathan removed the last of his clothes. You sat with bated breath as he rolled his underwear down his thighs hoping for a better view of what you had only gotten a peek at through the constraint of his pants.

His stature alone led you to expect that he would be huge, but not even you couldn’t have guessed how vastly reality would exceed your expectations because he was positively enormous. You stared up at him with a vague look of alarm, a breath caught in your throat and you felt all at once a bit hesitant, certainly he couldn't think all of that was going to fit, could he?

“Do you still wish for me to continue?” He asked as he knelt cautiously over you and held firmly to the base of his cock, eager drops of precum pearled at the tip and cascaded smoothly down the shaft, heightening his anticipation.

You offered him an uneasy nod, you had wanted this for so long that you weren’t about to back out from the formidable impression his length had made upon you.

He granted you a reassuring caress along the side of your waist and lined himself up with your entrance. God, he somehow looked even bigger when held against you, in fact, his entire gigantic frame seemed downright imposing, capable of dwarfing yours completely. 

His hand found your hip, offering enough support for him to smoothly press into you. Though he had amply prepared you, it was still a rather cumbersome task to take all of him. Each inch threatened to push you beyond your limits and it took all you had not to give a lewd shriek of pleasure as your tight walls spread around his daunting girth.  “A-are you alright?” He stuttered sheepishly with a look of concern in his eyes as though dreaded by the thought that he may accidentally hurt you.

“Yes… but, please, you’re so big, just go slow.”

He nodded determinedly and deliberately modulated his pace to ensure you were comfortable, though the little plea you had so earnestly squealed served more to fuel the newfound sense of pride that swelled in his chest and he felt, at last, completely organic in his actions. 

He immediately gleaned enjoyment from the tightness of your cunt. You were so soft and warm around him, it might have been the closest thing to bliss he’d ever felt. “Dear, you feel amazing, just perfect for me,” he crooned as his arms slowly curled around your chest in an embrace, it was the act of holding you as close as he was able that allowed for a more intimate position and through each slow thrust of his hips, each sensation was redoubled.

“JoJo—” you mewled insensibly, your mind was far too dizzy from your previous release and the pleasure of being around him to muster any further intelligible response. He had only just begun to fuck you and your back was already arching desperately off the mattress to meet his every thrust.

“I love to hear you say my name,” Jonathan said as sweetly as he could through gritted teeth,  “please, say it again.”

“JoJo!” You cried, heeding little, the possibility of being heard from the neighboring room, “JoJo, you feel so good!”

“That’s right, my love, and look at you, taking me so well, so beautiful.”

The rhythm of his thrusts became more frantic and harsh. The strength of his hips kept you pinned to the mattress as he pounded into you with far less grace than he started with.

There was little your small figure could do to compete against the more hectic movements of his massive frame but vacillate between incessantly clawing at his shoulders and pliantly accepting him until that familiar heat began to bubble again in your abdomen, twisting you like a tightly wound spring that threatened to pop at any given moment.

Your breath came out in hot plumes that melted against his chest. He was so deep within you that, even with the slight restraint of your legs coiled around his waist, every thrust left you feeling overwhelmingly full and damn near delirious each time he hit one particular spot. You were virtually powerless to combat the sensation that suddenly overcame you, a blaze of white-hot pleasure burned from inside out as you came entirely undone, letting out a litany of curses that accompanied disjointed words of satisfaction, it was altogether a terribly unladylike scene, but you hadn’t the mind to care, all you feasibly make sense of was the brilliant sensation that had befallen you. 

He held onto your hips to keep you steady as he continued to drive somewhat haphazardly into you, fucking you through the final aftershocks of your orgasm, he was certain of your pleasure so he could, at last, focus on finding his own. Of course, after how tightly you had been squeezing him, it was not too far off, the ungodly feeling of warmth that had filled him since the moment he’d been inside you had finally proven too much for him to contend with and he couldn’t longer stave off the desperate need that had bloomed in him. It only took a few more labored thrusts for him to reach his peak, finally cumming into you while he moaned your name in such a pleasing tone that you felt your walls again clamp around his sensitive cock.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting frantically as he came down from his climax and pulled out of you, “I hope I was not too rough.”

“JoJo, you have nothing to be sorry about, you were wonderful,” you muttered, quite breathless yourself as you weakly moved to stroke his cheek where he kept himself positioned above you.

“Are you certain? I would never want to hurt you, even if not on purpose, you are so dear to me—”

“That’s enough of that,” you said and suddenly, summoning all your remaining strength, you pushed him to the mattress below and moved to straddle his waist, “you, Jonathan Joestar, we’re perfect. No one has ever made me feel like that before

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he began, softly and in that same dulcet voice, now a little sleepier after the exertion of making love to you, “I would very much like for you to stay with me tonight."

“Of course I will.”

He offered you a satisfied hum in return and drew you up closer to him. You felt so safe in his strong, gentle hands, that it seemed precisely where you belonged. After years of pining, all you wanted was finally yours and it was even more wonderful than you could have imagined.

The following morning arrived early with a gloomy grey sun that only moderately illuminated the sky. Your body was sore and tired from the previous night’s exploits but being wrapped dutifully in your lover’s arms was a treasure worth its weight in gold. Before the day could get properly on, however, you had hurried out of Jonathan’s room before you had the chance to be caught by the overseer of the building and given a moral denigration for your improper choices. So you and JoJo said your brief goodbyes and settled on a rendezvous later that day.

Jonathan was then left to spend the rest of the morning in contemplative quiet, mulling over his curious turn in luck, it was enough to make him feel at ease. That feeling of peace, however, was short-lived when Dio decided to drop in unannounced.

“My, JoJo, it would appear that you got up to a rather unsavory business last night,” Dio said with forced nonchalance, though internally he was seething.

“Oh, Dio, I did not… think that you would hear.” 

“Well, I must say, I never thought you would’ve had the pluck to do anything of the sort,” Dio continued to further jibe his brother. “Though I wouldn’t say, but she absconded from here quite early, are you certain she was properly satisfied? It would lead one to surmise that she has gone in search of someone with a bit more experience to suit her needs. If that is the case, then feel free to send her to my door.”

Jonathan said nothing and only looked on at Dio with vague embarrassment, but he refused to play into his brother’s hand, what he had shared with you transcended any of the indignation Dio might have inspired within him. 

Of course, when you returned that afternoon, Dio was forced to eat those words with a side of the freshly baked birthday cake you had brought specially for Jonathan. It was with a degree of pageantry often untypical of him that Jonathan invited Dio to share the confection in a show of celebration for their birthdays. For once, Jonathan was rather glad that the days fell in such close proximity. Normally he maligned the idea for Dio always seemed more accomplished than he in spite of his humble origins, but the present circumstances, aided by your presence, warranted a certain level of pomp that Jonathan was able to delight in, though Dio found the whole situation too vexing or otherwise disgustingly saccharine to glean amusement enough to muster even pithy derision and instead only sulkily poked at the dessert before claiming boredom as a suitable excuse for his exit. Of course, it had all left him rather piqued and only served to swell the resentment he felt towards the brother he already claimed to so staunchly dislike. That being said, his ill-temper did little to detract from the warmth and glow of newfound love nor mislay the eagerness you felt to rekindle passion shared the previous night, this time with far fewer apprehensions.

[unlimitedlust]

Just Pretend - Noah Sebastian x Reader (+18)

Author’s Note:

Hey everyone, this is a halloween themed one shot, I know there’s still a couple of months left to halloween, but "Just Pretend" + the cold weather over here got me inspired on that theme, so there you go 🎃

Warnings: 18+ (as always), old love, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie. As always: English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

W/C: 2.8K

I’m quite insecure about this one in particular because I think my head’s been frozen by the cold these days, but anyway I hope you enjoy it!

Please, let me know your thoughts on this one on the comments and feel free to like and/or reblog it, your feedback means the world to me ❤️

Now have fun!

Halloween night was one of your favorite nights of every year. You loved the decorations in the neighborhood, the autumn color leaves covering the streets, the costume parties, the smell of pumpkin spices, anyway, you loved everything around this season.

But this year you had a halloween date. Your neighbor’s son, Bill, whom you’d been talking online for a while now, was in town and had invited you to a halloween fair.

Even though Bill was exactly your type of guy and seemed to be a very decent man, you weren’t ready to get involved with someone new, deep down you knew Noah was still under your skin.

Your relationship with him was short but as intense as it could get in every aspect, but at the same time you two were like magnets to each other, you were in different moments of your lives, so it tore you apart.

But almost a year had gone by since you last saw him and you needed to move on, and what better way to do that other than going on a date with a very hot and attractive man and maybe - hopefully - get lucky at the end of the night?

Today you were feeling bold and confident, so you wore your Akatsuki cloak zipped up to your neck with nothing but a black lingerie set underneath it, black boots and Itachi’s headband around your forehead. You applied some makeup in shades of red and black, with a blood red lipstick on your plump lips and finished it all up by letting your hair fall loose on your back.

Just as you finished getting ready you heard your doorbell ringing and your date was there, dressed as very hot Fred Kruger. You were definitely getting some tonight.

It was a cloudy and chilly night, but the cozy atmosphere of the fair kept you warm along with your date’s company. 

You walked hand in hand under the yellow light strings hovering over the fair, laughing about a silly joke Bill had just told you when for a split second you thought you’d seen a familiar face in the crowd, Noah’s face. You tried to look back at the direction you thought you saw him, but he wasn’t there.

“Are you okay?” Bill’s light squeeze in your hand took your attention as you’d stopped walking out of sudden.

“Yeah sure” You reassured him with a smile, although still startled by the thought of seeing him there.

You shook it off and kept on walking with Bill to a caramel apple tent. He bought one and drove it to your lips, offering you the first bite as you dug your teeth on the hard caramel shell, successfully taking a piece of the apple and Bill ran his thumb on the right corner of your lip to clean a small piece of caramel stuck there.

You thanked him and suddenly felt a pair of eyes lingering heavily on you coming from your right, and that’s when you knew you weren’t seeing things. Noah was there. The Crow’s makeup all over his face and short hair now, but definitely Noah.

Your eyes connected for a split second but you averted yours quickly, locking them on your date again so he wouldn’t see that you got distracted from him once more, after all you were flustered and your heart was hammering in your chest, but you didn’t want to ruin your date.

Bill took your hand again and led you to the big corn maze by the end of the fair and you thanked him internally for taking you away from Noah’s sight.

You giggled nervously at the scarecrows by the entrance of the maze as you yourself were avoiding a very specific “crow”.

“Come on, let’s split up, if I make it to the end first I win another date with you, what do you say?” Bill suggested as you got inside the maze.

“Then I might just lose on purpose” You winked at him and parted ways inside the maze.

You were glad your date had the idea of splitting up inside the maze because seeing Noah unexpectedly after such a long time had you on edge and you really needed some alone time to process everything.

So you wandered aimlessly through the maze, not bothering to actually find its way out or even marking the places you’d passed by already.

“Y/N” A deep voice behind you made you stop on your tracks as you immediately recognized its owner.

You turned to meet him and his gaze and you couldn’t help but to revel on how terribly captivating he looked as The Crow, the white skin contrasting heavily with the dark makeup, the smeared eyeliner around his eyes and running down his cheeks and the black lipstick to finish it all up as Eric Draven.

“Hey Noah” Uncertainty laced your voice as he took a couple of steps in your direction, standing only a couple of feet away from you.

“Nice costume choice” He raked his eyes over you dressed as one of his favorite characters, which also happened to be one of your favorite.

“Thanks, you look good too… What are you doing here?” You spit out faster than you intended.

“Just wanted to check on you… Is that your new boyfriend?”

“No, not yet at least” You shrugged, unsuccessfully trying to look unphased.

“I hope he treats you right” He took another step closer, towering over you “It’s a shame that by this time a year ago we were proudly matching our costumes out there”

The weight of his words and the memories they brought caught you off guard as a knot of longing formed on your throat.

He sighed “It hurts to see you with someone new”

You widened your eyes in bewilderment at his confession followed by a lightning bolt lighting up the sky, announcing the rain as isolated but heavy raindrops started to slowly pour.

“It took you seeing me move on to reach out to me?” You asked in a hurt tone. The countless nights you spent crying over your break up only to hear it after such a long time “That’s not fair, Noah”

The pouring got heavier and you and your clothes started to soak in its cold droplets.

“I really wish I could come back in time to fix things… I’m sorry”

“I…” Your head was all over the place, you weren’t able to think things straight at that point. Having him in front of you brought back the butterflies in your stomach and at that very moment, despite the hurt that still lingered, you didn’t wanna discuss things long overdue “We both know it was my fault too, there’s no need for you to apologize for the past now” 

You both smiled gently at each other and he took your hand in his.

“Come on, we can continue this someplace else, it’s cold and the rain is getting heavier”

You followed him through the maze and only now you realized how big and puzzling it really was, because you wouldn’t know your way out of there on your own, especially with the rain and the thunders rumbling in the sky.

Sensing your apprehension, Noah brought you closer to his body wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“We’re far from the way out yet, but there’s a shed around the next corner, we’ll stay there until it stops raining, okay?”

You nodded and seconds later, just as he’d promised, there was a small wooden shed amongst the corn maze.

He closed the door behind you and although it wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, it was better than staying under that cold rain. You were shivering as you took off the soaking wet boots from your feet, bothered by the slushy feeling of your wet socks inside them.

“You should take off that cloak too, it’s too wet, you’ll get sick if you don’t” Having him protective over you after all this time got you feeling warm inside.

But there was a problem, if you took it off you’d be practically naked in front of him, so you just hoped he’d let that go as Noah rummaged through a cabinet trying to find something to warm you.

“I found you a blanket” He turned to hand it to you, but stopped on his tracks when he saw you trembling, with your cloak still on “Are you okay?”

He placed the blanket on a chair and came closer, both of his hands cupping your cheeks as he gently tilted your face so his gaze could meet yours. The warmth of his hands spread down your body as you melted with the way he caressed your cheeks affectionately and you lost yourself in his perfect features, the way the wet strands of his hair dangled over your face hypnotizing you with how hot he looked with his new haircut.

“I am. It’s just the cold” You answered lightly as you unwittingly leaned into his palm, earning a kiss on your forehead.

“Then come on, let’s take that cloak off, I really don’t want you getting sick on me”

His fingers went to the zipper right above your chin, but your hands held his wrist in place as he was about to pull the zipper down.

“I can’t” Noah had a puzzled look on his face as he waited for a believable explanation “I… I’m…”

“I’m waiting”

“I’m not wearing anything but bra and panties”

The air inside the shed got suddenly thick as he processed that information. At the same time it thrilled him knowing that basically only a cloak had him away from your body, he was mad about the idea you’d wore like that for another man.

“For him?” The anger in his tone sent another wave of shivers down your spine as he cornered you, his face and his body only inches away from yours as his gaze burned holes into you.

And like a flipped switch, you weren’t feeling cold anymore and the rain wasn’t the only thing that had you wet.

“He’s not the one in front of me now, is he?” You teased him and dropped your hands from his wrist, his hand still on your zipper.

Taking it as a signal, Noah pulled the zipper down slowly, your chest heaving in anticipation as his gaze fell on your body, drinking you in after so long. With your bra now fully exposed, he bit his bottom lip as he watched your hardened nipples perched up against the transparent layer of black lace covering them.

Once he’d finished unzipping the cloak, you slipped it off your shoulders and let it fall on the floor, Noah’s eyes were predatory over you.

Breaking the distance between your bodies, Noah hooked his finger in the waistband of your panties and pulled you towards him at the same time he finally connected your lips in a fierce kiss.

Your tongues rolled against each other as you both drowned in the intensity of the moment, devouring each other after so long, your fingers entangling in his wet hair pulling him impossibly closer as he ground his hips against you, allowing you to feel how hard he was for you.

He let go of you for short seconds to take off his wet coat and black t-shirt, his once black lips were now stained by your red lipstick and you only wondered what you were looking like, hair wet from the rain and red and black lipstick stained all over your lips just like his.

“I fucking missed you” He groaned before latching his lips on yours again passionately.

One of his hands kept you glued against him as the other made its way on your spine, finding and undoing your bra clasp swiftly, making it slide off your shoulders right after.

Both his hands cupped your now exposed breasts and fondled them, kneading them as he played and pinched your nipples between his fingers while his lips now left yours and trailed down your neck, leaving angry marks on his way because he had full intention of marking you as his.

Your hands traveled down his chest and abs to his belt, fumbling it open as his tongue and teeth abused the most sensitive spots on your neck, making you whine softly on his ear at each sting followed by his soothing tongue.

After unbuckling his belt, one of your hands found its way inside his pants, palming his hard restrained length, making him grunt and buck his hips forward against you as you started to pump him slowly just to entice him.

One of his hands left your chest and went straight down between your legs, wasting no time in pulling your panties aside and pushing two of his fingers inside you, the sudden stretch making you gasp and clench around him, as he immediately started to work on the special place inside you he knew got you seeing stars.

You hooked a leg around his waist allowing him to go deeper with his fingers as you now took support on his shoulders, your body under such a pleasure you didn’t thrust your own balance.

“Noah…” The way his name came from your lips as he finger fucked you felt like music to his ears because since the last time you’d been together he dreamt about hearing it again.

“I fucking missed this…”

Along with his fingers, Noah started working on your clit with his thumb, applying pressure on it as he drew tight circles on it, making you bite the crook of his neck to keep a scream out of you as you were seconds away from your orgasm. Until he pulled away, making you whine in frustration.

“I wanna feel you cumming on my cock”

He licked the fingers that were inside you and the look on his face while he did that, like he was just having a taste of heaven, got you throbbing in need.

You took off your panties as Noah pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to free his hard erection, then pulled you up against the wall, your legs hooking around his hips as he held you by your ass cheeks, lining his tip to your entrance.

Your eyes were connected as he pressed against you, both of you moaning on each other’s lips as his entire length sinked at once inside you due to how wet you were, stretching you in a way only he did.

Your head fell back on the wall behind you as he slowly slid in and out of you, bottoming you out at every thrust, your manicured nails clawed down his back as he started to pick up the pace and the intensity of his rhythm.

You trailed love bites on his neck right below his ear, where you knew he was sensitive, earning a low grunt out of him as he focused on fucking the shit out of you against that wall, the position allowing you to feel every inch of him inside you, pushing all of your right buttons.

One of his hands found its way between your bodies and he instantly connected his fingers on your clit, moving them in sync with his hips slamming against you, and the feeling of him throbbing inside you along with his fingers on your clit got you closer to your high once again.

“Noah, I’m so close, don’t stop” You begged in his ear and you felt his skin shiver under your touch with your words.

The angle and the depth of his thrusts, along with a very specific flick of his fingers on your clit made your eyes roll to the back of your head as your body shuddered and your walls clenched around him, a deep moan erupting from your lungs as he kept fucking you, painfully riding your high as he too was close to his own.

Just as he felt your body going limp in his arms, he was about to pull out when you kept him inside by locking your legs around his waist and begging on his ear: “Cum inside me please”

Your plea got him cumming hard as his fingers dug into your hips keeping you in place as he stilled, spilling deep inside you as he bit the crook of your neck, still high from his release.

He leaned his forehead against yours and kissed you gently as he pulled out of you, his cum running down your thighs as he did so, and you missed him inside you already. You missed him.

“I missed you so much” You wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid of having to let him go again and it was now your turn to confess “Heaven knows I’m never getting over you”

“Wanna try again?”