#just to be laid up with him for decades afterwards

[blackerthings]

Armand you fucking bitch.

[bi-writes]

thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup

mail-order bride

"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"

you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).

a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.

you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.

you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.

the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.

"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"

"wot?"

"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"

"for wot?"

"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"

you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.

simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.

his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.

"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."

you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.

"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."

he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.

"simon?" you whisper.

he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.

"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.

he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.

there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.

"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.

when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.

he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.

joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.

and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.

"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--

"love you, too, baby."

"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.

"if i tell ya, it won't come true."

"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."

he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.

that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.

[teamred]

so contagious

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x reader | fluff | smut | 2.8k

SUMMARY | following the kissing from your movie night, logan takes you out on a proper date, while you take him back to your place afterwards. // part two of any other way

WARNINGS | smut, breastplay, oral s*x (female receiving), piv s*x, unprotected s*x // this is 70% fluff - 30% smut!

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i didn't intend to make a part two, but so many of you loved it, i had to give it a shot! this one is from logan's perspective. yes, i know this logan is a bit ooc, but, in my head, this takes place some time after worst!logan enters wade's universe and he's softened up. please leave some love if you enjoy it!

Logan has absolutely no idea what he's doing.

Standing in front of the living room mirror, he debates if he should choose the pale blue plaid shirt he's currently wearing or one of his brown ones instead. But if he chooses the latter, it'd be too similar to the one he wore when you saw him yesterday. 

Overthinking isn't his style, and yet here he is, obsessing over something as trivial as his shirt color. It’s been decades since he’s been on a proper date, maybe even ever.

“Well, don't you look handsome,” Wade cuts through his thoughts with a grin and folded arms, peeling himself away from the kitchen door frame. He saunters over, reaching out to touch Logan’s hair, only for the larger man to shove him away immediately. 

“Not now, Wade.”  

Wade sniffs his hand dramatically. “Oh, my God–you even used hair product! This is so exciting. It's like witnessing a teenager on his first date. I feel like your mom!”

“Well, Mom,” Logan refocuses on the mirror, fixing the mess Wade made of his hair, “you can fuck off.” 

Wade points a finger at him with mock sternness. “Hey, watch your language, young man.” 

Then, to Logan’s surprise, Wade grows momentarily quiet as he stands next to him, both facing the mirror. “Also, the blue shirt’s the better choice.” 

“Yeah?” Logan quirks an eyebrow, glancing over at the brown plaid shirts laid out on the couch. 

“Yeah,” replies Wade softly, and Logan catches a genuine smile in the mirror. The heartfelt moment doesn’t last long though when Wade claps him on the back. “And don’t be so nervous, Wolvie. You already went to second base with her last night. The deal’s pretty much sealed.” 

Logan scowls. “I’m not nervous.” 

“Mm-hmm. You say that, but you’re being even more testy than usual. Dare I blame it on the hormones?” Suddenly, he plants a quick kiss on Logan’s cheek.

“What the fuck?!” 

Logan recoils, then almost lunges at him instinctively. However, Wade’s already retreating and walking backwards, making a beeline to his bedroom with a wave of his hand. 

“Be back by curfew, sweetie! But text me if you’ll be out late, or if you need anything. Some snacks, some condoms—” 

“Wade!” he growls, his patience wearing thin. 

Wade blows an air kiss, disappearing into his room. “Love ya! And you got this!” 

Logan mumbles to himself, “Yeah, I sure hope so.”  

Turning to the mirror for one final check, he adjusts his collar and straightens his shirt. His phone vibrates on the living room table and he reads the incoming texts from Laura: 

- hey sorry for the late reply - but if you haven’t gone out already, i prefer the blue over the brown - not that it matters though - she’ll find you handsome either way - don’t worry! it’ll go well :) 

Logan nods, reassured by Laura’s texts. It’s just a date with someone he’s already known for a little while; it’s not like a blind date or anything. He can do this. 

With one last look in the mirror to check his hair and beard, he grabs his keys and wallet, slings his dark brown leather jacket over his shoulder, and heads out the door.

Logan pulls up in front of your apartment complex and gives you a quick call to let you know he’s here. When you step out of the building, his eyes can’t help but sweep over you—fitted jeans hugging your curves, an off-the-shoulder top that shows just enough, and that stunning smile that lights up your face.

He notices you checking him out too. Realizing that his hair might be messy, he quickly combs his fingers through it as you stroll over. 

“Long time, no see,” you joke, referencing how you saw him just yesterday.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Logan greets, trying to sound more relaxed than he feels. He holds a helmet out to you, but catches how his grip is more tense than usual. “You ready for a ride?” 

You nod, eyes sparkling with excitement. As he steps away from his bike to help you with the helmet, he finds it endearing how you lift your chin and pout a little, making it easier for him to secure the straps. He hopes his touch isn’t too rough, but when your eyes meet his and you smile up at him, he knows he must be doing something right.

With his hands so close to your face, his mind flashes to how he palmed your cheeks and neck last night as he kissed you deeply. It’s presumptuous, but he hopes for a repeat tonight. 

Once you hop on the bike behind him and wrap your arms snugly around his waist, he revels in the warmth of your body against his. As he weaves through the city streets, he occasionally glances back to make sure you’re comfortable. 

Logan thinks to himself how good this feels, to ride around freely with someone he cares for by his side. It’s been awhile since he’s let someone get this close to him… 

Maybe he could get used to this. 

Eventually, he pulls up at an old diner he’s grown fond of across town. The place gives him a sense of nostalgia, a reminder of simpler times (and, even though he tries not to think of it, it also brings back memories of that one time with Wade in the Void).

He offered to take you here because it’s familiar, cozy, and he didn’t want to overthink this date with reservations to some high-end restaurant.

Walking across the mostly empty restaurant, a waitress leads you both to a window booth, where you sit across from each other.

At first, there’s a bit of awkwardness—Logan recommends what’s good on the menu, and you take a moment to decide what to order. His foot taps on the floor as he peeks over the menu, sitting in the silence uncomfortably. 

But once the waitress takes your orders, conversation flows more easily, just like it normally does at Wade’s get-togethers.

You check in with how Laura’s doing, if he and Wade have been on any more assignments recently, and how his motorcycle is running since he fixed it last. 

Logan’s grateful you’re leading the conversation and asking questions; it’s always been easier for him to listen than to talk. 

But he’s putting in effort tonight—he takes it upon himself to know about your life outside of work, if you’ve been reading anything lately, and how you felt about the ride over to the diner.

“A little scary, but it was fun!” you grin, resting your chin in your palm. “I’m just glad it’s you driving it. Like I said yesterday, I always feel comfortable and safe around you, Logan.” 

As your foot brushes against his under the table, Logan’s gaze meets yours. You flash him a shy smile, and before he can think twice, his foot instinctively strokes yours in return. A flicker of doubt crosses his mind—Is this the kind of thing people do on dates?—but your soft giggles melt away his hesitation. The lighthearted game continues until the arrival of your food.

You dig into your food, and a random thought crosses your mind. “Have you ever used your claws to cut your food?” 

Logan pauses mid-bite, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “You know, in all of my two-hundred years of living, I’ve never really thought to try it.” 

“Probably ‘cause you always have a knife around,” you say. 

“Probably,” he smirks. With a glint in his eyes, he unsheathes his claws and the sound makes you jump slightly in your seat. 

“Whoa,” you whisper, eyes widening in awe. Logan realizes you’ve never seen them before. Slowly, he extends his hand, the blades gleaming under the diner lights. 

“Go ahead,” says Logan softly. “Just be careful.” 

You reach out carefully, your fingers grazing the cool, polished metal. You’re both unusually quiet, your attention fully on each other.

Once you pull away, he turns back to his plate with a slight grin. “Okay, let’s see how this goes.”

With surprising finesse, he slices through his burger using his claws, the action both impressive and a little absurd to witness. 

You burst into laughter, the sound contagious as he joins in. “Logan, I think you need to stop before you break the plate.” 

He chuckles, retracting his claws and grabbing a sliced up chunk of his burger. “Yeah, probably a good idea. At least we know the answer to that question now.”

As you move on to dessert, you savor a slice of cheesecake while Logan indulges in a slice of apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. When he’s almost done, Logan takes a slow lick off his spoon and catches you staring at him. 

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” he asks with a playful smile, raising an eyebrow as he takes another bite of pie.

You scarf down the last few bites of your cheesecake before answering. 

“Okay, I have to ask—” you lower your voice and lean in across the table “—can you actually smell how horny someone is?”

Logan freezes mid-chew, remembering what happened yesterday before you left.

“Fucking Wade…” he mutters, shaking his head. After a beat, he sighs. “Do I really have to answer that question?”

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God, you totally can…” 

All Logan gives you is a brief laugh and a shake of his head. He fishes for his wallet, tosses some cash onto the table, and then stands up with a grin. “C’mon, gorgeous. Let’s get outta here.”

As he pulls you to your feet, you ask half suspiciously and half in jest, “Are you saying that because you can smell something or…?” 

“Maybe, maybe not...” he teases. He grabs your hand, fingers intertwining with yours, and leads you to the door. “Either way, let’s head out. C’mon.” 

As you step outside and Logan helps you with your helmet again, you look up at him with a different look this time than before—one that signifies that the night’s only beginning. 

As you fumble with your keys in front of your apartment door, Logan steps in from behind and grips one side of your waist. He leans in, pulling you close, and kisses the crook in your neck. You inhale sharply, losing focus as you melt into his touch. 

After you finally manage to unlock the door, Logan quickly shuts the door behind him before he presses you up against the wall. Initially, you share an intense kiss, but it soon becomes fervent and open-mouthed. Rough edges of his beard even brush against your lips at some points. 

Both parties quickly kick off their shoes. He peels off his leather jacket and aids you with yours. Still lip-locked, he then lifts you up and has you wrap your legs around his waist; his evident desire presses against your body. 

Logan drags your top off, his heated kisses trailing from your mouth, to your neck, and down to your clavicle. His mouth leaves love upon your breasts before he pushes your strapless bra down. You gasp as his push is so rough, the bra merely snaps off and falls away towards the floor.

But Logan doesn’t stop—he hones his attention towards your hardened tips, sucking and nipping with a fervor that makes him lose himself in you.

The moans that fill your entryway only drive him crazy further, along with your fingers tugging at his hair tightly. His hands are needy, kneading your other breast with a blend of tender and strength. After a moment, he pulls back, gently setting your legs back onto the floor.

He kisses his way down from your breasts to your stomach, dropping to his knees in front of you. Logan blinks up at you as he helps unbutton your jeans, pulling them and your panties off and tossing them aside. The sight of you, completely bare and vulnerable, only heightens his desire.

He kisses your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin as he moves towards your core. The scent of your arousal is unmistakable and intoxicating, but it’s the way your body reacts to him that drives him wild. Lifting one of your legs over his shoulders, he dives in without hesitation, his tongue exploring your wetness.

His tongue skillfully works over your most sensitive areas, each touch and flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you. Logan is so immersed in the moment, he feels like he's freefalling, lost in the intensity of it all.

The need to be inside you drives him to a point of near frenzy, his own body responding with instinctive thrusts. Each lick and suck against your folds is fuelled by both the need to make you feel good and to be desperately inside of you.

“Logan, Logan—” 

You shatter and unravel for him, jerking your hips against his mouth. He holds you still, securing your orgasm rides out fully. Once you do, he stands up and kisses you gently, intermingling your taste with his tongue.

Dazed, you hook your fingers with a couple of his and lead him towards your bedroom. You lay yourself on the bed first, while he watches you as he strips his shirt and tank top. He sees the inflamed hunger in your eyes at the sight of his entirety. 

Crawling over to you on the bed, his hands roam your body, caressing you passionately before the next part. When he finally undoes his jeans and belts and throws them aside, he looks at you intently. 

“Do you have—?”  

You shush him with a finger, whispering, “Just get inside me, Logan.” 

A smirk spreads across his face as he aligns himself with your slit, teasing you slightly before sliding in. Being inside you draws out a low groan from him, while you throw your head back and expel a long moan.

When you finally acclimatize to his girth, he starts to thrust slowly and kisses you throughout. It’s so easy for him to lose control, to get this over and done with, but he wants to make sure it feels good for you as it does for him. 

But it doesn’t help when your hands dig into his back and your walls clench harder around him. 

“Faster, please,” you beg. 

He checks in with a smug grin, cocking his head slightly. “You sure, gorgeous?” 

You nod breathlessly, “Please, Logan.” 

And that’s enough to make him lose all restraint. He picks up the pace, his movements becoming more intense and primal. His thumb circles your clit, and the combination of his hard thrusts and gentle touch brings you over the edge in unison. He ensures you’re satisfied first before he pulls out and marks you with his release. 

Panting, he catches his breath, and grazes the back of his knuckles against your thigh. Logan turns to look at you. “You ready for round two, beautiful?” 

You laugh with disbelief and exhilaration. “Wait, round two alr—?” 

Logan cuts you off with a deep kiss, his grin wide and satisfied. He feels you smiling into his kiss, your excitement matching his own. 

Oh yeah—he definitely could get used to this.

EPILOGUE — ONE WEEK LATER 

Back at Wade, Logan, and Blind Al’s apartment during another weekend get-together, you’re seated next to Logan at the dining room table, caught up in a quiet conversation with him amidst the animated chaos around you. 

Suddenly, Wade appears behind you, throwing his arms around you both and playfully squishing you together.

“Say ‘thank you, Mommy Wade for our beautiful dating life and we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you and I’m gonna name our kid after you and—’” 

“What the hell is happening?” you cut in, looking at your new boyfriend. 

“Just ignore him, baby,” Logan groans, shaking his head. 

“Already using terms of endearment? Y’all move fast,” Wade quips. “And is that any way to treat the person who got you two lovebirds together?” 

“Hey, I helped too,” Laura interjects from Logan’s side.

Wade waves her off dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. You might’ve mentioned something here and there, but I saw the vision, and not Wanda’s, might I add.” 

“I’m not gonna call you ‘Mommy Wade,’ but I will thank you.” You lean over and give him a quick peck on the cheek. He gasps theatrically and ruffles your hair with exaggerated affection. Times like these remind you why Wade has always been one of your closest friends. 

“Well,” says Wade, as he steps back to return to his seat, “at least one of you appreciates Cupid Wade’s handiwork.”

Later, while you’re chatting with Yukio and Ellie, you notice out of the corner of your eye Logan and Wade exchanging glances across the room. Logan gives Wade a small, grateful nod. 

“Thank you, Wade,” Logan mouths, his expression soft and sincere. 

“Anytime, Wolvie,” Wade mouths back with a wink, raising his beer in a mock toast. 

You catch Logan’s eye, and both of you share a smile that speaks more than words ever could.

[charliemwrites]

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry. 

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair. 

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead. 

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs. 

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold. 

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy. 

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 1)

Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 Vol 8 Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader;

Nanami puts on an apron to help his cute little housewife prepare dinner.

Word Count: 1k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!reader, newly married Nanami and Y/n,

A/n: First time writing for Kento... thanks for reading!

Your dear husband Kento Nanami was not one to come home late. Ever. 

Even though it had only been about two months since your marriage, the daily routine had already been set, and you couldn't imagine that happening in a decade, let alone on the next day. 

Of course that wouldn't be true in his past profession, as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, but he was back being a salaryman, never going to extra meetings or taking on any more jobs than his work contract required him to. Hence he rushed home, avoiding that dreaded overtime that the younger company members fought for. Even then it took a lot out of him.

Mr. Kento Nanami was a diligent worker from 9 o'clock in the morning to 5 o'clock in the afternoon. A senior manager at an investment company, his pure skill and dedication was the only way he could get that position. He never tried to do anything more than what he had to, which was providing customers with the best investment services he could. And you, the new Mrs. Nanami was his lovely housewife, always there to greet him when he got home. It was always the most comforting thought he had, while listening to the executives drone on about profits, and training the newcomers eager to reap those rewards as well. But then again, that is why he was in that business too, right? 

As per usual, he quickly packed up his things and headed to the elevator right after the hour hand hit 5 on his watch. Ideally he would be home in the next thirty minutes, far more eager than his other coworkers. A promotion was not awaiting him since his marriage, but that wasn’t a concern. He had enough saved up for an early retirement anyway, and, more importantly, one would take away from his precious time with you.

While his heart beat was steady, walking to the train station as he did everyday, yours was much more rampant.

Rushing around the kitchen, you hurriedly washed and cut vegetables, meat, and ground spices as fast as you could. Dinner was expected to be served at about 6:00 pm that night, and afterward would be a relaxing evening with your husband, who would be done for the week. While the daily routine was solidified, the speed of your cooking was not. Especially when your carefully laid out schedule of repotting the plants, cleaning the bathrooms, and doing laundry took a bit too long for each one. It was already 5:15, and you had just popped the tarts into the oven. 

Today's dinner consisted of a thick stew, crusty white bread, and miniature fruit tarts for dessert. With some preparations the day before, it was a plan that should have taken about two hours, most of which would be idle cooking time. That of course, did not happen. 

Your usual greeting of your husband at the door was foiled for the first time. He opened the door promptly at 5:33 PM, about the same time as every day, yet for once you weren't there.

Setting his briefcase down and removing his jacket, he walked through the living room into the kitchen, hearing your not-so-subtle whines of frustration, the scent of sweet fruit and grilled meat filling the air.

Married life is full of firsts, many of which were known to you and Nanami alike. Your first kiss being married, your first date being married, among other things. But what he didn't expect to focus on were the little ones he saw everyday. The first time you screwed up your daily routine, of course, and the first time he got to see you cooking his dinner in your cute little apron.

You quickly turned around hearing Nanami enter the kitchen. "Kento..!" you muttered, knife in hand chopping vegetables with great fervor. He chuckled softly, your knuckles had turned white from the grip, and carrots rolled off the cutting board.

He strolled over to the cabinet, pulling out a simple white apron, not before giving you a quick kiss on the cheek from behind you. "I see you've been quite busy today, my love," he put the apron over his head and tied it in the back, before turning towards your work.

His knees dug into your thighs, as he reached around your body and grabbed the knife from your hand. "How about I finish this for you?" he asked, already starting to chop away. "Aren't you tired from work? You can go sit down, darling," you tried to move away from him, though he gripped your stomach lightly with his other arm, pausing his work. "It's not tiring at all, standing here with you, my cute wife."

He put his head on top of yours, enjoying your warmth and the scent of food cooking, what you've been toiling away with for the past few hours. “I might not be as good of a cook as you, my love, but I think my knife skills are decent enough.” He continued, making quick work of the pile of vegetables. "Darling, the tarts are burning," you gently pushed him away, rushing over to the oven and pulling them out.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you. I'll make sure to be there tomorrow." you spoke softly, lifting the tarts onto the cooling rack. "I was wondering where my wife's face was. I see you've had quite the predicament in here," Nanami scraped all the vegetables in the pot, and covered it with water as instructed. It would still be about half an hour until done, being finished only 15 minutes late thanks to his help. 

Nanami stared deeply as you joined him in the living room. Your fingers carefully undid the tie of your apron, as you started to take it off. "Have I ever told you how good you look in that?" He mentioned, standing up off the couch. You yelped, as he helped to pull it off your head. "...Thank you, darling. You look very dashing in one as well." You muttered, a subtle blush coating your cheeks. 

"I look forward to seeing you wear it tomorrow, my love." He chuckled as he sat down at the dining table, ready for the dinner you prepared together.

[pathetichimbos]

Hii! May I request Thomas Hewitt overhearing reader talk with her friends and saying that she came across this very cute guy whom she smiled at when they accidently made eye contact? (The guy is, of course, Tommy <3) And maybe Tommy spares her afterwards and decides to hide her away so that Hoyt doesn't order him to turn her into a human stew-

Thank you!

You're Mine

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hoyt is a creep again / Very very slight Yandere!Thomas

...

Thank you for sending in this ask! Sorry for the long wait time and I hope you enjoy!

The cool wind rushed across your face, whipping around your body and sweeping through your hair as you leaned back on your own hands.

Your eyes stared up to the bright blue sky, a few tuffs of cloud floating idly through the giant blue mass as you sped down the highway, your best friend behind the wheel.

You were sat in the passenger seat, feet planted on the dashboard as the radio blasted loudly enough to try and rival the open hood of the convertible.

Carly was screaming along to the music, open beer in hand as she swung around her seat behind you, loud laughter repeatedly breaking up her own singing.

Brooke was singing as well, pausing often to puff on the cigarette stuck in her left hand, the smoke immediately obliterating in the harsh winds as soon as it left her lungs.

You three had been on the road for two and a half hours, not even making it a quarter a way through your trip. Time was dragging on as Brooke sped past the desolate Texas fields, pushing well past the speed limits.

Carly's laughing suddenly dies down as she leaned past the front seat, turning the radio down to match her new tone.

“Hey, look! There's a gas station up ahead!” She pointed at the large red sign standing prominently on the side of the road, the faded red and white paint being about the only thing you can register about it as you quickly pass it.

“Oh, perfect, we're almost out.” Brooke sighed, flicking her cigarette butt to the road.

“I told you to fill up before we left!” You furrowed your brows as you looked your friend up and down, “We sat at that first place for twenty minutes, what gives?”

“Not the cute cashier, that's for sure.” Carly giggled as she wrapped her arms around your neck and leaned her chin on the seat, “You know how our Brooke is, always the romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully nudged her, “Oh, like you're one to talk. Didn't you tell Freddy and Taylor you'd go out with them next week?”

“But I've got taste,” She insisted, “My men have to have culture. I don't just go for the first cute gas station clerk that comes my way.”

“Oh, get real, Carls,” Brooke scoffed, “The only 'culture' Taylor has is whatever's growing on his dick after sleeping his way through the entire town.”

Their smiles were wide as they continued to poke playful fun at each other, filling the few minutes it took to find the gas station with conversation and laughter.

The station wasn't anything fancy, no one in sight as the three of you parked next to one of the only two gas pumps out front.

The building was old and small, the white paint faded and chipping off the sides from the apparent decades it spent under the relentless Texas sun.

The glass door was smudged and unclean, the pumps rusted and stained, and the air was filled with the red dust Brooke's car had stirred up from driving through the dirt that laid out in front of it.

You couldn't help but think of how perfect this scene would be in a horror movie.

“Here.” Brooke dug a ten out of her small pink purse, shoving it your way.

“Why do I gotta go into the creepy old gas station?” You frowned, still taking the bill.

“Because I'm pumping the gas and Carly's already drank so much she's about to piss herself.”

You turned back to see Carly had already evacuated the back seat, hurrying off to look for the bathrooms.

You sighed and gave in, stepping out of the car and taking the opportunity to stretch as you made the short walk to the front door.

The metal was hot as you swung the door open, the creaky hinges screaming out as the heavy, rancid smell of old meat swept through your nose.

You couldn't help but cringe a little, nose scrunching and feet faltering at the old pig set inside the glass counter of the small deli to your left.

You brushed it off and stepped up to the counter to your right, greeting the older woman with a smile as she puffed on her cigarette.

She looked you up and down, a slight scowl on her face as she nodded at you.

“I need ten on, uh...” You glanced back through the door, “...The pump that's closest to the door.”

“Ain't got no gas.” She deadpanned, leaning on the counter with one hand as she looked down to the ten you had sent on the counter.

Your heart dropped and you sighed, crumbling the bill in your hand, “Is there another gas station around here?”

“Not for another fifty miles.”

“I don't know if we can make it that far. Do you know when you might get some more gas?”

“'Fraid those pumps haven't worked for the better part of five years.”

You let out a huff and chewed your bottom lip, “I- I don't, uh... I don't suppose you have any idea of what we could do?”

She let out a long sigh through her nose and rubbed the butt of her cigarette into the ash tray, “I can call the sheriff. I'm sure he won't mind taking you to the nearest station.” She punctuated her sentence by looking you up and down once again.

That implication made you more than a little uncomfortable, but knowing Carly and Brooke were with you was enough of a comfort let her call the man.

The lady turned to the phone behind her, spinning the dial as you tapped your foot impatiently.

You were looking around the station, taking in the old, dusty atmosphere as you waited for the sheriff to pick up on his end.

Flies buzzed, darting around the room as the dull lights flickered in the empty display fridge across the store, a couple of old wooden tables and matching chairs filling the space between it and the shelves.

A small radio sat stiff and silent on the table behind the counter, right beside the phone the lady was speaking into.

“Sure you ain't. And I don't know, only one of 'em came in.”

You balanced on the balls of your feet for a moment, letting out a short sigh as you finally tuned into the one side of the conversation you could hear.

“Watch your tone, boy.” Her voice was threatening as she pulled the phone away from her ear, “How many of y'all are there?”

Your brows furrowed as you stopped for a moment.

It was a bit of a strange question, but you supposed that he would need to know how many people he'd be driving, so you brushed it off and gave her an answer.

“Three, including me.”

“There's three of 'em.” She didn't acknowledge your answer as she continued speaking on the phone.

You pursed your lips as the faint sound of a loud man drifted from the phone, but you had no idea what the hell he could be saying.

“If you say so. I'll see you in a bit.” She finally responded before hanging up the phone and turning to you, “He says it'll be about five minutes.”

Hope blossomed in your chest as you thanked her profusely, “I'll go tell my friends.”

She didn't say anything as you hurried out the door, meeting Brooke and Carly at the car.

“The pump ain't workin', Y/N. What gives?” Brooke was repeatedly pulling the trigger as the pump sat in her gas tank.

“She said they don't have no gas, and the next station ain't for another fifty miles.”

“Oh, what the hell...” Carly groaned from the backseat where she had been laying out, sunglasses protecting her eyes from the harsh light.

“Don't worry, she called the sheriff and he's gonna come give us a ride!” You explained, climbing back into the passenger seat, “She said it'll only be five minutes.”

Brooke huffed as she put the pump back in place before climbing into the drivers seat, “Just our luck, eh?”

Carly shot up, beaming, “It could be! I bet the sheriff is an absolute hottie.”

You snickered, “In a place like this? He's probably a hundred years old!”

“Hey, Carly likes the gray foxes.” Brooke smirked, leaning back on her seat to face the two of you.

“Oh, sick.” She made a gagging face and grabbed her throat, “You are a freak, Brooke!”

“There's nothing wrong with an older guy!” You defended the idea, “They're more mature.”

“Oh, so you're the freak.” Brooke laughed, “It would be you, you've always been a weirdo.”

“True! Remember when we went to that haunted trail a few years ago and she hooked up with one of the zombies!?” Carly pointed out, making you groan.

“Don't remind me. He was such a clinger, I practically had to fake my own death to get him off my leg.”

The conversation continued flowing easily, as it always did between you three.

Before you knew it, the loud slamming of a car door caught your attention and halted your conversation as the three of you looked ahead to the sheriff's car parked some feet ahead of your car.

And older man began walking from the driver side, graying and white hair, a matching, thin, goatee stained by the dip he haphazardly spit to the ground.

“Oh, nasty.” Carly whispered, pulling a face, “He really is old.”

“Don't say that!” Brooke nudged her with her elbow before gesturing to you, “You'll give the old home's heartbreaker here a boner.”

You gently slapped her shoulder, “Shut it, he's coming this way.”

“Who's that in the passenger seat?” Carly asked no one in particular, sitting up further to get a closer look.

“Well, howdy there, ladies. What brings you to this little slice of paradise?” The sheriff drawled, a creepy smirk on his face as he finished crossing the path to Brooke's door, leaning a little too close for comfort.

“Just passing through, sir.” Brooke gave a tight smile, leaning back a little, “Ending up running out of gas.”\

He tsk'd a little, shaking his head, “Well, that just won't do, will it?”

You tried your best not to pull a face as your attention turned back to the sheriff's car, hearing the passenger door finally open and close.

Out stepped a man, much much different from the first person to emerge.

He was tall, towering over the car as he shuffled in place, head hanging low as his eyes stayed trained on the sheriff.

His long, black curls brushed against his shoulders, and seemed to be held down by the homemade mask covering his face, though you couldn't see any finer details from here.

He wore an old, dirty dress shirt, and black slacks to match, almost as if he were in his Sunday best, despite the stains and wrinkles adorning his clothes.

As you stared he seemed to notice, eyes darting to focus on you.

A deep heat flooded your cheeks as you flashed an awkward smile before shrinking into your seat, and mostly out of his line of sight. Staying up just enough to peek back out at him often.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” You tuned back into the sheriff, flashing his stained teeth as he finally stood straight again, “I'll just go in there and tell Mama to keep an eye on your stuff and then I'll take care of y'all.”

You could practically feel Carly shuddering as he stalked off towards the gas station directly across from your car.

“Thomas!” The man yelled as he reached the doorway, and you watched as he motioned the second man over before whispering something to him none of you could hear.

Assuming he was going back into the gas station, you turned back to your friends, who seemed to be avoiding looking at the gas station all together, thanks to the creepy sheriff.

“What a fuckin' sicko!” Brooke shuddered, “I don't want to go anywhere with him!”

Carly nodded, making a sick face, “Did you see the way he kept staring at our boobs? I don't trust him!”

“Who gives a shit what you guys are talking about.” You loudly interrupted their quiet complaints, “Did you see that second guy!?”

They both shook their heads, having been too focused on the creepy advances of the sheriff.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, running your hands down your face, “He was so fucking cute. I'm talking tall, dark, brooding, absolutely huge build. Guy looked like he lifts in his sleep.”

“Uh, you mean that guy, right there by the door, who can absolutely hear your bat shit talk?” Carly pointed to the man, who was standing a few feet away, completely avoiding looking at the car now.

You face dropped and you slunk into the seat, practically screaming, “NO, oh my god he must think I'm such a freak.”

“Um, you kind of are.” Brooke leaned down and whispered, “He's not that cute.”

“You are so stupid.” You let out a sigh, “That man looks like what every man wants to be.”

“Well, maybe he didn't hear you.” Carly offered a small smile, “Even though he definitely did.”

“Fuck.”

“Go talk to him.” Brooke nudged you.

“No way! I'm not looking to embarrass myself even more!”

“It's too late anyways.” Carly reluctantly gestured to the sheriff who was now returning.

Brooke rolled her eyes as she turned to climb out of the car, “Come on, girls.”

You sighed as you followed suit, Carly not far behind.

Brooke was the first to make her way to the sheriff's car, opting for the backseat, much to your and Carly's dismay.

Not even giving you a chance, Carly darted ahead, loudly announcing, “I'll sit with you, Brooke!”

You groaned, knowing it would be rude to try and insist to sit in the back as well.

You glanced back to the station door, noticing Thomas was coming over too. You sighed this time, hoping that he'd take the front seat, as he seemed to know the sheriff better.

But before that even became an option, you heard the loud protest of Brooke and Carly as they pulled faces at the open back door.

“There's stuff all over the backseat! We can't even fit.” Carly pointed out.

“Oh, yea.” The sheriff mused, “Well, c'mon then. Start grabbing stuff, we'll throw it in the trunk.”

He opened the trunk and your friends gave you looks as they started grabbing armfuls of various things crowding the backseat.

You finished walking to the car, planning on helping but walking slow so there hopefully wouldn't be anything left for you to grab.

Thomas was only a few steps behind you, watching as you stood beside the open back door, waiting on your friends.

His hands twitched, and his mind was torn.

His entire life he was ridiculed and bullied.

If not for his deformities and looks, than for his lack of education and inability to fully understand and control his emotions.

When people looked at him, they saw a monster. A freak.

But... You didn't.

You, a complete stranger, if even just for a minute, thought he was cute.

Cute enough to tell your friends and feel embarrassed by his opinion.

You treated him like a normal person, for a brief moment.

And he was hooked.

He craved more, more of that feeling. To have someone look at him like he was normal, like he was more than just a deformed monster hiding behind a mask.

He wanted to get your attention again, to selfishly hear your sweet voice say more kind things, things that no one had ever said before.

He stared holes into the back of your head, trying to will you to give him just a little more of your attention.

He thought you were beautiful too, and he wondered if you knew.

Could you tell, with the way he stared every chance he got?

God, he didn't even now your name, but he needed to. He would do anything to learn more about you, to keep you close and safe.

He was so lost in his own thoughts and emotions he didn't even notice how severe the situation had gotten between the sheriff and your friends until you darted forward.

Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. His mind screamed, his hand shooting out to stop you.

The skin of your wrist was so soft compared to his calloused hands, he never wanted to let go.

He wondered if the rest of you was just as soft.

Your confused eyes flickered back to his own, questioning him without any words being spoken.

He shook his head, tightening his grip just enough to get his message across without hurting you.

You were his now. And he would give his life to protect you.

[yzashaven]

Scara eating reader's ass and reader getting embarrassed about it🤭🤭🤭

FEATURING ! scaramouche x fem!reader

CONTENTS ! ass eating, clit stimulation, squirting, a bit of fingering back there, use of 'baby' and 'darling', spanking

NOTE ! i think this is like the first time that i'll be writing about something like this so it's a bit messy + reader isn't exactly fitting into the embarrassed part??? 😭 nonetheless i hope you enjoy reading!!! not proofread i'm too lazy to rn 😘😘

"just relax, baby."

scaramouche coos at you from behind. kneeling down on the floor as you were near the edge of the bed laying on your stomach. he has you situated in a position in which your most intimate parts are on full display for him. he hums quietly as his hands make their way to your rear, gently squeezing the area earning a response from you in the form of a small gasp. smirking slightly, his fingers spread the two mounds apart and took in the sight presented before him in awe. suddenly you feel a certain wet muscle poking at your hole...but it's the other one. you look behind, only to see him push his face closer, you feel a certain something which was his tongue swirling around the entrance before you finally feel it make its way inside, but not so deep. your head drops down onto the silky sheets of the bed as his tongue goes in and out of your ass. he then goes to lap up your arousal fluids at your pussy only to go back and direct his focus back to the original goal of his, claiming your perfect ass.

"feels good, yeah?" he asks with a seductive tone. "yes-mmph...! ah~" your sentence cuts off as he suddenly inserted a finger into your ass. "oh, darling, you're even tighter here." he whispers as he did a few experimental movements, having his finger go in and out. you moan every now and then that his fingertips kiss a certain part of you that just feels too good not to. after a bit he removes his finger and replaces it with his tongue again. "s-scara... why are you eating me out from t-there...?!" you frantically ask, "why not? change of pace. plus..." scaramouche moves away a bit before adding, "...your ass tastes just as good as that cunt of yours." heat rushes to your cheeks to tint them bright red upon hearing his statement. earning a speechless reply from you, he chuckles, "god, you're just so cute, always." landing a rather sharp spank to your rear and massaging it gently afterwards. the sudden moan you let out at the contact of his palm to your delicate skin had him smirking. spreading you wide for him once again, he leans in to lap his tongue at your hole hungrily as if he hadn't had a proper meal in decades. you let out whimpers at his unexpected aggressiveness in acts of what seems to be desperation.

and to add to what was being given to you, one of his fingers graze your skin teasingly until they reach a certain area. momentarily, you feel his fingers rubbing your clit, increasing the amount of delightful pleasure overall. digits skillfully rub your clit in circular motions at a pace that appear to be matching the way his tongue was going down on you from behind. eventually after a few minutes have passed by, you feel something at your stomach that look to be signaling upcoming release. as your moans grew louder, voice echoing throughout the walls of the bedroom, he never stopped any of his movementsㅡ keeping a consistent speed and pressure for you to effectively reach your climax.

"cum for me." a pinch at your clit sent your orgasm to finally be reached, squirting all over whatever laid beneath. scaramouche helped you ride out your orgasm, continuing to eat you from behind while stimulating your clit at the same time with his fingers. every few seconds, he would even pause to shower you with praises for being such a good girl for him.

[shroombloomm]

The Dark King*

18+ (mature content warning; choking, air play, spanking, dark themes, murder, blood, obsession.)

11.5k words.

Over the trees laid a thick fog across the top of the greens. The sun was rising over the horizon as the cold air sent goosebumps over anyone who dared to step outside of their homes. At this time of the morning, the birds would chirp to wake everyone up; but they hadn’t done that in decades. Raven didn’t remember the last time that she heard a bird sing in this land anymore. 

Not since He took over. 

Actually, she didn’t remember anything before He took over. 

There were vague memories each time she took a step outside of her door. When Raven would walk past the dead bushes with brittle branches, her dainty fingers would reach out to caress them; a sudden memory of the bluebells that used to sprout from them. This land used to be covered in green grass; it was soft enough to fall back on and feel no pain from the landing. 

The sun used to be warm. Now, when the sun is out, they were more aware of it; but it still felt very cold. Summer and spring no longer existed, only fall and winter. Raven didn’t know how this was possible, but anything was possible. 

Anything in Neverland goes. 

Her only alarm clock she had since Him was the loud poundings on the door. He made sure to send out the guards at half past five every morning. They had a schedule and if anyone was late; well, it wouldn’t have been in their favor. The Dark King didn’t like tardiness, he liked punctuation. 

Raven knew a boy once, his name was Duffy. 

Duffy was late once. 

Once. 

Duffy wasn’t around anymore. 

Raven’s feet hit the hardwood floor with a soft grunt surpassing her lips. The pounding on the door only subsided when she yelled that she was awake. When the sounds of the guard’s feet moved past her door is when she stood from her bed and moved towards her small bathroom made out of rotten planks of wood and leaves. 

Fresh water poured from the spout every morning, it was from the frozen lake. It was the purest water in all of Neverland, but the only problem was that it was only ever one temperature. If she wanted a warm bath, she would have to work for it. 

Raven brushed her teeth with the freezing water, then washed her face with the freezing water, then tried to keep her teeth from chattering afterwards. 

Breakfast at six. She always showed up earlier though. 

That’s why she was His favorite. 

Not a lot of people liked Raven because of that reason. It was unspoken, but everyone knew that she was The Dark King’s favorite. She was everything he wanted of the people of Neverland; she was responsible, she was punctual, and she always went above and beyond for him. 

Despite the poor housing and the bland food given every day. 

She would do anything for her Dark King. 

Raven pulled her trousers up to her waist and buttoned them, then threw her wool sweater on; Duffy had made this sweater for her. In fact, he had made them for everyone one cold winter. She tried to swallow the bile in the throat each time she put it on. 

She missed Duffy, but nobody dared to ever comment about the missing persons of Neverland. 

Doing that is like committing treason. 

Her black hair wrapped tightly around her fingers before she pinned her hair up, then proceeded to exit her small room. The corridors were cold, if it was up to everyone they would forge a fire for these frigid mornings, but there was no room. 

Each room had its own furnace. That was the warmth they were granted after each long day, but during the day they must stay outside in the cold weather and do as they are demanded for their jobs. Raven didn’t mind it. She’d spent three years in Neverland. To the newcomers, she only warned them to keep their bitter complaints to themselves unless they wanted their tongue to be clipped. 

Raven didn’t take lightly to the complaints of her Dark King. 

As she stepped outside of the makeshift dorm, the sun was just barely covering the treetops. This was as much sun as they were going to get if they stayed near the Palace. For anyone who wanted to bask in it would have to travel miles to the frozen lake; that is if they were able to get past the wolves and bears that lingered in the deepest parts of it. 

Raven wasn’t afraid of the animals. She always carried a bow and arrow with her. Hunting was something she did in her spare time, though if caught, would serve a penalty. Red meat was only for high royalty, for the people of Neverland only were served scraps. 

Beans, little bits of pig, and toast. Sometimes even eggs if the chickens felt generous enough to spit out a few. 

“Rise and shine, Raven.” 

Raven turned her head to see her friend, Bode, behind her. She offered a sly smirk. 

“Look who is up early.” She remarked with a snicker. 

Bode always woke up five minutes before he was supposed to be at the dining hall. He would cut it close each time. Raven warned him that she would not be able to save him if he was a second late, but he was so sure about himself. 

“Ha ha,” Bode walked beside her, swinging his arms as he glanced towards her, “Do you know what today is?” 

“Of course I do.” Raven said quietly, swallowing thickly. 

“Do you believe they will make it easy on ole Bootsy?” Bode turned his back to stand in front of her, then proceeded to walk backwards, “I believe his crimes against the king shall serve him a slow, painful death.” 

“Do you believe so?” Raven hummed carefully, she wasn’t much for gossip. 

“I do.” Bode smirked. 

Bootsy was one of their neighbors in the dorms. He dared to enter the Palace to find a drip of wine for a party the people had planned. Bootsy always tended to go overboard with the drinking; he was infamous for being the drunk. On the night of the party, we had ran out of wine and he thought to sneak into the quarters to steal from him. 

In hindsight, it was innocent. 

However, you are not to go against the Dark King, nonetheless steal from him. 

“Bootsy had it coming to him, he was not surprised.” Bode clapped his hands together, turning his back from Raven. 

Ahead, the dining hall was empty, usually a line out the door if you showed up last minute. However, Raven was awfully hungry in the mornings and preferred her food to be warm and readily available when she wanted it. 

“We will see at the execution.” 

Raven dropped the subject after her comment, entering the dining hall. It was warm there, only because of the coal stoves working overtime to cook the breakfast. She rolled her sleeves up, batting her lashes as she was served the same breakfast every morning. 

Beans, toast, and a small egg; poached. 

Of course, with a hot cup of tea to wake up. 

As the room started to fill with people, Raven was already half-finished with her plate. At this time of the morning, she studied the people ahead of her. They sat in their seats, tired, while they either ate their food or enjoyed the hot tea. Some couldn’t stomach the food every morning, but if they were hungry enough, they would eat it. 

The execution was after breakfast. It was easier for those who had a weak stomach not to eat. It was mandatory to attend these, it was a learning lesson for all of them to know the consequences of going against Him. 

Raven finished her food in silence, when she stood to her feet, Bode followed closely behind to discard her tray in one of the bins. Just as she went to refill her hot cup of tea, a loud ruckus came from behind her. 

In the center of the room, a man held a knife to one of the younger teenagers. A shaky hand held a piece of toast; Raven could only guess that he had taken the man’s toast. 

“That’s not good.” Bode frowned. 

“No, tis not.” Raven mumbled, withdrawing her knife from her boot and stomped towards the two of them. 

“Ye stole my toast?!” The older one held the knife tightly to the teen’s neck. 

“I did no such thing, unhand me!” The teen yelled out in anger, thrashing with a sweat. 

Raven pointed her knife at the throat of the older man’s neck and prodded his skin light enough to get his attention. His dark brown eyes glanced back to see the angry woman behind him; a snarl on his lips. 

“There shall not be any fighting in the dining hall.” Raven warned through a light growl. 

“He stole me toast.” 

“Did you see him take your toast?” The knife prodded a bit harder against his skin, if she just barely flicked her wrist it would create a bigger mess onto the floor. 

“No, but–,” 

“Unhand him or I shall hand you over to the guards,” Raven kept her dark gaze on the man, “Have you forgotten the penalty for fighting? Tis the cellar and you shall rot there for laying your hands on this boy.” 

The man stared darkly at the fearful boy. Raven was sweating too, but it wasn’t from the hot air in the room, it was the witness’ of the room. She was now an accomplice. If anyone decided to run to the guards at that moment, she would rot in the cellar as well. 

“L-Let me go–,” The teen boy groaned, there was a bit of blood on his neck from the man’s knife. 

“Ye not worth it, anyhow.” The older one pushed the boy away, putting his knife away as he sent a dark glare to Raven. 

Quickly, she made haste to his side. It was only a prick on his neck, but still the guards would surely question him about the mark. Raven pulled the bag around her body towards her, rummaging through for a clean cloth before dabbing the wound. 

“Are you alright?” She mumbled to the boy. 

“Yes, of course. Sorry ma’am.” He whispered quietly, the toast in his hand crumbling from his grip. 

“Did you take his toast?” 

His eyes fled to the floor, confirming that he stole the older one’s toast. Raven sighed quietly, once done cleaning up the blood, she placed the cloth into his hand and searched his features. 

“I shall not tell,” She fixed his coat as if she was his mother, “Do not steal anymore. Bootsy is an example of what will happen, no matter the object stolen.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He mumbled. 

Raven turned a blind eye to the boy and made her way back to Bode. The teen boy was new; she had only seen his face very few times in the last few days. He did not know the ways, but she always tried to warn the newcomings as much as she could. 

For those who dare come to Neverland, mind you on their own free will, would find out the hard way without Raven. There were no rules, but there were rules. It was a bit unfair not to give out a handbook, but the Dark King liked to play this game with the newcomers. 

“You are lucky the guards are outside the door today,” Bode warned as Raven exited the double doors. 

“They’ll do no such thing to me.” Raven smirked, tossing her knife in the air and catching it by the handle. 

Bode rolled his eyes, “Of course they won’t, but you are getting cocky.” 

“I’ve earned my right.” She said quietly, but still confidently. 

Bode mumbled something, but Raven didn’t care enough to catch the comment. People judged her for admiring the Dark King. In the other world, she was just as twisted as he was; the only difference is now she gets to show it. She was not hungry for power, but she was hungry for dominance. The Dark King saw that in her. 

Though they had only crossed paths twice, she found herself on her knees to bow to him in those times. He did not leave his Palace often, but when he did, it was a big deal. He was the type to gaze over the land, not be a part of it. 

As Raven and Bode walked down the dirt road, they came across the cobblestone that led them into the small town square. This part of the land many did not spend much time in, for they needed money to spend for the vendors, and little did the people have. Though this was a place where the people could meet others and socialize; very few people under the age of fifty came into the square. The elders, however, loved it. 

Raven passed the vendors selling fresh fruits and handmade clothes and ventured into the middle where the people were gathered. She stood by the wall, far from the crowd, with her hood on and eyes wandering darkly around. He would be around for these events. 

To be able to catch a glimpse of Him was a pleasure, any time the opportunity was given. She thrived for it, and it somewhat gave her a feeling of butterflies. 

“Thank you all for gathering!” 

The crowd went silent as the guard announced the beginning of the act. Raven could barely stand these things much anymore. If they’d change it up, perhaps she’d find more interest, but she was never vocal about that. Raven was a bit of a psycho in those terms, finding things such as this, the only entertainment in Neverland. 

They announced the crimes of Bootsy, dragging him out with a sack on his head and nothing but the trousers to hide his bits. He thrashed around in the arms of the guards, throwing him to his knees and placing his head where the guard could get a clean cut. 

Her eyes wandered again; out of the corners, she found a man in a tree. He sat lazily, one leg propped up, the other swinging carelessly as he bit into a red apple. Raven’s eyes lit up, it was He. She went to take a step forward, only for Bode to stretch his hand out to stop her. 

“Where are you going?” 

It took her a moment to answer, she almost didn’t comprehend what Bode had said. The Dark King’s eyes were so green that he could’ve blended perfectly into the woods. He already did, truthfully. He wore a brown robe, hints of green that sparkled without the sun, and long brown hair that curled effortlessly around his face. 

He looked amused while he ate his apple. Raven could taste the thirst on his lips, he thrived for these moments. It was not that he killed people, it was that he awaited those who would cross him just for him to watch them suffer. She imagined what he felt while he watched, if his body was pumping full of adrenaline, or if he was just simply unbothered by it. 

She took another step forward. 

“Raven!” 

“What?” Her head snapped towards her bickering friend. 

“Where are you going?” Bode said slowly, yet stern with tight brows knitted together. 

“Well, I was…” When her eyes went back to the trees, he was gone, and a part of her heart broke. She let out a sigh, flicking her gaze to the beheaded man as the crowd dispersed, “I was going to the apple stand, if you wanted to know so desperately.” 

“You do not eat apples.” 

“I do when you are not six feet up my rear end, Bode.” She snapped at him, annoyed that she missed her Dark King. 

“You have been acting differently as of recent.” He retorted. 

“Then maybe you don’t know me at all.” Raven mumbled. 

- 

After dinner that night, everyone resided in their rooms. Neverland did not have a curfew, however if one were to stay up late, it was best to prepare to stay on schedule for the day. Raven typically went to bed early to restore her energy for the next morning. 

Tonight was different. 

She lingered in the square without Bode. Earlier had created some tension between the two; while she cared for Bode, sometimes he smothered too much for her comfort. The reason she left her home was for the sole reason of suffocation; she wanted something meaningful. 

Neverland was meaningful to her. 

She never looked back when she found this place, not that anyone else dared to either. Neverland was made up of misfits, but they all stuck by each other. Well, the misfits who cared for each other, anyway. 

There were a few bad eggs that crossed the lines that were drawn. 

Raven’s heels clicked against the cobblestone, a hood over her head as a few locks of her hair framed her face and hid herself well. Her fingers gripped onto the cloak, pulling it together before locking the golden buttons together. 

She was not on a mission, nor was she trying to hide. It was the simple fact of that, she herself, learned to cross the drawn lines as well. If she were to get caught, which she’d never had, she would surely get executed. 

Above all rules, there is one that the people must not cross. 

Do not, any under circumstances, climb over the wall. 

Their town was separated from the Palace. If Raven were to stand at a distance, she would be able to see the Palace glow in the night; it was beautiful and made of cement. It was not like their shelters, made of branches and old wood. 

The Dark King’s palace was most beautiful. 

Nobody ever dared to think of sneaking into the Palace. Not until Bootsy. 

However, Raven was stealthy. The nights she had spent hunting without a single branch cracking under her boots, she would make herself a nice meal with potatoes from the ground and deer meat. Of course, she kept that to herself. It was why she was the most healthy compared to others. 

Ahead of her, the large stone wall. Across the wall, there were some stones that stuck out, and some nights she would climb it. Never jump over it. But simply sit on it. Her stiff fingers grabbed onto the stones, placing her feet onto the others steadily as she carefully climbed it without a single worry. The night was silent, she needn’t worry about the vendors; they were closed around this time either way. 

Raven huffed softly, making it to the top without a problem. To the side of her, a tree that she liked to sit on. The branch was thick and strong. She hunched as she stood, balancing on the top of the wall as she quickly rushed towards the tree. One jump, her arms grasped onto the branch and pulled herself up. The draping of the other branches hid her well enough, she would never get caught. 

She’d never gotten caught. 

Her feet pushed her back to sit against the bark of the tree. The view of the Palace was beautiful; the glow was different from her small village, town, however they wanted to call it. Raven’s shoulders slumped carefully, placing a hand in front of her as she laid forward onto her stomach and dangled her legs on either side. 

She never got to see the Dark King from this view, but she liked to imagine it all. She liked to imagine what he was like; the infatuation she had with him was hers to keep. From the few times she had came across him, she tried to keep the image of him, but it was nearly impossible when he only showed up once a month, sometimes only once a year. 

“Don’t be afraid, you’re not alone,” She sang under a whisper, eyes glimmering in the Palace’s lights, “Sleep until dawn, for all is well, long ago this song was sung to me; Now it’s just a distant melody,” She pushed herself further towards the end of the branch, her stomach turning at the thought of catching a glimpse, “Somewhere from the past I used to know, once upon a time and long ago.” 

Raven sighed, closing her eyes. In some ways, she was manifesting the sight of him. While she was his favorite, they had never spoken a word to each other. It was evident that she was his favorite; she told herself that constantly. 

She wondered what his voice sounded like. If it was so deep that it could make the floors of the forest vibrate. In the midst of her dreaming, she heard a crackle from underneath her. Eyes shooting open wide, her arms worked to grab her bow and arrow before pointing it down at the floor. 

Raven studied the floor, eyes squinted yet adrenaline shot through her veins. The thought of getting caught didn’t scare her, but it didn’t ease her either. When she heard another crackle, she threw her arrow over her back and stood to her feet on the branch. She jumped onto another branch, looking deeply into the forest, as much as the light from the Palace would admit. 

But there was nothing. 

Just as she was about to turn to jump back over the wall, a hand grabbed her ankle and she fell to the floor of the forest. Her back hit the floor with a loud crack, she bit back the scream in her throat, her hand slapping over her mouth with a soft cry. The pain in her back shot through her in consistent spills. 

Raven turned onto her side, gasping to catch her breath; just as she did, a shadow rushed past her and it caught her eye. As she leaned up to look around, a pair of hands grabbed her cloak and quickly brought her to her feet. Disorientated, she couldn’t see the shadow in front of her. Raven’s back hit the bark of the tree, head thumping against it with a thud. 

“Climbing over the wall?” 

The familiar voice made her eyes cross in confusion, but when the blur faded away, she was faced with the older man from the dining hall earlier. Raven’s blood boiled almost instantly, fists balling up as she used her leg to kick him off of her. 

“You idiot!” Raven hissed through her teeth, quickly pulling her hood over her head once more, “If we get caught, we both get killed!” 

“Would that be the worst thing to happen?” He clutched his stomach fiercely with fire in his eyes, “But I do not plan to get caught, however your luck has been cut short.” 

“What do you speak of?” Raven squinted her eyes at him. 

“You do not know the name I was given, but you have been a misery in my life since you arrived,” He spat angrily, “Dary, that is my given name, but you would not know.” 

Raven stayed silent, staring at him in disgust. 

“You almost killed a boy over a piece of dry toast.” 

“I do what I please.” Dary leaned down to the floor of the forest, his hand disappearing before coming clear with a knife in his hand, “You think you are special, but you are less than the dirt I soil on.” 

Raven’s body froze at the blade. While she had killed many animals, she had never committed such a crime. It had become evident that it was either him or her; and she was planning on getting out alive. 

“You do not dare to touch me.” Raven whispered quietly. 

Dary grimaced, “I do what I must,” He took a step closer to her, the blade shining from the lights, “Who could’ve thought that someone such as you would be such a burden in this village?” 

“I am no such thing,” Raven’s hand wrapped around the bow on her back, “I keep to myself.” 

Dary let out a deep, dark laugh, one that made shivers fall down her spine. Not another word from his mouth, he lunged towards her. Raven was not quick enough, the feeling of the blade slashing her arm made her cry out. Her leg kicked Dary away from her as she ran into the woods. 

“You cannot hide from me, Raven!” Dary called out loudly. 

Raven could hear him chasing after her, when she got the bow off her back, she then quickly turned onto her heel and pointed an arrow in the direction where he was. When she expected the man to be closer to her, she was only met with the silence of the forest. Raven’s breath hitched, taking a step back as her head snapped back and forth to search for Dary. 

It was silent. She didn’t know if that was more disturbing or if she had found that she was thankful for the sudden disappearance. But, where did he go? 

“Dary?” She called out, not loud, she didn’t want to alert the guards. 

Raven tuned into the sounds of the forest; crickets were singing lightly in the distance, even bullfrogs cried out into the night. A mile from where she stood was a creek that could be heard, the water brushing over the boulders. She faltered when she suddenly heard a chewing sound, snapping her head behind her to see nothing; yet again. 

Suddenly, a loud thud could be heard from in front of her. Dary’s body fell from the sky, as if he had somehow opted for the power of flight; something that only the Dark King could do. Raven’s eyes widened in horror, approaching the body in haste, but jumped back just as quick when her gaze set on the mutilated face of Dary. 

Raven gagged, slapping her hand over her mouth to suppress the sound. Sure, she had seen many executions, but this was no execution; Dary’s face was mauled as if a creature had finally found it’s dinner after days of starving. Pieces of his face hung from the sides, revealing the red flesh underneath with his nose vanished and eyes gorged. 

“What in the world–,” Raven coughed, taking a step back only to feel her back hit a body behind her. 

She turned onto her heel, a man with a hood draped over his head, but a pair of emerald eyes glowed down at her. He was still, blinking only once. Raven’s mouth slowly gaped as she took a step away from him, knowing exactly who this creature was. Someone she had been desperately waiting to face again. 

His hood fell back as his hand removed it. Blood covered his face, lathered in vivid red around his mouth. He used the sleeve of his cloak to wipe the remnants from his mouth, but the pigment still stained his pale skin. Raven was in awe as she fell to her knees and bowed with her forehead against the forest floor. 

“My dark king.” She breathed out as her heart beat wildly in her chest. 

Raven stayed in her deep bow, though she was desperate to raise her head and look him in the eyes once more. 

“To your feet.” His voice was deep, just as she suspected, something about it demanded her. 

“Yes, my dark king.” Raven quickly stood to her feet. 

When she flicked her gaze towards his, he was using his pinky finger to pick out pieces of Dary from his teeth. She was in awe for half a moment before she suddenly realized that she was caught on the other side of the wall. Something that she had never done before, not even by a guard, but of course it was her luck that her dark king would be the first to find her like this. 

His tongue ran over his teeth, then swallowed thickly as his eyes searched hers. Raven felt as though her knees would not be able to support her any longer; when He looked towards Dary, she studied the slim feature of his jaw that could cut effortlessly. Long brown curls that framed his face, but yet pushed back in the middle, and his curved brows furrowed together in a tight knit as he studied his late dinner. 

She parted her lips to plead for forgiveness, but he flicked his hand up to stop her. 

“I do not want to hear your pleas,” He kicked Dary’s body lightly, now turned back to Raven, “You have committed a death worthy crime against the Palace.” 

He said it so effortlessly, so carelessly. The Dark King did not care about the lives of those who crossed him, even if it was just crawling over a man made wall. The rules were the rules and Raven broke them in hopes for a glimpse of her king. 

Raven shook, but took her bow and arrows off her back and threw them to the forest floor. Before he could turn to face her, she had her knees in the dirt and eyes glaring up at him with desperation. 

“If I were to enter my last sleep, may it be while I face you, my king,” Raven did not hesitate to take her knife from her boot and offer it to him. 

He stared darkly down at her, amused, even a hint of a smirk tugged at his lips at her offer. Raven had her head bowed, he studied the submissive ways of Raven; it entertained him, something that he never got much of when he was in his own home. 

Not this kind of entertainment anyway. 

Raven felt the knife disappear from her hand, her heart fell to her stomach as she brought her gaze to the man above her and awed into the glowing emerald eyes of his. Shakily, her hands unbuttoned the cloak from around her neck and tilted her head back, still staring deeply into his eyes. 

He twirled the knife in his hand, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he studied her. The Dark King leaned down, not letting his knees touch the ground in a crouch as his fingers reached out to grab the underside of her jaw. Raven gasped out, suddenly her stomach was boiling inside of her and she felt her skin catch fire from his touch. 

He was touching her. 

“Raven…” He warned carefully with a tsk, the blade of the knife soothed against her neck, holding it lightly at her neck. 

“Do not spare me mercy, for I have betrayed you.” Raven tried to hide the fear in her voice, when she swallowed the tighter the knife felt against her throat. 

He chuckled darkly, the pinch on her chin tightened as he inched closer to her. Raven inhaled sharply, only to find that he was stealing the air from her lungs. She gasped softly, throat tightening, while her fingers quickly wrapped around the wrist of his and flicked her gaze to his eyes once more in pure fear. 

His lips were pursed in a small ‘o’ as the ghostly air frosted against his lips, she was besides herself. Raven felt weak, the grip on his wrist weakening as his eyes turned from a bright emerald to a dark mossy color with spots of brown and black. 

Then, suddenly, he blew back onto her and the air filled her lungs once more. Raven coughed out, relief washing over her as her hand grabbed her chest and hunched over while she tried to steady her breathing. 

“What makes you think that I wouldn’t kill you in seconds?” His knuckles caressed Raven’s cheek, a smirk playing on his lips before tearing his knuckles from her, “Because you serve me no purpose. Do you enjoy your sickly obsession with staring in my palace at late hours of the night?”

Raven was caught off guard by the question, embarrassment washing over her as she avoided his gaze. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, she could feel his cold breath on her skin and it made her skin tingle as her fingers dug deeply into the soft dirt. 

“Speechless?” He chuckled quietly, “I am shocked at your silence. You seem to have quite the mouth with others, do you not?” When Raven didn’t answer him, he raised his voice once more, raspy and dark, “Do you not, Raven?” 

“Yes, my dark king,” Raven whispered quietly, closing her eyes as his touch left her skin, a loss for her needs.

He only tsked, standing tall over her. Raven dusted herself off, slowly standing; he towered over her small stature. She felt intimidated by the height, but still avoided the scalding glare of his. Within moments of her on her feet, she was quickly cornered against the tree. His cold hand grabbed her jaw as he made her look at him. 

“Step on my land again,” His breath hits her cheek, making her breath hitch in her throat, “And your punishment will be similar to Dary’s.” 

Raven shook under his touch, but before she could think to say something, he vanished. Now alone in the woods, Raven blinked hard and grabbed her cloak, quickly putting it on before gliding up the tree she had fallen from and worked her way back over the stone wall. 

When her feet hit the ground in her village, she ran home with an ache in her stomach. 

At home, she locked the door behind her and pressed her back against the door. When the noise settled, she closed her eyes and thought. 

When shall she see her dark king again?

-

Two days later, Raven sat at a pond with Bode. Since seeing her dark king face to face, there was an itch that needed to be scratched. If she thought about it long enough, she could feel his fingers back on her skin, and the way his cold breath created goosebumps along her neck. 

Bode kept asking questions though, as Raven had been silent for the last two days. 

“It’s been two days since Dary has been missing.” He skipped a rock along the pond. 

“He must be the least of your worries.” Raven said quietly as she doodled with a feather pen tucked between her fingers. 

She doodled the eyes of her king, in case she forgets him. 

“Some people think you murdered him,” Bode said nonchalantly, “You did hold a knife to his neck the night he went missing.” 

“People think what they may, I do not care, I know I am not guilty.” Raven rolled her eyes, slamming her old notebook closed before tucking it under her robe and slouching towards Bode. 

“You shall not care until the guards show up at your door.” Bode was getting irritated with Raven’s lack of care. 

“They won’t.” 

Bode squinted his eyes, standing over her as he crossed his arms. 

“You believe you are innocent, show you are innocent. I cannot be the only person to defend you, other than the young boy who took the toast,” Bode’s thick brows furrowed together, “If they find reason you may have–,” 

Raven stood to her feet in annoyance, “I shall hear this no longer.” 

Bode grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving, “And I shall not watch my best friend be slaughtered in the square,” Their eyes met, Bode’s full of worry, “I fear for you. I care, you realize? What has gotten into you the last few days? You have been acting dangerously.” 

Raven took her arm back, rubbing the tension off. 

“I realize you care,” She reaffirmed his feelings, “I act no dangerously than any other misfit in Neverland. I do not understand your worry. I am fine.” 

“I believe it is something to do with the Dark King–,” 

Before Bode could say any further, a knife was drawn to his neck with no hesitation from Raven. Her eyes glew a dark purple as she took a step closer to him. Bode’s eyes widened, disgust on his face as he studied Raven’s features. 

“You dare not speak of him.” Raven muttered.

Bode’s pointy ears twitched, he waved his fist and suddenly Raven’s knife was redirected towards the tree, before it flew from her grasp and penetrated the bark of the thick tree. 

“You care more for him, that is certain, given you held a blade to your friend’s neck.” Bode spat, grabbing his things. 

Raven stood, ashamed, yet shocked. She didn’t know what to think, though, her infatuations are secret to her and her only. The more people dared to speak ill of him, it became more apparent. She didn’t believe that her king would kill her, no. Had she told anyone that she faced him alone? 

Of course not. 

Raven kept it to herself, it was of no one’s business. 

Bode looked back at her, opening his mouth to say something, then shook his head and made his way back to the village. 

Raven sighed, walking to where the blade was. She wrapped her fingers around the handle, pulling it from the tree with ease. Dusting off the blade, she slid the blade in it’s respected spot and sat on a boulder with her chin in her hand. 

She couldn’t stop thinking of him. 

If it was not for him, Dary would have killed her. It confirmed to Raven that she was special and others were jealous of the affections between her and the king. She had to find a way to see him again without crawling over the wall again. 

Picking herself up from the boulder, she ventured down the leafy path towards the village once more. 

Tonight, she would see her king again. 

-

Raven walked the same path into the woods, this time away from the walls. A bow and arrow on her back with her knife in her hand. At night, these ways are dangerous. While the misfits were sleeping, there were other troubles that lurked ahead. 

A land just across the lake, they often came to Neverland to steal our meat. While Neverland’s people seem to mind their business, they often fight at any chance they can, especially when it is someone that does not belong on their land. 

Above Raven’s gaze, the moon lit up the night enough for her to see the path. When she found a creek, she crossed it as she jumped on each rock, sturdy and careful. Walking up a small hill, she laid on her stomach at the top and stared down at the fields that were below her from afar. 

Creatures lurked here at night. 

While the death penalty is not ideal, she wanted to test her king. Raven removed the bow and arrow from her back and readied her aim; she squinted one eye, searching the moonlight for any creature that was up at this time of night. She knew, at least, it would be deer. 

The lullaby she sang a few nights ago, hummed lightly through her lips as she mouthed the words under her breath. She heard a rustle, tilting her head, a deer trotted into the light. A smirk spread across her lips, she readied her aim once more. 

“Long ago this song was sung to me, now it’s just a distant melody,” Raven sang under a whisper, “Somewhere from the past I used to know, once upon a time and long ago…” 

Shoot. 

She let go of the arrow, watching as it just barely brushed the deer before the creature got startled and ran out of the light. Raven’s eyes widened, frowning as she sat herself up with her arms. How could she have missed that shot? She didn’t understand. 

Raven had never missed a clear shot. 

She cursed to herself under her breath, readying another arrow in her bow and waited on her stomach, on the hill. Minutes went by, still no creature. Raven started to feel helpless, maybe it was the hunger in her stomach from being up past her bedtime that made her feel this way. 

Then another rustle, much louder than the last, echoed in the area. Could it be her king? She dusted herself off and stood to her feet in anticipation. Purple eyes wandered around the area, this time searching high in the trees for the hidden man, but found nothing. 

Unsteady on her feet, a suddenly uneasy feeling came over her. Could it be an intruder? Raven started down the hill with haste, she didn’t think she had the guts to murder someone. As twisted as her personality was, she knew her stomach wouldn’t handle such a thing. 

When she came across the creek once more, a body laid in the creek, contaminating their waters with blood. As she got closer, the person’s throat had been slit, so tiny it looked like it was done with a piece of freshly cut paper. Raven swallowed thickly, jumping over the body and asking no questions. 

Someone was among her. 

If not someone, then something. 

Her feet hit the pathway once more, looking back as she walked forward. Shivers went down her spine, she could feel someone watching her, but she wasn’t sure who. It couldn’t have been her king, no, she committed no crime tonight. 

Could it have been Bode watching over her? 

Raven looked forward, finding a man hunched over something. She paused her steps, blood growing cold. When the man stood to his feet, the moonlight hit him and Raven faced the familiar cloak that she had just seen some nights ago. 

Her dark king. 

He turned around to face her, the same emerald eyes glowing bright as he gave her a once over. She stayed still, though dared to take a step towards him. Raven kneeled on one knee as he approached her, he had blood dripping down his white blouse that was so sheer it showed his tattoos. 

“My dark ki–.” 

“Are you thrilled over the power I hold on these lands,” His voice coarse and thick, “Or do you just enjoy being on your knees for your king?” 

Raven blushed wildly, looking away for mere moments before swallowing thickly. 

“Tis always an honor to be in the presence of you, my king.” She said quietly, standing to her feet once more, she crossed her arms under her cloak as a brush of cold wind surpassed them. 

“For you, of course,” When he came closer to Raven, she felt her stomach start to bubble, “You tried to kill my creatures.” 

Raven stayed silent, she knew someone was watching her; she never expected it to be him, though. 

“You were following me?” 

“You called,” He mumbled, “For reasons which bore me, dreadfully.” 

“Called?” Raven pinched her face in confusion, she did not recall calling out to him. Only ever in her dreams, but how would that be possible for him to know?

He hummed the lullaby that Raven had been singing the last few days, her face washed in a pale white, watching as he took slow steps around her, in circles. 

“The lullaby,” He was now behind her, she could feel how close he was, “It beckons me to those who seek me.” 

Raven said nothing, her body was frigid and her gaze was locked onto the body up the road. She didn’t know that the song beckoned him, if she knew that; she would have him any time she wanted. 

“But you still tried to kill my creatures,” His voice darkened, a hand placed onto her shoulder and it made her knees buckle, “Another crime.” 

“A crime I did not commit.” Raven said above a whisper, fluttering her eyes shut. 

In seconds, Raven was whipped around, the king towered over her as he grabbed her face and squinted his eyes darkly. 

“Are you accusing your king of lying, Raven? That would not be very…” His fingers fled to her throat, backing her up until her back hit a large boulder behind them, “Smart of you.” 

Raven didn’t comment on his threat, instead studied the blood on his shirt; his abs flexed as the cold wind hit him, she didn’t think possible for him to feel such things. 

“You murdered those men.” 

“There were trespassers on my land.” He arched his brow. 

“You killed them for me.” 

Her heart raced at the thought. Her king protecting her, it made her heart melt and her skin crawl with excitement. Raven’s lips tugged upwards into a small smile at the thought. 

But then he laughed, a hardy, deep laugh that shook his stomach while his fingers clenched both sides of her neck a bit tighter. He then pulled her closer, inches from her face as he let out a growl. 

“I do not kill for my people, I kill for my amusement,” He spat through gritted teeth, in seconds his fingers wrapped around the black strands of her hair and pulled it tightly at the root. Raven let out a soft sound, rolling her eyes back, “Do you find this amusing to you?” 

Raven’s stomach was on fire; she desperately tried to ignore the way his fingers locked into her hair, but the sensation was more than she could ignore. 

When Raven couldn’t speak a word, it was when He realized that she was enjoying this. A tedious smirk barely showed on his face through the shadow’s of his hood. His fingers lightly massaged her scalp, causing a small sound and physical reaction from Raven, then he gently jerked on it again to make her mewl out. 

“Oh,” He said, “This is quite pathetic, isn’t it?” 

Raven’s eyes fluttered open at the comment, her lips parted. 

“If you believe I have committed a crime, then punish me.” Raven said quietly between the two of them, it was taking everything not to reach out to him and touch his chest. 

His eyes glimmered, “The punishment you haunt yourself with everyday is not enough, is it?” He breathed cold on her lips, Raven was close to closing the gap, “Torturing yourself with the thought of seeing me.” 

His lips grazed her jaw, Raven let out a moan so embarrassing just from the smallest touch. She felt his lips feather up her jaw until he was breathing into her ear. 

“But you cannot,” His voice was below a whisper, “For I do not answer the silent beckons of your wet dreams.” 

Raven’s breath hitched, “My dark king, I must admit my admirations—,” 

“If you feel the need to do so, please call me by my name,” He lapped a strip up her jaw, letting out a low grunt, “But do not expect for me to care for you, for I could snap your neck and walk away without a care.” 

Raven’s eyes darkened, “And what name might that be?” 

“Harry.” He pressed his lips against her ear. 

Her heart fluttered, “I have adored you for ages, Harry.” 

“Cute,” Harry chuckled quietly, creating a distance to rid Raven of the imaginative warmth he gave off, “As if I don’t have everyone on this land feeling the same way.” 

“My feelings are different,” Raven felt a pang of anxiety in her chest, stepping towards him, “I have admired you from afar. I have defended your name when many wouldn’t.” 

Harry flicked his hair back in a state of boredom, “And what makes you different from the rest?” He spared her a glance, “That you treat me with such royalty as if I am,” He then leaned towards her with a small smirk, tilting his head slowly, “Let me allow you to educate you, love. We do not have any kings in Neverland, just me.” 

Raven’s chest burned with fire, she couldn’t tell if it was rage from his rejection, or if it was the still lingering lust deep inside of her. 

“You rule this land, you have been our king—,” 

Harry laughed out in howl, shaking his head. 

“A king,” He remarks, “You humor me, Raven.” 

“Is that not what your title is?!” Raven finally snapped with irritation, fists balled by her side. 

“My title is whatever the fuck I want it to be,” He spat with his white teeth showing, canines sharp and ready, “A king protects his people. I could set Neverland ablaze and watch all of you scatter to the water to escape and feel nothing.” 

Raven’s eyes stared darkly at the man before her. The darkness inside of him excited her, it made the passion she had for him burn brighter than it ever had. If she had a choice, she would burn the place to the ground with Harry just to watch his emerald eyes glimmer with hints of red in them. 

He was darker than she thought he was. 

Raven took a step closer to him, parting her cold, chapped lips. 

“And what would one do to watch this land burn with you?” 

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she dared to place a hand onto his bloodied chest. The warmth of the blood was the first time she had felt the other degree of weather in years. Her fingers enclosed around the fabric, only for Harry to grab her wrist and raise her arm in the air. One moment she was standing before him, the other she was being pinned back against the boulder, now with his full body against hers. 

“I see the darkness in you,” Harry smirked faintly, showing off his canine teeth in the corner. Raven inhaled sharply as his hand grabbed her hip and burned his fingers into her skin, “You feel it too, don’t you, Raven? You wish to act on it…” His breath hit her cheek as his tongue just barely lapped under her jaw, “But you wish to be a…good girl, for me?” 

Raven’s eyes fluttered closed as a whimper escaped her. She let out a small hum in approval, acceptance, knowing that if given the chance there would be a few people on this island she would cut to pieces with no mercy. Dary being one of them, though, Harry covered that for her. 

“Words,” His fingers pinched her cheeks, forcing Raven to look at him as he squinted down at her; the emerald hues now turned dark and mossy, “I need to hear you say it.” 

Her mind was fuzzy, the close vicinity was fucking with her head. Raven could easily close the gap, ease the burning feeling in her gut and devour every piece of him. When she opened her mouth to speak, it was stuck in her throat, and she kept having to swallow the block from the lack of oxygen she had in her lungs. 

“Yes…” Raven breathed out, shoulders relaxing as she flicked her gaze into his, “I do, my dark king.” 

Silence fell between them, Harry searching her face; she didn’t know what for, if he was studying her, if he was reading her mind to tell the truth. All she knew, and had known, was that she wanted to bite into the obsession that was him. She wanted to feed off of him, she wanted to rule this land and kill off anyone that crosses the two of them. 

Harry’s fingers pinched tighter around her cheek, then let go. When Raven let out a shallow breath, his lips smashed against hers. Her body only stiffened for a second, shocked, then relaxed and fed into him. Her long fingers disappeared into his long curly locks, tugging it to bring him impossibly close to her. 

Harry let out a growl against her lip, when she went to lap her lips, his teeth snatched her bottom lip and pulled on it slowly. She sucked in a harsh breath, he pierced the skin and she could taste the faintest taste of blood on her tongue when she swallowed. Harry’s hand moved down from her cheeks to her neck, grabbing it tightly as he tilted Raven’s head back and started to suck on her lip as if he hadn’t fed in some years. 

Inevitably, the burning in her stomach didn’t go away; only worsened. Raven knew exactly what she wanted, but the only concern was that it would feed her obsession for wanting more. When Harry pulled off her lip, they both tried to catch their breaths from the makeout session, but only gazed into each others eyes while her hand was still pinned against the cold boulder. 

She wished to touch him, and just at the thought, her wrist was freed. It fell by her side and she was able to reach out and unbutton his cloak. In the most unspoken message between them, they started to undress each other. 

Harry let his cloak fall to the dirt, then reached out to her and removed her cloak. He draped it over the boulder, saying nothing, then turned back to her as his fingers caressed the side of her face; he was able to see the deadly look she gave. It made his throat tighten, he could see that they shared the same evil inside of them, the same feeling of nothing. 

“You wish for power, do you not?” Harry’s gravely voice said, deeply, as he pushed her long sleeved green shirt off her shoulder, when his lips met her skin, she closed her eyes and tried to take in the question; but it was so hard when he was touching her. 

“I wish for you,” Raven admitted, untying the thin fabric shaped as a loose bow around his front, when it fell to the side, she started to slowly unbutton him as Harry’s mouth finally attached to her neck and sucked it viciously, “I wish for you in any way…” She pushed the shirt off his torso, exposing the ghostly white skin of his, it was almost gray; tattoo’s meshed together and faded, “Any shape or form…” Raven’s fingers drew down his chest, “I wish for anything you allow me to have, my king.” 

Harry shuddered at her words, drawing a long mewl from him as he breathed through a wide smirk. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” He whispered into her ear, biting down on her earlobe, “Now, get on your knees for me, lovie. I want to show you what I shall allow you to have,” When he met her gaze, he pouted his lip in fake sympathy, “And what I shall offer you, tis just a taste.” 

Raven smirked, biting down on her lip as she fell to her knees. Looking up at Harry, his cock twitched inside of his pants; his fingers unbuttoned the fabric of his brown, stained pants. They fell, it gave no imagination, he wore nothing underneath; Raven was looking up at the long length that dripped from the tip and twitched for her. 

The sight alone made her mouth water, she was swallowing down the pooling saliva in her mouth as Harry took his cock into his hand and pumped it slowly; his fingers glided over the veins that pulsated, with each stroke precum dripped and he’d only use it to lather himself for lubrication. 

“Open your mouth.” His words held no compliments, but Raven loved it. 

When her lips parted, her tongue fell past her lips and she opened her mouth wide for him. Harry anchored himself down to meet the height of her mouth. With his cock still in his hand, Harry watched as the tip slipped delicately onto her tongue and let out a bated breath; Raven closed her eyes, moving forward as she took his cock into her mouth and settled around the thick girth. 

“I can give you anything,” Harry’s groan vibrated through his throat as Raven started to lap her tongue around his cock, her moans vibrating around his length and making his toes curl. The way her tongue felt on the underside of his cock, to the way the tip bottomed out in the back of her throat, “Show me you are worthy–ah, of this, fuck.” 

Raven took those words to heart, she wanted to show just how worthy she was and more. She raised herself onto her knees, one hand around his length as she eased her throat and breathed steadily through her nose; in swift motions, she started to deep throat him, her hand stroking any part of his cock that couldn’t fit into her mouth. 

Harry’s stomach tied in knots, the cold air mixed with the pleasure made his balls tighten, with his thighs shaking. His long, thick fingers curled into her hair as he bucked his hips into her mouth. Watching the view from where he was above her, it was a beautiful sight. The sight of Raven’s spit falling and dripping from her chin, while her lilac eyes flicked upwards to make eye contact with him. 

“What a privilege this must be for you,” Harry tried to breathe, but the pleasure was too much; his chest burned, “Do you like the way my cock tastes? Is it everything you dreamed of?” 

Raven blushed, a flat hand against his thigh as she moaned against his cock. Harry tried to refrain from taking over and fucking her face until she cried; he wondered how her tears tasted, if they were salty, or sweet just like the way she looked. 

He couldn’t control it, he needed to be inside of her, and that was what he wanted; that is what he shall get from her. Harry pulled out from her mouth, a string of spit following from her mouth as a gasp left her. Raven tried to catch her breath, just as she went to wipe the spit from her lips, Harry commanded her to stand with a single flick of his two fingers. 

Face to face, Harry being as calculated as he was, wrapped his hands around her bottom and picked her up. Raven wrapped her arms around his neck as their lips clashed together in a heated kiss. Her tongue ran across his bottom lip, letting him taste himself on her tongue; Harry growled lowly, setting her down onto the seat of the boulder before pushing her back to lay onto her back. 

“You shall take anything from me,” Raven breathed in a moan as Harry unbuttoned her blouse and ripped it open to show her bare breasts, “Take anything you must, my king. You can, and will always, have it all. Anything you want.” 

Harry twitched at her words, staring darkly up at her. When slid her pants off, his mouth attached to her breast, one small inhale before he dug his canines into her skin. Raven cried out, reaching for his hair as her back arched; the pain enclosed around her body, but then a sudden burst of euphoria filled her veins as Harry started to suck the bleeding from her skin. Her eyes pinched together tightly, desperately trying to suppress the moans deep inside her throat. 

Harry let the taste fill his tongue while his hand disappeared between her legs; Raven let out a loud whine as the pads of his fingers slid through her slick folds. Using his fingers, he lapped up the creamy arousal around his fingers and brought it to the engorged pearl that throbbed. Raven pulled his hair tighter, Harry growling against her skin at the tension in his head as his fingers circled around her clit daringly. 

He hadn’t heard someone sing for him like this in decades, Raven was whimpering and whining underneath him as his mouth moved to her nipple and latched onto it. Flicking his tongue, lapping it over the hardened nub; he nibbled it and played with it as her body withered underneath him in pleasure. 

“H-Harry–,” Raven spoke his true name in desperation as the fire burned inside of her, a portal opening up to a new world that she could have, that he could give her. Each suck, each flick, each lick, Harry was feeding her a taste of what she could have and she never knew how starved she was for it until now, “O-Oh…my god.” 

Raven winced at the lack of touch when he latched off of her nipple, his eyes squinting at her before slowly kissing down her stomach lovingly, soothingly, though she knew these feelings inside of her were only ever one sided. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” He mumbled against her skin, his fingers sliding down to her slick folds and stilling his movements carefully, “What I can give you?” Harry said it slowly as he entered his fingers inside of her, when a mewl left her, his lips wrapped around her clit and started to kitten lick it in slow, short, small circles. 

“I want it all,” Raven didn’t feel like herself, she felt different; suddenly the color of her skin started to mute, as if Harry was converting her into him, “Give it to me, I want–ah!”

Raven watched as Harry’s nose sat at the top of her cunt, digging further into his late night snack. The wet feeling of his tongue lapped in longer strokes each time while his fingers slowly curled inside of her, pumping with each curl, her arousal was pooling around his knuckles and chin as his tongue worked around her. 

Her legs locked around his head, tightly, tighter, each lick made her body contort and twitch; her soul descended, then came back to her. She was seeing the world as it was, as it is, and as it always will be. Harry was doing her a favor, she was feeding into it, just as Harry wanted her too; Raven couldn’t fathom the power of what Harry had to offer her. 

“I’m…” Raven felt her cunt burn, her clit twitched and lit on fire as his tongue circled faster around her. 

It was the end for her, embarrassingly fast enough, the fireworks lit inside of her and her nails dug into the thick boulder as the lower half of her body raised from the surface. Raven cried out in pleasure, whimpers, pleas, Harry worked her through her first, and not the only, orgasm of the night. She drenched his chin, even when her body felt fucked and tired, Harry still sucked viciously on her pearl to make her oversensitive; he wanted to see the tears that he could bring her. 

“S-Stop–ah!” Raven tried to inch away from him, only for his fingers to dig into her thighs and lock her down against the boulder as his tongue worked in circular motions against her. Raven’s eyes watered as her thighs shook violently, lashing above him as the over sensitive feeling washed over her in a hot bath of fire until she drew another orgasm that was so deep and hot, “Ah! Fuck! F-Fuck, y-yes, oh my–,” 

Harry drew away from her, but not before kissing her clit. When he watched her body deflate, he felt accomplished, but there was more he was willing to give; he was not ready for this to be over. Not when he hadn’t shown her everything he had to offer. Tis just a taste. 

Harry kissed her ankle, grabbing her hips as he pulled her close to him. 

“You are right…” She said in a daze, “It’s so…beautiful.” 

His fingers catch the arousal around his chin, lapping it up and bringing it to his lips and sucking it off his fingers. He hummed, biting down on his lip as he positioned himself against her entrance, staring darkly down at her. 

“Are you ready to see the rest of it?” Harry’s voice was filled with lust and devious matters. 

“Please, my king,” Raven whimpered, “I beg of you to show me.” 

Harry hummed lightly, pushing his tip into her. Raven, while she was wet, was tight. Harry had no problem stretching her out with his thick girth, as he pushed himself into her, his lips parted as they glistened in the wet moonlight. 

“You have been such a good girl,” Harry finally praised her, he lifted her dead legs around his waist and pushed himself further; her wet cunt hugged his cock so tightly, he thought he was going to cum within moments. He had to collect himself. 

Raven couldn’t bring herself to react, even physically, the second orgasm brought all the energy out of her. Her walls stretched around him, he was thick and big, it made her sore legs shake before he found himself to pull back and get to work. 

Harry leaned down, brushing her hair out of her face, “But I know you’ve got a demon in there,” He kissed her pale lips, nudging his nose against her cheek as her eyes glimmered, “That little demon begs to come out and play, wouldn’t you agree, lovie?” 

Raven whined out, a sudden urge of aggression vibrating through her as she clutched his locks and swallowed thickly. Dark purple eyes met his emerald ones, and she brought him closer as she just barely touched his lips. 

“Let her come out,” She whispered softly against his lips, when Harry went to kiss her, she inched back and stared darkly, “Let her free.” 

Harry smirked wide, “Of course,” He breathed against her lips, finally tasting her before mumbling against her lips, “Show me your demons, Raven.” 

Their lips clashed once more, just as Harry drew his hips back and slammed them against hers hard. Raven cried out against his lips, wrapping her arms around his back. Harry grabbed her throat, squeezing the sides as he bottomed out to the hilt of hers; Raven lost her breath as the pleasure filled her, his tongue dancing with hers, the stars in the sky cried in showers of dead bursts of light. 

When Raven closed her eyes, the vision came more clearly; the vivid rebellion of her in bear skin and finest gold; the nights of her in the bed with Harry, in a king sized bed, while she rode him until he came. Raven envisioned the overlook of the village, the power it brought her, and when she came to…

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Harry grumbled against her skin. 

Raven’s fingers were digging tightly into his skin, blood embedded underneath her fingernails as Harry drilled into her cunt. The quiet of the night interrupted with the powers of their pleasure and skin slapping in the night, they begged for each other quietly, loudly, wildly. 

Harry’s cock worked her cunt, the tip continuously hitting her g-spot as his fingers flicked away at her irritated clit; if there was a God, Raven could see him so clearly in the makeshift religious experience. Her toes curled as she approached the third coming of her orgasm, loud whimpers and moans ripping through her throat as her nails dug deeper to claw into the bloody back of her king’s. 

The pain only edged Harry more to his first orgasm, recklessly thrusting and fucking into her, his stomach boiled with each thrust; his toes curled as he slapped the boulder beside her face and pulled her torso closer to her. Raven now sitting up, Harry grabbed her ass and squeezed it so tight there were marks forming within seconds. He held her up, her legs wrapped around him, as he caught her nipple into his mouth and started stroking sloppily at a hard and fast pace, offbeat and messy. 

Raven’s arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as her moan ripped through her throat; spilling messily against his cock. She was ripping through her third orgasm, wetting her thighs and Harry’s pelvis, while Harry’s nails clawed into her asscheeks and came in long thick ropes inside of her; marking her as forever property of his, never to leave his side, and that was the silent contract in this game they played with one another. 

Their bodies deflated, when Harry couldn’t hold the weight any longer, he sat her back down onto the boulder and let his flaccid length fall out of her. Both of them fucked, though Harry recovered easily than her, she could barely hold her eyes open. She wondered for a moment, how would she get up and walk all the way back home after this? 

After some moments, silent and thick, Raven and Harry got dressed without a word. She buttoned up her blouse, avoiding eye contact with him. She rested her body against the boulder, taking in the actions and the blur of it all; the memory fading faster than she’d like, but the euphoria still lingered in her veins. 

Harry put his robe over his head, parting his wet lips as he glanced towards her. 

“It’s late…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say, “I must reside back too–,” 

Just as Raven went to walk back towards the dirt road, Harry grabbed her wrist tightly, staring darkly as he pulled her to him. 

“Where do you think you are going?” Harry spat in distaste, grabbing her chin to make her look at him, Raven’s eyes were wide; “You belong to me now.” 

Raven’s eyes softened at his words, slowly a smirk stretched on her lips. 

“Yes, my dark king.” 

[tickly-tufts]

Once Bitten, Twice Teased

finally letting miguel be a ler after four whole fics dedicated to wrecking him

ft. lee!peter cuz he’s earned it, and ler!mj cuz i love that for her <3

—

“You paralyzed my husband.”

“He deserved it.”

“Probably, but I’d like an explanation anyway.”

“He was annoying me…” Miguel paused. “…and said I had fangs like a kitty cat.”

It took everything in MJ not to laugh. The mental image was simply too good. Miraculously, she managed to hold back, though she did smile at Miguel’s pout.

“So, you bit him to prove a point?”

“The fangs are no joke,” Miguel defended. Then, sounding just a bit sheepish… “The venom will wear off in an hour.”

Whatever he expected MJ to say next, it wasn’t what she actually asked.

“How much can he feel while he’s stuck like this? Does the venom cause any numbness?”

“He can still feel everything… but this is a punishment. If you’re planning to-“

“That’s not what I mean.” Leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, MJ made her proposition. “How’d you like to help me get some payback?”

—

Peter’s face lit up when MJ entered the room, and if he’d been able, she knew he would’ve rushed her. Beyond the change in expression, however, he didn’t move a single muscle. Miguel had placed him in the center of their bed, arms laid neatly at his sides. Noticing the pillow under Peter’s head, MJ smiled. What a softie.

“How ya feelin’, Tiger?” She sauntered over, taking a seat right beside her husband.

“Migs is mean,” Peter pouted. “I can’t believe he actually bit me.”

“Well, you did make fun of his fangs. Not your brightest idea,” MJ countered lightly. Peering at his neck, she soon spotted the bite marks. “Want me to kiss it better?” she offered sweetly.

Peter couldn’t nod but his gaze turned hopeful, and MJ leaned down to hover over the marks. Her breath puffed against them, and Peter would’ve shivered, but his muscles simply refused to respond. He smiled when he felt MJ’s lips, soft and warm against his skin. Then she began peppering small kisses along his neck, and he instantly remembered that kisses could tickle.

“Hmph!” Peter stifled the urge to giggle. The situation was already embarrassing enough. At least MJ would be pulling back soon. He just needed to control himself until-

“AH!” he yelped when kissing became nibbling, right where Miguel had bitten him before. “W-Wait, Em- Nohoho!” he cracked when he realized her true intentions.

MJ paused a few seconds later, shifting to whisper in his ear. “Do you remember that time you strung me up in the living room, then decided to tease me until the webs dissolved?”

Oh. Oh no. Peter did remember. He remembered that evening quite fondly, actually. MJ had collapsed into his arms afterwards, thoroughly flushed and swearing revenge. Of course, Peter had laughed it off at the time, doubting she’d ever catch him that compromised. It would be another decade before Miguel found them… and now, he’d served Peter right up for MJ.

“You’ve got to tell me the full story later,” Miguel interjected, done hiding his presence. Peter gawked as MJ patted the other side of the bed, giving Miguel a peck once he was close enough.

“Have you two been plotting against me?!”

“No, I specifically bit you for being a nuisance. The plan was to leave you in here alone… but MJ came up with a better idea.”

MJ beamed at Miguel, then focused her attention back on Peter. “Now, let’s find out where you’re most sensitive…” Peter cringed as his past words were echoed back at him.

Her fingers grazed across his ribs first, nails easily felt even through his shirt. It really wasn’t that bad a spot, but Peter’s breath still hitched at the touch. He had no chance of resistance, mouth curling up as nails dragged down. The fact he couldn’t even try to turn away made him overly aware of his own nerves.

MJ went from his uppermost left rib all the way to the bottom, then wiggled her fingers on the way back up. It was ticklish enough to earn a few snickers, but nothing too dramatic yet. That was until Peter felt a dig on his right, squawking when the tickling crept between his ribs.

“Wait- Wahahait!”

Miguel did not wait, fingers burrowing in without hesitation.

Peter’s mind demanded he move, but all he could physically do was laugh. It only spiraled when MJ switched spots, pinching at his much more ticklish side. The squeal he couldn’t quite suppress didn’t escape either tormentor’s notice.

“Shitshitshit! Thahat’s sohoho unfahahahair!” Peter swore when Miguel’s claws traced down his other side.

Claws and nails… it was a deadly combination. Peter couldn’t say which side was worse. If he’d been able, he would’ve been wriggling from one to the other, indecisive and frenzied. Unfortunately, as things stood, he had no choice but to endure both together. Miguel scratched carefully along his right flank, while MJ raked ruthlessly at his left.

“Mehehean! You’re bohohoth so mehean!”

“Pobrecito,” Miguel replied.

“Oh, babe, you think this is mean? Just you wait,” MJ promised.

A nervous thrill shot straight through him. How wrecked would he be by the end of this? He’d never felt so uniquely defenseless, safe from real harm, but not from this. His sides were bad, but not terrible. What would happen when they found his actual weakness?

All these thoughts were quickly halted by MJ poking around his waist.

“Nonono- Dohohon’t!” Peter giggled uncontrollably.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re helpless,” MJ cooed, kneading his love handles. Her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, bypassing his only means of defense. It tickled so much that Peter’s laughter pitched higher, which didn’t escape Miguel’s notice.

“Que precioso,” Miguel teased, knowing it was a phrase Peter would understand. Right on cue, Peter blushed, and Miguel smirked in satisfaction. It was the exact reaction he’d been seeking, after so many instances of Peter flustering him.

Revenge garnished with extra affection, easily shared among three.

Peter flushed even further when MJ proceeded to lift his shirt. She pushed the hem all the way to his chest, exposing his pale abdomen. Just like that, he was on display for his equally gorgeous wife and boyfriend… and then insecurity reared its head, reminding him of his current physique.

Objectively, it was absurd. They'd both seen his gut before, and he was hardly one for bashfulness nowadays… but still, to have all their attention focused right there, while he couldn’t even cover his face? Apparently that was just a bit too much. Peter didn’t tense up, mainly because he couldn’t, yet his partners still noticed the shift in his mood. Of course they did... observant as ever. He shut his eyes to avoid examining their expressions.

There was a beat, then finally movement, but not from the direction he'd been expecting. Instead of MJ, sweet and familiar... it was Miguel whose lips brushed bare skin first. Peter's eyes shot back open and MJ caught his gaze, understanding reflected in her own. Then she glanced at Miguel, her lips quirking, and Peter’s attention jumped to him.

His heart skipped when he found Miguel staring, intense and analytical. Then it dropped as Miguel inhaled deeply, before blowing the most devastatingly ticklish of raspberries.

Peter screeched, barely calming when Miguel ultimately switched to nibbling. The tips of Miguel’s fangs grazed against his belly, pressing down too gently to break any skin. That was when MJ joined back in, too, peppering tickly kisses wherever Miguel wasn't. Peter giggled, then released a squeak when she poked at the softest part of his stomach.

If Peter had been a luckier man, the pair might've concluded around there. He rarely was, though, so of course they weren't done. MJ's next statement sealed his fate.

"We should lift his arms," she suggested to Miguel, and Peter nearly broke into a cold sweat. He didn't say a word as they guided his limbs. Miguel raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic silence.

"Hold on, are you nervous?" he had to ask, curious amusement coloring his tone.

"Wha- No! I'm just... getting tired?" Not entirely false, but not convincing either.

Indirectly calling his bluff, MJ reached out a hand, watching Peter's eyes. He anxiously tracked her slow approach, worsening the suspense for himself. Abruptly, Miguel inched forward, and Peter would've flinched if he'd been able. There was no way to track both of them.

Not that it mattered, once the tickling restarted.

"NOHOT THEHEHERE!" Peter screeched after a swear unbecoming of the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. MJ's nails scribbled at his left underarm, while Miguel's thumb massaged his right hollow. “DOHON'T- I CAHAHAN’T!" He wanted to thrash, but he couldn't even manage a twitch. "PLEHEHEHEASE!” It was a maddening experience. Being tied up had nothing on this.

If only he could lower his arms, or twist away, or struggle at all. It didn't help that he was just too damn ticklish in that spot. Miguel and MJ exploited his weakness in distinctly different ways, and thus it didn't take long at all for the contrasting sensations to overwhelm him.

As soon as tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks, they both pulled back to let him breathe.

“Alright there, Tiger?” MJ pet his hair, a hint of worry entering her voice.

“…Could I get some water?”

His partners relaxed, and Miguel nodded. “Be right back.” He returned a minute later with a bottle and towel, first wiping Peter’s face, then sitting him up on the pillows, then carefully lifting the bottle to his lips.

“Thanks,” Peter said after a long drink. “You two are weirdly diabolical.” He glanced at MJ. “Especially you.”

“Just means you have a type,” MJ countered smoothly.

"Hot and sadistic?"

"You said it, not me~"

And then before his brain could stop his mouth-

"Just as ticklish, too." Why would he say that.

Miguel's eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You know, we’ve still got time before the venom wears off.”

“Doesn’t seemed like he’s really learned his lesson, huh?”

Peter squeaked when something soft caressed his ear. MJ had a feather… no, make that two.

“W-When did you get those?!” He watched helplessly as she handed the second feather to Miguel.

“Aww, did you think I came unprepared? I knew you’d talk back enough to earn this~”

And then both feathers were twirling inside his ears, and he could only squeal for mercy.

[qqueenofhades]

One of my favourite Sandman lore pieces I absorbed via tumblr is how, when Dream is having great sex, all the dreamers get to have glorious lustful dreams. Dream really is getting laid and making it everybody else's problem. Magnificent.

Dr. Robert Gadling is whistling an extremely cheery tune as he unlocks his office door -- which, if you had had the night he did, you would be whistling too, or possibly even clicking your heels like a demented leprechaun and wishing top o' the morning to everyone who passed. He's not doing that, but he's definitely feeling extremely good, and he sails inside, pulls up the blinds, boots up his computer, and prepares to answer some emails while he waits to see if anyone's actually going to come to office hours. It's always hit or miss, and then four days later they send a panicked question at midnight that they could have just, you know, asked. In person, in a timely fashion, when he definitely will not bite. He will never understand undergraduates.

Hob keeps the door propped open as usual, thus to project a warm and welcoming attitude, and after he's trudged through the first tranche of emails, he glances up to see one of his students loitering in the hall as if she's about to come in -- then, catching sight of him, turning scarlet and racing off at top speed. This is bewildering, since she's usually among the more talkative of the bunch, but Hob writes it off. At least until he sees several more students hovering in the hallway, who all vamoose the instant he sticks his head out to see if they need anything. This is decidedly peculiar, and he sighs deeply, grabs his mug, and heads down the hall to the faculty lounge, thus to raid it for a cup of coffee. Even more emails (and oh joy, expense reports) await, and he could use the fortification.

When he steps inside, his colleagues Bryan (Economics and Politics in Modern Germany) and Amita (Women, Caste, and Religious Practice in Precolonial India) both immediately turn bright red, clear their throats, and engage in a slightly too-loud conversation about the weather (which, given as this is London, is exactly what you think it is). Hob eyes them curiously, since while bizarre behavior is understandable from students, it is somewhat less so from lecturers. "Hey, guys," he says. "Anything up?"

"Er." Bryan is staring fixedly at the floor, while Amita has become unaccountably fascinated by the raindrops rolling down the window. "Nope. No. Everything normal, Rob. Entirely usual."

"Right," Hob says slowly, having the feeling of a man who has walked into a cave and found something large and furry that he should try not to disturb. "That's just me going, then. If I could sneak past you for the coffee pot, that'd be great -- "

He pours himself some coffee, departs in haste, and almost bowls over Philippa, Head of Department, in the hallway outside. They spring backward like a pair of opposing magnets, he manages to avoid dousing her in boiling hot coffee, and as he apologizes, notices that she is likewise determinedly not looking him in the eye and addressing a spot in midair over his head as she insists that it's fine. What the actual hell. Has everyone in Goldsmiths lost their bloody minds?

The insanely weird character of Hob's day, and the fact that even the clerk at Superdrug seems to cough unaccountably while ringing him up, remains a mystery until he gets home, finds an eager Dream Lord waiting for him already, and they get extremely distracted even before Hob can make dinner. Afterward, as they're lying half-clothed and decadent on the bed, Hob murmurs, "Well, glad you at least can stand to look at me, love. Had a very odd time of it today."

Dream's expression assumes a furtive, guilty quality. He rolls onto his back, head still pillowed luxuriantly on Hob's stomach, and stares up at the ceiling. "Ah," he says, after a very long pause. "About that."

(Two minutes of a deeply humiliating explanation later, Hob screeches, "YOU BLOODY DID WHAT?" Dream apologizes profusely and promises not to do it again. Hob does, of course, have classes and commitments for the rest of the semester, but hopefully it's not too late to change his name, once more fake his death, and move to Australia. Except, of course, they dreamed of him there too. Horrible.)

[bullet-prooflove]

Could you write a crossover story featuring Beau/Ally and Harm/Savanna?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @keyweegirlie @snowlover250 @kenbechillin @@too-strong-to-lose @buckysteveloki-me @sca3a @flopiboni @secretsquirrelinc @@sportslovers-world @burningpeachpuppy @mandy426 @@al-lethan @thiashazzywriting @justameresimp @agentorange9595 @lxaah11 @librarian1002 @imaginecrushes @flrboyd @areamir @b-bradshaw @adaydreamaway08 @crimeshowjunkie @inkandarsenic @caffeinatedwoman @tortilla-maria1 @lemmons1998 @dr-alan-grantler @penguin876 @deliriousfangirl61 @goosterroose @kishie8 @skyesthebomb @marshmallowflufffox @whateversomethingbruh @4everademigod @notanotherpotter @yousigned-upforthis @silversprings-mp3

Ladies and gents we got ourselves a crossover! Refs to both Ally's career in JAG and Beau being a flyboy.

It’s in a park by The Naval Yard that Mac first sees Harm again. It’s been nine years since she last laid eyes on him and he still looks as handsome as the day he packed his bag and walked out the door.  He’s standing alongside the coffee kiosk, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark overcoat as he surveys the menu board fixed the outer wall.

She doesn’t expect to see him back in Washington DC, the last she heard he was seeing a girl down in New Orleans, spending all his shore leave celebrating Jazzfest and Madri Grais. That man, she’d thought at the time, he’ll never grow up.  

She hasn’t had a single successful relationship since she left Harmon Rabb and she blames him for that. She blames him for a lot of things. The two of them had made a pact when they’d flipped that coin, he was supposed to stay out of the service, live life as a civilian in San Diego. They’d get married, have a couple of kids.

It had worked for a while but then he’d run into Ally again and it had all started to fall apart. The Admiral's Wife, Mac calls her, because she’d married Beau Simpson a decade ago, the rear admiral in charge of the Top Gun program.

Harm had been her mentor when she was coming up through JAG. He’s walked her down the aisle when she had married Beau at sunset in Cape Rey. Mac remembers she’d been a ferocious little thing, tenacious and fierce in the face of adversity. She packed a hell of a punch in the court room. Mac should know, she’d run up against her a couple of times since taking the promotion in San Diego.

“She’s as good as you.” Mac had told Harm over dinner one night. “And just as infuriating.”

“No.” Harm had responded, sipping from his beer bottle. “She’s better.”

It was Ally that had urged Harm to rejoin the Navy, her and Beau. Mac couldn’t see how unhappy he was at the time, she hadn’t understood it, not really. She remembers the day he’d come home from the airfield, eyes bright with exhilaration. He’d been out flying again with Beau, the two of them were like boys with toys once they got up in the sky. Testing boundaries, playing wargames, showing off. He always ended up at their home afterwards, talking cases over dinner with Ally or swapping war stories with Beau. He would come home with a smile on his face, smelling of cigar smoke, tasting of whiskey.

“I’m re-enlisting.” He’s told her that night after he stepped out of the shower. “It’s a different commission from JAG, it won’t mess up our agreement.”

He was wrong, it had been the end of everything. The posting that Beau had offered him meant he was away on aircraft carriers for six months out of the year, flying jets and sailing ships, the two things he loved most in the world.

Mac had hated him for that, she hated Beau and Ally for giving him that option because now she was the one left behind. The lonely one, the sad one.

It had lasted one deployment.

By the time the next one came up, it was over.   

It was a way of punishing him at the time, she’d expected him to resign his commission, come back with his tail between his legs, but he hadn’t. He’d packed a bag instead and gone to stay with Ally and Beau before shipping out to the USS Allegiance, she hadn’t seen him since. She’d heard stories over the years from mutual friends, places he’d been, women he was seeing. He’d become the Harm she used to know, the one without ties or commitments.

She had always believed they would find their way back to each other. Nine years and thousands of miles later, it’s finally happening on a rainy day in Washington DC.

She doesn’t realise how wrong she is, not until she sees you. You’re hurrying towards him, gesturing with your hands, your voice full of apology. He smiles then, and it’s that smile that completely obliterates her. She’s never seen him smile like that, not in all the years she’s known him.

You’re nothing special, not really. She’d call you pretty as opposed to beautiful, a step down from the women he usually covets. You aren’t military, she can tell from your walk, but you carry, she can see it in the way your coat drapes. Law enforcement then, she assumes. Most likely NCIS.

Strong women, she recalls. That’s what Harm’s attracted to, strong capable women.

It’s when he kisses you, she knows that it’s real. When he cradles your face between his large hands, there’s such tenderness in his expression. He looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world and her heart just breaks. He’s loved before, she realises in that moment but he’s never been in love, not until you.

Her eyes start to sting because for all these years she’s clung to this hope, this stupid ridiculous dream that the two of them were meant for each other. She’d imagined that they’d bump into one another, their eyes would lock and it would be like it was back then. Nights filled with fire and passion, their days adventure and laughter.

That life, it isn’t a reality anymore.

It’s clear that Harm’s moved on and it’s time that Mac does too.

Love Harm? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[slutforsnow]

DJ & His Jackalope

I wrote this on Discord yesterday because I was thinking of angst for Hazbin OCs lmfao. The OC, Firah, however, DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. She has been created by @salem_crossing! Salem can be found on TikTok & Twitter 🫶🏼

The battle was over. The remaining exorcists were fleeing with their now one armed leader, Lute, leaving behind a deceased Adam and other exorcist angels. The staff of the hotel were catching their breaths, impressed that most of them live but something felt wrong. Robin felt like something was missing, and once the adrenaline started slowing down, they realized something was wrong. Vex wasn't anywhere in sight. Feeling her worry rise, she immediately ran through the scene, Robin weaved her way through rubble and dead bodies, sniffing them to find Vex.

'He couldn't be dead, could he? No, no, not my Vex. We've survived a decade's worth of exterminations, he's fine,' She thought, feeling her hooves slam against some sharp rubble. The pain stung, but they kept going, having picked up on Vexs scent at last. Being a jackalope demon, as well as a cannibal, definitely had its perks because she could tell he wasn't dead. Severely injured, but not dead.

They saw his hand under a piece of rubble and came to a screeching halt. Digging her way to him, she was grateful jackalopes could dig well. Hearing him groan, as he could feel the pressure of the rubble decreasing, Robin dug faster, and eventually, he could pull himself out. With her help, he freed himself, and Robin's gaze was immediately pulled to a gaping hole where his liver should've been.

"Oh my stars, Vex, we have to get you to Charlie or Lucifer," Robin yelled out, trying to pull him up.

"Robin," the 16-year-old grunted out, holding his injury as best as he could as Robin tried to lift him. She ignored him, trying to focus on getting him at least up.

"Robin," Vex uttered again, lifting his head to rest on her shoulder. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"No, no, no, I said you're staying with me until all 9 rings of Hell get wiped out fully. You're not leaving me. We just have to get up and get you to the Morningstars. You'll be okay. Y-you can even sing the song you made for me afterward!" She said, trying her hardest to lift him up, but to no avail. The highest she got was almost halfway up before the two tumbled down. Vex was lying on the ground, and Robin was on her knees, holding his hand and trying to stop the bleeding crying and begging for him to keep his eye open.

Her forehead was gently laid upon his as Vexs breathing started to slow. All hope would've been lost had Alastor not found his & Firahs child crying and holding Vex begging for something to happen... and something did. Alastor worked a little magic, and his shadow had gotten to work, sewing up the surgically enhanced teenage sinner.

Robin finally lifted her head up when Vexs breathing resumed its steady pace and seeing the stitches, she looked up, smiling weakly at her dad as Firah, who had been searching a different area for Robin until Alastor had slipped into the shadows and brought her to where he was, knelt down to Robin, pulling her into her arms.

"He's going to be okay, darling," Firah reassured, pulling a piece of rubble from Robin's hair. "He'll be good as new."

Robin met both her parent's gazes before looking down at Vex as Alastors shadow disappeared. "I hope so... I don't wanna let him go..."

[lullabyes22-blog]

Viktor and Silco saying I love you to their s/o for the first time. What initiates the three magic words and where in the relationship are they at?

Viktor: You've known each other for a while. Perhaps it's even been close to a decade, and you've worked side by side on the Hex-tech together, plenty of late-nighters and lots of coffee and skipped sleep to crack the code of the crystals. At first, he saw you merely as a colleague, but as time passed and your dedication proved equal to his own, his matter-of-factness shaded into respect.

Then one day you saw him collapse in the laboratory, from overwork and general exhaustion. The gentle but unfussy way you set about helping him and calling for Jayce to get a medick was... unexpected. He's so accustomed to living in his head, blinkers on and mind on the goal, that it didn't occur to him that his well-being mattered so much to you.

Thus your relationship begins deepening. You still work long hours in the lab, but he finds himself noticing little details about you, from a different way you've done your hair in the morning, to the childhood books you mentioned enjoying, to a particular way you fix your coffee. Soon, he starts to look forward to seeing you first thing in the morning, and talking to you last thing at night. You have little inside jokes; you can catch his eye and know from a glance whether he thinks Jayce has been droning on too long during a speech, or whether that Councilor is a small-minded pig.

One day, during a late-nighter, you refill his coffee, and hand him a report that you've found particularly intriguing. He nods along, eyes skimming the report, coffee midway to his lips.

"I love you," he says, with the same soft certainty as Thank you.

Because he is thankful for you, every single day, in the lab and out of it.

You've made his life, otherwise difficult and full of pain, so much sweeter to bear.

Silco: He's not a sentimental man. He's not a kind man. He's not even a particularly good man. Love is leverage, and its exploitation is a cold generality. He's only got room for Jinx in his heart. That's already more weakness than is tolerable, but it can't be helped, because she is his, and he'll never forsake what he's laid claim to.

So his feelings for you come as a shock.

You're an ally at most, as asset at best. Your work for Zaun is invaluable, and your dedication is admirable. But he keeps his mind on the big picture, and your are just a thread in that tapestry. Yet he finds your presence at once invigorating and calming. You don't suck up his valuable time. You add to it, with the work you do for him, with the counsel you respectfully impart to him, with the hundred small ways you make sure his role as kingpin and as leader is made one iota easier. Heavy is the head that wears the metaphoric crown - and his crown of thorns pricks more than he cares to admit.

His fondness for you will deepen when you rush to share intel about a compromised mission - one where Jinx might get hurt, or worse. After the fallout is contained, and no casualties are reported, he'll summon you to his office to thank you personally for your quick thinking. He'll assume, with default cynicism, that you'd want something in return.

Your response - "To help you achieve Zaun," - will take him aback.

In private, he may begin calling you Stalwart Little Soldier. But once in a blue moon, he'd also call you Sweetheart. He's a busy man, so he won't always have time for you. But when you're together, you'll notice a smile at the corners of his mouth, a relaxation to the slant of his shoulders. He feels at ease with you. Better still, he feels like you can watch his back.

As he will watch yours.

So it should come as no surprise that when a rival gang attempts to have you killed to send the Eye of Zaun a message, his response is to have his crew blaze a bloody warpath through the streets and cut the threats down. Afterward, you find yourself lying on the couch is his office, bruised and battered but otherwise intact.

His hands are smoothing your hair; his eyes hold a pindot focus.

"Your attackers are dead," he means to say. What comes out is, "I love you."

He's as taken aback as you are. This is how your story starts - not how it ends.

[littlesparklight]

The timeline I've constructed for my Greek myth fic 'verse has been a gradual process (and labour. so, so much labour sobs), and I wish I'd realized earlier I could use Herakles' age of death to help guide how many years I'd at the least need to put in between his birth and when Perseus kills Medusa. As it was I've had to move things earlier than Herakles' birth back by several decades at least once!

You'd think Herakles' Labours would be useful as a guideline, which they are. Sort of. Because the thing is, as fantastically ordered and neatly laid-out as the Labours and the other events afterwards are (sort of) laid out in the Bibliotheke (which is so helpful in general), I quickly had to just discard not just the order of the Labours but the idea that they happen in twelve years consecutively.

Mostly (but not only) because of the last one, with Kerberos. It needs to coincide with Theseus and Pirithous' attempt at kidnapping Persephone, which happens right after Pirithous has helped Theseus kidnap Helen - and Helen is conventionally between 9-12 years old when this happens. (Later I also realized that Odysseus needed to be somewhere between 16-20 years old when he got the bow from Iphthius right before Herakles murders him, which, fortunately, by happenstance my timeline as it was at that point could accommodate without changing any ages or moving any events!)

What's actually been really helpful as a guideline is the journey of the Argo (but even that isn't without problems (': ) and the events around it.

Given who all are most often considered a participant in the journey, it was obvious I needed to put the Calydonian boar hunt after it - specifically Akastos always being alive and on the journey, and still only a prince, therefore Peleus accidentally killing his father in law (during the hunt) and coming to Iolkos to be purified by Akastos and the mess that happens because of this cannot have happened yet.

So you have a neat connection of events, presumably in very short order after each other; the journey, the funeral games of Pelias, the hunt, Peleus going to Iolkos (and losing his wife); Peleus and Thetis' wedding. I put these within a collective two year span, of which the journey takes up most of one year.

I completely ignored that the goddesses always seem to go to Paris immediately after the wedding. It makes just as much sense, and worked better for character and timeline and age reasons, that Zeus would drag the whole thing out. Plus with the Dioskouroi as part of the journey they'd been to be teens at least.

I early on settled on a rather simple way to chop things up; the journey of the Argo is ~15 years before the start of the war (because of Achilles' age at the first muster), and Herakles' attack on Troy ended up being 39 years before the war. I think I originally had it be 30 years before but pushed it up.

I reaaallyy quickly decided I'd go with what other myths as well as the vase painting suggests when it comes to the Dioskouroi; that they're older than Helen (and Klytaimnestra). It makes more sense, so they've ended up being nine years older than Helen.

I had to fight a lot with both the myths and my timeline to try to figure out where to put Tyndareos' exile/Hippokoon usurping him.

You could probably put it much earlier than I did (especially if you're ignoring that Herakles' attacking Sparta is part of his post-Labours wars/events), since all that you need is that the Labour to fetch Geryones cattle has happened. One of the reasons given for the attack on Sparta is that Sparta/Hippokoon helped Pylos when Herakles attacked it to avenge himself of Neleus and his sons attempting to steal the cattle.

If you put it earlier, then all the kids are presumably born in Sparta (though I do know I've read a source that imply the Doskouroi were actually born during the exile...). I put Hippokoon's usurpation rather late, in conjunction with Helen and Klytaimnestra's births, so they're actually born in Pleuron (where I put exiled Tyndareos and his family). The whole family comes back to Sparta/Lakedaimon in my timeline only shortly before Helen is kidnapped by Theseus, when she's ten.

And Agamemnon and Menelaus come to Sparta for a year a couple years later, first spending time in Sikyon and then Calydon (to match up with that Aegisthos kills Atreus when he's "grown to manhood". But I've actually cheated a little and he's like... fourteen or something, but I couldn't have this happen later.

so basically: 1231 BC - The judgement, Paris goes to Sparta. He's twenty, Helen twenty four, Menelaos thirty. (In 1235 BC, the Epigoni attack Thebes, ten years after the Seven did so.) Seven years before the judgement, in 1238 BC, Helen and Menelaos marry; she's seventeen. Menelaos and Agamemnon are exiled from Mycenae between 1244-1240 BC; they spend the first couple years in Sikyon and Kalydon, until Tyndareos, sympathetic to their plight (and probably having had their character vouched for by Oeneus, since, uh, Helen's abduction by Theseus was just the year before they were exiled), offers to help them. They spend a year (between 1241-1240) in Sparta; at the end Tyndareos lends military aid to retake Mycenae and Agamemnon marries Klytaimnestra. In 1245 BC, the Seven attack Thebes early in the year and, too several campaigns of Herakles means Tyndareos can take control of Lakedaimon again. Later in the year, Helen (10) is kidnapped by Theseus and Pirithous, they then attempt to kidnap Persephone and are imprisoned. Peleus and Thetis marry the year before that, in 1246 BC, right at the start of the year; I liked the idea that he attempted for a couple months to woo her before the wrestling happens (and it also means a little time to perhaps grieve his wife committing suicide), so the mess with Akastos, the Calydonian boar hunt, and the funeral games of Pelias all happen in 1247 BC. Thus, the journey of the Argonauts are during 1248 BC, with the Dioskouroi 16 years old. At this point they're obviously still living in Pleuron, and have been for several years, as Hippokoon usurped him in 1255 BC, when they were 9.

I partially chose Pleuron because well, it'd make rather sense for Tyndareos to take refuge with his father in law, and because there is actually quite a lot of connection between Ikarios and a section of Akarnania (west of Aetolia, where Pleuron is). Which I decided to lean into, so that when Tyndareos goes back to Lakedaimon, Ikarios and his family stays, having been given land of their own in Akarnania.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

A tiefling Artificer splits a large stone on a beach to discover a one handed-wizard inside.

Pairing - OC/Gale & Shadowheart/Lae'zel but there will be more as it goes on.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Or read Chapter Eleven below

“You were meant to return to the astral, with me,” Lae’zel reminded Xan. “These were carefully laid plans, and should not be discarded on a whim.”

“It’s not a whim, mother,” Xan had adopted more of Shadowheart’s mannerisms than her own. Sometimes, Lae’zel found it charming, moving even. Sometimes, especially when they were in disagreement with one another, she thought it was easier to speak to him without looking straight at him, a habit she wouldn’t allow with anyone else.

But Xan was different. Everything about Xan had always been different. A shining, burning, sometimes painful exception. Lae’zel found her emotions to be broader and nearer to the surface when she was with her child. To look at him, and watch him flit gracefully from one manipulation to the next with such natural skill was to risk tearing up for seemingly no reason at all. Unacceptable. It was better to make eye contact with the wall.

“And I still will return with you. Surely, you didn’t plan to rush away. Not after all this time.”

He had her there, but she could never admit it.

“It could be a tense meeting, hostile even. I should accompany them to make sure Rolan receives them in the spirit he should.” Xan shrugged, “we understand each other, Rolan and I. We’ve been through a lot of the same—” here Xan started to lose his words he finally waved a hand dismissively, the gesture seemed to say ‘you know’ and she did know. The same time, the same history, the same world.

Xan had no siblings, no cousins even, as all in his clutch had hatched before him and been strangers to him for his entire life. Rolan though, he’d been around, and at times, took on a role that Lae’zel thought could be analogous to that of an older siblings in the culturally homogeneous family units of Faerûn.  One half of his home and his heart.

“I don’t know,” Shadowheart usually let the two of them argue without her input. She’d have her say one on one with each of them afterwards, if she felt it was necessary. Even now, she’d only been observing them from atop her bed. She sat cross-legged, almost sentinel. A lovely white cat that Lae’zel hadn’t recognized as one from the farm was draped over Shadowheart’s lap, tail tickling her contentedly as she stroked it’s head, and scratched his neck.

Lae’zel in contrast, was still in the doorway. It was something of a bad habit of hers—to block the way of egress during an argument. She didn’t do it on purpose, but still found herself reluctant to move out of the way. It felt like relinquishing ground.

Then again, it wasn’t like Xan wouldn’t just push past her when it came down to it.

This argument wasn’t heated though. And she doubted it would become so. Lae’zel didn’t want Xan to leave with the injured wizard and suspiciously helpful stranger, but she wouldn’t stop him. Xan was very much a man. His mothers could tell him what they wanted him to do, but he’d already spent a lifetime ignoring their wishes and they were all quite used to that dynamic.

“If only the portal was a little closer.” Shadowheart stroked the cat’s ears.

Xan rolled his eyes in a way that might have gotten him chastised a few decades ago. “It’s barely a days’ hike.”

“An injured companion can easily turn a day’s journey into a tendays’ journey,” Lae’zel didn’t have to tell him that, he knew well enough without her sage wisdom.

“He’s as recovered as he’ll ever be, thanks to mum,” Xan indicated Shadowheart with a slight nod, “Besides, you didn’t see what his tiefling did this afternoon.”

“What did Elion do?” Shadowheart gathered up the shed cat fur in one hand and brushed it away.

“Crafted a rather unique prosthetic for him. It won’t work like a real hand, but it can grip, and I think the wizard will make use of its tricks.” 

“Are you determined to leave us again, so soon?” Shadowheart briefly met Lae’zel’s eyes before she spoke. Perhaps she was waiting to see if her wife was really giving up so easily.

She was. Lae’zel restrained a sigh.

“It will be quick. I’m sure we’ll have a good bit of time to all waste here together as a family as soon as I get back.” Xan’s shoulders relaxed, maybe he hadn’t been aware how close he was to victory until this moment. Perhaps Lae’zel wasn’t softening quite as much as it felt.

“I’d still feel safer if it wasn’t just you and three unknown quantities,” Shadowheart gave an exaggerated exhale and then said, rather performatively, “if only there were a reliable dagger for hire in the area looking for work who I could send with your group for a modest fee.”

The cat slunk off her lap, stretched and bounded out of the room.

Lae’zel watched the cat go out of the corner of her eye and then sliced her narrowing gaze back over to her wife, interrogating her with a tight-jawed stare.

“Haven’t you figured it out?” asked Shadowheart in undertone. “He never lets me so much as hug him when he’s in his true form. And if I want a cuddle I have to pretend I don’t know it's him.”

“Astarion?!” Xan demanded in a hiss.

“Arabella isn’t the only one who’s tried to sneak about amongst my clowder unnoticed.”

“I thought that animal looked familiar,” Lae’zel thought back, but it had probably been nearly twenty years since she’d seen Astarion in his cat form.

“When did he learn to wildshape?” Xan demanded, “was I the only one who didn’t know?”

“Probably. Arabella helped him connect with a past life. A druid. Wildshape is actually more convenient than the animal forms he could take on if he were a true vampire, sunlight and running water don’t hurt him when he’s in wildshape,” Shadowheart still kept her voice low, “but don’t say anything, as much as he likes to show off, he’s actually done a decent job keeping it out of the rumors and his reputation, and I think it makes it that much easier and safer for him to catch people unaware—” Shadowheart cut herself off as footfalls approached from outside the bedchamber.

Lae’zel stepped into the hallway and almost ran directly into Astarion’s grinning face.

“Ah! Lae’zel of Crèche K'liir, you look well,” he stepped back with a flourish and bent at the waist in a quick bow.

“Old friend! Happened to be in the area, I suppose?” Lae’zel asked, trying not to grin back at him.

“I did in fact! And you know Moonhaven Anew is all abuzz about the charming half-elf cleric and her ravishing githyanki wife, and I thought, what are the chances?”

“Indeed. Please come in,”

“Why, thank you.”

In many ways, Astarion’s unchangeable nature emphasized just how much Lae’zel and Shadowheart, and especially Xan, had changed. One hundred years had spread gray and silver through Lae’zel’s hair, lined her face, and stiffened her back, if not bent it. Shadowheart too, showed her age in the tired moments between graceful bursts of energy that sometimes fooled others.

But, Astarion was Astarion. The difference of a hundred years manifested mainly in self-confidence, which he’d never appeared to lack, but time and consistency and his own well-being had made it less of a costume he wore and more of a fixed point in his personality. Lae’zel didn’t know if she actually looked ‘well’ but Astarion definitely did. 

“Why Astarion, it’s been an age, how are you?” Shadowheart scooted down from the bed, sweeping the rest of the cathair aside and straightening the fall of her robes.

“Well as can be. I do hope my favorite extra-astral family is just as remarkable as ever? Xan! Towering over everyone as usual, I see.”

Xan nodded in Astarion’s direction in greeting.

“What brings you back to this forgotten corner of the Sword Coast?” Lae’zel thought she might as well play along. Shadowheart cringed slightly. Her performance must not be very convincing.

“Nothing much, to be honest,” Astarion shrugged elegantly, “a bit of freelance work that wrapped up quicker than expected. So, I thought I would detour through some old memories.” He spread his gloved hands out on either side, indicating the sanctum around them, “I was quite sure this place would be rubble by now, but it’s almost liveable.”

“Almost,” Shadowheart emphasized.

“What do you think about accompanying our erstwhile son on another detour to Ramazith Tower?” Lae’zel faced Astarion with arms crossed, keeping Xan in the side of her gaze well enough to see him roll his eyes yet again.

Astarion’s grin widened, “You’re so straightforward. I’ve always admired that about you.” He fell into an exaggerated contrapposto and rested his jaw on one gloved hand, thinking. “As it happens, my social calendar is quite light at the moment, so I certainly could. But, alternatively?” He scoffed, “Rolan.”

“You would have to see Rolan,” Shadowheart nodded gravely.

“It’s not even that I dislike him,” Astarion started to defend himself, “I like Rolan—I just think there’s a strong possibility that I like everyone else who I also like, more than I like Rolan.”

“Perfectly explained,” Lae’zel couldn’t have put it better herself. “He does make it difficult.”

With a slight smile Shadowheart chided, “yes, there’s nothing quite so irritating as someone who is arrogant, clever, infinitely talented, and also rarely wrong.”

“Exactly! The audacity.” Astarion agreed. Lae’zel wasn’t sure she was with him any longer, but at least they had found their chaperone.

“Shouldn’t I be consulted on this?” Xan sighed. Lae’zel hadn’t exactly forgotten that he was in the room, but he was doing that hatchling thing again where he shrank back against the wall and shut out the rest of the room, moody and isolated. She’d found it was best not to pull him back into conversation when he was trying to shrink from it, and this had served their relationship well over the last century.

“No,” Lae’zel said the word in unison with her wife.

“It’s not up to you,” Shadowheart told him firmly. “You’re a grown man who can make your own choices. You’ve chosen to go on this little adventure and there’s nothing your mother or I can do to stop you. But you can’t stop me hiring Astarion to either accompany or stalk you to Ramazith tower. I’m simply allowing you the courtesy of knowing that’s what’s happening,” she informed him.

“I prefer stalk,” Astarion shot Xan a wink, “you’ll want to travel during the day anyway, so it isn’t as though I can walk next to you and chat.”

“Well, you’re welcome to. Either way.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m a little light on gold, but I have an item you might find valuable…” Shadowheart made her way over the wardrobe and began to sift through its contents.

Lae’zel realized she still hadn’t unpacked anything. Her pack was on the ground by the door, speckled with silver ghaik blood. “I can supplement your fee,” she picked up the pack and opened it, remembering a few things she’d collected that she knew she wouldn’t need. “Scrolls of misty-step,” she handed them to Astarion, with his thanks and he slipped them into his own pack.

“Oh,” she found one more shoved into the bottom of the bag, “this one is valuable. But I imagine you’ll find a use for it before I do.” She put another tightly bound scroll into his hand.

Curious, Astarion frowned at it, then unfurled it just enough to read, “Benign Transposition? Interesting.”

“Only works on the willing,” she warned.

“I work alone, most of the time, but I can imagine it will come in handy,” Astarion slipped the scroll into his pack and turned to where Shadowheart was still rummaging through the wardrobe. “Your wife has quite covered my fee. Consider me engaged. Though, I won’t say no to more tokens of appreciation.”

“Well—there is one thing—it’s for you,” Shadowheart let out a soft grunt as she dug deeper into the back of the wardrobe. “Traveling merchant I’ve run into a few times let me have it at a bargain. I knew I had to get it for you.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t get too excited. I told him I was in the market for artifacts that made life easier for vampires. Most of the really good stuff is infamous, accounted for, and impossible to procure—”

“Don’t I know it.”

“But, he did have this. It’s not the intended purpose, but in a pinch, it’s meant to protect you from imminent combustion. I gather it was originally some kind of safety measure meant for Artificers working with explosives.” Shadowheart finally closed her fingers on the item she was describing in the midst of her wardrobe, Lae’zel could tell, though she was only watching her rummage from behind. She gave herself away with her body-language, her back muscles finally uncoiling as her shoulders dropped, task complete. She turned back around and briefly held up a golden ring for Astarion to look at, before she dropped it into his waiting palm.

“Oh?” Astarion said again, inspecting the ring with a raised eyebrow over one open eye before he slipped one glove off to find which finger the ring would belong to. “A sunburn countermeasure?”

“He says it should work the same way for a vampire spawn in the sun, yes. Something about measuring the threat of heating flesh rather than the ambient heat itself and relocating them somewhere safe? He was vague as to where that would be though. It’s only meant for emergencies. I gather it doesn’t so much solve the problem of the sun, as it creates a different, more solvable problem of being quite lost somewhere. It won’t protect you from the sun like the tadpole.”

“How mysterious.”

“You might just want to keep it on hand.” Shadowheart suggested.

“What a thoughtful gift. Thank you, my dear.”

It was only then that Lae’zel noticed that Xan had slunk away sometime in the last few minutes. She wondered if she ought to go after him, but Astarion seemed to read her thoughts. He caught her eye and shook his head, “I’ll go have a chat with your son. We should have some contingencies worked out ahead of time, in case something goes wrong on the way to this portal.”

“Contingencies?”

“He’ll have to come up with them,” Astarion sighed, “I’m better at improvisation.” He swanned out of the room as casually as he entered it.

Shadowheart had begun sighing at the same time as Astarion but didn’t quite finish until after he’d left. Her eyes were closed and her head bowed slightly. Lae’zel recognized that stance with a pang of sympathy.

“Headache?”

“Neck,” Shadowheart qualified in undertone. “It’s been a long day.”

“Get in bed then.”

“You do love telling me what to do,” but Shadowheart opened her eyes again and slowly her lips spread into a wide smile. “I missed you.”

Lae’zel almost said it back automatically, but found the words knotted in her throat. It wasn’t enough to express how she felt. For Shadowheart it had been a few months since they saw one another, but for Lae’zel it had been much longer. She tried not to dwell on how long. It just worked that way sometimes. Often, the other way around, where Lae’zel would only seem to be gone a few days by her own reckoning, but Shadowheart would be left wondering where she was for tendays at a time. “I think I’m staying for good, this time,” she’d thought it before, but she’d never said it outloud.

Shadowheart’s eyes widened, her brow arching high only to sink into a knit, “really?”

“I wouldn’t tease this.”

For a moment the time they’d spent together fell back like a curtain and Lae’zel remembered the uncertain, vulnerable young woman that Prisia had rescued from a pod on a mindflayer’s ship, against Lae’zel’s protests. She’d seen it and been numb to it at the time, totally unable to bring herself to act on any lingering feelings of empathy that hadn’t been stripped from her in her youth.

It had all worked the way it was meant to. Shadowheart had been so guarded at the time, she wasn’t in any position to accept comfort, even if Lae’zel had been willing and able to offer it at the time.

But after a hundred years, it still felt like they were making up for it sometimes.

Honestly, it was quite a nice feeling.

Shadowheart melted back against the bed as Lae’zel closed the gap between them. Her thin legs sank in between Shadowheart’s easily and she folded into her, each hand finding purchase on her hips first, pulling her body into place underneath her. Shadowheart let out the smallest gasp that turned into a contented sigh as Lae’zel feigned a kiss to the lips just to begin nuzzling her throat in earnest. Shadowheart let her carry on, her hands exploring the taut muscles and gentle curve off her back and flitting under her clothing. Taking her time. They had a lot of time, and yet never enough.

“You’re right,” Shadowheart finally sighed again. “No more adventures for us. Let’s just spend the rest of our lives like this.”

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

First time/in a while

Warnings: smut

Y/n was procrastinating in their bed as they couldn’t stop thinking about their next door neighbor Renfield. His blue kind eyes greeting them each time the two saw each other. After seeing the fight with Teddy’s gang, they fell for him even more

It was innocent thoughts at first, but after seeing that fight the innocent thoughts had became become very naughty. They couldn’t stop imagining him coming onto their chest as he moaned their name. Him thrusting into them at an abnormal speed. There was a problem with them thinking these thoughts, they’ve never had sex in their life

Y/n was quite embarrassed to admit to any guy they were a virgin since most of the time the guys wanted someone experienced. They had doubts that their neighbor Renfield also had these same feelings, which wasn’t true. He craved to touch them, but was scared since it had been so many decades since he’s last had sex

The thought actually kinda scared him, but he was open to doing it again. There was a knock on their apartment door as they found themselves touching themself to relieve them from their arousal. Y/n let’s out moans that he could hear clearly

He had figured that perhaps someone had gotten to them before he could. He was about to walk back to his apartment, when he heard them moan his name. He decided to knock louder, which makes them stop touching themselves. They washed their hands before they answered the door

Once the door was open, Y/n had realized who it was. Their face was red now; “I’m sorry for coming over at a time like this Y/n. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship and last time I was in one, I ended up ditching my wife and my daughter” he explains since they knew this had to do with him being Dracula’s apprentice

“So please do tell me if you want this to go any further, because I would like to do things with you…” he adds, which makes them kiss him on his lips. He returns the kiss as each other’s bodies moved away from the door

He had shut the door behind him, and soon he was pressed against the wall. He pulls apart, and was blushing like crazy. “This is my first time anyway. So it’s okay if you’re rusty” they said as they let go of his wrist now

“Are you sure?” They nodded their head as they take his hand into theirs. They lead him to their bedroom now, and once the two were in their room, they started to take their clothes off. He watches as they take their clothes off

Once they were fully naked, they get onto their bed now. He laid down next to them once naked. His lips are on theirs, and he finds himself comfortably on top of them. He hadn’t entered them yet, because he was scared of hurting them

He was gonna wait for them to reassure him that they did want this. They pulled apart for air, and got lost in his eyes. “Should I go ahead and go in, or?” He asked genuinely. “Go ahead Ren” they said, which makes him go into them

He lets them adjust to him first and waited for them to tell him to go ahead and fuck them. He notices a bug, and then takes it. Once he ate the bug, he starts going at their pussy. It was like he knew it would be what they wanted

“Fuck!” They moaned as the bed was on the very verge of falling apart already. The two’s hands intertwined with each other’s now as he fucks them. He hits their spot, which got them a moaning mess. It hurt to say the least, but that made them moan more. They felt like coming, and he knew that they needed to come

“Renfield” they moaned as they now came. He continued until he came too. Their bed breaks afterwards, which makes them shocked. “Fuck” they cursed after he pulls out of them. “I’ll get you a new bed” he says as he now felt bad