#my writing

[heavensghost]

If you want people to love you they have to be able to trust you

[ellealyssum]

put it all to rest ✦ sylus x reader ✦ fluff ✦ 900 words

insomnia's a bitch. good thing your man sleeps odd hours, too.

insomnia, cuddling, literal sleeping together, gn!reader

this is my first fic in many many years so please forgive me if it sucks... i have trouble sleeping and i love sylus so much

also on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 You turn over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. No matter how tired your body felt, no matter how many times you yawned, sleep was still evading you. Stretching your arm out from under the covers, you check your watch that you'd left on the nightstand.

 3:56am. Three hours until you have to be up to get ready for work, if you still want time to brush your hair and shove some breakfast down on your way out the door, that is. It probably didn't help that the N109 zone was twice as far from the Hunter's Association as your apartment. 

 Pressing your face into the cool silk pillow, you mentally beg your brain to just shut up for five damn minutes. You didn't even have much to weigh on your mind tonight. The thoughts circling around your mind were all utterly trivial, but just enough to ward off the sweet relief of sleep. 

 What would the chef have ready for breakfast in the morning? Would the traffic be bad? Worse than usual? Have there been any accidents? They're a common occurrence in the N109 zone. People around these parts seem to love driving recklessly. Including the man whose bed you were trying, and failing, to sleep in right now. 

 Sylus had left around 10pm, being sure to give you your obligatory goodnight kiss on his way out. It was then that you had settled himself into his bed, expecting a restful night wrapped in soft sheets that smelled of soap and expensive cologne and him. He had promised you, quietly, lips inches from your own, that he would be home before you woke up in the morning. He didn't realise at the time that his promise was impossible to keep, because at this rate you would never have any sleep to wake up from.

 Through the silence of the base you hear a door shut and footsteps on the tiled floor. You know from their rhythm that Sylus was home, as if he were summoned by your thoughts. He lets out a brief sigh as he reaches the bedroom door. Whatever meeting or deal he had just returned from had probably been tedious, as usual. Not wanting to concern him with your lack of sleep, you roll away from the door and focus on slowing your breathing. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

 Sylus gently opens the door, being as quiet as he can as to not disturb you. Even after a hard day of work, your comfort was still his top priority. The lush carpet softens his footfalls as he makes his across the room. The gentle rustle of his shirt being removed and placed on the armchair reaches your ears. The bed dips slightly as he sit on the mattress, shucking off his shoes before reclining against the headboard.

 "I know you're awake, kitten."

 You should have known you can't fool him.

 You whine in frustration as you turn to look up at him. You know your eyes must be tired and red, but he doesn't mention it.

 "What's wrong, sweetie?" he asks, calloused fingers brushing the hair from your forehead.

 "Can't sleep," you mumble, slightly embarrassed at your apparent inability to do something so simple.

 "Too many thoughts racing around that pretty head of yours, hmm?" The corner of his lips twitch upwards into an affectionate smirk. He always said you thought too much.

 "I wish they would stop," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to stem the tears you could feel coming. The last six hours of frustration had reached a boiling point.

 Sylus slides down the bed to be level with you, pulling you into his chest. You feel his lips against your scalp and his strong hands on your back.

 "It's okay, darling."

You sniffle against his skin and try to wipe your tears with back of your hand.

 "But I have work tomorrow!"

 "That can be changed." His usually teasing tone has dissipated, leaving behind only sincerity. "Sick days exist for a reason. Besides, you really shouldn't be confronting wanderers on no sleep. I'm sure the association would prefer for you to be well rested."

 You always had a hard time justifying taking a day off to yourself. Despite trying, you can never escape the feeling that you're letting your team down, letting yourself down, not being strong enough to deal with something as silly as an overactive mind.

 As usual, it's as if Sylus can read your thoughts. He pulls back to meet your gaze.

 "Linkon's Hunter's Association won't collapse because their star employee took one day off."

 His brilliant ruby eyes are soft, as if pleading with you. You have to admit he's right.

 "Stay," he breathes, kissing your tired eyelids. "Stay with me, right here, in my arms. Please, sweetie."

 This man always finds a way to melt your heart.

 You snuggle closer to him as he pulls the covers over himself. His slacks and socks are still on, but he doesn't seem to care. He'd rather hold you than change.

 You place a kiss over his heart, winding your legs with his. The material of his trousers is soft and his body is warm. You mind slowly, finally, stops spinning.

 Somehow, the world always feels a little simpler in his arms.

[softtdaisy]

in the meantime / Aaron Hotchner

summary. when hotch gets hurt, you're called as his emergency contact. thing is, nobody knows you're not together anymore.

words count. 2 336

what to expect. a little angst I guess but fluff too, Jack is mentioned but he's a teen

a/n. I first imagined this very funny and light and I ended up adding more angst??? but it's still sweet and cute and hotch is a lover boy

F1 masterlist | general masterlist| request

When you got called at school, at first, you didn’t think it could be that moment you’ve been scared of for months finally happening.

Being a kindergarten teacher, it was easy to leave your class and ask for a colleague to take care of your children. They were all occupied with creating a new poster with their names and wouldn't even notice your absence. Well, you imagine they wouldn’t because you weren’t supposed to leave for too long.

“Do you know who’s asking for me?” you asked the principal’s assistant who came for you. He was one of your friends here, so you knew how to analyze his gesture. And from how fast he was walking right now, you could tell this was more serious than you first thought.

“Well, she’s a brunette, dressed in black.” He stopped in the middle of the hallway to think for a second. Trying hard to remember what her name could be. Thing was, you didn’t know that many brunettes, dressed in black that could authorize herself to come here. “I think her name is Emily or something like that.”

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, freezing. 

You appreciated Emily. You would even call her a friend, even if you only knew her through Hotch. But you barely talked outside of the moment you spent together. 

Getting a call from her would have been weird. Having her come to your school wasn’t normal at all.

Yet, here she was. Waiting in the principal’s office. Indeed, she was wearing an all-black outfit but mostly wearing a concerned expression on her face.

When you opened the door, she rushed to you, interrupting her conversation. Her hand was soon on your shoulder and her eyes were locked on yours. You found some comfort in it. The problem was, you had no idea why you needed it.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” you asked, whispering like it was some secret the rest of your colleagues or your superior didn’t need to know. Which was true, somehow. “Is everything alright?” 

But you knew it wasn’t. And the three words that followed were the proof. “It’s Hotch.”

Your heart dropped, and the whole world went silent. 

You’ve spent months afraid of hearing these words one day. Checking your phone multiple times a day, waiting for his text to make sure he was doing fine. There were moments when you would have the same nightmares of coming home to an empty house, sometimes with more graphic images you wished you could forget.

When Emily noticed you seemed to disconnect from reality, she put her other hand on your shoulder. “He’s ok,” she added. 

“I don’t know how, but the unsub managed to stab him in the stomach. He lost a lot of blood and went to surgery, but he should be fine. Spencer told me he was waking up when he arrived here, you heard Emily explain, but her voice seemed like a distant melody.

You tried to focus on the good news, that Hotch was fine. As fine as he can be after an attack that probably woke up some trauma, but fine. Not dead. Not in danger. Fine. 

You took a breath and nodded to accept the information you just got. And showing Emily that you listened, that you understood what she said. 

It wasn’t until you managed to keep your stress as low as possible that the question popped up in your head. “You came all the way here to tell me?”

Emily looked at you with confusion. 

“Well, you’re his girlfriend and his emergency contact. And you weren’t answering your phone. I thought it would be better to bring you to the hospital myself than let you learn about that later by yourself.”

That was the moment you understood why Emily chose to drive all the way here.

Hotch didn’t tell anyone you weren’t together anymore.

Dating Hotch was easy, more than people thought it was.

He was a great listener. He loved to hear you speak about everything in your life just as much as he loved paying attention to small details. Offering your favorite flowers, having your favorite artist in his car, and sending a text about important events at your job even when he was miles and miles away. 

You could tell Hotch was working on the experience he got from his past relationship and all that he still had to learn to be a good partner for you. And he was doing a wonderful job on it.

This relationship did a lot of good for him too. With Jack being a teen and less with his dad, he finally felt like he had a new purpose to come back home. Hotch learned to love opening his door again. This time not being met by the silence. But by you, with some kind of reality TV on, reading a book on a sofa he almost forgot about before seeing you on it—not to mention the memories the both of you created on it. You made him feel loved. At his place but at every place in his life too.

For a year, you two have been the happiest and did everything to make this relationship work. Even the team noticed the change in Hotch’s personality. And after multiple drinks together, you started to call them friends too. You both loved the routine you created together. 

But even with the brightest sun shining on your relationship, the truth was the stress was still there. His job was anxious, to you, but to him too. Having someone to care about in his life once again made Hotch concerned about losing you. He tended to be more protective after rough cases, sometimes leaning to some controlling behavior he hated as much as you did.

The disputes became more and more recurrent. And after another fight, you both decided that maybe you needed a moment away from each other to wonder if this was really worth it. You wanted Aaron Hotchner to be the love of your life; you really did. Just as he wanted to. But was it really the life you both wanted?

It was a hard month away from him; you won’t lie.

And knowing you almost lost him was even hard.

“Let’s go,” you finally replied. And the ride to the hospital was surprisingly calm.

The few times you saw Emily, you both kept chatting for hours to the point Hotch even laughed one day about fearing she might steal you from him. But this time, there were no words. Not only because of the stress, but also because you realized you were lying to your friend because of Hotch. You haven’t seen him in a month, having no idea about what his life might have been these past thirty days. And she was great at worming information out of you. So you would rather not say a thing instead of spilling a secret.

The whole drive to the hospital felt like a fever dream. And nothing could have prepared you for the overwhelming feeling you got when you opened the door. A mix of relief and stress.

Hotch was there, indeed. Underneath a white sheet that made his skin look even paler, with dark circles bigger than the last time you saw him and a tired expression that made you wish you could do anything to let him relax and rest for at least a month.

He was facing the window and only turned his head when he heard you coming in. And the confusion replaced the tiredness on his face. Yet, you still noticed the short smile that drew on his lips when he saw you. “What are you doing here?”

His tone was sweet. Sweeter than usual. No matter how down he was, Hotch took everything in him to make you feel welcome. He didn’t want you to question your presence here or to think he was questioning it. He was glad to see your face after the awful day he had. Yet, he was still wondering why you came. After a month apart, he thought you put him aside. 

Deep down, Hotch had the feeling he was easy to forget. But you weren’t. You never felt his head or his heart.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t even talk. You were just focused on the silhouette of the man that shared your life these past months, lying on this hospital bed, looking so fragile.

You walked to him, as close as you could. So close that your knees bumped in the bed without you realizing it. You couldn’t resist the need to brush his hair, putting away some strands that were on his forehead. His confused and drained eyes follow each one of your moves.

“Honey?” he asked again, reaching for your hand. 

When you were together, not a day went by—except for those when he was away—where you wouldn’t hold hands. In the morning, when he was getting up, you tried to keep him with you a little longer. During breakfast, while he was drinking his coffee. When he said goodbye, kissing you before putting a kiss on your entangled hands. Or when you went to sleep, cuddling, with your hands on your stomach—or his, when he needed it after a rough day.

“You didn’t tell them we broke up,” you said in a low voice. It was the first time you said it out loud but also realized what it meant. And having Hotch in front of you, calling you by the nickname that followed you your whole relationship and caressing your hand with his thumb softly, helped see the truth behind that. “Emily came and picked me up because I’m your emergency contact, and I wasn’t answering my phone, and as your girlfriend, she assumed I needed to know. Because you didn’t tell anyone we weren’t together anymore.”

You finally landed your eyes on his, losing yourself in his baffled puppy look. “You’re right, I didn’t.” Hotch said. It was the first time since you came in that you noticed his voice was a little raspy. “And I’m glad it led you here.” 

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, not that you doubted he meant it. Over a year, you’ve learned to recognize Hotch’s expression. Especially the way his face was always softer when he was with you. Or how his very stoic and linear mouth always curled up in a smile around you.

Still, you had one question on your tongue. “Why?”

“Why am I glad?” he replied with a giggle. One that was sadly followed by a grimace. You watched as Hotch brought his other hand to his stomach to ease the pain. The doctor told him that even with the medicine, it would take him multiple days to get better. And until the stitches were gone, he wasn’t allowed to go back on the field.

But suddenly, the idea of being stuck at his office or at home wasn’t as awful as it was when he first thought about it. 

You sighed, focusing on his face rather than the wound he was clearly keeping hidden from you. “Why haven’t you told them?” 

Hotch took a second to look at you. The answer was obvious to him, to the point that there wasn’t a question to begin with. Over this past month, there was not a moment where he thought he had to make things clearer about your situation. Sure, he was a very private man, yet he never lied about you. He just kept things as they were. “Because I didn’t want it to be over.”

Hotch sat up against the headboard and motioned to you to sit on the bed with him. He moved his legs to give you space. And the heat you felt when he held your hand tighter to help you reminded you of the obvious attraction you had for him. Even after he had a terrible day. 

“Listen,” he started again with a tone that imposed on listening to him. That's not to say you weren't paying attention in the first place. “I know we made this decision together, and I respect it. And this month apart gave me the time to think about us.”

The first night coming home to an empty and silent house wasn’t easy for Hotch. He felt like he had failed again at keeping someone in his life. He hated that he lied to Jack, saying you had family obligations to explain your absence. He didn’t want his son to be disappointed about his dad's inability to maintain a great relationship.

And one day, Jack told him about a girl at school he had a crush on and everything he did to prove to her it was worth trying rather than giving up.

“I want to make things right with you.” Hotch pursued, bringing your hands to his chest. “Maybe I need to work on my perception of danger when it comes to you. And if so, I will do it. Because I want you.”

You always found it fascinating how his eyes often spoke louder than his words. And the look he was giving you right now was the best argument he could have found to prove you he meant it. Hotch loved you. And so did you. 

When a smile started to grow on your lips, also a silent answer to his silent confession, you noticed his lips curved too. Hotch let go of your hand to bring his own to your neck and move your face closer to him. But you stopped right before your lips touched.

“Maybe you should just consider not getting hurt the next time we argue.” You whispered, which made him laugh.

“Right, I’ll think about that.” He replied before finally guiding you to his lips.

Hotch never stopped believing he would get you back. So maybe he was right about not telling anyone about the breakup. 

[noleftexit]

The tease; She knew exactly How to torture him "No words allowed. No touching. No standing up." He had to sit there And just watch For as long As she wanted him to

Her raven hair Gliding over her pale skin Her movements Catching the light Showing all her curves Her fingers wandering To places he ached to be Making herself moan with delight Begging him to do things to her … but not yet

[leashybebes]

37 pls? 👀

pretend i've engaged with literally any vampire media since buffy, i guess 👀 (unless dracula daily counts). ALSO pretend this didn't accidentally run to like 1000+ words, what the hell.

It's almost a joke, really. A vampire who hates the taste of blood. Tommy's a loner - all vamps are if they have any sense, not so much because of safety anymore, but because they're territorial and temperamental - but he's run with enough clans over the decades, had enough contact with others to know it's not like that for everyone. He's heard people rhapsodize about the taste of honey and life and sunlight, which - he doesn't get how two thirds of that taste like anything. But to him, blood tastes like sucking on a penny. 

He's not an idiot - he needs it, he's not going to deny himself, especially when the twenty-first century is home to such civilized ways of getting it, but he's never going to lose his mind over it. He craves it if he goes too long without, but in the way he remembers craving food as a human, not the way he - very vaguely - remembers craving the taste of his mother's mutton stew. He's wondered a few times if that's what's kept him from going feral over the years. Maybe the idea of tearing throats out left and right would hold more appeal if blood tasted like ambrosia and whipped cream or whatever the fuck Sal was going on about for those few years they ran together in the forties.

But regardless, it's been a week, and Tommy has an appointment at the bank. It's not the kind of hidden away place that he and others like him used to be forced to frequent. It's a welcoming building, staffed by a mix of humans and vamps where humans can volunteer their services. Volunteer is a misnomer, though - people get paid. Tommy doesn't know the details of it, but he understands it's very satisfying. There are health checks, rules, security. Limits on donations. It's not enough to live on, but it's a nice supplement for a lot of people.

From the average vampire's perspective, it's pretty perfect - there are forms to fill out to state your preference in humans: gender, age, diet, things like that. Tommy always just checks any, but for a nominal fee (nominal relative to a couple centuries of accumulated wealth, anyway) he has a regular supply of blood and all he has to do is metaphorically pinch his nose and try not to taste it. It works for the humans, too, and not just the ones that get paid - rogue vamp attacks are at an all time low, and the sense of safety in the general populace has probably never been higher. Tommy wouldn't know. He tends to avoid the general populace whether it's human or vamp or anything else.

He checks in, scans the paperwork, signs off on Buckley, Evan, 28, no regular medication, non-smoker, occasional drinker, omnivorous diet and gets directed to one of the private rooms.

Buckley, Evan, 28 etc. etc., is already there, sitting cross-legged on the padded chaise and reading a book with an expression of concentration on his face. He looks up when Tommy opens the door and Tommy thinks, oh, beautiful. He's as big as Tommy - never mind that Tommy could throw him through the wall one handed if the mood took him - and he has stunning blue eyes, a splash of pinkish-red above one of them, and they crinkle in the corner as he smiles.

"Hi there. I'm Evan. Buck's fine, though."

Tommy tries not to wrinkle his nose. He's aware it makes him a rank hypocrite, but the human obsession with nicknames has always eluded him.

"Hi, Evan. I'm Tommy."

Evan folds down a corner of the page he was on and tosses his book aside, shrugging out of his zip-up sweatshirt to reveal a short-sleeved, slightly threadbare tee underneath. It leaves little to the imagination, and Tommy has a very vivid imagination.

"Elbow or wrist, pick your poison," Evan says, offering one arm. 

Tommy takes a seat next to him. Throat is quickest and would be his preference - get it over with before the taste can register too much - but it's frowned upon.

"Elbow," Tommy says, and cradles Evan's arm in his hands. He's so warm. So soft despite the muscle. He lowers his head and pauses. "Paperwork said non-smoker."

And look, he doesn't care, not really. It's not going to make it taste any better or worse, but if Evan's lied on his paperwork and something happens, Tommy could be liable.

"Firefighter," Evan says. "Sorry. I showered a bunch, but it lingers. And I guess with your sense of smell…"

"Yeah," Tommy says. "Okay."

He runs his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of Evan's elbow, lets his fangs descend. He feels Evan shiver, and it must be a reflex because the sour tang of fear completely fails to fill the room.

"On three," he says, and hears Evan chuckle.

"That's sweet. Thank you."

Tommy doesn't say that it's largely for his own benefit, to psych himself up for the awful taste to flood his mouth.

"One. Two. Three."

His fangs pierce the soft, pale skin and - 

He's -

In paradise.

He pulls away after the tiniest taste, looks up at Evan with wild eyes. Evan looks…concerned.

"You okay, big guy?"

"That - " Tommy says, the word coming out misshapen and slurred around his fangs, around that taste. "You taste - "

"Uh - should I - should I call somebody?"

"No!" Tommy's aware he said it too quickly, too emphatically. "You taste incredible."

"Oh." Evan looks weirdly pleased by that. 

"Set - set the timer," Tommy says. He never needs a timer. He has it down to a fine art - choke it down for long enough to sustain him until next time and get out, but - god, he'd take every drop if he could. He'd drown in that taste if he could.

"Already did," Evan says. "Clock's ticking."

Tommy groans and falls against him, his mouth returning to the pin-pricks of red at his elbow, lets himself bite harder, until that flavor bursts over his tongue again. And he gets it. He gets it. Sunshine and sugar and sex and heat and a thousand indescribable things. Buckley, Evan, 28, etc. is not only the most handsome creature Tommy's seen in decades, he also tastes like everything he's ever heard people rave about. 

The clock is ticking, and Tommy drinks and drinks and drinks, more in one go than he has in years, knows he's lost, knows he has to have this for the rest of Evan's life.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 9

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little shorter than usual, I've been sick in bed for a good couple of days and didn't have as much time to write as usual.

Content Warnings: Talk of Depression/Depressive Episodes; Reader Gets Drugged.

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

The Trajan Markets are the pinnacle of growth and development in the Capital, a sign the people said that the Gods favored us above all others. No other province grew as ours does. No other nation boasted such booms in business that a five story building need be built for the sole purpose of selling goods. Our streets have become too crowded, markets overflowing with buyers and sellers until the roads clog and the city becomes too rowdy during peak times of the day. There are other Markets in the city of course, but none as grand as Trajan.

None as easy to hide in as Trajan. 

I keep my hood pulled up over my face, a full basket in one hand, the other tapping anxiously along the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. The crowds are heavy, the summer air thick with the smell of sweat and incense and the roasted meat from the food stalls. The heavy din of haggling and bartering makes the pounding of my heart sound far more dull than it had on the crazed dash I’d made to get here. Ditching the Guard to come out had been a challenge; dodging Anise a military feat I think might have made even Cassian proud. Not that Cassian knew I’d left. Or any of my mates for that matter. They would be too recognizable in this crowd; as is I feel like eyes watch my every move. This needs to be quick.

My list of supplies is half scratched off, just a few more pieces of armor and a couple more custom weapons and my mates will be well protected for their next match. I’ve all but thrown myself into the task, as if the extra effort will make the difference in the arena. As if the extra bit of leather might be the very thing that ensures they return to me afterwards.

I try to shake off the pressure driving into my chest like a spike. The Games are tomorrow. I’d chosen Kallias’s Orc for their opponent via a letter--Father hadn’t spoken to me directly since the Council meeting two days ago. I suppose that means Eris has kept his word thus far, but the silence makes time stretch out like a bad dream. I’ve spent nearly every waking moment watching the windows, waiting for the worst to happen.

Abandoning one booth, I move to another, fingers skimming over metal and leather chestpieces alike. All too thin. Too hollow. Orc’s favor axes, they need something that can withstand multiple blows. 

The next shop is too flashy. Too many Imperial colors. My stomach turns at the thought of seeing Rhys in Imperial gold. 

I dodge a squad of the Praetorian, they’ve been doing routine sweeps through the city more frequently since the parade. Perhaps it’s just Father’s paranoia, but there is a small piece of me that dares to hope that there was some sympathy in the crowd, that someone, somewhere in this damned city felt as horrified as moved to action as I was. 

I keep my hood drawn a little lower over my face as I move to the next level. This would be easier if I could have brought them along, no need to constantly double check the scribble of measurements I’d had the tailor make. They could pick what would be most comfortable for themselves, and I’d feel better about sending them off in it, at least they knew what they were doing. But the risk was too great. And worse, I’m a terrible coward.

I haven’t so much as looked at Azriel since the Council Meeting. I’d forced myself to climb into my empty bed and not use the secret tunnels. I’d found anything and everything to keep myself busy the next day. Not because I didn’t want to see him, or any of them, but because I couldn’t bear the waiting. The countdown to the next match had started like a death null in the back of my head. I can’t bring myself to be selfish and sit there with them when there are things within my power to do to save them. It’s not right that I will sit in my cushy booth with a drink while they fight for their lives. I have to give them a fighting chance. I have to do more than last time.

I have to ensure they get back alive. We will have time to work out what we want from each other when this is over. When I can ensure my heart won’t shatter into a million unfixable pieces if something happens.

I give myself a little shake as I skirt past food stalls swarming with several families of Sprites. Trajan, unlike many of the markets on the Square, is full of all sorts of creatures: Trolls and Goblins pull carts of wares down the aisles and up the stairs to the top levels. Pixies and Sprites flit about in the open air, directing traffic. Nephilim with their feathered wings tucked tight shop with Humans and Elves. We are all just shoppers here, none of the Empire’s prejudice to separate us. None of it’s cruelty to turn us on each other. This is how it should be. Tomorrow we will be in the Arena again. The crowds will be different. The atmosphere will be different. It will not be so peaceful.

My next stop is a merchant shop boasting the best armor in the Empire. This will be the third shop with that sign, I don’t have high hopes, but I cannot leave until I’ve searched every shop, exhausted every outlet. 

My fingers trace over the plated armor, shaped like scales. The design is well made, but the material… I tap a knuckle against it and hear a dull, hollow echo. Too thin. The next stall, boasts the best greaves and manicas. The extra padding of a sleeve will be useful, and the dark leather, layered like scales would look good on them. I buy three, one for each and add them to my basket before moving on.

A small cart selling ribbons momentarily halts my search, the colors vibrant and blowing softly in the breeze that drifts through the open market windows. I run my fingers over a violet thread, the same shade as Rhys’s eyes. 

“That’s a pretty color!” The merchant woman, a human I think, but her ears are tucked under a multicolored head scarf, calls out from the worn stool she sits atop.

If we were normal, I’d braid the ribbon into my hair, boast Rhys’s colors with a bit of black thread for everyone to see. A pang of longing hits me in the chest; we will never be normal people, not while the Empire stands. I’ll go to the Games tomorrow in white and gold to match my Father.

“It is,” my voice shakes as I remove the ribbon from the hook. I shouldn’t. I should be practical. It’s a waist of coin, I can’t wear it anyway. Still… 

“We’re having a sale,” the merchant continues. “Three for the price of one!”

The irony makes a laugh bubble out of me. Of course it would be three.

A cobalt one draws my eye next, then a bright red one. Before I can think twice about it, I’ve taken them off the hooks too.

“For anyone special?” She asks as I fish some coins from my purse.

“Of course,” I reply, but I don’t give her any more of an explanation.

The merchant pats my hand affectionately as she passes my change back, a knowing smile on her lips. I tuck the ribbon into the pocket of my cloak that sits over my heart; they’ll be another secret dream, meant for a girl less duty bound as me, but I cannot stop myself from hoping for a chance to one day wear them. 

“I hope they bring your lover luck,” the merchant says in farewell.

A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine; they’ll certainly need it.

--

It had taken hours, but I finally found suitable armor on the fifth floor of the market. Upon sneaking back into the House, I’d left the supplies with the tailor and instructed that she take it to our guests. If the Guard were to ask where she’d gotten it, she’d been instructed to say she’d picked it up in town on her last visit and had just finished adjusting the straps and various ties up until now. A ruse that should be believable and hopefully not be looked into too deeply. I was curious to see what they thought about my decisions, but bringing it in myself felt like it would draw too much attention, so I schemed as best I could and busied myself by going back to the Temple to make some offerings for tomorrow. 

I doubt there is enough bronze in the Empire to sway Fortuna, but that doesn’t stop me from offering my sacrifices all the same. 

Victoria’s altar gets more than its fair share of bull’s blood and wine; I’ve burned so much incense the warm spice mixture feels like it’s seeping into my skin. 

But while my offerings to Luck and Victory may look extreme to the priestesses, they are small in comparison to the blood I spill for the Mother. My nightly prayers have felt feeble and unheard, I remain at the altar far longer than necessary, whispering in Latin for as long as I can before people start asking questions. 

By the time I’ve finished, the afternoon heat is settling into a warm evening wind. I gather my spinning thoughts and head to the kitchens to give Cook instructions for our guests' nightly meal. It takes more than a few coins to bribe him into making enough food for a feast and then sending all of it to the guest wing, along with far more deserts than probably necessary. 

Everything today has probably been a little more than necessary, truth be told,  but I have to do everything in my power to help. I have to tell myself it’s enough. That I’ve exhausted every outlet, covered every angle, left nothing to chance. I won’t sleep tonight as is, but it’ll be worse if I cannot find some way to convince myself that I helped. 

I’m so busy directing plates this way and that I don’t even stop to consider that I haven’t eaten today until Anise grabs me by the elbow. With a couple plates in hand, she all but drags me into the triclinium to eat, despite my protest. There is still so much I need to do! 

“Sit!” The plate clangs against the table. 

The formal dining room has been empty for months. I’ve been eating my meals in my room for one reason or another. She throws open a dust covered curtain with a huff, letting in the last few glimmers of sunlight. 

“You’re pale as a fucking spirit!” She hisses at me. Her gnarled hands strike a match and light a few candles along the forlorn tables, her own plate sitting untouched next to me as she fusses over the room. 

“Probably high off incense too,” she grumbles.

I place my elbows on the table and brace my face in my hands so I can rub my temples. There’s that stash of mirthroot in my bedside table I’d purchased to trick my Father and I’m tempted to use a little bit of it, just to calm my nerves. 

“Do my prayers bother you all of a sudden, Anise?”

She leaves for a moment and returns with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Glaring in my direction, she fills the first glass to the brim and chugs the entire thing before pouring a second, less generous portion into her glass. “Your reasons more so.”

I grab a fork and stab at a piece of roast chicken. “Do we need to do this tonight?”

She pushes a glass my way as she weighs the bottle in hand, debating if her second glass is really full enough to deal with me tonight. 

My eyes fix on the door to the kitchens, where the shadows from the other room make it obvious that some of the staff are listening behind the door. This is not the time or the place. My nerves feel absolutely shot. I run my fingers absently over my ribs, where I feel a burst of power flittering around my lungs, like it just might bubble out and spill from my throat.

“You’ve scarcely made yourself available for it any other time,” she snaps.

I sip the wine and tear into a loaf of bread, swirling it around in the red sauce next to my plate, trying to find ways to swallow down my powers before they hurt someone. Or blow out the window. “For months and months you’ve harassed me about never leaving the house and suddenly it’s become a problem?”

She slams her palms down on the table as she lowers herself into the bench seat. “You were drowning!” Her voice is so loud I can hear the staff listening at the door jump back in surprise.

“Do you know what it was like? Watching you get swallowed up by your grief? It was like watching you be hollowed out, turned into this shell that didn’t care if the world around her caught fire. You were empty and broken, a ghost of a person.”

“I know,” I nod, shifting vegetables around on my plate until they turn to mush in the sauce. 

“I couldn’t reach you,” her breath stutters out of her and I look away so I don’t see her cry. “Nothing I said worked! Nothing got through to you. Sending you out to watch the Games…”

I use the wine to try and dislodge the lump forming in my throat. She’s the only real family I have left and I know that all this secrecy has hurt her, but I can’t let her in now. She can only know what’s necessary. If something were to happen to her because I’d told her the truth, I’d never forgive myself.

“I knew you hated them. You’d always come back crying as a child. They’re brutal and bloody and…” She pauses to gulp down more wine. “I thought it would wake you up. That seeing all that death might… might convince you that you still wanted to live.”

She’d been right of course, she always is, just not for the same reasons she’d thought. Her actions had pushed me right onto this path; given me a reason to hold on, to fight. 

“It did, Anise,” I start.

“Did it?” She cuts in. “Because this looks a Hel of a lot like self-sabotage to me! Do you have any idea what they’re saying about you in the Capital? What the staff whisper about when you leave the room?”

“You’re the one that’s been pouring contraceptive tea down my throat, I think I can guess.”

Her weathered palm hits the table again, rattling the glasses. “This is not a joke! They kill people for rumors like this! They’ve already tried to do so! Doesn’t that bother you, even a little?”

Truth be told, that Raven has felt like the least of my worries these last few days. 

My gaze flicks to the partially open door; how many of the staff will report this conversation to my Father? How many will go into town for one reason or another and gossip in the markets over this little spat? I have to be extremely careful about what I say next. 

“Of course it does,” I say slowly. 

“Then you know what you have to do to make this right.”

“I’m doing everything that has been asked of me-”

“That’s not what I mean!” She hisses, emerald eyes flashing. “Get rid of them!”

The room spins. Candlelight flickering. The window rattles; table bouncing off the floor. It takes far longer than it should for me to realize that it’s my doing. Dark clouds of ether seep from my skin, slithering out from under the soles of my feet like snakes--like Azriel’s shadows.

Anise gapes at me as more and more pours from my skin, filling the room. 

Shit! I draw in a shaky breath and hurriedly pull it all back beneath my skin, until there’s not a drop of it left in the room. The bond is a roaring, living thing in my chest, bashing against my rib cage, filling up my lungs with the acrid scent of smoke. I drown it out with another big gulp of wine while Anise gapes at me like I’ve grown a second head. It has never been that bad before.

I swallow hard and push away from the table. “They’re not going anywhere!” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, the growling a deep rumble from within my chest. I rub absently at the spot where the tension feels the greatest, even as I storm from the room. 

Anise doesn’t follow, and the staff scatter out of my way as I sweep throw the kitchen in a huff. How dare she demand I send my mates away! They’re mine to protect! Mine to care for! 

Mine.

Darkness trails out from behind me like a scarf, billowing and snapping from where it seeps out of my back. The bond will not quiet, will not stop bashing itself against my insides at the mere thought of being separated from them. 

I all but sprint down the hall, looking for somewhere to expel all this energy. Now is not the time to lose control! I have too many things to do before the morning to worry about this new found lack of control. 

I make it to the safe room, tucked behind a bookshelf in the library, and rip the key that always hangs around my neck off. My hands tremble as more darkness loops round and round my hands. My breath rasps out of me, chest heaving; I can’t get air in fast enough. 

By some miracle, I manage to wrangle the key into the lock and force my way inside before I explode entirely. Darkness, empty and cold and unyielding flies in every direction, until there is no longer light in the room. Until there is nothing but shadow. I surrender myself to it; let it fill and empty itself from every orifice until I no longer exist as I am. There is only darkness. Endless void. Nothingness. The room is inlaid with gorsian stone, so that no outside force could feel the power that escapes me. Mother says she built it in case I needed to hide from the outside world, but I have always known the truth: She built it in case she’d needed to hide the outside world from me.

If this is an indication of the sort of possessive intensity I’m capable of, maybe she was right to do so. 

I’m not sure I closed the door. Blindly, I reach out a tendril of power and ensure it's sealed before I let myself sink back into the nothingness. Let everything that is dark and ugly and cold pour out of me like water. It feels as if it might never stop coming out of me; more and more flows like the breaking of a damn.

Until I hear an ominous crack.

The sound in the emptiness pulls me back from the edge and I count down from ten to try and reign my power back in. 

Another crack follows, the sound like stone crumbling.

I have to blindly find the door to let out the cloud of darkness that fills the room and find a lantern. Once it’s lit, I find myself gaping up at the ceiling, where my power had not only splintered the heavy layer of concrete, but the gorsian stone as well. The greenish metal splinters in the shape of a lightning bolt as the concrete crumbles and falls away from the roof, littering the floor with debris.

“Shit,” I whisper to no one in particular. 

I run back out into the library to grab a chair so I can get a hand on the roof and further inspect the damage. It’s a deep cut, about three inches through the gorsian stone. Not all the way through the other side but enough that I can feel the waning power. The stone is built to absorb and hold power, with a crack like that, it releases into the air like vapor. A clean crack all the way through might very well make the whole room as un-warded and unprotected as another other room.

And there’s nobody who can fix it.

I climb down from the chair with a shudder. No one can know about this. The room itself has always been a closely guarded secret, but if anyone were to see what I had done, what I was truly capable of, forget the mating bond damning me, my powers would ensure my head rolled from my shoulders. Power like that cannot exist within the Empire.

I drag the chair out and lock the door behind me. This place will have to remain a tomb; just another secret to add to my ever growing list. 

I place the chair back at the proper table and go to turn off the lamp when it hits me. If I can crack this stone, can I do it with all of them?

My fingers trail absently over my throat as the idea mulls around in my head. Could I hone it just enough that I could be capable of cracking, say a collar?

The house is dark and quiet. I’d spent a lot longer there than I‘d thought! I rush through the now quiet kitchen, nothing left but a few dirty dishes for the morning, and slip into the cellar. Maybe this could be the edge I’d prayed for! Maybe Fortuna had accepted my offerings!

I can’t get the secret door open fast enough, my hands shaking again, but this time from excitement. I could save them! If done right, the collar wouldn’t be an issue, they could fight freely.

I should have brought a light with me. I’d be a liar if I said I was a little disappointed that the other end of the tunnel isn’t already open and none of them are waiting for me on the other end, but I guess can’t really fault them. I haven’t exactly given the impression I’d be coming around any time soon. 

I fumble for a few minutes to find the lock, pausing briefly to press my ear to the door to listen for signs that it’s even safe for me to do so. None of the vents have picked up any conversation, which is odd now that I think about it. Have they already gone to sleep?

I turn the lock gently. They do need as much rest as they can get, but if I can give them this advantage, maybe this will be the last time in the Pit they ever have to have. Maybe we can turn things around from here. I have to try.

The door groans when it opens, ominous in the stillness. All the lights are off, the curtains drawn so not even a sliver of moonlight can filter through. 

Strange…

I tap at the bond. There’s no sounds of Cassian’s snores. And the thing in my chest is… quiet.

I pick my way carefully over to the room they’ve crammed all their beds in. The door is shut, the metal of the handle cold like it hasn’t been touched in awhile. My heartbeat is a clanging drum in my ears as I turn the knob and push the door open.

It feels like an eternity for the hinges to turn, for the room to come into view. My heart plummets into my stomach, every second of the drop a free fall into the depths of an abyss. The room is empty. 

Every room is empty. I check each in a panic, tugging incessantly at the bond but there is only quiet. 

This can’t be happening!

I was so close! I was going to be able to fix this! 

Footsteps sound down the open tunnel and for a moment the swell of hope threatens to overwhelm me. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re-

Anise appears in the doorway, frowning. 

Just like that, my hope deflates. My legs wobble and I have to brace myself against the base of the statue of the Mother. “Anise, where are they?”

She closes the door behind her, emerald eyes shifting around like she expects some great beast to pop out and devour us. “The Guard came.”

Panic sweeps through me like a title wave, so intense my fingers live indents in the metal base of the statue. “What did you do?”

She huffs at me, offended. “I hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet, since you no longer are capable of seeing reason, but…” she shrugs, “the decision was made for me. The Emperor has declared that no sponsored champions should spend the night before a match anywhere but the Arena’s barracks. To ensure no outside tampering with the gladiators, of course.”

The room flips end over end and it’s a fight just to get enough air in my lungs. No! No! No! This can’t be happening!

“They’ll be returned to you, if they win.”

“Anise,” I don’t know what I mean to say, what I mean to beg for. I have to see them! I have to finish what I came here to do!

“This will be good for you,” she insists. “This obsession of yours is unhealthy. You need to start tomorrow with a clear head.”

“I need to see them!” I choke out.

“The morning will come soon enough. It’s best if you put it out of your mind and get some rest.”

Rest? They stole my mates! The statue rattles beneath my hands as my control weans again. I have to get them back! I have to-

Something pricks the back of my neck as Anise comes around the side of me, her weathered hand outstretched. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she says gently. “I told your Mother it would never come to this, that I would never need to use it. You’ve always had such exceptional self-control, even as a child. It seemed silly that she’d had such precautions, but now…”

It feels like flames beneath my skin, fire shooting up my veins, consuming every lick of power it can find. A hand like a vice clamps itself around the beast that lives in my chest and squeezes so tight my knees give out and I fall like a penitent sinner at the base of the altar.

“Anise-” I choke out.

“It’s just a little faebane, to help with the control. It’ll help you sleep.”

NO!

My body curls up on itself as the burning intensifies. She bends, her old knees popping, to pat my head. “I know you don’t believe me, but I am doing this for your own good.”

Tears prick my eyes as they roll down my cheeks. I don’t know if they’re for me, or my mates. 

Anise wipes them away, making shushing noises like she used to do when I was a child with a scraped knee. “I promised your Mother I’d never let anything happen to you.” She coos. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Spots swim across my vision and I thrash my head, trying to fight them off, but it’s useless. The faebane continues to course through me like a wildfire, burning all resistance in it’s path until my limbs go limp and the darkness inside me snuffs out. Worse, the bond, fragile as it is, shrivels further, until it is a hollow, empty echo. I can’t even feel them on the other end.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, make it stop, Anise!”

She strokes her hands through my hair, humming a lullaby she used to sing me to sleep with, as if this is normal. As if I’m still a child too scared of the dark to sleep. The spots that swim across my vision grow bigger and bigger. I can’t move my limbs enough to struggle, can’t even turn my head.

The chill of the tile seeps through my skirts as my erratic breathing starts to calm, heart rate slowing.

“There you go,” she coaxes. “Stop fighting it.”

“Please,” the word sounds garbled; feels strange in my mouth, my tongue not quite forming the letters.

“Sshhh.”

The spots consume me, darkness yet again filling my vision, but this time it pulls me under as I lose the battle against it.

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

Chapters 1/2/3/4/5/6/ 7/ 8

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[breannasfluff]

“You want me to approve what?” Jason ducks a punch from Danny, sweeping his leg out and sending him to the ground.

Danny goes intangible, sinking into the floor and then bouncing back up. He throws the punch again, focusing on his form more this time. Jason catches it in his palm, which means he hit the correct height.

“Pam and I came up with ideas of how to help the Alley with plants. Like the parks, so Harleen has a nice place to walk Bruce.”

“Still can’t believe she named her hyena after Bruce fucking Wayne.”

It seems to be a long-standing fight between Jason and Harleen, which makes more sense now that Danny knows who Jason’s foster parent is. 

“At least she named him after a billionaire and not an escort.”

The crime lord shows his teeth, tackling Danny to the mats.

And there it is. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“No shit. Best thing that’s happened to me in years.”

Read the rest here

[sakuradancer3]

Literally just type out “extra kudos”. It means the world.

"Ao3 should allow multiple kudos" "I want to be able to leave more than one kudos"

COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC

I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE COMMENTS MUCH NOW WHEN THE ONLY WAY TO SHOW APPRECIATION FOR A SINGLE CHAPTER IS COMMENTING AND I AM NOT HAVING THIS BULLSHIT BE LIKE TIKTOK WHERE NO ONE EVER COMMENTS POSITIVITY

FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST COMMENT ON THE FUCKING FIC YOU DON'T NEED A MULTIPLE KUDOS BUTTON YOU NEED ACTUAL WORDS

TRUST ME ON ANY WEBSITE OR APP I POST COMMENTS AND WORDS ARE 10X BETTER THAN ANY PLAIN LIKE AND WORDLESS REBLOG IF YOU LIKE SOMETHING LEAVE WORDS

COMMENT

ON

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FUCKING

FICS

[sheerfreesia007]

Fitted Love

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 2,385

Content warnings: Soft smut, MDNI, Fluff, insecurities

Summary: Felix has invited you to be his plus one for a Louis Vuitton event and you need to be fitted for a dress for the event. When Felix notices that your mind is starting to grow dark with your insecurities he reminds you how perfect you are for him in the best way possible.

Yeobo: Honey

The room is busy with activity as you stand on the large white pedestal in front of the Louis Vuitton designer and her team of assistants and jewelry designers. Felix is going to be attending an event that’s hosted by Louis Vuitton and has asked you to join him for the event. Louis Vuitton had personally told Felix that he’d love to design a dress for you so the two of you were currently at the design studio for Louis Vuitton trying to find the perfect dress for you to match with Felix for the event. You nod your head at the assistants as they move about you while you stand on the pedestal in front of the large mirrors. The design manager is standing to the side with her hip cocked out and a deep furrow on her brow as her eyes trail up and down your body that’s displaying one of the creations. She moves closer to you and smooths down the fabric at your side and you watch her silently hoping that this would be the last dress that you try on today. It has been hours since Felix brought you to the design studio and you’ve lost count of how many dresses you’ve tried on now after the design manager asked for the fifth dress to be brought out. You hold your breath and widen your eyes slightly hopeful that your torture will finally end but the manager sighs softly before shaking her head and you’re let down once again.

“It’s not right.” she says woefully before turning to her assistant. “Bring out the emerald green one please.” She instructs and the assistant nods before rushing out of the room. You try not to sigh too loudly but a soft one slips out of your mouth and the manager looks up at you with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry sweetheart. They’re just not sitting right and I don’t want to give you a dress that doesn’t fit you well and make you feel good in it.” she apologizes and you shake your head as your insecurities start to rise up inside you.

“No, no. It’s not your fault.” you tell her with another shake of your head and she smiles brightly at you with a determined look.

“Don’t worry I’m pretty sure this next dress will be the one. I’m sure of it. I think I’ve finally figured out what looks best on you. I’m sorry for it taking so long.” she said with a hopeful smile on her face while you nod your head at her. Your eyes dart over to the mirrors and you begin to critically gaze at your body as you stand in the beautiful dress. Your mind begins to whisper dark hurtful words that make you frown softly as you feel that they’re only the truth that you don’t want to believe. Just as you’re beginning to spiral in the dark thoughts you spot Felix sitting in a chair behind you not far from the pedestal, his legs are crossed at the knees and he’s resting his elbow on his knee while his chin rests on his fist. You can feel his eyes taking you in silently and you shift slightly at his attention which causes his eyes to dart up to yours. A gasp is punched out of your chest when you see how dark his eyes have gotten after watching you get changed into the different dresses since you got here and you know exactly what that look means, he’s ready to pounce on you as soon as the room clears. You’re trying to catch your breath as you take in his stoic expression while his stormy heated eyes make your pulse raise like that of prey being hunted. Your mind instantly empties of any dark hurtful thought about your body and you’re reminded of how his body moved against yours last night in bed, the way his hands gripped you tightly and held you flush against his body as he worshipped you with his mouth and body. Lust and desire spike within you and you’re suddenly drowning in the lustrous memories of how Felix made you reach your high three times last night.

Suddenly the assistant came walking back into the room holding a dress bag, and you’re slammed back into reality as your thoughts and memories popped like bubbles in your mind. You distracted yourself by watching her hang the bag up and unzipping it to show the stunning emerald green dress to the room. It’s absolutely beautiful and you’re feeling slightly unsure as your eyes take it in, would it fit you right? Would it look as good on you as it does on the hanger? Another assistant began helping you out of the dress you were currently wearing and as you stepped out of it your eyes caught onto Felix’s heated stare as he gazed at your exposed body. He shifted in his seat a little bit and you knew he was getting more comfortable. No doubt he was hard after watching you get undressed. You shifted on your feet feeling exposed and at his mercy while all he was doing was sitting there looking at you. Your body flushed with heat and you watched as a soft knowing smirk slipped onto Felix’s mouth before his eyes captured yours in another heated stare through the mirror.

“Alright, I think this is the one.” the manager said pulling your attention away from Felix, allowing you to begin breathing again without feeling the pressure of Felix’s attention. You step into the dress and the assistants help close it at the back and you sigh out in relief. The dress feels luxurious against your body and your eyes darted to the mirror while your mouth fell open slightly at how beautiful you looked in the dress. “Yep, this is the one.” the manager said and you nodded your head happily in agreement with her. Your eyes then darted over to Felix and saw him staring at you with lust filled heated eyes as he hid his mouth behind his fist.

The manager continues to adjust the dress on your body only pinning certain places so that the dress hugged your body perfectly effectively showing it off in the best way possible. You shifted from foot to foot as you felt Felix’s eyes raking up and down your form before the manager clapped her hands together loudly.

“I think that’s it. We’ll make the adjustments and deliver the dress to Felix as soon as it’s done. On the day of the event we’ll have a whole team to help you dress and get ready.” the manager informs you while the assistants help you back out of the dress and into a silk robe. You nod your head at her thanking her and her team before they all file out of the room leaving you and Felix alone together. Your eyes find his in the mirror and he’s suddenly standing at a glacial pace before stalking towards you. His gaze keeps you pinned in your spot on the pedestal and your body shivers under the silk robe.

“Do you know how absolutely beautiful you look?” he asks softly as he comes to stand in front of you holding his hand out for yours. He helps you down off the pedestal and guides you to stand in front of him as he positions the two of you in front of the mirrors. His hands slowly glide down your sides and you’re suddenly shaking in his arms knowing that this was going to be a repeat of last night.

“Felix.” you say in a whisper and he tuts out in sharp staccato beats before one of his hands comes up to rest against your neck guiding your head to stare into the mirror.

“I need you to watch Yeobo. I’m going to show you how stunning you are and I need you to watch.” he husks out to you as his mouth places open wet kisses against the back of your neck. You gasp as the hand that’s not resting on your neck slides up the front of your body and tugs the knot of the belt on your robe, the fabric hiding your body loosens and then his hand is sliding underneath the silk material to cup your breast in his large hand. You moan brokenly as your head tips back against his shoulder and your back arches prettily for him thrusting your breast into his hand. “No, no Yeobo. You need to watch.” he scolds you gently, gripping your neck a little tighter in his hand.

Your answering gasp is loud in the empty room as you drop your head forward to stare into the mirror as he continues to grope at your chest under your robe. The hand around your neck falls away to grope and cup your other breast sliding the silk off your body exposing more of your skin and lingerie as you whimper at his ministrations.

“Look at this body.” he instructs you and you try to focus your eyes on where his hands are gripping you. “So perfect for me. You fit in my hands like you were made for them. Made for me.” he husks out as he grinds up against your ass. You groan when you feel his hardness pressing up against you and make a conscious effort to keep your eyes on the mirror as he moves his hands against you. His hands glide up to your shoulders and gently slip the material from your body to let it pool at your feet before his hands are moving once again, one goes back up to your breasts but this time to pinch and flick against your straining nipples while his other travels down to slip into your underwear. “Oh Yeobo, have been this wet for long?” he asks huskily while nipping at the skin on your make making you keen and cry out loudly.

“Felix, please.” you whine out to him as your hands come up and slam against the mirror in front of you. He chuckles low in tone as he crowds you further against the mirror pressing his front flush against your back and grinding upwards into you.

“My poor Yeobo. Wet and needy for me even when your mind is trying to tell you lies about your body. Don’t worry Yeobo I’ll make sure to chase all those lies away as I show you how much I worship you. Just like last night yeah?” he coos at you and you cry out loudly once more as you press back against him.

Suddenly you’re gasping as your bra loosens against your skin and Felix helps you take it off letting it fall to the floor with your robe before his hands slip into your underwear and guide it down your legs. You step out of them and he’s back on you, his clothed body flush against your naked one making you moan for him. You can hear the sound of his zipper sliding down and then the weight of his hardness against your ass makes you whimper.

“Tell me Yeobo. Are you perfect for me?” he asks you and you stare at him dazedly through the mirror while nodding your head quickly. You’re consumed by you lust and desire for him and only want him to ease the ache inside your core. “Tsk, tsk. Use your words pretty girl.” he coos at you scolding you.

“Yes, yes I’m perfect for you. Please Felix, make me feel beautiful.” you moan out to him and he smirks at you through the mirror.

“I could never say no to you Yeobo.” he tells you before he’s suddenly slamming into you. You gasp and choke on air as you feel him stretch you out as you fingers curl against the mirror. You shift back against him trying to get him to move but he stills your hips for a second taking a moment to breathe with you. “My perfect little Yeobo. You feel like home to me.” he tells you and you cry out at his sentiment just before he pulls out and slams back into you. His hips thrust and cant up against you while he leans over you, his hands gripping your hips tightly and his eyes boring into yours through the mirror.

The two of you are a mess of hurried desperate thrust, high pitched whines from you and low deep grunts from him. His mouth is hot and wet as he kisses your neck and shoulders licking against your salty sweat slicked skin as he moves harshly against you.

“C’mon Yeobo, show how much you love it when I worship you. My pretty little Yeobo, no one can compare to you. You’re the only one for me. So beautiful, so sweet.” he coos at you lovingly and you’re gasping for air as your orgasm starts to rise up within you like a hot tidal wave of lava ready to singe and burn you with it’s magnitude.

“Felix, Felix, Felix. Please, oh god. Please!” you cry out and he groans softly at your words as you clamp down on him. Your orgasm suddenly drags you under its hot grip and you’re screaming loudly into the air as your back arches and your knees lock while your body begins to shake uncontrollably. Felix’s hands come up to cup and grip your breasts before he’s slamming into you once, twice, three times before he stills and you feel his release spurt into you. You whimper at the heat of it all and begin to melt against him as his arms wrap securely around your body holding you close to him.

“That’s it Yeobo.” he coos at you while holding you up. “Look how beautiful you are. My stunning gorgeous Yeobo.” he whispers to you as you both stare at each other in the mirror. He kisses your cheek sweetly and you giggle softly at his actions and how contrasting they are to what you both just did. “C’mon let’s go home. I’m not done showing you how perfect you are for me.” he instructs you and begins to help clean you up and dress you to head home.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek

[mediumgayitalian]

It has been an hour.

Nico scratches some dirt off his ankle.

“Hey, Solace,” his brain says, but his mouth doesn’t form the words. Instead, his jaw drops into a sigh, quick and gasping and soundless, and his shoulders droops with it, landing his chin in the cup of his hands.

Will is pretty in the sunlight.

This is not a revelation. Noticing Will’s pretty in the sun is just — it is there, it is obvious. ‘Will is pretty in the sunlight.’ ‘Snow makes your hair wet.’ ‘Flowers smell nice.’

But still he thinks it, still he shapes his tongue around the words, pursing his lips around the sounds; Will is made of yellows and golds and blues, swirling celestia, and in the cradle of the meadow in the depths of the ancient woods, he is radiant like gilded clouds. He is beautiful and he is blinding. He is thick coiled hair, sticking out in dandelion poofs, he is strong scarred hands tanned dark and dappled, he is bare toes and browned knees. Nico’s throat is dry, and his whole body is thumping, thumping, straining; the words echo in the cavity of his mind, in the tubes of his veins. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Instead, he sits.

Instead, he smiles.

Instead, he says, “You are such a dweeb.”

And Will snorts and ignores him and cups his broad hands around the little critters, tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth. The ants walk easily around the mountains of his knuckles. He coos.

“Honest. Just — hours, of you watching ants.”

“I like watching ants,” says Will loftily. He turns back to grin, to stick out his tongue, and his helmet slips down his straight nose, blue frill flattening. “So there.”

Nico smiles. He smothers it. He smiles again and rolls his eyes and says, “Of course you do.”

And Will snorts again. And it is exasperated and long-suffering and pleased, so pleased, and he looks back when he thinks Nico isn’t looking and bites his lip and shivers. And Nico stares at the white of his too-big front teeth and is hungry, like a scorpion in the springtime, and is silent.

Will looks away. He repeats: “I like watching the ants.”

Nico licks his lips. “I know.”

“I — they’re smart. And disciplined. I just think they’re — neat.”

“I know.”

“And kind of — cute.” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, careful not to disturb the little black dot balanced on the crown of his knee. “You know. For insects.”

“I know,” Nico says. Or sighs.

And Will huffs and says: “Well, what do you want to watch?”

— and it is there in his eyes again, the shine, the bright light of his stubbornness, and Nico’s eyelashes blink and his eyeballs water and his mouth drops open and says, jumping ahead of his brain, “You.”

Will’s mouth snaps closed. He looks away, hasty, tips of his stuck-out ears reddening.

“Well,” he says. He coughs. “Well.”

He looks back at the ants.

Nico smiles. He watches him watch them. Watches the chin he rests on his hand, watches the slide of his bright bright bright blue eyes, tracing the patter of microscopic little legs.

Time stretches on.

[ladyloveminx2]

I hate you like this

It evokes rage in me

I crave you so deeply

Take me as l know you must

I want you unbridled lust

I want your dark needs

I want you in all your colours and flavours

Ladyminxlove

[leashybebes]

wip wednesday

tagged by @hereghostslive and uhhh, well. guess this is happening. heard you guys like vampires so here's some vampire to go with your vampires. more of this

It's an apartment building, so there are plenty of competing smells - other residents, visitors, food, animals. But the smell of Evan's blood is easy to distinguish, to follow up a couple of flights and along a corridor. He presses his palm flat to the door, every bit of him aching to be on the other side.

It almost feels like he's willed it when the door opens. There's Evan, a laundry bag in one hand, his bright blue eyes widening, surprise in every line of his body.

"Tommy? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Tommy can smell the blood under his skin, can hear his heartbeat, can feel the warmth radiating off him, the vitality, the life.

"Do you wanna - "

Tommy cuts him off before he can finish the invitation. "Do you have a death wish?" He can hear the edge of the snarl in his own voice and Evan frowns, drawing back a little, dropping the bag at his side.

"What?"

"You don't invite a vampire into your home, Evan."

"But you - "

"What? I go to the bank so you think I'm - what? Tame?"

Evan folds his arms over his chest and frowns. "The other night, I thought you seemed like a nice guy."

Tommy runs a hand over his face. "I nearly killed your friend today. Handsome guy, dark hair. Cute mustache."

"Wh - what?"

And there's the fear he didn't smell before. Crazy that it didn't show up when a vampire arrived unannounced at his door, but one little mention of the friend and Evan's flooded with dread.

"He touched you. And it made me - "

Evan's hand tightens on the door. He should be slamming it in Tommy's face right now, should be calling the authorities or finding something sharp and wooden. He swallows a little convulsively instead and asks, "Tommy, why are you telling me this?"

Tommy digs his fingernails into his palms, breathes in that heady scent, fights like hell against the descent of his fangs. "In two hundred years, I've never tasted anything like you. Don't go back to the bank, Evan."

not onward tagging because it's heading towards the end of wednesday in my time zone and my eyes are already half closed. if you have something to share, consider this your tag

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

MR. CHU!

❤︎‬ sol wonders if you're interested in him after you ask about his piercings ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia x gn reader ‪ ❤︎‬ wc: 2k ❤︎‬ content warning(s): yandere ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia is from the kid at the back being developed by fantasia-kitt

Like everybody else in the school, you never used to pay much attention to the quiet kid in your art class. It really wasn’t until recently, when you had no choice but to shyly ask him if he’d like to be your partner for a class project, that you finally acknowledged Solivan Brugmansia’s existence. 

You don’t think too much of him. Even now, as he tries his best to pose for you as naturally as he can, your mind is preoccupied with the far-more colorful personalities at Olympeius University while you absentmindedly sketch the details of his face. You wonder what Crowe might be up to right now, or if Jess has made any progress with her ginormous crush on Brittney… 

Your eyes flicker up to where Sol is, and you try to pay close attention to the bottom half of his face. He’s a physically attractive young man, but aesthetics aside, you’re more worried about drawing Sol well so you can wring a good grade out of your insatiable art professor. You squint your eyes a bit, leering at Sol’s lips to try to make out all the details. It’s no biggie in your mind, since you need someone to model for you and you’re simply trying to make your drawing as accurate to life as possible, but Sol?

Sol thinks he’s going to asphyxiate from how fast and hard his heart is pounding.

He can’t believe his luck. It took him all the self control in his body not to start panicking and freaking out when you had approached him and asked him to be your partner, and now he got the honor of hogging all of your attention while you used him as a model. Would it be foolish of him to hope that you like what you see? He knows his fashion sense and style isn’t for everyone and tends to make him a target more than an object of admiration, but… you’re different. You’re understanding and compassionate, and maybe you’d find something worth loving in him.

“Hold still… I’m almost done here…,” you mutter, sticking your tongue out just a little bit as you scribble furiously onto your sketchpad. Sol’s heart skips a beat, and while he can feel a rush of dizziness immediately hit his brain at your cute tongue peeking out from between your lips, he doesn’t want to disappoint you ever. 

After a few determined strokes, you nod at him. For the first time since class started, Sol finally lets himself relax. His tense muscles groan as he finally allows himself to shift positions into a more comfortable seated position, and he looks expectantly at you as if he wants to see your creation. You’re like a mind reader, and without him having to say anything, you gingerly hand him your sketchbook. 

“I’m not an artist like you are, but… I tried my best,” you shyly admit. Sol’s breath hitches audibly when you scoot your seat a bit closer to him to explain to him your handiwork, but you don’t seem to notice. “I- uh- don’t know if I did your piercings justice since you have a lot, but I gave them a shot.”

You could have spat on the paper and handed it to him, and Sol would still treasure and revere it as if it were a masterpiece deserving to be displayed in the finest of art museums. Of course, he would never hand it over to anybody and keep it only for his personal viewing, but in his perspective, everything your hands could create was nothing if not holy. 

“It’s beautiful. You should give yourself more credit. You’re not a bad artist at all.” He thinks he’s going to pass out after class from just how happy he is. A shudder creeps down his spine as he relishes the thought of your eyes all over his face and body, him being the only thing to take up the forefront of your mind. What he wouldn’t give to know what you thought of him as you sketched his face. Just knowing that you cared enough about him to draw him makes him feel as if he’s on top of the world, and he can feel a warm flush overtake his pale cheeks. “Don’t worry too much about my piercings. I know metal can be hard to draw.”

“Yeah, but… I just feel a little bad. They look so cool on you.” You flash him an innocent smile, completely unaware of the mental anguish you’re putting the poor lovestruck boy through. “I’ll keep practicing! That way I’ll be able to draw you perfectly by the end of this project.”

His piercings? Cool? Sol’s heart genuinely can’t take this barrage. What is it about you that has him acting this way? What is it about you that makes him want to drag you away from everybody else and keep you all to himself, to worship and to love? The others around you don’t know how to fully appreciate your generosity and light, how you’re kind to everyone, even misfits like him. He’s the only one who knows how to properly care and cherish you, and he can’t let anybody else steal that role away from him. He’s spent so many sleepless nights chasing after your warmth, eating away bit by bit at the safety of the boundaries you’ve put up. 

Nothing can keep you safe from him. 

You don’t know anything about how he feels though. You’re pure and oblivious to his mental turmoil, completely unaware of the sheer effect you have on him. You keep looking at him as if he was nothing more than an eccentric classmate rather than someone you were fated to, just without your knowledge. You peer closely at his face, before lifting a delicate finger to point at his lips.

“Say Sol…,” you ask him, clearly absentmindedly based on how casual your tone is, “How do you kiss if you have lip piercings?”

…

…

…

Why did you have to ask him something like that?

Sol thinks his brain might have ceased functioning the moment you threw him that question. Nothing—absolutely nothing—has been able to reach him as he plays that memory over and over again in his head. Even the jeers of the school bullies or Hyugo’s incessant chatter couldn’t yank him out of his lovestruck reverie. Sol was on cloud nine, replaying the melodic cadence of your voice over and over and over again within his memories. He could never get sick of you or your many details. Every little bit of information he could glean from you was so precious that he could spend the rest of his life in sheer ecstasy at how perfect you were. 

Hyugo was used to it at this point and knew not to question it. But whenever Sol entered into these almost drunken stupors, it was hard for Hyugo to not worry about him a bit. Sol’s cheeks are dyed a ridiculous shade of bright red, and his hands tremble uncontrollably as he fidgets with his fingers. There’s a lopsided grin on his face, and if Hyugo really pays attention, he can make out a lovesick sigh escape the eccentric young man every now and then.

Sol just wishes he could actually peer into your mind and figure out what you thought of him! What made you ask him such a risque question? Were you interested in him? You had to be somewhat, if you initiated the partnership with him and even called his style cool… Nobody else talked about him that way. Nobody else, save for you, found him interesting. What if you had a crush on him too? Was that why you asked him about kissing? Was this your way of encouraging him to amp up his advances?

It meant that you had to be thinking about his lips. About kissing him specifically. Sol could feel his heart rate pick up dangerously again as he imagines your sweet face approaching his, closing the impossible distance between the two of you bit by bit. How many years, grueling moments, had he waited for this to take place? Maybe you’d be shy and only leave him with a quick peck to his mouth. Or maybe you’d be more gutsy and press your lips fully onto his, making out with him in a way that leaves both of you breathless and gasping for air. His heart squeezes almost painfully inside of his chest at the thought of you being so close, doing something so mundane yet so intimate, showing him a kind of romantic affection that nobody else could share with you…

He wants so badly to be the only one in your eyes. Each minute of class with you feels like torture. He wants nothing more than to close that gap. It doesn’t have to be anything big: placing his big hand on top of yours, poking your nose whenever you get distracted, all the small things that come so easily for normal couples. Kissing would just be the first step. What else could come after? There was a whole myriad of things he could dream of. He’d escort you dutifully to every single one of your classes so that everybody in this school would know that you were his. 

You’d spend more and more time together, and surely, one day you’d invite him over to your apartment that he’s secretly grown so familiar with… Just thinking about it makes his skin bristle with excitement. If everything went as planned, as easily as his daydreams made it look, then he could finally have you in the way that he wanted most.

You had to reciprocate somewhat. You just had to be interested in him as much as he was interested in you. That was what that quick question meant to him, your words construed and twisted beyond belief inside of his delusional thoughts. 

Hyugo puffs one of his cheeks out and peers at his daydreaming friend with a bit of concern. “Are you gonna eat your lunch, Sunny?”

Sol doesn’t respond at all. Hyugo sighs and shakes his head before tapping the side of Sol’s arm. 

“I asked you a question!” The shorter man points at the untouched food in Sol’s lap. Sol bristles to life, the hearts in his eyes melting away as they refocus and Hyugo enters his field of vision again. Hyugo points once again at the abandoned food and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

Sol deadpans. If Hyugo’s presence wasn’t so convenient, he would have sent Hyugo flying to his death from the rooftop for interrupting his precious time with daydream-you. He lets Hyugo take the food before letting his mind wander again, wind blowing through his air as he wonders what you might be up to right now. Were you thinking of him too? Would you be thinking of him even when he’s not within your immediate vicinity.

He wants to see you so badly right now. He wishes he was in class again, for the first time in his life, so that he could have you right next to him and monopolize your time as he pleases. But Sol knows he has to be patient. One wrong step would have his great expectations come toppling down, and he would rather die than live in a world where he can’t have you anymore.

So he makes up his mind there and then. There was no room for hesitation. You had finally noticed him after all of his time lurking in the shadows, and these passive moments weren’t enough to satisate the brutal appetite you had awoken inside of him. He needs more. He needs more of your time. He needs more of your love. 

If you were so curious about him and his piercings, so curious about the way he kissed, then he’d make the answer as simple as it could get.

He’ll kiss you tomorrow and show you just how he does it.

x

[write-on-world]

[artbyblastweave]

I remember meeting a guy at a bar a year or so ago who told me he worked at the international consortium that does the porn parodies of all the top-grossing film releases. He said that the whole Barbenheimer situation presented his combine with some spectacular highs and lows. Because he said that with Barbie, right, the thing about Barbie is that there's already kind of a three-way ideatic, structural parallel between the curated artificiality of Barbie as a children's toy, the curated artificiality of Barbie as a mass market film, and the curated artificiality of pornography as a genre. Add on top of that that Barbie as a film is already feeling this tension, right where it's trying to be about a character graduating from the platonic sexlessness of a children's franchise to the functional-and-frank sexuality of being a living human woman, but it's also being bogged down in the "Everyone-is-beautiful-no-one-is-horny" aesthetic restrictions of any contemporary big-budget mass-market film so the two states end up looking pretty similar, he said. I mean the film itself is very aware of that tension, right, with that joke about how "casting Margot Robbie is the wrong move if you want to make that point," all that jazz. So, all that in mind, Barbie-themed pornography, he said, is in a weird way actually kind of complementary to the extant project, gesturing at unaddressed tensions and ideas, a dark mirror, the shadow self it wants to deny but can't, there's a lot of room to play in the space. He used the adjective "Lynchian" a couple of times, he seemed super stoked, he was talking with his hands. Oppenheimer, on the other hand. Oppenheimer he said presented a problem. Because obviously you can eroticize the detonation of an atomic bomb, we're all probably three mutuals removed from someone on this site who does exactly that, but obviously that's a niche market, and moreover it's a market that has a ton of overlap with high-minded thinkers who treat the historical use of atomic weapons against Japan with the level of gravity that atrocity demands. So they were stuck. They were really stuck. He told me that they'd been pulling their hair out for months trying to square the circle and all they had to show for it was a big whiteboard with the phrase "Grope-nheimer" written on it