#now since im doing the unnaturals

[aliengirl]

mindy found a kitty!!!!!!! pls say hi to menthol!!!!

[angerygoomba]

is it weird that i dont wanna change my pfp—even though ive had countless moments where ive seen something, thought to myself "this would make an amazing pfp" or "i really wanna make this my pfp" and then like seconds later lose the desire as i remember my relationship to my pfp and how everything about my online persona from the past 5 years would change—and im okay with that?

[princessmyriad]

.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: gunplay (ghoap x reader) cw: the tiniest of dub-con if you squint 1.8k of this foolishness and im pretty sure i lost the plot somewhere but in my defense, guns don't interest me

When you wake, you notice that Ghost isn’t in the tent. His bedroll neatly rolled up and put away in its usual spot and by the looks of things, he's been gone for quite some time. You sit up, the morning light filtering through the tent's fabric— the soft, diffused glow creating gentle shadows on the ground.

Outside, the air is crisp and sweet, dew still fresh on the grass, damp beneath your bare feet. Soap's lone mare is tied to the hitching post, tail flicking lazily as she eats off the hay net.

The campsite is quiet except for the chirping of birds and Soap's deep, growling snores coming from behind you. Ghost isn't here. Ghost isn't here. The thought bounces around in your skull, heart loud in your ears as the realization begins to sink in.

You could get away, slip away unnoticed from these two who've kept you as their reluctant companion since they wrangled you up in a rowdy saloon a couple of towns back with your hand deep in someone else's pocket. "Behave and we won't give ya up for the meager bounty yer worth." Or worse. The three of you knew no one would miss you, no family or friends to claim the body if you ended up face down on a riverbank.

It’s now or never. Freedom stands in front of you in a glossy, white coat and a braided mane, but being Soap’s horse, even approaching her will be a gamble. You'll just have to risk getting bucked off and trampled on.

When you go back inside to gather the few belongings you've got, you spot Soap's gun belt in all its worn leather glory lying in a tangled heap in the corner, revolvers still snug in their holsters. He must've gotten in late from town, the reward for the bounty he turned in last night traded in for hooch.

A mistake. His costly mistake. And a chance to ride his mare relatively unharmed. Your fingers tremble as they wrap around the handle, the ingrained symbol digging into your palm as you tighten your grip. You may not be a gunslinger with the fastest draw in the West, but you do know what end to point at someone.

But Soap's a bounty hunter and a damn good one. His reflexes are fast— faster than they should be with his dense, muscular build.  You've seen him close gaps with an unnatural speed that’s left even the toughest men reeling. He's a relentless force of pursuit when he wants to be and keeping him at a distance is a losing game, especially when you've no prior experience using a gun. Your only option is to corner him, limit his options. Every man bends the knee to power, and right now, you've got it in your clammy hand.

You straddle him, knees planted firmly on either side of his lower ribs, and press the barrel onto the left side of his jaw. Incredible, not even a hitch in his breathing, as if you're not sitting on him with your full weight. Fisting the front of his union shirt, you tug, the sharp, sudden sting of his chest hair being pulled taut waking him out of his deep sleep.

His bleary eyes snap open, blinking away any traces of sleep within moments, the new day's light catching the edges of his irises, making them gleam with an almost otherworldly brightness as they sweep the tent for any real danger.

Your breathing turns ragged once they land on you, satisfied, a wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a hint of teeth. Dread claws at your gut, your nerves rattled, but you meet his gaze head-on. There is no room for hesitation, for doubt, not when the man you've got pinned with his own weapon is more touched in the head than Ghost is.

"I ken I'm handsome but all ye ‘ad t'do was ask, hen. I'm achin' fer the hair o' the hound if ye got any, though." His tone gives away nothing, his body completely lax. Even the rise and fall of his chest is steady, slow. You know better than to believe he isn't waiting on you to make the next move to retaliate, so you don't move. Neither of you do.

"You'll take me to town and you'll leave me there. Compared to the other folk you rope up and dump at the Sheriff's feet, I'm worth nothing." You'll make yourself scarce, move to a different state, maybe. A new life, a decent one. Honest work.

His smile widens, the puckered scar on his chin stretching. "Didnae think to take my girl? She's righ' there, saddle 'n all." Soap must think you daft.

"I want to disappear without drawing a target on my head large enough for you to see from across state lines." He would've hunted you down for sport, at that point. Soap blinks once, thrice, and then you have a solid weight pushing on your back, sudden and unexpected, forcing your upper body forward, your shoulders hunching in reflex.

The very familiar scent of earth and mildly ripe sweat sends a shiver licking up your spine, locking every notch firmly into place. Why you hadn't heard him arrive at camp or open the flaps to the tent is now irrelevant. Ghost is here now and you've nowhere to run, definitely not with Soap grabbing onto the soft of your waist, tethers made of human flesh and bone.

The weathered leather of his glove feels unexpectedly soft as his fingers curl around your trembling hand. "If you're gonna threaten ‘im, ya gotta do it proper," he mutters, breath warm against the shell of your ear. His voice is a low, rolling rumble, the kind he takes when calming his panicked horse.

"Easy now, settle down, loosen your arm a little." It does nothing to soothe you, Ghost looming larger than the gun in your grip, making it feel almost insignificant— a mere prop in the face of his overwhelming presence and the voice in your head screams at you to bare your neck, submit, and hope he goes for your jugular quickly, death seemingly a better choice than whatever game he’s making you play. "Open up, Johnny."

He does so readily, a transparent string of saliva stretching between his top and bottom teeth. Ghost's denim-clad thighs bracket yours as he settles comfortably behind you, his barrel chest engulfing the entirety of your back with space to spare.

Soap lies there with his tongue out like a dog on a hot, summer's day, mouth open wide enough for you to see the ridges and grooves of his molars. Ghost forcibly moves your hand, metal scraping against Soap's stubble with a coarse, gritty sound.

“Lie still Johnny, ya hear?” his pointer finger hovering over the trigger. The lump that’s risen to your throat makes breathing hard, each swallow a struggle. You never intended to fire a shot, just hoped the threat of life and death would be enough to make things go your way. 

“W-wait,” you gurgle out but Ghost’s hand only tightens around yours. 

“Can’t get cold feet now, sweet’eart, not when Soap’s southern blood is pumpin’ ‘cause a you.” His-? You take notice of it then, the rigid swelling between your legs, pushing up into your center. As if to drive the point home, Soap bucks his hips while pulling you down, making the inseam of your pants brush against your pearl. 

“Oh-,” he does it again, and again, the leaden lump of dread that had once anchored itself in your belly begins to melt away, becoming an insistent ache that quickens your heartbeat and warms your veins, a mellow heat radiating from your core outward.

And then two things happen at once. 

Soap takes the pistol’s barrel into his mouth, slightly pursing his lips as he creates a seal around it, and his cheeks gently hollow as he bobs his head forward and back, and Ghost slowly weaves his unoccupied hand south, under your jeans and underwear, the roughened tips of his fingers quickly finding what you’ve been forced to neglect for months. 

Soap grunts, a gravelly resonant sound— rich and full— when you dig your nails into the meat of his chest as Ghost jerks erratic little circles on your puffy clit, sending shockwaves through your stomach, each wave headier than the last. 

“Can’t let ‘im ‘ave all the fun, eh?” The pressure on your waist is enough to ache, your flesh already throbbing beneath Soap’s hands, and the closer you get to the precipice, the harder they squeeze. 

Metal clacks against tooth every time your body tenses, muscles constrict, unable to keep your arm steady even with Ghost’s iron grip over your own. Soap’s a slobbering mess, spit dribbling down his chin, pistol glossy with it as he sucks on it as if it were a man’s cock instead.

(Maybe he wants it to be.) 

A couple of hiccups claw up your throat as the sticky, wet sounds of Soap’s mouth get drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears as you teeter on the sharpened edge, Ghost’s pace on you turning frantic, almost violent, and—

“Keep those pretty eyes on Johnny, he’s been dreamin’ of lookin’ at ya in the face while you come.”

Ghost tossing the gun aside, metal skidding across the floor, and you’re coming apart with Soap’s tongue in your mouth, swallowing your every gasp and moan.

It tastes like the lubricant he uses to clean his gun. Metallic. Tangy. Slightly acrid.

You’re barely able to draw in a breath when Ghost is already tugging your pants off, waistband coming to settle snugly right below your arse, exposing only what he needs, a couple of fingers gliding along your folds, curling right at your entrance.

But he doesn’t do what you expect; for him to sink into cunt, fill it to the brim, distended until you’ve got tears clumping your eyelashes and blood on your tongue. 

(It’s been a very long time since you’ve last laid with a man, and not one has ever been as big as he in stature.)

Instead, he takes Soap’s bare length in one giant paw, using your creamy slick for better friction, and ruts his own heavy cock against it until they’re both spurting the warm spend Ghost crams into your needy hole with two fingers.

“‘M not fuckin’ you, not after your stupid little stunt,” he says as if he’s talking about the weather, and you’re not sure if laughing will stop the hysterical sob about to slither past your trembling lips. 

Soap stares up at you with a heavy-lidded gaze, content, satiated unlike you, and pinches your cheek with his fingers. “Next time ye want tae threaten a person—,” his voice peters off, and you can feel Ghost wiping his hand on the back of your shirt before reaching for Soap’s pistol and pressing a button, the cylinder dropping open.

Empty. Every single chamber is hollow, like the empty sockets of a honeycomb. “Make sure it’s loaded, sweet’eart.”

Un. fucking. Believable.

[earthtooz]

earth i need to catch up on ur ratio fics (i read some of flower one and i ate that shit up omg) because now the thought of seething annoying veritas being all angry whenever you even look at someone else infests my mind like an annoying worm. i hope you know this is what those fics do to me

x : EQUILIBRIUM : *+ﾟ

in which: ratio navigates through the perplexities of pining after you.

warnings: fluff, 1.6k words, intelligentsia guild!gn!reader is kind of a social butterfly and talkative, ratio is so pathetic i love him T^T, alcohol, aventurine feature! my writing isn't the best for this one i apologise :,D

a/n: thank u for the ask mhie!! i wanted to say that you enabled me perfectly because ever since his release, i've only ever thought about this one scenario where he's staring at reader from afar and absolutely seething because he's not the one talking to them xD sorry for taking so long omfg and im sorry for turning this into a fic, i just saw my opportunity and lunged at it like an animal rawr

Jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio.

He knows of them, understands the inner workings and philosophical aptitude of both, knowing that they lead man down irrational paths. Yet, for all his years, he has not felt the bitterness of jealousy and envy squeeze him, cannot fathom why one cannot control their feelings and maintain modesty. 

Perhaps, the root of it was whatever Ratio wanted, he received. The only thing he has ever craved is knowledge, and it is available for him with the flick of a page, absorbing even the most complex of theories with ease. Conceptual, mathematical, scientific- not a single school of thought has hidden itself from his vast mind, proven by the many PhDs he has with his name.

Everything fickle that anyone could ever crave has long been his. 

Envious over someone else’s wealth? Money comes and goes, and merely serves as a medium of exchange. As long as he has enough to live comfortably, then he is content. Having too much of one thing can often result in a bottomless pit of wanting more, and material good was perhaps the most evil of all.

Jealous over someone else’s beauty? Compliments and adoration are not an unfamiliar concept to him; one glance at what’s under that stone mask will have others fawning over him instantly. He claims the mask is to protect him from idiots, but perhaps it also serves to shield others from the walking sculpture that is the Veritas Ratio, sharp features and toned body, there is nothing undesirable about him.

In conclusion, jealousy and envy are not familiar concepts to Dr. Ratio. Until he met you.

A fellow member of the Intelligentsia Guild but in another department, you too are a favoured delegate of the IPC, frequently attending the same events and trips as him. Thus, it was only natural that you’d become acquainted and that he’d grow to respect you, hearing about your achievements and dedications as an academic. What was unnatural, however, was the palpitations of his heart, weakness in his knees, paired with an overwhelming excitement to see you.

He’s no fool. These sensations were all symptoms of romantic attraction, but you were a variable uncounted for in the distribution of his life, and he was not ready for an outlier so powerful that it completely ‘skewed’ him over.  

Now, he laments in the corner of champagne parties meant for socialites. He is no lover of mundane interaction but as his contract with the IPC, he comes as a representative of the Intelligentsia Guild. 

These formal events always drained the life out of him, needing him to discard his everyday, flowey, carefree attire for a constraining suit, conforming him into the regular majority. 

He raises the glass of champagne to his lips and takes a small sip, the liquor serves as lubricant to the throat. The smooth finish of the drink is exactly what he needs; talking about the same subject again and again becomes exhausting, and even though it is in his role criteria, Ratio cannot wait to leave.

But he won’t, because he hasn’t seen you yet. 

Glancing around the room for the upteemth time this evening, you still have not entered his line of sight, and he leans against the bar in disappointment.

“Oh, why the long face, Ratio?” A mischievous voice coos from beside him. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Spare me your sentiments, gambler,” Ratio spits back.

“As you wish. Not enjoying the party?”

“If you have something you wish to say then please, spare me the pleasantries.”

Aventurine laughs, all boisterous and extravagant, gold jewelry clicking against each other, as if coming alive to match his jovialness. He really is a personified headache. “You’re looking for someone, aren’t you?”

The scholar tenses, muscles tugging at the stiff fabric of his blazer, but that micro action was enough of an answer for Aventurine.

A gloved hand points up to the mezzanine of the grand hall. Ratio spots you, leaning against the railing whilst conversing with another man, one briefly talked to earlier. If he didn’t like him before, then he certainly didn’t now.

Handsome face turning into a small scowl, it’s almost as if you feel the intensity of a certain, golden stare, causing you to turn around and find the source, eyes eventually landing on the figures of a coworker or two. A brief smile graces your face before you turn around again, turning your back on the two onlookers.

Ratio loathes what he sees, and something within him yearns to be the only man you look at, causing an ugly, green sensation to brew within him; a concoction that can only be labelled as ‘jealousy’.

He just cannot figure out what other men have that he doesn’t; what is making him secondary in your heart? Why do you give these... idiots the time of day when you could be with him- talking to him?

It's all too perplexing, you make him perplexed.

“Well, go on, doctor,” Aventurine prompts. “Place your bets before it’s too late.” 

The purple-haired sighs, pushing himself off the bar. His feet take him to you, up the velvet-carpeted stairs. His gaze never strays from you, ensuring you stay within his line of sight and eventually, he stops right behind you, acting as a looming shadow.

His gaze is cold, hoping to pierce through your conversation partner so he can finally cower away and make room for Ratio.

“Doctor!” You exclaim, surprised by his sudden appearance. “When did you get here?”

Taking a hint, the stranger finally begins to peel himself away. “It was lovely talking to you, Y/n. I hope this won’t be our last conversation.”

“Likewise, have a lovely evening,” you farewell him with a small smile as the other party turns and eventually disappears from sight.

Finally. Triumph and victory settles in Ratio’s chest when your attention is directed solely at him, but you look up at him with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

“I swore I saw you downstairs moments ago, how did you get up here so fast?”

“I simply walked a normal pace, is that so abnormal?”

“I suppose not,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Veritas allows himself a glance over of your outfit, admiring you. “Have you talked to anyone interesting?”

You are by far the most interesting part of the evening, he thinks.

“Hardly,” he murmurs. 

“My guess is that you’d prefer to be grading student papers?” You muse, leaning in closer.

His heartbeat spikes. “Well, that is hard to say. Which would you prefer?”

“As much as I love my students, I need a break from the same thesis statements regurgitated in different formats. I’d rather be here.”

“Then that is my answer too.”

You give him a look that says ‘really?’, clearly not believing his aloof statement. Truthfully, he would rather be here because here is where you are, and he’d like a few moments with you before returning to the gloominess of his office. The hour hand is only at 11, what’s the rush?

Then, your eyes flicker to his neckline and they widen briefly, as if finding an issue with his tuxedo. “Hold still,” you command, hands coming up to rest on his sturdy chest.

You’re fixing his tie, he realises, feeling the fabric tighten ever so slightly as you adjust it. When you’re done, you flatten out the material with a satisfied smile, running your hands casually over his chest, and he hopes you cannot feel his heart jump. How do you touch him so easily, as if it means nothing?

“It was crooked,” you explain, “now you are looking as sharp as ever, Doc.”

“Thank you,” is the best thing he can sputter out.

“No problem, we need to have our genius looking proper at all times!”

Ratio is too stunned to speak, he fears that if he tried, whatever leaves his mouth will result in a various garbles and attempts at sentences.

Thankfully, you haven’t run out of words to say. “Oh, I have yet to get a drink! Will you accompany me? I could go for some refreshments right now.”

He nods and extends an arm for you to hold, and you happily accept it, holding onto his bicep as you ramble on about a conversation exchanged earlier in the night. If you were anyone else, he would not have cared in the slightest, but instead, he listens intently, taking slow and measured steps downstairs so you are comfortable.

In this bubble, the esteemed scholar is content. With you so close, it feels as if everything has clicked into place, like the scales of fate have finally balanced and equilibrium has been achieved. He could listen to you forever.

Unfortunately, all good things don’t last, because a face Ratio doesn’t recognise approaches you, hand resting on your shoulder. Judging from the manner of which they address and talk to you, you are close, and you don’t shrug them off. Next thing he knows, you’re ripped away from him, dragged into the sea of people.

You spare him a glance over your shoulder, as if apologising for the sudden disruption.

Still, he sighs, left behind with nothing but fervent symptoms of love clinging to his being, squeezing him for all he is.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[vitaminkyeom]

telephone || k.mg

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR ME TO RETURN THE FAVOUR”

PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

SERIES MASTERLIST || till death do us part

WARNINGS || inaccurate 911 stuff, description of murdered body, horror, mention of murder and ghost

WORD COUNT || 3k

A/N || If you recognise this story, no you don't. but anyways this was one of my most favourite works even though i'm not that great at writing horror so i'm really glad i'm starting off with this story for the series. i've tried my best to make it as scary as i could (sorry but im a pussy) so yeah any feedback would be really helpful!

TAGLIST || @monamipencil @nonuify @black-swan-blog27 @hipsdofangirl @wonuilu @kibs-and-bits @unlikelysublimekryptonite @gyuguys @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @sea-moon-star @hrts4hanniehae @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @asasilentreader @isabellah29 @mrswonwooo @nonononranghaee @hoichi02 @cheolsboo @dinossaurz @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @iamawkwardandshy @winterbeartaehyungbestboy ​ @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @mnstxmnbb @stervahaha @escoupseu @wonvsmile @mansaaay [if you want to be added to my taglist please fill in this form!]

“911, please state your emergency.”

Static. He waited for a minute more but there still wasn’t any sound coming from the other side.

Mingyu sighed exasperatedly, sure that this was another prank call. Halloween night was looming close which also meant teenagers found it funny to call the operators up at night to scare them.

But he was used to this. Which was funny because Mingyu was the biggest scaredy cat in his group and could not even watch Scooby Doo without whimpering at least once. But he took his responsibilities very seriously and there was no way he was going to let his fear come in the middle of his work.

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[lotties-ashwagandha]

BODY & SPIRIT

valeria garza x fem!reader, 1.4k words

kinktober day ten: hate sex (NSFW). this probs doesn’t even count as “hate sex” tbh it ends fluffy and is more exes who fuck and get back together but I went with it bc kinktober is a struggle fr and at heart im a fluff fic writer

Valeria leans back against the wall, her arms crossed as she studies you. Her gaze is harsh, unwelcoming as you stand in her home. 

It’s been almost a year since you last saw her. You parted on awful terms after an argument, and the day you left was the last time you laid eyes on her — you had stayed far from Las Almas ever since. 

Now, you don’t have a choice but to come to her. You have the Task Force after you, viewing you as a suspect for your previous association with El Sin Nombre, and you know that without her you won’t be able to evade them. 

Valeria has been uncharacteristically reserved since you appeared. You suspected she might try to flaunt your reliance on her, that even away from her you are still seen as hers — or that immediately she would turn you away and leave you to get out of this on your own. Yet she’s been pensive, addressing you in short, stinging quips and judgemental silences. 

“You never should have left,” she says finally, shaking her head. You see it, now, her fury toward you. She steps away from the wall – for a moment you expect a resignation, a sudden declaration that you never should have left because she loved you. But when she speaks next, her tone is dull. “I could have kept a fucking eye on you, and nothing like this would have happened.” 

You scoff. Again with this, how she always gets when she’s upset, scorn delivered through casual remarks. Jabs taken at you in a way that makes it hard to accuse her of being explicitly insulting – the implication that you are incompetent in keeping a low profile without her managing it for you. She looks at you in the same way she does at her most useless men, the men she disposes of. 

It feels unnatural that she would despise you, but fitting in your reciprocation of her resentment. If there were any other options, you never would have come back to her. 

“Are they tracking you?” Valeria asks suddenly. She notes your silence – you don’t know – and she nods solemnly. “If they are, you’re leading them right to me. Is that what you want? I get them out of your way, and they come for me instead?” 

No, you want to answer, but you’re too proud to give her that. You need her alive, safe in her own way. It’s nothing to do with the time you spent with her, you tell yourself. It has nothing to do with the love you once held for her, it has nothing to do with how deep and potent your fury runs towards her. Valeria is an asset to you even as you travel endlessly away. 

“Answer me,” she orders and takes another step closer to you. You gravitate closer to the wall. You feel like you’re shrinking under her gaze, sinking through the floorboards and down into hell. 

“I’m not trying to get you killed,” you say, and though what you say is true it comes out sounding like a lie.

Valeria hums in response, quiet as she looks you over – for a wire, for a weapon not yet confiscated, for anything. 

“What?” you ask impatiently. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to try to murder you on a whim? Do you think I care that much?” 

“No,” she confirms, and when you step back as she takes another forward you feel your back brush up against the wall. She’s close to you now, so close you feel every bit of confidence you held before her wither away. The handle of the pistol concealed at her side brushes against you, and to avoid it you stand a little straighter. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Valeria explains, meeting your eyes. “I’m sending you to a safe house so you’ll be out of my fucking way while I deal with this. If anyone finds us, amor, if you’ve led the government to my door…” 

She doesn’t have to finish explaining for you to understand — if anyone finds out about her operations, you’re dead. You’re dead even if she dies herself before she can get to you.  You’re hanging onto her good will by a very thin thread. 

You nod in understanding. The look of accusation she gives you never falters. She makes no effort to move away, only stays so close to you, watching as you’re bent to her will. 

You remember how it felt when she looked at you in love instead of this. When you felt nothing but comfort in her proximity, and you went to her in pain out of a craving for comfort instead of out of obligation. A new anger rises in you, and in a horrible, cruel moment of reckoning you realize it’s not only because you hate her but because you love her. You need her for safety not just of body but of spirit. 

You want her, you want to kiss her, feel her hands roam over your body and claim it so immediately as hers in the way she always used to. 

It’s sinful in every sense of your prior reservations regarding Valeria to act on it, but when you look back into her eyes you see the same longing compelling you in her gaze. In a rush of impulsivity you kiss her, a heady adrenaline barreling into you in a sudden impact. 

Returning your kiss, Valeria pushes you back against the wall. Her hands travel down your body, her touch rough as she handles you — nails digging into you, hands squeezing a bit too hard, a burning kiss of tongue and teeth. 

She pulls back for a moment, and with a firm grip on you she leads you into the familiar space of her office at the end of the hall. Part of you wonders how it’s changed — if she still has a picture of you in her desk drawer, if the one of you framed together still sits above the fireplace, but there’s no time or room for you to check when you’re shoved forcefully onto her desk. 

“You never should have fucking left,” she repeats when she backs up a bit to pull your shirt off. This time the words ring of something different — of longing, a desperation that is sour on the tongue to admit but so satisfying to act on. “I needed you.” 

Valeria undoes the clasp of your bra, pulling it off of you, her hands grabbing at your chest. She kisses you again before you can respond – she wants the final say, to shame you, and the way she touches you feels too good for you to deny her the satisfaction of doing so. 

You undo the button of her pants, and she frees you of them. You sit bare on her desk as she stands fully dressed in front of you. The power affects her, it’s visible in the way her kiss deepens – her hands trail down to your thighs when she steps between your spread legs, running her hands up them and grasping at them like she’s starving for any piece of you she can get her hands on. 

One of her hands inches dangerously close to you, hand brushing your clit and making you gasp. Valeria’s eyes scan over your form, and then find yours when she addresses you. “You’re mine. You always have been.” 

It doesn’t take much for her to slide two fingers into you, her gaze firmly set on you as she takes in your reaction to it – you’ve missed her, as hesitant as you are to admit it, and the way your body responds to her reveals every bit of craving you’ve tried to hide. A moan escapes you as she works her hand in a steady rhythm, gentle praises meeting your ears that are hard to completely take in when you’re so enveloped in the sensation of her. 

“My good girl,” she coos, free hand coming up to rest softly at the base of your neck. It draws your attention back to her. 

You whine when she pulls her touch from you, and you’re confused when she guides you off her desk onto your shaky legs – but when she helps you into her desk chair and lowers down onto her knees, your desire for her is renewed. 

Valeria pulls you to the edge of the seat, giving biting kisses to your thighs and looking up at you with reverence – in her gaze you see your desire mirrored, in body and in spirit, and in the end you will look on her with love again. 

[professor-beaker]

(Warning: very long rant about growing up religious and aroace. Might delete this in an hour. Idk)

Dear mom and dad,

Do you remember when i was 14, and had my first kiss? You probably dont- for you, it was just another sunday. He was one of my only church friends, and he pulled me, alone, into one of the music rooms after sacrament meeting. You encouraged me to go with him, because you could read the signs i couldnt. He was very polite, but when we kissed and he grabbed my hand on the way out, it felt more wrong than anything id experienced before. I ran back to you, crying, and you walked me through rejecting him. You basically told me that i was just too young, that it would get better, but it certainly didnt feel that way at the time. Every time youve reminisced on it since, it was only to laugh at my expense. At my naievety.

I tried to take your words to heart. I tried to listen each time our church would preach about how essential families were and each time you told me how happy you two were. It didnt work.

Do you remember when i was 15, and i told you, mom, that adopting sounded way better than having biological kids? You got so offended, and i had no idea why. I still dont. You told me it was a natural part of life, that we were supposed to bring children into this world. I tried to explain my reasoning- why would i want my own children when there are those who are suffering on their own? When the thought of procreation made me sick?- but you dismissed it. It was just another day.

Do you remember the brief period when i was 15, when i dated a girl? I assume you dont, because you never found out. I lived in constant fear, because the comments you would make at the dinner table described lgbtq+ as an affront to God, as unnatural. I had thought that men were the problem, and she was my first real partner. But nothing changed, it still felt wrong, and we fell back into only being friends. I hadnt told you about that until today, because i knew exactly what youd say about it. I knew exactly what youd say about me.

Do you remember the boy i met when i was 16? The one with the curly hair and the kind smile. You were always pushing me toward him, because you saw how he looked at me (i saw, too- and i didnt like it). He took me to homecoming, and prom, and danced too close to me for my liking. You always asked if we were a thing yet- and when i said no, you smiled knowingly. I hated that smile. And you smiled that smile for years.

I reconnected with him when i was home over winter break. We hung out once, i told him my sexuality, and he barely reacted. When you asked how it went, i told you i rejected him romantically, but we were still friends. Do you remember what you said, mom? You said, "so you broke his heart and left." I cried that night.

Do you remember when you found my aroace pins a month ago? Im at college in a different state- a religious college you wanted me to go to- and you still made it your priority to berate me for it. I dont know if you could tell how angry i was over the phone, but when you said "asexual and things are just looking for attention", it broke my heart.

Because i figured it out when i was 17. Because it took me two years to finally accept it in a religion that very strongly emphasized the family unit. Because i finally felt accepted, i felt heard, i wasnt being dismissed at every corner. Because i had something to explain why i was like this.

Because i finally didnt feel broken.

I never doubted that you loved me- not once, ever, in my life. Not until you started degrading me for something i couldnt control. Not until you started pressuring me to date people i would much rather be friends with. If youre not going to love all of me, then do you even love me at all?

I hope you know that i still love you, despite everything. But i hate the way you talk to me now, the way you talk to others about me. And i hope that one day, you, too, will realize that im not broken, or affronting God, or unnatural. I hope you realize that im still your child.

I hope you realize im still human.

[luvrxbunny]

hii sorry to bother you im just gonna request something for ethan landry idk if youve written for him before i havent seen. but im legit obsessed and can you do something about like him being in econ and then getting all flustered from reader sitting next to him and just talking and then after that idk you can make something up hahaha but they go to like readers dorm and SmUt and hes all whiny and subby and maybe mommy kink goirhetlghrtglrhtg :))) dhbckudhfxkd

can you tell im going a bit insane for this guy

if you cant do it its okay also i love your work so much it gets me shuddering like legit

Thank you so so much for requesting! Unfortunately, I have no clue who this character is, (i literally thought he was evan peter's character in ahs before this) so I’m sorry if anything isn’t character-consistent!

Pairing: Ethan Landry x F!Reader

Summary: You find out that Ethan has a little crush on you.  

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some dry humping, handjob, overstimulation, f!mastrubation, mommy kink (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 4.3k

A/N: idk how this got so fucking long idek this guy. also y'all see the compliments in the request?? flattery will get you very far w me

You walk in just as the bell rings, breathing a sigh of relief as you sit down and the professor begins his mind-numbing lecture. You place your bag on the ground and get out all the supplies you’ll need for this god-awful class. 

You’ve finished setting everything up when you realize that you’ve sat down next to someone. You try and see who it is through the peripherals of your vision, hoping you didn’t just sit next to some random person when you realize it’s him.

You’ve been going to school with Ethan for a few years now. He’s always been pretty quiet so he doesn’t have many friends. You guys are friendly, a level a bit higher than acquaintances because you’ve known each other for so long but you don’t really talk that often. You developed a crush on him back in high school. It never grew into anything more because you could never seem to hold a conversation with him... But it never fully left either because he’s still adorable.

You were shocked when you saw him in class on the first day, unable to believe that you were lucky enough to end up with him in the same class, at the same college. You try to talk to him more when you both are paired up in class but he’s not the best conversationalist. 

“Oh! Hey, Ethan! I didn’t even realize you were sitting here!” You try and be extra friendly, knowing how hard it is for him to communicate with others but you’re still met with silence. “Uh- I was almost late again! Did you see me? I got here like- just in time. Maybe I should start walking with you, you’re always on time!” You open your notebook and start taking down the notes on the board as you speak. 

Ethan is still silent. It’s getting a bit rude at this point. You thought the two of you were friendly but maybe he just doesn’t like you at all. You turn to look at him, hoping you’d get an explanation but all you’re met with is his alarmingly red face, fixated on the board. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He has sweat lining his hairline and his back is unnaturally straight. “Hey… Are you okay? Are you sick?” Your voice is laced with concern as you speak, hoping this is the one thing he responds to. 

Ethan is trying so hard to act normal, be normal around you but he can’t. It would’ve been fine if you just hadn’t spoken to him. He could’ve easily pretended you weren’t there if he also ignored the smell of your perfume that was all but suffocating him with its ungodly sweet scent.

He’s been hard since you walked in, he always is. He can’t even help it at this point, he doesn’t try. In every class you’re in, his blood is in his dick. He used to try and prevent it, feeling like a pervert for being turned on at nothing but your presence but he’s given up. No one ever notices and he can just get off in the bathroom during lunch if he’s desperate enough. Only this time you’re sitting next to him.

He’s already leaking in his pants. 

To make it worse you were being so nice to him, too nice, and now you’re concerned about his health? Not even realizing that you’re the one who’s got him so hot, not a fever. 

“I’m- I’m fine. Thank you.” His voice is entirely flat as he speaks, trying to keep all emotion out of it in fear that you’ll be able to decipher what they mean. He doesn’t look at you, he’s scared he might cum on the spot if he does. 

You take these as signs of dishonesty. “Ethan… Are you sure?” You bring a hand up to feel his cheek, you’re so zoned into whether his skin is too warm or not, that you don't even notice when his eyes dart to your face. You move your hand to his forehead, deciding that his cheek isn’t reliable enough and your eyes meet his. 

You can hear his breath hitch at the eye contact and breaks it. It confuses you for a moment but you try and focus on the task at hand. “I don’t know, you feel kinda warm, Ethan. I don’t know if there’s a nurse on campus but we can check? I’d assume that-” 

His chest warms at your concern and he thinks it over. 

I can spend more time with her this way, and get to know her better. Can I handle spending all that time with her though? What if she notices my- Yeah. Maybe I just shouldn’t…

“Madame Late Pass?” Your eyes are already rolling into your head and you’re groaning quietly as the professor calls you out. You pull your hand away from Ethan’s face and give him the most distasteful stare you can manage. “Is there something wrong with Mr. Landry that’s distracting you from my lesson?”

“Actually sir, I think he might have a fever or something. I should probably take him to the nurse.” It’s an obvious excuse to skip his class but it isn’t technically a lie so he lets it go. You quickly pack your things up with a smile and motion for Ethan to do the same. 

You hold in your giggles until you guys are outside the classroom. “Okay! Do you wanna go to the nurse? We don’t have to- I don’t even know where it is, honestly.” Ethan is facing away from you, silent. 

Anxiety creeps in. “Hey. S- Sorry if you didn’t want to leave class. I- You could probably head back in a little bit… I should’ve asked I’m sorry. I just assumed. I mean wh- who likes econ y’know? I’m- I’m sorry.”

Your stuttering has his blushing even harder, the thought that anything he does could get any reaction out of you makes him smile. “I’m fine and I-” He lets out a light laugh that gives you butterflies “I kinda hate econ.” 

You place yourself in front of him with a huge smile. “Great! So do I, this will be great!” You lock your arms with his, a risky move, it has your heart pounding as he stiffens up with a sharp inhale but he never pulls away. You guys stroll down the corridors and talk. You have to slow your pace to keep up with Ethan and you’re doing most of the talking but you don’t mind one bit. 

You guys stop at the cafeteria for snacks and Ethan gently insists on paying, bringing the butterflies back to life and forcing a smile to your face as you thank him. You’re both sitting in a corner booth, away from most people, you’re talking and he’s squirming. 

Every few minutes he repositions himself and it was starting to get on your nerves a bit. It felt like he was uncomfortable being here, or that he was anxious for you to stop talking. You ended your story early, letting your voice die down, waiting for him to move again before questioning him. “Why are you so squirmy.?” 

He stops his movements instantly, and his eyes hesitantly look up to meet yours. “I’m not squirming.” He watches your feature turn into one of complete skepticism. “Ethan. I have eyes. If you want me to like… be quiet, or talk less or anything you can just say that. I won’t get offended or anything, I know I talk a lot.” You giggle at the end, Ethan twitches in his pants and has to suppress a whimper at the sound. 

“You’re not talking too much. You’re fine, it’s okay.” He’s struggling not to press his palm into his bulge again, needing any relief after being hard for almost half an hour now. Everything you do is making it worse and he doesn’t know how to escape the situation. 

The way you keep touching him is deadly. The way you linked arms with him when walking, the way you rubbed his back and thanked him as he paid and even now, the way you’ve placed your feet right next to his under the table, something about the action has his precum soaking through his jeans.

He doesn’t notice that you finished your food already and you’re now getting up and gathering the trash. He doesn’t have time to tell you he can do it himself before you’re crossing to his side. “I can take this for-” 

His hands cover his lap but you’re already staring. He doesn’t say anything, hoping that you’re staring at his crotch for a reason other than the fact he’s hard as a rock and soaking his pants. Your head tilts in confusion before you sit down, right next to him. Your scent wraps all around him like a blanket, his eyes fall shut as he breathes in your scent, his hands subconsciously massaging his dick gently. You feel the butterflies in your stomach turn to molten lava as you watch him. 

His breathing hitches as his hands stop moving and his eyes snap open. “I’m s- I’m so sorry. I’ll-” He’s gathering the abandoned trash and getting up but you place your hand on his arm softly and pull him back down. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Ethan. Although I’d like to know it’s um- origin.” Your heart is racing at the thought that you were the one to make him this hard, that you- just going about your day- could make him this hard. He answers you without saying anything, his face turns piping red again and he looks away. That does it. 

“Ethan, do you wanna come back to my dorm? I have something to… show you.” 

He’s following close behind you, his shirt pulled down over his crotch and one hand in yours. You’re basically dragging him into your dorm, pressing him into the door the second he closes it. You’re leaning into him, your hands on his chest as his float awkwardly above your hips. 

“I wanna kiss you, Ethan.” He gasps sweetly at your words and leans into you instantly. 

His lips are soft and wet when they meet yours. You whine into his mouth, he moans loudly into yours in response and pulls away. “S- sorry.” His eyes are downcast and he sounds embarrassed. You couldn’t be more confused. 

“What?” You run your hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and to the back of his neck so you can play with his curls. His eyelids flutter at the action and you watch his adam’s apple jump before he speaks. 

“I don’t know. I was- I was loud. I didn’t mean to be…” You can’t help yourself. You smash his lips back into yours, forcing a beautiful moan out of his mouth, followed by a whine before you pull back. “I want you to be loud, Ethan.” 

You whisper the words to him, low and seductive. A little whimper slips out of his mouth and you kiss him again, walking backward towards your bed and he’s stumbling like Bambi as you do. 

His hands are finally on you, wrapped around your waist, trying to pull you in. You maneuver him around to push him onto the bed and straddle him. He’s moaning the moment your weight drops onto him, his hips bucking up into yours against his will and he’s apologizing again. 

You silence him with your lips, attacking his neck, and melting his words into groans and whines. You lift your weight off him, pushing onto your knees and cooing at how he whimpers and tries to follow you with his hips. You push him down to the bed, laying him out for you to admire. You run your hands down his arms, over and down his chest to the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes leave his body to check if he’s okay with this but his head is thrown back, pressing into your pillows with his knuckle between his teeth. 

“Ethan? Are you okay, honey?” A ragged half moan, half sob, shoots from his mouth as his hand leaves his mouth, gripping your arm desperately. He’s still not looking at you and his hands are shaking as they grip you.

“I-It feels s- so fucking g- good. You’re ma-aking me feel so good.” He’s incredibly breathless as his hips grind up into the air, searching for your warmth. You can feel heat explode in your stomach at his words, at his desperation from you just kissing and running your hands over his body. 

You drop your weight back onto him for a moment, to tease him and relieve yourself a bit. He rewards you with a shuddering gasp and his hands come to grip your hips as hard as they could. He can’t even get any words out as your clothed pussy slides over his sensitive cock. Your eyes are shut tight in concentration as you try not to make any noise, wanting to hear his noises instead. You grow a bit frantic in your movements, grinding on him harder, angling yourself a million different ways to try and get the perfect pressure on your clit when you feel his hand on your cheek. 

Your eyes snap open- you hadn’t even realized you closed them- and he’s pulling your lip from between your teeth with hooded eyes on you and a shy smile on his lips. “I wanna hear you too.” His voice is timid and breathy and you can tell he’s being genuine in what he says but all it does is turn you on even more. 

You moan as you dive for his lips, his hips follow yours up and his hand presses your head into his. He’s thrusting into you more forcefully, determined to cum against you but you lift your hips away from his again with a moan as he separates from your lips. “Why? I was- I don’t understand.”

He sounds like he could cry and his hips are still searching for any friction as you watch him, looking into his eyes and admiring all the emotion they hold. You can’t help the smirk that splits your face as he begins to whine for you, begging you to touch him, to make him feel good but instead, you fully remove yourself from him. You sit beside him and tell him to remove his pants, and he excitedly complies. He’s trembling beside you as you stare at the bulge in his briefs, in love with the way he’s leaking through the fabric. “Would it be okay if I touched you, Ethan?” 

You’re fixated on his bulge but you still hear the way his breathing picks up at your question. You crawl in front of him, your thighs laying over his, sitting between his spread legs with your pussy inches from his throbbing cock. Your hands run along his pelvis, tickling the skin just above the band of his underwear, and smiling at the way his stomach tenses under your minstrations. “P- Yes, please. Please- Oh-” 

He gasps prettily as you stick your hands into his underwear and pull his cock out. He hisses when it hits the cold air but falls into a moan as you start pumping him, wasting no time in getting him the pleasure he deserves.

“So. You got hard because..?” You prompt him, wanting to hear the real reason, and deciding this would be the perfect time to tease him. You’re not even sure he heard you, his eyes are still wide and staring at your hand as it glides up and down his cock, extra lubricated from all the precum his dick is spewing for you. 

You watch his face contort in pleasure, his head falling back as his eyes roll back and he begins to whine out your name on repeat. His hands start to shake and grip the sheets tighter, twisting the fabric in his fist before shouting out. “NO-”

You stopped. “Why are you- Why did you s- stop again? I was so- I was so c- close, I was gonna cum-” His voice pitches up at the end into a whine and he tries to fuck himself into your fist. You giggle at him.

“I asked you a question, baby.” He gives you a bitten-off groan at that. “You didn’t answer, which was quite rude but you do that all the time huh?” Your fingers run delicately over his length, watching it twitch as he struggles to respond. “I- don’t m-mean to.” You start jerking him off again, slowly. 

“You- You’re so pretty, I lo- I like y- you so- shit. I can’t speak- you turn me o-on.” He’s barely making sense as his hips fuck into your fist, trying to force you to get him off faster. He keeps cutting himself off with moans and debauched groans. His whole face is red, it’s spread down to his neck and up his ears too.

“I turn you on? That’s why you ignore me?” You stop again, your hand frozen in the middle of his dick. A broken wail shoots from him and his hands shoot up from the sheets to your face, pulling you in for a kiss. He’s licking up and into your mouth while letting his moans spill from his lips into yours. You’re shocked at the desperation and force of the kiss, your lips bruising themselves against his. He’s pulling at your hair gently and moaning as your tongue brushes along the inside his mouth. He pulls back and falls to your neck, whimpering quietly. 

“I can’t think- You make me so- I get so hot around you, mommy.” 

Your heart stops, every molecule in your body getting overrun with arousal at the words- at the name that just left his mouth. He’s pressing kisses into your neck and explaining himself further, as though he’s called you this before, like this is a normal thing between the two of you.

“-And everything about you just makes it so much worse. I just wanna cum for you, I want you to make m- me cum but you keep s-stopping and it hurts so much. I- please, I want you so bad, mommy.” He gasps at the end of his sentence that time and pulls his head out of your neck. 

His lips are wet , soft, and trembling, his eyes are terrified as they scan your face trying to decipher your reaction. He’s breathing fast, in a more panicked way at your silence. “I’m so sor-”

“So you want mommy to make you cum, baby?” His eyes widen with a gentle gasp but he keeps scanning your face, looking for anything that doesn’t feel genuine. His eyes lose focus though, as you begin to stroke his cock again. “I think I can do that… What do you think?” 

He’s nodding at you deliriously as his hips begin to roll themselves into your fist, his hand slides over the sheets until it finds yours and interlocks your fingers, causing warmth to bloom in your chest and stomach. You lean in to kiss his cheek as he moans your name but he turns his head so you catch his lips instead, his moans filling your mouth again. He’s barely kissing you, more like pressing his open mouth against yours, exchanging his breaths for yours as you smile at him. “That feels good, baby?”

His eyes open to meet yours and instantly roll back into his head. “Y- Mommy, don’t stop. Oh- You know it d- does. Please.” He’s interrupting with his own sounds again and his hand is wrapping around your waist, trying to pull your body closer to his. His moans are becoming more frantic and he keeps taking deep, stuttering, breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

His bottom lip is being bitten red by his teeth, his eyelids are fluttering, struggling not to let his eyes close and roll to the back of his head. You can see his thighs tensing and jumping beside you, they press against your body, tense and stiff as his legs try to shut. 

“So cl- Mommy, I’m so- s-so- please. Oh, fuck.” His eyes snap open to meet yours pathetically. There are little tears that have gathered in his eyes and he looks so out of it, fucked out beyond belief, his head far up in the clouds. “Please don’t stop. Let-” You tilt your head at him as he collapses into a trembling sob, his hands beginning to shake where they hold you, his eyes shut again, and his eyebrows press up into each other. “Let me cum for you, let me cum f- for.”

His sentence is ruined by his orgasm and you can feel the force of it. Not by the way he all but screams your name, or by the way his body folds into yours. You can physically feel it. His cock pulses aggressively in your hand and you can feel each rope of cum work its way up his shaft and spurt out of his tip, running down your knuckles and dripping onto your bed. 

His thighs are trembling at your sides, trying to crush you as he humps your fist the best he can. He’s so loud against your neck, releasing passionate shrieks and wanton whines of your real name or your awarded one. He brings a sweaty hand to your cheek and pushes your face in his direction so he can smother your lips in his saliva, not waiting until he’s connected to your lips to start trying to taste you. You have to suppress a fond giggle at the action, letting him lick into your mouth instead. 

You’re still pumping him, trying to get out all the cum that’s been collecting in his dormant sac. His whole body is shaking now, repeated and choked moans falling into you as he crosses the line of overstimulation. You kiss him languidly and start to slow your hand, not wanting to overwhelm him too much. His fingers untangle from your hand and wrap around your other. 

He pulls away from the kiss and looks at you with hooded, clouded eyes. “I can c-cum again if-” 

He uses his hand to run yours over his shaft, jerking himself off with your hand. “If we- Can we k-keep going?” His eyes begin to cross as your hand establishes a rhythm, you’re not even doing anything, letting him get himself off with your hand. His hips are thrusting up erratically as he moves you frantically over his cock. “I wanna cum f- cum for you a-again.” 

Overcome with arousal, you slide your hand into your pants and start toying with your clit through your panties, your eyes falling shut at the pleasure. You’re already impossibly close, overly sensitive from all the neglect while being pummeled with stimulants; the way Ethan is reacting to you, his trembling body desperately pressing itself against yours, his moans, and the way he calls you mommy.

You hear his moans pick up and your eyes open back up to see his gaze between your legs before snapping up to meet yours. He stops pumping himself with your hand in favor of placing his hand over the one that rests inside your pants. He’s moving his hand in the same motions you are while you start jerking him off again, relishing in the way he’s twitching against your palm.

Ethan knows he isn’t doing anything, he knows that he’s not actually touching you but the way you moan his name makes him feel otherwise. The way you’ll moan at your own movements while his hand moves the same way, has him tricking himself into believing he’s the one making you feel good. The thought has him teetering- tipping over the edge. 

“Gonna cum.” He mumbles against your lips before dropping his head to your shoulder. You move your fingers faster over your clit, your hips beginning to cant up into your hand as your orgasm approaches. 

"Me too, honey. Fuck it feels so good, Ethan.” He moans brokenly as he cums again, thrusting weakly into your hand as his cock twitches pathetically, letting out tiny streams of cum onto your sheets. He’s gasping out a plea into your neck as he cums but you can’t make out what it is.

“-please. Oh, please. Cum, mommy. Cum. C-cum. Please cum. Fu-uck” You can’t help the way your body convulses against him or the shouting moan of his name that shoots out of your mouth as your eyes roll back. You can feel yourself soaking your panties as you shudder against him. His hand is still over yours, moving your finger over your clit in the midst of your orgasm, prolonging it as long as he can before you’re pulling your hand away and kissing him as passionately as you can. 

Both of you have your arms wrapped around the other as you guys kiss, dopey smiles on both of your faces when you pull back. He has a shy blush over his features that makes you giggle and press a kiss on the tip of his nose. You’re both lost in the moment, giggling and kissing each other, love-struck when you hear your dorm room open. “Oh god, what’s that smell?”

You hear your dormmate behind you and cover Ethan as best you can, with your body. “Sidney, fuck off!” You shout at her, hoping she’ll get the memo and leave but instead, you hear her speak again. 

“What?.. Oh eww.” You roll your eyes at her and look at Ethan, his face is red, obviously embarrassed at the presence in the doorway. 

“Oh my god! Shut up and just leave!” She finally leaves and you apologize to Ethan for the interruption. You kiss softly along his jawline and down his neck to calm him down, you fall for him the moment you pull away.

You get to see- for a moment- the face he had while you were kissing him, content and pleased, his eyes shut with a pretty little smile resting on his lips. 

Thank you so much for reading! and thank you even more for requesting!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 7

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,800+

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

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Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Thank you for your patience, I had this chapter beta-read twice. Thank you to @since-im-already-here and @vespidphoenix for their kindness in volunteering to do that for me! Such love and appreciation for you both.

Song Suggestions: Casper's Lullaby,

Their Wedding Serendade: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

“I will not marry him.” 

Her voice held such sorrow, but her cries fell on deaf ears as her governess began to tug her hair into place with the rough scrape of a bone comb. Thrown onto her hands, pale gloves thrust up to her elbows by the hands of her ladies maids; her shoulder straps readjusted to float down her forearms like beams of radiant moonlight. 

“He has heard your demands, and seen them done. You are his princess...”—her governess’ voice paused while she shook her head to rid her eyes of her own tears—“...and now you are his bride. You bound yourself to him the moment you placed that damned band over your unity finger.” The small quiver in her tone had the princess’ eyes spilling over with a fresh stream of hot tears. 

Immediately springing to her feet and snatching her hair out of the firm grip of her ladies maid, she flung herself against the corner of the room. Her face was littered with tears, her eyes swollen and lip bruised from the force of her teeth clamping on them. 

“My princess,” the governess spoke, her hands quivering as they reached out in an anxiety induced panic, “You have been training your whole life to marry royalty. This was a title you were born to bear. You are to be queen of your lands, ruler of your home country. With your union to the king-.”

“-I will not marry him!” She beat her gloved hands against the wall, her enclosed fists almost shattering her bones atop the cobblestone walls. Sobs rocked her shoulders, her wails echoing throughout the hallway and flooded the ceremony space with her grief. Attendees held a similar somber expression, along with royal subjects celebrating with glee at the prospect of a new queen. 

“My lady,” the governess’ voice shook as she stepped closer to the shaking princess and placed her hand over her shaking shoulder, “My lady, please.” 

The bloodshot eyes of the royal princess snapped up to her with a cold and frightening stare. 

“What would you have me do, my governess? Wed this man who is more than twice my age? Dine with this man, consummate a union with this man? A man who already rules over these lands as king? A man who i-is-...” 

Her eyes fluttered closed as a fresh surge of tears fell from her darkened orbs. 

“A man who is my father?” 

The princess rounded on her ladies in waiting, her eyes now incandescent with helpless rage. “What would you do?” she continued. “What would any of you do, were you in my place? The law of the land binds me to this ring. I have become plagued by an unnatural and grotesque curse-.”  Her voice halted in her throat, plagued by her own revelation. 

That is exactly what this was. This was a curse. 

A curse on her soul to bind her in matrimony to her own flesh and blood. Where other children dreamed of fairytale romance, being spirited away into the arms of a lover, she was bound by fate to this ring. 

The princess’s gaze landed on a pot of water hanging in the fireplace. As she walked in that direction, her eyes never leaving it, the water went from simmering to bubbling to boiling over. Hardening her resolve, she grasped the iron handle and removed it from its place above the fire. 

“My lady! What are you-,” the calls of her ladies in waiting were silenced by a single look from  the governess. 

The princess’ sobs began to crack and cackle into maniacal and sinister laughter. 

“I will curse you. I will curse all of you,” she booms, casting the glove from her left hand to reveal a violet ring encrusted with an array of several stones bound within a thick band. Nine stones of unique colors danced within the light, their forms melded into a large central stone in the middle. The green hue of moss overshadowed the radiance of the smaller stones, the thick band dwarfing her unity finger. 

“If you are thinking of casting it into the fire, my lady,” the governess stepped closer, her hands held with palms facing outwards in defense, “The damage is already done. You are bound to marry him, there is nothing you can do.” 

The princess flung the band from her finger and threw the object into the iron pot. 

“In that hopelessness, I shall thee bind,” she intones in a hundred voices, at once of the deepest bass and highest soprano. The attendees within her chambers stepped back, some thrust onto their knees under the powerful boom of her voice. 

“Whosoever shall find, claim or attune to these crafts, their souls shall be cursed under the plague of unity,” she continued, her hair shifting in colors and tones to several shades closer to death, “May their suffering feed my heart with gladness and life, as my suffering brings gladness onto thee.” 

“-My lady,” the governess spoke, her eyes widening in fear as she witnessed the princess wither beneath her curses, “My lady, please-.”

“-And as my yearning for a love true and just shall never be quenched,” the princess’ voice hitched, her own tone dominant within the vocal strands of external forces, “I will allow the wearer to place a plague of conditions on their heart the moment the craft is thrust upon them.” 

Her hair whipped in the unnatural wind, the ring now smelting down into a lava of molten gold. The gems began dancing within the pale light as smoke poured from them in hues darker than night.

“Should their conditions never be completed,” the princess continued, her heart swelling with vicious rage, “I will claim their souls and bind them to my own in eternal suffering a year from the day it begins.” She ripped a fistful of her vibrant hair, placing it within the concoction alongside her tears. 

The ladies in waiting, the maids, and the governess clutched their hearts and covered their screams with their hands as the clouds of smoke spread through the chambers. 

“My lady!” The governess shrieked, “Princess, please! You do not know what it is you are making. This unnatural phylactery has no place in the lands of the living. My princess-.”

“Your Queen,” her voice boomed, her pupil-less gaze snapping over to her governess. Her face contorted into an unnatural and cool gray tone, her vibrant hair lifeless in hue while whipping around her face within waves of spectral ocean. 

“My queen,” the governess repeated, bowing her head to the royal witch. Her hue returned to her, the gold simmering down as she poured the liquid onto the coals below the surface. An unnatural steam rose within the flames, the vapors smelling of metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of honey. 

“I-I just-...” the princess wailed in defeat, her shoulders slouched, “-I just wanted to find love, governess. I wanted so desperately to find peace with a spouse of my own choosing. I wanted a partner to court me; to woo me, to cherish me. I never wanted-.”

“Sapsorrow, your king awaits you,” A voice called from behind the door, interrupting the unnatural scene within. As the ladies glanced nervously between the princess and  the door, the final words of the princess’ confession bound all but one stone within nine rings, leaving the central moss agate laying dormant, as if awaiting a final command. 

“I just wanted a love that was truly mine.”

- 

The echo of those final words plagued your mind, dancing as the concept of time began to mould from the past and spring you into your future. The repetition of ‘truly mine’ rotated and stirred within your slumber, breaking the peace you had once found for yourself beneath your bedsheets. You catapulted from your huddled pile of blankets into an upright position; your damp hair clung to your brow and sweat stuck your nightdress to your body. Your plagued slumber left you with more questions than answers. 

Had the spectre wanted you to see that image? Did she have control over your mind, did your attunement to the moss agate ring bind to you? Drawing your right hand up to your face, you rotated your thumb and index finger over your temples to rid yourself of the nightmare that seemed to persist each time you lay down to slumber. 

A light rap at your door had you jolting from your thoughts, snapping your head towards the wall and hastily making your way over to the interruption. 

“Governess!” A hushed feminine whisper called to you, “Governess, can I come in?” Perona continued her polite rapping, the drum of her knuckles gathering up rapidity against the wood in an anxious thump. You sighed, shaking your head and allowing a small smile to dance over your features. 

Collecting the iron handle beneath your hands, you open the door and immediately become overwhelmed by the embrace of your pink-haired pupil. She squealed into your ear, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as she attempted to twirl you. 

“You are getting married to Mihawk today!” Her voice squeaked with high-pitched enthusiasm, “Have you tried on your dresses? Have you written your vows? Did you read his letter yet? Have you thought about your perfume? How are you doing your hair? Are you doing it in three different styles for the three different outfits?” 

The sheer rapidity of her questions had you unable to find an anchor to hold them. You fluttered your eyelashes shut, shaking your head hastily and attempting to wrap your mind around her flurry of words.

“Of course you haven’t read his letter yet, I still have it! I am scatterbrained today, my lady. I can barely contain all of the excitement!” She continued, breaking away her contact from you and thrusting a wax-sealed envelope into your hands. 

“Perona-?” You began, your voice halting as she danced past you into your chambers and staring at the two mannequins in the corner of your bedroom beside your changing shield. Her voice caught in her throat, all air relinquished from ballooning her lungs. You turned to face her, holding the envelope close to your chest as a warmer smile drew itself to your features. 

“O-Oh-... Oh m-my-...” Perona’s words found no harbour against her lips, all thoughts became silenced within her mind as she hovered over to the dresses. You allowed a warm giggle to rise within your throat at her fawning over the objects. 

“Do you like them?” You asked her, cocking your head over to the right hand side to find a better angle to read her face. 

“They are beautiful, my lady,” she whispered, reaching her hand towards the sleeve of Sir Crocodile’s creation and halting before her digits found purchase, “Can I touch them-?”

“-Don’t you dare, Perona,” A gruff, masculine voice called from the corner of the room. You snapped your face over to the doorway, noticing Zoro donned in lengthy tan sleeping trousers and a dark yukata hanging limply at the front. 

“Zoro!” You gasped, drawing your chemise closer to contain your form from his eyes, “It is one thing having Perona in my personal suite, but another to have a young gentleman while I’m clad in my nightdress.” Zoro shook his head, his wolfy grin taunting you beneath his down tilted head. 

“Would you change your tune if I said I have wine?” Zoro’s brow quirked up, revealing a green bottle from behind his back with a small, nonchalant shrug. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head and removing your arms from concealing your chemise from vision. 

“Have you got a saber tucked somewhere on your person, Zoro?” You quirked your own brow up in question. Zoro laughed, turning away from his lean to reveal three swords clinging limply against his hip. 

“You can take your pick, my lady,” he shrugged, his hand lying on the hilt of his favoured blade. You opened your arms to him, gesturing for him to enter your suite with an elaborate flurry of motions. 

“Then by all means, my green-haired pupil,” you mixed your tone somewhere balanced between absolute sarcasm and unwithheld appreciation, “Welcome to my humble abode. Shall we begin by getting ourselves ready for the ceremony, or having a drink before breakfast?” 

Zoro answered wordlessly with a small smirk. Withdrawing the white blade from within its scabbard to claim the cork from the top of the wine bottle, and unlatching the wax by severing the rim with his sword. He reached towards your small dining table, upturning three of the four teacups from their place atop their saucers and pouring the amber liquid to the brim. 

“You gonna open your letter?” he asked, nodding to the envelope clutched within your hands and reminding you of its presence, “We’ll do a small cheers and give you a bit of privacy to read it.”

“I hope you are both planning on giving Mihawk a similar wake-up call,” you laughed, reaching forward and claiming a teacup from Zoro’s outstretched grasp. Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he raised his own teacup to clash the rim with your own.

“Oh, he’s been up for hours,” Zoro confessed, Perona giggling as he handed her her own teacup, “He’s been brooding in the ceremony space: hovering over the decor and pacing, last time I checked.” Perona struck the corner of her teacup against Zoro’s before meeting the edge with your own. Your brows furrowed, glancing from the corner of your eye outside your bedroom window to seek out the elevation of the sun. 

“How many hours remain between now and the ceremony?” you asked Perona with a partial anxious quiver depicted within. Perona stepped forward, brushing her shoulder against yours in a small gesture of comfort. 

“You’ve got two hours, my lady,” she whispered, prompting your heart to nearly stop beating and your breath to halt in your lungs, “That’s why I thought to wake you-.”

“-And why I thought to bring you booze,” Zoro added, throwing back his teacup and downing the contents in one heaping gulp, “Just to take the edge off.” Your hands stuttered, taking a small sip of the wine within your cup before setting it back down. 

“I thank you both for your thoughtfulness, my dears,” you gave them a small downturned smile, your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know you as my pupils-.” 

“You’re going to be our lady now, my lady,” Perona added to your thoughts, “No longer just our governess, but something akin to an adoptive mother beside Mihawk as our apprehensive father.” Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the thought of becoming unified not only to a spouse today, but upholding a promise to chaperone the two wards at a place of higher standing.

“Don’t think too hard about it, my lady,” Zoro reassured, his brow furrowing down. Placing his mug down on the table, he reached his hands up to clasp your shoulders beneath his heavy-handed grip, “You’ve already got so much goin’ on in your head, just know-,'' his breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was bewitched by the charm of your melancholy and apprehensive expression, your doubts begin to spiral behind your eyes. 

‘You are not good enough for this role. This is not your place. This is not a role you were born to play. This was a role that always belonged to someone of higher standing; someone of higher class-.’

“-Know we would be proud to have you as our lady, not just a governess hired to serve a role,” Zoro continued, collecting your chin beneath his fingertips to hold your gaze with his own. Perona stepped her body closer to you, weaving her arms around your waist and hastily drawing her cheek to press against your back. 

“I can hear her too, my lady,” Perona whispered into your back, prompting you to break your eyes away from Zoros to glance over your shoulder. Perona’s large, dark eyes looked up at you with sorrow and understanding held within her orbs, promises of empathy propelling her utterances, “And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.”

Heart swelling at her utterances, your eyes began to pool over with gladness. The mist of your eyes clouded your vision as Perona continued to sing her praises into you. 

“I love you, my lady,” Perona hushed, her eyes beginning to dance with her own emotion. Her lip quivered, looking up into your eyes with true adoration and love at you, “We both do, don’t we Zoro?” At the sound of his name, Zoro’s breath caught itself within his mouth for the second time. 

You trailed your eyes back over to his, breaking away from your contact with Perona, and meeting his hazelnut orbs with your own once more. No whisper of a word, nor utterance fled his lips; all emotion depicted in the slight shudder of his eye and quirk up of his lips. Sighing out, you drew your arms around Zoro’s waist, turning your head to feel his heartbeat below his warm chest. Perona continued to nuzzle against your back as Zoro’s hands on your shoulders snaked over your back and pulled you both closer to him. 

“I am so glad to have met you both, dears,” you whispered, scrunching your eyes shut and deeply inhaling your insecurities, exhaling your worries into the air as they held you firmly. 

“Zoro, you need a bath. You stink, and I can smell you from here,” Perona called over your shoulder, “I pity your proximity, my lady. He’s probably spilling that musky smell onto you, meaning we’ll have to bath you too- My lady! We’re running out of time!” Perona immediately broke away from the embrace, tugging at your hips to break from Zoro’s grip and leading you to the changing shield.

“You: bath,” Perona ordered, pointing her finger at Zoro, “And you,” she snapped her eyes over to you, “Moon-dress first, right?” You sighed, nodding your dismissal of Zoro with a light smile. Zoro grunted a cough, adjusting his waistband around his yukata, and nodded in return before exiting your chambers. He halted at the table, collecting the half-drunk wine bottle by the neck, before heading through the door and latching it again with a small click.

“My lady, the moon first?” Perona asked once more, taking your attention from the door to gaze into her eyes. You nodded in confirmation, prompting her to shove you behind your changing screen to rid your body of its night chemise. You folded the chemise over the door of the screen, as the variety of items presented themselves to you in order from lesser to grander. 

“Perona, sweetheart,” you called to her, your voice holding an anxious laugh, “There is far too much material here for me to continue thrusting this onto my body.” Perona laughed in response, walking over to the screen and peeking over the top of the wooden frame. She inhaled deeply, a small squeak propelling her inhale. Her brows rose in excitement, her eyes upturning in glee at the first part of the assembly of the moon dress. 

The bodice of the dress clung to your breasts, an ovular shape wisping in layers of tulle and smoothed satin to draw over the midpoint of your shoulders. Trailing down from its seamless layers, your back was joined with an elaborate assortment of ridges and latches. Upon investigating it initially, you were unsure of why such items were joined in bands of silver, onyx and gold to its back until it hit you.

This was truly the moon. 

The silvery hue of the beams, the mystery of fluttered blues and pale whites cascading from end to end; all bound by circular divots of darkened onyx and quartz to resemble faces and craters atop the lunar surface. The many layers of skirts laid a train ending in the same ovular shape as the neckline atop your chest. 

“O-Oh, my g-goodness,” Perona’s voice managed to stutter out, her soul mirrored within her expression of youthful adoration and excitement, “You look so beautiful, my lady. As luminescent and radiant as the moon in peak of nightful.” You sighed with your smile, brows upturning and weight falling away from your shoulders. 

You gave Perona a small twirl, the material pooling and drifting as effortlessly as warm mercury over cool stone. She gave you a small applause and a small jittery cry of joy before ushering you over to sit at your vanity. Glancing up at your features, the illumination of the dress mixed perfectly with the tone of your skin and hair.The task had been executed flawlessly. 

“Now then, my lady,” she said, shaking her head and clapping her hands, “I am going to leave you to get yourself primed, painted and dressed with the jewellery-,” Her eyes widened, “-Jewellery, my lady! I have to get the jewellery!” She hastily turned back around and fled to the door, flinging it wide and immediately cowering away from a large, balled fist descending to where wood once was. 

You recognised the scent first, the smell of cigar tobacco and ashen smoke wafting into your chambers mixing with the expensive and earthy cologne of the hulking and boorish-.

“-Sir Crocodile,” you uttered as you began to rise from your vanity. Turning to face him, the intimidating aura of the hulking man hung behind the threshold of your door. 

“My lady,” he nodded his head in response, his head ducking below the frame to meet the purple hue of his eyes with your own, “May I enter your space?” Perona sucked in a breath, darting her eyes between the man at the door and you in your bridal dress in a small panic. Without turning his head, Sir Crocodile’s eyes met with Perona’s through the corner of his narrowed gaze.

“I harbour no ill intent with your mistress, little mouse,” Perona pouted at his words, prompting the twitch of his smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. He cleared his voice, removing the cigar from his lips and extinguishing the flame atop the stone wall beside the door frame; an action prompting your lips to curl in a small snarl. 

“As I were the means to provide you with such a dress,” his sinister smirk drew up to his cheeks, the huff of cigar smoke pooling from his lips, “I desired to be the first to see you in your radiancy. How are you enjoying your daw' alqamar-,” he shook his head in reprimand for his verbal linguistic slip, “-Your moonlight, my lady?” 

Several thoughts lingered in your mind: a reprimand for using your wall to douse the burnt end of his cigar, asking him to leave your space to continue dressing yourself for your wedding, thanking him for the skill that designed and crafted the garment over your body. Elevating to your feet and walking over to the door frame with precision and grace, you halted your movement and dipped into a low stooped curtsey.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke in a low and stern tone, “I would offer my praises and my gratitude to you presently,” your tone twitched in subtle agitation as you rose to your feet, “But I am a bride, and my groom is awaiting me.” Crocodile hummed through his nose, his smirk continuing to hold against his lips as he stared down at you. He took a moment to stare at your bodice, his brow twitching as he cocked his head.

After taking a moment's pause, his eyes softened to a point almost unavailable to an untrained eye. 

“You look beautiful, my lady,” he offered in a hushed whisper, “That dress was made for you by my means,” he stooped lower, remaining outside the threshold but hovering closer to you in proximity, “And you wear it as it you were born to don such a garment.”

At those final words, both Perona and Sir Crocodile left you in your solace to prepare yourself for your wedding ceremony. As you applied the final stroke of paint to dance atop your lips, from the corner of your eye; you spotted the parchment paper sealed with a wax stamp not dissimilar to the letter of summons from Mihawk those months ago. 

Placing down your lip-paint brush, you reached for the letter and unfolded the crease and snapping the small seal holding it closed. Immediately, your eyes widened at its contents:

“My Beloved Wife,

In light of harbouring no such secrets between us; I have written the vows I desired to forge with you, and present them to you before we meet for the first time as husband and wife.” 

You halted your reading, the swell of emotion elevating your heart to a risen drumbeat of both adoration and anticipation. Quickly reading through the customs he wished to claim over the ceremony, your smile broke your sorrow as you truly witnessed how much thought he placed into each declaration and decree. So many elements, so many customs you were learning held meaning for your husband to be; you found yourself awestruck.

“I have no such means for communication with you before we meet to truly know if you agree with the terms. 

But know this, 

I appreciated you for your skill as a governess to our wards, I found myself smiling at your playfulness as my Lost-Lady, and I am looking forward to the future that we will find ourselves forging; unified as one. 

My darling, I do

I will.

And I will always love you. 

Dracule Mihawk ~ Your Devoted Husband.”

A small drop soaked the page, swelling the signature lovingly scrolled ink into the bottom of the page, smudging its words. Shocked, you rose your hand to your cheek to find a damp trail of tears falling against your cheeks; completely unaware of when you had begun to cry. A small laugh flung from your lips, prompting you to sniff and shake your head before setting to the task of reapplying your paints and perfumes to the highest quality. 

The final step was placing the cascading veil atop your hair and covering your eyes, sheer in material appearing to illuminate pale blue under the lights. In your hand, you clutched your bouquet of lilies, roses, and baubles of babies’ breath. Nestled into the arrangement peered throughout were small wisps of blue forget-me-nots, a small nod to your prior filterless encounter with your Farm-Hand and you as his Lost-Lady. 

The halls were littered with similar flowers, illuminating the area with bulbs of roses, flurries of jasmines and hiding within the scattered arrangements: the same innocent and small forget-me-nots in clusters joined with twine. Although walking alone, you felt the presence of all guests loitering within the ceremonial space of Castle Kuraigana to propel you. 

Murmurs of hushed voices, small conversations resonated within the halls and beyond had your heart beating with irregular jumps in anticipation for what awaits you behind the large, closed doors. You sucked in a breath, the trail of your moonlight dress dancing along the lengthy hallway for each movement of your feet. 

‘You are truly going through with this, are you? Joining yourself to a role that you have no place in unifying with-.’

“-Sapsorrow,” your hushed voice rang into the air, the atmosphere cooling at the immediate utterance of her name. Whispers and hushed hums alerted you of her presence standing beside you in her spectral regality. 

“You dare speak my name, Governess?” the voice to your side answered you, your spine and follicles standing in tingles at her tone. You rolled your neck on your shoulders, twitching your hands by your side to rid it of your anxiety as you turned to face the spirit haunting you.

Her hollowed eyes framing her pupil-less gaze found your face, her sinister smile resting comfortably against her lips. Hair swiping in a wind not present as she moved, her dress pooling at her feet like a flag within water. She was a horror to behold, but there was a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes. 

“Queen Sapsorrow,” you stooped low, bowing yourself almost to the floor with your humility, “I express my gratitude to you.” You heard her spectral voice hitch in her unnatural throat, her animosity fleeing from her in the wake of curiosity. Before she opened her mouth to speak her taunts to you, you spoke once more as you rose to your feet. 

“I have no parents; no father, nor mother,” you confessed to her, your eyes depicting your honesty through each word spoken, “No family to call my own, until this very moment.” You stepped closer to her, reaching out your hand to bare your right palm to her. 

“I was alone in this world, drifting from place to place and finding purpose as a governess - an excellent governess,” you corrected yourself with a smile. Her uneasy and cautious expression unwavering for each parting moment you held her hostage with your words. 

“You are the reason I am here, and I will forever be grateful to the future you had bound to me,” She clicked her tongue at you, scrunching her nose to reveal her snarl at you. You hardened your resolve and continued, “Two wards: a man akin to a roguish son, alongside a beautiful and delightful daughter. In this unity: I have found a love that is truly mine,” you concluded, a warmer smile drawing up to reveal your teeth to her in a kind smile. 

Sapsorrow’s eyes widened, her unbeaten heart fluttering and reigniting within her chest at hearing her own words reflected from the lips of another.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk?” you offered her, stepping closer to her and continuing to hold your hand elevated to the front of you.

“Excuse me?” Her spectral voice called, her tone somewhere between offended and bewildered at such an offering. 

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk, Sapsorrow?” you again offered, gesturing to her spectral hand with your forehead, “From what I know of your history in the tale once told to me, you deserve your own happy ending. Walk with me, and I will be glad to share mine.” 

“You think my curse ends with just you?” Her form faded from vision, her voice reverberating in the hall outside of the ceremony with you, “Oh, I have eight more curses to awaken, you arrogant woman-.” Her voice held source from all corners of the hallway, “-Nine if you account for the clause that stupid tall blonde placed upon the band lying around that inked doctor’s neck!” 

Her sinister cackle broke her sentence, unnerving you more than the words she was speaking,“I shall start with those who aided you in completing your conditions; the easiest of the three to ensnare will be the Crocodile, for I know where his ring lay-.” 

Your breath hitched at her confession, her own words halting as she attempted to stuff them back into her undead lips. A rough spectral sigh drifted within the walls, her face once again revealed to your eyes. She looked softer, almost human now. Her hair was less wild, her face less horrifying, and her eyes soft and baring pupils within them behind her thick and lengthy eyelashes. The was truly beautiful, her sorrow depicted alongside an unfamiliar warmth in her undeath. 

“I will allow your happiness to lie only with you, Lady of Kuraigana. You deserve peace today,” she confessed, a warm smile rising to her lips as she leant forward to take your hand, “Enjoy the time you have with your love.” She stepped forward, pressing her left hand against your offered right, a tingle dancing against your skin at the contact. 

“This is where I leave you,” she confessed, floating backwards slowly towards the high ceilings, “But I will be watching your future closely.”

“Thank you, Sapsorrow,” you offered your gratuity by slinking down to another low bow. Halting her final exit by the upper window, she turned once more and glanced at the corner of her eye at you and smirked through the left hand corner of her lips. 

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” her small laugh propelled one of your own to dance alongside hers, “If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas,” her beauty once again faded into the horrifying spectre you had initially seen her as, “I do not.”

Her spectral body disappeared from the window, a swell in orchestral melody commencing as soon as she departed from the space. You were once again drawn to this single moment, your heart beating now in anxiety of what your future held for you. 

You were to become Lady of Kuraigana, bound to one of the former warlords of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, the Lord of this land you were now to call home. As you began to step towards the threshold of the door, the wooden barriers were pulled back by members of staff to reveal the attendees within. At the end of the ornately decorated row, your gaze immediately found linked with the honeyed hue of your beloved. 

Flowers lined the pews within the large room, candles alight with warm flames to illuminate the shadowy row. All eyes snapped to you, gasps fleeing from their lips as they took in your incredible beauty dressed in an arrangement as radiant as the moon. You could audibly hear the smirk from the hulking Sir Crocodile, as praises of your dress were flung into the air with their comments and sighs. 

The music swelled, a small smile drawing up to your face as you propelled yourself forward while clutching your bouquet close to your naval. You thanked your veil from shielding your nerves from prying eyes, a small blush dusting your cheeks as you shamelessly raked your eyes over the body of your intended.

His shirt was dipped into a deep ‘V’, tasteful frills decorating the hemline against his collarbone and neck. His overcoat lay open black in colour with the softest shade of mauve within the inner shield. Dark, leather pants were clasped by a golden buckle decorating his waist, the outer frame of his thighs supporting embellished embroidery in the similar mauve decorating his overcoat. Atop his head, his signature hat with his puffed, white feather dancing behind the broad brim and shielding his curled locks beneath it. 

In all your time spent with Dracule Mihawk, you could safely assume you had a grasp on how to read the subtle changes in his stoic face. His lips were barely parted, his eyes only slightly widened and his face only a single shade away from his regular hue with the dusting of the palest pink. Once again, the thought hit you like a puff of cautious wind: you were to wed Lord Dracule Mihawk, become his wife and he your husband. 

If his words to you were left unread and unwritten, you would have no doubt plaguing your mind at this very moment of one thing. Lord Dracule Mihawk was hopelessly, truly and deeply in love with you. 

As you approached the final steps towards him, you slowly turned to view Perona standing to the side of the aisle, noticing Zoro standing beside your intended: both holding similar expressions mirroring your own. You had all been awaiting this moment with the greatest anticipation: from the moment your accidental hands toyed with the moss agate ring, to the knowledge the curse bound you now by fate. 

Mihawk opened his mouth, watching as you slowly placed your bouquet he had affectionately crafted for you within Perona’s outstretched and awaiting hands. The officiant gave you a soft smile, turning to address the large number of attendees scattered amongst the pews in their most formal attire. 

“Valued and adored guests here gathered,” she began, her arms gesturing outwards in a warm embellished wave, “On behalf of the Lord and Lady to be of Kuraigana, I would bid thee welcome to witness the unification of two souls in matrimony.” Mihawk had yet to tear his eyes off you, paying attention to all words spoken by the woman in front of you, but hypnotised by your presence at his side. 

“There are a few elements to witness performed here. We are to leave no stone unturned nor phrase unuttered in their bonds forming,” she continued, turning away and gathering a larger twin candles within her hands and holding them to the side of her body, “Lord Dracule, you may reveal your wife from beneath her shroud, so we may witness her declarations departing from her lips.” 

Mihawk rose his hands to your collar bones, his fingertips pinching the sheer material within his thumb, index and tall finger and hastily withdrawing the shield from your face. He allowed himself the luxury of the backs of his hands brushing with your cheeks as he flung the sheer fabric over your hair, a shaken breath escaping your lips at his tender touch. 

As your eyes met without filter between you, his expression finally revealed more to you than a subtle tick and twitch. The air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes softening as he found his body drawing closer to you almost against his will. You smiled up at him, adoring this new and unrefined experience of adoration dancing over his face. 

“I present you with two candles,” the attendee informed you, placing them out in a gesture for you to take them from her hands, “I shall alight the wick of Lord Dracule's, and he will speak his actions and their meaning aloud.” She lit his wick, gesturing for you to turn to face one another with your candles extended in the middle of your bodies.

“With this flame,” Mihawk uttered in full clarity, “I vow to light your way through all darkness that plagues you.” He extended the flamed tip to ignite your candle in front of you. 

“Under its light,” you uttered with a small bow to him, “I trust you to guide me.” A small sniff from Perona, attempting as she would to halt her emotions from expressing themselves, had a similar experience rising in Zoro behind Mihawk. The two wards witnessing their Lord and Lady now unifying themselves in matrimony finally began to find harbour within their hearts in each passing moment and gesture. 

Taking the candles from you and placing them within their designated dishes on the table and elevating a silver goblet and accompanying decanter. She poured the crimson liquid within the spherical container, offering to place the cool stem within your fingertips. 

“Your cup may never empty,” you expressed, offering to your swordsman the container, rotating the object twice within your hands first and bowing your head low, “For I will be the wine that fills it.” His fingers brushed over yours, grasping them and taking them with him as he elevated the wine to his lips. He continued holding his hands over yours as he offered the goblet up to your own lips. 

“May I be the wine that fills your cup,” his smile twitched at the corner as he added, “And may you always be satisfied with the contents that replenishes you.” A small blush rose to your cheeks as your eyes never broke from Mihawks. He elevated the wine to your lips, allowing for a small sip to pass from your lips. The celebrant reclaimed the goblet from your hands and placed it beside the lit candles, rising now a tray with two cubes of sticky honeycomb atop the surface. 

“This may get a little messy, bear with us everyone,” the attendee expressed, drawing a small teetered chuckle and rise of giggle from your guests. Mihawk allowed the softness to be depicted in his face at the small giggle that fell from your lips, both claiming the sticky cubic piece of honeycomb into your fingers. 

“I shall serve you in all the ways you require,” you both spoke in unison, “And may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from my hand.” You both placed the sticky cubes within each other’s awaiting mouths, both laughing at the mess atop your fingertips. Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits. 

Small whistles and flirtatious commentary fell from the lips of the Red-Hair pirates, hooting and hollering in their support of such an unbridled expression of lust within the ceremony. Another rise of laughter occurred between you as you retracted your fingertips from each other’s mouths. The attendee placed the tray beside the goblet and returned with two thin sheets of material and offered them to Zoro and Perona. 

Perona reached forward and gathered the material within her hands, Zoro apprehensively doing the same with no frame of reference as to why he was doing so. 

“The two wards under the care of Dracule Mihawk will present the ties to bind you, solidifying their positions in upholding you within your commitment to one another as your chosen witnesses,” Mihawk turned away from you, as you did him, to gather the material within the hands of the wards behind you. 

“May our bond continue to grow all the years you choose to remain with us in unity, Perona,” you whispered to her, prompting her to smile through her tears that began to fall as soon as your vows commenced.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my lady,” she confessed in a similar tone, offering the sash for you to take into your arms. 

Although you both were too wrapped to hear the conversation occurring behind you, Zoro and Mihawk had a similar moment parting between them.

“Although you are destined to earn my title as ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’ in single combat, I am proud to call you a son under my familial name, Zoro,” He uttered with a small twitched smirk and narrowed eyes. 

“I will hold both such titles with honour, Lord Mihawk,” he reached forward, his arms containing the sash and prompting both Mihawk and you to return in facing one another. 

“May this knot you tie demonstrate to those present here the symbol of your unity,” the attendee uttered to you, prompting a skillful dance of fingertips brushing and hands clasping one another to tie the two sheets into a single knot in the centre. You and Mihawk both presented the unified material to the celebrant, who collected it from you by the knot in the centre. She placed the knot beside the dish containing the small syrupy honeycomb remnants, raising a box containing two bands of gold within. 

“My lady, you may raise your hand to place the ring atop your beau’s unity finger and relay your vows onto him,” she gestured for you to claim the larger band within the box, elevating it to his left hand and hovering it over his fingertip.

“My beloved,” you began, glancing from his hand to dart your focus between his two honey-coloured eyes, “These are the vows of promise I swear unto you, unifying us in marriage.” He awaited expectantly his breath hitching once more as you relayed your confession of love onto him.

“I will never possess you, for you belong to none but yourself,” you smiled at him, beginning the descent of his ring slowly over his finger, “I cannot command you, for you are free.” Shimmying the object over his first knuckle, you continued to relay your vows.

“I pledge to you that your name be the one I cry into the night,” your smile cracked at the corner of your face at a small stifled squeak from Perona, “And may mine be the smile that greets you the morning after.” You slid the ring over his final knuckle, securing it to the base of his finger before interweaving your fingertips with his. 

“May this ring be a symbol of my devotion to you, unifying us as one to all those who view it,” you concluded. Finally meeting his eyes once more, his glazed over eyes held such softness for you it felt too intimate for his public persona. He firmly squeezed your right hand within his left before unweaving his fingertips from yours and collecting your ring from the box presented by the attendant. 

“My beloved,” he began, clasping your left hand with his right, and elevating his left hand to hover the golden band above your left finger; his own new band catching your eyes as it danced in the light, “These are the promises I swear onto you through my vows of devotion.” He slid the ring slowly over your fingertip, his eyes never breaking away from your own as he presented his words.

“I will never command nor possess you,” he ushered the ring over your first knuckle, “For your will belongs to you alone.” Sliding the ring over your second knuckle, he continued to relay his vows slowly onto you. 

“I pledge your name to be cried from my lips in the night, and my smile-...” his right hand gently squeezed your fingertips as his smile drew up onto his face, “-be what greets you on the morrow beside you.” Perona stifled another squeal behind her unoccupied hand clapping over her lips, prompting a smile to break over your own lips. 

“May this band unify us in matrimony, and be a beacon of my promise to all who view it,” Mihawk concluded, immediately stooping his lips to press a chaste kiss atop your knuckles, much to the detest of the celebrant. She clicked her tongue to reprimand him, shaking her head with a smile of her own. 

“Given your lips can’t hold their restraint, my lord,” her warning tone playfully reprimanded him, “I will now allow for the lord and lady to solidify their unity in the sharing of their first kiss as husband and wife. You may both collect each other and seal your covenant with words left unspoken. You may now share your lips with one another.” 

Mihawk immediately began his descent, cradling your jaw beneath his left hand and shepherding you towards him with his lips parted in anticipation. You hastily drew your own left hand up to his right cheek, your right hand finding purchase on his waist and anchoring yourself to him as he finally pressed his lips onto your own. 

His lips were slow in movement, savouring the sweet taste of sugary honeycomb mixing with the bitter wine presented to each other earlier. He gasped into your mouth, opening it to deepen the unity between you by presenting a small flick of his tongue into you. His nose brushed with your own, his hand on your jaw fell immediately to your waist and clutched you firmly against his waist. Brows furrowed in unbridled passion, the world around you fled from memory at each press of his lips against your own. 

You slid your hand up to clasp his shoulder, a small squeak fleeing from your mouth into his as he turned your body in a low dip towards the guests in their seats in the pew. This action drew you away from your lustful hypnosis, the applause and cheers of your guests gleefully erupting into the air. He hastily drew your body back upwards with the flitter of your luxurious dress pooling behind you. 

“I am now delighted to pronounce, through this seal of unity,” the celebrant concluded her presentation, “The Lord and Lady Dracule of Kuraigana. Celebrate and uphold them, and may jovial celebrations continue into the night with merriment.” Mihawk clasped your hand and placed it into the crook of his left elbow, beginning his ushering of you to flee with him from the ceremony space to continue into your reception. 

Several of your guests greeted you both with their offerings of congratulations and affirmations, Red-Hair Shanks prying your husband away from your arms with his arm hooking over his shoulders and ushering him into a warm embrace. You made eye contact with the first mate of the Red-Hair pirates, who offered you a polite smile and the nod of his head; both of which you returned with actions mirroring his own. 

However, as soon as you became distracted by the embraces falling to your now husband, your elevated mood of joy was immediately halted as a floating and severed gloved hand clapped over your lips. You could not offer a hum of protest, nor a scream as your body was pried away from Mihawk’s and into the hallway outside of the ceremony space. 

“All part of the plan, Starlight,” a soft, nasally voice reaffirmed you in your ear. You turned your head to meet with the face of the flashy-fool himself, his face painted to the highest quality. His hand rejoined his forearm with a small suctioned ‘pop’.

“I’m gonna take my hand away from your face now, alright? You gotta be quiet and listen to what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” He nodded, his eyes serious with no room for joking. You nodded in return, prompting a smile to rise to his lips. 

“I’ve done some reading,” Buggy informed you, his tone apprehensive and nervous, “And there’s a custom in Kuraigana regarding weddings that sounds way too fun to be left out of ol’ Hawkie’s.” 

“And what may that be, sir Buggy D Clown?” Your frown deepened the longer Buggy kept you away from your new husband. He chuckled at your apprehension, a sly smile now developing further in elevation. 

“You are to be dressed in a new gown, no longer a bride but a wife under his name,” he confirmed with a nod, your understanding reflected in your own nod. “As your new dress is placed onto your body, you’re a new woman. And as a new woman,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “Your groom has to woo you to win back your favor.” 

“What are you saying, sir?” you narrowed your eyes, and threw him an accusatory and pointed look. 

“What I’m saying, Starlight,” he continued, linking his arms with yours and beginning to shepherd you further away from your celebration, “Is that I’m going to kidnap you and dress you in your starlight gown,” he grimaced a small grin, “I may have had a couple of my crew break in and steal the mannequin earlier,” he quickly uttered before waving his hand in front of him to halt your protests, “And he has to humble himself and perform a skill worthy enough to win your favour.” 

Your bewilderment was pictured over your face, looking from his eyes and apprehensively allowing him to draw you to the peer. 

“What type of skill, Buggy?” you asked him, your curiosity peaked the longer the clown explained himself.

“Could be anything, Starlight,” he shrugged, his playful smirk pulling wider. His eyes twinkled, the paint falling within the crows feet beneath the blue and white hues, “He could dance, sing, recite poetry, he could even juggle. It truly doesn’t matter as long as you’re impressed and successfully wooed.”

You took the moment to study him. From his painted face, to his beautiful assortment of a red and yellow diamond patterned vest, to his tanned leather pants, and all the way back up to his hair braided and styled away from falling in front of his eyes. He threw his best grin at you, his lips curling in an apprehensive and crooked smile. You shook your head, stepping closer to him. 

“Does Mihawk know about this?” You uttered quietly, your dress shifting behind you in your haste. He sighed out a shuddered laugh of dark glee.

“Oh, I’m certain Red-Hair is filling him in right about-...” he trailed off, thinking long and hard about his answer. As soon as your feet found the wood of Buggy’s ship, the anchor rising and sails drawn down by his crew, he gestured to the doors of Castle Kuraigana in the distance.

“-Now.”

[diorsluv]

casual , part 3

“ i’ve heard so many rumors ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by mackie.samo, jackhughes, and 259,226 others

yourusername post workout glow 🙈

view all comments

vivianliu mommy

→ yourusername whaaaaaat ⁉️⁉️⁉️

→ _quinnhughes …

→ rutgermcgroarty 📸📸

→ edwards.73 wtf

→ jackhughes no absolutely not

→ luca.fantilli HUH

→ dylanduke25 WHAT

→ vivianliu stop acting like i’ve never said ts before 🙄

edwards.73 you’re really fucking hot

liked by yourusername

→ lhughes_06 FUCK NO

→ jackhughes STEP THE FUCK BACK

→ _quinnhughes hey man what the FUCK

→ vivianliu GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY GIRL

username14 ETHANS COMMENT?????!?!?!?!?!?!

markestapa pretty girl 🫣

→ yourusername that’s so unnatural stop

→ markestapa just doing what the homies do

→ lhughes_06 did the lack of my presence fuck with your heads because i explicitly told everyone to NOT mess w my sister.

→ markestapa suck it up lil bro

mackie.samo GODDAMN

→ yourusername LMFAOOOO

→ jackhughes back the hell up dude

→ _quinnhughes this is a literal fever dream

username54 rumors aint rumors anymore

username38 ethan’s practically screaming their relationship status to the world rn

colecaufield i’m not a part of this in any way but you genuinely look really good rosie

→ yourusername awwww thank you ☺️

→ jackhughes if you ever fucked around with my sister i would punch you in the face

→ colecaufield I HAVENT AND I WONT I SWEAR

→ jackhughes YEAH U BETTER NOT CUZ IM READY 🤺

sidneycrosby_87_ looking great kiddo!

→ yourusername oh my god sidney crosby.

→ lhughes_06 OH MY GOD SIDNEY CROSBY???

→ jackhughes this isn’t fair

→ vivianliu HI SIDNEY

rutgermcgroarty 🥴

→ yourusername 🤭

→ lhughes_06 i can’t tell if you’re flirting because you’re best friends or if you’re flirting to fuck

→ rutgermcgroarty whaaaaa i would never do such a thing and you know that luke (my door is open yourusername)

→ yourusername we’re flirting AS A JOKE because you’re gone now and you can’t dictate shit anymore 🙄 lhughes_06

username45 LMFAO did ethan ask everyone to say shit to cover his comment

mackie.samo i see you’re working out without me now 🤨

→ yourusername YOU LEFT ME. what was i supposed to do 😔😔

→ mackie.samo YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO MOVE ON

→ yourusername IM HAPPIER NOW 🤬

→ markestapa what is this 😟

adamfantilli woha

→ adamfantilli owah

→ adamfantilli woah

→ yourusername are you malfunctioning

→ adamfantilli yes (i was told to)

jackhughes did you redecorate your room??

→ yourusername yes my man helped me redecorate 🥰

→ jackhughes YOUR MAN????

→ lhughes_06 WHO THE HELL

→ yourusername guys it was a joke..

→ lhughes_06 your life is a joke

→ yourusername ?!???!????!

_quinnhughes i know who it is.

→ yourusername no u dont

→ lhughes_06 TELL ME

→ jackhughes WHO IS IT

→ trevorzegras congrats to the only hughes brother with a brain 🥳

→ jackhughes HEY

→ lhughes_06 NOT COOL TREVOR

→ rutgermcgroarty the fact that it took you this long is concerning

→ markestapa okay she ACTUALLY told you rutgermcgroarty

→ dylanduke25 fr the rest of us had to find out DIFFERENTLY

→ edwards.73 you guys are kinda slow

username55 i know someones gonna come back for this post tn…

→ username97 LMFAOOO

→ username21 STOP DONT EXPOSE HIM LIKE THAT

username38 UR SO PRETTY

username30 GIRLLLL give us the workout routine please 😞🙏

username88 body goals hello????

trevorzegras ur bed was not in that corner last time i was there

→ yourusername i redecorated we already said so 🙄

→ jackhughes since when were you in my sister’s apartment??

→ trevorzegras i was in town for a game

→ jackhughes but detroit is 45 mins away????

→ trevorzegras WE WERE THERE FOR THREE DAYS

→ yourusername jack he was helping me set up my ikea dresser 😭😭

→ vivianliu i know someone’s absolutely LIVID

dylanduke25 WOW SO PRETTY

→ yourusername THANK U DUKER

→ dylanduke25 YOU’RE WELCOME

username96 help i audibly screamed when i saw this post

yourusername

liked by markestapa, _alexturcotte, and 153,256 others

yourusername some of the guys invaded girls night at 12 in the morning and then literally kicked us out of my own room ⁉️⁉️

tagged: vivianliu, markestapa, g.brindley4, rutgermcgroarty, dylanduke25, luca.fantilli

view all comments

edwards.73 why was i not invited

→ yourusername u didn’t come idk i thought u were busy like always

→ edwards.73 but you know i would never be too busy for you

→ yourusername lmao doesnt really seem like it tho

vivianliu and they burnt our fucking cookies

→ yourusername FR almost burnt the apartment down 🙄

→ dylanduke25 THAT WASN’T EVEN US

→ vivianliu U KNOW DAMN WELL THAT WAS U AND RUT

→ rutgermcgroarty WHY ARE U BLAMING ME???

g.brindley4 oh my god i’m on the main

→ yourusername YOU’RE ON THE MAIN ‼️

username38 mark wearing sunglasses in a dark ass room 😭

dylanduke25 rut’s ass was in my face and i swear he fucking ripped ass like three times

→ yourusername HELLO WHAT??? I DONT REMEMBER THIS

→ rutgermcgroarty I LITERALLY DIDNT THO??

→ luca.fantilli i could smell that shit from the other room

→ g.brindley4 the absolute STENCH

username32 luca could not have been comfortable sleeping in that position 😭

→ username80 men are weird

username67 AHHH PINK COOKIES

luca.fantilli cuddling with the homies 🥴🥴

→ yourusername oh my god

→ markestapa 😘

→ dylanduke25 im blushing ☺️☺️

→ g.brindley4 best couple!

→ rutgermcgroarty 😝

→ vivianliu you’re all so weird

trevorzegras marky lookin kinda cute tn 🫣

→ yourusername STOP

→ markestapa yes i’ll go out with you!

mackie.samo um. i facetimed him and hes kicking, screaming and crying?!?!?

→ yourusername oops

→ mackie.samo yeah what a big fucking oops 🙄

→ vivianliu HES THE TOXIC ONE

username77 getting kicked out of your own room is crazy

username48 ethan’s definitely punching the air rn

_alexturcotte what happened to the boyfriend

→ yourusername technically he’s not my boyfriend cuz he doesn’t like labels!

→ colecaufield 😭😭

→ yourusername HIS WORDS NOT MINE

→ trevorzegras imagine what’ll happen when your brothers find out 😂

→ yourusername 1. for the love of god stop using that emoji and 2. they wont find out!

→ _quinnhughes i found out

→ yourusername besides you 😒😒

username79 ethan’s definitely regretting not putting a label on them

username92 do luke and jack never check the comments 😭😭

→ vivianliu they did but rosie gaslighted them into believing it’s not ethan and they barely pay attention to what the others say anyways

→ username60 LMAOOO

lhughes_06 WE NEVER HAD SLEEPOVERS WHEN I WAS THERE WHAT??

→ yourusername i’m the better sibling

→ vivianliu correct

→ rutgermcgroarty correct

→ edwards.73 correct

→ colecaufield correct

→ adamfantilli correct

→ trevorzegras correct

→ _alexturcotte correct

→ markestapa correct

→ luca.fantilli correct

→ mackie.samo correct

→ dylanduke25 correct

→ _quinnhughes not correct????

→ jackhughes INCORRECT TF

edwards.73 I CAN’T GET OVER THE FACT THAT YOU DIDN’T INVITE ME

→ yourusername IM SORRY I GEN THOUGHT U WERE JUST BUSY AGAIN

→ markestapa there’s no way you’re still on this

→ edwards.73 inv me next time 😔

next chapter notes ) happy april fools dayyy!! hope yall got some good pranks in 😈😈 and guys HE DOESN’T DO LABELS 😓

tags: @dancerbailey3 @hughesfein @loveforaugust @alwaysclassyeagle @love4ldr @inhoodmood

[muffinsin]

hi hello hola bonjour aloha 😵😵😵😵

OKOKOK SOOOOOOO ........ i know this request is weird BUUUUTTTT could u maybe possibly do the dimitrescus being with someone (as in, having an s/o) thats a humanoid arachnid??? If im spelling that correctly? rahhh idk

like, imagine those spider-people with like, agile spider legs on their back, sharp fangs, multiple, red/purple/gray eyes, dark fluffy hair, red/purple/other markings, etc etc. I think it would be funny since theyre literally flies dating a spider .. which eats flies

u can use doctor octavius as reference for the spider leg placement if u didnt understand, or like, angel dust??? Its up to ur interpertation, really, but id prefer if they did have normal human legs .. and features .. since a giant spider with a human head feels unnatural .. giggle, giggle

AS ALWAYS!!! take care!!!!!! Make sure to take breaks inbetween requests!!!!!

WITH MUCH LOVE AND LESBIANISM 😈😈😈😈 (the gayness directed at the dimitrescus .. not u, becauze .. i dunno u .. and thats weird)

-- 🐾🧃, AKA JUNGLE JUICE 👽👽👽

Piece out! (Not peace, i require violence)

Hell yeah!!🙌 Funnily enough, I think there was once talk of an arachnoid reader on this blog, but the idea got lost somewhere. I’m happy to dive back into it now!👀 Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Bela

What started out as a sudden introduction in the forest, soon became more

Back then already, Bela was- unsurprisingly- intrigued by you

After all, your appearance alone is enough to make most double check whether they saw right

And she was certainly no better

Though, at the very least you did the same then, not quite believing you ran into one of the infamous Dimitrescu daughters

During your first interaction, time almost stood still as the two of you inspected one another-

you, standing in place when you ran just moments ago,

Bela, stilled with her sickle held in her hand, as though frozen like a deer in the headlights upon running across you

- it was a cute moment, even, in itself. Both of you, stunned by each other

Where you saw a pair of strong, piercing golden eyes, she saw multiple pairs of eyes

You watched then as she studied them almost, her own flickering across your face

The two eyes at the center of your face, human-looking in every aspect but their colour

A dark grey, she originally thought

In time, she would find and adore the specks of red and purple in them, only found upon closer inspection. But more of that later

Then, more eyes, stretching across the side of your forehead almost

5 of them, some more slit than others, some smaller, some larger

She shivered at the sight, but even you saw the curiosity shimmer within her back then already

It was clear to both of you that neither was mortal. Not entirely so, at least

Where you saw her regal, almost gothic and Victorian dress and the sickle, she spotted torn clothing

A villager, or at the very least that’s what you used to be

Only was your clothing torn and almost webbed shut again, the strings keeping your cloths together so fine they couldn’t possibly be any fabric or wool

While her fingers held the sickle tight, your long ones moved slightly, as if restless

More things were apparent immediately, such as,

Your long, strong legs allowing you to stand tall, nearly the same as Bela

Something unusual, certainly

And then, of course, the other pair

The strong, somewhat thin pair of arms or legs- Bela could never quite tell- sprouting from your back

The fuzzy, dark hair falling down your shoulders and back, a little too untrimmed, a little too wild for even the villagers’ standards

And the strange marks stretching across your bare arms

Neither of you attacked one another, then

In fact, neither of you moved, until the sounds of the angry mob of villagers faded away

You don’t entirely remember most of what happened after, only remember begging her to take you with her

Despite its reputation, you knew working and living at the castle must be better than starving out at the forest

And, holding the same curiosity in her tone, she agreed and took you in

Only were you no mere staff member, dusting this and that

You were Bela’s favorite

And everyone knew

You worked for her only, didn’t take orders from even the head maiden

The two of you spent more and more time together, chatting and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves

Your- nature- certainly made your work more challenging and fun

As such, at times, you would hold onto the walls with the limbs stemming from your back and climb high to the ceiling to dust even the top of the shelves

Often- surprisingly often given how busy she was- Bela opted to join you

Not in cleaning, of course. You’re sure she thinks it’s below her

Instead, she’d often- and still does- swarm halfway, as if sleeping on an invisible mattress in the air

She’d watch you work, talk occasionally

At other times, she’d trace your limbs gently when no words were exchanged

And, unsurprisingly, the ever growing bond and fondness between the two of you leads to something more

While Bela was the first to initiate things, you proudly claimed the first kiss from her

Upon being in a relationship, she found out more about you still

Like the sharp fangs in your mouth, which she loves to trace and feel dig into her skin

She loves the webs you spin, her fingertips occasionally dragging against the light silk

Sometimes, a fly of hers gets stuck

That, she loves less

And still, you always take care of the little insects, ensuring they won’t be trapped in some of the smaller webs you leave

At times, you quite intentionally web her, your spidery silk-like web trapping her arms above her head, her body fondled by the many limbs you possess….

Alas, we’re trailing off, but of course, your nature, body, and abilities are appreciated in all aspects

The bedroom being one of them, too

Though, Bela loves nothing more than cuddling up together, too

Especially when held in your arms, all of them wrapped tightly around her

It’s perfect to her, and often a blanket or two will be thrown in the mix in winter

Once, you suggested wrapping her up in your webs to keep her warm, which she quickly shut down

You learn, she doesn’t like feeling like prey, dislikes the feeling of being stuck like…well, a fly in a web

Speaking of, insects are strictly off the menu for you

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t encourage you to hunt, though

Often, you spin your webs at the forest surrounding the castle, hoping to bring back a catch that might earn you the favor of her younger sisters and mother

At other times, Bela all but swoons when you trap a particularly delicious maid and deliver her to her as a snack

Still, there is one thing that amuses you to no end…

She loved you, wholeheartedly. And she loved your arachnoid nature, too. She loves every bit of you

So you can’t explain to yourself why your partner is so terribly scared of spiders

The small critters truly do a number on her, prompting screams and shrill squeals, shivers and so on

Always, you ensure there are no spiders in the castle. No webs but your own

…Your lovely girlfriend and her sisters, suffering from arachnophobia

The thought always makes you giggle

Cassandra

Looking back, you can hardly believe your luck

Not only did you survive Mother Miranda’s experimenting, the depths of the village, the infamous basement of castle Dimitrescu and its residents, but also wooed one of them

Having Cassandra sleeping soundly on top of you, your limbs wrapped around her, you allow yourself to think of how you first met

Her eyes, a dark golden light in the dark, piercing you the very same day you were sent to the castle basements

And it seems, you awakened curiosity within the sadist

Of course, a being like you would

Something so rare, someone so unique

While you were originally made to be her newest plaything, a failed experiment handed over, Cassandra had no interest in killing you

Not that this stopped her light torture

Though, looking back, you can’t help but giggle. Even then she showed you affection in her twisted ways

Like when she’d stroke a dagger along your limbs, the touch strong and grounding, her breath fast

She has always been so very curious about you

Your eyes are her favorite part of you

She loves how unsettling they look

Sometimes, she whines; she wants to pluck them from you so very badly, to hold and kiss, to preserve and carry with her always

You have learned to understand and love her twisted affection, her rough words and the gentle, almost romantic meaning behind them

While you could easily get lost in her dark golden eyes, the same goes for her and your eyes

Sometimes, she likes to just stare at them when you cuddle, her eyes desperately trying to meet all of yours

It’s an admittedly adorable sight

And even during your first introduction, when she had grabbed your face harshly, she easily got lost in your eyes

While originally chained to the moldy wall of the basement, you’re upgraded fast

You become her obsession, her pet, her favorite horror in the castle

An honor, really

You know when she calls you her horror, it’s the most romantic thing she can express with words

She loves every part of you, too

Early on already she experiments with you, your cooperative nature catching her slightly by surprise

As such, when she lifted and prodded, cut and sniffed and what not, you always took it as an opportunity to talk to her

Early on, you find out more and more of Cassandra

Later, you learn she often rambles mindlessly when utterly absorbed in her experiments, games, and torture

As such, early on already, you listened as she rambled about her sisters and her hunts

Your presence was always a refreshing one, really

Cassandra is bold

As such, when she noticed just that, and how much she had grown to care for “her experiment”, you were moved from the basement

Quickly, your relationship turned from one of a captive and their tormentor to desire

She clearly desired you, her breaths ragged around you, her heart beating fast, her lip bit, her hands touching up on your limbs eagerly

And you had no reason to hide your attraction, in turn

To this day, you like experimenting with her

In a way, it’s allowing her to get to know you more

Often, her experiments mean working out new techniques to spin webs

At other times, she wants to see how precisely you can control the limbs stemming from your back

With a nice routine of spending nearly every day together, it’s no surprise when you eventually made a move on her

One Cassandra eagerly accepted and returned

She isn’t one for terms, and has never been. You’ve never been her prisoner. Never her friend. Never her partner

Always, you are what she feels

You’re her love, her passion, her horror, her excitement, her desire, her sadism

Due to this, there has hardly been a change after you’ve asked her to be your girlfriend. To her, you’ve always been what you are to her

You’re her partner, despite how she doesn’t like naming what you have

Her favorite couple activity is spending quality time together

She loves to hunt together

Her favorite game?

To chase prey into your web

She laughs loudly when it happens, her pupils wide, her hands twitching

If you ate humans and raw meat as she does, she would grant you the first bite, sometimes

As such, she likes to watch you wrap her prey up and carry it home for her

Her second favorite activity is to experiment with you, and do art together

She likes it particularly much when you spin a web and allow her to direct you, the silky threads assuming a shape to her liking

As it comes to experimenting, she finds it particularly fun when the two of you get to chat, one of your limbs holding onto her or handing her tools

The others are usually made to hold down whatever poor soul has caught her eye and is now to die

But really, her bright smile and manic crackle of laughter seems to make all your remaining morals drip away

Other things she loves is to use your webs to create obstacles when she trains

She knows she can’t achieve Daniela’s speed and precision as it comes to flying and the swarm, but likes to practice either way

And you like to help her by putting webs in her way

Only sometimes does she get stuck, growling and grumbling to you and herself when she’s…well…a fly in the spider’s web

Oddly enough, this doesn’t bother her, yet when even the smallest little spider is near her, she freaks out

Usually, that means you get to flick it away, hunting it down and only granted a rest when you present your love with the creature’s body as proof of its passing

You shake your head, smiling fondly at this, before returning to stroking your long fingers through dark hair. Less thick, more combed and cleaner looking, yet nearly matching yours in color

She hums in her sleep. You know, she will awaken soon, ready to hunt or plead with you to please play with the maids with her

It’s so very fun to see them stumble and cry in the webs, she insists

Daniela

To say Daniela was intrigued by you at first sight would be a vast understatement

Obsessed, more like it

Having been dragged to a lord’s meeting after countless experiments done by Mother Miranda, it’s the first and ideal opportunity to meet everyone

Including the stunning woman by the tall lady’s side

Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, you learn

Daniela’s eyes are on you the instant you’re revealed to the lords

Gold with specks of green, piercing and curious, obsessed and eager

They flicker across you, your face and body, until they move back and flicker across your face, seemingly searching for eye contact

Eye contact, which proves difficult with the many sets of eyes you have

Oh, but she immediately gets lost in them

You flinch in surprise when she moves, fast, uncaring of the audience the two of you have

She’s pushed against you in an instant, her hands cupping your cheeks

Her skin is nearly as cold as yours, her palms cool as ice

She studies your eyes intensely

While she finds specks of red and purple, you find light shades of green hidden within the pools of gold of her eyes

Both of you immediately seem to fall in love with the sights presented to you

While you’re introduced as nothing but a failed experiment, Daniela immediately sees more in you

She begs, out loud as though she has no shame-

and maybe she doesn’t

- and she pleads:

“Mother, I must have them, please!”

And, you learn early on, Alcina Dimitrescu seems incapable of denying her youngest any wish she has

And in turn, it seems Mother Miranda has difficulty denying Alcina

As such, you’re handed over promptly, officially made Daniela’s property

She’d scoff at the title. You’re hers, though

You’ll be her best friend! Her love! Her soulmate!

She’s not wrong, at the end

For the first time in your life maybe, you feel free, even as you officially “belong to her”

You receive your own wing, even, though it’s near her own

You’re a little surprised at this, though now know that you’re given the entire wing by Alcina Dimitrescu to ensure no intruders would past the deadly webs and manage to find the precious youngest daughter

You’re quite proud of that, too

You like knowing you’re what stands between Daniela and any potentially dangerous intruders

You like knowing your webs will catch them should they sneak where they shouldn’t be

The only things she asks for are honesty, affection, genuine interest and respect

Things you’re eager to give her

In return, you receive time and space, love and affection, honesty and eagerness, care and happiness

While the two of you seem to start out as friends, more builds up between you fast

Daniela, bold as she is, is the first to initiate things, to steal looks and kisses, lingering touches and more

You eagerly give in, and the two of you become impossibly close

As such, you often sleep with her curled in your arms, your arms and legs wrapped around her, your limbs keeping her pressed close to you

She loves cuddling, loves holding your hands while your other limbs are wrapped around her

At other times, she likes to fight for fun with you

It’s a game to her, to evade your webs and limbs, to tackle them only to be smacked away by one of the long, strong limbs stemming from your back

Sometimes- usually- she wins

At other times, she ends up webbed by you, giggling when you make use of the opportunity to place small kisses all over her face

When she hunts on her own, she often takes you with her

She likes to race you, seemingly ignoring that your strength is not your speed, but the tactics and strategic placement of your webs

In the end, she likes to compare who captured the most prey

Often, it’s you, due to the many small animals getting lost in the webs

Though, she usually claims the larger and faster victims

Afterwards, she likes to indulge in snacks with you, often stroking along one of your limbs absently

When you’re spinning your webs, she likes to stay close and watch, occasionally freaking out when bits of her get stuck

She’s whining and snarling then, unable to free herself until you cut the webs loose and tug them from her

Despite liking your webs and being in your arms, Daniela doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being stuck in your webs

Too often has she lost herself as a fly in some spider’s web…

[katescribblesabit]

What happened to Crocker? What was his reaction when Timmy went missing?

Would be be angry that Timmy had disappeared and doesn’t understand what happened? Did he ever worry about Timmy?

Did he come up with theory, thinking if it had to do something with fairies or something?

Just curious because it had been on my mind for a bit.

Also how would Timmy feel and thinks about AJ and his business? How he founded the business, believe that the fairies are dangerous or something?

What about Vicky? Her reaction about what happened? I know she probably doesn’t care, does she?

Did Wanda and Cosmo tell Timmy how they stood up towards Vicky at Dev’s place during his birthday?

My apologies, not sure if you watched those episodes or not.

You don’t have to draw if you want, just something I was wondering. I don’t know why.

ok here we go! thanks for your concern i am drawing as fast as i can lol

first thing first! i gotta say i don't have everything planned out, im mostly going with the flow. i also never expected people to love this au as much as you guys do, i was mostly planning to do like 2 or 3 posts about it haha. (thank you all btw this is nuts i luve uuu <3)

so Crocker! ok thinking about it, he is most definitely pissed his one lead to fairies is gone. after some time had passed and the police stopped looking for Timmy, he suspected something must have happend with magic and his fairly god parents. so he packed up his fairy detective devices and scooped out the turners house for clues but found nothing. when people asked he replied with being worried about the teenager and looking for him himself since the police stopped. perfect cover to hunt for fairies!

i don't think AJ specifically believes in fairies. i thought it was the supernatural in general, seeing as the galax institution is for everything unnatural. also his reaction to Crocker stealing the Trophy says a lot to, he still thinks his former teacher is crazy for believing in fairy tales. as for how Timmy feels, he's happy for his former friend, since AJ is revolving his work around supernatural science, it makes Timmy feel closer to him.

for Vicky, when she heard about Timmys disappearing she didn't care. Timmy went to live in fairy world when he was 16, so Vicky hadn't babysat him for a while now. they didn't see each other anymore, which Timmy was grateful for. Vicky just moved on to other kids to torture. the police did visit her when going around looking for clues but Vicky is a great liar, so she got away with it again.

Devs birthday story was Peris to tell, and well.. i don't think Peri would tell his big brother that his godchild wished him away.. yeahh so Timmy didn't know Vicky was even there.

no worries! i have watched the entire a new wish! so i am caught up with the new stuff haha

[neetily]

Kinktober 2024 — Vampire Sebastian

— ✧ pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 8,180 — ✧ warnings: vampire, blood, blood kink, blood drinking, dubcon, biting, marking, pulling out, light angst, wounds, ambiguous/open ending — ✧ synopsis: the only thing he loves more than you is the sweet taste of blood. which is a shame, really, considering that's all you're made of.

— ✧ A/N: um. yeah. im not too sure how i feel about this one. i wrote it in a sickness induced haze, maybe you can tell. please enjoy regardless !! the plot changed a million times while writing lol.

— ✧ kinktober masterlist

Life with you was good. Enough? It was sweet, more than accommodating to his unnatural existence in the most comforting of ways— like a picture perfect snapshot of normality. You do your best to offer him something he knows is ultimately unattainable; because it goes against his very being, against everything he’s come to know and learn. And perhaps worst of all: against mother nature.

It’s not your fault. Far from it, actually. He’s been the way he currently is for… God, he’s forgotten how long for now. But a really long time is the point he’s trying to make to himself, perpetually stuck in the mid way point in his life all thanks to a misguided late night trip down the mines in the hopes of gathering some more of that precious stone he oh so adores, and coming face to face with a swarm full of bats. Harmless creatures the majority of the time, he’s came to understand through various late night study sessions since the incident. But nonetheless, Lady Luck was never on his side, and thus comes the misfortune of his existence.

Try all you like to help him lead and live a normal life; whatever the fuck that means, he’s forgotten all about the time before now… Your well meaning words and actions do very little to help. What did he like to do in the time before? Was it the same things he likes to do now? A couple hundred lonely years by yourself—because of course, he must outlive those he loves—makes you rather forgetful, doesn’t it? Like a corruption, more bat teeth and bat wings than blood at this point, but who’s counting? Certainly not him after that first initial damnation, and certainly not you, not with the way you hum so sweetly in the kitchen without a care in the world; a daily ritual, perhaps one of his most favoured times of day ever.

Dinner time.

Not because he has to eat— far from it, actually. Unless you’re offering up your own neck, that is… Which he swore off upon first meeting you. Far too enamoured with your scent for it to be considered normal by any means, he’s disallowed himself even a single entertaining thought about sinking his sharp fangs into that soft, supple neck of yours. Which is why he has to shake is head to ride those evil desires as he absently watches you, an attempt to banish the wicked ways of his existence to instead focus solely on how lovely you sound when lost in your own world. Busy hands make for empty minds… or something, he can’t quite remember phrases like how he used to. The intent is there, however, to remain thankful for your hard work; as opposed to hungry for more.

On one hand, he doesn’t think he’d ever get enough of you. Lovesick little grin tugging at his lips as he adores you from the kitchen table— though his mind might have forgotten important details, his hands still yet remember the teachings of his mother. Hand carved wood lovingly built just for you, resting under his boney elbow as he props his head up in his palm to dote on you in private. Out of all the people he’s met since falling victim to the bite of… well, you get it, you are by far his most favourite. Does he mean the most tolerable? Perhaps, at times. But most of all, you are the kindest. One of the only ones to truly understand him, to allow him to exist without fear or judgement, which is hard to come by nowadays. Certainly when it comes to dating, of which he hadn’t intended on doing so, least of all with you. But he learnt quick enough that there are plenty of things he didn’t expect when it comes to you.

Like how he finds himself enjoying humming along with you. Soft and quiet, low enough so that he has a chance to hear your dominating tune over his own rather lacking one. But it’s enjoyable nonetheless to share the same happiness together, even if you’re left relatively in the dark of his stalking presence behind as you continue preparing the best meal of the day. The muscle memory of his throat thrums to life every time he catches even a mere glimpse of your heavenly voice— it contrasts well with his own darker presence, don’t you think? He also, for one, enjoys the daily passing of each lengthy day with you. Or was it night? He lost track of time the minute he realised he no longer needed rest… but what matters is that he takes comfort in the normality of each day, so long as it’s spent with you. You, you, you, it’s always about you, and how much he loves you, simply fucking adores you. He’d worship the ground you walk on, so long as you promise to provide him normality. Empty, boring, mundane life. It’s all he’s ever wanted since turning into a blood sucker—stupid decision by the way, do not recommend it—but it’s funny, considering that he at least remembers wanting for anything but normalcy in his daily life before turning cold.

There’s just so much comfort to be had in the simplicity of it all. For how complicated his life has become, just your mere presence by his side seems to calm it all down, put it all into perspective, and reminds him that there is good yet in the world. Mostly in the form of you, slaving away in the kitchen over a meal you know he can’t taste or enjoy to the fullest extent, and yet the charade alone has his dead heart metaphorically skipping a beat. The utter dedication to normal you exhibit is a testament to how much you love him, he thinks. And he can only do his best to return the favour, being mindful to thank the pleasant weather of the day for offering him a nice temperature to his cold skin, and time herself for allowing him to spend it with you. Each day is a blessing, because of you. And he’d never take it for granted, not when you take extra care for his own apparent benefit.

Even if deep down, in the pit of his empty stomach, screaming to gorge on some livestock later tonight when you’re fast asleep, he knows that this comfort he is so thankful for is not to be his. Never has been, and it never will be. Little do you know, of course.

It shows up in ways he could never have guessed to begin with, which is all too unfair, in his royal opinion. Never mind the fact that he’s scorned to a life of very little—especially in the way of relationships, like life itself precariously holds a consistent knife to his throat in an attempt to keep him only close enough to all he holds dear. He at least expects that, y’know? But as he saunters up to you, feather light in his steps so as to avoid interrupting your mundane song, careful not to startle you too much, it seems as though life has different plans in store for him. In that, of course, his plan of doting upon you in secrecy backfires, all because he tries too hard to be that which he is not.

Normal.

A terrible word, he suddenly switches thoughts. Gross in its misconduct, like fire in his upset stomach to leave him wincing in pain. A cuddle—that’s all he wanted. All he ever asked life for. Just a plain old back hug for the love of his life, a sincere attempt to showcase just how thankful he is of your efforts, and how he ever expected things to go his way is beyond him; he used up a lifetime of luck when it came to winning your affections. And yet still, your reaction is normal, he could feel you jumping in his arms with fright the moment he locked them around you, nuzzling unbeknownst against your nape for a brief second or two until it hits him. The loud clatter of a knife, a telling gasp crawled up your throat. And that fucking smell. Like water and oil, it doesn’t matter how hard you fucking try to provide him with a simple life, the burning ache coursing through his veins is quick to remind him of just how much he hates that ugly word normal.

For a normal man would not be frothing at the mouth, champing at the bit for a single. Fucking. Taste. Just a sniff, even, please God, anything for a proper fucking whiff of that sweet scent— he’d fucking kill for that, y’know? Light and mouthwateringly enticing. Perfect fucking—

“Gosh! You gave me such a fright, Seb,” you laugh, airy and convincing. As if you weren’t in the paws of some predator right now. Oh how he hates the thought, wants to reassure you so badly that he doesn’t mean to cause you any harm. But his broken body just begs for him to remain frozen in place. Lock you in tight against his chest; if he had a working heart, he’s sure it’d be racing by now. How quick the dominoes fall into place, right? “Let me— Lemme clean up, okay?”

Inevitably, he knows he has to let go. Not only for your own obvious sake, so that you don’t end up with two puncture wounds in that soft looking neck of yours, but for his own sake too. To prove to himself that he’s in control, that he doesn’t have to give in to his animalistic tendencies, and that normality can be for him, too. But nonetheless, he squeezes you a little tighter before letting go.

“Sorry,” tumbles from his bitten lips— if he bites himself, perhaps it’ll stave off the cravings. “I— I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No I know!” you smile at up at him, gently, like a mother would. And completely unknowing of his internal struggle, he’s sure. He’s only went and tried his best to hide is inner animal from you every chance he gets, and maybe he’s just stupid, but he’s almost certain that you assume he’s in control at all times.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth, really. A mere loose thread away from snapping upon you at all times… it’s a fucking wonder that he’s lasted this long, to be honest with you.

All he does is yearn. Fists tight and balled by his sides, like some sort of petulant child denied dessert at the end of a meal. Physically fucking craving for you, even as he’s standing directly behind you with another sorry spilling from his blood bitten lips. Sorry, I want you too much. Sorry, for scaring you into a gash. Sorry, because I want nothing more than to force that cut finger deep down my greedy maw and lap you all empty.

Sorry, he really can’t compose himself. Not when it comes to you, how precious and fragile you are— it’s beyond tempting to his taste buds, especially when he accidentally catches sight of the red that now stains your finger all pretty for him; because of him. Whether intentional or not, it was his fault that you got cut tonight, and though he plays the role of the concerned boyfriend well enough to properly convince you of his apologies, deep down, he’s more eager for you. He only looked up due to your hushed hiss as the cold tap water kissed your open wound far more gentler than his tongue would, and he couldn’t help but to wet his lips at the sight.

Thirsty. He’s suddenly really, really fucking thirsty. Lying to himself by thinking that it must be the water that’s triggered his natural instincts— idiot. Of fucking course not… Rather, he’s hungry, as he so often is when around you, funnily enough.

“I— Really, I only wanted to—” he stutters out, mind a mess before the drops of red that stain the sink with his absolution, muddled thoughts barricading his lips shut just in case he fumbles out the wrong word. It’s difficult to focus on his thoughts with that smell invading his sense…

And as if to rub salt into his proverbial wound, you oh so gently and lovingly attempt to calm him down. Shield him from the truth that after all this time spent loving, caring, and looking after him: he’s still just a monster at heart. How fucking awful. So fucking predictable, huh?

“It’s okay, Seb. It’s just a tiny little cut, nothing to cry over.”

Yet still, you hiss and wince at the sting his abundant love offers you, his gaze settled on the way you clean the sore spot up while he remains frozen in place behind you. On one hand, he’s sure that it must just look like he’s scared, worried that you’ll hate him for what he’s done tonight— which is to say, he must appear worried over loving you far too much. Enough to cause harm, apparently. And on the other hand, he can already feel his tummy turn with the plague of his existence, how if he were to move even a single fucking inch towards you, he’s liable to jump your bones and suck you dry. Because that’s all his existence boils down to, really. A mess of gnashing teeth and furrowed brows, fuck, he can still smell that sickly sweet scent. Overwhelming his nostrils as you traverse around the kitchen, looking for a bandaid by yourself in the absence of his help.

He is helping, though. Whether you realise it or not, his refusal to move is help in its own right.

It’s been some time since he’s felt his heart flutter as much, his lashes batting at the way you struggle to find an appropriate dressing for your unfortunate wound, misplaced the band aids again? Just his luck, he thinks. Sucking air in through his teeth in a harsh manner, as if to communicate the gravity of his situation with you without need for words.

“I should go—” his words are sudden, but his tone is low and quiet, mumbled under his breath, for he fears that if he were to open his jaw too wide, you wouldn’t survive the resulting affection. “Really, I should— fuck,” so strong now, that smell. So good. “I have to go—” he scrambles, rushing the words out from his choked up throat in an effort to avoid the inevitable, forgetting that Lady Luck has never been on his side, not in the least right now.

“I’m sure there’s, um… Fuck, yknow, the things—” he can’t focus on his words or his thoughts, not with how his lips part with greedy exhales, struggling to find the correct string of vocalisations he needs to communicate just how entierly fucked he is right now. But regardless, he takes a shaky step backwards. Away from you and the awful, scary situation he now finds himself in. He’s done well to avoid your precious red for God knows how long, it’s a shame he must encounter it now, when he’s busy trying to adore you. Even worse that he can’t get his thoughts in order, internally fighting with himself over leave, now, and wait, she’s vulnerable. Always so fucking vulnerable, y’know that? Almost as if you were asking for it—

He loathes the thought as soon as it enters his spinning mind, tightly squeezing his eyes shut to match the constriction in his chest, be still my beating heart. Oh how he yearns though… To care for you, to find the bandaid you’re so carelessly currently search for, and to so lovingly place it upon his mistake. To grab you by the waist and recklessly throw you on the ground, to immediately attach his pearly white fangs to your supple neck and to bite down so hard that you forget your own name.

“They’re somewhere.” He settles on, hoping that you understand inherently what he’s talking about, gesturing to the kitchen with flailing hands that he has to fight not to reach out and grab, countering the selfish thought with another step backwards. Find the band aids quick, my love. “Sorry I— I can’t help y’look for ‘em.” His words turn slurred, slugging in his movements to escape your rather minor cut.

Anyone else would think he was afraid of blood. But, thankfully, you understand the truth.

So much so that he can hardly stand to greet the soft pitying look you adopt at his frantic actions, gentle eyes watching carefully as he holds a hand up to his nose, an attempt to cover the intruding scent— but you know all too well by now that that never works, don’t you? Like the time he had taken you out to that fancy restaurant, do you remember? Or had intended to, anyway… If not for the unfortunate mortal who had somehow tripped right outside the building, right into a nosebleed, as if life itself was reminding him: you are not normal. The fucking stench, God… still, to this day, he’s so sorry for having to head home. For ruining your night simply due to his natural blood lust. For being the way that he is, and for impeding your sense of normalcy so often as he does.

But your voice comes out whisper light when regarding him with utter affection, and it only makes his mind dizzier with desire, clouding his judgement when you pout prettily at him with “Oh, Sebby… I’m sorry…”

Disgusting. It’s absolutely fucking vile how he has the urge to snuff that meek little voice out for good, frustration balled up in his chest to leave him positively gasping for air before you. For he is but a slave to the bat that had bit him all those years ago, and here he stumbles back upon your sweet voice, intent on hiding in some other sort of cave and out of your sight for a couple days at least— but beneath it all, under the layers of blood and lust and teeth and claws, he is just a man. And a man has no hope in hell of escaping your outstretched hand; though thankfully, it’s the unsullied one. He hasn’t the chance to decline your gentle gesture, as much as it goes against his very nature to accept such undue kindness, though every fibre of his dead being just begs for him to decline, walk away while you still have the chance, while you’re still of mind to do so, he simply can do nothing other than accept your fingers intertwining with his own, in turn prompting him into shuffling closer towards the face of his doom. How long can one man rest on the precipice of utter damnation, without taking that leap? Surely, given the smile you send his way, the universe is communicating with him: too damn long, in your case. He had it coming, or something, fuck— he can’t focus on his thoughts now that he’s a step or two nearer to his downfall. The love of his life; you are the source of his pleasant agony.

And he wants for nothing more than to remind you of such facts. As much as that man within him cries for a break, fucking pleads to remain in control, your most human actions of connection are what brings the monster out of him. Unfortunate, really. Because he loves you, y’know?

He also loves just how strong your scent gets as he gets closer to the source, letting his nose rub lightly against your cheek— an action so barely there that he’s unsure if you even feel it, but the light giggle you let out in response lets him know that he can’t hide from you. Not now, look, do you see how hard it is for him to be around you? How utterly devoted he is to you, enough to ignore his humanity in favour of giving in to you; his selfish desire.

“Is it bad?” You ask him, and he can hear the cringe in your voice. Heavy with sorries, dripping in the metallic tang that hits his nostrils as he inhales along the shell of your ear, humming mild vibrations against your soft skin. He loves you so much, loves that you’re able to communicate with him on such a level that you needn’t express yourself wholly for him to understand your intentions. Didn’t you know? Only a vampire could love you forever, as deep as your blood is red.

Wordlessly, he nods against your neck, huffing and puffing away at the throb of blood just barely hidden beneath the surface. It is bad right now. All of this. You, for offering yourself up to him on a silver platter— you fucking know what you’re doing to him, how could you not? Him, for giving in to his selfish pleasures and accepting your bad behaviour, as opposed to his normal indignation. The situation, because for as much as he assumes you know that what you’re doing is dangerous, he’s not so sure you understand the gravity of just how awful it is; he’s been good at hiding his truest nature from you thus far. It’s all just so bad, isn’t it? Bad, bad, so fucking bad that it hurts to hold back for you, toying with his teeth as he runs his tongue along them, testing just how pointed they are just in case. It’s bad that he’s so close to you right now, because he loves you. Because he loves you too much to say stop, no— not like this, anything but this—

“A taste.” You reason with him, bringing up that bloodied finger dangerously close to his face, oh— he wants to eat it whole. Wants to swallow you up right where you stand, turn you as corrupted as he is… He wants to— “Just a little, one lick won’t hurt no one, right?”

How can he say no to that? How can he, ever, deny his true nature? What reasonable man would ever think of denying you, defying the love of his life the pleasure of his tongue upon that open wound? What kind of a man would pass up the opportunity of the hunt, would choose not to take aim and fire on an innocent creature when his stomach has been rumbling for days on end and he can’t think straight from the sheer magnitude of the hunger pangs in his chest?

And yet still, he hangs on. Tries to, at least. Letting out a muffled: “Shouldn’t.” Against your heated skin, only for you to hum back with “It’s okay. Just a tease.”

At the end of the day, he’s no man. He’s unsure if he ever was to begin with, in truth. For a man might manage to put down the rifle in favour of searching elsewhere to satiate his cravings, leave the poor innocence alone. He, on the other hand, jumps at the opportunity you unfairly present him. Lifts his heavy head with cloudy vision and immediately shoves your tainted finger into his wanting mouth. Lips wrapped tight around the digit as soon as possible, being mindful of his fangs for the meantime as he focuses solely on finally, god, fucking finally, tasting your sweet, sweet nectar. The thing that attracted him to you in the first place. One suck later and…

Euphoria. Strikingly beautiful on the tip of his tongue, God, how hard he has to try not to bite down.

It’s difficult to describe just how much he enjoys this. You. Your taste. The most perfect ambrosia, trickling against his tongue much too slowly for his liking, but he has enough wherewithal not to complain too much when his gaze flutters to stare at your own wicked smirk, his eyes briefly rolling to the back of his head in pure hedonistic enjoyment for the red that soon stains his tongue with sin. You’re sweet. Too sweet, unfairly so, as if made exactly to his personal tastes— meaning that you were worth the wait. The thrill of the hunt culminating in the way his tongue snakes and slithers around your cut, doing his best to suck as much of you out as possible, just to turn his cheeks all warm for once, fuck. He swallows down your warmth quickly, as if starved, because he’s never quite tasted something just as good as you before.

Even when he sapped a few unfortunate souls empty.

Human blood is always the best to consume, he thinks. Full bodied and flavourful, distinct from each other enough to have his preferences. Until now, he wouldn’t be so picky. Emptying any blood bag he could get his grubby little hands on simply because it was better than cattle, even if it was bad, y’know? But after lapping your wound all better, he realises: he can’t go back now. Pandoras box, opened and blushing before him, the way you knowingly smile at his open maw and heavy breaths should be warning enough, and yet still he awaits your instruction. Because he loves you. Because he’s no better than a man.

“Good?” You ask him, as if it’s even a fucking question.

“Uh-huh” he answers anyway, finger still popped inside of his tightly closed lips, as if warning you that if you were to pull back, he’d do nothing but chase after you again. Like some sort of stalker, or predator. Seeking the comfort of your hot flesh against his flat tongue for eternity, just to have your blood drip erotically down his throat.

Because it is inherently erotic. Sharing fluids always is, no? A twitch in his pants coming to life all of a sudden at the realisation, though he hopes you don’t notice it as of yet. The blood he consumed from your simple cut finger travels down, dripping all the way past his heaving lungs, squirming around in his tummy to fill it up with butterflies, and still yet travels south all the way down to his cock, causing a harsh throb to pump him all hard. Like some fucking pervert, leering at the way you simply watch him become less than human. Less than beast at this point, given how he eye fucks you with your red rendering him fucking useless. A dumb mess of a man from just a few droplets; one can only fight against natural instincts for so long before he feels the press of his fangs on his own back.

It’s a shame that you’re so pretty when you sigh, too. A thick bead of precum dripping from his tip in response, popping off your finger only to hum a moan in appreciation of all that is you. Or is he objectifying you now? He can’t quite tell, not with his mind so muddled and cock swiftly growing harder by the second. What makes it worse is how nice it is to feel the pang of pain in his chest when he realises just how kind you’re trying to be right now, withdrawing your finger to wipe it gently on a fresh kitchen towel. You think you’ve done good, right?

You think you’re doing so good when you encourage him further into the depths of depravity with a loving “You can keep going for a second, if you want?”, craning your neck to the side as you busy yourself with removing his saliva from your fingertip. It hurts to know that you’re just trying your best, doing what you think will comfort him, despite the danger.

It hurts to know that he’s getting off on it, too. Finding great sadistic pleasure while teetering on that edge you simply beg for him to jump from.

And who is he to deny his lover? But a fool, of course.

Maybe if you hadn’t offered him your finger, or you hadn’t gotten a fright and dropped the knife, or if he hadn’t spent the afternoon adoring you, maybe then he’d be able to restrain himself. Hold himself back like he should, like what a good partner would do. But alas, the sight of your throbbing neck, thick with life and pulsing with blood, is far too good an opportunity for him to pass up in the state that he’s found himself in tonight. A single drop from you could last him a lifetime, he’s sure.

But he’s intrinsically selfish. And not thinking straight, not since he inhaled the first whiff of your metallic scent. It’s all been downhill since then, hasn’t it? God only knows how long he’s been holding on to restraint for when it comes to you… maybe letting go will make him feel a little better, somewhat less guilty.

You’re just all too tempting, y’know that? Evident from the way he simply saunters closer to you like moth to a flame, till his heavy cock presses insistently against your clothed cunt, and you’re made to feel exactly just how much he adores you. This is enough communication, right? The slight gasp you let out upon the illicit contact, the staggering you do when he doesn’t stop walking towards you, intentionally pinning you against the counter directly behind your shivering back as a means to pin you in place. He needn’t use words when you can see his intentions, clear as day: he wishes to feast upon you. Plain and simple, a forbidden fruit he’s eager to swallow more of—

“Just a little, okay?” you remind him, and it takes him a second or two to nod yes at you, because he’s too busy placing his palms on the edge of the counter top, effectively caging you in against the hard wood and… his own hard wood. No escape, because you’ve got him hooked now. And he’d do anything just to taste you again. Anything, including things that he’d rather not think of, or that he’s scared of.

Thank god you’re the one that offered first.

“Promise,” he does his best to reassure you, but with a slow roll of his hips against your own, he can feel how guilt constricts his throat dry. Liar, he tells himself. There’s no way he’d ever manage life with only a little of you. “Will stop when you say, promise—” he babbles on, saying only that which he needs to in an effort to attach his lips to you neck faster; he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, let alone saying. But it works, his weak assurances have you tilting your head to the side for him, and he doesn’t miss the way your lashes flutter shut to the feeling of his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he crowds closer to you.

When his pointed fangs hover over your thin flesh, he can feel his body warm up in response. Naturally, normally. Something this normal could never be so heinous, never as bad as he thinks, right? It’s normal for you to tremble against him when he lets you feel the slow drag of his teeth against your goose-bumped skin, and it’s normal for him to choke on next to nothing when he feels you shift your hips around a little; are you getting comfortable? Or just trying to rile him up some more, huh? Dirty little girl, so fucking filthy, aren’t you? Body begging for his bite— God, his cock is so hard now thanks to someone, that he feels as though he could cum on the spot.

So he bites. Distracting himself with such a simple action, really. Though dripping with desire, it’s so ordinary and normal that he can almost convince himself that it’s not bad. There’s no harm in it, right? No, how could there be, when you pained gasp soon turns into a low high-strung whine, body tensed under his own relaxed frame as he fervently places two puncture wounds on your delicate neck and drives his fangs deep. Deeper than the knife wound, that’s for sure. He, too, tense up a little with the commitment. Though not from pain, rather… an excessive need to restrain. To be slow and methodical with his movements, muscles taut before you as he all too slowly drags his teeth out from your yummy neck to lick them all clean again.

Oh. You’re fucking in for it tonight, aren’t you?

The snap is almost immediate, a rush of dopamine coursing through his system upon salivating over that fresh blood of yours, swallowing it down rashly and thickly, as if he’s just had his first taste of water in years. A growl soon follows, crawled up his throat like a prayer, only to be spat out against your matching cuts before he attaches his lips around them devoutly, and lets his tongue lay flat out against the trickling blood— let none go to waste. A single taste is all it takes, and he’s fucking ruined already. Like putty in your hands, except he’s sure to let you know who’s really in control by lapping at your dripping wound, and suckling on it just a little, just like you asked, to taste some more of that sweet nectar.

He knows he’s being too greedy when you mutter a mumbled “C-Careful, Seb…”, but he simply doesn’t have the power within him to care any longer. Too clouded by the taste of you blood, the smell of your life. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to— and he certainly doesn’t want to, distracting your pitiful cries for a break with another roll forward of his hips, cock pressed right against that hidden cunt, fuuuck. You taste and feel so good when you start to squirm on him. Like he’s actively swallowing all of your worries and fears, all that useless hesitation with every hump and lick he offers you.

“Always.” He whispers against your skin, because he’s not above lying at the moment t if it meant that he got to keep eating you and eating you and holy fuck he feels so dizzy— but in a good way. Like when you’re tipsy, and you’re only somewhat aware of your actions. Allowing his body to go through the natural motions as opposed to remaining in control because it’s easier that way. And it seems you appreciate it too, especially when it leads to him cupping your cheek with one hand, the other coming down to rest easily on the small of your back while he slurps and drools all over your neck. A reassuring hold to some. Utter possessiveness to him.

And he’d love to stay here. Attached sucking at your neck forever, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pure unadulterated bliss at just how good you taste, cock leaking all over himself at the feeling of your body pressing snugly against his own, how you grow limper by the second in his arms due to the blood loss— but then he remembers something important.

“Here,” he regrettably unlatches from your neck, just briefly. Enough to get his words out. “Lemme put it in,” he doesn’t wait for your reply before hurriedly unbuttoning his bottoms with one hand, just barely hearing your muffled moans of disapproval in response, and he can’t help but to smile lovingly at the way you try to paw him off of you. You fucking asked for this.

“Promise it’ll feel good, even better.”

Though, whether his words of reassurance actually calm your grabby hands down or not is of no importance to him. Because deep down, he knows that he’s telling the truth, letting his underwear fall with his pants the moment they’re slack enough to, and his fist immediately grabs onto the base of his cock with a quiet satisfied sigh blowing across your cheek. You deserve to feel as good as he does right now, even if you’re unable to agree to his actions. Don’t worry, he’ll look after you. All the mortals he’s sucked thus far have expressed just how much nicer it feels when he’s buried balls deep inside of them during the act, too. And he wants for nothing less than to spoil his baby, especially when you taste better than anything he’s ever has before— shit, he has to latch onto your neck again just to keep himself composed as he drags your bottoms down too, leaving you bare and exposed in your cosy kitchen.

But you can feel it too, right? How warm it all is, how his tongue and lips suck you into a hazy daze with a nice heat spreading throughout your body. How about that times ten, huh? Sounds good, right?

The scent of your blood fills his nostrils with another greedy inhale against your neck, followed by the smell of your sex now that he’s exposed your lower half, dripping with desire for him— “See,” he half laughs between gulps of your delicious red, you’re no different from those he’s drained before. They always get wet. “Already feels so good, don’t it?” he mumbles, going back to sucking your neck with hums of appreciation while his cock bobs and twitches against your slit, dribbling precum all over your mound for you to shiver against.

All it takes is a little readjusting, tipping his hips back, bending his knees a little. Such small movements, just so feel so much better when his tip catches on your hole and he audibly gasps against your wounds.

You, too, gasp at the contact. A short moment shared in utter disbelief over how dizzying and exciting this whole situation is, his hips stalling for a moment or two simply to enjoy finally getting what he’s always wanted. Your blood on his lips to turn them all sticky and tacky, and his cock tipping into your cunt to leave you sighing and huffing with bliss. He might be sucking you into a state of stupor, but your body sure is awake enough to communicate pleasure with him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to continue giving in to his selfish desires.

It helps that your being so pliant and submissive right now too, no doubt due to the amount of blood you’ve lost from his greedy gulps and sinful swallows. A light pink mix of blood and drool drips from your neck, around to your collarbone for him to gawk it. The sight of which, inevitably, prompts his hips into jutting forward, his cock swiftly stretching your little cunt out to accommodate the sudden girth. And it’s fucking hot how you can’t even muster up the energy to complain, really. A slight moan escaping your puffy lips, a subtle furrow of your brows. Whereas he on the other hand, is a downright fucking mess. Salivating all over you, eyes unfocused and glazed over as he gorges on your neck, mouth just swimming in your blood, tongue pointed to dip in and out of your open puncture marks like some sort of crazed animal. Almost making out with your holes, really, with how sloppy and messy he is with his bloody sucks. Gross, right?

And as soon as his cock is in, he’s pulling it back out again. Keeping you pinned against the counter, helping hold you up with both hands finding home on your ass to teasingly squeeze at the fat of it. You taste like you’re pent up right about now, and he loves you all too much to stop. Sucking. Completely smitten with the way you drown him in sweet sticky red, getting him high on the tangy taste while he gets drunk on your meek moans and whimpers— perhaps his pace is too fast to start with, yeah? It’s hardly his fault that he can’t slow down or hold himself back; if only you didn’t taste so good, y’know? If only the blood that stains his teeth a new shade didn’t have his cock throbbing harder than before, the tight squeeze of your insides pairs well with the sweet squelch of your hole, struggling to take his cock, are you? Or maybe it’s just that the amount of blood loss you’ve suffered is making you a little woozy, turned you just a bit too numb to his touch in an effort to hold on to life, maybe?

Though some part of him, deeply hidden and buried in his repeatedly slamming cock, recognises that he’s harming you right now… didn’t you tempt him in the first place? It’s not his fault, right? “C’mon, babe—” he huffs against your neck, unlatching so as to take a proper good look at how fucking dumb you appear right now; rolled back eyes and parting lips, the perfect picture of pleasure, yeah?

It couldn’t be anything more sinister, surely. Not when your cunt chokes his cock so perfectly, dripping slick down to his balls every time they slap back against you as a reminder of how much you’re enjoying this. Feels fucking good, licking his lips in part to concentrate on how warm and wet your little hole is while he picks up the pace to bring your attention back to him, but also to clean himself up from your blood. It swirls pleasantly in his system with his harsh fucks— he doesn’t mean to be so brutal with his affection, but isn’t that your fault for falling in love with a beast such as him? He’s only acting according to his nature, after all.

“C’mon, show me that— fuck, that— pretty fuckin’ face.” His praise comes out almost as a sneer, snarling with his teeth bared as instincts beg him to dominate, to show you who’s boss right now; though, in actuality, it’s you. It’s always been you who he’s beholden to, who he can’t stop thinking about, loving on, lusting after. He might be barely in control right now, but he’s only acting out because he wants you. Terribly so, enough to keep pumping his fat cock in and out of you at such an unfair pace that he has to stabilise you, unable to clearly see your surely pretty face regardless of his attempts because he’s fucking you so fast. His hips just don’t let up, driven to continue from the tight ball of lust your blood pools in his tummy, your squishy insides suck him off so well— almost as well as he’s drained your neck, right? But you do look pretty, absolutely. Hair a mess, tits bouncing before him, a soft necklace of saliva blood decorating your chest with his snap thrusts. It’s disgusting how easy it is for him to lose himself in you, in the soft walls of your cunt, stroking himself off so well with your hole.

In his lust induced drinking spree of your blood, he bets half of it still yet clings to his lips in a show of love for you. And, concerningly, his cock throbs all the harder when you whisper his name. Like feathers on fresh snow, he’s more so filling in the blanks of your mouthed words, but nonetheless fat beads of precum spill out inside of your cunt at how fucked dumb you are right now. You’re so cute.

He promised you it’d feel good, and look at you. Can’t even speak from the sheer pleasure rolling through you, right?

More than anything, he’d like to gulp around your neck some more. Engulf every inch of you with his teeth, leave his mark all over your body like laying claim to his territory. But you’re barely holding your head up at this point, and as he grows close to orgasm himself, so too does clarity come. Just a little, fuzzy at the edges of his blood red darkened mind, enough to give him the idea to plant his thumb between his pelvis and your own to rub sloppy circles around your clit like how he should have done earlier.

But oh, look. There’s a little blood down there, too. From his thumb no doubt, mixing perfectly with the slick your hole gushes out around his fat cock, rocking you up and down his erection desperately so that he can focus more on getting you off than himself.

He’s had his fun, hasn’t he?

“I—” … what? He hadn’t meant to speak just now, chewing on his bottom lip in utter confusion while your insides tighten and, indeed, convulse around his cock. Promising to milk him empty as soon as possible, a choked moan escaping your puffy lips for him to feast on. And as he nears that edge himself, falling forward into you so as to be as close as possible while burying his cock balls deep in your too tight little cunt, a wave of understanding washes over him and he reflexively pulls out.

Still, his hand just as naturally gravitates to his cock as he pumps it fully, a fast up and down stroke that he can barely catch up to, gasping before you with a furrow in his brows. He’s so fucking close, licking his lips a final time to remove the stain of red upon them, and the lingering taste of your blood is all he needs to finally finish upon your front.

Thick, white ropes of salty seed splatter across your wrinkled clothing, dripping down in fat globs to your bare and exposed cunt. So soft and sore she looks, now that he’s had his way with her. And if he’s being honest with himself, he thinks you look stunning painted in white, and he’s never felt so fucking good before.

He felt so unnaturally good. Not normal not by any stretch of the imagination… Which therein lies the main issue.

His grip on you tightens as soon as he’s calmed down enough to realise what he’s just done, a cracked sob urgently crawling up his throat in the face of his actions. How—

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Ah, there it is. What he was trying to say earlier, suddenly rolling like water—or blood—off his tongue in such a pivotal moment. Pain sears through him at the absent look you offer him back, and his gaze finally clears enough to allow him the sight of just how deep his fangs have burrowed. Hidden amongst your open flesh is plenty more sorries, just as much that spill from his gasping throat, though he immediately knows that it’ll never be enough. Not with how tight his chest burns, how his tummy flips with utter sickness at how pale and frail you appear in his arms, no less better looking as he gently lowers you to the ground and he matches you by kneeling at your side.

“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I didn’t want to do all that, y’know? I just— fuck, that’s why I wanted to leave, didn’t wanna hurt you at all, I—” he could mutter about how much he didn’t want to do anything all night long if he could, but the warm smile you adorn when listening to his panic stricken rambles cuts him short. Prompts him into idly chewing on his bottom lip, being sure to hide his fangs from your view as if communicating, again, I’m sorry.

“Seb—” you rasp, and his eyes widen to the sound of your voice. Soft and light, though through the most heinous means possible. Because he hurt you. It hurts, instantly, to hear it. But he doesn’t shy away from his consequences, doing his best to regard you with genuine affection in spite of the tears that well at his lashline.

“It’s okay.” You cough, sputtering blood from under him with reckless abandon. “Was my fault,” you continue, and he instinctively shakes his head out of fear.

No, no, not your fault. Never your fault, it should have been me who walked away from you!

“Really, it’s okay. You were right, it—” felt good? He doesn’t want to hear another word of your dwindling life wasted on his immature actions, shutting you up with a hand held over your lips, and a harsh shh falling from his own. He takes a quick look over your frame, calculating just how near death you really are— though, you’ll always be under on that edge when in close proximity to him apparently, he chastises himself with. But all it takes is that second of taking inventory for him to lift you back up, bridal style in his shaking arms, as he strides out of the kitchen with you in tow.

Not once has he ever tried to care for a mortal after feeding, so he’s not entierly sure what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. All he knows is that the doctors office isn’t too far away from your big farmhouse, and he’d do anything to at least try and save you.

Lest he joins you, once and for all, with another sorry locked and loaded behind his stained red teeth.

[xavviquz]

♥︎ thirsty for you. - vamp!choso x fem!reader ♥︎ HCS

warnings // !!MDNI!! period sex, p ⇾ v, unprotected, somnophilia, blood mention, pussy eating, fingering, not proofread (though i dont think any of my fics r but that doesnt make it bad 😘)

notes // getting back into my usual with hcs! i absolutely love vampire choso btw i swear im bent over for him but anyhow, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do! this is also a few years late like heian era late wc: 825

synopsis: you havent been the same since you got with him.. and neither has the aching in your body stopped either.

☆ vamp!choso┊ who has you on your knees at the break of dawn just because he desperately wanted your warmth.

your pussy was so wet and warm, he could fall asleep and never pull out for days no matter what. its not like he hasnt done that before anyways.

you were minding your own business, falling asleep after a long day of talking to customers from the village in order to pay off the rent that was due in the next month. you were tired. exhausted to the bone if you will. as you were drifting to sleep, you felt the mattress get slightly heavy in a particular spot that your boyfriend would sleep on. thinking nothing of it, you drifted off to sleep as you felt a pair of hands feeling your body up and down, your waist all the way to your boobs, pinching at the nubs as you batted your eyes.

you rubbed your eyes before you felt something inside of you. too familiar.. damn it. why now and especially when you were sleeping??

☆ vamp!choso┊who doesnt know how to ask to have sex or put you into the mood, so he reacts on impulse.

you glanced behind you with a sleepy look to see your boyfriend with a dumb smirk, digging his face into the crook of your neck. it felt so wrong and so right.. you’ve talked about this before with him but he never seemed to get why he should ask when you’re ‘his property’ he’d say, but in a sense, you were.

his dick was slowly being pushed in and out of your sensitive walls as he nibbled on your shoulder to hide his whines. you felt so warm and so peaceful.. it was hard to resist someone like you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who has a habbit of using his abilities for his lustful desires.

choso can turn invisible, be a bat, and even have unnatural speed. it made you slightly jealous that you didnt have any but its not like you minded or anything except when he would.. tease you.

the other night when making dinner for the both of you, you felt his slender hands reach up into your shirt, cupping your boobs as he licked your neck. once you turned around though, no one was there. “cho’ stop playing around and help me out..”

“i am helping you out.” he appeared behind you once again, one hand leaving your boobs to venture down to your clit, slowly playing with it. he knew damn well what he was doing and he knew he would get his way by doing so. your moans were like music to his ears and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

☆ vamp!choso┊who loves it when you’re on your period.

your boyfriend was there inbetween your legs as your hands lazily covered your mouth to keep the moans slipping inbetween your lips hidden but.. how could you?

choso’s tongue flicked up against the clit of your pussy, going down to your hole and practically sucking you dry.

damn it. you should’ve never said anything about your period. but even then, he would’ve sniffed you out anyways and have you eaten out in the nearest bathroom he could find just for a taste of you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who always bites and nips at your neck no matter how tired you are. his stamina is endless being a vampire.

you’re nearly fucked out of your mind, everything you saw was a complete blur. your back was arched and it was so late in the night.. you had to open up shop early today so why this day specifically did he decide that he wanted to fuck you brainless?

you scratched at the sheets, his length turning your insides into complete mush. you felt choso’s fangs slightly bite into your skin, digging his teeth into your pump skin. warm red blood from your neck pooled into his mouth, licking spots that dripped.

your mind was lightheaded from all the fucking and bloodsucking. your head drooped down and swung low. you could barely even hold yourself up so how were you going to open up shop now?

choso smirked, kissing the back of your ear before whispering in a low tone. “now you dont need to go to that small stand..” he hugged your waist, pushing on your stomach while he did another deep thrust.

you were so exhausted.. too exhausted to think. your eyes kept fluttering, each blink longer than the last, slowly drifting to sleep in the middle of sex with him.

by the time you had woken up, he was asleep right next to you, sleeping while his fangs were in your neck, and his dick deep within you.

a/n: please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting recommendations!

Ⓒ 2024 xavviquz - dont copy, repost, or modify