#shadow supporting chris

[koushirouizumi]

Title: Where Will You Go, Chris? Type: A.M.V Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog / Sonic X (+Sega Sonic-verse Background!canon compliant) Song: Where Will You Go? Singer/Artist: Amy Lee / E v a n e s c e n c e Characters: Chris Thorndyke (Main); Sonic the Hedgehog (as Support); Sonic X Ensemble {Beginning mainly/Only} (as side {minimally appearing} Support) Dynamics: Sonic & Chris (as strong Friendship); Shadow & Maria (as relevant strong Friendship); {Briefly} Spoilers: until Series 1 Ending (Series 2 Not Included) AO3 Link: Here! {Please consider leaving a comment if you Enjoy!} (I’d love to hear your Thoughts!) Lyrics: Here!

Summary:

"I realize you're {A F R A I D}..." 'You P L A Y the R O L E-'

"BUT I, I KNOW who you REALLY ARE--" {-when we're alone}-- "I can see right through your E Y E S",

"{Don't} R e j e c t the Whole {W O R L D}"...

Sonic and Chris are featured major characters (with more Chris's Point of View); Sonic has a main role as a support to Chris (and helping explain Chris's involvement in the story). Chris's family and others from the ensemble; also very briefly appear/are referenced. Contains spoilers for the ending arc of Sonic X's 1st/original series (pre-Metarex Arc); much more based in the original version's characterization of Chris. (This is a pro-Chris & Sonic Supporting Chris + Chris's friendship{s} work.)

"Where Will You Go?" (C) E V A N E S E N C E

{Do Not Copy} {Do Not Repost} {Do Not Reproduce my Works Under Any Circumstances Without My Permission!} NO $$$ is being made off this Fanwork Sonic X © S E G A/T M S Entertainment

Notes: This is Old {10+ years old}. it’s my 6th "Sonic X" work out of multiple, closer from to the end of my "Sonic X" series of works. The footage used will reflect this, as it was made before widespread transition into H.D. Footages. Please be understanding. [There may be intent for me to remake it someday!]

-This video’s embed may randomly not display at times, Showing like it’s “down”, but it’s not at this time! {It usually happens late at night[s] or seemingly when the site is experiencing very high traffic} If that happens, please consider watching at another direct link here!}

[ericshoney]

Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets Masterlist (Part 1)

Summary: Join Y/n in her adventures alongside her brothers, Nick, Matt and Chris

~~~~~~~~~

Key:

Nick

Matt

Chris

All

Note: Can be read in any order.

Second Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ Argument (Oneshot)

~ Got you! (Oneshot)

~ Missed you (Oneshot)

~ Toys! (Oneshot)

~ Lost at the zoo (Oneshot)

~ Fight (Oneshot)

~ Pregnant (Oneshot)

~ Overachiever (Oneshot)

~ See you later (Oneshot)

~ Mean prank (Oneshot)

~ Struggles (Oneshot)

~ Trying and rating baby food (Oneshot)

~ Learning to drive (Oneshot)

~ Colouring (Oneshot)

~ Different triplet prank (Oneshot)

~ Childhood memories (Oneshot)

~ On stage (Oneshot) (child!reader)

~ On stage (Oneshot) (Teen!reader)

~ Stream (Oneshot)

~ Accident (Oneshot)

~ Future vlogger (Oneshot)

~ Crying prank (Oneshot)

~ Wisdom teeth (Oneshot)

~ First boyfriend (Oneshot)

~ First girlfriend (Oneshot)

~ Ice Skating (Oneshot)

~ Use your words (Oneshot)

Nick's wisdom teeth (Oneshot)

~ Prom (Oneshot)

~ Sneaking out (Oneshot)

~ Fifteenth birthday (Oneshot)

~ Tea party (Oneshot)

~ Quiet girl (Oneshot)

~ Playground (Oneshot)

~ Panic Attack (Oneshot)

~ Trevor's day (Oneshot)

~ Hate (Oneshot)

~ Loose tooth (Oneshot)

~ Late home (Oneshot)

~ Favourite (Oneshot)

~ Sports kid (Oneshot)

~ First words (Oneshot)

~ Big sister (Oneshot)

~ Spelling bee (Oneshot)

~ Vaping (Oneshot)

~ Bad dream (Oneshot)

~ Blaming you (Oneshot)

~ Wheel of doom (Oneshot)

~ Day at the zoo (Oneshot)

~ Protective brothers (Oneshot)

~ Reaction (Oneshot)

~ Hockey injury (Oneshot)

~ Ice skating and hockey (Oneshot)

~ Adopted (Oneshot)

~ Deaf, mute, blind baking with Larray (Oneshot)

~ Mini Matt (Oneshot) (Sister version)

~ Chris' shadow (Oneshot)

~ Mini Ninja (Oneshot)

~ Madison Beer concert (Oneshot)

~ Mini Nick (Oneshot) (Sister version)

~ The cutest Sturniolo (Oneshot)

~ Lost at Disney (Oneshot)

~ Stuffed Animal (Oneshot)

~ Driskill Hotel (Oneshot)

~ Triplet animals (Oneshot)

~ Roadtrip (Oneshot)

~ TikTok (Oneshot)

~ Dress to impress (Oneshot)

~ Baker (Oneshot)

~ Day with Matt (Oneshot)

~ Tattoo (and charm) for you (Oneshot)

~ Nail biter (Oneshot)

~ Attachment (Oneshot)

~ Spa day (Oneshot)

~ Stutter (Oneshot)

~ Locked in a car (Oneshot)

~ Learning to cook (Oneshot)

~ Olympic gymnast (Oneshot)

~ Big sister to the rescue! (Oneshot)

~ Always here (Oneshot)

~ Sleep struggles (Oneshot)

~ Airport Cuddles (Oneshot)

~ Skipping school (Oneshot)

~ Got your back (Oneshot)

~ Disney Princess (Oneshot)

~ Cooking with Quen (Oneshot)

~ Thunder fears (Oneshot)

~ Dyslexic (Oneshot)

~ Allergies (Oneshot)

~ Hairdresser (Oneshot)

~ New friend (Oneshot)

~ Drivers licence (Oneshot)

~ Doughnut review (Oneshot)

~ Princess treatment (Oneshot)

~ Support system (Oneshot)

~ Glasses (Oneshot)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: This masterlist is now full, please check out part two which is linked at the top.

[peppermintquartz]

If you’re still wanting prompts, here’s a sad one: Tommy shows up at the 118 looking for Buck because his dad just died and, as cruel and awful as his father was, that was the last person he had and he desperately needs someone.

They come back from a call, a relatively simple one where they rescued a puppy from a drainpipe, and Eddie is telling Chimney about Chris finally asking how everyone was at the station. Buck is smiling at the conversation, glad for the progress, when Kirsten, the new probie left behind due to her sprained wrist, jogs up to the engine.

"Buck? There's someone here to see you," she says, big green eyes a little concerned. "Says his name is Tommy."

Buck freezes. Eddie hops off the vehicle and nods at Kirsten. "Where is he?"

She points to the loft, then lowers her voice. "He seems kinda... off. Like he's not all there, if you know what I mean."

As Eddie thanks Kirsten, Buck walks towards the stairs. His heart seems to beat twice as hard. They've not spoken to each other since that day Tommy walked out, and even though Buck saw that Tommy wanted to text him the other day, Tommy never quite followed through and Buck didn't want to be the one to reach out.

When he gets to the sofa where Tommy is seated, he pauses. Tommy looks like death warmed over. His usually healthy appearance looks haggard and the laugh lines around his mouth drag his face down, and there's scruff that's at least three days old. He hasn't even reacted to Buck coming near him, so lost in thought that he seems to have stopped breathing.

Out of it is the right description.

"Tommy?" Buck ventures.

Tommy jerks, and his gaze slides up. Shadows under his eyes dark as bruises mar the handsome face, and the lovely storm blue eyes are ringed with red and fatigue.

"Tommy, are you alright?" Buck sits next to him, taking Tommy's hand on instinct, realizing only after that he's done so, but it'll be weird to drop it. Tommy's hand is cold, too, cold as ice, a very strange sensation when he tends to run hot.

"I'm sorry," Tommy whispers, "I just. Didn't have anyone to go to. Not about this."

Eddie and Hen have come up to the loft, taking in the scene. Chimney is keeping well back at the kitchen island next to Bobby, the two of them sharing glances.

"You hurt his feelings and now you're crawling back?" Eddie demands. There's no real acid in his tone. Eddie's not happy about seeing Tommy here, Buck supposes, but there's no need for Eddie to be angry. And there's something here that Tommy isn't saying.

"Eddie, shut up." Buck covers Tommy's hands in both his own. "What's wrong?"

"Dad. Stroke. I had to fly to Florida a few days ago... was with him all of yesterday and..." Tommy's usually stoic facade crumples and he bows over, his big shoulders shaking. "Evan. I'm sorry. I shouldn't come here, but I can't go home. I wanted to text you, and I didn't dare, and I'm back, and I can't go home."

His heart breaking for Tommy, Buck wraps the other man in a hug. Tommy's father was an asshole who drank as much as he hated people unlike him, whose abuse wasn't limited to strangers. A lot of it was done in alcohol; Tommy has been very careful with himself about alcohol for that reason.

But blood is still blood, even if it comes from open wounds and old scars. Buck can't imagine how Tommy has managed the past few days alone.

And back home, alone, without support...

Eddie and Hen look uncomfortable now. Bobby approaches, calm and steady. "Why don't you boys go to my office? I'll take us offline for an hour so we can have some food."

"Thanks, Cap. Come on, Tommy." Buck helps Tommy to his feet. Even though everything has changed between them, Tommy is still someone he wants in his life. Buck can be a good friend to a good man.

Tommy deserves someone good in his life.

[inkedtae]

elixir of the damned ⇾ bgc. [M]

⎡sun bright, sun light burns the flesh of those that bite. moon’s gleam, night’s scream as shadows linger in lonely blight. but in the dark where spirits wail, a witch will rise— her power prevails⎦

⌁ pairing; vampire!chan x witch!reader (f.)

⌁ genre; vampire au, s2l, some angst, smut, 18+

⌁ word count; 19.5k

⌁ summary; leech, nightcrawler, monster— chris is a vampire aching for sunlight. when he swims to a witch’s hidden island, badly burned, she offers him a secret remedy to survive daylight; he must drink her blood during her cycle, unleashing her true power and binding them for life.

⌁ warnings; graphic depictions and consumption of blood, graphic depictions of severe wounds, dom!chan, sub!reader, masturbation (f.), voyeurism, degradation, slight humiliation, rough sex, period sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, rough oral (f. receiving), body worship, spanking, teasing, slight edging, cum eating, blood play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 prefer ao3? keep reading here

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a special thanks to dee ( @awrkives ) for making this sexy banner for me, and to my ride or die beta reader, jen ( @anobodyslove ) for consistently supporting me and reading over all the nonsense i write. i am nothing without you.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪�� please enjoy this final Chantober fic!

On the brink of winter, Elderwood is a haze of greys. Roads are bleak black. Sidewalks are cracked and chipped. Streetlights illuminate no more than five inches in diameter, dim and distant. Seemingly void of life, the little town exhales a puff of condensation as it inches towards November. In a matter of days, the saturated warmth of autumn reds will wither, the cold air frosting  over every morning, until all pigment completely fades.

It’s depressing to watch the world around him drain of colour as he wanders the streets. Still, Chris is grateful for the consistency. One thing he can always count on is the changing seasons. He may not be getting older, but the world is.

The wind whips against his muscular frame. It should make him shiver, but he can barely feel the chill, only aware of the wind because of its force. The only time he ever felt the cold was midnight on a particularly wet February two years ago. It was pouring down on him as he walked back to Jisung’s house from the shore. The wind was knocking down street signs. The earth was drenched and cold. Chris felt the chills on his skin, the faint prickle of goosebumps. He inhaled and pretended his lungs worked, filling up with oxygen. Pulling his shirt off, he exhaled and pretended a cloud of air was breathed out. The chills running down his spine made it easy to pretend he was alive.

Now, Chris pretends he can feel the breeze blowing through his muscle tee, still exhilarated by the memory.

There are only two moments when he forgets he’s a vampire. One is when he can feel the cold, and the other is when he’s feeding. The taste of bitter iron and copper staining his tongue makes him feel real . With every gulp, Chris can feel the consumed blood run through his veins, drenching his heart and organs. There is the lightest hue of pink in his skin once he’s done. It lasts for a few hours before it fades and he grows hungry again. As much as it annoys him, Chris looks forward to every meal.

In a matter of days, he will be closing in on eight years as a vampire.

Leech, nightcrawler, monster— Chris cannot block out the voices that chime in every time he thinks about that word. They loop in slow circles around his mind on a daily basis and taunt him between his insecurities and mistakes.

He’s not sure how it happened. He stopped sleeping. It was hard to keep things down. He didn’t like to eat much before swim practise anyways. Even a bite of food would sit like a rock in his stomach. He’d have to excuse himself five minutes into his laps to empty his stomach in the nearest trash can.

“Knocked up?” one of his teammates teased from the pool.

Chris wiped his chin with the back of his wrist. He glared at the diver, eyes wet and red, before clearing his throat, swallowing thickly, and diving back in himself.

Hand on his stomach now, Chris yearns for that disgusting feeling that burned his chest and scratched at his throat. He hates throwing up, but it seems so humane now to get sick, to feel sick.

Once he attempted to starve himself in hopes of emulating something similar to an illness. All it did was make him irritable, almost rabid. He thought it would at least be similar to sleep deprivation but it instead sharpened his supernatural senses for blood.

More than anything though, Chris misses the sun. Every morning, he senses its warmth against the boarded windows of Jisung’s basement. For a handful of minutes, he can bypass his inherent fear of the sun to imagine beams of light cascading over him. He imagines the heat kissing his flesh, returning his admiration, and basks in the feign brightness.

Sand invades his shoes.

Chris opens his eyes to find the sea before him. The waves crash against the shore, inches away from his toes. He inhales sharply. Salt and seaweed plague his tongue. He swallows breathfuls of the scent anyway, chasing nostalgia.

He took his first steps here, had his first kiss by the rocks at thirteen, learned to swim, to build extravagant sandcastles and raced along the shoreline with Jisung and Changbin. How many summers had he guarded the lives of beachgoers? How many bonfire bashes had he patrolled?

Chris gazes out at the horizon. His enhanced vampiric senses have sharpened his sight, refining the mesmerising image of the serene scenery. Even the far island of Crow’s Nest looks clearer. It has been bogged down by heavy fog for as long as he can remember. Sometimes the island seems so hazy, Chris is only reminded of its presence by the crows circling around it. He smiles to himself as he recalls the countless times he, Changbin and Jisung dared each other to swim towards it, each one boasting about how they would be the one to swim the closest only to rush back to shore.

Fuck— it all feels like a life time ago.

The ocean laps closer to Chris’s feet. He surveys his surroundings. Fog settles over the quiet town. Silence replies to his inquisitive stare. He turns back to the sea and considers the horizon. It must be nearing four or five in the morning, dawn slowly approaching. The sky is mostly cloudy too.

He wonders if— No.

His vampiric instincts shudder at the thought. Chris fights through it, resisting the urge to turn around and hurry back to Jisung’s basement.

I have time , he mentally hisses.

The sun won’t be up for another hour or so, and given how considerably cloudy it is, he might have an extra fifteen minutes to collect his clothes and rush back into the safe darkness of the basement. His enhanced speed would get him there within ten minutes anyway.

Chris tugs at the hem of his shirt while kicking off his shoes. He feels the wind push around his muscular torso. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, swallowing the scent of the salty sea, and resists the urge to gag. Determined not to let the suppressed reaction discourage him, he unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his briefs. For a second, he braces himself, expecting a chill upon his full nudity.

Then the reality of his being sets in.

He huffs an annoyed groan and marches into the water. He’s so frustrated he doesn’t feel it at first. However, as he continues to wade further into the ocean, the water now lapping just above his waist, Chris shivers .

Cold— ice cold. The sea welcomes him home.

Chris chuckles, relief blossoming in his chest. He caresses the surface of the water as another chuckle tumbles out of his full lips. If he was still human, tears would prick his eyes from the sheer relief of finally feeling something. Embracing the biting chill, he dives in.

Under deep blue darkness, the world muffles around him. He points his hands in front of him, the same way he was training eight years ago, and propels further into the ocean. Seaweed dances beneath his feet, the current moves around him. Being undead gives him an advantage as he can remain submerged for longer now.

Twirling, swirling, he swims and swims— faster than he could before his shift. The rush of the waves propel him further into the water, caressing his toned body. Chris suppresses a smile as he watches fish dart and algae float around him.

When he finally surfaces, he lets out a heavy breath on instinct, but he doesn’t care. He pushes his hair back and wipes his nose, heaving anyway because in this still moment, Chris is teetering on the edge of humanity for the very first time in eight years.

Looking back to the shore, he finds that he may have gotten carried away. The mainland is almost a figment of his imagination with the amount of distance he has created.

And Crow’s Nest is completely visible.

Chris looks between the shore and the island, then lets out a full bellied laugh, one he hasn’t been able to muster in years. Changbin and Jisung are never going to believe him when he tells them he got this close to Crow’s Nest .

Not only is it far, but most believe the island is haunted. Townies for years have claimed to witness figures lurking between the trees and flickering lights throughout the night. Someone once swore they saw a figure flying over the island on a broomstick amongst the crows. Throughout the years, many sceptics have tried to travel to the island, only to be deterred by the current and pushed back to shore. Changbin once told him that one person did make it onto the island but was never heard from again.

Chris was not completely convinced by the tall-tales of Crow’s Nest, but he still constantly felt unsettled by its presence.

However, surveying the island now, he cannot remember why he was so scared. Sure, the myths were strange, but they were myths in the end.

Vampires were once a myth , a little voice murmurs.

Stifling the sinister voice, Chris looks to the sky and finds it’s still a swirl of charcoal grey and slated blue. His smile returns before another chuckle bubbles from his eased chest. Floating upon the surface, he lays back, allowing the current to guide him for a moment. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the fading sensation of the cold upon his pale skin.

While Chris knows he has more time to revel in this rare human moment, he cannot help the anxiety festering in the base of his stomach. What if he never feels this way again? What if he has to wait another eight years to feel something, anything again? And yes, this has been a cathartic experience by himself, but some of his favourite human memories are shared with his loud, chaotic friends. He can imagine Changbin complaining about how deep the water is and Jisung making jokily suggestive comments about how naked they all are. He would never be able to convince them to go skinny dipping in the middle of October at dawn. Changbin is too much of a whiny baby to handle the cold and Jisung sleeps as deep as the dead— Chris would know being undead himself.

So, while he may feel a fraction of his humanity again, he cannot forget that he is still alone.

A sense of deep danger surges through him, silver eyes snapping open. Amber light spills across the once frosty charcoal-blue sky.

The sun is rising.

His vampiric instincts rage in his chest, as if scolding him for being so reckless.

Chris internally curses at himself. He’s about to swim back to shore when he notices rays of light shining against the sand, inching towards his clothes.

Fuck .

How long had he been floating? When did time start to move this quickly? The last eight years have felt like eternity, but it’s as though the last two hours flew by within twenty minutes.

Chris lets out a shaky sigh and considers his options. He can try to make it back to shore and sprint home, grabbing his clothes later (if the current doesn’t swallow them). He can try to dive deep enough in the water to evade the sun, but risk drowning over and over for the next twelve hours. Or…

A murder of crows circle the island to his right.

Crow’s Nest.

“ Shit ,” he mutters under his breath.

Chris dives. He uses all his strength to fight against the current. The closer he’s gets to the island, the harsher the ocean becomes. The waves are not forceful, simply persistent with their suggestion to turn back. It’s as if the sea is warning him against reaching the island.

He fights through it still, pushing himself to swim faster.

Though he does not have a pulse, Chris is heaving by the time he can walk onto the shore. He runs a hand through his hair and spits the excess seawater out of his mouth. Leaning on his knees, he takes a moment, for the first time in eight years, to catch his breath.

Vision blurring, hands shaking, Chris mutters a string of vulgar curses. The swim has depleted his energy. Thirst— No, hunger gnaws at his chest, his gut, his very being, tearing through his innate instincts to find shade. His senses instead sharpen for a hunt. The scent of crow, frail and small, immediately overwhelms him. He can nearly taste the thick blood that pumps under their onyx feathers.

“ Ah!” Chris hisses, jolting forwards as the light nips at his ankles.

The sun .

Using the last bit of his strength, Chris dashes towards the trees. However, as he’s about to cross into the safety of the shade, the sun strikes, scorching his skin.

Chris screams, collapsing to his knees. His back stings with a relentless hiss. Scurrying forward, he manages to make it into the shade with only a few more minimal, yet painful welts on his thighs and calves. He chokes back more groans as his pale skin bubbles and burns from the intense heat.

He shifts further into what he thinks is the shade, trembling and whimpering, when the breeze kicks in and rattles the already loose leaves from the trees. Chris looks up, watching a gap form and give way for another attack from the sun.

Bright rays blaze his face. Another fraught scream tears through his throat and he tries to shield his eyes with his arm. Only one eye could be saved, the other feels as though it is melting into his skull.

Pain, pain— aching pain. Chris screams, his voice cracking as he channels that last of his strength and throws himself against the tree stump with unnatural speed.

Hiccuped moans tumble from his wounded, cracked lips. He heaves, voice nothing more than a wheezing shattered mess. His flesh deteriorates, once eternal body now crumbling under the bright light. The rotting smell of his dead body simmers around him, brewing nausea deep in his gut.The sand bites into his burnt skin, like salt on a fresh wound. Whimpering, he grits his teeth and attempts to bear the pain.

It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. It’s not tha—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, the pain overtaking his mind. He tries to repeat the phase again but can barely get past the first syllable.

Chris knows he can’t stay here. The sun will move, the light will shift, the fucking wind will betray him. He is not guaranteed safety if more leaves fall and the light seeps through again. Yet, he cannot move. Without blood to sustain his movements or renew his vampiric healing abilities, he might just die anyway.

So, Chris simply stares at the clutter of copper and gold leaves around him and suppresses whimpers. Is this the sickness he was previously craving to feel? Is this the humanistic pain he so badly yearned for? Chris cannot help but curse at himself over and over as his vision slowly blurs.

Is this really how it ends , he wonders. Wet from the sea, hot from the sun, eight years of demonic hell inch to this painful end.

Coughing up bile, he spits it over his shoulder and exhales deeply. Well, at least, he was able to experience a final moment of humanity, even if it was alone. And when he sees Changbin and Jisung again, he’ll tell them all about how he swam to Crow’s Nest and wasn’t immediately devoured by the monsters that they believe lurk within.

And if nothing else , he thinks as the darkness slowly closes in on him, I had one last moment in the sun.

“What have you done to yourself?”

A soft flowery voice caresses him. Chris mentally leans into the feminine allure of the voice, allowing himself to be wrapped in her gentle tone.

Then, the voice suddenly solidifies shattering the warm cocoon Chris found himself giving into, as she repeats, tone firmer now, “Are you insane?”

Chris tilts his head, choking on more bile as a surge of pain ripples through him. A curvy figure dressed in a thin, white sundress rushes towards him. He can barely make out her face, his sight almost completely gone, but her scent— fresh rain, lavender and sage— overwhelms him. For a second, he sees himself strolling through a field of wildflowers after a rainstorm, following the full figured beauty into the warmth of the light.

“Wow, you’re really naked,” she suddenly mumbles under her breath.

Voice raspy, Chris asks, “Are… you an angel?”

Soft hands cup his face; delicate, sweet, and gentle. Chris tries to regain some semblance of his sight, eager to take in her ethereal features but the pain hinders his focus.

And then, all at once, darkness claims him.

Dawn is still. While the sun peeks through clusters of clouds, the sky shifts from pale blue to rose-gold. The wind, once flowing through the small cottage through the open windows, disappears. Even the crows, who often guard your little hideaway, fall silent.

You freeze mid-chop and turn towards the backdoor. A murder of crows still lingers around your backyard, but they seem rigid, as if they are not sure how to react.

Furrowing your brows, you set down your knife and abandon your half-chopped eggplant. You wipe your hands on your apron, making your way to the door.

A loud buzzing rings through your ears, stopping you mid-stride. You furrow your brows, senses finally flaring.

Abandoning the back door, you move towards the front instead. The moment you pull it open, you feel it— the shift in the air, swirling with panic, fear and… pain ?

A loud scream suddenly echoes through the morning fog, taut and sharp.

Chills run down your spine.

You’ve found many injured animals while hiding in Crow’s Nest within the last decade. You’ve repaired broken bones, mended mangled wings and even helped beached sea creatures find their way back into the ocean. However, nothing you have encountered has ever sounded so huge.

Shaking off your nerves, you step out and shut the door behind you. The wind picks up, colder than before. It ruffles through your white sundress, forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself. Another frail scream echoes, this time starling the crows back into motion. Hawthorne, your clingiest crow, lands on your front porch with a concerned tilt of his head, as if coming to check on you. Your face deadpans as more crows settle on the rickety, oak wood and peer up at you.

“You literally saw me from the garden,” you sigh. Stepping around them, you ask, “Do you know where that sound came from?”

Poe squawks before fluttering into flight, and a few other crows follow after him as well. You trail behind them, pulling your wand out from between your breasts. You assume that whatever washed up on your island must be harmless enough for your wards not to alert you upon its arrival. Still, you keep your twelve-inch mahogany wand, the polished ebony wood twisted and glittering like silver stars, steady before you.

Rotten vanilla and burnt, parched oak intoxicate your next breath. The scent envelopes you in despair, as you draw closer to the source. Heaving, whimpering, coughing, the broken sounds of pain become clearer with every step.

And then you see him— extremely pale and teetering consciousness. His face, which might have once been a handsome blend of soft masculinity, is grey and blistering. Arm, shoulder, ribs; the left side of his body is peeling skin, almost as if dusting and rotting all at once. The edges of the wounds are lined with black. It’s as though he’d been charred under open flames.

“What have you done to yourself?” you whisper under your breath.

You draw nearer, trying to make sense of this… being? You’re not quite sure what he is. He most definitely cannot be a human. He should be bleeding and the welts would be blistering, eager to reverse the damage.

His eyes squint open and you almost miss it. The right one is a rich chocolate, purely humanistic and warming. The left, however, is a blinding silver. Swimming with thirst and desperation, even exhausted, that gleaming grey eye conveys more threats than promises.

Vampire .

Dawn, light, burns, it all starts to make sense.

“Are you insane?”

He chokes on bile, resting his head back against the tree trunk.

As he tries to find his voice, you take a moment to scan his frame, looking for more wounds. It’s then that you notice just how naked he is. Guilt and shame fester in your chest at the realisation that, despite the wounds, he does not look so bad, perhaps even… attractive.

Your attention lingers below his waist. The sight heats your face. “Wow, you’re really naked,” you whisper more to yourself than him.

“Are…” he starts, summoning your attention back to his mismatched eyes, “you an angel?”

The question startles you. After a few blinks, you swallow thickly and clear your throat.

Wraith, nightshader, monster— you’ve been called many names throughout your life as a blood-witch. Your previous coven conjured most of the insults, but the mundane town of Elderwood has never been a friend to the supernatural either, despite its mythical origins. Ridiculed for your magic, banished by family and supposed friends, you didn’t think you’d ever meet another paranormal being, let alone be confused for an angel.

Cupping his face, you decide that he’s delirious. Scorched by the sun, thirsty for blood (if his nearly translucent skin is any indication), he probably took one look at your white dress and assumed he was dying.

You gasp as he suddenly falls limp in your hands. You’re about to check his pulse when you remember he’s a vampire. Muttering curses, you stand up.

“Create some shade,” you order the crows. As they cluster overhead, you add, “We need it dark enough to move him.”

More crows fly in to help, clouding over the wounded vampire to shield him from the rising sun.

Deep breath in and out, you centre yourself. Your lungs carry his festering scent, the faint notes of sweet vanilla and sturdy, dry oak soothing your erratic heart.

You open your eyes with a heavy, steady exhale. Holding out your wand, you dig your heels into the ground. Magic flickers from your fingertips and warps into the wand, waiting for your direction. Only, you’re not sure if you’re making the right choice.

Healing animals, saving helpless lives is much of what you do on this little island, besides tending to your magical garden, brewing potions and crafting talismans. You’ve always felt grounded when you’re able to help someone, anyone . The only other time you feel as accomplished and useful is when you update your journal. Keeping a detailed grimoire of new spells, potions, thoughts, and observations has been your only other source of stabilising your sanity amidst such a solitary life.

But, a vampire is not some other helpless animal. You don’t know a lot about the blood-demons, only that they have been damned upon their own moment of desperation. He clearly made naive deals without much consideration of the consequences. And the fact that he wandered out in daylight does not help his case.

He could be recently turned or just simply stupid and desperate. Either way, you wonder if this is a good idea. Moving him would mean inviting him into your home. Is that really the wisest decision? It would mean that he would have access to the little cottage without your permission, even if you reinforce your wards. Your invitation would be enough to welcome him in every time.

Still, you know you cannot heal him out here. The sun will shift and only shine brighter throughout the day. The crows can only fly for so long as well. And while your magic is malleable, it is not infinite. It will not be able to sustain a shield weaved of your powers without an anchor like the hearth of your cottage to truly ground and replenish your strength. The only way to save him would be to bring him into your sanctuary.

Or, a little voice mutters, you can just let him die.

You recognise that internal voice as your mother’s. It carries the same sharpness and disdain for your intuitive decisions. You’re not surprised it has reared its ugly head in a moment of uncertainty and distress. It often has a habit of kicking you while you’re down, or coaxing the worst out of you.

Shoving the vile voice back to the farthest corner of your mind, you wave your wand. The handsome vampire levitates under the allure of your magic.

“We move as one,” you order. “And, be careful.”

The crows mutter amongst themselves, but follow your commands. Together, you slowly move further into the forest.

Once you step foot onto the porch, the cottage anticipates your needs. The windows and curtains shut and candles flicker to life along with the hearth. You push open both front doors to accommodate his broad frame. Guiding him into your living room, you wonder if he was an athlete or swimmer prior to turning. His lean yet muscular figure indicates one or both hobbies.

Shame rises in your chest again. You have no idea what has gotten into you. When did you become so perverted and disgusting? How could you check out a wounded man so casually like that, like he’s not unconscious and on the brink of death? 

Swallowing your shame away, you lay him down on your soft, velvet green sofa. He sinks into the comfortable cushions, still and frail. Draping a handknitted, midnight black blanket over him, you notice his skin becoming grey. And even the parts that have not been touched by the sun begin to peel. 

You mutter a curse and rush to the kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinets, you look between jars of carefully crafted salves and mud masks. Aloe, honey, shea butter, coconut– what the fuck would heal the undead flesh of a vampire? If he was conscious, you’d give him a jar of blood from your preserves and hope that with enough consumption, he’d eventually heal himself. 

The cottage attempts to help you. It pushes open drawers of loose ingredients. Even a few stray crows, who managed to sneak in before the house could shut the door behind you, fly from book to book, trying to inspire you to just look up the information you need. You wave off the house and ignore the crows. You need something quick and complete. You don’t have time to brew something or search through old pages. 

Shifting its approaches, the cottage offers salves you’ve already made and saved from different cabinets around the kitchen. It hovers the jars before you, continuously suggesting a variety of creams as you wave them off. 

You’re about to wave off the next suggestion when the name catches your eye: Sunveil Balm . Golden yarrow and rosemary oil, lunar lilac extract, white ash bark powder, dewdrop resin, the essence of morning fog and the rare but potent dust of golden pearls, you remember crafting the balm for a bat with scorched wings. It stayed out in the sun for much too long one blistering summer and received several burns. A few generous swipes of the salve repaired the damage within ten minutes.

You snatch the gold-shimmering cream, darting back to the living room. With a wave of your hand, the jar twists open. You dip into the pot and scoop out a good amount before gently tilting his face and slathering the soft, creamy balm over his left cheekbone and temple. 

Mismatched eyes of brown and grey snap open. A loud scream tears through his throat as the wound hisses under the golden salve. He instinctively brings a hand up to his face to wipe it off, only for the salve to burn his fingers. 

“Shit,” you murmur before shouting, “Get me blood, now!”

The cottage complies, hovering various jars of animal blood in front of you. It’s the human blood that catches your eye, though. You know that if you want him to recover quickly, you have to supply him with your best stocks. Human blood, however, is rare for you. Without a coven of well-connected witches, harvesting human blood from your remote little island has proved to be a difficult and daunting task. You only have about five large jars left. 

He trembles into the sofa, choking on his own bile. 

You sigh, realising you’ve made it this far. You have already invited him into your home and made the decision to save him. If that weren’t enough, you’ve just deepened his pain with fresh burns.

With another wave of your hand, you twist the jar of human blood open, then snatch it from the air. “Shh, shh,” you calmly whisper, snaking your arm under his head to support the lift of his neck. He tries to swallow thickly, but chokes on the smell of fresh, cold blood. You bring the lip of the jar closer to his mouth and administer small, careful sips.

You watch as his eyes roll back from the taste. Arousal pools between your thighs. You curse yourself three times over for the way your body reacts. It’s been ten years of using your wand as a vibrator or making do with your fingers. You tell yourself that it’s simply pathetic desperation, a chronic need for human interaction that triggers this sort of reaction to him. Shame and regret still tighten in your chest, encouraging the continuation of your internal insults and curses.

A croaky groan echoes within the jar, pulling you out of your thoughts. The vampire sits himself up and takes the jar from you. He starts to down the blood in large gulps. His chest heaves, throat bobs and rogue trails of blood leak from the corner of his lips. 

You stand and turn away from him, much too aroused by the animalistic sight. Trying to ground yourself, you take shaky breaths in and out, and focus on the length of your breaths, the sound of the exhale. You don’t realise he’s done until you hear him clear his throat. 

Turning back to face him, you find his skin has solidified back to its normal pale, white colour. The black soot around his wounds remains along with a few remaining welts, however life (or lack thereof) has returned to his undead body. 

“More?” He quietly asks, voice deep and husky. 

You nod and hold a hand towards the kitchen. Another large jar of human blood shoots into your grasp. The vampire blinks as you wave the lid open, and lower the glass down to him. He trades you the empty one, letting his attention drift up and down your frame. 

Your shoulders roll back, chest puffing forward under his curious gaze. 

You are pathetic , you think to yourself.

Embarrassed by your actions, you leave him in the living room with his meal and return to the kitchen. Hawthorne and Poe perch on the counter by your recipe books. They cast disapproving stares in the dim candlelight as you enter.

You roll your eyes and whisper, “He was dying.” When they continue to silently judge, you add, “I happen to recall a time when two little birdies got into a fight for the fourth time and begged me to help them even when they promised not to let it happen again. So, maybe we shouldn’t be so judgemental.”

Both crows tilt their heads downwards in shame. 

“Who are you talking to?”

You squeal, jolting as you turn to face the vampire. He stands in the archway of your kitchen, blanket wrapped around his waist. He clutches the soft fabric with one hand by his hip and the empty jar with the other. You resist the urge to look at his fully healed chest, knowing it will only further arouse you, and fixate your attention on his face. 

While the blood has completely reversed the damage of the sun on his skin, his eyes still remain discoloured. You draw closer to examine it, getting within a hand’s reach before remembering that you two are still strangers, he’s still naked and there’s still steaks of blood staining his chin. 

He raises a brow at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. 

Does he think I’m into him , you wonder as panic fills your chest. You clear your throat and take a step back. 

“Your eye,” you start, pointing to your left one, “It’s still silver.”

He reaches up to touch it. Understanding shifts his features from arrogance to self-caution. 

“Do you need more blood?” you ask, wondering if perhaps more consumption would help.

He shakes his head. “I’m full,” he replies. Stepping into the kitchen, he holds the empty jar out for you. 

You take it and place it on the counter by the other one he finished. You turn back to face him, regrettably letting your gaze flicker down his defined chest again. It’s buff and broad, the perfect addition to his strong shoulders. His waist is slim, toned and narrows down to delicate hips that you are sure have some unforgiving moments. Internally cursing yourself for your lack of self-control, you note that, at least this time, you’re lusting after him while he’s conscious and not in active pain. 

He suddenly clears his throat, beckoning your attention back to his face. A shy smile settles on his lip and he raises a brow. 

Great , you sarcastically think, now he’s going to think I only helped him because I think he’s hot . 

“I’m Chris,” he introduces, holding out his hand. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving my life.”

You bite your lip. Maybe he was tired before or you were just too preoccupied by the gravity of the situation to catch it the first few times he spoke, but he has a thick, lazy accent that comforts your reclusive soul in ways it probably shouldn’t.

You offer your name, accepting his hand. The chill from his skin is all encompassing and it takes everything in you not to shiver. After a couple of good shakes, you release his hand to reach back and grab a clean tea towel. You hand it to him and gesture to your chin. “You’ve got a bit of blood,” you carefully inform. 

Chris scrubs his face harshly. You thought the knotting brows and darkening eyes were an indication  of embarrassment upon the mention of the little mess he made of himself. However, from the way he drags the tea towel over his newly healed skin, you wonder if he is upset, perhaps hateful. 

“Thanks,” he mutters again, catching your lingering gaze. 

You take the tea towel back when he’s done and toss it to Poe. The little crow catches the stained cloth and flies it over to the dirty pile. A little amused smile plays on your lips as you watch Chris look between you and the crow. He parts his lips to ask something, but he cannot find his words.

“Let’s have a seat,” you softly suggest, nodding towards the archway. “You must be exhausted.”

Chris nods, letting out a heavy breath. He steps to the side to let you weave around him and lead the way back to the living room. His steps are so light and gentle as he follows. You probably wouldn’t have heard them if you weren’t paying such close attention, sneaking a look behind you. 

His gaze focuses around your hips, or rather the sway of them. You catch him biting his lip before turning to face the front again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you try not to let the little gesture go straight to your head. You’ve received quite a few stares when you lived with your coven once upon a time ago. Most would either linger around your breasts or rear. Sometimes it was due to the sheer size of your voluptuous body and very rarely was it done in admiration when it came to staring at your arms or stomach or thighs. Your backside, however, always received that same carefully longing attention. 

So, he doesn’t like you , you tell yourself. He just likes what he sees .

You take a seat on the black leather armchair by the fireplace, sinking into the comfortable cushions, and nod to the emerald couch he previously laid on. 

Chris sits across from you. Shifting in his seat, he adjusts the blanket to properly cover his hips and crotch. Your eyes meet and, for a brief second, you swear you catch the lightest, faintest hint of pink creeping up his neck and spreading to his cheeks. 

Shifting uncomfortably in your own seat, you offer an apologetic smile and say, “I don’t think I have any clothes for you.”

He returns the gentle gesture with a small grin of his own and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I can try to get the ones I left on the beach later tonight.”

You raise your brows at the new information. Leaning over one of the arms on your chair, you attempt to peek into the kitchen. “Hawthorne?” You shout. 

Chris looks back at the archway only for Hawthrone to dart out. He flies over head, startling Chirs as he ducks his head to avoid the fast bird. 

“Go to the mainland and see if you can find some clothes on the shore for me,” you order once he lands on the arm of your chair. “And take Tenny and Poe with you.” 

Hawthorne squawks. He takes flight again, heading to the front door when you tsk at him. He returns to your side, waiting for instructions. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask then nod to the back of the cottage, “We have a sun sensitive visitor. Take the back door.”

He caws again and zooms right over Chris’s head. There is a ruffle of feathers, followed by more cawing before the slam of an open and shut window sounds. 

Chris swallows thickly, sitting back into the couch. “So you talk to birds,” he says as a way to break the silence. 

“Yup,” you nod. 

He nods along with you, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Your attention falls on his cleanly shaved armpits, the flex of his bicep. You cross your legs and press your thighs tightly together at the thought of being caught in a headlock, or cuddling under his arm and inhaling his thick, sickly sweet scent.

“Um,” he starts, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blink at him upon meeting his gaze. There is a knowing look in his mismatched eyes, and the faintest flicker between your own and your tense thighs. But he does not comment on your suddenly rigid posture. Gesturing to his face instead, he asks, “What was the–”

“Sunburn cream,” you answer, cutting him off. “It’s called Sunveil Balm. I guess it doesn’t work on vampires.”

He tentatively nods. “And what are you?” He registers the bluntness of his question the moment it leaves his full lips, and panic floods his eyes. Quickly, he adds, “No offence. It’s just– the magic–” he cuts himself off, pointing to your hands. 

A little smile plays on your lips with a slip of a chuckle. “I’m not offended,” you reassure, shaking your head. “I’m a witch. A blood-witch.”

“What makes a blood-witch different from a witch?”

“What makes a vampire different from a demon?”

Your voice is light and teasing but your playfulness falters at the sight of his concerned features.

“I-I’m a demon?” he asks, confusion creasing between his brows. He looks so lost, you’d think he’d never seen one before. It’s as if he didn’t conjure darkness to trade his soul away. 

Perplexed yourself, you nod. “Well, yes. How did you not– No,” you shake your head with a few blinks, then look back at him, starting again, “How long have you been a vampire?”

“About eight years.”

“Eight?”

He confirms with a nod. 

What the fuck?

Now, demons are tricky and conniving. They always make a deal that falls more in their favour than their summoner’s, but they have some decorum, especially towards each other. Upon their summoner’s shift into a vampire, the demon must have visited and informed him of his new, undead state. You recall reading about countless accounts of demons shadowing their newest additions and teaching them how to hunt, run and hide in the shadows. It’s common practice.

But more than that, you wonder how a vampire of eight years would miscalculate the rise of the sun and self-inflict such terrible wounds. Given the fact that he used his last bits of strength to find shade, you have to assume it wasn’t done on purpose. But, you also have a hard time believing that he’s naive enough to not know when the sun will rise during this time of year, especially after eight years of being undead. From the few books you’ve read on vampires during your studies as an apprentice, you know that they have a biological clock, an inherent instinct to not only avoid the sun, but fear it. 

Chris, pretty eyes round and youthful face uncertain, looks like he woke up one day, never went to sleep again, and was never told why.

“Am I missing something?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” you reply. “This doesn’t make sense. How did you turn? And why were you out this late, anyway?”

He bites on the inside of his cheeks and averts his gaze. “It’s complicated.”

Furrowing your brows, you’re not sure which question that was supposed to answer. You decide to take it one step at a time, asking, “Did you want to get burned?”

“No,” he immediately replies, meeting your gaze. 

Had it not been for the firm eye contact, you might have doubted him. 

“So, what is it then?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, running a hand through his damp hair. “Complicated.”

You raise a brow, lingering your attention on his head. Recalling your thoughts about his physic earlier, you wonder if he really is a swimmer. If he perhaps ventured too far out into the sea and exhausted himself in the process. However, noting the way he nervously averts his gaze, you decide to redirect the conversation to something that’s hopefully less complicated.

“You don’t need to tell me why you summoned the demon,” you start, knowing the reason must have been dire for him to turn to the darkness for help. “I just don’t understand how you didn’t know that you, technically, are one.”

His face scrunches in concentrated confusion. He thumbs his nose and tilts his head at your words, and you’re starting to wonder if he’s been cursed or simply a pretty face. 

“I didn’t summon a demon. I just…” he trails off, averting his gaze as he searches for the best way to word his transition, “ became a vampire.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s what happened.”

“Explain the process,” you order, sitting back in your seat. “How did you know you were a vampire if no one told you?”

There is a twinge of challenge in his narrowing eyes. He flits his gaze up and down your relaxed frame and tongues his cheek. He then leans his elbows on his knees, broad shoulders now on full, flexed display under the warm glow of flickering candle lights. 

You swallow thickly and force yourself to maintain eye contact. 

“Do you always use that tone?” He suddenly asks, voice low and deep.

Barely above a whisper, you reply, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He smirks as newfound understanding glimmers in his silver eye. “That’s better,” he says before sitting back into his seat. 

You’re not sure what’s more lethal, the way he leans forward, every curve of his muscles contrasted perfectly in the shadows of the dim lights, or the way he leans back, legs spread and chest open. Both are equally as inviting, enticing you to shed your inhibitions and completely lose yourself against him. 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he starts, shattering your focus on his sprawl body. “I was feeling sick for weeks. I could barely keep up with my training, and–”

“Training?”

“I was a swimmer.”

Knew it – Your eyes flicker to his shoulders for a split second.

“I was the fastest on the team. I even had a scholarship,” he says. A faint smile hovers over his plush lips at the memory. “I stopped drinking. I stopped eating. And on the day of the championship, I was terrified to leave my dorm. I nailed wood and bedsheets over my window and hid under the bed. My friends found me at one point, much later in the night, and I…” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “I attacked them.”

You remain still, expression neutral. He watches you closely, as if waiting for a gasp or blink of acknowledgement. 

“I just remember being really, really thirsty. I chased them through the courtyard until they talked me out of ripping them apart. And–” he cuts himself off with a little laugh. 

You raise your brown trying to fight off your own smile at the sweet, deep rumble emitting from his buff chest.

“Sorry, I just remembered one of my friends’ screams– Changbin. He’s a complete wimp and was squealing the whole time. You’d like him. Everyone likes him,” he explains. When you return his sweet smile, he continues, “Anyway, they talked me out of killing them, helped me hunt a rabbit, which took too fucking long for three grown men, and then made fun of me while I drank it’s blood.”

“They sound like idiots,” you joke, fighting your own laughter at the image he crafted for you. 

“They are,” he nods, voice thick with nostalgia. Then, he clears his throat and adds, “Anyway, there weren’t any demons or witches or anyone else. Just us and the internet.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “While that sounds like a terrible disaster,” you tease, much to his amusement, “that’s not really how vampires are made.”

“I wasn’t bitten either.”

“That’s misinformation,” you dismiss. “No one gets bitten to turn. Anyone who has been bitten by a vampire and survived merely experiences more drastic symptoms of rabies then dies. They are bats after all.”

Judging by the constantly confused expression on his face, you deduce he has not discovered he can turn into a bat yet. You hold off on that nugget of information for now, returning to your explanation, “Vampires are the result of humans making deals with some sort of demon. While possessions are common, demons do not want your body. They are always after your soul. Whatever remains is the demonic shift from humanity to deviance. You may still have your body, but your connection to the supernatural is your only thread to the living.”

Chris nods, sitting up in his seat. You regret to find that it doesn’t make you want to straddle him any less than before. 

 “I can understand that, I just don’t know what that has to do with me. I swear I had no reason to summon anyone from any realm or world or wherever the fuck these things come from.” His voice wavers with sincerity, eyes distressed with confusion. He takes a second to breathe in deeply, trying to ground himself, only to clench his jaw, never exhaling. “I just want my life back,” he mutters. 

Me too , you think as you gnaw on your bottom lip.

While your mother discouraged you from being yourself, and so-called friends betrayed you, there was a life back between the Mountains of Cleo that was waiting for you to reach your full potential. Working alongside the greatest witches of the century, charting stars and researching the full scope of potential power within the moon, you were on track to finally securing a position within the Arcane Court , and earning the respect of your family for once. 

You wish to return to that moment before everything had shattered around you. Work was stolen, lies were told and reputations were ruined. You never thought you'd be forced to defend yourself against people you loved, people you considered your found family. However, you did expect your biological family to believe the worst about you. 

Looking back at Chris, you notice he seems lost in his own thoughts too, gazing at the polished hardwood floors aimlessly. His explanation seems genuine and you really do believe him. He seemed to have the world at his fingertips, on the cusp of achieving all his dreams, before his life ended. 

He suddenly meets your gaze. The angle of his head blends his brown eye into the darkness, the silver one gleaming brightly in contrast. You know you should be scared, and you try to find a reason to feel that way, looking for even the faintest hint of danger. Instead, honesty greets you. If you hadn’t known he was a vampire, you would have assumed he was human from that look alone. 

“I want to help you figure out what happened,” you announce. 

Chris blinks at you. “What?”

“Vampires are made by demons,” you repeat. “If you are a vampire, then you were made. And if you didn’t bind yourself into a contract, someone else must have done so on your behalf. You could be in danger, could even be hexed. I want to help you find out what’s going on.”

His throat bobs, brows knit and he licks his lips before asking, “Why would you help me again?”

“I’m curious,” you shrug. And when his stare does not waver, you add, “And this is the longest I have spoken to someone other than a bird in the last ten years, so I might as well make the most of it before sundown.”

At that, Chris smiles. You notice he has a way of making it look so easy, that gentle, boyish smile. It’s full of intrigue and amusement and even admiration as his mismatched eyes twinkle with delicate notions of mischief. 

“I’m going to look into making another salve for some of your scars,”you say, standing from your seat. “The crows will be back with your clothes soon. You can go up to the bathroom and shower in the meantime, if you’d like I mean.”

Chris stands with you, glancing at the stairs. “Thanks,” he murmurs as if he doesn’t trust his voice. 

You ignore the heavy emotion laced in his tone, to save him the embarrassment, and continue, “It’s the third door on the right. The house will lead you.” 

As if on cue, you hear the soft echo of shutting doors and the whispering squeak of a single door opening. 

Chris’s ears twitch at the sound. He swallows thickly and gives you another nod of gratitude before heading up the stairs. You watch his back flex as he rolls his shoulders back. Now that you are going to help him, you really need to stop practically panting after him. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable in a tiny house he can’t leave for the next twelve hours. 

Letting out a heavy breath, you make your way to the kitchen and wave all your relevant books on burns, salves and blood-beings towards you. But the distant spray of the shower rattles your focus, plaguing you with images of his naked body caught between water and steam. Shaking your head, you force him out of your thoughts.

You have work to do– a purpose to finally follow.  And you won’t be deterred.

Despite the brightness of your flowy white dress, which cinches at your waist and beautifully accentuates your curves, your little cottage is a sanctuary of moody shades and warm textures. Chris surveys the polished dark wood floors, adorned with a large, red rug that captivates his attention, on his way towards the stairs. A piece of onyx fur casually drapes over the exotic rug, adding an extra layer of softness beneath his cold feet. Leafy green plants cascade from the ceiling and trail their long vines over the edges of the shelves. They bring a subtle sense of  life to the space, even in such dim lighting. The deep violet walls bring out the vivid colours of the flowers—magenta, indigo, and plum. He assumes, based on your determined personality, that each bundle of petals serves some sort of purpose. Between flickering candles, well-worn books, and vials of mysterious substances, you've crafted a harmonious blend of oak table sets and plush, comfortable seating, creating an inviting atmosphere that feels entirely your own– warm and beautiful.

As Chris enters your bathroom, he finds that it is no different. Only, instead of a cosy ambiance of lived-in comfort, you’ve created a refreshing forest oasis. Dark green tiles line the walls, casting the room in deep, earthy hues. The floor is a mosaic of midnight green and jade patterns that seem to shift with the light, an intricate dance of natural tones underfoot. From above, more plants with long, draping vines hang over the obsidian sink, suspended in delicate macrame nets that sway gently with each movement in the room. Chris’s throat dries at the swan faucet poised elegantly above the sink, its neck curved in a graceful arc. In the corner, the shower nestles like a hidden grotto, glossy tiles and rainfall shower head turning it into a misty forest retreat, with aged brass fixtures catching the light. And finally, his gaze drifts to the grand, black bear claw tub—a magnificent centrepiece that seems plucked from a woodland dream.

He swallows thickly, inhaling the subtle scents of eucalyptus and lavender. Upon his exhale, the shower head turns on. He peers around the bathroom again, wondering if the house is watching him. When only the steady spray of the shower echoes against the dimly candlelit walls, Chris rolls his shoulders back and takes a step further into the room. 

The door clicks shut on its own.

Chris shakes off his uneasiness and drops the blanket from his waist. He’s not sure why, but his hands shake as he steps under the shower. A part of him hopes to feel stark cold, just as the ocean was a couple of hours ago. But the water is…water– Chris cannot feel much of a temperature, even with litres of human blood spreading through his body. Still, the strong pressure beating down his head, shoulders and back ease the tension in his once wounded muscles. 

Suddenly, the water stings with the faintest hint of coolness. It gets colder and colder, nearly replicating the frostiness of the morning sea, before Chris realises that the house is adjusting the temperature for him.

“This is good,” he mutters, tipping his head back. 

The house slightly warms the water, silently asking if he’s sure. 

“I like it cold,” Chris reassures. A ghost of a smile hovers over his full lips. He wonders if you put the house up to this or if it is simply trying to make him feel welcome. Either way, he’s grateful for the consideration. 

Consideration . Chris ponders over the word, mulling over every syllable, every decision you’ve made while he was unconscious. You’re a witch with angelic intentions, that much seems to be clear.  But he still cannot help wondering what it was that made you consider saving him? He’s just a stranger, afterall. No, he’s a demon . And yet, you brought him into your home, created salves and offered him jars of blood. 

Why do you have stores of human blood, anyway? Is it part of your practice as a blood-witch? Do you conjure spells that include elements of blood? Or do you merely harvest litres of it like a collector of sorts?

Questions lap round and round his mind as he reaches for your honey-infused shampoo. It smells faintly of your wild, flowery scent. Chris cannot help his smirk at subtle notions of rainfall and sage amidst that lavender. With a playful smile and inquisitive, bold eyes, you are the epitome of life and purity– and you smell like it too. 

He leans into the faint scent as he lathers his seasalt drenched hair with the silky, sweet soap. After rinsing the suds out, he grabs the matching conditioner and finds it is heavily imprinted with your scent. Perhaps you use it more often, or in larger quantities than the shampoo, but Chris is not all that curious why. He continues to lean into it, moaning softly as he combs it through his slightly curled strands. 

You’re incredibly enchanting, and Chris wonders if you’re aware of that. From the sway of your hips to the glint of intrigue in your alluring gaze, you are a vision of beauty. You radiate confidence, even when you’re perplexed and unsure. You stand in your own light, take control of a room and demand answers. Had Chris met you in college, between frat parties or music classes, he is certain he would have pursued you. Bossy, bratty, brazen, you command attention within a few words and a firm tone. And when he tested your limits, correcting your ordering tone with him in the living room, and you yielded to his tug of power, he swears his cock twitched. 

Maybe eight years of solitude has made him desperate, or the near-death experience has renewed his connection to the living, but Chris cannot deny that he wants you. He scrubs his body now and imagines your hands over his chest, along the width of his shoulders and trailing down his arms. He imagines your face inches from his and your warm breath fanning over his lips. He imagines your naked body, smirking when he recalls the way your gaze lingered over his in the kitchen. 

Do you like him too? Is that the real reason why you’re helping him?

A series of gentle taps rap at the door. 

Chris snaps his attention to the black wood. He focuses his enhanced hearing, hoping to pick up your heartbeat in the hall. Instead, a pair of rapid pumps and fluttering wings greet him. He assumes it’s the crows with his clothes and quickly rinses away the soap. 

The water shuts off as he steps back out into the bathroom. A soft, grey towel hovers in front of him. 

Chris smiles at the ceiling. “Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel and wrapping it around his waist. As he makes his way to the door, another smaller towel gently lands on his head. Chris chuckles and ruffles the soft cotton through his clean hair. 

The door opens for him as he approaches it. 

I can get used to this . 

His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, wet and littered with sand. Looking up at the house, Chris asks, “Um, can you do me a quick favour?” 

The candles momentarily shine brighter in reply. 

Chris bites his lip. He glances back at the shower, realising that the house has already done so much for him. He might be pushing his luck with another request. But then the lights shine again, as if reassuring him that it’s okay to ask for more. 

Throat bobbing, Chris asks, “Could you help me clean my clothes?” 

A wicker basket emerges from a door down the hall. It hops over to Chris from side to side, in a manner he can only describe as gleeful. Once in front of him, it shakes as though it is asking him to drop his clothes into the hamper. Chris tentatively bends down and tosses the sandy clothes in. The basket returns to its spot, disappearing behind its door, cheerful and almost giddy. 

Chris smiles to himself. The house must have your personality, or perhaps just aspects of it– playful, helpful, thoughtful. You bleed into every crevice of the warm cottage and Chris, for the first time since turning, is delighted. 

A quiet chirp from the crows pulls his attention back to them. They caw a couple more times before flying over to the edge of the stairs. 

Chris wonders if they are asking him to follow them, looking between them and the cold bathroom behind him. 

They caw again, hopping in place. 

He glances down at his towel and raises a brow. “I’m not really–” he starts, only for the crows to cut him off. 

One of them, Poe perhaps, lets out a long, almost exasperated squawk that leaves no room for refusal.

With a roll of his eyes, Chris follows after the birds. “Alright, alright,” he sighs. “Stop nagging me.”

The crows fly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Chris takes his time, following the scent of wild lavender and sage. He barely makes it to the archway when he sees your dress flowing around you with every step around the kitchen.

You’ve pulled your hair up, neck on full display. Moving around the dark kitchen, you trade your attention between a hovering book and your breakfast on the stove, all while sneaking sips from your steaming cup of tea. Chris detects notes of chai, cinnamon and anise stars amongst hearty eggs, and fresh tomatoes and chives. 

It takes you a minute, but you soon notice his tall figure entering the small space. Your eyes don’t remain on his for too long before trailing down his chest and lingering around his waist. He’s starting to realise that you seem to have a habit of that and it doesn’t bother him at all. If anything, he finds himself puffing out his chest and tightening the tension around his stomach under your watchful gaze. 

“They haven’t returned with your clothes?” 

Fuck, that voice– light, airy and sweet. Chris averts his gaze and bites on the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan. 

Clearing his throat, he replies,“No, they did. They’re just dirty. The house is cleaning them for me.”

You flash him a knowing smile and Chris swears his breath would hitch if he would breathe. “Yeah, it likes feeling useful,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your tea. You then nod at one of the indigo stools before your gleaming marble-topped island in the centre of the kitchen. 

Chris takes a seat, ensuring his towel stays put as he adjusts it around his spreading legs. As you turn back to your black iron stove, Chris takes a moment to really take in the kitchen. 

With deep crimson walls that cradle the space in a comforting embrace, the space excludes warmth. The soft candlelights that hover above cast playful shadows on the deep charcoal countertops, almost mirroring the crackle and pop of the hearth in the living room. Hanging between the candles are clusters of copper pots and pans, adding notions of rustic charm. Chris then realises that this might be the first room in the cottage without plants dangling from the ceiling or over surfaces. Instead, the shelves are lined with jars of spices and herbs and… body parts. He catches pickled eyeballs, dusty toes, fingers–some with matted fur–, and about three cases of teeth. 

“They were donated,” you clarify. 

Chris blinks his attention back to you, finding a guilty smile playing on your lips. 

“Well,” you start again, “ Most of it was donated.”

He teasingly raises his brows at you, suppressing his own smile. “I suppose that makes it okay then,” he jokes, subtly testing your boundaries again. 

There is a flicker of surprised intrigue in your gaze. “It seemed okay when it was saving your life,” you shoot back with the same level of teasing wit. 

Chris cannot help the excitement in his chest. Do you know how exhilarating you are? Is that why you keep staring at him with those enchantingly mischievous eyes?

He bites his lip, conceding to your wit. “Learn anything new,” he asks, nodding to the levitating book.  

You plate your breakfast with a sigh. The stove shuts off on its own as you round the island and take a seat next to him. Chris stiffen, adjusting his towel around his crotch. The once floating book rests on the countertop between the both of you. 

“See for yourself,” you reply before eating.

Chris notes the title: Origins of Vampires, Bloodsuckers, and Incubi , then scans the first few paragraphs. Besides accounts for the first sighting of vampires and the fact that they are apparently extremely lustful beings, it does not inform Chris of anything he does not already know from you. A deal needs to be made with the devil, his soul must have had to be traded as payment, and his body begins to reject all things human.

Furrowing his brows and sucking in his cheeks with a little hiss, Chris shifts forward in his seat to get a better look at the book. There is an extremely long passage about consistent erections, and the next page is filled with a list of the best hideouts to escape the sun during the day.  Chris is more concerned with the inconsistency of the author than the fact that he has yet to get an erection since he turned years ago.

“Nothing new,” you finally reply after a few bites of your food. “Nothing useful either.”

“May I?” Chris asks, reaching for the edge of the page. 

He flips the page when you nod. The list of hideouts takes up the next three pages and Chris resists the urge to roll his eyes. Information about vampiric cycles, peak slumber and feasting times, and tips on how to hunt fill the remaining pages on vampires before moving onto bloodsuckers and incubi. Again, the information is not anything Chris is not already aware of from the sheer experience of being undead for nearly a decade. He knows that around noon, his body tends to shut down and he seeks the darkest, coldest part of the basement to lay still and close his eyes. He’s not exactly asleep but he’s also not exactly awake either. The stuff about peak feasting times does not really apply to him. Just like when he was human, Chris is always hungry and ready to consume something. 

With a heavy sigh, he shuts the book. “That was a waste of time,” he mumbles as you finish your breakfast. 

You wave your empty plate and cup off to the sink, then shrug at him. “Well, we now know this book is useless,” you say, voice light with hope. “We can cross it off our list.” 

Chris raises a brow. “How many more books are on this list of yours?”

Your gaze is shifty and Chris starts to get nervous. He murmurs your name carefully, merely trying to get you to be honest, but then he notices the way you tremble at the sound of his low, deep voice. He can’t help the smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Cold?” he teases before he can stop himself.

Your eyes meet his with careful conviction. You lick your lips, as if debating how sharp your response should be. Attention flitting down to his chest momentarily, you finally reply, “Not at all.” 

With that, you wave off the useless book and summon two more. One is for salves and creams, the other is an encyclopaedia of vampiric traits and rituals. It sounds just as useless as the last one but if it’s on your list, Chris is willing to indulge. 

“You can get started on this,” you push the encyclopaedia towards him, “while I look into treating those scars.” 

“I don’t mind the scars,” he shrugs. “They kinda make me feel human.”

When you meet his eyes this time, your gaze is not filled with caution or calculated intrigue, instead they round with empathy. The sincere reaction triggers another pressing question Chris cannot seem to shake.

 “Why are you here?” 

Your face folds in confusion. “What?”

“You’re here on this haunted island all alone. Why? Don’t you have a coven or something?”

You pause for longer than usual and Chris worries if he used the wrong term, or perhaps merely asked a more personal question than you’re willing to answer. 

But then you clear your throat and adjust your posture in your seat. Staring down at the counter, you let out a heavy sigh and say, “I did and now I don’t.” Again, you take a beat lick your lips. “I wasn’t wanted there, so I needed to go.”

Chris scoffs. He doesn’t register the bluntness of his gestures until you glare at him.

“Have something to add?” you question, that usually sweet voice of yours now sharpened. 

It really shouldn’t but the sharpness makes his body buzz with excitement. Chris is fascinated by your darker edges. They contrast so beautifully against your usual lightness, enchanting him with supple seduction. 

“I think that’s bullshit,” he replies. 

“I think the fact that you just so happened to lose track of time is bullshit,” you remark. “But I have the common courtesy to keep my rude opinions to myself.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Chris can’t help but tease. “But I was referring to the fact that you would ever be unwanted. If you weren’t such a little…” Chris trails off just to watch your nostrils flare and smirks, “ witch , you would have known that.”

A flicker of regret flashes in your gaze, but it doesn’t take long to harden again with a clench of your jaw.

“Maybe you should’ve added that sooner.”

“Maybe you should’ve given me the chance to.”

“How is any of this my fault?” you ask, voice still irritated but a chuckle manages to slip past your sweet lips. 

Chris smiles at the girly sound, suddenly feeling… warm?  

“I never said it was,” he answers. He keeps his voice tempered and gentle, watching as you bite your lip again. 

There is a shift in the air. Chris catches the sudden thickness of your scent, the newfound depth it carries and you shift in your seat again. Furrowing his brows, he leans forward to hold your gaze and asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, yet shoot up from your seat. You push that book towards him again and point to the living room. “The house made you a little nook by the fire. Try reading as much as you can. The sooner we find out about you, the sooner you can return home.” Your voice sounds as sweet as it normally does, but carries a certain weight to it. Chris has trouble placing it as you continue, “If you get thirsty or need anything else, just ask the house. It’s happiest when it can provide.”

Inhaling sharply, Chris collects the book and stands. He holds his towel in place with his other hand, the same way he did with the blanket not too long ago, and starts to make his way to the living room. When he gets to the archway, he pauses to glance over his shoulder.

You’re still watching him, captivated by the broadness of his back. 

“I think the house takes after you,” he says, turning to face you. “You seem content providing as well. So, I really can’t imagine anyone not wanting you around.”

You shift your weight and clench your jaw. With a thick swallow, you shake your head. “You don’t know me,” you mutter, face contorting with shame.

“And you don’t know me,” he shrugs. “But here we are, a vampire and a blood-witch. Is that a common pair amongst the supernatural?”

You shake your head. 

Chris smiles. “And yet you saved me. And you continue to help me. And I might not know you the way the house or crows do,” he chuckles, watching a smile play on your lips, “but I know that I can comfortably go into the next room and not have to worry about you suddenly opening the window and burning me alive. And I think that’s a good sign when you’re getting to know someone, yeah?”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. Chris does his best to ignore the way they press together and jut out. “Your bar is way too low for strangers, Christopher.”

He tongues his cheek. “ Chris ,” he corrects. 

A mischievous smile spreads across your soft features and Chris wonders if he may have given you some ammunition to tease him later.

“Happy reading, Chris ,” you say. 

The way you emphasise his name almost makes him shiver. 

“Happy conjuring, little witch.”

A renewed sense of pride blooms in his still chest at the way you shyly avert your gaze upon hearing your new nickname. Chris thinks it has a nice ring to it, and you look absolutely adorable when you’re flustered. He allows himself one last once over of your curves, then pulls himself towards the living room.

True to your words, the house has provided a long, wide chaise of midnight blue velvet. It sits before the fireplace with a soft amber blanket draped over the back. Chris settles into the plush cushions, sinking into comfort and props his feet up. He throws the blanket over his waist to replace his towel and asks the house to dim the fire. 

Flipping open the book, Chris starts to learn more about himself, pushing every tempting thought of you out of his mind.

Two weeks go by in a blur and you find that you are no less infatuated by Chris than when you first met him.

 He has such an easy way about him, smiling effortlessly. His eyes are still mismatched as if the sun had burned the vampiric silver of his left iris into his retina. No amount of blood has reversed the damage. However, you don’t mind. In fact, you find yourself feeling relieved when his eyes remain the same pair of brown and grey every time he takes a sip of animal blood. You like the twinkle of mischief that seems to glow so brightly amongst the two colours. Its allure is deliciously dangerous with promises of subtle destruction. You especially enjoy how they squint when he laughs or smiles with his white teeth, still gleaming with joy and lightness. 

You’ve gotten used to his presence, and you think that maybe he has gotten used to yours too. Just two nights ago, he finally told you why he was out so late the night you met. You instantly empathised with him, knowing all too well how powerful the yearning for connection can be. It’s the reason you promised to help again, desperate for a semblance of real, tangible interactions too. 

“And your parents?” you asked, after he told you all about how he hides out in his friends’ basements. “Do they know?”

His jaw set. “They think I died,” he sighs. “Well, they think I’m missing, but it’s been eight years and they bought a headstone so…”

Regret tightened in your chest. “I’m so–”

“My little brother took my old room,” he continued, cutting you off . “I snuck in one night, just to… see, I guess? He still has some of my stuff there, all dusty and untouched. He’s so big now, almost as tall as me,” he chuckled, a small smile settling on his lips. “He plays baseball though. I don’t think I’ve seen any of them go near a swimming pool in years. ”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. You wanted to just swallow your previous words, the regret of mentioning his parents wrapping tighter around your heart. 

“My mum saw me once,” he said, finally meeting your gaze. A muted sadness greets you, but his little smile remains on those pink-stained lips. “She was bringing groceries in one night and caught me staring behind some tree. She dropped the bag and called out to my dad. I ran before either of them could see me again,” he paused to swallow.“ I still can’t get the sound of her sobs out of my head.”

You blink the memory away, pulling your dusky plum coloured comforter up to your chin. A part of you wishes you had asked him why he never went back to his parents or let them believe he’d gone missing. Clearly, the thought of them moving on without him still weighs heavy on his heart. But you couldn’t find your word at the time, blinking back tears as he hung his head and spoke so quietly. Besides, you are sure, based on his caring, selfless personality, he likely thought he was doing them a favour by shielding them from his new reality. He was practically brimming with self hatred when you met. 

And you realised, in that vulnerable moment, it was never about feeling the sun or the cold or even the sensation of swimming again. It has always been about being human . Chris craves his humanity more than he values his life. You both know that he was well aware of when the sun would rise, that he fought through his inherent fear of it for the chance to feel near-human again. He even keeps his remaining sun-scars and winks his mismatched eyes because they are consequences of feeling that pain. And as you read more and more about vampires together, the hindrance of potentially accessing his full abilities does not surprise you. To his core, Chris is human, so he is constantly rejecting his vampiric turn. 

That realisation shifted your focus last night. You moved from books about vampires to those about demons. Flipping through pages and pages of information, you found multiple passages about soul-trading. You discovered that some demons demand pure souls in addition to the ones they have already swindled from their summors. This detail, likely lost in the fine-print of most deals, implements a vampiric gene into the summors’ genetics. The variant remains dormant, passing through the bloodline until it finally finds a pure soul to claim.

Chris still can’t believe that one of his ancestors would stoop so low, but you find that reaction in itself is just another testament of his purity.

Smiling to yourself at the thought of him, you stare at your star-speckled ceiling. You enchanted it to reflect the night sky on your first night at Crow’s Nest . Actually, you had enchanted the ceiling of the living room, having slept down there until you were able to slowly build your little cottage and refine your new sanctuary. You were terrified of being found and snatched back for sentencing by the Arcane Court. You’re well aware that blood-witches don’t simply break blood bonds and live to tell the tale. You remember using whatever magic you had at the time to unshackle yourself from the bounds of your coven, hop on your broom with your life magically crammed into a knapsack, and escape into the same dark night.

And as you lie here now, sinking into your silky sheets, you find that staring at a shimmering night sky can still ease your nerves all the same. You try to identify constellations and search for the moon between the clouds. You curse under your breath when you finally catch a glimpse of its glow– waxing gibbous . 

Tomorrow is the full moon. 

You let out a shaky breath, attempting to get lost in the stars again, but it’s no use. All you can think about is that damned elixir. 

“I found something,” you muttered to Chris.

He laid in his little nook by the dimmed fire, one hand clutching a book and the other folded behind his head. Peering over at you, a little smirk tugs on his lips. “A new blood recipe?” he asked, knowing you have been testing out some new blends of spices in his blood. 

You shake your head and reply, “A solution . ”

You feel your skin grow hot from the memory of having to explain to him what this solution entails.

At its core, it is simply a recipe for vampiric vitality. And after hearing about his parents and how they have tried to move on from losing him, how he had tried to move on, you remember feeling hopeful. Maybe this could be the key to reclaim his life, to possibly see them again without shame.

However, the summary still gives you pause. It reads:

“The Elixir of the Damned is a rare, potent potion crafted to primarily shield vampires, and other sun-sensitive creatures, from the deadly effects of daylight. By harnessing the mystical properties of a blood-witch's full-moon blood, the elixir enables these creatures to walk under the sun without harm, preserving their strength and powers. Beyond sunlight protection, the elixir grants a surge of energy, reduces the need for frequent feeding, shortens sleep cycles, and reverses their natural nocturnal schedule.

The thick, midnight violet elixir is a luminescent liquid concoction of moonlight essence, ground sage, sunroot and the dust of two diamonds: obsidian and sunstone. The mixture must be thoroughly stirred and refrigerated for a minimum of twelve hours before use. Upon a full-moon, the elixir must be mixed with the menstrual blood of a blood-witch and consumed immediately. For best results, pour and harvest the menstrual blood directly from the source.”

You have the stupid thing memorised, having read it countless times, before finally telling Chris. Though he can’t breathe, you’re certain his breath hitched at the explanation. You remember parting your lips to further explain when he suddenly agreed. 

“It’s only weird if we make it weird,” he argued. “I’m willing to keep it strictly professional if you are.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you found yourself replying. “I can do the same.”

And yet you lay here, naked and squirming at the thought of his mouth between your legs because he insisted, and you quote, “If we’re gonna do it, we might as well do it right.”

Do me right , you wanted to reply. Just bend me over the couch and do me right now . 

Instead, you continuously agree and nod and pretend that your arousal isn’t sticking between your thighs as your clit throbs for attention. 

You cup your crotch now, unable to take it anymore. He’s fucking hot– so fucking hot . You have been trying not to stare but he wears these tight tank tops that showcase his muscular arms all the fucking time. You mentally curse his stupid friends for sending such revealing clothes through the crows. He sent them a letter with Poe a day after you agreed to help them and you wonder if he specifically requested these pieces or if this is his usual style. 

Either way, you cannot stop staring. Every ridge and crevices of his buff chest and toned stomach is outlined, completely captivating your attention. You are constantly trying to maintain eye contact, but even that feels too much sometimes. He is always teasing and joking with you, gazing at you with such consuming warmth, you cannot help but feel hot . 

A little gasp escapes you as you spread your legs and drench your fingers with your arousal. Sticky, wet, you need him. Maybe it’s been too long without a good fuck, or you are simply obsessed, but it really doesn’t matter. You need a release right now or you might not make it through the night. 

You start slow, rubbing circles over your needy clit. It doesn’t take long for you to overheat, however. So you pause your movements to shove your blanket off.  Now fully naked and exposed to your cold room, you return your hand between your legs. 

A wet squelching sounds as you rub and rub your fingers round and round. You test out rhythms, squirming under your desperate touch–slow–fast–slow–fast, and bite back a whimper. 

What would Chris do, you cannot help wondering. 

Administering featherlight touches, you know he’d play with you to start. He’d keep his pressure light and quick, wanting to watch you chase after his hand after every fleeting touch. Then, you push down harshly on your clit and bite into your lip harder to hold back a moan. You just know he’d be rough too, forcefully pressing down until he hears you whine his name. 

“Chris,” you let yourself whisper. “Right there, baby.”

A quiet moan slips out with your words and you’re not completely mad about it. It was silent enough and you’re certain he’s too busy sipping on the warmed seven herb spiced blood you left out for him to pay much attention to you right now. 

As much as you enjoy imagining him playing with you, you cannot stand the anticipation anymore. Your needy hole clenches repeatedly, aching to be filled. You shakily gasp and decide to fully give into your desire. Grabbing your wand, you place the handle against your clit and will it to vibrate. You use your other hand to finger yourself, shoving three ambitious digits in. 

“ Oh!”  

You bite your lip, panic sprouting in your chest at the sudden spike in volume. Glancing at the door, you’re relieved to find it still shut. You lay back against your pillow and pick up your pace. He’d be unforgiving. He’d be rough and reckless.

Your body trembles at the thought. 

“Chris,” you whisper into the room. “Please don’t stop fucking me like that.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you imagine him leering over you, smirking and groaning. You imagine his strong frame ramming into you, his relentless grip keeping you in place. Would he want you to hold his gaze? Or would he bury his face in the crook of your neck to kiss and nibble on?

The pleasure only increases. You tense up. The vibrations rumbling from the hilt of your mahogany wand intensifies. Your fingers eagerly move in and out, tight walls closing in on them. 

“ You’re gonna make me cum,” you mutter, breathless and whiny. 

Cum for me , baby , a whisper of a voice orders. Be a good little witch and cum all over my fingers .

The sound is so deep and husky, but also murmurous and hazy. If you had time to focus on it, you wouldn’t have automatically assumed it was internal and perhaps investigated. But the constant pleasure is all too consuming. Working you closer and closer to your release, you cannot register the source of any sound besides that of your fast fingers and vibrating wand.

That pretty pussy looks so delicious . 

Your orgasm catches you off guard, suddenly rippling through you. You squeal lifting your head from your pillow to almost hunch inwards and cum. 

“Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris,” you whisper between whimpers and you rapidly draw every last surge of arousal out. “Oh my god ,” you heave, tossing your wand aside. The stimulation is nearly agonising when paired with your still moving fingers. 

After a few more thrusts, you lay back into your bed, heaving. Your hand slides out and up towards your clit. A single brush of contact makes your body tremble. You retract your hand all together, swallowing a moan. Your legs come together, eyes droop from exhaustion and fatigue. 

You have no idea how you’re going to remain “professional” tomorrow. The sheer thought of him down there coaxed one of your most powerful orgasms. How will you be able to keep your moans at bay, or your body from rolling into his mouth? 

Click.

You snap your attention to your door. It’s shut. Holding your breath, you try to listen for footsteps. When that proves useless, you squint at the gap between the door and floor for movements of shadow. Still, silent, the hallway is empty. 

With a shake of your head, you rest back into your pillow and wave yourself clean. You then tug your comforter back over your spent body and shut your eyes. You just need to get through tomorrow. Once the elixir and ritual is complete, he can return home and you won’t have to see him until your next cycle. 

Chris stands in your room, arms crossed over his chest. It looks warmer under candlelights than it did last night beneath glimmering stars. Unlike the darkness of the bathroom, or warmth of the living room and kitchen, your room is a collection of cool tones, invoking quiet serenity. The walls are a hazy blue, trimmed with crown moulding around the baseboards and ceiling. One wall of the room is lined with shelves upon shelves of books, plants and a plethora of magical objects, like stones, crystal balls, and the occasional skull. A chestnut vanity, large wardrobe and oval mirror sit on his left side by an open window. Sheer violet curtains dance with the gentle wind. 

Underfoot, a thick, handknitted rug of pewter, amethyst and onyx yarn stretches over polished, dark walnut floors. Chris curls his toes into it, attempting to ground himself, as his eyes follow you towards your four-poster bed. It must be a queen– rather fitting for you– since it takes up a substantial amount of space in the centre of the room. The gauzy mauve curtains surrounding your bed part as you approach it. Your matching greyish-plum comforter pulls back, as if welcoming you to silky starlight silver sheets. You wave it back into place then turn to him.  

“It’s almost time,” you say. 

The slight tremor in your voice draws Chris back to the events he witnessed last night. You keep talking now, gesturing to your bed with one hand, while clutching onto the small vial of a deep, inky violet elixir in the other. He sees your pretty mouth moving, but does not register your words. All he hears are your delicate, fragile moans. 

Chris didn’t mean to linger or leer last night. He doesn’t usually go to the second floor when you go to bed, not wanting to disturb you. But he had just come back from collecting some ingredients for the elixir around the island, heard you calling his name and got curious. Once he realised what you were doing, he just couldn’t tear himself away. He remembers the way you squirmed and begged. He remembers the way you worked your fingers in and out of your perfect, needy pussy. He remembers how you held your wand, the one laying on your nightstand right now, and wonders how often you use it for that purpose. How often do you use it thinking about him ?

“Did you hear me?” you ask.

Chris’s eyes widen. “What?”

You tilt your head and give him a serious look. “Chris, do you still want to do this?” 

“Of course.”

“Listen, if you’re having second thoug–”

Chris quickly cuts you off with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, I want this,” he quickly reassures. The eagerness of his statement dawns on him the moment the words leave his lips. Chris immediately tries to save himself from further embarrassment, adding,  “I want to feel normal again.”

You nod, inhaling deeply.

Chris’s attention flickers down to your full chest, watching it rise under your silky black robe then fall as you exhale. He meant to meet your gaze again, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking in your frame. From the curves of your waist to the roundness of your stomach and thickness of your thighs, you are a vision of temptation. 

Your fingers trace the ribbon of your robe, drawing his focus back to your face. You bite on your lips, nervous eyes peering at him cautiously. 

“Are you okay with this?” Chris asks. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”

You swallow thickly. “I want you to feel normal too,” you replied, lips slighting relaxing into a soft smile. “It’s not about changing my mind. I just…” you trail off with a sigh. 

Chris remains silent, giving you the space to collect your thoughts. 

Rolling your shoulders back, you hold his gaze and confess,“I just haven’t been naked in front of someone else in a really long time.”

One of the things Chris has come to find so admirable about you is how unapologetically honest you are about yourself. You do not mince words or circle difficult topics. You stand your ground and say what you mean, uttering every syllable like you are reciting a declaration of love, sincere and unwavering. He catches the way you fist your hands to keep them from trembling and he finds that defiance all the more endearing. 

He tries to bite back a smile at how strong and cute you’re being. Fuck, he’s wholeheartly ready to devour you and show you just how wonderful you are. 

Without another word, he tugs the hem of his shirt up and over his head. He can’t help smirking when you gasp at his bare chest. He’s caught you staring enough time to know you like what you see. Unbuttoning his jeans, he pulls them down with his briefs and steps out of them, fully naked in front of you. 

“Now, you’re not alone,” he smiles. 

Eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, you slowly drag your gaze down his frame. You shift your weight and he catches the way your legs press tightly together. The image of them spread and glistening with your arousal flashes between blinks. 

You take another deep breath then untie the knot of your robe. The delicate silk slips off your shoulders, revealing the epitome of supple seduction and plump perfection. 

Chris, already salivating, swallows. Your gaze trails back down to his crotch and he’s certain you are seeing exactly how he truly feels. His cock hardened last night the moment he saw you all needy and whiny. He tried to jerk himself off, hoping to soften again but failed– even after cumming three times.

“Does it bother you?” He gently asks, not moving to hide his erection yet. 

You shake your head. 

“I can put something back on if it does,” he tries again, wanting to be sure you know he is not ashamed of his desire. You’re incredibly hot and you must know it too with the way you constantly tease him with low-cut, form-fitting dresses. It’s partially why he asked Jisung to send him tank-tops and sweatpants when crafting a letter for Poe to send. 

“It’s fine, Chris,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches at the memory of your whiny voice saying his name. 

A little smile plays on your lips as you toss him half a shrug and add, “It was bound to happen at some point tonight. Might as well get over the awkwardness now.”

Chris glares, but the smirk on his face does not hint towards conviction. “Oh, yeah? Get this kinda reaction often, little witch?” 

You bite your lip then teasingly quirk a brow. “Why,” you shoot back. “Jealous?”

He tongues his cheek. “I just wanna know how many members are part of your little fan club.”

You turn towards the bed, displaying your round rear, and reply, “There’s room for one more.”

Chirs suppresses a groan. He tightens his jaw and follows after you. As you lie back into your propped, plush pillows, Chris meets your eyes. All notions of uncertainty have been replaced by carefree mischief. He sits on his knees in front of your legs and offers a small smile. 

“I already recited the spell,” you say, holding out the vial. “All you have to do now is pour it over me and… harvest the blood.”

Chris takes the tiny glass bottle, nodding. “If you ever need me to stop–” he starts, only for you to cut him off with the spread of your legs. 

A richer, more musky aroma of your usual rainwater, sage and wild lavender scent instantly overwhelms his senses. Laced with your menstrual blood, it evokes the earthiness of damp soil and the sweetness of blooming flowers. 

His jaw goes slack, eyes darkening. He can feel his fangs poke out and involuntarily takes a long, slow breath. His lungs do not work, heart still and cold, but he swears he feels them filling from the sheer smell of you. 

Your soft voice cuts through his primal desires, as you whisper,“I trust you.”

With that, Chris uncorks the vial. His free hand settles on your thigh. He smiles to himself at the softness, having only imagined the feeling of it for the last two weeks. He knew you’d feel so delicate, rubbing his hand up and down your warm skin. 

He looks back at you and meets your confident gaze with a little nod, confirming that he’s ready too. Then, he brings the tiny glass bottle to your blood-glistening lips and pours the elixir. It looks a lot like violet-coloured lube and feels that way too as he uses his thumb to rub it around your pussy. 

Your hips stiffen, core clenches at the sudden sensation and Chris darts his attention up to your face again, concerned. However, tentative notions of pleasure greet him. Your brows furrows, and eyes flicker with shy delight. You bite your lip, and that’s when Chris catches the rapid pounding of your heart. 

As he continues to rub the elixir over your clit then drag it down to circle your needy hole, Chris wonders if this is what you imagined him doing to you last night. 

“I think it’s good now,” you say, voice wavering. “We don’t have all night, you know?”

Chris smirks at your little joke. You have a tendency to be rather bossy and he’s been trying to subtly reign in your sassiness with challenging looks and sharper words every now and again. But then you go and test his patience with shit like this– speaking to him like he works for you. It excites and enrages him all at once. 

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be taking that tone with me, little witch,” he warns, applying pressure with his thumb against your clit. 

Your breath hitches before you clamp a hand to your mouth. 

Chris stifles his laughter. You’re a good girl down to your core. You just need the right person to remind you of that sometimes. 

Now that you are behaving, Chris lowers himself towards your delicious pussy. You smell divine, leaking of blood and drenched in the glow of the elixir. He cannot hold back any longer upon another strong whiff. Tongue flat, he drags it between your lips with a deep, full-chested groan. He repeats the slow action again and again, lowering himself further against the bed until he’s lying down on his stomach. 

He pulls back to loop his arms under your thighs. Pulling the top part of your pussy up, he dives back in. You taste like the ocean breeze on a sweltering summer day, purely refreshing. His tongue circles around your lips and clit, gathering all the leaked blood, which adds a metalicy sweetness to your arousal. A part of him wishes he was able to taste you without the juicy influence of the elixir, wondering how the flavour of your blood would change. 

Chris tongues the entrance of your hole, hoping to ease you into the–what did you call it?– harvest?  

However, upon the first real sip of your menstrual blood, something profoundly primal snaps in the depths of his chest. Unbound by his inhibitions, he growls against your core and shoves his long, wet tongue deep into you. 

A tiny whimper cuts through the loud sound of his slurps, but Chris pays it no mind. He laps and laps tongue-fulls of your blood, swallowing with eager delight. His fingers press into your soft skin, still Chris does not worry about bruising you. Instead, he shakes his head and lets out a series of pleased groans. 

Your hips roll into his mouth and he welcomes the gesture with another slurp of your blood. He can feel the magical substance rush through his body, warming his once cold skin. Every swallow fills another organ and Chris is addicted to that rush of awakening nerves. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, shoving his face further into your sex. Legs wrapping around his head, Chris is only just realising that you’ve been whining and moaning this entire time. He focuses his enhanced hearing on your fragile voice, humming approving groans. 

“Give it to me just like that,” you whimper. “Please, please , Chris.”

Again with those little demands , Chris thinks. At least you remembered to say please this time. 

A mixture of your arousal and blood pools at your entrance, drawing Chris back to his task. His vampiric senses igniting all over again, he does not attempt to hold back. In and out, he shoves his tongue between your tightening walls, gathering as much blood as he can. 

But, it’s not enough. His tongue is only collecting sips. Chris needs gulps . 

He adjusts his grip on your hips, now pressing you firmly into the mattress and latches his lips over your entrance. With a deep breath, Chris begins to suck. He suctions his mouth and siphones your blood out. He swallows mouthfuls of elixir tainted blood and arousal, mismatched eyes rolling back at the satisfaction of such unholy hunger. 

The more he draws, the darker you taste. Chris cannot describe it well, but he thinks it’s the taste of magic, fizzing on his tongue like sparkling water.

“ Oh, fuck ,” you cry, voice breaking as you cum.

A hint of lightness settles on his tongue upon sucking out your orgasm as well. Chris moans in delight, gulping down two more mouthfuls before finally pulling away with a wet pop .

Your legs are hyper-extended, trembling over his shoulders.

Chris glances up at you, curious to see if you’ll own the fact that you just came on his face or if you’ll get all shy and bashful. Your pleased features are laced with exhaustion as you pant. Tired eyes meeting his lustful ones, you quirk a brow. Chris licks his lips, taking the gesture as a silent question of if he is satisfied. 

Physically, Chris is full. He is not sure he can down even the tiniest of sips. Sexually, however, he is just getting started.

“You alright?” he asks, sitting himself up on his knees again. 

You nod, but Chris shakes his head. You know better than to respond like that , he thinks. 

“Talk to me, baby.”

The term of endearment was not intentional, but Chris also does not hate the way it sounds. It slipped out last night too as he talked you through your orgasm. He can tell from the way your lips part and eyes slightly widen that you’re waiting for him to correct himself, but he refuses to. Instead, he holds your eyes without a notion of panic or regret. 

“I’m okay,” you finally mutter between heavy breaths. “I…” you hesitate, attention flickering down to his crotch momentarily. “I need more.”

Chris smirks. “What do you say?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

Your lips quiver, desperation seeping into your gaze. “Please fuck me, Chris. No– don’t look at me like that. I know you want this too.”

Chris was trying to hide his smug smile, but upon your demand, he lets it take over his features. You’re a fucking brat, and he has extended the last of his generous patience. Before he can think twice, Chris smacks your sensitive pussy. 

“When,” he smacks it again, “are you,” smack , “going to fucking” smack , “learn?”

Your hips jolt up with every hit, moans trembling as they tumble from your beautiful lips. Your face is a crumpled mess of pleasure and pain, desperate eyes boring into his.

Cupping you with one hand and harshly rubbing, Chris places his other by your head and hovers over your shaking body. “Listen to me, little witch,” he whispers, nudging his bloody nose against yours. “If you talk to me like that again, like I’m your little pet , I will fuck you even after the sun comes up, do you understand?”

You nod eagerly. 

Chris tightens his grip on your crotch, baring his teeth with an annoyed growl. “Use your fucking words,” he orders. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, voice quiet and meek. 

The little whimpers you subsequently let out don’t do much to ease the throb of his cock. In fact, they only intensify it. You sound like wounded prey and he’s tired of fighting against his instincts. He’s been stifling the beast inside for the last eight years, filling himself with self-loathing instead. He’s done hating the power, fully embracing his new supernatural form. 

Releasing his hold on your crotch, Chris immediately aligns and shoves himself between your walls. A loud hiss escapes his blood-dripping lips, fangs on full display, at the tight pressure around him. Fuck, if he hadn’t seen you skillfully fingering yourself last night, he would have believed you were a virgin.

You moan with him, clutching on his shoulders. “Oh, god ,” you groan, enchanting eyes fluttering shut. “ Fuck, fuck– Chris, you’re h-huge. What the actual fuck?”

Chris’s previously irritated resolve wavers upon your squealing voice. He pauses his shallow thrusts to give you time to adjust. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat as your nails dig into his warming flesh. “I-I know you need this too.”

Shifting down to his forearms, Chris buries his face in the crook of your neck, and fondly inhales your scent. “Don’t be sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “I waited two weeks for this. Another minute won’t make a difference.”

You let out a breathless giggle, wrapping your arms around his head. A delighted hum sounds from your lips and Chris feels the vibrations of it against his face. He smiles to himself before licking and kissing your delicate skin. 

Your heart is beating so fast. He can feel the thumping pounds against his tongue and can’t help but chuckle. Your skin suddenly grows hot and he realises he has embarrassed you. Yet, instead of pushing him off, you clench tighter around him. 

“Please don’t laugh at me,” you whine. 

Chris smirks at your tone and wording, glad to see you’re finally following his orders. Still, he decides to test it again, wondering if it’s just a fluke. 

“I’m not laughing at you, little witch,” he lies.

Instead of calling him out, you remain silent.

Chris pulls back to gauge your features. Though pouting, you refrain from glaring at him too hard. Filled with pride, Chris kisses your cheek, down to your jaw then up to your chin again. 

“Good girl,” he mutters once his lips are hovering over your mouth. 

Your gaze flits between his eyes and blood-stained lips. Chris makes the conscious choice not to kiss you, unsure if the taste of your menstrual blood will be as delicious to you as it is to him. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him anyway, panting beneath him even when he remains motionless inside you.

But then you simply arch your back, pushing your full breasts against him, and mutter, “I’m ready now.”

Chris dips his head back down to your neck. He kisses and sucks on your hot skin, gently thrusting into you. He takes his time, with his hips and lips, dragging the process out only to forcefully shove it back in. 

You’re already trembling, sweet voice hiccuping moans. Chris scratches his fangs over your collarbone just to hear you whimper his name. 

“Please, Chris,” you cry. 

He kisses the slightly wounded area and quietly chuckles to himself. “Do you need something, little witch?” he teasingly asks.

“F-faster, please?” you quickly ask. “I’m not telling. I’m asking– begging! Please, please , Chris!”

His cock twitches. He groans at the sound of your desperate, whiny voice, physically incapable of torturing you any longer. With supernatural speed, Chris’s hips snap into action. He thrusts harshly, fisting the sheets beneath you. The bed creaks and slams against the walls over and over again, overtaking the slapping sound of his hips meeting yours.

Your body shakes and jiggles under him, and he is obsessed with how amazing your skin feels rubbing against his. Your nails scratch at his back, before finally sinking into his shoulders. You brace yourself against him, the sounds of your broken, sobbing moans encouraging him to continue.

"You have no idea what your voice does to me,” Chris groans, lips smothered under your jaw. “I could listen to you all fucking night.”

Your legs wrap around his waist. Chris groans even louder, addicted to the way you’re clinging onto him. 

“Only you can make me sound like this,” you whimper then warn a thrust later, “I’m gonna cum!”

Chris lets out a low, satisfied growl, relentless with his speed and power. He presses his lips to the shell of your ear and whispers in a deep, breathless voice, “ Cum for me, sweet girl. ” 

He can feel the erratic beat of your heart against his chest. Your pussy tightly clenches around him, gripping harshly onto his cock. As you cum, squealing his name like a practised spell, he chokes on his own moans. His hips push deep inside you, tensing as he finally unloads himself. Ropes and ropes of his cum fill you up as he growls in response to your meek moans.

Chris thrusts a few more times, wanting to ensure you’ve exhausted your orgasm. Then, in two swift motions, he lifts, pulls himself out, and rolls off you. He lands on the bed with a little bounce and content sigh. He expects to see the night sky on the ceiling, like it was last night, but instead finds the sea. And there, between the lapping waves, Chris catches your reflection.

Raising a brow, he tongues his cheek and looks at you. “Enjoy the show,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes, heat crawling up your neck to spread across your cheeks. “I did, actually,” you definitely reply as a last ditch effort to save a semblance of your self-respect. “You have a great butt, by the way.”

Chris laughs. He throws his head back and lets out a full-chested roar of a laugh. He can’t remember that last time he did that without you around. The last two weeks have made him feel more human than he probably ever had in his life. You’re absolutely remarkable and he’s lucky to have met you, even if it means he had to lose his soul.

Lifting his arm, Chris nods at you, silently ordering you to lean into him. You shift closer and hug his waist without another word, much to his surprise.

“You’re so pretty when you're doing as you're told,” Chris praises.  

“I’m pretty always,” you retort. 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Just take the compliment,” he chuckles.

“You’re not fucking me,” you practically whine. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“You’re impossible,” Chris mutters under his breath. But he still holds you close, tracing soothing circles around your shoulder.

You both bask in the silence while he gives you a second to catch your breath. Once he hears your heart beat normally again, Chris asks, “Does it work right away?”

You hum with uncertainty, waving your hand to summon the book. It flies towards you then hovers over your faces. After flipping through the pages, it lands on the recipe for the elixir.

Chris tilts his eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Is this the right book?” he asks, as he skims through the paragraphs. 

You flip the page, mumbling, “Yeah.” 

There are only a few books in your personal library that Chris cannot read, having been written in an ancient language he has tried and failed to understand. However, as he stares longer at the page, Chris finds that he can read every word. 

You gasp, sitting up. The book moves with you, hoving in front of you instead of on top of you now. Not that it even matters, since you grab the book from mid-air and pull it into your lap.

Chris sits up beside you. He brushes your hair off your shoulder and asks, “What’s wrong? Did we do it wrong?”

You bring a hand to your mouth as if you cannot believe what you’re reading. “We fucked up,” you whisper. 

A smirk plays on his lips. “Does that mean we get to do this again?” 

Setting the book down, you rub your face and choke back a chuckle. “No, I mean,” you start, turning to face him. “We really fucked up.”

Chris’s smile falters. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, gently running his hand up and down your bicep. “It’s alright, little witch. Take a breath,” he whispers, making sure to keep his voice light. “What happened?”

Your eyes shut, brows knotting, and lean into him. “There is a disclaimer at the end of every spell, recipe, ritual– Whatever it is, there is always a disclaimer that outlines the side effects or possible consequences to alterations.”

Chris nods, urging you to continue. 

“The magic we were using is called sex magic. It usually uses the sexual energy created between the participating parties to harness power. In our case, we were only meant to use it to make you sun-proof, for lack of a better word.”

“I can think of three better words,” Chris can’t help but tease. 

You fight off a smile, glaring at him. “Keep them to yourself,” you demand. 

Chris pauses, wanting to tell you to behave but he can’t move his lips. His voice has diminished too, like his body is physically incapable of ordering you around. 

Guilt flashes in your eyes. “When we had sex, with the elixir and spell tangled in the initial act of harvesting my blood, the purpose of the ritual shifted,” you continue, shoulders tensing. “It may have bound you to me.”

“What?” Chris asks, trying and failing not to sound annoyed. “What does that mean?”

“Witches often have familiars and demons are often serving creatures. They get summoned and must fulfil the summoner's request to be released. The spell has been documented to intertwine the two when more than the required act was performed,” you explain.

What about the crows , Chris wants to ask. He thought they held the role of a familiar. 

You shake your head. “They’re more like co-inhibitors. It is their island afterall.”

Chris retracts his arm from you, setting his jaw. He knows he did not say that out loud so how the–

Shit, did I just read his mind?  

Your voice is clear in his head. Blinking, Chris swallows thickly. “Is that normal?”

You hesitate. “I’ll look into it.”

“How could you have missed this?”

“I was a little busy trying to find all the ingredients,” you argue. 

Chris deadpans. “ I found the ingredients,” he corrects. 

You bite your lip, face crumbling with remorse. “I’m sorry, I–” you cut yourself off with a sigh then start again. “Honestly, I was too busy thinking about you eating me out. It’s why I made you go out and get those ingredients last night. I wanted the house to myself to just let out some of my–”

“Temptations?”

“ Frustrations ,” you correct with a playful glare. “I did not mean for this to happen.”

Chris sighs. He rubs his face and slumps back against your pillows. 

This may not have been what he wanted, however while he wants to be upset, he cannot find it in him to be disappointed. You’re a great friend, a better lover and he’d be insane to reject you. The only real downside about this newfound connection is his inability to put you in your place. You tend to get a bit too cocky and mouth off when he lets one too many sassy comments slide. 

“I don’t want this going to your head, little witch,” he warns, meeting your gaze again. 

You try to hide that mischievous smile and not being able to correct it is already driving him crazy.

“No promises,” you tease. Leaning over him, you stroke his chest and add, “But you have permission to keep me in check whenever you please.”

Chris tongues his cheek. “You had to have known that I would hate the way you said that.”

Your little smile is enough confirmation. 

Chris shoves you back into the bed with a gentle push of your shoulder. “You clearly haven’t had enough,” he murmurs, stationing himself between your legs again. 

“But the elix–”

“To hell with the fucking elixir,” he growls. “I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck your mouth clean.”

The way you shiver at the sound of his voice arouses him all over again. Shifting off the bed, Chris stands at the edge and gestures for you to adjust yourself so your head is hanging off the mattress. 

And with a simple tug of your chin, he’s determined to stay true to his words.

You eagerly oblige him. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work.

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 10 | Newborn Miracle

summary: the time has finally come, you and chris are going to become parents. Both of you are filled with joy and nervousness at the same time since this is a big step both of you have to make now and you’re ready more than ever for the adventures that lay ahead of you.

warnings: none, just child birth but besides it’s just chris becoming a proud father

authors note: this idea is so adorable I love the concept of babydad!chris and I need more people to write about it, so this is your sign to go do that rn 🫵 luv yall silk and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The sun had now began to rise, casting a golden color across the sky as I sat nervously in the passenger seat of Chris’s car, my hand clutching the hospital bag like it was a lifeline. Today was the day we had waited for, the day our lives would change forever. After months of preparing ourselves, endless conversations and debates about baby names and painting the nursery a soft shade of orange we were about to meet our little one. Chris was driving with a focused gaze I hadn’t seen before, his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

Every so often he would spare glances at me, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice being a mix of joy and disbelief at whats going to happen today. I turned to him, my heart racing as I speak. “I think so. I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life,” I replied, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The thought of actually becoming a parent was almost hard to believe . When we finally arrived at the hospital, the adrenaline kicked in.

We rushed through the automatic doors, our hearts pounding all together. The bright lights and the familiar smell of sanitary welcomed us as we checked in and were hushed towards the maternity section. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation but not just ours but from families around us, each with their own maternity story. After what felt like forever, it was time for me to be called in. Chris held my hand tightly as we walked together into the delivery room. My heart raced as I settled onto the hospital bed and feeling the cool sheets under me.

Nurses huddled around while preparing equipment for the delivery while Chris stood by my side, whispering soft words of motivation. Hours passed with the soft rhythm of contractions guiding us through the whole experience. Chris was never far from me and his presence felt like a warm blanket of comfort. He kept running his hands through my hair, his calming voice reminding me that we were in this together. “You’re doing amazing,” he softly whispered, his faith in me growing by the second. Finally, after what felt like an ongoing battle of will and strength, the moment arrived.

I could feel the overwhelming urge to push, and with each contraction, I used every ounce of strength I had left. In those intense moments, Chris’s eyes became my own. “You’ve got this, ma,” he reassured me, and I leaned into that support. With one final push and an intense surge of energy I didn’t know I had, we heard the most beautiful sound-our baby’s first ever cry. It was like music to our ears.

Suddenly, everything else faded away around us, the pain, the noise, the world outside. In that instant, all that mattered was the life that had just entered into our world. The doctor gently handed our baby to me, and my heart twisted with joy. I looked down and there they were, our little bundle of happiness in soft white blankets. Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he came closer with his eyes wide, filled with emotion all kinds of emotions. “Can I hold them?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement. “Of course,” I smiled, shifting so he could take our baby.

Chris cradled our little one against his chest, and I watched as he radiated with pure love. He kissed their tiny forehead, an expression of shock shadowing his face. “You did it. You brought us this miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion coming straight from the heart. Chris looked down at our baby as if they were the most precious treasure in the world. “I want to do skin-to-skin,” he said and I could see the excitement radiating from him. The nurses smiled approvingly and helped him gently remove his shirt, placing our baby against his bare chest.

The warmth of the moment hugged us as Chris’s skin touched our child’s delicate body. He looked at me, letting the little one into his now vulnerable heart. “Can you believe this?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Our little one squirmed, their little hand reaching for where Chris’s heartbeat lies. I could see a connection forming, a bond that would last a lifetime. Tears filled my eyes as I watched the two of the most important people in my life together.

It was a moment of pure beauty, one I will cherish forever. Chris looked at me and grinned, as his face radiated with joy. “We’re parents,” he said, still star struck, “and this is just the beginning.” In that room surrounded by the warmth of new beginnings, we held each other close, both over the moon and overwhelmed by all of it. Our family was here, and we were ready for the wonderful adventure ahead.

@hearts4werka

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[alyrasturnz]

can yu write a chris oneshot based on the song "pretty isnt pretty" by olivia rodrigo? btw i love yr writing its so shakespeare lol

PRETTY ISNT PRETTY {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — y/n grapples with her insecurities, feeling overshadowed by her own self-doubt. her boyfriend, chris, steps in with unwavering support and tender reassurances, gently lifting her spirits and reminding her of her inherent beauty and worth. through his loving words and actions, he helps her see herself through his adoring eyes, bringing light to her darkest moments.

warnings :: mentions of blood , implied ed , mentions of face dysmorphia

— angst && fluff

a/n ,, best compliment ever! thank you 💗

in the dimly lit room, tears cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the makeup you desperately attempt to apply. each stroke of the brush is a futile effort, as the cosmetics blend with your sorrow, creating a poignant portrait of despair.

the mascara trails down your face, the inky black rivulets etching a sorrowful path upon your skin, lingering like a curse that refuses to be lifted, a silent testament to the depths of your despair.

no matter how many layers of makeup you apply or how fervently you attempt to conceal the burdens that threaten to bring you to your knees, nothing can truly assuage the ache within your soul.

if anything, it would only deepen your despair, amplifying the hollowness within and leaving you feeling even more desolate.

you find yourself ensnared in an unending cycle of misery, a relentless loop of despair that seems impervious to change.

you groan, wiping away the tears as you reach for the makeup wipes. the remnants of makeup, once delicately applied, now smear across your hands, staining the plastic of the makeup wipes with the evidence of your unraveling composure.

get your shit together, y/n.

you grasp a sheet of wipes, methodically erasing the vestiges of makeup from your face before discarding it onto the floor, a silent testament to your inner turmoil.

with a fervent grip, you seize your foundation, applying it with the urgency of one donning armor, hoping to conceal the fissures in your confidence and present an unblemished facade to the world.

shortly thereafter, you reach for your concealer, as though it were a magic elixir capable of erasing the shadows of your sleepless nights and the burdens etched upon your visage.

you dabbed on the concealer like an artist crafting a mask, attempting to obscure the shadows of your insecurities and paint a portrait of unattainable perfection.

then, you reached for your blush, as though summoning the rosy hues of dawn to breathe life back into your pallid cheeks.

you swept on the blush like a whisper of hope, endeavoring to infuse a touch of warmth and vitality into the pallor of your worries.

then, you reached for your highlighter, as if beckoning the ethereal glow of moonlight to grace the high points of your visage, casting away the shadows of doubt.

you dusted on the highlighter, like the first light of dawn, striving to illuminate the hidden recesses of your self-doubt with a soft, radiant glow.

then, you reached for your mascara, as though summoning the inky tendrils of night to frame your gaze, adding depth and mystery to the windows of your soul.

you brushed on the mascara like a veil of enigma, seeking to divert attention from the shadows of your flaws to the captivating allure of your gaze.

then, you reached for your lip gloss, as if capturing the essence of twilight's shimmer to grace your lips, infusing them with a touch of ethereal enchantment.

you applied the lip gloss like a seal of promise, hoping to infuse your words with a touch of sparkle and imbue your smile with a hint of beguiling allure.

finally, you reached for your setting powder, as if capturing the essence of a tranquil dawn to preserve the artistry of your visage, ensuring its ethereal beauty remained untouched by the passage of time.

you dusted on the setting powder like a veil of serenity, hoping to lock in your confidence and shield your visage from the encroaching tendrils of fear.

you grasped your setting spray and misted it on like an ethereal breath of resolve, seeking to enshroud your determination in an unyielding barrier and preserve your composure amidst the inevitable tempests that lie ahead.

at last, she set her makeup tools aside, her gaze fixed upon the mirror as her eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, reflecting the storm of thoughts brewing within her mind.

you felt an inexplicable void, a sense of something amiss, though in truth, nothing was absent.

you had meticulously attended to every detail, striving to enhance your allure, even if only by a modest measure.

yet, the universe remained indifferent, and nothing transpired.

you still felt an unbearable torment. you’re still consumed by an excruciating desire to peel away your own flesh, envisioning the crimson torrent cascading from your marred visage.

you could exert every conceivable effort, yet remain ensnared in the same unyielding despondency.

your thoughts ground to an abrupt cessation as the familiar chime of your phone shattered the silence.

your gaze drifted towards your phone, and an involuntary, gentle smile unfurled across your lips as you read Chris' message.

»--•--«

chris 🧡

where are u ma :((

y/n

i’m still at my house but i’ll be there soon!

chris 🧡

baby, u said the same thing in 57 bce be so fr

y/n

chris😭 i just finished doing my makeup, hang in there lil bro

chris 🧡

nah cause ill actually hang myself if ur not next to me by the time matt comes back with the cake

y/n

okay sassy men apocalypse im walking to my car rn

chris 🧡

yeah u better be

»--•--«

laughter reverberated throughout madi’s house, yet yours was but a hollow echo, a mere facade of genuine mirth.

you were compelled to preserve your facade of calm, for it would be a grave disservice to madi to succumb to your own turmoil within the sanctuary of her abode.

they chose this day, of all days, when your mind was a fragile tapestry, frayed and tattered by the weight of your inner turmoil.

“cake, anyone?” madi’s mother called from the kitchen, her voice a melodic invitation, as everyone rose from their seats.

chris rose to his feet, his eyes lingering on you with an unspoken question, "are you coming?"

you gently shook your head, a serene smile playing on your lips. "i'm not hungry," you whispered softly, as chris's eyebrows arched in subtle surprise.

you had abstained from joining them for dinner, and he was acutely aware that you had similarly missed the midday meal.

"okay," he murmured, retreating to the kitchen and leaving you ensconced in the solitude of your thoughts.

you watched in silence as they savored each bite of their cake, a palpable jealousy weaving its way through your veins, an insidious serpent of longing and deprivation.

your nails clawed fervently at your tender skin as your teeth sank into your lips, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself amidst the storm of emotions raging within.

you yearned to partake in the cake's sweet allure, yet you had to sternly remind yourself that your clothes remain unyielding to the whims of your appetite, indifferent to the gnawing hunger within.

»--•--«

"bye!" you said with a smile, waving a delicate hand as you gracefully exited their car, each step towards your house imbued with a quiet elegance.

you hastily make your way to your bedroom, collapsing onto your bed with a sense of urgency and relief.

you tilt your head to the side, gazing intently at your reflection in the mirror, as if seeking answers in the depths of your own eyes.

you furrow your brow, rising to a seated position, your hand gently massaging your upper arm as tears cascade down your cheeks like silent rivers of sorrow.

mascara cascades down your face like a malevolent spell, each tear-streaked line a testament to your sorrow, as you rise and walk toward the mirror with a heavy heart.

you gaze at your reflection, scrutinizing your form with a critical eye. though others often remark on your slenderness, the truth eludes you, as if their words are but fleeting wisps of smoke, intangible and insubstantial.

your eyes shift to your face, as if confronted by a phantom, a spectral presence staring back with a haunting intensity.

a wretched sob escapes your lips as your fist collides with the mirror, shattering it into a mosaic of jagged fragments. crimson rivulets stream from your knuckles, the blood weaving its way into the crevices between the broken shards, a macabre tapestry of anguish and pain.

you observe as the blood on the mirror trickles down, reminiscent of a shattered curse unraveling, each droplet a testament to the torment that binds you.

another soft sob escapes your lips as you wipe away your tears, your steps faltering as you make your way to the vanity, each movement weighed down by a melancholic grace.

you seize the makeup wipes with a trembling hand, violently scrubbing away the remnants of your carefully applied facade, each stroke a desperate attempt to erase the pain etched upon your features.

you wipe and scrub with a fervent intensity, as if believing that with enough force, you might witness your very visage disintegrate, revealing the raw truth beneath the layers of artifice.

more sobs escape your lips as tears cascade down, your hand assaulting your face with the makeup wipe, each swipe a brutal attempt to dismantle the mask that conceals your torment.

“babe, you left your bag in the car,” chris uttered, his voice punctuating the stillness as he opened your door and momentarily paused.

your movements come to an abrupt halt, your gaze locking onto chris as tears continue to cascade down your face, each droplet a silent testament to your inner turmoil.

chris’ gaze shifts to the fractured mirror, where blood trickles down the jagged shards, before returning to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and sorrow.

his gaze descends upon your hand, now stained a vivid crimson, as if the very essence of your anguish had seeped into your flesh.

"oh, baby," he murmurs softly, his steps deliberate as he approaches, enveloping you in a tender embrace while your sobs meld into the warmth of his chest.

his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, his fingers weaving gently through your hair, offering a silent solace amidst the storm of your emotions.

"what ails you, sweet girl?" he inquires softly, his voice laced with concern, as you pull away from his embrace, your head shaking in silent refusal.

"I am so hideous," you sob, your voice cracking with despair, as chris' gaze softens, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken empathy.

chris gently swivels your chair, positioning you to face yourself in the vanity mirror, the reflection confronting you with an unvarnished truth.

his hands descend to rest upon your shoulders, his touch a grounding presence as he gazes into the mirror alongside you, a soft smile gracing his features with quiet reassurance.

"you are the most beautiful girl I have ever known, and it wounds me deeply to see that you cannot perceive your own beauty," he murmurs tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss upon your head.

"you’re just saying that because I am your girlfriend," you mutter, your voice tinged with bitterness as you harshly wipe away your makeup. chris shakes his head, a silent plea for you to see the truth in his words.

your wrist succumbs to chris' gentle yet firm grasp as he deftly removes the makeup wipe from your hand, discarding it into the trash. he retrieves a fresh one, his actions deliberate and tender.

"I say it because I know it to be true. I say it because it is the undeniable truth," he murmurs softly, his touch tender as he gently wipes away your makeup.

your muscles gradually loosen as you close your eyes, the sobbing subsides though soft tears continue to trace delicate paths down your face.

"and all I desire is for you to glimpse the vision I hold," chris whispers softly, his voice a gentle murmur, before setting the makeup wipe aside.

upon finishing, chris discards the makeup wipe into the trash with a measured grace, then proceeds to your bathroom, his movements purposeful and unhurried.

you gaze deeply into the mirror, your reflection a canvas of uncertainty. was he lying?

chris strides back, bearing a first aid kit, and gracefully lowers himself to his knees beside you. with a delicate precision, he extracts a piece of cloth and applies it gently to the lacerations on your knuckles, his touch imbued with a quiet tenderness.

after a brief interval, he retrieves a damp cloth and, with a gentle hand, begins to dab it against your wound, meticulously cleansing it with a touch that speaks of both care and precision.

subsequently, he reaches for the Betadine, immersing a cotton ball in the rich, amber-hued disinfectant ointment, preparing to cleanse the wound with meticulous care.

with deliberate precision, he dabs the cotton ball onto your wound, ensuring each touch is both gentle and thorough. Once satisfied with his meticulous work, he discards the used cotton ball into the trash.

"would you like me to bandage it, my love?" he inquires softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours with a tender, questioning gaze.

your breath catches in your throat as you notice the glistening trails of tears on his cheeks, a silent testament to his sorrow.

as you nod in silent affirmation, tears cascade down his face, each droplet tracing a path of unspoken anguish.

he returns your nod, his movements deliberate and calm as he retrieves a bandage.

with meticulous care, he unrolls the bandage, his fingers grazing your skin lightly as he begins to wrap it around your hand.

each motion is tender, infused with a quiet dedication, as if through this simple act, he seeks to convey all the unspoken emotions that words cannot encompass.

his focus never wavers, eyes intent on ensuring the bandage is secure, a silent promise of his unwavering support.

when he finally completed his task, he held your hand with a delicate reverence, his touch both tender and firm.

slowly, he raised your hand to his lips, pausing for a moment as if to savor the intimacy of the gesture. then, with a softness that spoke volumes, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hand, a silent vow of affection and care.

"please, don’t hurt yourself," he whispers, his voice trembling as he looks up at you with eyes reddened by unshed tears. "you are so beautiful, my love. I will do anything to help you see that," he continues, rising to his feet with a resolve that mirrors the depth of his devotion.

he gently tilts your face upward with the soft touch of his pointer finger and thumb, his movements slow and deliberate. as your eyes meet, he leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that speaks of longing and unspoken promises.

maybe you did not see yourself as beautiful, but in his eyes, you were a vision of unparalleled grace. and in the grand tapestry of your shared existence, his perception was the thread that truly mattered.

[koushirouizumi]

Title: The Power of Your Eyes Type: AMV {Anime Music Video}/Fan Video Fandom: Sonic X (+Sega Sonic-verse Background!canon compliant) Song: Hitomi no Chikara Originating Series: Hikaru no Go {2nd Ending theme} Singer: Mizuki Arisa Characters: Chris Thorndyke (Main); Shadow the Hedgehog (Secondary); Sonic the Hedgehog (as Support); Maria Robotnik (as background Support); Rouge the Bat (as side {minimally appearing} Support) Dynamics: Sonic & Chris (as strong Friendship); Shadow & Chris (as mutual support/eventual Friendship); Shadow & Maria (as former strong Friendship) Spoilers: until Prison Island point of SA2 arc (pre-Episode 38; inspired by Japanese version overall) + for Shadow's {+initially presented} backstory Lyrics/Translation: Here! AO3 Link: Here! {Please consider leaving a comment if you Enjoy!} (I'd love to hear your Thoughts!)

Summary:

"If I didn't meet you, I {would} remain with {the same 'smile'} always REPEATING 'the' {false} manners and words"

"... so don't {SWAY} Those E y e s {AWAY}",

Notes: This is Old {10+ years old}. it's actually my only 2nd Sonic X AMV out of multiple. The footage used will reflect this, as it was made before widespread transition into H.D. Footages. Please be understanding. [There may be intent for me to remake it someday!]

-This video’s embed may randomly not display at times, Showing like it’s “down”, but it’s not at this time! {It usually happens late at night[s] or seemingly when Tumblr and/or Vimeo is experiencing very high traffic} If that happens, please consider watching at another direct link on Vimeo here!

[tsw1234]

Let The World Burn - D.G

Word count: 835

Pairings: Vampire!Dick Grayson x BTVS!fem reader

Notes: I don't know how to feel about this, I had like a concept mapped out for this and another part but it all depends on you guys. So please lmk if there's anything I should edit or add, and if I should include the next part

Synopsis: Gotham's in havoc, and the only one you can rely on is your ex-bf?

Warnings: Deception, angst, manipulation

It's been a year since the downfall of Gotham. A year since the apocalypse and a year since the vampires took over.

When the apocalypse first hit, chaos ran amok through the city's streets. Left and right, people were dropping like flies; Despite your pretty recent breakup, the first person you sought to check on was your ex-boyfriend -- Dick Grayson. Frantically you rush for the phone, dialing his number countless amounts of time solely to be met with his voicemail.

"Come on, Grayson answer!" you frustratedly mutter. In the of midst what seemed like the 10th dial, you were interrupted by a gust of wind bursting inside your apartment. You could've sworn you closed your window. Immediately you get a feeling of unease throughout your whole body. Gingerly walking towards your kitchen, you grab a knife from the knife block, arming yourself for whatever unexpected creature decides to pop out. Feeling a shadow behind you, as if instinct, you turn around and attempt to stab the unknown with all your might, only to be stopped mid-swing by a man grabbing your wrist.

"Woah there princess, you could've taken me out." the man said with a hint of mockery. You recognize the man as Dick, fully dressed in his blue and black Nightwing suit.

"Dick!" you exclaim, dropping the knife and running into his arms. He let out a cocky chuckle before wrapping his arms around your waist. If you weren't overdriven by a sense of relief and comfort., you would've noticed how his body was ice cold. Normally it would be the opposite, your hands cold to the touch in contrast to his warm hands. He used to say that that's what made the two of you perfect for each other. "You're okay! I've been calling you over and over!"

"I'm sorry sweetheart my phone died," he said, placing kisses on your temple. Weird, for a vigilante shouldn't his phone always be on? "I'm here now, that's all that matters," he reassures. Once again, there went the feeling of unease. "Baby, as much as I'm enjoying this we need to leave, now.". You nod your head, pushing back any feelings you had. He was right, the apocalypse of the world was still currently ongoing. Dick grabs your wrist, leading you towards the open window's fire escape.

"You ready?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist. You let out a sound of approval, clutching onto him for support. Hearing your compliance, he starts leaping from building to building, leading the two of you to a safe rooftop.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

"Mhmm," you reply looking down at the city. Tears started to run down your face. Gotham was in shambles. Buildings were on fire, men and women- children screaming, car alarms going off, police sirens wailing.

"Baby, are you okay?" Dick calls out. He approaches you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and putting his head on top of yours. You turn and bury your face in his chest, hugging him back. "No...this is terrible! The city's in ruins, and everyone I love could be in danger.". This time your body wasn't signaling you a feeling of unease but more of a signal of danger--a warning telling you to get away. You look up at Dick and notice his eyes, his once blue eyes now blood red.

He picked up on your sense of inquietude, looking down at your distraught face. "You-you're one of them." you clamor pushing yourself away from his embrace.

"Princess-"

"No!" you shout. With each step he takes towards you that's another you take away from him. "Baby-"

This time your foot takes a step off of the edge. "Careful!" he exclaims, and in what seems like an instant your rushes over to you and pulls you into him, leading you away from the edge. "Let go of me!" you emphasize, struggling to get away from his grasp on you.

"How could you?" you ask, realizing there's no use in fighting against him and his newly acquired superhuman strength. The only emotions you felt right now were pure pain and betrayal; a dangerous pair they would be if the love you had for Dick wasn't triumphing you to act on them.

You tried to read him, something you could once easily do when you were still together, when he was with you; when he was still human. Dick's mind happened to be in various places. It hurt him to see you so upset- truly it did! Your melancholia and fear visible from your tear filled-eyes. But on the other, he felt no remorse, if anything your fear boosted his hero complex even more. All he wanted was nothing but for you to run into his arms, and call out his name, allowing him to comfort your worries, concerns, and agony. His poor, heartbroken girl. If only you knew how pretty you looked when you cried.

[sirenedeslily]

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘’𝐬 𝑴𝑰𝑿𝑻𝑨𝑷𝑬

𝜗𝜚 = fluff, ౨ৎ = smut, ꣑୧ = angst

𖥔 = favourites, ✶ = requested

ﾟ. 𐦍 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝟏𝟏𝟏 — 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑾 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

━━━ 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ ꣑୧ ⋆ 3.7k word-count

❛ the preacher's daughter, the town's beloved sweetheart, harboured a pain far deeper than anyone could have ever imagined. matt, the boy who had found solace in her presence, struggled to understand how the love of his life could slip away so tragically. now, he must learn to live without his cherished fawn, accepting his fate of being forever tied to her memory, unable to let go of that fateful day. ❜

━━━ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ moodboard

❛ a visualizer of poison in the water. ❜

━━━ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ⋆ 3k word-count

❛ when matt mentions his girlfriend, his fans instantly erupt in excitement, pleading for him to invite her on the live stream. ❜

━━━ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ ꣑୧ ⋆ 5k word-count

❛ a tormenting and bitter autumn fades into an even colder winter, unrelenting flurries shrouding two lovers in a painful veil of memories and grief. a girl, forever haunted by what was lost and what can only unfold beneath the snow, remains trapped in a ceaseless cycle of naive love and unyielding despair’s. she finds solace in the one soul who saw her, truly saw her and gazed lovingly upon her bare, scarred flesh. ❜

━━━ 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ moodboard

❛ a visualizer of when memories snow. ❜

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚✶ ⋆ 1.2k word-count

❛ your shy, out-of-place boyfriend navigates the glamorous chaos of new york fashion week to support his supermodel girlfriend. ❜

━━━ 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚𖥔 ⋆ 5.1k word-count

❛ it’s the 2000s, and in stars hollow, rebellious matt sturniolo, tattooed and brilliant, somehow needs tutoring sessions. yn greenaway, somehow gets pulled into his world of distractions, leaving them both questioning what they really want. ❜

━━━ 𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚꣑୧𖥔 ⋆ 1.4k word-count

❛ a hardened fighter finds unexpected tenderness in the arms of a gentle soul, where love becomes both his salvation and his deepest fear. ❜

━━━ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ ꣑୧𖥔 ⋆ 3k word-count

❛ matt thought the crash was the first tremor, the first sign that everything was unraveling. but when yn vanished, the woods grew colder, the trees twisted into shadows, and nothing—not even their love—could hide from the dark that followed. ❜

━━━ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ⋆ 0.7k word-count

❛ a quiet, late-night moment where two people fall deeper into each other’s embrace, wrapped in warmth, music, and the certainty that they belong together. ❜

━━━ 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ 𖥔 ⋆ smau

❛ an incident leads two twitch streamers to cross paths. ❜

━━━ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 + 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ headcanons

❛ a world renowned model dating a loser? ❜

ﾟ. 𐦍 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝟐𝟐𝟐 — 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

━━━ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚꣑୧ ⋆ 13.9k word-count

❛ in the bustling streets of new york city, a struggling artist burdened by her mother's chaos meets chris, a vibrant spirit who reignites her dormant passion for art. as their connection deepens through museum visits and intimate conversations, y/n is torn between the weight of her sacrifices and the allure of newfound love. when their paths inevitably part, chris must confront the heartache of losing the muse who transformed his art, while y/n faces the painful reality of her shattered dreams, forever haunted by the ephemeral beauty of their once-shared moments. ❜

━━━ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ ౨ৎ ⋆ 6k word-count

❛ you find yourself in a dark alley, heart pounding as you lock eyes with chris sturniolo, the cocky frontman of a band. as a man-eating demon, the hunger within you stirs, and the thrill of the chase ignites something primal. with only a few moments to spare, can you resist the urge to claim him as your next victim, or will he awaken desires you never knew you had? ❜

━━━ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐑 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ ꣑୧ ⋆ 1.2k word-count

❛ the siren, cursed by the sea and feared by the world, never imagined love could find her—until chris did. in his eyes, she wasn’t a creature of the depths but a soul worth saving. their love, tender and fleeting, was a defiance of fate, a brief escape from the doom that lingered. but when the sea came for her, leaving only her lifeless body on the shore, chris was left devastated. consumed by grief, he could not let her go, forever haunted by her memory, bound to the tragic final moment where love slipped through his fingers. ❜

━━━ 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐃𝐄𝐍 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚✶ ⋆ 3.3k word-count

❛ a quiet ache lingers, but the warmth of her lover’s presence reminds her that healing begins in the spaces between words. ❜

━━━ 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈: 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 @ 𝟖 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚✶ ⋆ 0.7k word-count

❛ chris craves your presence in every aspect of his life, even if it means matching nails with his beloved girl. ❜

━━━ 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄, 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚✶ ⋆ 0.4k word-count

❛ chris can’t help but love it when his girl speaks spanish, even when she’s hurling insults at him. ❜

━━━ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃 ⋆ 𝜗𝜚✶ ⋆ 0.4k word-count

❛ trying on halloween costumes would be a lot easier if chris could just keep his hands to himself. ❜

━━━ 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ smau

❛ a fashion designer dating a model. ❜

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ smau

❛ BREAKING NEWS, aespa’s yn is caught kissing a model. ❜

━━━ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ 𖥔 ⋆ smau

❛ a continuation of “mine” where kim yn and chris sturniolo are caught in a secret romance.. or so they think? ❜

━━━ 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃, 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 | ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰

⋆ 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ⋆ smau

❛ sets of instagram posts of skater!chris. ❜

© sirenedeslily

[the-lying-heavens]

Characters/Ships I write for

If you have a request for a character/ship that isn't here but is a part of the fandoms listed here, send me an ask, and I'll see if I can write it! Masterlist . Rules Requests are Closed

(I do not support jkr, trans women are women)

Criminal Minds: Spencer Reid, Will LaMontagne Jr, Luke Alvez

Divergent: Peter Hayes, Tobias Eaton

Resident Evil: Leon Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Carlos Oliveira

Inheritance Games: Jameson Hawthrone, Grayson Hawthorne, Nash Hawthrone

Harry Potter: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, Newt Scamander, Cedric Diggory

Marvel: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Jack Thompson, Daniel Sousa

Maze Runner: Thomas, Newt, Minho, Aris

Hunger Games: Coriolanus Snow, Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark

Riordanverse: Luke Castellan, Leo Valdez, Jason Grace, Percy Jackson

The Umbrella Academy: Ben Hargreeves, Five Hargreeves, Viktor Hargreeves

Others: Cardan Greenbriar(Folk of the Air), Jace Wayland(Shadowhunters), The Darkling(Shadow and Bone), Kaz Brekker(Six of Crows), Ravi Singh(AGGGTM), Peter Sutherland(The Night Agent), Donald Ressler(The Blacklist), Master Chief(Halo), Robert Chase(House MD)

I write ships too! These include Jily(james potter x lily evans), Hinny(harry potter x ginny weasley), Larkland(peter sutherland x rose larkin), Steggy(steve rogers x peggy carter), Wolfstar(sirius black x remus lupin), Percabeth(percy jackson x annabeth chase), Ronmione(ron weasley x hermione granger), Willifer(will lamontauge jr x jj), Malina(malyen oretsev x alina starkov), Remadora(remus lupin x andromeda tonks), Cleon(claire redfield x leon kennedy), Valveria(Jill Valentine x Carlos Oliveira), Thearoy(thea queen x roy harper), Newtmas(newt x thomas), SunWings(apollo x icarus)

[cyberl6ve]

𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐖 — 𝟑

⋆⭒˚🍊.⋆ Part One | Part Two ⋆⭒˚🦌.⋆

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　

— STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT !! —

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ : 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, I quickly changed back into my white baggy shirt and blue washed jorts. Chris watched me with a smirk on his face, no doubt remembering exactly what we had just done in those clothes. “Ready to go back out there?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

Chris emerged from the bathroom dressed in his signature style a black long sleeved shirt, gray sweats, and his white Birkenstocks. He topped off the look with his signature Fresh Love red hat, the brim pulled low over his eyes.

“Let’s hope you didn't get us in trouble,” I whispered to Chris, a playful glare in my eyes. He just chuckled and pulled me closer, his arm wrapped around my waist.

Chris tried to go in for a kiss, but I pulled back with a playful grin. “Pipe down, lover boy,” I said, extricating myself from his embrace. I walked out of his room and up the stairs to seeing Nick and Matt on the couch on their phones.

“You're finally back, took you long enough,” Nick quipped, raising an eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, sorry, Chris is really hard to wake up,” I replied. Matt and Nick exchanged a look, but wisely said nothing.

“Hey, guys, do you want to go get something to eat and then head over to Top Golf?” I asked, changing the subject. Nick looked up from his phone and grinned. “Definitely,” he said, standing up from the couch and stretching. Matt followed suit, nodding in agreement.

Nick added, “Oh, and before we head out, we need to swing by the warehouse. There's a new shipment of merch that just came in and we gotta check it out.”Matt's eyes lit up at the prospect of new gear. “Sweet, I'm always down for that too.”

Chris ambled up the stairs, his hat pulled low over his eyes, a relaxed smile on his face. He dropped down onto the couch beside me, his leg brushing against mine. “What's the plan?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Matt rattled off the day's plans with an excited grin, “First, we gotta swing by the warehouse to check out the new merch. Then maybe some shopping, and after that, we’ll hit Top Golf and grab a bite while we're at it.”

As we all stood up, Chris's hand found its way to my thigh, providing a gentle squeeze for support as he pushed himself up from the couch. The brief, intimate contact sent a shiver down my spine.

We all make our way down the stairs to the garage, chattering excitedly about the day ahead. Matt grins mischievously and leads us to his car. We pile in and he puts it into gear, driving us to the warehouse.

Matt expertly navigates the industrial complex until we reach the warehouse. To our surprise, the boxes of merchandise were already stacked neatly along one wall, waiting for us. Chris let out a low whistle of approval, “Looks like they were on top of things today.”

As we sorted through the boxes, Chris let out a cheer. “Guys! Check this out!” He held up a black hoodie with the logo ‘Let’s Trip’ on it.

— ☆ —

Nick's head lolled back against the couch cushions as he let out a contented sigh, his arms stretched out above his head. I sat at the edge of the couch, watching him lazily. Without warning, a shadow loomed behind Nick and Chris appeared, camera at the ready.

The peaceful moment was shattered by Chris’ sudden appearance. With a wicked grin, he leaned over Nick, scaring him so badly that he nearly tumbled off the couch. “Chris! You fucking bitch!” he yelled as he scrambled to catch his balance, eyes narrowed in mock outrage.

Chris burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room, as he quickly thrust the camera into my hands. “Get it, get it!” he shouted, already taking off, Nick hot on his heels.

And just like that, the scene shifted from a moment of tranquil relaxation to an all-out chase between best friends, captured perfectly on camera thanks to my quick reflexes. The sound of their laughter floated through the warehouse as Chris darted kept running from side to side, Nick in close pursuit.

“Oh, shit!” Chris shouted as his foot caught on one of the many boxes scattered around the warehouse. He stumbled, then fell hard onto the floor, the camera catching his fall on tape.

“Chris!” I gasped, putting the camera down for a moment while it’s still rolling and hurried to his side, genuinely concerned for his well-being. Chris laid sprawled on the ground giggling. Nick, not missing a beat, delivered a playful smack to his ass for his revenge. “That's what you get bitch!” Nick teased, still laughing.

“That’s enough playing around you two” I helped Chris to his feet. Chris stood up, looking embarrassed by his clumsiness. His eyes met mine, and without a word, he wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of my neck, pressing a kiss into my neck. No one seems to notice it.

Holding my hands on his back, I could feel his warm breath against my skin. "The camera is still rolling." I whispered. He nodded his head, knowing that he had to be careful not to give their fans any unintentional hints of the romance brewing between us.

Nick, realizing the situation, couldn't help but grab the camera, “Looks like someone's a little embarrassed from his fall.” He teased Chris while filming.

Just then, Matt entered the scene, curious about the commotion he heard. “What's going on?” he asked, looking around. Nick immediately filled him in. “Chris tripped over a box and fell flat on his face like a dumbass,” Nick said with a chuckle, still filming.

Matt, sensing Chris’ embarrassment, teased him playfully. “Oh, that explains why he's clinging around Y/N like that, poor baby,” Matt said with a smirk. This was enough to push Chris over the edge.

Chris pulled away from me, running after Matt. I couldn't help but shake my head and laugh. Nick, still holding the camera, captured every moment in detail. “Quit running before you fall again!” I shouted.

Chris didn’t listen and continued to chase after Matt, the two of them running around the warehouse, laughing and joking with each other. Nick followed close behind, still filming. “Looks like someone's got a bit of pent up energy to burn off,” he quipped, aiming the camera at Chris’ determined face as he pursued Matt.

Just as Matt came around me, Chris made a beeline for my direction. “Chris slow down!” I called out, but it was too late. With a playful grin on his face, Chris picked me up and tackled me onto the couch.

He landed on top of me, causing the couch to sink underneath us. I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling his weight on me and his breath against my neck. Matt and Nick were clearly amused, chuckling as they filmed the whole scene. “Looks like Chris is making himself comfortable,”

“I’m tireddddd,” Chris whined out, laying his head against my chest. I laughed and wrapped my arms around him tightly. “I mean you did just run not once, but twice at full speed,”

“Well that was that,” Nick said, flipping the camera towards himself and Matt. “We’ll pick up the camera after Chris is done taking his nap.” Matt nodded in agreement. Watching the scene unfold, they couldn't help but laugh at the display of energy and exhaustion.

Nick pointed the camera back at Chris, but Chris wasn't having it. “Get the fuck out of my face!” he shouted, shoving the camera away with a look of annoyance. He settled into a comfortable position on top of me, his face nuzzling into my neck.

I waved goodbye to the camera as Nick turned it off. The sound of soft laughter filled the room, and I couldn't help but smile as I looked down at Chris. “Looks like you wore yourself out,”

I brought my hands to his head, gently running my fingers through his hair as it clung to his sweat— dampened forehead. Chris let out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he nuzzled into my touch.

“We should bring these boxes upstairs so they can be out of the way,” Matt suggested, gesturing to the scattered merchandise. Nick nodded in agreement, the two of them grabbing a few boxes each and heading towards the staircase.

As the sound of their footsteps faded upstairs, Chris stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open to gaze up at me. A lazy smile spread across his face as he caught my hand still playing with his hair and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"You sneaky—" I teased, but my words were cut off as Chris captured my lips in another kiss. The room faded away, and it was just the two of us, lost in our own little world.

Chris's hands were now gripping my waist, pulling me closer as he spoke between the passionate kisses. “You think you can help me out, Ma?” He asked in a low, playful tone that ignited a fire in my stomach.

I pulled away from the kiss, looking up at Chris with a coy smile. “With what exactly?” I asked, trying to maintain some composure despite the heat coursing through me. Chris's response was to press another kiss to my lips before pulling away and letting his hands drift lower down my sides.

“You know,” Chris said, his voice low and husky as he nipped at my lower lip. His hands continued to move lower, squeezing my hips and encouraging me to grind against him. “I'll give you a hint,” he whispered seductively, his lips grazing my ear.

Chris smirked as he was tracing his lips down my neck and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It starts with a ‘p’ and ends with a ‘e,” he said, his tongue flicking out to taste me. He shifted his hips, pressing himself against me as a reminder of what was underneath.

I was confused for a moment before Chris whispered, “Pleasure,” in my ear. His hand moved up to cup my breast, squeezing gently as he continued to kiss me. I let out a soft quiet moan as his tongue traced over my nipple through the fabric of my shirt.

I pulled back, looking into Chris's lust-filled eyes and shaking my head. “Not out in the open, Matt and Nick can literally see us,” I whispered urgently. He groaned in protest, but I continued, “Didn't we just fuck earlier? You've been horny ever since we made that deal.”

Chris gave me a sheepish smile, his hands stilling on my body. “Can you blame me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I can't help it, you're just so fucking irresistible,” he said as he adjusted himself in his pants. He leaned in to press a light kiss to my lips.

My mind was racing with thoughts, none of which had anything to do with stopping Chris’s advances. In reality, I didn't mind fucking him— I even enjoyed it. In fact, the more we did it, the more I craved it, and I never thought I'd get tired of it.

The truth was, I had feelings for Chris. Deep, unspoken feelings that I'd never had the courage to vocalize. This was as close as I'd get to him, and it was intoxicating. With that in mind, I pointed to the big white blanket draped over the pool table.

“Get the blanket off the pool table,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. As he reached for it, I started to unbutton my shorts, my fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

Slowly, I slid my shorts down to my ankles and left them there. When I looked back up at Chris, his eyes were burning with desire. He reached for the blanket and spread it out over our bodies, enveloping us in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Chris and I both left our shirts on, just in case we needed to get dressed quickly. Under the blanket, he gently pulled my underwear down, revealing my wetness to him. He leaned in and started kissing my neck.

I let out a soft moan as he continued to explore my body with his fingers. The position he was in was the same one Matt and Nick had seen him in before they left, but they had no idea what was going on under the blanket.

“Shhh,” Chris whispered against my neck as he continued to seduce me with soft kisses and tender touches. His hand wandered lower and lower, until it was between my legs.

As Chris explored my body with his hands, I couldn't help but let out soft moans of pleasure. He silenced me with a kiss, his tongue dancing with mine in a passionate embrace. Under the blanket, he slipped two fingers inside me, causing me to arch your back and gasp for air.

“Keep an eye out, okay baby?” Chris whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending tingles down my spine. He continued to touch me, his movements becoming more desperate and needy as he brought me closer to the edge. “I want to make sure no one catches us,”

I nodded my head, my mind foggy with desire as Chris continued to pleasure me under the blanket. The feeling of his fingers coupled with the danger of being caught made the experience even more exhilarating.

With renewed intensity, Chris plunged his fingers deeper, stroking that sensitive spot within me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. His thumb rubbed quick circles against my clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body.

“Stay quiet, Ma” Chris whispered in my ear, his voice dripping with confidence as his fingers worked their magic. I could only nod, completely lost in the sensation.

Just as I was about to reach my peak, Chris pulled his fingers away and slowed down. “Not yet,” he said with a wicked grin. With a swift motion, he lowered his sweatpants and boxers under the blanket, freeing his hard length.

Chris wrapped his hand around his cock, gently pumping himself as he positioned himself at my entrance. He pushed forward, and I gasped as I felt myself stretching to accommodate him. It was always like this with Chris— every time we had sex, it felt like the first time all over again.

I clung to Chris, digging my nails into his back as he filled me up completely. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and sensations as I adjusted to his size. I couldn't believe that after all this time, I still wasn't used to the way he stretched me out so perfectly.

As Chris began to move within me, I couldn't help but marvel at the way his cock made me feel— like I was home, like I was exactly where I was meant to be. The way Chris moved inside of me, the way his hips ground against my own, it was all almost too much to handle. I couldn't think about anything else except the pleasure he was giving me. With each thrust, he hit all the right spots, the places that made me see stars.

I moaned low in my throat, the sound muffled by Chris's neck as he pounded into me with a fierce intensity. “Baby, just like that,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper, desperate for more of him.

Chris let out a low growl as he felt me clench around him. “Stay quiet, Ma,” he said, his voice strained with pleasure. “Matt and Nick are still upstairs.” I nodded, biting back a cry of pleasure as he increased his pace.

Without a word, Chris reached up and covered my mouth with his hand. The suddenness of it sent a shock of pleasure through me and I let out a muffled cry against his palm. He started thrusting harder.

I felt Chris's movements becoming more erratic, his breath hot against my ear as he spoke. “You're doing so well, baby. Taking it all like you always do.” His words sent waves of pleasure through me and I moaned again, the vibrations humming against his palm.

“Oh, fuck, Ma,”Chris groaned, his voice low and rough in my ear. "You're so fucking tight, baby. I love it." He picked up his pace again, driving into me harder, the couch creaking beneath us with the force of his thrusts.

Chris's movements grew more urgent, his hips slapping against mine as he chased his release. “Cum for me, Ma,” he demanded, his voice a low, guttural growl. “Cum on my cock.”

I felt my body tremble and then shatter, wave after wave of intense pleasure washing over me as I came hard around Chris's throbbing cock. “Fuck, yes!” he groaned quietly, his own release hitting him moments later as he spilled himself deep inside me.

Chris collapsed against me, both of us trying to catch our breath as he gently lifted his hand away from my mouth. “You're amazing, you know that?” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I smiled, still riding the high of the intense orgasm he'd just given me.

Chris slowly pulled out of me, the loss of him making me ache almost immediately. He pulled up his boxers and sweats, and then helped me with my underwear and shorts, being careful not to let any of his cum spill out.

Chris threw the blanket back on the pool table and then made his way to the warehouse kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. As he walked back over to me, he picked up the camera and started recording. “I just woke up from my nap,”

Chris grinned at the camera, clearly pleased with how things had gone. “How was the nap, Y/N?” he asked, before flipping the camera over to me. I was still lost for words, feeling completely breathless after the unexpected but amazing sex we’d just had. I just threw a thumbs up.

Chris chuckled and then handed me one of the water bottles. He sat down next to me on the couch, but kept the camera rolling. His eyes were fixed onto me, studying my reactions, as if he was trying to imprint this moment into his memory forever.

"You okay?" he asked, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of my face. I nodded, still in a daze but feeling incredibly satisfied and happy.

I took a long drink of water, feeling the cool liquid soothe my dry throat. Chris continued talking to the camera, his voice calm and steady. “Let's go see what Matt and Nick are doing,” he said, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

He stood up, stretching out his hand to help me up from the couch, but I waved him off, an excuse spreading over my lips. “I'm too comfortable here right now,” I said, my tone hinting at an underlying reason.

Chris chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes. He clearly understood my true motivations— my legs were wobbly and sore, not to mention the aftermath of the intense sex we'd just shared. Chris grinned, pulling his hand back and chuckling softly. “Okay, you stay here then,” he said. I watched him as he climbed the stairs, my eyes fixed onto his every move.

As Chris disappeared from view up the stairs, I let out a soft sigh, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our passion. I stretched out along the length of the couch, sinking into the plush cushions and letting out a contented moan as I felt the cool air kiss my overheated skin. My body still tingled from our passionate encounter, and the gentle ache between my thighs served as a delicious reminder of Chris's skillful lovemaking.

Despite the lingering desire and excitement coursing through my veins, my body was exhausted and sleep soon claimed me. I drifted off into a peaceful slumber, the steady rhythm of my breaths filling the quiet room.

TO BE CONTINUED…

© CYBERL6VE

[koushirouizumi]

Title: Midori no Hibi (Days of G r e e n / G r e e n Days) Type: A.M.V Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog / Sonic X (+Sega Sonic-verse Background!canon compliant) Song: Midori no Hibi Singer/Artist: OFF COURSE {Ep52 Insert Song} Characters: Chris Thorndyke (Main); Sonic the Hedgehog (as strong friendship/Support); Sonic X Ensemble (as side {minimally appearing} Support) Dynamics: Sonic & Chris (as strong Friendship) Spoilers: until Series 1 Ending (Series 2 Not Included) AO3 Link: Here! {Please consider leaving a comment if you Enjoy!} (I’d love to hear your Thoughts!) Lyrics: Can be found on Sonic Wiki when "Midori no Hibi" is search'd

Summary:

"I will keep on {L I V I N G}, For {Y O U R} Sake--"

"{You} Looked at me - continuously And always said with a {S M I L E},

'{L E A V E IT to Me!!}'"

"But I DON'T KNOW if I can become The way that you w i s h me to BE..."

"I CAN keep on {L I V I NG}, if {W I T H Y O U}--"

"Midori no Hibi" (C) Oda Kazumasa (OFF COURSE was Oda's old band)

{Do Not Copy} {Do Not Repost} {Do Not Reproduce my Works Under Any Circumstances Without My Permission!} NO $$$ is being made off this Fanwork Sonic X © S E G A/T M S Entertainment

Notes: This is Old {10+ years old}. it’s my 5th “Sonic X” work out of multiple, closer from to the end of my “Sonic X” series of works. The footage used will reflect this, as it was made before widespread transition into H.D. Footages. Please be understanding. [There may be intent for me to remake it someday!]

-This video’s embed may randomly not display at times, Showing like it’s “down”, but it’s not at this time! {It usually happens late at night[s] or seemingly when the site is experiencing very high traffic} If that happens, please consider watching at another direct link here!}

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! I'm back again with another round of the fic I've been reading this week (when I wasn't busy reading Chuck Tingle's excellent satirical Hollywood horror novel Bury Your Gays). ALSO I've just got to 7x04 in my complete series rewatch, let's go, lfg!!! You can find previous rec lists here.

23 August 2024

the parts we play by @calinaannehart ok I know I recced this last week but it's finished now and it stuck the landing SO beautifully and seriously if you've not yet read this Buck is a Hollywood actor shadowing the 118 much to Eddie's initial frustration au fic then what are you doing? It's beautifully characterised, has such fun multimedia elements, and all the perfect romcom beats whilst also just being a glorious celebration of the firefam and Buck and Eddie. Read it!

piece by piece, rubble to rubble by @sharpbutsoft 'Christopher Diaz doesn’t believe in hell, but if he did, he thinks it might resemble back-to-school shopping at Westfield Mall with his Dad and Buck.' in which Chris is frustrated by his own descent into teenagerdom and the pitfalls of clothes shopping, Eddie is a very patient loving Dad, Buck helps, and things go very wrong. A satisfying 'trapped hurt/comfort leads to will reveal' scenario, with Buck and Chris bonding and being brave in the face of danger and uncertainty.

from the ashes by @exhuastedpigeon sees Eddie post-season 7 finding inspiration amongst a burned out art studio, and picks up a creative skill he put away as a teen. I really loved seeing him reconnect with a part of himself he'd hidden and the emotions it brought out, as well as the descriptions of how he captures all the colours and landscape of his family and heart through his art. This feels like a lovely unintentional companion piece to be read alongside when i see stars, that's all they are by @ithilien-writes which I recommended last week in which Eddie takes poetry lessons and I just love how we're all in agreement that Eddie is in need of some art therapy, community and creative expression to unrepress those feelings.

you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by @sibylsleaves roommates fic! In which Buck moves in with Eddie after he and Taylor split, Eddie has a revelation at Hen & Karen's vow renewal and comes out, domestic bliss ensues, and then Buck gets extremely in his head about it. A delicious mix of uhauling and slow burn, with angst, fluff and yearning galore. (I also really liked James in this, how do we manifest him, he was such a great oc.)

of waterfalls by @standback ballet dancer Eddie!!! In which Buck goes to physical therapy at the gym and is infuriated by how hot and good Eddie is, of course. But soon they become best friends and support each other along the way. With twists and turns from Eddie not being part of the 118, and some really lovely world building into Eddie's dancer world. I LOVE this concept, and particularly how Shannon was incorporated into the backstory that got them there in a way that was so seamless. When the dream belongs to someone else, how do you know where to draw the line? When do you let yourself find a new dream?

PS - quick one this week as it's been a busy one, but insert usual call out for more henren fic here. Feel free to self rec! And please share and reblog :)

[mamawasatesttube]

a tuppence for your bi4bi Clois thoughts 🪙... I'm luv them so much and I'd love to hear if you have any specific headcanons about them 🥺

YESSSS!!! i DO have some thoughts. i love them,

generally i think lois has her bisexuality figured out by the time she's in her mid-20s. she and cat grant have had some rage-filled makeouts on at least one occasion, but an actual relationship would never in a million years work out between them. they respect each other but do not see eye to eye nearly enough. she never bothered to come out to her father, but just knows it's one more thing about her that he'd hate.

clark, by contrast, does Not have it figured out. he has spent his entire life repressing every single thought, feeling, and ability that set him apart from the classic good all-american boy because he had to fit in. and being superman, exploring his kryptonian heritage, etc., has helped, of course, but he is still. so repressed. he has no idea that he's ever experienced attraction to guys before. he's got some internalized homophobia to work through, about himself. He Has To Be Normal. so as far as he's concerned, there was lana, and then there was lois.

to me, clark's journey toward self-acceptance is very intrinsically tied to his family. there's kara, talking about how sexuality and gender stuff on krypton wasn't like it is on earth, especially in western culture. there's kon, suffering through his own repression and depression and trying to pretend he's fine. there's chris and jon, both too young to fully grasp it all (probably), who make clark incredibly aware of every step he makes in terms of parenting them.

so one day, after kon's finally come out to the family, and kara's muddled through trying to figure out earth labels that she's comfortable with, the two of them decide they wanna go to pride, and ask lois and clark if they want to make it a family affair. lois says hell yeah, and clark says yes of course he's happy to support them! and jon says YAY, GLITTER!! CAN I GET STICKERS? and chris says if you get glitter all over my nintendo ds again i will punt you into the ocean, baby brother or not.

and there's just this innocuous moment while they're out when kon goes "here i got you these!" and hands lois and clark two simple lil heart-shaped bi flag buttons. and lois is like aw thanks squirt! and ruffles kon's hair. clark meanwhile goes oh i think there's been a misunderstanding... ... . . . .. . .. .. . or. has there?

and that night he's just sitting on the edge of the bed holding this tiny like $3 button in his hands having a whole crisis. lois hooks her chin over his shoulder and asks what's wrong? and he's like. lois i'm not. i'm. except maybe i'm not not. but i don't know, i thought i... i never thought i could think about it. clark kent is supposed to be normal. i... i'm already an alien, lois, i thought i was already set apart enough, and if i'm... if i'm this, even when i'm clark, not superman, then... then...

and lois digs her matching little $3 bi flag heart button out of her purse and bumps it against his and says, even if you are queer, you're still not alone. and then clark gives her the patented kent family big soft puppy-dog eyes. that night, he falls asleep in her arms with his head tucked snugly under her chin. it's where he feels safest.

but the next year, he lets kara get him a flag, and lets kon tie it around his shoulders like a cape. and he's here as clark kent, but it's kind of funny when he looks at his shadow. because he might not be superman right now, but the silhouette still looks the same.

[starlostastronaut]

━ PAS DE DEUX

PAIRING: lee minho x reader

GENRE: fluff (i guess), ballet au

WC: 1.15k

CW: some curse words, ballet lingo?

SUMMARY: when your dance partner gets injured, he recommends you his friend to take his place

this one had been in my drafts for some time haha. it's inspired by titania and oberon pas de deux from a midsummer night's dream. i tried to cut down the ballet terminology as much as possible, but there's still some, so don't hesitate to ask if it's unclear :) btw this story is supposed to be set in sydney, don't ask me why lol. anyway, hope you enjoy <3

masterlist here

You walked into the empty studio, throwing your bag near the wall. After fixing your hair and changing your sneakers for a pair of ballet slippers, you walked over to the barre. You figured you might as well warm up before your partner arrives. You placed your hands lightly on the barre for extra support and began with a simple set of pliés and relevés, thinking about your current situation.

When you heard that a part from A Midsummer Night's Dream was on the list for your dance program's showcase, you immediately signed up for an audition, hoping you would get to dance the pas de deux. The odds were in your favour, because you ended up getting the role of Titania and your Oberon turned out to be a boy from the year above, Chris. You never really talked to him properly outside of class, but the rehearsals have been going fine. He was an easygoing person and you worked together really well, becoming somewhat good friends during the first few rehearsals. Until he came to you earlier this week with his hand in a cast, apologizing that he wouldn't be able to dance with you. He told you he fell from his skateboard and broke his wrist.

So there you were, waiting for your new dance partner. Everything you knew about him was from Chris. This guy was apparently a new transfer student from Korea and Chris was helping him to get used to everything. According to Chris, the new guy was an excellent dancer and he convinced him to dance the pas de deux with you. You were hesitant at first, you never even met him, but it was either that or getting cut from the showcase completely, because everyone else had their own numbers to prepare.

Just as you looked at the clock for the third time, debating with yourself if it is worth waiting here any longer, the door opened. A guy in a grey hoodie walked in, his face covered by the shadow of the hood. "Sorry I'm late," he muttered, dropping his bag on the floor before he joined you at the barre.

"You're Minho, right?" you asked after introducing yourself, because the dancer didn't seem to start talking. To your disappointment, this didn't start a conversation either - Minho just nodded and muttered a simple "Yes". The rest of the warmup was spent in silence.

When the time came to actually practice, you went to your bag to get your bottle of water first, while Minho finally took off his hoodie. You saw only his reflection in the mirror, though it gave you the option to secretly properly check him out. And he was beautiful, you had to admit that. Sharp, cat-like eyes that looked both mysterious and welcoming were what you noticed first. Then it was longer, dark brown hair, kept out of his face by a white bandana. Even in his comfortably loose clothing he wore to practice, he looked like a faerie prince. Oddly perfect for the role of Oberon, your fae husband.

“Do you know the steps or do you need me to walk you through it?” you asked when you were both ready to practice.

“I watched the videos Chris gave me. I'm good with the solo parts and I know the rest too, but I only practiced on my own, so…” He shrugged. You couldn't help but look at him with admiration. It had only been a few days and he claims to have learned it? If that was true, then he must be really talented, you thought to yourself.

“Okay, so let's try the first part? Until my first arabesque.” Minho agreed and got into position while you prepared the music. He was the one starting the number, while you were supposed to join in a bit later.

As you searched through your playlist, for a moment you considered putting on your pointe shoes. Ultimately, you decided against it for now. You already knew most of Titania's steps on pointe and besides, Minho was learning it. It was very likely you would go over tiny details over and over again and you reached the conclusion that it wasn't worth it.

After you found the song, you confirmed with Minho that he was ready and you pressed play. As soon as he began dancing, you were mesmerized. His moves were light and fluid, but there was a certain sharpness in them as well, perfectly embodying the essence of a royal. He had a concentrated look on his face, but still found a way to portray emotion. You could only stare with your mouth hanging open. This boy was good. Amazed by Minho, you almost missed your cue and registered his outstretched hand towards you at the last possible second.

Placing your hand in his, your eyes met and you saw mischievous sparks in them as he pulled you along, guiding your movements just like the choreography instructed. His grip on you was firm but not too tight and you managed to get through the part without any troubles.

When the time for the next steps came, you began to feel a bit nervous. After all, this was the part with penché en pointe and the only thing stopping you from falling onto your face and breaking your nose would be Minho. He had not given you a single reason to think he would let you fall. In fact, you knew it would be okay, but the tiny voice of doubt in your head persisted. It was like that with Chris too, though.

“Come on, we have to practice,” Minho said. Waiting for you to come join him, he fixed his bandana using the wall mirror. In order to do that, he had to untie it, letting his hair fall over his eyes. In a moment he, with a prince-like gracefulness, brushed them away and readjusted the headband on his head. “What, worried I'll drop you?” he asked, smirking. You rolled your eyes at that, but he was right. That was your main concern, apart from his beauty, but you decided there would be time to unpack that later.

Anxiously, you assumed the correct positions as Minho stood behind you, gently helping you balance the arabesque. “I'll never let you fall,” he whispered into your ear as his strong arms circled around your waist, sending butterflies into your stomach. And when he safely guided you into the penché, you believed him. Somehow, you knew you could put all your trust in your new dance partner. He made you feel safe.

All that was left on your mind as he helped you through the move back into an arabesque was a single word. Fuck.

The next rehearsals were going to be hell, you thought, already making a mental note to both thank Chris and curse him for getting you Minho as a dance partner.

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 6 | Birthday Tears

summary: today was your birthday, the day you’ve never got to actually celebrate because of some family issues. Youve now always avoided your birthday and didn’t want to celebrate it, when you were coming home from the grocery store you were met with a sweet surprise when entering the house…

warnings: FLUFF, brief mentions of family issues but aside from that nothing else!

authors note: day 6 is now complete ! Big thanks to my honey @/strnilolover for the idea and the other ideas, luv u sm💋. And tysm for all of the support throughout this whole thing, I rlly appreciate very single one of you sm. Hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

The crisp autumn air hung in the space around me as I clutched the grocery bags and carried them home, each step filled with a heavy amount of memories I wish to forget everyday. Today was my birthday-the day I’ve avoided for many years now, it’s always been a battlefield in my family and it just serves as a reminder of fractured connections and unmet expectations. Each year I have tried to wish it away, for it to vanish and forever be forgotten by everyone on earth, pretending like the specific date held no significance to my well being.

I arrive at my shared apartment with my roommate Madi and set the bags down in the kitchen counter, the delicious scent of fresh basil and ripe tomatoes filling the air as a reminder to the pasta I was planning on making for tonight’s dinner for me and Madi if she wouldn’t be staying at her boyfriends house again. Just praying I won’t burn it, like it happened the previous times. I dismiss the slight sorrow hollowing a hole in my heart at the thought of others celebrating their birthday and looking forward to it, while I was avoiding it at every cost and turn I made.

My hands moved over to the grocery bags, taking each product outside and placing them one by one in the fridge at their designated spots. Just as I turn around, my attention was immediately brought to flickering lights coming from under the door leading to the living room. Did I forget to turn off the lamp before I left? Curiosity piqued as I took a step closer, my ears picking up the soft hum of perhaps my favorite sounds. Laughter but genuine, joyful laughter. Was the TV left turned on too alongside the lamp?

I paused for a moment, my heart slightly racing as trepidation coursed through me. Maybe it was best to retreat my steps back into the comfort of my lonely routine and worry about it later but something, perhaps a whisper of longing and something I lost a long time ago, pulled me towards the room without my consent. Cautiously I creaked open the door, expecting to see the same mess of a variety of items I was going to clean up when I got back home but instead I was met with colorful confetti scattered across the floor of the room along with a chorus of “Surprise!” Which caught me completely off guard.

The confetti danced in the air as I stood at the doorframe, completely surprised but then I scanned the living room. Alongside the festive chaos was standing my boyfriend, Christopher and surprisingly my roommate Madi without the presence of her boyfriend along with some of my other friends who managed to somehow scrunch into the small space of my modest living room. My heart swelled, shocked by their presence as it was unprepared for the flood of overwhelming emotions all coming down at once.

Chris moved to stand next to me, wrapping a loving arm around my waist and pulling me closer to his side as I admire the whole surprise still. “Happy birthday, ma” He celebrated, glancing down and chuckling at how well the surprise worked on me. The warmth of his small embrace scattered across my whole body and enveloped me in a safe space I never knew I needed to feel, urging away every of the shadows that clung to my heart on this day.

“What is all this?” I stammered, continuing to try and process the sight placed in front of me. On the small coffee table landed a homemade birthday cake topped off with several candles, decorations created from paper and a pile of gifts wrapped in pretty shiny wrapping paper. “We figured you finally needed to stop avoiding your birthday, everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday after all.” Madi beamed as she stepped closer to where me and Chris were standing while Chris adds, “We couldn’t let another year go by without making it special, y’know?”

Realization washes over me, the overwhelming kindness in their gesture felt like a balm to all of the years I’ve neglected my own birthday. I didn’t expect anyone to remember, let alone plan a whole celebration surprise party in my honor. “I- thank you guys. I honestly don’t know what to say.” I finally managed to speak, my voice faltering. I suddenly felt vulnerable, emotions catching right in my throat as the memories of family disappointment flooding back. Yet, while standing among my friends, a new warmth takes me into an embrace. This was love but uncomplicated and genuine which makes a soft tear roll down my cheek.

“Well let’s get this party started now, shall we?” Chris grinned, grabbing my hand and leading me to the couch, where they had already set up laughter-filled games and a playlist of my favorite songs. The atmosphere radiated with joy, and those initial bad memories and emotions I felt faded away, replaced with surprise and joy.

As we celebrated, each laugh, each honest word, chipped away at the walls I had put up to protect myself. The clinking of glasses, the sugary taste of cake, and the joy in my friends' eyes began to stitch together the lost fragments of my broken heart. I realized I wasn’t celebrating the absence of what had been, but rather embracing the promise of what could finally be.

When the time comes to blow out the candles, I wish for something different this year. Not for the day to disappear and be forgotten, but for the future where birthdays would mean love and connection. Laughter and joy echoes through the walls of my soul, when I open my eyes I was met with smiling faces, and I knew, despite all that had been, today had changed my perspective on birthdays.

This birthday was the beginning of a newfound respect for the day I had so long tried to erase—a day I could finally acknowledge as my own, filled with sweetness, acceptance, and the warmth of friendship. Today, I felt more than just celebrated; I felt alive.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |