#that sounds like something that needs a tw

[skhv67]

comforting their partner with depression / during a breakdown

nam-gyu • thanos / choi su-bong • dae-ho

angst, fluff. sfw

tw not proofread

Nam-gyu

• This man is quite awkward with his feelings, so don't expect a sweet heart to heart talk with him.

• Quick to offer solutions, even if you don't ask him. He'll most likely get offended if you tell him you don't need advice and that you just want someone to listen to you. Like, he will listen, but he finds it useless talking about something without reaching for a solution, and he will feel his care is being rejected which will make him feel hurt.

• If this is your preferred way of being comforted, congratulations, because he will take care of all your problems. He's quite smart and knows how to fix whatever situation you find yourself lost in.

• More touchy than usual, but not in like a gentle, soothing way. He'll just be all over you, probably unconsciously, because he deep down wants you to feel better as soon as possible and doesn't know what to do with himself.

• During a breakdown he wouldn't show it but he's panicking HARD. He feels an overwhelming feeling of pain if he sees you gasping for air while trying to unsuccesffuly articulate what's wrong.

• Leans into physical touch and generic words of support to help you during this. His real feelings show through his anxious touches, as if he's trying to physically brush your problems off of you.

• He'll listen to you but if you don't want feedback he won't have much to give you in that situation besides physical comfort.

• If you're in a depression it'll probably wear you two down. I mean, he's most likely depressed even if he's not diagnosed. At best you'll stay together but it'll become a really toxic relationship.

• It's just you two sucking each other's energy and repeating unhealthy coping mechanisms.

• While he wouldn't offer you hard drugs because he still loves and cares about you despite all your problems, he'd provide you weed or alcohol to forget about it for a night. He's an asshole but he wouldn't want to give you an addiction in your worst moment so he'd be careful with it.

• He'd be understanding when you act on your feelings during a bad episode and if you happen to find him in a certain mood he won't take it personally because he can relate to you.

• Out of the three I think he's the most understanding, maybe not the best to help you with it, but he definitely understands you. He knows how depression can affect on your behavior so he won't think badly of you when you have outbursts.

• Shows his care by making you feel seen rather than helping.

Thanos

• Has some slow processing ngl he will see you having a breakdown and will stand in front of you without reacting to check the gravity of the situation.

• So once he actually realizes that something serious is going on, his first instinct is to take your face in his hands and try to calm you down with his words. He's probably not the best in these situations, he doesn't really know how to handle your panic and just tries to make it stop as soon as possible instead of trying to understand the problem.

• Once calmed down he will try to joke around and even make fun of himself to try to make you laugh. His jokes come out more awkwardly than usual, he's not too confident as he's not sure of how you're going to react or if it's the right move to make.

• Makes the mistake of going for quick solutions when you show distress instead of aiming for the root of the problem. This can make you feel a false sense of relief and happiness. He doesn't do it intentionally though, he has his best intentions when he tries to pull you away from your problems even if temporarily.

• If you're in a depression he won't encourage you to get help, he'd probably think he can fix you himself [incorrect buzzer sound]

• Unless you actually take the initiative to share your feelings I don't think he'll pry on them. It's not because he doesn't care, it's just that he avoids thinking too deeply about anything, specially problems. He already avoids his so he will be avoiding yours too, not with malice though. He will show care and has an intense need to make you feel better but he doesn't realize it's too shallow for the situation.

• If you do share your feelings I feel like it'd make him spiral. He can handle himself when he's feeling those things, but he feels so hurt for you and he's lost in what to do. For him it's easy to escape with drugs and fake facades but he would never want that for you and it lowkey makes him panic.

• Would ask everybody and their mother for advice on how to handle it but an actual qualified person. He'd even research on it (with no intention to use the advice on himself lol) and he would somehow be of some help after trying hard, but don't rely entirely on him to get better because there's just so much some internet advices can do.

• There's a 70% of chance of actually getting better with him. His emotional help might not be the best but paired with his lighthearted and fun personality it's definitely more efficient.

Dae-ho

• He's a sweetheart, he'll go above and beyond to make you feel better.

• Seems like the type to try everything really. He will probably panic at first if he finds you crying or if you start showing signs that something's wrong, so probably his first reaction is to soothe you physically.

• During a breakdown he'll calm you down firstly with his words. He'd guide you through your panic with his words and would encourage you to let it all out before you can tell him what's wrong.

• When you're more stable, he'd want to pull you into a hug but he'd adapt himself to whatever his partner prefers. If you don't like physical touch he'll just listen intently, maybe caressing your arm at most. If you don't mind though, he'll lay down with you in his arms for hours until you're calm.

• However if it's something like a depression he'll become your personal cheerleader. He'll give you more attention and will focus on making you know how important you're for him by taking you out in more dates, giving you handmade gifts or offering to do things he knows you want but never ask to do.

• Best believe that if you have depression while being with him you'll get better. He will handle it so well, he'd encourage you to get professional help early on and would support every change you make.

• The only thing he'd do wrong would be being too careful to the point he'd look like he's walking on eggshells, which could make you feel guilty. This would be fixed in a single conversation though, he'd be understanding promosing to be more natural with you.

[seijorhi]

Bloody

Hellhound Umemiya Hajime x female reader

tw: blood and gore, hard vore (not reader), mentions of miscarriage and domestic abuse, physical abuse, yandere-ish

Fairy & Rhi’s Big Bad Valentines Event ~ Here there be monsters

“Girl, take the beast into town.”

You nod mutely. Speak when spoken to, not spoken at, a lesson imparted swiftly and one you do well to remember. 

The Magister gestures at a stuffed knapsack with a roll of parchment, undoubtedly serving as your list for the day, by the door. “Be back by nightfall.” 

You’re dismissed with a flick of his wrist, the Magister already poring over the heavy tome on his desk, a gnarled, ancient finger trawling across the page, muttering to himself in a language you don’t understand. Before the metal collar around your throat can wake, you turn and shoulder the knapsack, gently stuffing the list into the pocket of your dress, and off to find the beast you go.

The cemetery grounds sprawl around the manor, with the sun burning high, you don’t have the time to waste searching for the hellhound. A quick glance tells you he’s not in the immediate vicinity, and, well, you’d know it if he was. There’s nothing for it. From your boot, you pull a small, thin blade and quickly slice it across your palm, biting back on a hiss. Blood wells to the surface – not much, it wasn’t a deep cut, but enough. Tilting your hand, three drops spill to the earth, soaking into the dirt. 

“Umemiya.”

The clouds don’t part and the ground doesn’t shake, one moment there’s nothing, and the next–

“You rang?” The growling rasp of a voice behind you almost immediately dissolves into a bark of laughter, the hellhound endlessly amused by his own quip.

“I need to go into town for the Magister’s deliveries,” you say, eyes fixed to the ground, your own voice quiet. “Would you come with me? Please.” Magister’s orders or not, you don’t dare presume to command anything from a creature who could rip you apart with a single, lazy swat. 

A gust of warm breath billows over you, tousling your hair; an amused chuff. “I suppose I could be convinced.”

This is the part you hate. You squirm on the spot, blunt fingernails biting into the palm of your hand. “There’s a man in town, the baker’s son,” you eventually mumble. A name – not even that. You aren’t condemning him, although he certainly deserves it, merely pointing out his existence.

Although, you suppose that excuse wears thin when, once night falls and you’re safely returned to the manor, Umemiya will take your words to heart and hunt him like prey to devour.

The first time, with the guard you’d seen tormenting one of the stable boys, he’d left the arm on the ground beneath your window, partially chewed, but unmistakable. Proof, you suppose, of his end of the deal. 

He always leaves something. An arm. A mangled foot. Once, part of what you think was a man’s liver. If you weren’t so deathly afraid of him, you might’ve considered asking him to stop, but you haven’t and so he doesn’t. 

“The Baker’s son.” He sounds like he’s mulling it over, weighing the taste of your choice in his head. “You sure?”

No. “Yes.” 

The Magister’s never given any indication he’s aware of the demands his pet hellhound makes every time you’re sent to fetch him. If you give the name of someone the Magister has plans for and he finds out, the punishment won’t be pleasant. If you refuse to make the choice and leave Umemiya behind, the collar around your neck will burn through skin and mangle your throat. You’ll live, and wish you hadn’t. 

But the baker’s son beats his wife and she lost their baby. His name is as good as any.

You turn. The hulking mass of muscle, teeth and claws behind you sits on his haunches, ash white fur wreathed in smoke, two thick horns cracked with veins of glowing red protrude from the top of his head, reaching skyward. He grins, as much as a hellhound can manage, and chuffs again. “No one else?”

Your blood runs cold. Another? 

Does he– is he– 

You don’t have anyone else on your list. Not yet. You need time, you need– you can’t just condemn another person, someone who might be innocent. “N-no?”

Umemiya snorts, leans forward and jolts you into motion with his snout. You take it as acceptance of terms struck and re-shoulder the knapsack.

The journey into town is at least two hours on foot. Dawdling is not a luxury you can afford. 

—

“You’re late. Idiot girl.”

The crack across your face sends you to the floor, ears ringing. Blood, hot and coppery, coats your tongue, your teeth. Seeps from the scratch his garnet ring left behind and drips into the ground below. 

The Magister said nightfall. You know he said nightfall. 

Like a dog, he kicks at your stomach, and like a dog, you curl up to make yourself small and whimper into the dirt. Your face throbs and stings in equal measure. Tears burn unshed and it feels like you’re going to throw up with every shallow, wheezing breath. 

The sun hasn’t set. The collar at your throat lies cold. 

You haven’t broken the rules; the Magister doesn’t care. 

“Next time you’ll do as I say, hm?” Always condescending. Dismissive. Cruel, because whatever shrivelled up inside of his chest surely isn’t a heart. 

You did nothing wrong. You never do and it never makes a difference.

In that moment, it isn’t pain or shock or despair for the unfairness of it all that sparks in your chest and bleeds through your veins like poison. Spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva into the dirt, you screw your eyes shut and surrender to it, for better or worse. 

“Umemiya.”

This time, a growl precedes his arrival. Dark and thunderous, it rattles at your ribs, you feel it down to your core. His shadow sweeps over you, blocking out the dying daylight, and still, you keep your eyes squeezed shut.

“What, you think the beast will help you? Foolish, stupid girl.” 

The insult misses its mark, fuel to the black pit seething inside of you. 

Give me a name. The words aren’t spoken aloud, you hear them in your head, whisper soft but unbending and unflinching. An order. A plea. And it occurs to you then, what Umemiya was pushing for earlier. What he’d been trying to pull from the first time you’d summoned him. He isn’t loyal to the monster who collared you.

The hellhound belongs to the cemetery.

“The Magister.”

You don’t open your eyes when the screams begin, savage snarls and snapping bones. The wet tear of muscle and flesh, the agonised gurgles of an old, dying man. 

The crunching continues long after the cries die out, but you don’t move an inch. You don’t dare look, certain that if you do, you’ll lose the battle you’re waging with your stomach. Violently. The sounds are bad enough.

The padding of his steps is near silent, but the purring rumble as he approaches gives his presence away, and when something wet and heavy drops to the ground in front of you, you slowly crack open an eye.

Umemiya, maw dripping with red, great splatters of it marring his coat, slowly lowers his head to nuzzle at your cheek.

“Give me a name,” he pleads.

His tongue laps at the drying blood, and as your hands sink into the soft, smokey fur, and you gingerly ease yourself upright, you look to the gift he’s laid before you.

The Magister’s heart, a little chewed up, but unmistakable. 

“The parents who sold me.”

[little-glitter-kitten]

I Think The Apple's Rotten Right To The Core Pt 7

Prologue: As your brother, Caleb always took great pride in the fact that he was always the first to notice the little things when it came to you. When you were hurt, when you were sick, when you were lying or keeping a secret. What will Caleb do when he notices just how much his precious little adopted sister has grown? Can he fight the filthy, rotten feelings threatening to ruin all he holds dear?

(Caleb x Reader, no use of 'Y/N, AFAB reader, size difference.)

TW: Pseudo-incest, dub-con, somnophilia, sexting, semi-public sex,  possessive Caleb, Obsessed Caleb, Yandere Caleb.

CALEB POV:

He truly did not mean to take it this far.

Every time he would swear that he was done, that it was the last time, you would do something that sent him spiralling out of control, his morals left in tatters.

He swore he would stop at merely admiring you from afar...but he didn't.

He swore he would stop after the pair of stolen knickers... but he didn't.

He swore he would stop after the feel of your luscious ass against him just once...but he didn't.

He swore he would stop after one glimpse of your pussy.... now he couldn't stop!

He was doomed and he knew it. He had promised himself to not blemish your purity in anyway but the way you had teased him tonight had snapped something inside of him.

Just like he knew you better than anyone else, you also knew him better than anyone else. And you knew exactly what would make him tick.

'It's not my fault this time.'  He tells himself. 'She started it.'

He wasn't a complete monster, he felt immense guilt when you fled his presence the previous night to lock yourself in the bathroom. Giving you the space you clearly needed, he left, intending to come back an hour later to apologise when he heard those beautiful sounds. You were pleasuring yourself. Knowing that he had such an effect was incredible and pushed him further in madness. Solidifying his twisted reasoning.

A shrill ring of the landline telephone breaks him out of his internal monologue.

Grandma rises to her feet as quickly as she can before her hunched figure makes its way to the kitchen to answer the call.

He half-heartedly listens to Grandma talking quietly on the phone but most of his focus remains on you, curled up on the wingback chair. He can't help but smirk, seeing your gaze steadfastly focused on the floor in front of you, as if you're trying to look anywhere but him.

Grandma returns some minutes later, her handbag clutched in her hand.

"Where are you off to at this time of night?" He asks, Caleb's curiosity getting the better of him.

"Poor Mr Lee has had a fall." She shakes her head sadly. "Mrs Lee has asked me to accompany her to the hospital."

"Oh." Caleb hears you say simply.

Looking over, he notices you nervously fidgeting with the hem of your skirt.

'She seems scared...' He thinks to himself. 'Good.'

"I can drive you and Mrs Lee to the hospital." You quickly offer. Caleb can tell your only offering to get out of being left alone with him.

"Oh, sweetheart, thank you, but I'll be okay." Grandma says, already halfway out the front door. "You two don't stay up too late, okay?" And with that the front door clicks shut.

A deafening silence falls over the room. He decides to let you linger in it a little longer.

He watches as your eyes flick between the stairs and him, calculating.

"You never could outrun me, Pipsqueak." He chuckles. "But your more than welcome to try."

That seemed to be all the invitation you needed. You were on your feet in a flash and taking the stairs two at a time. Even though he knew he would get so much more enjoyment out of letting you think you had outrun him, only for him to catch you and shatter your hopes, he couldn't wait.

The second your feet touched that landing, he had you pinned up against his bedroom door, his lean chest pressed up against your back.

"Come." He says, opening the bedroom door and pushing you into his room. "I thinks it's time we had a little chat."

Sitting down on his bed, he pulls your struggling form onto his lap. His arms coming around to circle yours and pin them to your side.

Patiently, he waits for you to stop struggling and squirming. "Are you done."

You nod petulantly, realising you are no match for his strength.

Taking a deep breath, he begins.

"You always knew the most hurtful thing you could do to me is shut me out." He whispers in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder. "I gave you the chance to talk to me like the adult you are, Mèimei. But instead you not only chose to give me the silent treatment but you teased me just to rub salt in the wound."

"I didn't...it..it was an...."

"Bup-bup-bup." He silences you. "Let me speak first."

"'Kay."

"Is this all because I didn't have time to give my girl the orgasm she deserved?" When he doesn't receive a response, he continues. "I did have plans to return the favour, kitten, if you'd had just been patient."

"Caleb...I..." You try to defend yourself. "I swear, I didn't flash you on purpose."

"But the silent treatment was intentional, wasn't it?"

You stay silent but he feels your head nodding against his in agreement.

"You know..." He begins, his fingertips from the arm that isn't holding your arms to side begins to slowly traces patterns on your upper thigh. "even as children, you were an absolute brat when you never got your way."

"No, I wasn't." You huff indignantly.

"Yes, you were." He continues. "Grandma could never see it, so she would never do anything about it. But I think your more than overdue for a lesson, wouldn't you agree?"

Caleb feels you stiffen but pays it no mind as he removes you from his lap and rises to his feet. He towers over you, your wide eyes stare back as you wait to see what he will do next. He decides to take a second to let you stew in your panic before turning you around and pushing you face first onto the bed. Your feet still planted on the floor beside it, tried to push back.

"Stop struggling." He grunts as he drapes himself over your back, his semi-erect dick against your ass and his lips against your ear. "Because we both know this excites you just as much as it does me."

He heard you sigh before your body went limp. He knew he was right, and clearly so did you.

"I have years worth of grievances to work out with you, Pipsqueak." He growled, one hand pinning your arms to the bed as the other trailed up your leg, under the hem of your dress. "And this won't be over until I've ensured you've paid your debt for every...single...one."

His hand rubbed across the globes of your ass, stopping every so often to squeeze a handful of the flesh.

He knew it was wrong, but he could no longer bring himself to feel guilt about sullying you. Because, he realised, as you pushed your ass wantonly against his wandering hand, he couldn't bruise you because you were already rotten. You were just as rotten as he was.

Taglist: @aloverofhotmenrealorfiction @3fluffyfoxyxx @mcdepressed290 @kokonut-nutm

[animeyanderelover]

How about a yandere! Giyu Tomioka with a female s/o from the real world? She was found by him who seem to recognize him as she was nearly devoured by a demon... She was taken to the Demon Headquarters of course she gave important information about what Muzan's true goal. Maybe Giyu getting obsessed with her besides her beauty but also smart she is. Maybe a shocking plot twist Kagaya was the reincarnation of her father who died in a car accident when he was going to give her a birthday present.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, overprotective behavior, paranoia

Tags: @leveyani @nightmaresprophet

S/o is Kagaya’s daughter from another world

🌊​Luck seems to favor you on that night as a demon assaults you in the forests for if Giyu wouldn't have passed by, your journey would have ended in the most tragic and horrifying way. It seems like your time to die has not arrived just yet as the Water Hashira jumps in, using his sword skills to slay the demon and by doing so saving your life. His facial expression barely changes as he does so, for him this moment is something that he witnesses often. The shock and fear on your face is hardly a surprise as very few people know of the existence of demons in Japan. There is a glint of awe in them, something that definitely surprises him though ultimately he could still excuse it as you merely seeing him as your savior and hero, titles he doesn't think that he deserves. The one emotion that he doesn't understand is the recognition that follows as you gaze at him with wide eyes. In his mind there is no recollection of having ever met you before this night after all yet you look at him as if you have known him for a long time. There's a thick silence before he finally decides to ask how you are feeling and from where you are so that he can accompany you back home.

🌊​You do not seem to know how to answer that initially, the long pause you give him only slightly bothering him. Perhaps you are still under shock from what you just went through so Giyu decides to give you a while to recollect yourself though he will not wait too long for you. Then there is this odd look of determination that crosses your face though as if you have just made your mind up about something and that confuses the Hashira quietly. What could the reason for your abrupt determination be after all? The next few sentences that leave your lips sound as like the talks of a deranged woman and a part of him almost wants to believe that this is the aftermath of the shock you went through or that you have perhaps just always been crazed. It isn't until you mention his name that Giyu snaps out of the silent state of growing awkwardness and he was feeling, wondering how he would be supposed to reply to that and how to part ways of you quickly. However, he is confident that he has never met you and there is no one you could have known who is an acquaintance of him which begs the question of how you know about him. The way he silently judges you does not go unnoticed by you.

🌊​You could have simply retold Giyu's entire past to convince him of your words yet you don't think that that would be a good idea so you merely decide to tell the events of this world that have happened so far. The sheer amount of information and knowledge that you hold is ultimately enough to convince Giyu to take you with him as he doesn't know what else he is supposed to do with you. It would be dangerous to leave you alone though, especially if a demon would find you and take you to Muzan. So he curtly informs you that you will travel with him before he turns around and walks away, blue eyes throwing glances behind his back to ensure that you are following him. Taking you with him slows him down significantly as he is so much more fitter than you could ever hope to be and there are times where you worry that he is secretly annoyed with the constant breaks you need yet if he is feeling frustrated than he does an excellent job of not showing it. By the time you reach the headquarters, you are out of breath and physically at your limit which is why you spend a bit of time at Shinobu's mansion to recover from the long journey all whilst Giyu informs Kagaya of what has occured during his mission.

🌊​Not every Hashira immediately believes in you when the information spreads of what you claim to be and no one is more vocal about that than Obanai and Sanemi. People like Shinobu are not hostile but you still sense the silent doubt that surrounds her when she talks to you. It takes Kagaya's words and his confirmation that he believes in your claims for them to at least slow down on their accusing words and on their words that you are either insane or a liar. It isn't like Kagaya just believed you the moment he met you though. No, it took hours of conversations where he dug deep to truly figure out if you had just a talented imagination. Once you have convinced him that what you are saying is nothing but the truth, Kagaya asks you almost immediately if you would be interested to assist him and the demon slayers in their plans to slay Muzan and you quickly agree. After all you have a chance to save all the characters that would die in time otherwise as your abilities have given you a responsibility to do the right thing. Whilst not everyone welcomes you with open arms though, there are some people who are nice to you. Especially the girls in the Butterfly mansion where you help out often.

🌊​Mitsuri and Rengoku are the nicest of all the Hashira to you and actually go out of their ways to get to know you and to help you settle in. Tengen and Muichiro are also quite pleasant to spend time with though they have certain quirks that tend to overwhelm you at times. Shinobu warms up to you too as you start working with the girls that she has taken in and now that it has been confirmed that you are indeed from another world she expresses much more interest. Giyu has been avoiding you ever since Kagaya spoke out for you and told the Hashira that he believes your claims though. Whilst now it makes sense of why you recognised him on that night it has also made Giyu realise that you probably know more about him than he would be ever comfortable with. His past is a burden that he has carried all by himself yet now it turns out that you know all of it and that without him even having had a word in it. Every Hashira knows that and all take it differently but Giyu is the only one who actively avoids you for it. You know of his failures, of his inability to save people. Though you have never even hinted at any of those things it is Giyu's own low self-worth that has him filling out the blanks without even caring to check if any of it is true or not.

🌊​It is difficult to find Giyu as he hides from your sight. His senses and physical abilities are far superior to your own so you never have the chance to catch up to him even if you spot him. His deliberate absence hurts, especially since you never had the chance to properly thank him for saving you and it manages to affect your mood enough for others to notice. Mitsuri is the first one who decides to ask you why you have been looking so affected for a while now and with nothing really left to do you express your current conflict to her. Mitsuri, as determined and always willing to help as she is, decides to help you. She hatches a plan with Shinobu and at one point Rengoku joins in as well as he views Giyu's current avoidance as very unmanly, especially since all you want to do is express your gratitude. So Giyu is assaulted by three Hashira at once who drag him to you and force him to sit down and listen as you get your chance to thank him. Initially Giyu looks mildly traumatised when he is brought to you, then he turns stiff when he is left alone with you only to be left surprised when you earnestly thank him. That short creak is quickly hidden beneath his cold facade though as he brushes your words off.

🌊​He isn't worthy of such high words given to him and you of all people should know that best. After all you know what has happened in his past, how he has let down all the people who meant something to him. It's when he mutters those words to you do you realise for the first time what is going on and why he has been avoiding you so much ever since it turned out that what you said to him on that night was the truth. For a few moments you don't really know what you can do to comfort him but you still decide to at the very least confess to him that you have never once thought of blaming him for the past nor that you have ever thought of him as unworthy of his position as the Water Hashira. You leave it at that as you don't know how to proceed, just hope that he is going to at least know that you have spoken your truth and have meant every word you just formed. You wouldn't say that Giyu interacts more with you after that day but you are at the very least glad to see that he stops avoiding you willingly from that day on. Time passes as you are kept a strict secret within the headquarters as it would be a catastrophe if Muzan would find out about your existence.

🌊​The dynamic between you and some of the Hashira changes when you one day let Kagaya in on the fact that your late father from your world who tragically passed away in an accident looks exactly like him and had even a very similar personality to him. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why you don't feel as lonely and lost as you could have been when you were initially brought to this new world. Spending time with him feels like spending time with your father who you have lost at a young age and Kagaya himself confesses in return that he thinks of you as a daughter just as much, paternal feelings he has been harboring almost since the first day where he met you and talked to you about your claims. That dynamic between the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps and you causes even people like Obanai and Sanemi to treat you with a slice more of respect whilst only serving to intimidate someone like Giyu. Your words have touched his heart but that hasn't erased years worth of insecurities and low self-worth and seeing how Kagaya treats you like a beloved daughter of his puts an invisible pressure on him as he feels like he has to prove himself to Kagaya with the feelings that have recently started to blossom.

🌊​Giyu has never felt such strong emotions before for anyone and the intensity of them occasionally scares him. Coupled with the sudden knowledge that Kagaya thinks so dearly of you almost has him pulling away from you once more yet he knows that if he were to do that this time only more eyes would be watching him as a result. So he tries to act as normal as he can whilst still ending up trying to avoid you, taking on more missions as he runs away from his own emotions. The eyes never lie though and his eyes constantly follow you when you are within his vision, analysing and observing every little gesture of yours. There is bitter bile that rises up at the back of his throat when Tengen flirts around you or when Rengoku makes you laugh but instead of interfering Giyu just observes from the distance. He wouldn't blame you if you were to fall for someone like Rengoku, Tengen or Gyomei as all of them are men he thinks are much more stronger and suited to make someone like you happy. Honestly, he wishes he could settle with this mindset and give up yet you just have to kill him a bit every time you visit him to see how he is doing and how his most recent mission has gone.

🌊​Then Zenitsu, Inosuke and Tanjiro join the headquarters just like you have always known they would. There is no conflict when Nezuko appears this time as everyone has been already informed of the role she will play in the future. You immediately spend a lot of time with the four newcomers, something that only continues to make Giyu silently sick as you almost spend too much time with them even when he is around. Yet it is Zenitsu who finally manages to have Giyu act on his feelings a tad bit more, especially once he sees his attempts to woo you. Tengen playfully flirts with you at times but at the very least there Giyu still knew that the Sound Hashira already had his three wives that he loves. Zenitsu is different as he makes a fuss over every pretty girl, though Nezuko and you seem to be his main focus. Zenitsu is persistent, loud and everything Giyu considers annoying. The part that gets on his nerves the most though is the fact that he realises early on that Zenitsu has a habit to swoon over every lady and that is what offends him ultimately the most. You deserve a man who only has eyes for you and Zentisu clearly lacks that hence why Giyu has no reason to feel like he isn't enough.

🌊​His surprisingly harsh words frighten the yellow-haired boy permanently as he one day catches Zenitsu handing you a bunch of flowers he picked in a field. Giyu's expression is already dark enough when he approaches before he starts criticising the boy, reprimanding him for not focusing enough on training and telling him harshly that he chose the wrong profession if all he wants to do is flirt with girls. Even you can't help but think that he was a bit too harsh on Zenitsu after the boy has bowed and apologised for about 50 times before sprinting away though Giyu is swift to diagree with you on this. His furrowed eyebrows and the angry glint in his eyes all soften when he gazes at you, a sudden silence enveloping you as Giyu can feel his heart picking up. For a moment it looks like he wants to say something before he realises that his mouth won't move, ending in him ultimately leaving you silently. Doubt has already spread that he could ever live with himself by only watching you from a distance and risk that someone else is going to woo you. He doesn't think that his heart could handle the sight of that, not with the way that you have taken over his mind already.

🌊​Hasn't his love caused him already to act far more than he intended to do anyways? The answer could only ever be yes to that question. After all even other Hashira have caught him whenever Giyu found himself silently trailing behind you when he caught you wandering around the headquarters. Whenever the Water Hashira catches you at night outside the headquarters he is always swift to pull you back and drag you back inside, scolding you for your reckless decision to leave even though you know that demons could be anywhere. It doesn't matter if you have company with you. If there is at the very least a Hashira who accompanies you he would be more subtle with his displeasure. If it is anyone who isn't a Hashira he is going to tear them apart with harsh words as they should know better than to take you, who doesn't even know how to wield a sword properly, outside despite the strict rule that you must be kept a secret from Muzan at all costs. What if something were to happen to you? Every action Giyu does, he has to be extremely careful though. After all everyone is watching, from the other Hashira to Kagaya who holds you so dear to his heart.

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 9 - The Point Of No Return Summary: You choose to spend the night with Arthur, seeking warmth and solace in each other's arms as the storm rages outside. But as the night deepens, so does the pull between you, an unstoppable tide of desire that neither of you can no longer resist. wc: 19.7k (good god) tw: NSFW 18+, minors DNI. More under the cut. There is so many, its diabolical. Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Surprise, I said I would post this tomorrow but I actually finished it early! Oh boy, here we go. I am so out of touch with reality, touching grass is not nearly enough. Cheers!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @misosoup1001 @sarah-heyes @kindadolly @atticssmellgood @bomdada

tw: pwp. monster genitalia. two cocks. oral!both recieving. p in v, no protection. breeding kink. creampies. anal. double penetration. overstimulation. biting. primal mating instincts. dirty talk. slight pain kink. That about covers it!

I was done fighting this—done pretending my body didn’t crave him, that my soul wasn’t drawn to his like the tide to the moon. We were two creatures who should never have found each other, never have touched, never have felt this unbearable pull. 

I am human. Arthur is… not. Half-man, half-siren—a being my people dismissed as myths, whispered as warnings, something both beautiful and terrible, born of the abyss.

But he wasn’t a nightmare to me. He was a promise. One wrapped in the shimmer of a pearl, in the memory of his lips and tongue claiming me as if I already belonged to him.

I was so afraid that if I spoke one more word I’d blurt out that I was in love with him. And that was insane. I wanted to ask—did he feel it too? Could sirens even feel love? Or was this just instinct, some primal need woven into his nature? I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure I cared. Not when his hand slid lower, heat blooming beneath my skin where his palm lingered, leaving a fire that only he could quench.

Tonight, one way or another, I would give myself to him. I would let him take me, claim me, drown me in the depths of whatever this was. And gods help me, I was ready to beg for it.

I had no idea what it meant to be his mate. Was I about to make a terrible mistake?

Those thoughts shattered the moment his thumb grazed over my hardened nipple, slow and deliberate, as if testing how much I could take. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

With his chest flush against my back, the storm outside raged on, wind howling, rain battering the facility’s walls—but it was nothing compared to the storm unraveling between us. The heat of his body seeped through my clothes, igniting every nerve in my skin. A soft, breathless moan escaped my lips as he rolled the sensitive peak between his fingers, and I felt the warm rush of air from his gills, a shuddering exhale against my shoulder, like he was sighing in bliss.

“You’re sensitive here,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with quiet reverence, as if he was making some careful observation rather than teasing me to the edge of madness.

I nodded, arching ever so slightly, seeking more. “Yes… I am.” The words came out uneven, little more than a whisper, but he hummed in response, a pleased, knowing sound that sent a thrill through my belly.

The barrier of my clothing was unbearable, tormenting, and I silently pleaded for him to tear it away—to rid me of anything that kept his skin from mine. But Arthur, ever patient, took his time. One hand continued its torturous attention to my breasts, rolling and pinching the stiffened peaks, while the other drifted lower, tracing slow, teasing circles over my stomach. Each movement burned, his webbed fingers barely skimming the waistband of my pants, making me tremble with anticipation.

I rocked my hips forward, a silent plea, urging him to touch me where I ached the most. Instead, Arthur leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of my throat, warm breath fanning against my skin before his teeth ghosted over the pulse hammering beneath. The first pass of his tongue sent shivers through me, a slow, sinuous lick that left a trail of heat in its wake. I moaned, tilting my head, offering him more, and he took it—pressing his mouth to the column of my throat, drinking in every quiver, every shudder.

He could taste it, I realized. The need thrumming through me, the way my body betrayed me with every ragged breath, every rapid beat of my heart. Sirens could sense desire—could drown themselves in it. And Arthur… Arthur was reveling in it.

He pinched my nipple again, rougher this time, sending another wave of pleasure spiraling through me. My hips jerked, seeking friction, and before I could stop myself, I reached up. My fingers tangled in the damp hair at the base of his skull, clutching him to me. A deep, rumbling growl of pleasure vibrated against my skin, his grip tightening as his body rocked into mine.

There was no denying it now. The proof of his own need pressed against me, hard and insistent beneath his scales. His breathing had turned heavier, rougher, lips still tracing along my throat, tasting, savoring, claiming.

We were both unraveling, caught in the storm we had no hope of escaping.

Spreading his fingers wide, he finally dipped below my waistband, and my breath stilled, caught somewhere between anticipation and desperation. His touch was torturously slow as he explored lower, gliding through the dark curls before slipping into the slick heat waiting for him. My body welcomed him eagerly, a moan tumbling from my lips, raw and pleading.

Arthur hissed out a long, shuddering breath against my ear, the sound vibrating through me. His fingers flexed, carefully angling to keep his claws from scraping my sensitive skin, moving with a gentleness that made my chest ache. He explored me as if I were something sacred, something fragile despite the hunger in his touch. I arched into him, seeking more, but his palm remained just out of reach. Teasing. Testing. My frustration curled into something hotter, needier.

The webs between his fingers pressed into me, creating delicious ridges that dragged against my throbbing core. Every slow, gliding stroke sent a pulse of heat rolling through my spine. Fuck. It felt so good. So devastatingly good.

“My girl,” he growled, his voice molten, so deep and low that it settled in my bones. “You are wet… and so soft.”

The way he bit out that last word, rough and devout, sent a thrill down my spine. A whimper left my throat before I could stop it.

Arthur pressed his lips against the shell of my ear. “Move your hips for me, pretty girl. I want to watch you ride my hand.”

Something inside me shattered. A new sound spilled from me—a mix between a cry and a whimper, need unraveling into something desperate. Leaning back against him, I let my body move like a wave, rolling into his touch. Each slow, purposeful grind against his fingers had heat licking up my spine, my moans growing softer, breathier. I bit my lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but fuck—he felt perfect.

I opened my eyes, my vision hazy, only to be met with Arthur’s gaze—those dark, endless pools drinking me in as his hand disappeared between my thighs. His lips curled, tongue darting out as if he could taste every slick, needy sound filling the space between us. His pupils flared, hunger darkening his expression.

Arthur leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. “Close your eyes… just feel.”

A shudder ripped through me at the command, his voice dripping with something possessive, something all-consuming.

My cheeks burned, heat licking up my neck as my breath turned frantic, every exhale breaking into little gasps. I changed my rhythm, rolling my hips faster, pressing harder, chasing that rising heat curling tight in my core. The tension coiled, winding itself into something unbearable—until it snapped.

Pleasure crashed over me like a wave, thighs shaking as I shattered around him. A long, drawn-out moan broke free from my lips, my body trembling, muscles clenching around the fingers still stroking me through it.

Arthur held me close, one hand slipping up to cup my chin, tilting my face toward his. His lips found mine in a kiss that was slow, claiming, fervent.

“Beautiful,” he murmured against my mouth. His voice was hoarse, filled with something deeper than lust. “You come so pretty, my girl.”

Drawing his fingers out, I caught the glistening evidence of my desire illuminated in the soft, pulsing glow of his bioluminescence. My breath hitched as I watched, completely entranced, while he brought his fingers to his mouth, those dark lips parting just enough for that inky blue tongue to flick out. He sucked his fingers in slowly, deliberately, his tongue lapping at his palm with a deep, indulgent hum. The ridges along the surface of it caught my attention, my mind spiraling with the thought of how they might feel dragging over my skin, exploring every inch of me.

It must feel incredible.

Arthur's gills flared wide, both at his neck and ribs, revealing the delicate, pink membranes hidden within. A shudder rolled through his body, his exhale coming out as something primal, something utterly unrestrained.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, his voice a low, reverberating thing that seemed to vibrate through my core, settling deep between my legs. “Whatever this is, I wish to coat myself in it.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up my spine, setting my skin ablaze with anticipation. And then, finally, his hands were on me again—frantic, needy—tugging at my clothes as though they were the only thing keeping him from fully devouring me. His fingers trembled slightly as they pulled at the fabric, urgency seeping into every movement.

Like I might vanish with the wind.

He yanked at my top, and I lifted my arms to help him, the garment disappearing in one swift motion. But my pants proved more of an ordeal—my legs shook as I tried to help, my body already weakened from his touch. Arthur let out a soft growl, impatience flashing across his face before he took control. His large hands wrapped around my calf, spinning me effortlessly toward him. My breath left me in a rush as he dragged my pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, the brush of his fingertips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through me.

Then he tossed them aside, forgotten.

For the first time, I stood completely bare before him. The heavy humid air kissed my overheated skin, briefly cooling the sweat that clung to me, but I barely noticed. My entire world had narrowed to the man in front of me, to the way his glowing skin reflected off the curves of my body, making me feel like something otherworldly myself.

Arthur drank me in, his gaze searing and hungry. Barely contained restraint coiled through his muscles, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might snap.

I should be afraid. A small, distant voice in my head whispered that I should tell him to stop. That I was standing before something not entirely human, something born from myth, from nightmares.

But I wasn’t afraid.

Somewhere deep inside me, I knew he would be gentle. That he would take his time before fully claiming me.

And all at once, I wanted to know him. To explore him. And to be explored. I had a feeling Arthur wanted the same thing. 

"Teach me how humans mate," Arthur spoke, his voice rough, the words clawing up his throat like he was trying—desperately—to hold himself back.

I faced him fully now, shuffling forward on my knees, closing the space between us until my breasts nearly brushed against his chest. His breathing was uneven, ragged, his gills flaring open as though he couldn’t quite get enough air. I tried to keep my focus locked onto his face, not letting my gaze drift too low—to where his human torso met the shimmering scales of his tail. That junction between two worlds, two forms.

Instead, I leaned in, close enough that the delicate fins near where his ear would be quivered from my breath.

"Remember when I said humans like to kiss everywhere?" I asked, voice soft, teasing.

Arthur nodded, the movement stiff, restrained. Something inside me thrilled at the way he held himself so still, at the way his body hummed with tension just beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the moment to strike.

A rush of boldness overtook me, a primal instinct answering his own. Slowly, I lifted one knee over his lap, straddling him fully, my weight settling onto the powerful expanse of his tail. The moment our bodies met, slick against slick, his breath hitched. He was wet—just as wet as I was—and that realization sent a spark of heat raging through me, settling low in my stomach.

I felt my lips brush against the sensitive seam of his mating slit, the place where he was still keeping himself hidden from me. Not yet, his body seemed to say. Not until he was ready. But he felt me there, pressing against that heat, and his whole frame went rigid beneath me.

Like he was unsure what to do next.

I let my full weight sink down on him, savoring the way his hands flexed against me, how his fingers twitched at my waist like he was trying to memorize the feel of me. Reaching for one of those broad, webbed hands, I guided it to my breast, shivering as he cupped me with a gentleness that made my stomach tighten. His fingers squeezed—tentative at first, then firmer as he felt my body respond to his touch.

"Well..." I exhaled, breathless, eyes fluttering shut as a slow, aching warmth spread through my core. "Kiss me wherever you like."

A sharp sound tore from his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, his fingers spasming at my waist. Then he moved—instinct taking over—his head dipping low as he pressed a lazy, weighted lick over the curve of my breast.

Heat flashed through me, my back bowing as a startled hiss escaped my lips. Arthur didn’t stop. His tongue, ridged and hot, dragged over my nipple in a long, sweeping stroke, the sensation nearly overwhelming. The growl that rumbled against my skin only made the coil inside me tighten further.

Gods above.

His mouth—that mouth—latched onto me, his lips sealing over the sensitive bud, sucking, tasting, devouring. His tongue flicked, his sharp teeth grazing my skin without breaking it, just a whisper of danger curling at the edges of pleasure.

I arched against him, hands flying to his head, fingers digging into the thick, damp strands of his hair as I held him there, desperate for more. Arthur made a sound of approval, the vibrations rippling straight through me, and then his other hand traced up my spine, urging me to lean back, offering myself to him.

And I did.

I let him hold me open, let my body stretch and bend for him. And as I shifted, as my hips rolled forward, I felt it—something new.

Instead of the firm, smooth ridges of his finger webs, this time, I met something softer. Something slick and hot and pulsing. My clit rubbed against his, throbbing and oh so sensitive. The folds of his slit pressed against me, and I realized—our bodies were kissing in more ways than one.

But fuck, those ridges.

They were so distracting, so different—so much a reminder that he was not a human man. And yet, that only fueled my hunger, my need to know him, to understand every foreign, exquisite part of him. I wanted to know every difference. Every inch. Every piece that set him apart.

I dragged my nails down the back of his neck, tracing the delicate, bioluminescent patterns there, feeling the warmth of his blood pulsing just beneath the surface. The tremor that coursed through him at my touch. And beneath me—gods—I could feel the steady, pulsing rhythm of his twin heartbeats against my clit, where we met, where our heat mixed and tangled. A rhythm that felt dangerously in sync with my own.

A deep, guttural growl erupted from his chest, vibrating through my skin, making my stomach tighten with longing. The sound was primal, possessive, a predator reveling in his claim.

I wanted him to lose control. Wanted to feel him shatter against me.

Then there was a sharp nip.

Arthurs lips left my breast, only for his sharp teeth to close over my nipple in a teasing bite. I gasped, a quick, startled sound, pleasure tinged with the faintest sting—until his tongue was there, soothing, laving over the mark with slow, languid strokes. My head tipped back, spine curving as I let myself feel it. The wet heat, the soft scrape of ridges. 

Those iridescent threads. His mark.

He pulled back, his eyes locked onto my chest, staring at where his mouth had been. Something primal flashed across his features, a mix of pride and possession.

Following his gaze, I looked down. Beautiful, glimmering strands of his touch radiated from my nipple, delicate yet meticulous. The patterns mirrored those that lined his tail—intricate, artistic, like brushstrokes from a painter’s hand.

I shuddered. He was painting me. Claiming me.

“I like it,” I whispered, voice breathy, tinged with wonder. “I like knowing that you were here.”

And I did. Gods help me, I really did.

The thought of his marks hidden beneath my clothes—just like the ones on my ear, little pinpricks of salt-laced pain—it thrilled me. A reminder that I was taking something ancient, something untamed, to my bed. Arthur wasn’t human, and that truth only made me crave him more. And he would take me exactly how he wanted.

Arthur’s smile stretched across his face, soft at the edges but smoldering in the center. It was slow and devastating. His eyes crinkled as he licked his lips—as if he could still taste me there.

“I lose myself when you touch me, my love.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.”

His hands slid up my thighs, fingers lingering, exploring, memorizing. Then, with effortless strength, he pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around my back as he carried me with him into the water.

The coolness rushed over me in a stark contrast to the feverish heat we had built between us, and I gasped as the sensation sent goosebumps erupting across my skin.

"I want to savor you," Arthur murmured, voice like a promise against my lips. "Not rush this."

I shuddered at the promise in his voice. “Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

Leaning up, I let my tongue glide from his lips to his throat and then gills, feeling his skin twitch beneath the touch. The reaction was instant, involuntarily. A shudder wracked through him, his gills flaring wide, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass with a bruising grip.

A pleased growl rumbled from his chest, deep and low. “Gods, you are so fucking perfect.”

And then he sealed his mouth over mine once again. The moment I breathed him in, he pulled me under.

The water enveloped us in a cool, silken embrace, the world above dissolving into muted ripples. My senses sharpened—the strength of his arms around me, the steady thrumming of his twin heartbeats against my chest, the way his body fit against mine as if molded by the sea itself. His lips never left mine, coaxing, devouring, claiming.

Beneath the water, we moved as one, our bodies shifting, adjusting, discovering. Fingers tracing, mouths tasting, breaths mingling in the space between us.

I opened my eyes, finding his already watching me. And in that endless, glowing blue, I saw it—the hunger, the awe, the reverence.

This was no simple act of desire. Arthur wasn’t just taking me. He was drowning in me. 

And gods help me, I wanted to drown with him.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Moving quickly through the tank, I had little time to process exactly where Arthur was taking me. The water, dark and thick, swirled around us, alive with hidden movement. 

I closed my eyes, leaning in closer, tucking my head under Arthur's chin as he guided us effortlessly through the darkness. Trusting him, every inch of me surrendering to the rhythm of his movements. There was a strange peace in that—letting go completely, not needing to know where we were headed.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my mind. Was he taking me back to his underwater cave? That dark, secret place where he'd made a nest for himself? It seemed cozy for someone like him, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I would fit into that picture. It was his world, and the thought of mating there instead of making love like humans did felt strangely daunting. It was as if everything about him was alien, untouchable, even though his touch burned through me with a heat I couldn’t escape.

I tried to push the thought aside. I could breathe through him, of course, but the idea of slipping up—of inhaling a lungful of water—sent a sudden pang of fear through me. The panic threatened to pull me out of the moment, to make me pull away, but then I felt him, strong and sure, guiding us deeper.

The faint sound of a lock clicking, followed by the soft hiss of something sliding open, pulled my attention back. What was that? Had he figured out a way to enter different parts of the tank? My thoughts swirled with curiosity, but before I could process it, he pushed us to the surface.

The cool rush of air met my face, and I inhaled deeply, tasting the fresh sea salt on my tongue. I opened my eyes, blinking to adjust to the change in light. It took me a moment, but then it hit me. I recognized the space around us.

We were in the Atlantic seal exhibit—the one at the back of the facility. It was open-air, but sheltered beneath a massive pavilion. The glass walls that surrounded the pool protected the seals from the elements, and the storm outside was beginning to lose its fury.

The seals had been brought inside for safety, their sleek bodies resting in the shallows. The water here was calm, warm, and much shallower than before, and the edges of the pool curved, inviting the seals to rest on the soft dips. It felt almost tranquil, a contrast to the storm that raged just beyond the walls.

But what truly caught my attention, what held me in place for a moment, was the view beyond the glass.

The open ocean stretched out below us, a wild, dark expanse, and the last remnants of the hurricane were fading away. The clouds were parting slowly, leaving behind a blanket of stars, so sharp and vivid they almost seemed too close. The storm’s thunder had quieted to a low rumble in the distance, almost like the earth itself was sighing in relief.

For a fleeting second, it felt as if the world had slowed, as if I could see everything in the universe, all at once, and still—I only wanted him.

Arthur released me from his embrace, and I slowly stepped away, my feet barely reaching the bottom of the pool as I moved toward the glass. The water lapped softly around me, the ripples glistening in the dim light as I knelt on the dip in the pool, pushing myself out of the water. As I did, gooseflesh prickled across my skin, a divergence from the heat that still lingered on me from his touch. 

The ocean breeze, cool and refreshing, swept through me, kissing my flesh like a lover’s soft caress. I closed my eyes and let it wash over, feeling the weight of the storm outside beginning to recede, and I drank in the sensation. The air felt pure, eclectic, a relief from the suffocating humidity of the facility without its air circulation.

I savored the moment, as if the world had paused just for me to take it in.

I felt him before I heard him. Arthur, swimming up behind me, his presence as natural as the water that flowed around us. He joined my side, his movements fluid and effortless. He pushed himself up onto the lip of the pool, his torso settling comfortably on the edge. His gaze, however, was lost, staring beyond the glass, at the endless stretch of ocean and the crashing waves below. 

There was something about the way he looked out at it, a deep, quiet longing that tugged at something inside me. His muscles rippled slightly, his back arched in a way that made the light catch on his skin, revealing the subtle curve of his powerful form.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said, his voice thick and low, full of unspoken emotions, “I’ve been sneakin’ in here after hours to watch the sunrise.”

I glanced up at him, my heart skipping a beat at the way he seemed to blend into the shadows and the soft light, almost as if he were part of the ocean itself. I stood on the dipped edge of the pool, my head barely reaching his chin, and I felt the vulnerability of the moment—the closeness between us, but also the weight of his words.

With gentle hands, I brought his face back to mine, my fingers brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw. I tilted his head just enough to look into his eyes, hoping he could see my sincerity, the quiet plea in my gaze.

“You can go wherever you please, Arthur,” I whispered, my voice soft but certain. “This place,” I swept my arm around the pool, motioning to the space around us, “this facility—it’s not a cage. If you wish to leave, I’ll make it happen.” My throat tightened as I searched for the right words. "I never want you to feel like you're..." I trailed off, knowing it wasn’t as simple as that.

Arthur’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, but it was his eyes that spoke louder than any words. They told me something far more complicated than just the idea of freedom. They told me about a man torn between the world he was forced to live in and the world he wanted. 

And as much as I wanted to give him everything, to take him away from all this, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. 

I swallowed, feeling the weight of the truth settle in my chest. No matter how I spun it, the truth was clear—he was trapped here, at least for now. The world outside had hurt him too much. The people who had done this to him needed to be held accountable, and I would make sure they were. Whether it was behind bars, or not breathing at all. But for now, we were stuck in this cage together.

Before I could voice any of those tangled thoughts, Arthur’s deep voice, familiar and reassuring, rumbled through me, “I’m right where I want to be, darlin’.”

And in that moment, with the soft crash of the waves and the quiet hum of the night around us, I realized that maybe he was right.

Leaning down, Arthur captured me in another kiss, his lips devouring mine with an urgency that took my breath away. His hands grasped me tightly, pulling me closer, and as I moved, his tail slid between my legs, the strong muscles and smooth scales gliding against my clit. The heat surged back, a sharp contrast to the coolness of the water, as if it had never truly left. I felt the pulse of his presence in every inch of my skin, the weight of him, the intensity of everything that had brought us here.

In this position, Arthur was above me, his body looming like a protective force, a reminder of that first morning we spent together. That day, when I had explored him with nothing but curiosity and a featherlight touch, unsure of what I would find. Now, it was a different kind of exploration, deeper, more intimate. 

My fingers traced down his neck, feeling the ripple of muscles beneath my touch, and then over the delicate curve of his gills. They fluttered under my fingertips like fragile wings, their texture a world of their own. I marveled at how strong and yet so vulnerable they were, the way they moved with his breath, rising and falling in a rhythm that mirrored the twin heartbeats within his chest.

When my hands reached the larger gills on his side, Arthur froze. I could feel his body tense, every muscle going rigid at the lightest touch. I ghosted my fingers over the delicate filaments, and he shuddered beneath me, his breath hitching.

"S-sweetheart," his voice was shaky, strained, "when you touch me like that, it's..."

A giggle escaped my throat, the sound light but filled with an unmistakable thrill. "Sensitive?" I teased, my grin widening as I felt the power of the moment shift in my favor. 

To tease him, to give him a taste of the same pleasure and torment he brought me—it was intoxicating. I rolled my fingers over the silky membrane of his gills, and he let out a choked groan, the sound so raw and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down my spine.

"F-fuck... ngh—y-yes," Arthur hissed, his voice thick with the tension building in his body. His tail lashed through the water, the movement so powerful that it nearly knocked me off my feet. The sensation of his raw need, the way his body writhed under my touch, was almost more than I could bear.

But as much as I reveled in the sight of him undone, overstimulated by the sensation of my fingers on his gills, it wasn't quite what I had in mind. My hands left the sensitive slits, and I felt the heavy release of his breath, a sigh that seemed to escape from deep within his chest. I trailed my fingers lower, shifting my focus, and I watched him closely, never breaking eye contact as I moved.

Arthur, sensing what I intended, leaned back slightly, resting his head against the glass wall that separated us from the open sea. His eyes, dark pools of sapphire, locked onto mine with a trust so intense it made my heart ache. There was so much unspoken between us, so much he allowed me to see of him. And yet, even in this moment, it was clear that his body—his autonomy—was something he gave me, something he allowed me to touch. 

But still never truly owned in its entirety.

As I traced the edge of his mating slit, I saw the vulnerability in him—raw and exposed, a part of him that he rarely let anyone witness. His trust in me was palpable, and with every touch, every movement, I realized just how much of himself he had granted me. The realization settled deep in my chest, a weight that made the moment feel even more intimate, more meaningful. His longing was written all over him, but this was his body, his choice. 

I was still learning, still understanding how much of him was his own, no matter how familiar our bodies felt together. Arthur was not a human man. 

“Is this okay?” I asked softly, the sincerity in my voice offering him the freedom to refuse if he needed it. But the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know—he wasn’t going to pull away.

Arthur’s grin spread wider, his tongue flicking out in a teasing motion, his impatience barely contained. “You know you don’t have to ask, pretty girl.” The wink he shot my way was playful, yet something about it sent a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, a spark of anticipation racing through me.

It wasn’t the answer I’d expected, but it was more than enough—permission granted, clear and everlasting. 

I took a slow breath, letting my fingers hover over his slit for a heartbeat before I let them dance along its edge. The sensation of his heat under my fingertips was exhilarating, and I let my hand slip lower, gliding over the silky smoothness of his need. I coated my fingers with the same arousal I had given his hand earlier, savoring the feeling of him in my touch. He was so wet, and it was all for me.

Arthur’s breathing deepened, the weight of his gasps reverberating through the space between us. His gills flared wide, the movement so primal it almost felt like he was trying to inhale the very air from my lungs. The tension in him was unmistakable.

“Oh, honey,” I cooed, my voice dropping to a soft, earnest tone, a contrast to the simmering heat between us. “I will always ask you first. It’s important for humans to communicate their needs when they mate.” I brushed my middle and ring fingers over his clit, watching as his muscles tensed in response, his body locking up for a brief moment. "You always have a choice. If something doesn’t feel right—or if you just want me to stop—all you have to do is say the word." 

He hissed out a long breath as my fingers teased the entrance, forcing out the words with a low groan. “D-don’t stop.” 

"Before I touch you, I’ll have your consent first. Every time. With everything I do, I want your hearts in it too. And then… I’ll ask you—do you like that?"

My hand moved with purpose, rolling my wrist in slow, deliberate circles, every motion controlled but full of intention. And oh, he liked it. Fuck, he even whimpered. Arthur’s body writhed beneath me, the strain visible as he fought to keep himself from bucking into my touch, his tail thrashing gently against the water. The rawness of the moment, of how much control he was handing over, gave me a high unlike anything before.

"Even when you can't find the words, I'll still ask—does that feel good, baby?" My voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was filled with conviction. 

I needed him to know that his pleasure, his voice, mattered. It was a quiet promise between us, one that resonated in the very air we shared.

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tilting back against the glass wall, and he nodded in a jerky, almost desperate motion. His breath was ragged, blowing out rapidly through his gills as his slick warmth continued to spill over my fingers. It was impossibly wet, dripping down the side of his tail as I quickened my pace, matching his rising need with every stroke.

I grinned, feeling a surge of power as a deep groan rose from his throat. The sound was primal, and his clawed hands gripped the edge of the pool with such intensity that I could feel the muscles in his arms straining beneath the motion. His veins grew and pulsed along the skin of his forearm. My own heat between my legs was building steadily, every inch of my body attuned to him, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinding my hips down against the rigid muscle of his tail. The contact sent jolts of heat through me, intensifying this thick tension between us.

“Sometimes,” I paused, savoring the moment, feeling the raw desire flare in my eyes as I spoke. His brows furrowed in frustration, breath quickening. “I may even ask you to tell me what you need.” My words hung in the air, a challenge, a promise. 

Arthur’s gaze snapped open, locking onto mine with desperate intensity, and I could see it—the hunger. He wanted more. He wanted it all. But I was in control now. And I was savoring every moment of making this massive, powerful creature beg for what he craved.

“Please,” he didn’t need to say a word for me to know exactly what he was thinking, but when he did, it was a low growl that sent a shiver through me. “I need,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

And then, what he did next surprised me, but it only sent a thrill of excitement coursing through my body. Arthur grabbed my wrist with almost brutal urgency, guiding my fingers toward his entrance, his touch insistent. I couldn’t help but gasp softly as his heat surrounded my fingers, slick and welcoming as he pushed them in. 

His hiss echoed in the quiet space, and as the word slipped from his lips, the rawness of it had me aching for him.

“You,” he breathed, eyes locked onto mine with a pleading desperation.

It would be sinful to deny him when he asked so sweetly. As I sank my fingers into his slick heat, I felt the undeniable strength coiled within him—tight, powerful, and yet yielding beneath my touch. His body mirrored my own in ways I understood, yet there was something exquisitely foreign about him, something that made my breath hitch with fascination.

A trembling, melodic moan spilled from his lips as I dragged my fingers out, only to sink them back in, slow and vigilant. The way he clenched around me, the way his body reacted so beautifully, had me utterly entranced.

I let out a slow, measured breath, watching the way his body trembled beneath my touch. His gills flared, his claws flexed, and his tail twitched with restrained urgency. He was holding himself back—barely. 

And gods, did that make me want to give him everything.

I pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw, letting my lips linger against the damp heat of his skin. “You’re being so good for me, Arthur,” I murmured, my voice a low hum against his throat. “So strong, so beautiful… and so needy.” 

I dragged my fingers along the sensitive flesh where I knew he was aching for more, teasing, coaxing, making sure he knew that I saw him. That I felt his want, his desperation, and that I wanted it just as badly.

"You've been craving this since the moment we met," I purred, my fingers working deeper, drawing another shudder from him. "Needing someone to touch you like this… to guide you through the season. Help you find release."

I picked up my pace, and the groan that tore from his lips was nothing short of divine. Leaning in, I let my breath ghost over his ear, savoring the way he shuddered.

"Someone like me," I murmured, voice dripping with promise, "someone to take care of you."

A growl rumbled from deep within his chest, but there was no anger in it—just raw, aching need. I smiled against his skin, pressing my body closer, grinding just slightly against the ridges of his tail. My own need was probably burning into his flesh as I spoke.

“I love feeling you like this,” I continued, my fingers pressing just a little deeper, feeling the way he clenched around them. “Letting me touch you. Letting me feel how much you want me.” I curled my fingers, rubbing slow, pressured strokes, and his entire body jerked. 

Bullseye. His cunt had that perfect sweet spot, just like mine—hot, sensitive, and begging for attention. 

The moment I found it, Arthur's whole body tensed, a desperate, shuddering moan spilling from his lips. He was melting beneath me, unraveling with every stroke, every teasing press of my fingers. Completely, utterly mine.

His breath hitched, his tail slashing once through the water before curling tightly around my thigh, as if he couldn’t bear for me to be even a fraction away from him. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart—” His voice broke, a shudder rolling through his massive frame.

I grinned, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, honey,” I cooed, nipping at his skin. “You don’t have to hold back with me. You shouldn’t hold back with me.” I quickened my pace, watching as his grip on the edge of the pool tightened, as his hips rocked helplessly toward my hand, chasing the friction. 

“This pleasure is yours just as much as you are mine.”

His eyes snapped open at that, something wild and vulnerable flashing through them, but I didn’t let up. I wanted him to believe it. To feel it.

I dragged my free hand down his chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thrum of his twin heartbeats against my palm. Muscles tensing and rippling with every stroke. “Let me hear you, Arthur,” I whispered, lips ghosting over his ear. “Let me feel you come undone.”

A deep, rolling vibration bloomed beneath my palm, starting in his chest and spreading outward—a purr, low and unrestrained, shaking through his massive frame like a storm barely contained. My breath caught at the sheer feel of it, how it reverberated through me, sank into my bones, made my skin prickle with something warm and electric.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasped, a blissful moan slipping past my lips as pleasure surged through me. His whole tail vibrated with it, firm and unrelenting against my core, sending shockwaves of heat through my body. I let my fingers dig into him, teasing, savoring. “You purring like that for me?”

Arthur barely managed a grunt in response, too lost to the sensations I was dragging him through. His head lolled back against the glass, his gills flaring wide with each breath, knuckles white as he scraped against the ledge.

As if he were trying to hold himself to this plane of reality and not be swept under completely.

But I wanted him swept under.

I wanted him undone in a way he’d never been before.

As he slicked over my fingers, hot and heady, something inside me ached to know more—to feel more, to taste more of him.

I moved without thinking, shifting down, pressing soft kisses along the length of his torso, trailing lower and lower until I was kneeling in the shallow water before him. My fingers were still buried inside him, still curling and stroking in slow, precise movements, and when I leaned down—when I pressed my mouth to where my fingers disappeared inside him—Arthur’s whole body froze.

“D-darlin’ wha—what’re you—“ 

“Relax,” I cooed. “I’m kissin’ you. Just feel.” Repeating his words from earlier when he shattered my mind with only his hand. 

Sucking on that sensitive nub, in the exact way that would send a woman like me over the edge. A sharp gasp tore from his lips, his tail kicking wildly beneath me, nearly knocking me off balance. His entire body went rigid, his breath stalling for just a second before it hitched and broke into a desperate, strangled sound that sent heat pooling deep in my belly.

“Sweetheart—please…I-I’m mmffuuck—” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his hips rocking instinctively toward my mouth as if he were utterly powerless against the pull of pleasure.

I hummed, taking my time, dragging myself along the delicate, fluttering muscle beneath my lips, tasting the briny sweetness of him. Flicking my tongue and feeling every one of his nerves come to life as it pulsed in rhythm with his glowing lights. 

“You like that huh?” I teased, licking up his slit before pulling him back into my warm mouth. 

He was writhing, his voice barely audible as he choked. “Y-yes I—fuck that feels s-so good.” 

It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, intoxicating and primal, and the way he reacted only made me crave him more.

Arthur was panting now, one hand rested on the back of my head, sharp claws dangerously close to my scalp. The other hand digging into the stone, his twin heartbeats hammering against my palm where I still held him. His purring had turned frantic, uneven, broken by sharp gasps and shuddering moans, his body trembling beneath me as I coaxed him toward the edge.

Dragging my fingers from his warmth, I kept my tongue focused, mapping every inch of his slick heat as I searched for something more—something deeper. My breath hitched when I found it.

At the base of his slit, I felt it—something unmistakably firm, pulsing beneath the surface, pressing against my touch as if drawn to me, as if yearning.

"Arthur," I murmured, my voice low and tantalizing. "I want to see you. All of you."

A shudder ran through him, his body taut with restraint. Even as his chest heaved, even as his hearts pounded wildly, he still held back.

And I knew why.

The memory of our first time crept between us like a shadow. The moment he had bared himself to me in full—vulnerable and aching—my own startled hesitation had fractured his confidence. Not rejection, never that, but enough uncertainty to plant the seed of doubt within him. And now, even with my mouth pressed to his most sensitive places, even with my fingers coaxing him toward release, he hesitated.

I wouldn’t let that happen again.

Sliding my free hand up, I traced along his torso, brushing my fingers over the delicate slits of his gills. Soft. Silken. So devastatingly sensitive. Perhaps I was pushing him too far, I knew that if I touched him here he would be unable to control it. His breath caught, body trembling beneath my touch, stuck in the warring tides of desire and doubt.

"Let go, honey," I whispered, pressing soft, slow circles against the slit between his scales, teasing, soothing, urging. “You don’t need to hide yourself.” 

A strangled whimper escaped him—so raw, so desperate that it sent a thrill straight through me. Desperation aching between my legs as I clenched around nothing, the anticipation was enough to make me dizzy. 

And then it happened.

He gave in.

Complete and utter surrender.

I felt it before I saw it—the way his muscles relaxed, the way his slit parted, and the way something thick and wet unfurled into my waiting hands. Gliding between my fingers. Hot. Slick. Pulsing with an unrelenting need.

A gasp caught in my throat as my fingers traced over his length, marveling at the alien smoothness of it. Unlike a human’s, his skin here was impossibly soft, almost velvety, but firm beneath my touch. Toward the base was thick, swollen, coated with sticky arousal, while the shaft tapered to a rounded point, long and elegant. My fingertips glided along its seamless curve, feeling the subtle ridges, oh yes, he had ridges here too. It twitched and flexed instinctively at my touch.

It was strange and yet, somehow, arousingly perfect. Designed to be felt. To be worshiped.

And oh, I intended to worship it.

"That’s it, baby," I purred against him, wrapping my fingers around his glossy length, stroking slowly, savoring the way he trembled for me. "Let me take care of you. Let me feel you come."

Pressing my lips to his clit, I let my tongue tease and flick, tasting the briny-sweet essence of his arousal as I stroked his cock. Arthur jerked, a broken moan tumbling from his lips, his tail thrashing beneath me as if he couldn’t control it. 

Gods, he was fucking perfect.

A guttural, near-animalistic roar tore from his throat, his entire body seizing, and I barely had time to brace myself before he came undone. His tail thrashed, his muscles locked, and I felt the rush of wet heat against my tongue, the desperate shudders that wracked through him, the sheer, overwhelming force of his climax.

I clung to him, savoring every broken moan, every helpless twitch, every tremor that wracked his body as he came apart for me—completely, unashamedly, beautifully. The realization struck me then, a delicious surprise—his separate sexes could reach their peaks independently. And oh, the possibilities that opened up. So many ways I could unravel him, shatter him over and over again… if he didn’t completely wear me out first.

As he slumped back against the glass, utterly spent and panting like he’d just survived a war, I slowly pulled away, savoring the way his body still shook with aftershocks above me. Pressing one last lingering kiss against his sensitive flesh, I finally let my gaze drop, truly taking in the sight before me.

“Holy shit…” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really do have two.”

I had felt it, but seeing it was something else entirely. It would take some time to wrap my head around the sheer beauty of it—because that’s what it was. Beautiful. I realized I had been stroking the bottom one, my fingers wrapped around its soft heat, while another identical appendage stood erect above it. They were joined together at the base where they had emerged from his slit, a perfect mirror of each other. In the low lighting, their color became more apparent—a lighter, almost iridescent blue, reminiscent of his tongue. And those sinful ridges… they traced all the way from the smooth, tapered heads down the underside, subtle yet pronounced, meant to drive whoever took him to madness.

A shiver of excitement coursed through me.

Arthur was big too, thick and impossibly heavy beneath my fingers, though I had already suspected as much. I could barely wrap my hand around one, let alone both. They weren’t exactly rigid, like humans. But instead, solid yet pliable. A fluid kind of firmness that still allowed the right amount of flexibility. They were supple, almost like... fuck, like a tentacle—perfectly balanced between softness and strength.

Yet in my arousal—my love-drunk haze—I wasn’t concerned with whether he would fit. Because he would. Because I would make him.

His breathless reply finally came, slow and laced with the remnants of his climax.

“Yeah… I really do.”

I looked up to find him watching me, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. His entire body was still trembling with the aftershocks, but there was something else there, something almost spiritual in the way he gazed at me. Like I was unreal. Like I was divine.

Like I had just handed him a new god to worship. And maybe I did. 

Then, a clawed hand slipped around my waist, trailing lower, teasing the curve of my bottom. A devious glint flashed in his eyes, that exhaustion from mere moments ago replaced by something insatiable, something hungry.

“And you’ve got two holes,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky with desire.

A single teasing finger dipped lower, pressing lightly against that forbidden place, and a thrill shot through me. I had never taken a man there before—never even considered it—but the idea of Arthur being my first? That was intoxicating.

Pressing my body flush against him, I let out a soft, pleased hum as he swirled his finger, coaxing a new kind of ache to bloom inside me.

“Mhm,” I purred into his ear, my lips brushing the sensitive fins there. “It’s like I was made just for you.”

Arthur’s grin was slow and wicked, his sharp fangs glinting in the dim light.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he drawled, his voice thick like honey. “Just fr’me.”

Then, with effortless strength, he pushed himself off the edge of the pool, taking me with him as he sank our bodies back into the water. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, his cocks pressing against my aching heat, the sensation alone nearly sending me over the edge. The anticipation was maddening—I was ready to beg, to insist that he take me right here, split me open on his thick cock until I couldn’t speak.

But Arthur had other plans.

He crossed the pool, carrying me effortlessly through the water, until he reached the shallower end where the rocky curve sloped up like the natural landscape of a beach. Then, pulling himself from the water, he laid back against the warm, smooth stone, his muscles gleaming under the dim light, his gaze locked onto mine with pure, unrestrained desire.

His hands found my hips, his touch firm and possessive.

“My turn,” he rumbled, patting my bottom with a teasing smack, urging me forward.

I blinked, realization dawning as heat pooled low in my belly.

“Come ride my face, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise. “I wanna drown in that sweet taste of yours.”

Finally. That slick, sinuous, and utterly sinful tongue was mine to claim.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Arthur’s gaze burned with unrelenting hunger as his mate crawled up his torso, every movement deliberate, her eyes locked onto his with a silent anticipation that sent a primal thrill through him. Something had shifted—his words had unlocked a deep, hidden desire within her, something raw and unrestrained. Tonight, he would have her trembling, breathless, crying out his name until it was the only thing she could remember. He would etch himself into her soul, claim her so thoroughly that no human touch could ever compare. She would yearn for him, crave him, beg for him to take her, to fill her over and over until she was swollen with his child.

The thought sent a possessive heat curling low in his belly, an ache unlike any other. Arthur had spent a lifetime yearning for freedom, dreaming of the ocean’s vast and endless horizon—but beneath it all, there had always been something deeper. A longing for purpose. A need to protect, to nurture. To have a family again. To raise a child in the ways of his people—what little he could still remember—to teach, to provide, to love. And now, the female who had captured his hearts lay above him, offering herself to him so freely, so trustingly.

It drove him absolutely wild with desire.

His twin cocks twitched and pulsed as she straddled his face, thighs spread wide on either side of him. And gods, her scent—it was intoxicating, heady and thick, curling around his senses like a siren’s call. So close to his gills, it was all he could breathe, all he could taste, an irresistible lure that had him parting his lips in anticipation. The moment his tongue tasted the air, he nearly lost himself.

Instincts roared to life, drowning out reason, darkening the edges of his vision with a need so deep it bordered on madness. Breed, they urged. Fill her, claim her, fuck her until every last drop of his seed was buried inside her tight, aching heat. Until she was marked by him in every possible way.

But Arthur had learned patience—decades of solitude had taught him restraint. He knew humans mated differently, savoring the slow burn, the delicate unraveling. And he could see it in her—she was relishing in the exploration of his body just as much as he was hers.

So he would take his time.

Slowly, reverently, he would worship every inch of her, tasting, teasing, until she was trembling, pleading, desperate for more. Until she was ready to take all of him.

Letting out a trembling breath, she eased her hips down, hovering just above his parted lips. The heat of her, the exhilarating scent of her arousal, had Arthur’s gills flaring wide as he let his tongue slip out. Dragging a hot, wet stripe from the base of her entrance to the little pearl hidden beneath.

Gods, it is so much like his own. Her body mirrored his in ways he was only beginning to understand, the similarities both fascinating and maddening.

A breathy moan filled the silence as her hips jerked up in an involuntary response, her thighs quivering above him. Arthur smirked against her slick folds, knowing his ridged tongue must have been rough against her soft, sensitive flesh. A stark contrast to the way her own tongue had felt against him—smooth, impossibly silken—a torturously agile muscle that had him seeing stars, his tail trembling as she wrung him dry.

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t ya?” His voice was thick with desire, dark and teasing. Gripping her bottom, he kneaded the supple flesh, coaxing her to lower those beautiful hips again. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Please, sit on my face.”

She let out the prettiest little sigh as she finally surrendered, sinking down and pressing herself fully against his waiting mouth. Arthur let out a deep hum of satisfaction—this was heaven, it had to be. He had never been a religious man, but between her thighs, he swore he had just met god.

Puckering his lips, he placed a lingering kiss against her clit before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently, teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

Her cry split the air, sharp and breathless, her fingers tangling in his damp hair with a desperate grip. Her thighs quivered against his face, her body tightening and arching like a bowstring. She had ridden his hand earlier like a woman starved, grinding against his calloused palm with reckless abandon—yet now, against the ridges of his tongue, she trembled as though he was unraveling her piece by delicate piece.

“You alright?” Arthur rumbled, recalling her little mating lesson on human communication. Whatever she needed from him, he would give without hesitation.

She nodded quickly, sucking in a shaky breath as his hot exhale ghosted against her core. “Y-yeah… your tongue just feels so good, Arthur.” His name came out in a breathless pant, raw and pleading, like she was coiled tight and ready to shatter.

Fuck.

Hearing her say his name like that sent a rush of blood straight to his cocks, his vision darkening at the edges with something feral, almost possessive. His fingers flexed against her ass, holding her firmly in place as he growled, “Good. Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Her gaze flickered down, brow pinching together in surprise at his sudden command. He met her eyes, unwavering, voice rough with impatience.

“Ride my face.”

A delicious tremor ran through her, and then finally—finally—she rolled her hips, gliding against his mouth just as she had done against his palm. And fuck, she was utterly perfect.

“Atta girl,” he groaned, voice thick with need.

Pushing out his long tongue, he laid it flat against his chin, offering himself up for her pleasure as she ground down onto him. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her as she moaned, loud and unabashed. Her slick coated his taste buds, warm and succulent, her soft folds silkier than the petals of a water lily as they skated over his mouth.

Arthur breathed her in, pulling her scent deep into his lungs, letting it sink into his very bones. Every nerve in his body burned with the need to memorize her, to commit every note of her arousal to memory, something he could cling to when they were apart.

Closing his lips around that swollen nub, he licked, sucked, and swirled his tongue in gradual circles until her hips bucked wildly against him. Blunt nails scraped against his scalp as she grasped at him, desperate for something to ground her in the storm of pleasure he was dragging her through.

His grip on her thighs tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh, claws pressing dangerously close to breaking skin as he nipped at her folds. But he didn’t just lick her—no, Arthur devoured her. He was messy, unrestrained, and loud, filling the space with deep, throaty groans and eager slurps, as if she was the most divine thing he had ever tasted.

Because she was.

She cried his name, a broken, desperate sound, trying to lift her hips and escape the relentless pleasure. But he wasn’t about to let her go. Taking full advantage, he plunged his tongue deep inside, feeling her body clench around him as he claimed every inch of her from the inside out. Every ounce of his attention zeroed in between her thighs, his ridged tongue carving out a space for himself that he knew she would feel everywhere. Those bumps stroked along her soft, velvety walls, dragging over her sensitive clit with each deliberate movement. He licked, sucked, and teased until she was trembling violently in his arms, a heaving, incoherent mess.

A string of curses spilled from her lips, each one stoking the fire inside him, driving him closer to madness. His tail thrashed in the water, desperate to coil around something, desperate to ground himself as his own arousal surged past the point of reason. His cocks were aching, weeping, throbbing with the unbearable need to be inside her—to replace his tongue with something thicker, heavier, to stretch her open and fill her to the brim with his heat.

And then she leaned forward, her body shaking, and began rolling her hips, undulating in a slow, sensual rhythm, fucking his tongue as she chased her release.

Arthur groaned, his entire body shuddering at the sight of her above him, lost in pleasure, lost in him. Gripping one of his cocks, he stroked himself with a rough, desperate hand. Pre-cum slicking his fingers as he imagined her wrapped around him, wet and tight, squeezing him with every rapid heartbeat.

Arousal dripped down his chin, sliding into his gills, and Arthur nearly lost himself. They flared against her thighs, fluttering greedily, as if seeking more—more of her scent, more of her taste, more of her. The urge to flip her over, to pin her down and claim her fully, was almost unbearable.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, eyes dark and heavy as he watched her writhe above him. Her breasts bounced with every movement, her nipples pebbling into tight peaks, a sight so tantalizing it made his mouth water. He licked her lips, gaze locked onto her as she used him, as she took her pleasure from him.

“Ain’tchu a pretty sight,” Arthur cooed between thrusts, his voice thick with hunger, worshipful and wild all at once.

Something behind her must have caught her attention, her gaze drifting over her shoulder as she watched him stroking himself. A soft pout formed on her lips, full and enticing, before she gave a quiet, disapproving hum.

“Stop that,” she murmured.

Arthur’s lips curled against her folds, his breath warm and teasing. “Un-unh,” he rumbled, tongue flicking against her clit. “Don’tchu worry about me now, keep on.”

But she wasn’t having it. In a sudden shift, she pulled her thighs from around his face, and he growled—a low, primal sound of frustration. His instincts screamed at him to seize her hips, to pull her back down, to demand she ride his mouth until she was sobbing his name, her juices slicking his tongue, dripping down his chin, saturating his throat.

But if he’d learned anything from her little lesson, consent was important. No matter how desperately he ached to have her, if she wanted to stop, he would obey.

A breathless giggle escaped her lips as she lifted one thigh, twisting away from him. “Relax, big guy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur blinked, puzzled for a moment as she resettled above him—only this time, her back was facing him.

Then she began to lower herself again, and realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.

“I think you’re going to like this,” she whispered.

Gods above.

She bent forward, offering him a front-row seat to the breathtaking view of her plump ass and the glistening, swollen lips of her pussy. A masterpiece, a canvas begging for him to paint with his tongue. His fingers clenched, nails pressing into his palms as his restraint frayed at the edges.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked with need. “Look at you. I ain’t never seen nothin’ more perfect.”

Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward, dragging his tongue in a slow, reverent stripe from her clit up the base of her spine. The taste of her here sent a thrill throughout his body. She shuddered at the contact, a gasp escaping her lips as her back arched, presenting herself to him in full.

And then—Arthur froze. A ghost of warm breath fanned over the tip of his cock.

Twin hearts stuttered, pounding out of rhythm. His mind, already clouded with lust, struggled to catch up. But before he could even form a thought—before he could even breathe—a wet, sinful heat engulfed the head of his cock.

His whole world shattered.

Vision exploded into stars, white-hot and blinding. Darkness crept at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him under. A strangled, animalistic growl tore from his throat as instinct took over. His hips jerked upward, seeking more of that delicious heat, that tight suction wrapping around him like a vice. It felt perfect, she felt like home.

And she took him with ease. Jaw widening to take all of him.

His smooth skin, already dripping with pre-cum, slid effortlessly down her throat, her lips sealing around him in a slow, intoxicating rhythm. The sensation sent lightning down his spine, setting every nerve on fire. 

Then—oh fuck—his second cock.

As the first one disappeared into the warmth of her mouth, the other slid between the pillowy softness of her breasts, nestled in their embrace as she moved. Each subtle shift, each press of her skin against him, stroked him with a maddening friction that made his tail coil, his claws scratch at the ground.

He was losing himself.

Arthur was about to thrust again, to surrender completely, when she suddenly pulled back, lips gliding off his length with a wet pop. His cock twitched at the loss, desperate for more, but before he could even protest, she swirled her tongue around the head, teasing, rubbing over the slit with slow, deliberate strokes.

He choked on his breath, body locking up, teetering on the edge of ruin.

And then he remembered—remembered the treasure that lay before him, glistening, waiting, begging to be worshiped just as she was worshiping him.

With a sharp inhale, Arthur wrenched himself from the haze of pleasure, pulling his mind from the way her mouth sucked and stroked. And with renewed hunger, he buried his face between her thighs, lavishing her with the same fervor she gave him, licking, tasting, devouring her like a starved man at a feast.

This new angle allowed him to thrust his tongue deeper, curling and pressing against the sweet spots that made her cry out, her body trembling with need. Each stroke of his tongue sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her, while she, in turn, learned from him—every shudder, every twitch, every growl he made as she explored his length. Her soft little tongue traced the ridges of his cock, her lips gliding down the shaft with slow strokes, teasing, taunting.

Arthur nearly lost control when she scraped her teeth ever so lightly over the tapered head. His body jerked, his gills flaring wide as a strangled groan ripped from his chest. Gods above—apparently, he loved that. He hadn't even known about it until now.

She was teaching him things about himself, unraveling new depths of his pleasure just as he was discovering hers.

His heavy-lidded gaze locked onto the mesmerizing sight of her back arching, thighs trembling around his face every time his tongue slipped—teasing that forbidden entrance. She clenched instinctively, her muscles fluttering around him in shy resistance. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was hesitation or something deeper, but she seemed unsure, almost bashful about this particular touch.

And that only made him want to worship her more.

With a deep, godly growl, he gripped the plush curves of her ass, kneading the supple flesh in his rough palms. His claws skimmed lightly over her skin, just enough to leave her shivering as he spread her open, exposing every inch of her to his hungry mouth. He returned to her clit first, laving over the swollen bud with slow, languid strokes, coaxing her muscles to relax. Her body softened against him, just enough—just enough for him to press his mouth over her, his tongue prodding over that tight, untouched ring of muscle.

Her reaction was instant.

“Arthur!” she gasped, voice breaking on a sharp cry—somewhere between shock and something else, something breathless and raw.

Arthur stilled, his tongue retreating as he soothed her with a gentle, circling thumb. His heart pounded, worry flickering through the thick haze of his lust. Had he gone too far? Had he overwhelmed her?

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was rough, hoarse with restraint. He needed her, but he’d rather burn alive than push her past her comfort.

A shaky breath left her, but the scent that filled his lungs next stole his own. A fresh wave of arousal coated her sweet pussy, thick and glistening, her body betraying her hesitation.

Did she… like this?

A slow, wicked grin curled at his lips.

Arthur added the slightest pressure, teasing, testing, his thumb circling as his tongue returned to her clit, flicking, licking—doubling the sensation.

She jolted, her hips wriggling against him, pleasure tangling with her uncertainty. “N-no—it doesn’t hurt, I just…” She trailed off, breath hitching as he pressed another teasing lick to her clit. “It—It’s just…”

The words wouldn’t come.

Arthur pulled back just enough to murmur against her flushed skin. “It’s beautiful,” he finished for her, voice thick with reverence. “Just like you.”

A soft, helpless sound slipped from her lips—something blissful, something like surrender.

A shudder rolled through her, and then she was trembling. “Oh, Arthur, I—fuck, I-I’m close…”

He kept up his pace, relentless yet purposeful, his tongue flicking and swirling over her swollen clit, drawing out every ragged breath, every quiver of pleasure that rippled through her. His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles around the slick entrance nestled between the soft curve of her ass, teasing, coaxing. Each stroke eased the tight ring of muscle just a little more, and the way her body trembled beneath his touch made his own restraint threadbare.

When her lips wrapped around him again, taking him in with the same achingly slow, worshipful devotion, a deep, guttural groan tore from his throat. The hot, wet pull of her mouth matched the rhythm of his tongue, sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. His orgasm loomed, swelling like a rising tide, threatening to crash over him, but he needed her to come first.

Her breath hitched, panting, breaking into frantic little gasps. He could feel it—her body winding tight, on the precipice of release, her movements growing sloppy and desperate. But Arthur didn’t mind, not for a second.

“I need you to come, baby.” His voice was rough, thick with hunger as he murmured against her flushed skin, his lips brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’ve been dying to see you come for me like this.”

He never paused in his ministrations, never relented.

A keening cry ripped from her throat, her body going taut—held in that exquisite, breathless moment before she shattered completely. And then she broke, pleasure surging through her like wildfire, her release spilling over his tongue, soaking him in her essence.

“Good girl,” Arthur coaxed, his voice molten as he lapped up every last drop, drawing out every aftershock, every tremor. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me feel you.”

She shook violently, her body limp and spent as she slumped against his chest, utterly undone. Arthur barely noticed the added weight pressing into him—his mate was falling apart in his arms, and fuck, it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

She was perfect.

Her scent, thick with lust, wrapped around him, and when she whispered his name in that wrecked, blissful way, something inside him nearly snapped.

With gentle strength, he lifted her, shifting her trembling body so she could rest against him. He sat up, holding her close, his calloused fingers stroking up and down her spine, grounding her. “I’ve got you,” he soothed, pressing a slow, affectionate kiss to her damp temple.

She blinked up at him, dazed, her pupils blown wide, her cheeks flushed a deep, intoxicating red. Her hair was a tousled mess, her lips swollen and glistening, and fuck—if anyone else saw her like this, they’d think they had already mated.

But the night was just beginning.

Arthur had made her come twice now. He had only unraveled once. And the next time? It would be when he was buried deep inside her, his cock pulsing, filling her with every drop of his release, marking her as his.

The thought sent a violent shudder through him, his tail twitching in anticipation.

Breathing hard, she gazed up at him, her eyes wide with something close to awe. Arthur was certain of it. “Wow,” she whispered, breathy and sweet.

He was panting too, his gills flaring wide, both of his cocks aching with raw need for what he knew was coming next. But still, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear it from her lips, needed the reassurance, the praise.

“That was good?” His voice was low, husky, edged with the remnants of restraint.

Her melodic giggle sent a bolt of heat down his spine, making both of his hearts stutter. “That was perfect.” She traced her gaze down the broad expanse of his chest, her fingers following the rivulets of water gliding over his skin, before dipping lower, toward the thick, twitching appendages at the base of his slit. Her expression shifted, tinged with something shy, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish. It was… a little hard to focus when you were—” She bit her lip, cheeks warming.

Arthur tutted softly, his lips curving in a knowing smirk. “Quit all that.” He leaned down, his breath hot against the shell of her ear before capturing it between his teeth, nibbling just enough to make her whimper. “I’d much rather save it for when I’m inside you.”

She stiffened slightly—not out of fear, no, he would have tasted that. This was something else. Excitement. Anticipation. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, and she melted as he began to ease his massive body over hers, pressing her back against the smooth, warm stone. The gentle ripples of the water lapped at their waists where their bodies met, a teasing caress against overheated skin.

Arthur could have taken her in the water, let it cradle them as he claimed her completely, but not this time. Not for their first time. No—he needed control. He needed his tail to set the rhythm, to keep her breathless but safe, and he intended to have her screaming his name the moment he sank into her tight, welcoming heat.

And then she opened for him, spreading her legs just enough for the thick length of his bottom cock to glide against her slick folds. Arthur’s breath caught. His muscles locked up. Fuck. He almost feared for her heart—it was beating so frantically, fluttering like a caged bird desperate to take flight.

She needed this just as much as he did.

Arthurs fingers gripped her thighs, thumbs stroking along the sensitive flesh as he positioned himself, savoring the way she trembled for him. His voice was dark, rough, almost a growl as he whispered, “I’m going to fill you up, sweet girl. And I won’t be able to stop.”

Her breath hitched, her thighs twitching around him.

Smirking, Arthur lowered his mouth to her ear, letting his voice wrap around her like silk. “I’m going to watch my cum seep out of that pretty little slit of yours… before I mate you again and again—until each of your holes has tasted me.”

Pupils blown wide, her breath stuttered as she stared down at the thick, throbbing lengths pressed against her. The hunger in her eyes was consuming.

“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” His grip tightened, grounding them both in the moment. “All of me.”

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, then nodded. But that wasn’t enough. Not for Arthur.

He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his burning gaze. “I’m asking you,” he rumbled. “Do you need me?”

Her lips parted, breathless, her voice clear and certain. “Yes.”

An invitation. A surrender. A claiming.

Arthur let out a deep, satisfied growl.

And then he feasted.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

That was the hardest I had ever come in my life.

For a moment, my mind felt like it had split in two—fractured beyond recognition. I couldn't think, couldn't speak, hell, I was pretty sure my breathing had stopped entirely. The world ceased to exist, swallowed whole by the tidal wave of pleasure that crashed through me, so powerful, so utterly devastating, I thought I might collapse beneath its weight.

But Arthur caught me.

He held me as if I were something precious, something breakable, his strong arms cradling me against his chest. His hands—so large, so impossibly gentle—stroked slow, soothing circles down my back, his fingers brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to my forehead. He murmured softly, something I couldn't quite process, not yet, I was too lost in the aftershocks of bliss still pulsing through me.

He gave me time—time to breathe, to come back to myself, to let my thundering heart settle. And then, carefully, knowingly, he eased me down onto the stone beneath us.

The second my back met the warm smooth surface, my body seemed to forget everything—the exhaustion, the overstimulation, the way I'd just touched the divine. Because now, all I could think of was him.

Everything I had been waiting for. Everything we had been building toward.

Our heartbeats pounded in sync, a rhythm thrumming between us, tying us together in ways deeper than touch.

I looked up at him, my pupils blown wide, my vision hazy with lingering pleasure, and all I saw was hunger. The last traces of that familiar ocean blue had all but disappeared, swallowed by the endless black of his pupils, stretched so wide they resembled the full moon hanging heavy in the night sky. It paralyzed me.

He looked otherworldly. Primal. The gills along his neck flared, exhaling hard like he'd just swum leagues without stopping. And that sound—that deep, inhuman noise, something between a growl and a purr—it sent a bolt of heat straight to my core. I'd heard it before, in the rare moments when he had surrendered fully to pleasure—when he came undone, or when I took his cock into my mouth and owned his pleasure.

But this? This was different. This wasn’t just need. 

This was instinct.

And gods, did it make me weak.

Heat flushed through me, thighs trembling as I tried to spread them wider, aching to accommodate the sheer size of him. And for the first time, I really saw him.

Arthur loomed over me, his massive shoulders blocking out the ceiling entirely, muscles rippling with every breath. Somehow, being around him so often had numbed me to the stark reality of our size difference. But looking up at him now, with the full weight of his body braced above mine, the reality sank in.

He was big. So much bigger than I had let myself truly process.

And I wanted him.

The craving cut through me like a blade, sharp and merciless, twined with the faintest whisper of fear—not of him, never that. Every instinct in my body told me I could trust Arthur with my life, with my pleasure, that he would never harm me.

No, what scared me was how badly I wanted him. Like my life had only just begun the moment he drifted into my life. 

It was unnerving, this desperate, gnawing hunger coiling in my gut, the way my body ached for him. I wanted this animal, this gorgeous beast, to fuck me until I was seeing stars. Until my legs shook with the memory of where his cocks had driven me mad with euphoria. Marking me in ways that would tie him to me forever.

Did…did that make me fucked up?

I didn’t care. I loved it.

Arthur took my chin between his fingers, his clawed thumb brushing over my swollen lips, tracing the heat he had left there. His touch was firm, possessive, yet reverent. “I’m asking you,” his voice rumbled from deep within his chest, rough and strained, as if he were barely holding himself together. Every fiber of his being was begging him to take me, to claim me—to mate me. But still, he fought against his instincts, grounding himself, waiting.

Waiting for me.

“Do you need me?”

The question was more than a plea. It was a confession—raw, aching, tinged with the kind of desperation that made my chest tighten. He needed to hear it. He needed to be sure. Like some small, fragile part of him feared I would deny him. That I would change my mind.

As if I could.

After everything we’d been through? After the earth-shattering pleasure he had just given me? I was already lost to him, tangled in something deeper than lust. There was no going back.

My breath came fast, my body already writhing with need as I flicked my tongue over the pad of his thumb. A teasing taste. A promise. Arthur mirrored me, his own tongue swiping over his lips, pupils so wide they swallowed the blue whole.

“Yes.”

The second the word left me, Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, his gills flaring as if he could taste my desire in the air. Then came the sound—that deep, primal growl, full of satisfaction and hunger. His thumb left my lips, trailing a slow, tantalizing path down my side, skimming over my ribs before curling around the back of my knee. His grip was firm, his claws grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver as he pushed my legs open. My muscles burned, stretched almost too wide, but I barely felt it.

I was too focused on him.

Arthur watched me, his gaze locked onto my trembling form as he took hold of the cock that had been gliding over my slick folds. The weight of it, the heat, sent another pulse of arousal through me as he positioned the tip at my entrance.

We were half-submerged, our hips still in the water, but it didn’t matter. I was already soaked, and he had never stopped dripping with that intoxicatingly sweet pre-cum.

The moment he pressed the thick head past my entrance, we both froze.

Arthur’s head snapped up, searching my face, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and intense. This was the threshold—the moment of no return. A silent understanding passed between us, a knowing that if we did this, we would be bound to each other in ways that neither of us could ever undo.

I nodded.

Reaching up, I tangled my fingers in the damp strands of hair at the base of his skull, tugging him down into a kiss.

“Yes, Arthur.” Breathing the words against his mouth, reassuring him again for good measure. 

Arthur flexed his hips, sliding in just an inch, and the sensation was like liquid fire pouring through my veins. I gasped into his mouth, my body stretching around him, barely able to take him, and yet desperate for more. He was almost too much—too thick, too long—but the way he filled me was perfect. Devastatingly smooth, gliding deeper without resistance, my body yielding to him like it had been made for this.

Tilting my head back, I groaned as he sank in another inch. Then another. The initial burn melted into something deeper, something hotter, my walls clenching around him, gripping him greedily, urging him to fill the aching emptiness inside me.

Arthur’s tail shifted, and he drew back.

The slow retreat of his cock left a trail of fire in its wake, dragging over every nerve, every oversensitive inch of me. A whimper slipped from my lips at the loss—only for him to roll his hips forward and push deeper.

A choked sound erupted from me, somewhere between a moan and a cry, as Arthur let out a long, guttural groan, his forehead pressing against mine.

Breaking our contact, I looked up at him, drinking in the sight of him above me—his eyes squeezed shut, his brows furrowed, his jaw clenched tight in concentration. His gills fluttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control himself, to hold back.

But I didn’t want him to.

His second cock lay heavy against my clit, the ridges pressed flush against my aching bundle of nerves, sending jolts of sensation sparking through me. It would be my undoing.

But only if he moved. And fuck, I needed him to move.

“Arthur,” I whined, the sound pitiful, dripping with need. My voice was raw, breathless, and desperate.

He groaned, his breath ragged, heavy with restraint. “You feel so good. S-so tight.” His words came out in a rasp, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Please…move,” I whispered, arching toward him, my fingers trembling against his skin.

A wicked thought struck me—what if his kind didn’t move like humans? What if they locked together like some species of fish and that was it? No thrusting, no rolling of hips—just static, leaving me hanging in this unbearable tension.

No. I refused to let that be my fate. I would get my dues on this. 

My back arched off the stone, pressing into him as I rolled my hips, pulling back so he nearly slid free from my body. The sensation sent a shudder through me, a teasing promise of loss that had me aching for more.

Arthur hadn’t stopped me. His fingers dug into my hips, claws pressing just enough to sting, but he didn’t resist. The only sound he made was a soft, broken whimper—like he thought I was pulling away. Like he feared I’d changed my mind.

I shattered that fear in an instant.

Slamming my hips back up into his, I pulled him deep, forcing his cock to fill me again as I clutched at his shoulders and back for leverage. The other cock slid with the movement, dragging against my clit in a way that sent a raw, unfiltered pleasure ripping through my body. The weight of it, the ridges pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves—it was perfect. Maddening. Overwhelming.

A breathy, high-pitched cry broke from my lips.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open. And I saw the moment it clicked.

A growl curled from his throat, deep and predatory, his lip curling in a snarl as his grip tightened on my waist. A sharp, demanding possessiveness flickered across his face before he slammed into me again. 

And again.

And again.

Each thrust was punishing, relentless—his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm that had me gasping, keening with every inch that he drove into me. Giving me what I had so desperately needed. The sheer girth of him as he bottomed out, the stretch, the way those ridges caught on every nerve—it was too much and yet not enough. 

It was pushing me toward my limit.

My mouth had never fit around all of him. My fingers could only wrap around the head before the thickness at the base swelled too wide. And yet, my body—desperate, greedy, utterly consumed by him—took him. Wanted him.

Arthur’s pace turned brutal, his hips pistoning into mine, the water sloshing violently around us. The wet, obscene sounds filled the air, mingling with his deep, guttural grunts and the sharp slaps of skin meeting skin. The force of it drove my body into the stone beneath me, every impact sending shocks of pleasure and pain colliding in my core. 

I welcomed it.

The ache, the burn—it only made the pleasure sharper, brighter, until I was unraveling around him again, walls clamping down, squeezing, milking him as I screamed. My nails raked down his spine, dragging over the smooth expanse of his skin as he arched over me, driving himself even deeper.

Nothing had ever felt this real. This right.

“Fuuck—” Arthur cursed, voice wrecked, his control hanging by a thread. Then came my name, raw and guttural, torn from his throat in a deep groan that sent a violent shudder through me. “That’s it. Fuck, baby, that’s it. Oh, you’re so good. S-so fucking good.”

His praise shattered me.

A desperate whimper spilled from my lips, my body already spiraling toward the edge again, the pleasure building too fast, too strong. My muscles tightened, every nerve firing, as he drove into me with merciless, ragged thrusts. The wet, slippery sounds filled the space around us, almost drowning out my sharp, gasping cries.

Arthur didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

His movements were relentless, pounding into me so hard my tits bounced, my heels scraping against the roughness of his scales as I clung to him. Oh, I was going to be sore after this.

And gods, the thought only excited me more.

Arthur wasn’t just fucking me—he was claiming me. Breeding me with a desperation so fierce it was as if some unseen force was testing him, whispering that if he didn’t do this right, he was a failure. He poured everything into this, into me—each deep, pounding thrust an unspoken vow, each bruising grip a plea and a promise all at once.

I felt him, all of him.

Raw desire clashed with aching longing, a feverish passion stoking the flames of something far more primal. And beneath it all, there was hunger—a possessive, feral hunger that burned through every stroke, every grind of his hips. His claws dug into my flesh, sharp enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. Leaving behind a delicious ache that had me arching into him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice hoarse with lust. His breath was hot against my lips, his words a branding iron against my skin. “This pussy belongs to me.”

A choked gasp escaped me, my walls clenching around his cock in a desperate, involuntary response. He felt it—knew what his words did to me, and kissed me hard, swallowing every whimper, every ragged moan.

“Always,” I rasped, my voice breaking. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “I’m yours, Arthur. Every inch of me.”

Body and soul. I wanted to add, but his lips sealed over mine again. 

Moans left my lips like prayers, my pulse hammering, my heart racing. I was so close, so devastatingly close. The pleasure coiled tight, white-hot and unbearable, clenching around me like a vice. My breath hitched as the pressure built, built, until darkness crept at the edges of my vision, and stars exploded behind my closed eyelids.

The feeling of being so full, so ruthlessly taken, had me spiraling.

“F-fuck, Arthur, I’m—” My voice broke, trembling, whimpering. Some desperate, self-preserving part of me wanted to hold on, to keep teetering on this exquisite edge forever. I wasn’t ready for this to end.

Arthur knew. With a deep, guttural grunt, he pulled out completely, and my body screamed for him.

But he wasted no time.

Rolling his hips, he pushed back inside in a way that was slower, deeper—grinding against that devastating spot inside me. It sent a fresh wave of pleasure tearing through my body, a sensation so intense it nearly had me convulsing beneath him.

He knew I was holding back. And he wouldn’t let me.

Arthur drove me to my limit, stripping away my restraint, my humanity, until all that remained was pure, primal need. My body was his, and gods above—every instinct inside me demanded he make me take all of him. To fill me so completely that the rest of the world fell away, leaving nothing but this moment, this feeling, just him.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he rasped, dragging his tongue in a slow, searing stripe from the hollow of my throat up to my ear. His voice was velvet and gravel, laced with sin, with command.

“Let me feel that perfect pussy milk my cock.”

His command was enough to tip me over the edge. To shatter me.

The moment I obeyed, it stole the very breath from my lungs, wracking my body with a release so intense it bordered on painful pleasure. My limbs trembled, my fingers clinging helplessly to Arthur’s slick skin as wave after relentless wave crashed through me. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and overwhelming, slipping down my cheeks as I gasped his name like a plea, like a prayer.

I’d never felt anything like this before. And gods help me, I knew I would do anything to feel it again.

Arthur had ruined me. Branded himself into my very bones, carved his name into the deepest parts of me. No other man would ever compare, and I hated him for it—hated myself for craving him with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

A rough, guttural groan tore from his throat, his rhythm faltering as his cock thickened, stretching me in a way that sent fresh, electric pleasure sparking through my veins. He buried himself to the hilt, hitting a place so impossibly deep it turned my mind into nothing but white noise.

And then I was gone.

Screaming, sobbing, breaking apart in his arms as I praised his name like he was something holy.

“Fuck!” Arthur roared.

Burying his face into my chest, his body crashed against mine. Every muscle in his frame tensed as he pressed me into the unyielding stone beneath us. He was heavy, overwhelming, his desperate thrusts turning frantic, erratic. His fingers dug into my flesh, as if he could anchor himself—as if he didn’t want to let go.

Then I felt it.

The hot, liquid pulse of his release spilling inside me, filling me, so much more than any human could give. So much that I could feel it slipping out even before he pulled away, mixing with the water around us in delicate, shimmering tendrils—pale and iridescent, like an otherworldly oil slick. It made my pussy clench around him again. 

The sensation of him coming inside me only sent me spiraling further, prolonging my orgasm until I thought I might pass out.

Darkness fluttered at the edges of my vision, my body completely spent, pulsing with an exhaustion that felt almost euphoric.

Arthur pulled out, and I shivered at the loss, an ache curling in my gut that was almost unbearable. He had left me empty—hollowed out, missing something vital. I fought against the daze threatening to consume me, but I was too far gone, too lost in the haze of pleasure and exhaustion.

Distantly, I heard my name. Arthur’s voice, low and hesitant, cutting through the fog. I tried to respond, but my lips wouldn’t move.

I just needed a moment. Just one.

He sat up, easing his weight off my chest, and I sucked in a deep, trembling breath, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of what we’d just done.

"Shit," Arthur breathed, his voice thick with concern. "D-did I hurt you, sweetheart?"

The sudden panic in his tone snapped me back to reality, cutting through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion. I must have taken too long to respond because his grip on me tightened, lifting me with such careful reverence that it made my heart ache. He cradled me against his chest, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool air around us. The shift in position sent a slow, delicious trickle of heat spilling from between my thighs, a filthy reminder of just how thoroughly he had taken me.

His voice rasped against my ear, desperate and pleading. "Say something, please."

I managed a small, breathless laugh. "I'm okay." And I was. More than okay—I was wrecked in the best possible way. "You could never hurt me, Arthur."

The words came out raw, thick with the depth of my emotions. With a trembling hand, I cupped his cheek, fingers stroking through the damp strands of his beard. His eyes softened, relief crashing over his features like a wave before his lips curled into the most breathtaking smile—sated and beautiful.

“That felt like—” I began. 

He pressed his forehead to mine, our breath mingling as he whispered, "Home."

A shiver danced down my spine.

"You felt like home."

Something in my chest cracked open at those words.

We stayed like that for a moment, lost in each other, letting our aftershocks fade into slow, tender kisses—featherlight, reverent, addictive. Our noses brushed, soft and teasing, like swans in a gentle courtship dance. The intimacy of it made my heart race in a way that sex alone never could.

Arthur had told me once, in that quiet, broken way of his: My hearts will follow you to the end.

Now, with the way he held me, worshiped me, I understood. This was what he meant. This was his love, laid bare.

"You were so beautiful," he murmured, lips tracing over my temple, my cheek, my jaw. "So perfect. You take me so well, my girl."

His words were honey-thick, dripping into my ears and down my spine, making my thighs clench involuntarily.

Then I felt it. Something hot and heavy twitching against my calf where our bodies curled into each other.

My breath hitched.

Arthur's grip on me tightened, his voice dipping lower, heavier, hungrier.

"But I still need you."

Oh, fuck. He really wasn’t lying when he said both of my holes would taste him. 

I barely had time to process before he was moving again, gripping my hips and flipping me onto my belly, easing me down and pulling my ass up as my bare skin pressed against the smooth stone. Encouraging me to settle onto my knees. 

"Ah—Arthur—"

"Shh," he soothed, running a broad hand over my spine, down to my ass, spreading me apart just enough to make me tremble. A teasing finger glided over that forbidden entrance, now coated in arousal. Dragging it down further he brushed over my achingly sore heat. Spreading his seed around my lips and up between my cheeks. Painting myself in his sticky hot spend.

"I have two," he reminded me, voice a dark promise against my skin. Gently, I heard him shift in the water, adjusting himself. Looking back over my shoulder, I watched. He gripped his thick, swollen cock still dripping with cum. And teased my entrance, the head nudging, demanding.

"And so do you."

Heat flooded through me, anticipation winding me so tight I thought I might snap.

Before doubt could creep in, I already had my answer. "Then you shall have me."

Arthur growled, a sound of pure satisfaction, gripping me like he owned me.

"Good," he purred, lining himself up again. Using the tip of his cock to spread his cum over my ass as it seeped out of my slit.

I froze as a new sensation erupted—sharp, foreign, a mix of lingering pleasure and a stinging ache where he had already claimed me. My hips were lifted above the water now, exposed to the cool air, and though his spend made my skin slick, it wasn’t enough. Not for this. A shiver ran down my spine, part anticipation, part apprehension. I had never taken anyone here before, and I knew if he was too quick, too rough, the pain could overwhelm the pleasure.

“W-wait,” I panted, my breath shaky. “Arthur, stop.”

He stilled immediately. A warm, steady hand smoothed down my spine, grounding me as he leaned in, his chest flush against my back.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, earnest, full of concern.

I pushed myself upright, twisting slightly to meet his gaze. “Let’s do this in the water,” I murmured. “It’ll be easier, with less gravity and…” I trailed off, unsure of how to phrase it. I didn’t want my hesitation to deter him, but I needed him to be gentle.

Arthur’s dark eyes softened with understanding, and he gathered me into his arms without question, guiding us into deeper waters. The moment we sank down far enough that my breasts floated, warmth wrapped around me like a soothing balm, easing the rawness between my thighs.

“And what, my love?” he pressed, his voice a silken promise against my ear. “Tell me what you need.”

His lips found my neck, kissing and nipping gently as his strong hands roamed over my body. His touch was both reverent and possessive, mapping every inch of me as if committing it to memory. I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart against my back, his breaths turning ragged with restraint.

The cool water swirled between my legs, heightening the sensation of where he touched me, dulling the sting and replacing it with something new, something thrilling.

“I need you to go slow,” I whispered, unable to hide the nervous tremor in my voice. “Much slower than before. Is… is that alright with you?”

Arthur exhaled a shuddering breath, his gills fluttering against my ribs. I couldn’t tell if it was from excitement, anticipation, or the sheer effort of holding himself back. His tail coiled around my calf, pulling me closer, holding me steady.

“Yes,” he groaned, the single word dripping with need. “However you wish to have me. I will give it to you.”

His vow sent a molten heat through me, pooling deep in my core. I had imagined this before—anal, double penetration—but I had never trusted someone enough to try it. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen like this.

With him.

Arthur reached between us, his fingers curling around one of his cocks, guiding it between my thighs while the other pressed insistently against my bottom. With slow, deliberate motions, he rocked his hips, letting them glide back and forth—one thick length sliding over my swollen, aching clit, sending jolts of pleasure through my body, while the other traced the valley between my cheeks, teasing the tight entrance with every pass.

A shudder wracked through me, my body caught between tension and longing. Arthur’s grip on my waist tightened, anchoring me against him as his other hand found my breast. His fingers were both firm and gentle, rolling my nipple between them, kneading my flesh in slow, languid strokes. The contrast of sensations had me trembling in his hold.

“Which one do you want first?” he rumbled against my neck, his breath hot against my damp skin.

My breath hitched as I reached behind me, fingers wrapping around the thick cock nestled against my back. I gave it a teasing squeeze, feeling the way it pulsed against my palm.

“This one,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire.

The water rippled around us as a deep, satisfied chuckle rumbled through his chest. “That’s my girl.”

Arthurs grip on me shifted, steady but unrelenting, as he tipped me forward slightly. The water rose up to my chin, forcing me to tilt my head back to keep from sinking beneath the surface. I barely had time to register the change before I felt the blunt tip of him pressing against my entrance, nudging cautiously.

A sharp hiss escaped his gills, a primal sound that sent a delicious shiver through me.

I gasped, letting out a quiet, startled yelp as a new, overwhelming pressure spread through me. I had never been so acutely aware of this part of my body before, of how tight and untouched I was.

A large, webbed hand slipped down my torso, fingers finding my clit and rubbing slow, torturous circles. The pleasure warred with the ache, sending my body into a dizzying spiral of sensation. My muscles instinctively clenched, trying to resist the burn of his thick length pressing deeper, stretching me open with the first inch.

“F-fuck, Arthur,” I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulder. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“You can,” Arthur growled, his voice dark with restraint. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

He sank another inch, and my breath hitched, my mind going blank with the sheer intensity of it. It was too much, not enough, my body on the verge of being split apart yet craving more.

A shaky whine crawled up my throat as I arched back against him, my body struggling between resistance and surrender.

“Hold onto me,” he murmured against my neck, his voice softer now, coaxing.

I reached up, my arms winding around his neck, clinging to him as if he were my only tether to reality. My eyes squeezed shut, my breath coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

Arthur tutted softly, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “Sweetheart, you gotta relax. Take a deep breath for me.”

His tone was impossibly gentle, melting through my tension like warm honey, making my stomach flip. Gone was the primal, possessive animal that had taken me like a man starved—now, in its place, was something just as powerful but infinitely more tender. A gentle beast, guiding me through the motions, patient and careful as if I were something precious to be unraveled slowly.

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, willing my body to obey, to loosen its desperate hold on him. But it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Every fiber of me was wound tight, clenching around him, fighting the stretch, even as I tried to surrender. The slippery feel of his cock, gliding with an otherworldly softness, was a small mercy. I was incredibly grateful in that moment that he was not solid like a human.

“Again,” he coaxed, his fingers stroking soothing circles over my hips. Then, in a teasing lilt, he added, “Unless you need me to breathe for you.”

A shiver ran through me at the idea.

His grip tightened slightly, grounding me. “If I push any harder, I’m gonna hurt ya sweetheart. Try to focus your attention here,” he patted the swell of my ass, his touch firm yet affectionate.

“It’s all I can fucking think about!” The words tumbled out in a breathless flurry, and Arthur let out a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through his chest.

And it—oh fuck—it felt good.

“There you go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise and want. “Fuck, you feel incredible. You’re takin’ me so well.”

He sank another inch, and a shaky gasp left my lips as something in me finally gave way, my muscles easing, accommodating his size. The sharp edge of discomfort dulled into something else—something deeper, heavier.

“D-do that again,” I stammered, breathless.

“Hmm?” He rumbled, his chest still pressed firmly to my back.

“That—that vibration,” I choked out, my head tipping back as he pulled me tighter against him, his cock pressing deeper, rubbing hard against my inner walls.

Arthur’s lips brushed the shell of my ear, his breath warm as he cooed, “Oh, I see.”

Suddenly, his purring flared to life, and I cried out as the vibration sent ripples of pleasure through my body. It wasn’t just in his chest—it was everywhere, resonating through me, inside me, making my nerves light up like fireworks. Somehow, I could feel the pulse deep in my core, as if the sensation traveled through the places where I was stretched around him, amplifying every twitch, every shiver. A strangled moan tore from my lips, my body shuddering against his, and I silently cursed him for not doing this earlier. I had never realized just how closely connected those muscles were, how each vibration sent a shockwave straight through me.

Arthur felt me melt beneath the sensation, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, and he took advantage of it—sinking deeper until he bottomed out against my ass.

A sharp gasp echoed through the room, mingling with the deep, guttural groan that rumbled against my neck. “So fucking tight,” he breathed, his voice thick with restraint, with need.

I had always thought anal could be mildly pleasurable, but this—this was something else entirely. I wasn’t just tolerating it. I was enjoying it. No, I was lost in it. If he kept this up—if he pressed inside my pussy too, stretching me so utterly, so completely. I was sure I would come so hard I might fall apart in his arms.

Then Arthur moved—oh, he moved.

Slow, methodical, controlled. Like he was barely holding himself back, honing in on every subtle cue my body gave him. Testing my limits with precision, ensuring there was no pain—only pleasure. He withdrew slowly, the sensation nearly undoing me as he pulled out until just his tip remained. Then, with a firm grip, he slid his other cock between my thighs, positioning me just right.

And then, finally—he sank me back down.

A keening sound wrenched from my throat as he speared me on both cocks, rolling his hips up at the same time, filling me inch by agonizing inch until he was seated deep inside me. It was a stretch unlike anything I had ever felt before, a blissful, unbearable fullness that sent waves of heat rolling through my limbs. My head tipped back against his shoulder, a deep, shuddering moan rising from somewhere in my chest—a sound I hadn't even known I was capable of making.

I felt him everywhere.

I could taste him on my tongue, could feel the ocean in my veins, the tide of his body racing through me like horses galloping through white-capped waves.

I was still sore, my pussy clenching around him as pleasure and pain tangled together, stars dancing across my vision. I tried to adjust, to find some semblance of control, but anyone who’s ever been fucked hard understands the delicious sting of being stretched too soon, too deep, before you’re quite ready. Well, maybe not everyone—but it was true for me. It was a good kind of pain, the kind that made my toes curl, that had my breath stuttering and my fingers digging into his arms, desperate for more.

And with the addition of his second cock, this was the fullest I’d ever been in my life.

I could tell by the way Arthur was shaking, his grip bruising on my hips, that he was just as overwhelmed as I was. That my body, clenching tight around him, was driving him to the edge as surely as he was unraveling me.

“Do you trust me?” The words were rough, bitten out through clenched teeth, barely restrained.

A silly question. Of course I did. More than anything.

“Yes,” I whispered, my lips trembling against his jaw. “Always.”

It was a slow glide, so wet and effortless that the friction was almost an afterthought—until he pulled back and slid in again, and I felt every ridge of him, each textured bump dragging against my walls, sending shivers rolling through my spine. I could count them, could map each one with the breathless rhythm of his thrusts. Every slow, deliberate movement stretched me open, coaxing me into surrender until there wasn’t a single trace of discomfort left—only pleasure, slick and consuming.

“Oh, Arthur!” I cried, the sound tumbling from my lips, raw and unfiltered.

There was only pressure now, incredible and unrelenting, filling me so completely that it stole the air from my lungs. From every angle, in every part of me, I felt him—felt the way he claimed me, the way he kissed my soul with every deep, languid stroke.

I wasn’t sure when my head tilted back onto his chest, when my lips parted on a silent moan, but Arthur seized the moment. His mouth was on mine in an instant, devouring, his tongue plunging deep, licking into me with slow, intoxicating strokes. He nipped at my bottom lip, teasing, pulling a whimper from my throat before swallowing it down like he was starved for the taste of me.

“Breathe, my girl,” he commanded, his voice thick with heat. He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“Please,” was all I could manage, a desperate, breathless plea. I needed more. I was teetering on the edge of something earth-shattering, something vast and uncontrollable, and I didn’t know how to fall into it. I only knew that Arthur could take me there.

A low growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my back, and then—fuck—he thrust into me harder. Not as rough as before, but there was force now, a controlled hunger, a restraint that made the ache even sweeter.

I made a sound I had never heard before, something deep and unrestrained, as he gripped my hip and drove into me again. His tail coiled around my calf, tightening possessively, anchoring me to him.

Hard. Harder. Deep and devastating as he bottomed out inside me again and again.

Arthur pressed a broad, calloused hand to my belly, his webbed fingers splaying wide as he felt himself move inside me, as if mesmerized by the way my body took him in. His breath came out in ragged, shuddering pants, hot against my neck, before his sharp teeth grazed my skin, nipping, teasing.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard,” he growled, his voice rough, nearly broken. “You’re—fuck, you’re everything to me.”

“I’m s-so close. Please, come with me, Arthur,” I choked out, my fingers digging into his arms, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

A low, pained whimper crawled up his throat as he pressed his forehead to my shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of his restraint. “I know, pretty girl, I know,” he rasped, his voice frayed at the edges. “Just a little more. I—I don’t wanna hurt you. It’s—h-hard not to lose control when you’re squeezin’ me like that.”

I gasped as he rolled his hips again, deeper, slower, torturing us both.

His pace faltered as my body reacted to his words—the sincerity, the raw, aching need woven into every syllable. The guttural rasp of his voice, thick with strain and barely restrained hunger, sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me. It tore through my veins, white-hot and all-consuming, until I shattered around him. My vision blurred, my body trembling as pleasure surged like wildfire, licking at every nerve, setting me ablaze.

Somewhere in the haze, I felt him follow me over the edge.

Arthur let out a broken string of curses, his breath ragged and desperate against my shoulder. His entire body quivered, his muscles rigid as he fought the primal instinct to lose himself completely—to rut into me with reckless abandon, to bury himself as deep as I could take and spill every drop of his pleasure inside me.

“Th-then lose control,” I whispered, my voice trembling, a plea wrapped in a breathy moan. My fingers dug into his arms, nails dragging down the hard lines of his body. “Bite me, Arthur. M-mark me as—as yours.”

His breath hitched. “What?”

“S’okay, honey,” I murmured, my voice dripping with something sweet and sinful. “Just let go. I can take it. Give yourself to me.”

A sharp, tortured cry ripped from Arthur’s throat, his entire body shuddering against mine. And then—I felt it.

His teeth, sinking deep into the muscle of my shoulder, sharp and unyielding, branding me with his need. The sting of pain bled into pleasure so sharp it stole the breath from my lungs. My body clenched around him, gripping him like I never wanted to let go, and the mix of sensations sent me spiraling into oblivion.

The warmth of him filled me, deep and hot, as his release spilled into me, claiming me in every way possible. The sheer force of it ripped another scream from my lips, his name tumbling from my throat until it was raw.

I was drowning in him—his touch, his breath, the way he trembled against me as he came undone. And I had never felt more owned by him than I did at that moment.

My mate. My Arthur.

Arthur soothed the ache with his tongue, spreading that thick, healing mucilage over the wound as he lapped up the blood before it could trail too far down my arm. I sagged against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, my cheek pressed to his warm skin as the last of my tears dried. My body still pulsed with aftershocks, every nerve alight, and I felt the slow retreat of his cocks, softening as they slipped from me. Arthur’s tail trembled against my leg, his muscles taut with the lingering overstimulation, as if the pleasure had unraveled him just as much as it had me.

Turning me in his arms, Arthur held me close. His touch was unbearably soft in the wake of everything we’d just done. His lips followed the damp trail of my tears, kissing them away one by one as if he could erase the overwhelming pleasure, the raw emotion, the sheer intensity of it all with his mouth alone. His hands, rough and warm, cradled my face, fingers stroking over my cheeks with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his southern drawl thick and deep. “You alright?”

I nodded weakly, still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion. My limbs felt boneless, my body buzzing, hypersensitive to every little touch. Arthur hummed in satisfaction, shifting us until I was nestled against him, my legs draped around his torso. His tail curled loosely around my ankle, still trembling from the aftershocks.

“Y’were so good for me,” he praised, brushing his lips over my temple. “Took me so damn well. My strong, beautiful girl.”

A small sound caught in my throat, something between a sigh and a whimper. Arthur’s chest rumbled with a deep, satisfied purr, the sound vibrating through me, comforting and grounding. He cupped the back of my head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder as his other hand traced soothing circles along my spine.

“Still with me?” he teased gently, though I could hear the genuine concern laced in his tone.

I gave a breathless laugh, weak but real. “Mmhmm… just—floating.”

Arthur’s smile pressed against my hair. “Yeah? Think you can handle another.” 

The teasing lilt in his voice let me know he wasn't serious. Though I don’t think he could survive another round even if he tried. Laughter bubbled up despite my exhaustion. I shook my head, too content, too warm, too wrapped up in him to move just yet. He seemed to understand, settling us deeper into the nest of his arms, letting me bask in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

For a while, we just stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet. Arthur floated on his back as I rested on his chest. His fingers wove through my hair, his breathing steady, grounding me in a way that nothing else ever had.

Eventually, he broke the silence, voice low and reverent. “Ain’t never had nothin’ like this,” he admitted, almost to himself. “Never wanted someone so bad. Needed someone like—like the world was just beginnin’ to make sense. You know?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, pressing a slow kiss to his collarbone. “I feel the same way, Arthur.”

Arthur let out a shuddering breath, his arms tightening around me. “All mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against my hair.

I smiled against his skin. “All yours.”

As sleep began to pull me under, wrapped in his warmth, I had no regrets. 

I knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

AN: Did we survive?! Because there were times I feared that beautiful creature was going to kill us with those cocks, not that I'm complaining. Woof, this chapter was such a horny beast and I don't even feel like I've tamed it. There will be more smut chapters, but nothing this lengthy. This was basically a cluster fuck of exploring kinks. And for whatever reason, I really wanted to put it all in one chapter. I love torturing myself. Anyways, its time to get back to the plot! Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and support!!

[szariahwroteit]

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 7

TW: physical abuse.

“Yes, Milan is way closer to Madrid than Los Angeles,” Giselle smirked as she held her phone to her ear. Using her free hand, she slipped on her Chanel sneakers as she prepared to leave her hotel and head to a final dress fitting ahead of the fashion show she was walking in later that evening.

“So come to me,” Kylian said, his voice low and playful, teasing just enough to send a shiver down her spine. “I’ll make it worth your while, you know.”

Giselle rolled her eyes, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “I’m working.” She said as she laced up her sneakers, her heart racing at the thought of being swept away into his world again, filled with excitement and allure.

A little over two weeks had passed since Giselle had been in Kylian’s presence, but the pair remained connected digitally. While she was home in the States, they had found it a little difficult, but since arriving in Milan for Fashion Week, calls and FaceTimes had become more frequent, as had Kylian's persistence in asking her to come to Madrid.

“I can pay you to model for me,” Kylian suggested, his tone shifting into something more intimate. “You could be my muse.”

Giselle leaned against the doorframe, her pulse quickening. She bit her lip, contemplating the offer. “And what would that entail?” she asked, her voice playfully challenging.

“I could use you for motivation,” he murmured.

“Use me?” Giselle echoed, feigning innocence. She arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “And how exactly do you plan on using me?”

Kylian chuckled softly, a hint of confidence lacing his words. “In all the ways I know you liked to be used.”

“I can't just leave in the middle of fashion week; I have commitments,” she replied, forcing herself to sound resolute, even as desire simmered beneath the surface.

“Okay,” Kylian huffed, his tone playful yet low, a quiet confidence threading through.

“I’m literally about to head over to a fitting for the show I am walking in tonight. Can we speak later?” Giselle asked, her voice softening as she anticipated his answer.

“Will you have time for me later?” Kylian asked, a teasing lilt present in his voice as his accent thickened.

“I can make time for you,” she replied, unable to wipe the shy smile from her face. She held her phone to her ear and listened to Kylian's measured breaths on the other end.

“Make sure,” Kylian said, his voice dipping into a rich, sultry tone that sent another shiver racing down her spine. I’ll be waiting.”

Giselle could practically hear the smirk in his voice, the kind that made her mind wander to places she shouldn’t let it go.

Once her conversation with Kylian ended, Giselle pulled on her coat before grabbing her purse so she could head to the hotel lobby to meet with her driver.

As she stepped into the elevator, Giselle couldn’t shake the lingering warmth of Kylian’s voice from her mind. The way he spoke to her, with that playful confidence, always left her wanting more. She pressed the button for the lobby, her heart still racing from their exchange.

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped out into the bustling lobby of the hotel. Models and designers were scattered about, some rushing to fittings, others lounging with coffee in hand, discussing the latest trends. Giselle felt a rush of excitement mixed with anxiety; tonight’s show was a big deal, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

As she made her way to the entrance, her phone buzzed again. It was a message from Kylian.

Kylian: Don’t forget about me. I’ll be waiting.

She smiled to herself, her cheeks warming at the thought of him. Just then, her driver appeared a tall man in a sharp suit, holding a sign with her name on it. “Miss Giselle,” he greeted with a polite nod.

“Hi!” she replied, her voice brightening as she approached him. “Thank you for being here.”

“Of course. Ready to go?” he asked, gesturing toward the sleek black car parked just outside.

“Absolutely,” she said, sliding into the back seat. As the driver pulled away from the hotel, Giselle glanced out the window, watching the vibrant streets of Milan whiz by. The city was alive with energy, and she felt a thrill at being part of it, even if just for a moment.

Her mind drifted back to Kylian. The way he had teased her, the promise of adventure in his words—it was intoxicating. She wondered what it would be like to be in Madrid with him, away from the chaos of Fashion Week, where they could just be.

The car came to a stop outside the fitting venue, and Giselle took a deep breath, shaking off her daydreams. She stepped out, smoothing her coat as she walked toward the entrance. Inside, the atmosphere was buzzing with stylists, sewists, and models, all working together to create something beautiful.

“Giselle!” a familiar voice called out. It was her stylist, Marco, waving her over. “We’ve been waiting for you! Come on, we need to get you ready.”

As she approached, Giselle felt the excitement of the show wash over her. She was here to work, to shine on the runway, and she was determined to give it her all. But as Marco began to fuss over her hair and makeup, her thoughts kept drifting back to Kylian and the promise of what could be.

“Are you ready for this?” Marco asked, his hands deftly pinning her hair into place.

“More than ever,” she replied, forcing herself to focus. “Let’s make it unforgettable.”

As the fitting progressed, Giselle found herself lost in the rhythm of the preparations. The music pulsed in the background, and she could feel the anticipation building in the air. But even amidst the chaos, Kylian’s words echoed in her mind, a tantalizing reminder of the connection they shared.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the fitting came to an end. Giselle stepped back to admire herself in the mirror, her heart swelling with pride. She looked stunning, ready to take on the world.

“Now, go out there and own that runway,” Marco said, giving her a reassuring smile.

With a final glance in the mirror, Giselle nodded, her resolve solidifying. She would give it her all tonight, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that after the show, she might just find a way to make time for Kylian.

As she walked toward the backstage area, her phone buzzed again with another message from Kylian.

Kylian: Break a leg, my muse.

Giselle smiled, her heart racing once more. Tonight was going to be unforgettable, and she had a feeling it was just the beginning.

“Ready ladies!?” a stage assistant called as Giselle and the rest of the models got in line, with her up front as the fashion show's opener.

“Yes!” they all called back simultaneously.

The lights dimmed, and the anticipation in the air thickened as the first chords of music began to play. Giselle's heart raced in time with the beat, her excitement palpable. She could feel the energy of the audience surging, and with each passing moment, her confidence grew.

The moment she stepped out onto the runway, the bright lights washed over her, illuminating every detail of her stunning ensemble. The crowd erupted into applause, and Giselle felt a surge of adrenaline.

With each step, she owned the runway, her movements fluid and captivating. She glanced at the front row, catching glimpses of familiar faces—designers, influencers, and industry veterans—before allowing her mind to slip momentarily back to Kylian. She imagined him in the audience, his eyes filled with admiration, and it fueled her performance even more.

As she turned and posed, Giselle blew a kiss to the camera, which captured her every move, before turning on her heels and strutting back down the runway.

As Giselle stepped backstage, she could wipe the proud smile off her face as she made her way towards the dressing room, accepting compliments as she went.

But as she entered the dressing room, her moment of triumph was abruptly interrupted. The door swung open, and her ex, Jalen, walked in as handsome and menacing as the last time she’d seen him almost two years ago.

“Giselle,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with a possessiveness that made her stomach twist. “You look… stunning.”

Giselle's blood ran cold as the familiar timber of Jalen’s voice filled her ear, instantly making her stomach flip.

A lump formed in her throat, and her eyes prickled with tears. His smirk insulted the fear and uncertainty Giselle felt being in his presence.

Giselle took a step back, her heart racing as memories flooded her mind—moments of love twisted with betrayal, laughter shadowed by pain.

"Giselle," Jalen said, stepping toward his ex. A smirk spread across his face as he noticed the look of fear that flashed in her eyes, a look he once thrived on pulling from her, a look that still made him feel just as powerful as he did when they were together.

Taking in her surroundings, Giselle noticed that only she and Jalen occupied the changing room and slowly began to back towards the door.

“Don’t be scared,” Jalen drawled, reaching for the fallen strap of her dress and slipping it back onto her shoulder. “I’m not going to hit you,” he laughed as his finger trailed down her arm.

“Do not touch me!” Giselle snapped, slapping Jalen’s from her shoulder. “Why are you even here?”

“Vogue hired me to document some of the bigger shows this week; I could ask you the same question, but you probably fucked someone for a spot in the show.” Jalen leaned back against the wall, an arrogant glint in his eyes.

Giselle clenched her fists, the heat of indignation rising in her face. “That’s rich coming from you,” she shot back, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You know nothing about me anymore.”

“Oh, but I know enough,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. “You’re still the same girl, desperate for validation. It’s pathetic, really.”

Giselle’s heart raced, a mixture of fury and hurt flooding her veins. She had worked so hard to rebuild herself after their tumultuous relationship, to rise above the shadows he had cast over her. She refused to let him drag her back down.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jalen,” she said, her voice steadying as she stood her ground. “I’ve moved on. I’m not that girl you can toy with anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Is that what you tell yourself? Because it doesn’t seem like it. You’re still here, in this moment, letting me get to you.”

Giselle took a deep breath, reminding herself of the strength she had found within. “I won’t let you manipulate me again,” she declared, pushing past him toward the door.

But Jalen was quick, stepping in front of her and blocking her exit. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just walk away from me, Giselle.”

“Watch me,” she retorted, her voice unwavering as she met his gaze.

Giselle could feel the adrenaline coursing through her, fueling her determination. She tried to maneuver around him with a firm push, but Jalen was relentless, his body blocking her path like a wall.

“Why don’t you just admit it? You still care,” he taunted, a smug smile on his lips. “You’re just pretending to be strong.”

“Caring about myself and wanting to be free of you isn’t the same as caring about you,” she shot back, her pulse quickening as she fought to maintain her composure. “I refuse to be your punching bag.”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, revealing a flicker of something—uncertainty before he reached for her, snarling as he roughly grabbed a handful of her hair, holding her in place as he took a step closer to her.

“You were never my punching bag; you were a slut who needed to be reminded that the world doesn't revolve around you,” he rasped into her ear before catching it between his teeth.

“Jalen, please,” Giselle squeaked, her voice weak and laced with fear as his hand in her hair tightened, and she attempted to cower away from him.

Giselle's heart raced, and her breath hitched in her throat as the sound of clicking heels echoed through the changing room. It was like a beacon of hope slicing through the darkness of her fear, but she couldn't let her guard down.

At that moment, Jalen's grip faltered, his attention diverted by the approaching footsteps. Giselle seized the opportunity, summoning every ounce of strength she had left. With a swift motion, she twisted away from him, breaking free from his grasp.

“Get away from me!” she shouted, her voice trembling but harsh as she darted towards the door.

Just as she reached the handle, the door swung open, and a tall figure stepped inside—an impeccably dressed woman with a fierce look in her eyes.

“What's going on here?” the woman demanded, her presence commanding as she assessed the situation.

Jalen straightened up, a hint of annoyance flickering across his face, but Giselle could see the tension lingering in his posture. “Just a little chat,” he replied coolly, his bravado wavering under the weight of the woman's scrutiny.

“Chat? It looks more like harassment to me,” the woman shot back, her gaze flicking between Giselle and Jalen. “You need to leave, now. This isn’t a place for your games.”

Giselle's heart swelled with gratitude as the woman stepped closer, shielding her from Jalen's predatory gaze. “Are you alright?” she asked, concern etched on her face.

“I—” Giselle started, her voice shaky but determined. “I’m fine now. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?” the woman asked, her smile soft and empathetic as she placed a comforting hand on Giselle's shoulder.

“I am,” Giselle lied, nodding as she willed herself not to burst into tears.

“Good. Let’s get you out of here,” the woman urged, gently guiding Giselle toward the exit. “I was sent to gather the models for the final walk down the runway,” she explained to Giselle, whose body had slipped into autopilot.

She felt nauseous as they made their way back towards the runway, the left side of her head where Jalen had gripped now throbbing.

If there was one thing Giselle had mastered the art of, it was acting as if everything was okay, even amid turmoil.

Her face was stoic, void of any emotion, as she slowly sashayed down the runway, her eyes ahead and shoulders back as Jalen and his abusive ways consumed her mind.

The lights blinded her slightly, but Giselle kept her focus, channeling all her energy into her performance. With each step, she reminded herself of the strength she had found since breaking free from Jalen. The applause from the audience washed over her, a wave of affirmation that she was worthy of this moment.

As she reached the end of the runway, Giselle struck a pose, allowing the flashes of cameras to illuminate her face. But behind the smiles and the glamour, her heart raced with the memory of Jalen's grip, still fresh in her mind.

Then, as she turned to walk back, her eyes caught a glimpse of him sitting on the floor in front of the front row, his camera at the ready as he took pictures of the models.

Lowering his camera from his face, Jalen sent a wink in Giselle's direction, and it was enough to send her over the edge.

Giselle didn't care about being gracious or showing off the designer's work as she quickly made her way off the runway. The tears she’d fought to keep at bay spilled as she rushed the backstage area, her heart pounding in her chest. She could hear the echoes of the applause fading behind her, but all she could focus on was the overwhelming sense of dread that washed over her as she passed by the other models and crew members.

“Giselle! You were amazing!” Marco exclaimed as she rushed past him, but she hardly registered his words.

She felt the weight of Jalen’s gaze on her, a suffocating reminder of the past she was trying to escape. She needed to get away, to breathe, to gather her thoughts.

Finding a quiet corner in the backstage area, Giselle leaned against the cool wall, trying to steady her breath. She closed her eyes, willing the memories of Jalen’s taunts and his grip to disappear. She had come so far, and she couldn’t let him continue to ruin things for her.

Sliding to the floor in her couture gown, Giselle completely broke as she kicked off her heels, hugging her knees to her chest.

The sound of bustling voices and the thrum of the after-show excitement felt like a distant echo as Giselle allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a mix of frustration and anger at Jalen for daring to invade her space again and at herself for feeling shaken. She had fought so hard to reclaim her life, to transform herself into a version of Giselle that radiated confidence and strength, and yet here she was, crumbling in a corner backstage.

The sensation of cool fabric against her skin felt both comforting and constricting. Her designer gown was exquisite—a stunning masterpiece that made her feel like a queen upon stepping onto the runway—but it felt like a cage at that moment. Wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, she heard the sound of heels clicking against the floor, and her heart skipped a beat.

“Giselle?” It was the same tall woman from earlier, concern etched across her features as she approached slowly, her presence a haven amidst the chaos. “Are you alright?”

Giselle nodded, though the quiver in her bottom lip betrayed her. “I'm just a little overwhelmed,” she said, using the back of her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes before standing to her feet.

Excusing herself from the brief conversation, Giselle returned to the now-bustling dressing room, ignoring the whispers and concerned stares of other models and staff that floated around the room.

Giselle's hands shook as she removed the couture dress she wore, placing it back into the garment bag and hanging it back on the rail before getting dressed into the sweats she’d worn over to the show.

Grabbing her phone and purse, she messaged her driver, asking him to meet her at the back entrance she’d taken when she arrived earlier that day. She wanted to avoid the cameras, guests, and, most importantly, the chance of running into Jalen again.

Once safely in the car, Giselle shed a fresh set of tears. Her vision blurred as she scrolled through her contacts, unsure who to confide in about her run-in with her ex.

Before she could make the decision for herself, the universe made it for her. Giselle’s heart skipped a beat, and her stomach dropped as Kylian’s name flashed across her phone screen.

Pressing the answer button, she lifted the phone to her ear, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread.

“Giselle,” Kylian’s voice broke through, warm and smooth, despite their distance. “You did amazing out there. I saw you on Instagram.”

“Thank you,” she managed to reply, her voice as unstable as she felt.

“Giselle?” Kylian asked cautiously, his heart skipping a beat as she whimpered into the phone, unable to say anything else. “Giselle, talk to me,” he pressed.

“Kylian… my ex is here in Milan,’ Giselle stammered out, her voice trembling as the memories of Jalen flooded back. “He… he was at the show, and he…”

“Where are you? Are you safe?!” Kylian's deep voice cut through the haze of her emotions, its timbre laced with concern. Giselle felt a rush of warmth at his protectiveness, but panic still held her throat tight.

“I’m okay,” she assured him, her voice still shaky. “I just need to get out of Milan. Can I come to you?”

Kylian's heart raced as he listened to Giselle's trembling voice on the other end of the line. The thought of her ex being anywhere near her, let alone at the same event, filled him with a protective rage.

"Of course, you can come to me," he said firmly, his accent thickening with emotion. "I'll send a private jet to pick you up immediately."

Giselle hesitated for a moment, her breath hitching in her throat. "I'm in the car, heading back to my hotel.“

Kylian's grip tightened on the phone. "Come to Madrid tonight. How soon can you be at the airport?”

Giselle’s heart raced at the thought of leaving Milan behind and seeking comfort in Kylian. It took a little over two for Giselle to gather her things and be at the airport, but everything was handled for her once she was there.

There were no long lines or queuing. Instead, Giselle and her luggage were driven to a private landing strip, where a private jet was waiting to whisk her away.

The sight of the sleek aircraft brought a rush of relief that washed over Giselle like a wave. The chaos of Milan seemed miles away, and she clung to the notion that a reprieve awaited her in Madrid. As she exited the car, the cool night air enveloped her, invigorating and freeing.

“Miss Giselle!” The flight attendant greeted her with a warm smile and a nod, taking her luggage. “Welcome aboard. We’re ready to take off whenever you are.”

The jet's interior was luxurious, adorned with plush seating and soft lighting. Giselle sank into one of the velvet chairs, feeling the tension in her shoulders slowly begin to dissipate. She couldn't shake the memories of Jalen’s presence, but the promise of Kylian’s reassurance soothed her anxiety.

As the engines roared to life, Giselle fished her phone from her purse. With shaking fingers, she fired off a quick message to Kylian.

Giselle: I’m on the jet. Can’t wait to see you.

It felt like an eternity before her phone pinged, her heart racing with anticipation.

Kylian: Good. I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up as soon as you land. Just focus on getting here safe.

Giselle smiled, her heart buoyed by his confidence. She leaned back in her seat, watching as the lights of Milan faded into the darkness below, her thoughts filled with what awaited her on the other side of her journey through the sky.

The flight was a blur; Giselle lost herself in the clouds of anticipation, imagining the embrace of Kylian, the sound of his laughter, and the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at her. By the time they touched down in Madrid, her heart was pounding.

As she disembarked the plane, the night air was cold and biting, but she still felt a contrast to the coldness in Milan. A sleek black car awaited her, and she slid into the back seat, her heart racing as she prepared to see Kylian once again.

The drive through the city was exhilarating, the twinkling lights and vibrant energy wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. She felt liberated from the turmoil of the past day.

When they arrived at Kylian's house—a rather modern estate situated in a upscale neighborhood just outside of Madrid—Giselle’s breath caught in her throat. The door swung open before she could knock, and there he stood.

“Sorry,” Giselle blushed as her eyes glossed over with tears, there were so much different emotions coursing through her as she stood face to face with Kylian again for the first time in weeks.

“Come here,” he said, his voice a soothing elixer that wiped away her apprehensions. Kylian stepped forward, pulling her into his warm embrace, enveloping her in a blanket of safety that she desperately needed.

The world outside faded away as she melted into him, resting her head on his shoulder. All the fear, the confusion, the remnants of Jalen's taunts evaporated. “I missed you,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

“Missed you more,” Kylian replied, his breath warm against her hair. He leaned back slightly to look into her eyes, those deep, magnetic pools filled with concern. “What happened?”

Giselle hissed as he ran his fingers over a tender spot on her hair, her scalp beneath sore and slightly raised.

Kylian's brow furrowed, a mix of anger and concern coursing through him. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, his voice low yet fiercely protective.

Giselle hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much too soon, but the warmth of Kylian’s presence broke down her walls momentarily. "He just... he confronted me after the show. I wasn't expecting him to be there," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "He tried to intimidate me, to get under my skin again."

Kylian's jaw clenched as he processed her words, not entirely convinced by them. "Did he hurt you?” he repeated.

“He grabbed me by my hair when I tried to walk away from him,” Giselle confessed, feeling the emotions swell within her again. “But I got away. I promise I’m okay.”

Kylian's grip on her tightened, his protective instinct flaring to life. “Can I see?” he asked, softly running his fingers through her hair with a gentleness that sent a wave of comfort through her.

Giselle hesitated, the vulnerability rising to the surface. She had spent so long trying to distance herself from Jalen’s hold over her life, trying to stand tall and strong. But here, in Kylian’s presence, she found a safety she hadn’t fully realized she craved. With a slow nod, she tilted her head to expose the tender spot where Jalen had held her.

Kylian's expression darkened as he gently examined the mark, his fingers brushing lightly over her scalp.

"Giselle he can not get away with this," Kylian growled, his eyes blazing with intensity. The protectivenss in his voice made Giselle's heart race, a mix of fear and inexplicable delight coursing through her veins.

"No," she protested softly. "That would only make things worse. I don't want any more drama in my life."

Kylian's gaze softened as he met her eyes, and he let out a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “I hate that he did this to you. I hate even more that you had to go through it alone,” he murmured, his voice now low and quiet.

Giselle felt tears well again as she grasped Kylian’s shirt, seeking solace in him. “Thank you for being here now, Kylian,” she whispered, feeling her heartbeat steady slightly in his presence.

Kylian wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and she could feel his body radiate warmth and strength. A warmth that drew her to him both physically and emotionally.

Giselle held Kylian’s gaze as the tips of his fingers traced the left side of her hairline, his touch soft and gentle, a complete contrast to Jalen and it was in that moment Giselle came to a reallzation.

Kylian wasn't Jalen, and despite her fear of opening up as she had with her ex, she realized she couldn't let him hold her back any longer.

“Kiss me,” Giselle whispered, her voice steadying as a newfound resolve filled her. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, a potent mix of anticipation and vulnerability that hung palpably in the space around them.

Kylian's eyes darkened, filled with longing and something deeper that made her pulse race. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with the intensity of the moments they had shared in the past.

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling bold and cherished beneath his gaze. “I need this. I need you.”

Without another moment's hesitation, Kylian closed the distance between them, capturing her mouth with his in a heated kiss. It was tender yet demanding, a fierce affirmation of everything that hung in the air around them. The warmth of his lips ignited a fire within her, pushing away the shadows of her past with every gentle press of his mouth.

Giselle melted into him, her hands gripping at his t-shirt as she deepened the kiss, fueled by the emotions that rushed to the surface.

“I’ve missed you,” Giselle murmured against Kylian's lips as she stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulder, consumed by his warmth and masculine scent.

“I missed you more,” he drawled as his hands slipped to caress her ass, his forehead resting on her shoulder as he squeezed and gripped the flesh between his fingers.

Keeping a hand firmly on her backside, Kylian wrapped the other around her waist lifting Giselle from the floor so she could wrap her legs around him, so he could walk her into his living room.

Giselle gasped at the sudden surge of sensation as Kylian’s strength enveloped her, his arms and body providing a feeling of safety that she had longed for. The world around them melted away, all the tension and fear from Milan evaporating as he carried her through the luxurious space of his home. The decor was sleek and stylish, a perfect reflection of Kylian’s vibrant personality, but all she could focus on was him—the way he held her, the heat radiating off his body, and the intoxicating blend of comfort and desire.

As he set her down on the plush sofa, Kylian’s gaze bore into hers, filled with a mix of concern and passion, as if he was gauging every emotion flitting across her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice lowering to a soft murmur, reminding her of the seriousness of her earlier revelations.

She nodded, her breath stuttering slightly as the electricity in the room pulsed around them. “I am now. You make me feel safe.” It was a simple admission, but it felt monumental to her at the moment.

Kylian’s expression softened, and he moved to sit beside her, his arm wrapping comfortably around her shoulders. “Good. Because I want you to feel that way always.”

Giselle leaned into him, soaking in the warmth and reassurance, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything that had just transpired. The weight of her insecurities and the remnants of fear began to dissipate, replaced by a growing desire that coursed through her veins.

With a boldness she hadn’t known she possessed, Giselle turned her face toward him, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she brushed her lips against his again. It started gently, tentative, as if testing the waters, but with each soft brush, the kiss deepened. Kylian responded immediately, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Kylian murmured against her lips, his voice thick with yearning. The warmth of his breath sent shivers down her spine, igniting a hunger within her that matched his intensity.

“But I do know,” Giselle whispered back, boldness swelling inside her as she broke the kiss just long enough to look into his eyes.

Kylian’s gaze grew dark with desire, and without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand from her waist to her thigh and back again, gently teasing the waistband of her sweatpants. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against her skin as he eased them down her legs, tossing them to the floor.

“Can I taste you?” he drawled as he slowly moved his fingers back and forth over the dampening crotch of her panties.

Kylian's fingers traced the outline of Giselle's panties, feeling the heat emanating from her core. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a primal hunger that made her heart race.

"Please," Giselle breathed, her voice barely audible. She arched her back, pressing herself against his hand, desperate for more contact.

With a low growl, Kylian hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs, his touch igniting a trail of fire on her skin. He tossed the garment aside and parted her thighs, exposing her glistening folds to his eager gaze.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he murmured, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. He leaned in, inhaling her intoxicating scent, and Giselle gasped as his tongue flicked out to taste her, a slow, deliberate swipe that made her toes curl.

Kylian's tongue explored her pussy with a hunger that stole Giselle's breath. He lapped at her slowly, savoring her taste, before focusing on her clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue. Giselle's hips bucked against his face, her fingers failing to grip at his short, perfectly lined hair as pleasure coursed through her.

"There you go, baby," Kylian murmured against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her core. "Let me hear you." He sucked her clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, and Giselle cried out, her thighs clamping around his head.

Kylian let out a groan as he pinned Giselle’s legs apart on the sofa, his lips and chin glistening with her essence as he raised his head, humming as he spat on clit before slurping the saliva back into his mouth and repeating the action.

Although he had every intention of eating Giselle out until her mind emptied of the days events, Kylian found himself lust-drunk as he feasted.

He leaned back in, burying his face between her thighs once more, his tongue delving deep into her folds. Giselle's cries of pleasure filled the room as he licked and sucked, his fingers joining in to stretch and fill her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Just as Giselle felt her orgasm building, Kylian pulled back, leaving her bereft and trembling. He climbed up her body, his hard length pressing against her thigh through his sweats as he captured her mouth in a searing kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, his chin, and it only fueled her desire.

"Kylian, fuck me," Giselle gasped, her voice trembling with urgency as she wrapped her legs around Kylian's waist, pulling him closer. She could feel his hard length pressing against her entrance, and she arched her hips, desperate to feel him fill her.

Kylian groaned, his control slipping as Giselle's heat engulfed the tip of his cock. With a swift thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, stretching her open and filling her completely. Giselle cried out, her nails digging into his back as she adjusted to his size.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Kylian grunted, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he began to thrust. He pulled back slowly, almost withdrawing completely, before slamming back into her, setting a measured and intense pace.

Giselle met each of his thrusts, her hips lifting off the sofa to take him deeper.

Giselle's cries of pleasure echoed through the room as Kylian pounded into her, his hips moving with a primal urgency. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her completely, and it was exquisite.

"Harder," she gasped, her voice barely recognizable. "Fuck me harder."

Kylian obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mingling with their labored breaths and moans of ecstasy. Giselle's orgasm was building rapidly, her walls tightening around Kylian's length.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she chanted, her head thrashing from side to side as the pleasure consumed her. Kylian leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss as he felt his own release approaching.

"Cum for me, Giselle," he growled against her lips. "Cum all over my cock."

Giselle's body tensed, her back arching off the sofa as Kylian's words pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her pussy clamping down around his cock as she screamed his name. Kylian followed her, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his hot seed.

They stayed locked together, their bodies trembling and slick with sweat, as they rode out the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking. Kylian buried his face in the crook of Giselle's neck, inhaling her scent as he fought to catch his breath.

"That was... incredible," he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. Giselle hummed in agreement, her arms wrapped tightly around him, unwilling to let him go just yet.

After a moment, Kylian lifted his head, his gaze searching hers. "You are safe with me,"

[lucky-bucky-boy]

can't stop thinking about toxic/fuckboy!tasm!peter and casual by chappel roan played soooo tw: toxic relationship, situationship, pet names, oral (f rec.), semi-public ngl i kinda hate how i wrote this but that's okay

"can you pick me up from the airport?"

The dark screen of your phone illuminating and the sound of a text coming through making your hands move so quickly it ought to be embarrassing. You knew who it was, who else would be texting you this late on a weeknight?

The voices of your friends were already failing to scream in your subconscious as you re-read the text a few times. It was nearly midnight, you had to work in the morning, an assignment open on your computer. You promised them, and yourself, you'd be done with Peter when you graduate from college. He didn't need to know about that. And they didn't need to know about the conversation you had with him last week ultimately leading to your consideration of grad school.

"what time?" you type back, immediately biting at your nails and watching the little bubbles of him texting back appear.

"now. i'll make it worth your time, baby."

You didn't bother responding yet. You both know you don't need to. Quickly saving of your assignment, you found yourself slipping your shoes on and pulling a hoodie over your frame, one that you hated to admit to anyone was Peter's. The warm fabric smelled faintly of his cologne, and for a few moments you were able to believe that this was normal, that he was yours in the same way you've become his.

"be there in 20"

~

"Pull 'round to the alley, Aunt May put a camera on the front door last week." His voice gruff, like he hadn't slept properly in days, the ride from the airport to his Aunt's silent other than his occasional humming to the music you were playing.

The suitcase that sat in the backseat was his nicer one, letting you know how he had been travelling for work, the shadow of scruff an indicator it wasn't something super professional. Maybe a conference or meeting a long-time client for Oscorp? He would have taken a duffle bag if it was a personal trip. Maybe he'll tell you about it this weekend after the movies on the way back to your place.

The second you pulled the gear shift into park, he was pushing his seat back and maneuvering his body so he was knelt down at the glove box, facing the seat. Words hadn't been exchanged, and they weren't needed as you slid yourself out of your own seat to the passenger side. This was such an occurrence it might as well be routine, and so much so that he had paid to get your car windows tinted a few months back.

It was like Peter was sensing you were about to say something, his hands making quick work to pull the soft fabric of your pajama pants and underwear down. He didn't bother removing them, never did. Peter would always just pull them down enough to properly spread your legs and delve into you like a man starved.

"Always so fucking good," his praise against your cunt sending vibrations through you, as his arms hooked around your thighs pulling you down the seat to sit snuggly against his shoulders. It was as if any and every doubt you had started melting away once his lips begin suckling at you.

"Peter," the breathless moaning was only met with more feverish licks, your hand tangling in his soft hair causing a muffled groan to pull from his chest. His mouth might as well be made of magic, your orgasm brewing deep and quick.

"Don't you dare hold it," His voice coming out rough, eyes dark and blown wide as he held your gaze and quickly returned to lapping at your clit like he was being paid to do so. Peter started rocking your hips with his hold your thighs, helping you ride his lips to the high only he was capable of pulling from your body.

Peter watched with pure pride as you squeezed his head between your thighs, small whines and moans sneaking around your hand that was poorly covering your mouth. His eyes were half lidded as he pulled away, face glistening with your slick arousal. "Told you it'd be worth your time, baby," the smug tone sending shivers up your spine.

"Go to hell," you breathed out, though your words lacked any animosity.

Peter chuckled breathlessly, using the inside of his collar to wipe his face. You didn't even have a moment to fix your clothes or slide back into your seat before Peter was pulling the door open and clambering his way out of the car.

It was blurry and quick, Peter opening the back door and grabbing his suitcase. His hesitancy would no doubt repeat in your mind later on, but his words made their work of leaving that empty feeling, "I-uh- remember, no attachment, but thanks for the ride, babe.

[belliswritingroom]

Herbalist! Reader x Injured! Ruggie

Hia gang!

Just a heads up, this is a demo post to see if anyone is interested in something with this kind of plot line.

This isn't officially chapter 1, but a simple teaser of what will be like roughly. But there more interaction between Ruggie and MC and a greater focus on building proper suspense when I am not set under a time restraint.

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Word count: 1.5K Time to read: 10 Minutes TW: Description of Blood and Injury WARNING! This was a challenge I set myself to write in 2 hours hens its not amazing

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READ BELOW :P

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Water laps at the lip of worn wooden boards, saturated, deep with colour.  Gentle kisses of the iced liquid leaves its mark upon flesh. Traces of red and pink trailing up skin, cold laying claim to anything in its wake. 

Fabric that was once white now stained with adventures of just yesterday. Browns and greens finding themselves imbued within tightly woven lace.  

Once clear water now murky, a small sea found within the bucket that lay itself upon flooded ground. The frothing white that creates its own tide upon the surface, soon is a vortex dragging the suds down. 

Places traded as fabric is heaved from its shallow depths, a new  found burden of weight upon its breath. 

Inky night, losing its long fought battle with dawn. Traces of pink and golden light cascading down from rolling hills, shining a new hope upon the valley that is still cradled by the shadows of night. 

As the honey gold sun looks upon the ground, the routine signs of spring return. The gentle breeze finds itself nestled within high strung trees, the distant sound of rustling. Accompanied by the orchestra of singing, birds awakening. 

A path that leads its way twisting upon itself. Dusted gray and a soft umber intertwined as they show the well loved way from the old gate, to a small escape- your home. A tiny world secreted away. 

Rock’s and dried plants, withered from age nestled beside each other. Brought in from varying adventures, perhaps once a stone that ran wild within a rushing river or grass blade stud tall and strong. Now call this walkway their new home. 

Pebble of ashen tumbling over itself. Dragged from home, thrashed to the side, hauled from its tender brace of loving Earth.  Clinging to grass, pulling up roots as it seemingly claws to stay above the steep slope. 

Its prosecutor was almost unnoticed. As the village began it’s echo, the chime of bells masking the rhythmic thumping.  As it stalked it’s way closer, with an almost frantic tremble.

A shrill that carried itself from just beyond the curve of the hill, a haunting sound that drowned out the once welcomed noise of early morning life.

The haze that once pushed your hands through your work, now forced to pause. Your once glazed over eyes are now only able to focus on the path and whatever lay on its other side.

Batting against ground and the tumble of rocks are no longer forgot, as cold kissed fingers drop woven fabric into its murky pot.

A mop of black, on a shaking frantic body…

Its eyes wide as hands reach out, deep red encrusted within every crevice of tiny hands that waste no time. Grabbing and tearing at anything it can. 

“The man!” The child’s voice desperately rang as grazed hands clasped at sleeves. The still wet liquid spreads itself up through , infesting and staining its new cotton binding. “It’s everywhere-  he’s hurt please!”

One's mind was still in a daze, as a tiny voice desperately pleaded. Fingers snagging against a fraying shirt, dragging onward down your winding path. No rhyme or reason, a simple primal need for aid.

All you can do is comply, arms soon nestling the child at your side. Body on autopilot as you follow the directions.

As you seemingly have come back to your own scenes the once beckoning light that flooded down upon you, had long lost a battle to break through the thick canopy that reaches on head. Foliage that  towers above head, shelters from light and sound of the outside world alike. 

Only company that you found in your mind was a river. Harsh and cracking it’s heavy body against rocky shore line, the softened splashed that were  knocked back from jaggered edge seemed to be mocking. As your lungs gasped in unison trying to maintain pace. 

Sting that rushes across thighs partnered with the burn of muscle leaves you to question how long you had truly spent running. Trickles of warm red acts as a vague welcome when contrasted with the chill that breathed down your neck. 

The thicket taking as it pleased from your flesh as you pushed on forward.

Darkness that swallowed the pathway that seemed to lead forever, began to falter. Glimpses of gold trickling down, shone upon wet muddy ground. Cool air that nipped at exposed skin, momentarily forgot as warm rays attempted to illuminate. 

Narrow walkway now suddenly met with a harsh cut, seemingly a room that had craved itself within dark, swallowed whole by light. 

Blinding momentarily- vision enveloped by the sudden contrast.   

As blurriness faded all that was left for one to notice was a field of nature. Sage stems, strong and stood up right reaching towards their saviour. Adorned by delicate hues of colour, a sea of flowers that seemed to pray to the star that bathed them in what they deemed riches.

A gentle smell eclipses the air, a well needed change from the damp that not too long ago flooded all your scenes. 

Yet one thing seems so unnatural, within the far reaches of the small sector of hope. The small valley of soft colour is blemished, tarnished with a whole. One buried deep between a vastness of proud stud follows. 

Once you let the air linger for a moment, the sweet fragrance had an underlying stab to it. Something metallic that slung to the back of your throat, coating it in its nauseating plague.

Only growing stronger as you grew closer to the indent.

Soft heads of flowers begin to be speckled with deep crimson. Oxidising to a unnatural looking brown, freezing the moment of impact within the petals margins. 

At the center a simple frame is laid. 

Skin that had clearly felt the sun’s warm embrace, kissed to become a deep rich colour. Soft glow that reflected the rays contrasted by spots of light. Sharp cuts across flesh of cheek, though they are aged, a story that had permanently imbued itself upon his flesh.

Blonde that sat upon his head, matted in front of his face. Locks that stuck to his forehead, tips dyed with its owner's own blood. The main source that had corrupted the neighbouring flowers.

Roots a deep brown, you could only find yourself momentarily wondering if it was mud that further had worked itself onto his slim frame.

An uncommon feature within this ear made themselves pronounced under your watchful gaze. A pair of animal-like features, nestled upon the crown of his head, they did not look native to her. Perhaps some kind of dog…

Though the sight of gaping found that festered in his shoulder soon took president from his almost softened face. An arrow that laid claim to his shoulder, sticking out, having carved it’s way through flesh and bone alike.

Allowing deep scarlet to seep through rugged worn shirts. Clinging to the flesh that lay below, as the smell of iron remained permeating the air.

After a moment of mindless studying, you could only drop the child you had heaved in your arms all this way.

Kneeling to the small boy's level you spoke to him. “Go back to the village and get some of the men, I will make sure this fellow will be okay till then.”

And so you did all you could until someone stronger showed up. Wait…

Wait until he could be transported back to the house. Back to where you could actually be of more help.

 Eyes unable to find what to fixate on. The ground, mud and dust ridden of the red that has dried and stained features that seemingly flinched with the tiniest of movement. The walk back was one of a haze.

Yet it all seemed to suddenly end, with this strange man now in your bed. Your own mind unable to truly recall how this had became.

….

….

….

The horizon is slowly painted with a soft blend of oranges and pinks, as if the sky is gently waking up from its slumber. The quaint little patch of land is nestled in the embrace of the early morning shadows, which are slowly retreating with the approaching light. 

The routine has begun once again.

Until it was disrupted once more. A piercing shatter breaking free form within your small retreat.

Feet moving faster than you can think, you are met with water pouring from within your bedroom. The door soon moved out of the way as you forced your way in. Eyes wide as broken shards remain scattered across the floor.

The stranger whom you had saved staggered to a defensive stance. Nose scrunched into a snarl as he heaved for a simple breath. Chest shuddering as if the s act of standing caused him pain.

Upper teeth exposed, snapping and on display. Their unnaturally sharp edges caught a moment of light that broke through the drawn curtains.  

Calloused hands wrapped around white and blue laced porcelain. 

Traces of water diluting the thick red that slowly ran down as knuckles turned pale. Its harsh edges further embedding itself into his flesh.

Pointed towards your presence, the slight buckle and tremble of his elbow exposes his unease. 

“Where the hell am I!? Who are you!?”

[grim333z]

Aurora ~

Carl x gn!reader

Word count : 8417

{this is so very towl inspired}

TW: brief mention of a suicide attempt, blood-loss, scars, usual twd gore.

Angst with an itty bitty bit of fluff

[I just kinda died for you

You just kinda stared at me

We will always have that chance

We can do this one more time]

You only had one goal at this moment in time, clearing the camp of walkers, their god awful rotting figures nearing in on the camp, nearing closer to each and every community you'd fought with everything in you to simply just keep up and running; the bridge you'd spent the past three months on a direct route to each community, oceanside, Alexandria, the kingdom, hilltop, the sanctuary. And Walkers simply couldn't be the thing to take it all out, take everything you'd fought and lost so many for.  Your heart thrums in your ears as you scramble to find something that  could help, your fingers fiddling around to find the smooth polished wood of the handle of your gun, sitting in its worn leather holster dangling from your hips; perhaps it was the sheer adrenaline running through you causing the fiddling.

The moans from the dead whom should be buried echo in the trees around you, the groaning and stumble of undead feet ringing through hardened soil. You spot a few lone stragglers far off in the distance, their rot darkened and decaying flesh blending in with the trees. It had been so long since all of it started you'd yet to grasp the reasoning behind why they're still standing, surely they'd have rotted or starved over the years, but hell you still didn't know why they even started standing in the first place. 

The smell of damp moss, soil and long-rotting flesh pierces your nose, still fumbling for some clue on how to drag yourself out of an unfortunate situation, till the faint nickering of a tied up horse rings some where in the distance. Scrambling to your feet, heaving yourself up on a log bench, stumbling towards the source of the noise. The animal could've been surrounded in the horde, part of you knew you it was more than likely a pile of half chewed flesh and organs awaiting. Still you cling to the small glimmer of hope lingering within you that the horse was still living, it was a start. 

They were called walkers for a reason, they walk. On a horse going at a steady pace you could easily lead the mass of dead somewhere far enough away to at least deal with later, with time to formulate a plan, gather the masses to assist in whatever needs to happen. You'd diverted plenty of hordes before, they had some kind of...migration pattern? seemingly surrounding the community's during early autumn and migrating off during the spring, albeit in a smaller group. Over the past few years most of the groups had grown accustomed to how the walkers behave, finding longer trips easier in winter when their movements pull to a halt each time they freeze, ending buried beneath snow and ice till they thaw in the warmth of a January sun.

The growls grow louder...like the horde is seemingly getting closer. Then you spot it, you'd taken the wrong route, having stumbled upon one of the more unsteady bridges, large metal rods poke out from where they'd warped and broken over years of unmaintained usage large chunks of brittle concrete fall into the river below. The horse lets out a sound of something that can only be described as fear, before the cold searing pain of metal violating through flesh rings through your body. No longer looking down at the pale path around you, though the sky, the warm sun beating down on your face hot against your skin, before the growling once again hits your ears. 

The cold crimson of blood graces your hands as you feel for the wound, part of you cant even fathom if its even really their, or if the heat and your lack of water is playing tricks on you. But know, the sight of your hand dripping in none other than your own blood, seeping into the cracks and valleys of your hands. Your eyes will themselves to look down, to be met with the sight of a thick jagged piece of shrapnel sticking itself out of your side, surrounded by a mass of throbbing flesh. You knew it was never a fantastic idea to pull a what you'd been stabbed with out, right now that piece of metal was keeping a fair amount of blood inside of you. Though met with a horde of nearly a thousand walkers you decide dealing with a gaping hole was an issue for later, and avoiding being eaten alive a more pressing issue at the moment. 

The rumbling of the horses hooves are long gone by now, just the hungry wines and moans of the undead, the drumming of their feet, dragging on the floor as they walk. seemingly refusing to rot. Your eyes dart around the environment, searching for something to almost hoist you from your compromised position...without causing anymore damage; the task feeling practically impossible. 

The vibration of feet against ground draws closer as the thrum of your own heartbeat raises in your ears, fingers fiddling with your belt having spot a rusty piece of metal sticking out from above you, wincing as your adrenaline fuelled movements jostle the wound awkwardly. Having paused for a breath you throw the  belt up to the jagged piece of metal, watching the worn leather loop over the top of it. 

Inhaling deeply through your nose you pull yourself up and off the metal which had violated its way through your throbbing side, the sudden movement and blood loss sending you dizzy, a sharp nausea raising in your throat as you try and pull yourself together. Swallowing down the sick feeling, unsure if its the sheer adrenaline running full force through your veins or the fact you're actively bleeding out. The sweat on your skin has suddenly grown heavy and your eyelids are all too aware of their desire to close, and your willingness to keep them open. 

Trudging along the paths in hope to make it back to the camp to at least patch yourself up. You manage to keep up a pace to go just faster than the hungry masses behind you, god knows where you're leading them, full circle would be worse than never ever starting. Though a distraction, diversion really could buy you some time to inform someone from some community that you're fucking dying surrounded by a horde.

Then you spot it, the same pale white horse you'd been perched upon before she'd decided to throw you onto a piece of sharp metal, chewing grass beside a small worn down shack, grinding each blade between her teeth like there's nothing to fear. 

You huff in relief, horses were faster than nothing. Lumbering over to the horse and pulling yourself up fighting back unconsciousness. The red stains the horses coat as you lurch forward, deciding holding yourself upright and facing the dizziness simply wasn't worth it. You feel the blood ebb from between where you'd been fighting to almost hold it inside, seeping from the shallow valleys between each finger. Your fading sideways vision of your surrounding ripples and flows in and out darkening as you feel your eyelids grow heavy. You keep telling yourself not long now... not long till what exactly? you're not sure. Death? perhaps or help? forcing yourself to simply keep going, it was the least you could put mind to doing. 

Slipping from conscious, you see the prison? far off in the distance, the group sat around a small fire in the middle of a once walker infested field, chewing on something Daryl must've caught, You're in the circle but you're not seeing through your own eyes, Beth is singing, her voice doesn't sound how you remember it though, quietened by the distance and muffled, like theres some static buzzing constantly trying to drown it out. 

Though pulling you back to consciousness is the almost sweet earthy sent of rot is never ever far behind, the groans whom fade in and out of your mind, like your ears are giving you short reminders of what needs to happen. 

and you're back again, though knees pressed into the cold sharpness of gravel as Negan sings his speech, and yet you're looking at yourself, sat along side the rest of them, his words almost echoing around you. Then there's the hard crack of wood against skull. You blink... and you're once again surrounded by masses of walking dead, hunched over on the bony back of a horse as you stain its snow white coat with a cherry wine crimson. 

Then their it is, the camp... the tents soft fabric fluttering in the wind and the sent of a long put out fire stings the air still... You hoist yourself off the horse, watching the large animal head to where it knows its meant to be. 

The ground beneath your feet feels like its moving when you know its not, the feeling of cold damp sweat forcing the fabric of your clothes to stick to your skin. Theres a strange fuzzy feeling in the ends of each limb, and a weird static feeling ringing like its near enough to be right next to you or far enough away to be humming continuously in the distance. 

Then someone calls your name, fuzzy and muffled by the sudden pounding in your head and your astute knowledge that you're in some serious shit. 

Your own head feels heavy on your neck and the blood has yet to cease its stream, pulsing from you with no intent to stop. You can't figure out who's called your name, their voice muffled and distorted by what can only be chalked up to as your blood loss. Each breath that goes in is deep and heavy but never satisfying to what you need, like you cant keep up with the pace your heart is beating at. 

Then theirs more voices, and it's unclear if its one persons words echoing in your mind or that of several peoples, hell who knows if you're even actually hearing it. The source of the voices is soon spotted to be a huddle of sort of familiar faces, on the bank across from the bridge, looking up at you, as you stumble over your own feet, staggering around like you're not far of joining the huddle of walker friends behind you. 

Shit the walkers, you huff in before willing your legs to just fucking move, letting your feet fall to their own rhythm, your lips realising fast sucked in gasps after each movement. The shuffling of uncoordinated feet and never ending snarls thrumming behind your weak frame is more than enough to push you forward. You weren't dead yet, so you had to keep going. After making it this far, death quite simply wasn't on the table for you. Taken out by walkers was not the way you planned on going out. 

The opposite side of the bridge approaches faster than you expect it to, turning to face the sea of snapping teeth and rotting limbs. Knees feeling like they're inches from caving, sending you too the floor. A small lingering yearning for this to simply end sticks in the back of your throat. Wondering if giving in to the snarling jaws of the dead would be easier than pushing through, forcing your knees to keep you upright. You'd never wished for an easy route before though. Why start now? 

The dizziness somehow grows, your jaw hanging limp as you force more air into your lungs, feeling the saliva build in your mouth and your face grow pale and clammy, coughing out in attempt to rid yourself of the sickness building within. 

Looking around for some kind of solution... something to wrap your wound or divert the walkers, a flare to fire in the distance maybe or a bomb... you spot them, fallen from a cart on the bridge, the bright red coating lighting up light a heaven sent solution. Your fingers fiddle for the handle of your gun, hell going out this way was better than being eaten alive. Gripping the cold handle as your arms raise aiming at the explosives.

"What the fuck? what are you doing?" Carl...? Sure you'd seen people on the bank but had you been imagining them...? then it is again, his voice and you know for certain he's speaking to you. "Don't be an idiot..." He Yells, voice laced with a thick layer of panic as you tilt your head to look at him, the dizziness punishing your movement.

The boy looks over at you, being held back by both Rick and Michonne, fighting the two grown adults grip, like he'd nearly got himself killed to reach you. "Let me go, they're clearly hurt" His voice is strained and hopeless as he writhes in their grip, trying his best to yank himself from their restraint. 

"Carl..?" The word falls from between your lips, Shakey and pained. He wont have heard it, though he probably gathered from the look on your face as your lips fell ajar. 

You force your gaze away from him, back on mission. Pulling the trigger before you even allow a chance at second thoughts, The blow is hard and fast, hot against your already clammy skin. 

 You find yourself waking up once again in the same plainly decorated bedroom, the cold grey light pours in through the one small window, the same three wind turbines spinning as they have each morning for the past god knows how many years.  The gentle hum of the air con blowing cold stale air around the four suffocating walls. You'd never not felt like a Guinea pig being tested on or a rat in a cage; the freedom they pretend you have is an illusion. 

You haven't truly been in the moment since that day happened, each person you knew seemingly fading from memory till all you see when your eyes shut is the snarling teeth of dozens of walkers Infront of you and the cold metal of the trigger of your gun. The faces are the first to go, then the voices, its hard to match what someone sounds like when you can't imaging their lips moving as they speak, it wasn't one person at a time, more like chunks of memories, fading leaving the scenes empty in your head. 

Sat around a campfire you were sure someone else was sat with you, maybe a group...maybe someone singing. Or the end of a train tracks, there was a sign though the letters no longer form, and theirs just the cold ghost of a group you're not sure if you imagined or not, wandering around each empty community, no one to be seen. Just to wake up in the same place, do the same training, wear the same uniform and act the same. 7am wake up, 7:30 breakfast, 8am morning meeting, 9 am close contact training, 10am helicopter training, then back for lunch at 11 just to be swept back to the outer edge of the compound to plunge a hand designed spear into the mushy brains of roaming rotting hunks of flesh what were once humans. 

Each squelch of flesh and crack of skull, ticking off another one and another one till your last name ends up painted onto the brick wall with the top kills number written out next to it. A big 97. Most kills in this section. 

They knew what you were, what they had planned for you. Labelled as an "A". They had labels for their civilians, Bs and As. Bs are people simply trying to stay alive and are let into the community via the Consignment Program. Survivors who are encountered by the group are let in, though not for free, having them do janitorial work, clearing walkers to earn their place, However they killed As on spot, fearing their ability to organise and inspire a revolt, risking uproar in the community's. They lacked mercy, finding removing potential threats before they become threats easier. 

That didn't stop them from mischaracterising you initially, hell that was the only reason you weren't amongst the hoards of walking dead, listing you as a B. Unsurprising in the state you were in, bleeding out on a river bank. They figured you out not long after, pulling you into a secrete developing part of the Military. 

They called themselves the "CRM" or the "Civic Republic Military." a high tech community somehow hidden from any one else, you'd grown to know their dirty secrets over time. Bombing the city's near by, ending every community to discover them. No one could leave for fear they'd be discovered, cause some type of dispute. You'd tried to escape nearing on five times. Surprisingly they asked you to join the military They had plans for you, to pick and scrape at your flesh and mould you into the very leader they needed. 

Part of you couldn't grasp why they still want you around, you'd pulled some shit trying to escape over the years, nearly loosing limbs, pulling stitches from past attempts. Just to wind up back in your same room, staring into the same blank wall, feeling the cold of a shard of glass between your fingers and drawing it to somewhere with a surface level artery ; though never being able to will yourself to actually do it. 

So when you find yourself in the passenger seat of a helicopter, plummeting towards the ground. You don't panic, seeing it as an easy way out. You fall asleep each night wishing that explosion had taken you out, or that you'd let the dead sink their teeth into your flesh. Years without a familiar face, years without any closure. The people whom had ceased from your memories could be dead, their names unable to fall from your butchered tongue. Finding everything you do or say robotic, accidentally slipping into the mould they'd chiselled out for you.

Feeling the soil greet you isn't something that you dread, closing your eyes as you make impact, just to hit the ground and fucking live. Crawling out of the wreckage, huffing as you pull your frame from the mess of metal and blood. Lurching forward on your knees as you attempt to pull yourself into the moment, each event feeling like you're watching from a distance, like what happens wont really affect you. A numb kind of comfort though. You don't fear death, it can't be much worse than this, can it? 

You're blinking, you can feel the weight of your eyelids as they shut, and the sting of salty air from the river not far. and a person? In the corner of your eye, wielding a sword, some clearly very worn tilted back on a head of long almost curly almost wavy hair. The black mesh of your military required helmet blocks your view, not to mention how out of it you feel. The person is pulling the masks of each individual, slicing their throats. They're out here and have clearly been out here. No point in running, so you sit back, knees pressed into the hard rocky dirt, silently waiting. Theres no fear, no nausea rising in your throat, nothing. 

You see yourself, like you're looking down, hands limp against your side, each breath shallow and purposeless, the person moves from solider to soldier with a vengeance not to be messed with. Till their cold pale fingers have latched onto the bottom edge of the helmet, pulling it from your head, swallowing slightly as the cold looking, bloodied blade is raised.... and theirs no kingdom come, the cold sharp metal hovers just under your chin...before falling to the floor.

"Holy fuck-" Holy fuck... 

You look up, greeted by a familiar blue eye, peering down at your limp form, kneeling as if you're ready to go, like theirs nothing ahead of you. "Carl." You breath, and you're back in your own flesh and bone again, seeing from your own two eyes. a feeling foreign but not unfamiliar grows in the pit of your gut, rising up in your throat. Dirt and stone crunches beneath your feet as you hoist yourself up to his level 

"I- I found you..." He breathes, awestruck as he looks at you. He doesn't question your compliance to the blade, the lack of any fight or flight at the feel of the cold metal against your neck. He's too overwhelmed with joy to pay any mind to it, just looking into your eyes. His face is older, more adult, and he's not wearing anything over his scar, deep rippled flesh revealed to the world. "You did..." You hum, unsure on the right thing to say. 

Then his mouth is against yours, warm and welcoming, hands wrapping around your armour clad waist. The cold wet of his mouth moving against yours as if you were drinking dry the river Lethe, forcing the years of a yearning thirst for this to simple oblivion. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as he breathes you in, undisturbed by your changed form. 

Finding your finger tips laced in the warm gentle curls of his hair, the lack of a flinch when you accidentally brush over his scar fills you with a undiscovered warmth, almost pride. You're the first to pull away, sucking in a breath through your teeth as your head lands on his shoulder, "Carl..." You breathe, garnering your own name back, said in the same breathless manner. 

"How'd you find me..." You hum, feeling an overpowering longing to investigate him, ask him how is everyone? how he knew where to look? to just keep asking until he's too overwhelmed with words to form a response. "I- I don't know..." He breathes, not truly believing the luck behind it all. Your head draws back meeting his eyes. 

The look on his face must mirror yours. Years of longing to be in one another's embrace, too feel the gentle warmth of his finger tips as he absentmindedly traces your features. Or the hiss he'd make when you'd snag his hair accidently after you'd begged and bargained with him to play with it, knowing he'd never admit how he drank in the quiet intimate feeling of the warm pads of your fingers as they weaved small braids or dragged across his scalp. You'd never really put to mind how easy he is to need, to be around. 

Your name falls from his lips, pulling you from your thoughts. The whispered word relighting the burning embers you were sure had been buried deep within you, blown out the moment you'd woken up surrounded by white clinical infirmary walls, leaving you with nothing but ash and ruins. His gentle gaze dragging you from the depth of the hole you'd found yourself in, the hole you'd always intended to be a grave, now all you can see is life, nestled deep within his soft expression.

The moment is interrupted by the loud whirr of high speed helicopter blades, far off in the distance. You knew what they're here for. Destroy all evidence, rescue any remaining. It was simple protocol. However this gave you less time to figure out what to do with  Carl. He could run now or join you. And though you yearn for him, his embrace. He isn't fit for this place.

"You either run or do what I say." The words tumble from your tongue, he pulls back slightly nodding, his feet don't move more than a few steps away from you, awaiting your instructions. "They can't know I know you." You urged, a faint shakiness in your voice, prying its way through the cracks, he's made his decision to stay without knowing what they'll put him through. 

"Pick a new name, make up a story, act like you need to rely on someone... And don't call them walkers I call them that." His chest rises as he sucks in a deep breath of mid summer air nodding. You raise your hands, looking to him to follow. You pull your military appointed gun from its holster, aiming it at him. Hopefully setting the scene well enough for the military to believe Carl was just someone trying to survive. The raised lump in his throat bobs as he forces down the bubbling nerves with a swallow. The whirring grows louder as the helicopter approaches. 

You eyes meet Carl a couple days later, his slender frame clad in the usual brown and orange uniform, a Bs uniform. three embroidered inter-looping circles on the back. You pick up the pace slightly, the once heavy unform now weightless as your feet hit the ground in an attempt to catch up to him. 

Pulling him aside into one of the military's vehicle storage ware houses, situation yourselves between two large black CRM trucks, the type they hauled large amounts of artillery or food to different parts of the republic. He'd made it into the consignment program, unbeknownst to him, you had to pry at Thorne to let him in. "They're gonna put you on missions soon." He nods, silently awaiting a continuation on what said missions are; letting his pale pink tongue dampen his lip in thought, "We fly out to overrun chunks of land, clear and secure it." His eyebrows twist uncomfortably at your unusually methodical way of speech, every word seeming to just get the point across, plain and clear. Your expression falters slightly at this revelation, blinking before setting yourself back on task. Slipping a small, neatly folded piece of paper into his pocket. "Wha-" You sniffle pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before slipping your helmet back on and walking out. Re-joining the group of fellow soldiers headed off. 

Carl's left with the weight of your note in his pocket, and an overwhelming amount of confusion. Fingers just grazing the folded edge but unwilling to pull it out and read it, for fear he'll loose you once again. He spends the rest of the day meddling with the idea of reading it, sat in his tiny military assigned room, eye on the dark edge of a letter peeking out through the folded gap. He fears whats on the page, but the curiosity threatens to bubble over the surface. Leaning forward to snatch the paper of the desk, fumbling as he opens it out, gliding over each letter. 

"I can't go, but you need to. I have a plan but I won't be their to execute it with you. My bit is done, this is your part. Theres a boat, just down the river, slightly out of view and off any route, Theres food, water, a with the route to home. The guards change over at 4, there's a blind spot, but its only open for fifteen minuets max, in-between 3:50-4:05. Go then, Go tonight, they'll notice what I took is gone by dawn. You found me, but you can't stay and I can't leave. I love you." 

Scrawled in your messy handwriting and signed with your initials, he runs his top teeth over his lower lip as he scans over the words again and again, but he cant will himself to even put the thoughts to set your plan in motion. Slumping back against the firm barely worn in mattress, staring up at the blank white ceiling as he allows the paper to fall from his grip.

You wake up, the same as each morning, pull yourself back to your feet and go. There's no sign of Carl at breakfast, you take it as he did as you'd told him, he'd be gone, nearly half way back to Alexandria by now. You head back to your room as per routine, slip into your uniform and find yourself clambering into a helicopter, slipping the headset on before looking at Thorne, she states most the key info, where you're going, and what you're doing, clearing walkers on the outskirts of the city, she does however drop some info which peaks your interest, "They're taking a trainee in the other one..." Your eyebrows twist and contort in confusion at her words? A trainee? You let out a quiet mm in response, a quiet acknowledgement of her words not wanting to overwhelm her with questions, trainees were never put on missions like this. It was one of the riskier areas, worn down buildings with bits of metal sticking out, chunks of brittle concrete threatening to fall and unsteady soil, with roots ready to rip out the ground taking the rest of the tree with. Trainees were put on smaller missions, in clearings with just a few stray walkers. 

Looking out at the community as it grows smaller beneath you, the surrounding area lined with pine trees nearly two dozen deep and vast hills which seemingly stretch for lines beyond the horizon line. 

The stretch of land you'd be working on grows near, the faint movement through still trees makes you certain you're not gonna go back very clean, mentally preparing to scrub dirt and blood off your skin until it is red and raw. 

The loud constant whirring of the blades dies down as the vehicle lowers to the ground, slipping your helmet on as you clamber from the seat, there's another solider, and who you assume is the trainee, his uniform hanging off his frame like they'd given him one just close enough to fit. Seemingly unprepared for his debut mission. He slips the helmet off to look at Thorne and you as the Rules and plan for the Mission get reeled off, "G.Rimes, you're sticking with me. We can't have you getting killed on your first go, Group one is on walker duty, Group two on fence duty," Thorne states. G.Rimes? You hadn't looked at the trainee, he wasn't in your group, so he wasn't yours to deal with. It was a silent agreement between you and Thorne, you could both each handle your own. 

And their Carl stood, holding the helmet to his hip, making soft subtle glances at you. Blinking you force yourself back on task, telling your group what they're doing. "Group one is on walkers, we need to get in their weld up what we can, and replace what we need to, there's three breaches and I'm assigning two to each one, Me and smith on the first, Byrne and Lincoln on the Second and lastly Carlton and Gurira on the third, you each know what you're doing and you have each other for help. We all know protocol? So get to it." You affirmed, wracking off each word to ensure the mission goes smoothly, following protocol. Having to shove down every word that threatens to escape your lips in Carls direction, you had a job and you wouldn't let emotions overtake the importance of the task at hand. Though in the overwhelming anger you don't even grasp the fact he chose to not go home, to not see his family again, For you. He'd rather keep up the act of an innocent survivor, live under intense rules and protocol to simply just to be in your space. 

The mission goes as planned, each breach repaired and nearly every walker in the area gone. Theres a gentle nudge on your side, its Thorne gently trying to get your attention "The trainee want's a quick run through on how the helicopters work, he's really adamant to be shown... And look I would but Beale wants me in for a meeting about some promotion..." She rambles, before heading off. Not leaving you with much choice in the matter. Spotting Carl stood next too the empty helicopter, a faintly sad blank expression on his face. Watching you climb into the drivers seat, following you. 

"You don't want me here do you?" He asks but the contents of the letter you'd given him made the answer already clear. You'd arranged an escape for him, with the intent for him to take it. He knew there had to be a reason why you needed him gone, and a reason you hadn't told him. 

"I don't think its a good idea for you to be here." You state matter of fact-ly. Eyes focused on getting the two of you back to the main facility. He's chewing on his lip slightly, looking out at the solid concrete facility buildings, ant sized in the distance. "Why." He asks, blue eye staring at you with a new glint of longing lace in his sad expression. "I can't- Carl, you should've ran when I told you to." You huff, knowing that this was for the better. 

As the helicopter nears closer to the community he pipes up again, "At least show me how to use this thing, like I'd asked for." He spits, playing with the button on his holster. He'd been given a black, crm embroidered eyepatch, his fingers going to adjust the fabric, having grown used to not wearing anything over it. The twinge of insecurity he was sure was gone had weezled its way back into his mind, maybe the fact you refused to look at him, or the urgency behind getting him something to cover it up with. He's slowly starting to wish he'd never even bothered coming to find you. 

You start listing off the controls on the large dashboard in front of you, a mass of flickering lights, knobs and switches. He sits and pretends like he's listening, nodding and humming to your words, like he gives a fuck, in all reality he's buying time with you, formulating a plan on getting you both out of there. You're hovering over a sectioned off area, an old research building which got swarmed just on the edge of the river bank. There was intent to reclaim the building from the dead, expand the walls across to it. Though they never found time, and figuring a way to wall of a chunk of river without interrupting the flow while simultaneously not having any gaps was too much work for one research building.  "What does that one do." He questions, hovering over a button. "Carl, do not press that." You urge, you'd already told him what that one does and yet... he still pressed it, sending you both plummeting towards the muddy river bank. 

You feel him pulling you out with him, rolling onto the dirt as the vehicle crashes into the river. "What the fuck?" You yell, pulling yourself away from him, dragging your muddied form to a stand. Looking at him from the ground. His eyes staring up at you, a less than happy expression on his face. He sits himself up, wincing as a mud covered piece of shrapnel plunges into the palm of his right hand,  quickly moving it away. Looking down at the wound as it slowly starts too ooze red, its not deep, not deep enough to need stitches at least. 

"I'm getting us out, us. Both of us." He snarls bringing himself to his feet. "They'll come find us, they're probably heading out right now." You respond. "We'll tell them, it malfunctioned or something." He scoffs, heading away from the scene of the crash, towards the upwards slope. "All the reason to get going then." He states, starting to climb the bank, and you have no choice but to follow. He glances around before deciding to head towards the old research facility. "Its overrun." You state, though his pace doesn't slow. "I can deal with Walkers." He urged, slipping the gun from its holster.

The two front glass doors are locked with a black chain, the CRM's lazy attempt at keeping whatever's inside contained. "Carl." You scolded, hearing the click of the metal as he cocks the gun, before one deafening shot rings through the air, breaking smashing the smooth glass of the door. "What are you doing...?" You hiss, watching him duck as he slips through the door frame. "We need supplies, so I'm getting them." He clicks a torch on, looking around. 

Rotted walkers sit slumped against the walls, some almost skeletal, most of the dead are in old clothes, not a uniform, a clear final claw at survival before they let themselves end. Part of you chalks the down fall of this place up to starvation. The way windows and doors are boarded up, they'd fought to keep walkers out, not realising nothing else could get in. The bottom floor is empty, research rooms, beakers with brown dry blood encrusted to the bottoms and an open fridge stinking of rot, heading upstairs...its cleaner, obviously the accommodation floor. Bedrooms with the doors open, a few empty, some locked with "DEAD" scrawled across the wooden surface in spray paint. "Carl..? what are we doing." You ask, slowly feeling like any control you have over the situation slipping into Carls grip. "Some of these rooms are secure, supply's and stuff, these guys weren't attacked. Their downfall came from inside." He ushers, slipping into one of the larger bedrooms at the end, it wasn't really a bedroom, more a small apartment. Some kitchen utility's, a bathroom and a small bed. "They have power, I saw the solar panels. We could get our shit together here." He states, setting his mud covered helmet down on the counter. 

"My shit is together back there. and your shit is at home, in Alexandria." You hiss, watching him look for something to clean the oozing wound on his palm with. "My shit hasn't been together since I lost you." He hums, finding a half empty bottle of rubbing alcohol popping the cap and pouring it over the wound, "Fuck..." He hisses under his breath. Theres the hum of a long range walkie talkie ringing from your pockets, the muffled voices of two undistinguishable CRM soldiers, stating they've yet to find the wreckage and for you to respond in the event of your survival. 

"Give it here." Carl offers his un-injured hand out towards the device. "What..?" You say, passing it over.  He takes it, bringing it to his ear for a moment before letting it fall to the ground, hitting the floor with a bang before his boot meets the smooth plastic surface, a crunch and it's out. He'd lost his in the crash, and now you'd lost yours.  "What was that for." The crushed plastic glistens up at you from the floor. "We don't need to communicate with them." He responds, looking for something to wrap up his hand with. Though unable to find something. 

"We can't just let them win, this isn't life." He hums, searching the cupboards. 

"They won the moment they found me, Carl." You spit, stood unsure how to respond to both his words and erratic movements. 

"You can't say that." He utters, still franticly scrambling for something of use, moving on to the wardrobe, pulling out some non-uniform clothes. 

"I tried to escape, I can't. They'll kill everyone we love, They have to keep themselves hidden." You spit, "Remember, early on. When they bombed Atlanta. Yeah? That was this. They can and will take out Alexandria. "He turns at you, clearly not knowing the full extent of the CRM's capability's. 

"We can get their first, evacuate everyone. There's gotta be a way to make this work." He rambles. "We can't" You scoff, running a stressed hand through your hair. 

"I should've said I'd be at the boat, then maybe you'd have fucking listened and we wouldn't be in this situation." You spit, feeling an unfamiliar anger, bubbling deep inside you. He looks at you with an unreadable expression. 

"If you'd have just Fucking gone, then I could ensure you and Alexandria's safety. I'm doing this for you, not us. Their is no us anymore." He nods, running his tongue over his lip as he pulls himself together, gaining some form of composure. 

"This isn't you." He sates, looking at you blankly. "This isn't me how?" You bark back.

"What did they do to you, please..."He huffs, a longing for answers carefully laced in each word. "Carl, we should head back" You state, unwilling to put to words what they've done to you. "Then why can't you leave, do I not deserve answers? Its been eight fucking years and you can't even give me something, who are you?" his words are dripping with anger and hopelessness, he needs something, even a crumb of information. 

"We've spent years, loosing people. Loosing our homes and our lives, These people are powerful. and they trust me, I'm working towards a future while all you can do is cling to the past." Your eyes cant will themselves to meet his, gaze lingering on the smashed walkie talkie "What future is this." You feel his eye on you as each word drips from his lips. "I have to do this Carl. I have to." You cry, trying to express the importance of this too him. 

"So I'm going, I tried, I really did try. I found you, But I didn't find who I came looking for." He sates as the sound of a knife being pulled from a draw wrings out, followed by the slam of a door. Leaving you alone, in a cold empty room. "I tried, don't think I didn't." You call out.

Carl pauses in the hallway, feeling a twinge of longing tug at his gut, before turning back, pushing the door open, but unwilling to enter the room. 

"What did you try for? Did you try to join them? Did you try to find me? You're a prisoner and you can't see it. The doors open, take it. " He urges, feeling the desperation build inside him. You stammer over your words till you deem them worthless, standing and looking at him. 

"I don't know you, and I sure as fuck can't trust you. You're lying to me and most definitely yourself." He spits, on the fence about leaving, going home to his family. Or staying, just to see the person he loves distort into someone he'd never want to stay around. Though the look on your face changes, you'd never expected to hear those words from him.

"I can see you trying still, who I knew is still in their, you could've picked up that walkie talkie and told them exactly where we are, but you didn't." He fiddles with the cold handle of the knife in his hand. "You say you can't go home, but I don't think you can just go back either." He states, his voice softer than it was, like he knows something about you that you don't , hitting a nerve. He was right and you knew it, but still the past 8 years spent being drilled with this idea were hard to erase in one conversation. 

"I learnt how to die, while still breathing..." You breathe, realising he didn't plan on letting down, deciding it would just be easier to tell him why you've become the person you've become. "at the start, it was just making it to the next day and I'd have the comfort of my memory's. I'd dream about when we first found the prison, and the train tracks, finding Alexandria. All stuff from years ago... but it started fading, chunks of people gone, you were gone. and suddenly I was by myself in these scenes, and I started doubting if they were ever real." You look up at the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the quiet ding of a blade being set down on a counter, Carl doesn't dare interrupt you, silently encouraging you to continue. "Then, it was nothing. I couldn't see you, or the group or even the place, just the dead. I replay their mouths coming at me, and I can hear the moans, smell the rot. I'd hoped it was a sign or something. Every mission after one of those dreams, It felt like that was it, I'd miss step while clearing some walkers, and it would be it for me."

He inhales, giving you space, an open invitation to be vulnerable with him. "And sometimes I'd hope it would be, and then it wasn't to the point I nearly just did it myself, got sick of waiting. I didn't. And if I go with you, and I loose you again, what if I can't die again, I don't want to" You find yourself sobbing the last few words, unsure on where the hot tears falling down your cheeks came from. 

"So I wont let you lose me." He says, stepping forward, pressing a gentle thumb to your cheeks, brushing away the dampness. "And theres never not gonna be an us." He hums pecking your lips, gentle and sweet, like they'd always been. "We hunker down here tonight, we go tomorrow. Both of us, home." He breathes against your lips, unwilling to open his eyes as his lips find yours again. You pull back, "Can I take a look at your hand" You whisper looking down at it hovering beside you, "Not yet." He breathes finding your mouth again. 

You find yourselves intertwined in the small bed, his head limp against your shoulder as you gently clean his wound, more carefully this time. The soft orange glow of the lamp illuminates the darkened room and his skin, the callous on his fingers from the trigger of his gun, and the small scars where he'd nicked himself accidentally while sharpening his knife. Noticing he still has his eyepatch on..

"Thought you didn't wear one of those anymore.." You breathe gently, reaching to slip it from his face, throwing it into the pile of CRM uniform you intended on leaving behind. He lets out a gentle hum against the warm skin of your neck, his eye meeting yours. You finish cleaning his wound, wrapping it with an strip of an old shirt you'd found in the wardrobe. Letting your fingers slide through his over grown hair, feeling his breathing deepen as he dozes off against you. Not long followed by you, letting your head fall limp against the top of his. 

The morning starts of slow, awaking to the quiet shuffling of fabric as Carl clothes himself, finding a backpack hidden in one of the AC vents, having clearly spent a decent chunk of his alone time checking every inch of the bedroom for something of use. He smiles softly at you as you sit yourself up in the bed. Not long after going to find yourself something to wear, getting distracted halfway though at his lips against yours, "Carl..." You chuckle against his lips as his uninjured hand wraps around your waist, after a while of basking in it, you eventually push him off to finish getting ready.

The door clicks shut behind the two of you, a knife in either of your hands, taking out the stragglers left over from when you'd entered the building initially, finding two that look similar enough to each other slipping them into your abandoned uniform and setting them up to look  like they'd been eaten alive. Before finally dragging him into the cold metal elevator at the end of the corridor, and throwing yourselves against the far wall, watching as one of the mushy heads of a toppled over walker gets crushed as the two doors shut. "Jesus, eughhh-" Carl exclaims, turning to look at you. However you don't give him much warning before tugging him closer and slamming your mouth into his, at the innocent ding of the elevator making it to the ground floor. You're thrown back into the world you'd grown to know. 

Having to battle through a gaggle of a dozen walkers, before finding a Car parked neatly in the back. Carl slides into the drivers seat fiddling with the few multi coloured wires under the dash board before the engine comes roaring to life. He smiles at you, leaning over to kiss you. "Let's go home." He breathes against your flushed lips. 

Your fingers entangle themselves with his as he draws out the car park, the crunch of concrete beneath your feet, and his warm musky boyish smell, the knowledge that the CRM was long behind you.  

"G.Rimes? " You huff a laugh breaking the silence remembering the fake name he'd chosen "Carl." He glances at you momentarily, "What?" he holds back a smile, he knew what he was doing in the moment. "You could've been more creative...?" He nods, letting the laugh slip from his lips, his thumb gently going to caress the side of your hand, the empty road in front of you. You had a new start, a new chance to live. And live, not survive. Live. And you had all the intent to keep your fingers firmly linked with Carl for whatever the world decides to throw at you next. Or hell, what you decide to throw at the world. "Don't go blowing shit up when we get back, please" He chuckles, and you can't help but smile back. 

You take a moment to look at him, the way his eyelashes fall against the gentle flushed hill of his cheek and the way his mouth hangs slightly open with his glistening tongue poking out the corner as he navigates the surroundings, the soft warmth of his hand. His eyes still glistening as he stares out at the world ahead of him, the sun lighting up the green of the trees and the deep enticing brown of the far of hills, and the blue of the sky, revealing colours to you, you'd feared you'd never see again. Both love and terror graces his complexion, a fear for the future but the will to embrace it. You knew in this moment that you had no choice but to love him, any version of you that could've ley dead and buried back there. 

Looking out into the early morning sun, with the gentle breeze blowing in through a gap in a window, you knew your only goal in this moment was to go home. 

[rat-rosemary]

Ough, pushing my trauma into c!Dream, guys he's in such a bad state after prison.

Base after base dedicated to hoarding just one specific item (or type like Redstone in general). Sapnap tracks Dream down and finds nothing but a empty base where every chest is filled to the brim with regular apples

(So many chests. Walls of double chests filled with nothing but stacks of apples. Dream never touches it tho, if he needs it he'll get more. This is for emergencies)

Dream sitting on his makeshift kitchen in prison in the middle of the night (he thinks. He can't exactly tell the time here) staring at some easy to eat food that he really wants and he's so hungry but he can't eat it because what if he needs it later?

Carefully studying people's schedules and timing how long he can stay in the sun, even if he's far away from everyone

Comfort hidden so deep no one could ever find it. Hundreds of blocks from mainland there's a hole digged at bedrock level where Dream made a bed filled with blankets and plushies and pillows. It makes him sick to try to sleep in it but looking at it make him feel safer

(Not acting on major threats like the egg because it gets attention off him it helps the plan. Everyone is coming together to fight one threat. The fact that it makes them forget about him for a bit has nothing to do with it.)

[spaceistheplaceart]

Every lawyer in Japanifornia gets a bizarro version like Furio Tigre, okay? It's law.

her name is Dionna Spikes and her sole mission is to harm empaths

Apollo's Counterpart Here

Bonus no text of Ms. Spikes under the cut:

[andiv3r]

Why do i always end up making people angry when i talk about my health issues

[kerosene-saint]

I wish people didn't act like dd/lg or abdl were like pedophilia. not even into it and I'm a sfw age regressor (non community due to this problem) but like. ugh. and the problem is my views on it have changed so much over just this year. because guess what. whatever people do in their free time surrounding sex, as long as it is not genuinely illegal, should not fucking matter to you. it is not your fucking business to tell people you think their kink is gross and pedophilic, especially because it's not pedophilia. it is fine. to be uncomfortable with a kink page of a certain kind interacting with you. I get it. and there are some pretty mean people in those communities but guess what? there are mean people in EVERY COMMUNITY. and you do not have to relate that kink to pedophilia to say you'd prefer their kink blogs to not interact with whatever blog you have. but when you say shit like "pedos and also people into ddlg and abdl dni" it's annoying. you could say "ddlg/abdl blogs dni" absolutely fair. but saying don't interact abt an entire group of people of which you do not necessarily have the means of checking everyone for being in that community??? alright then. you have fun in puppy play isn't anything like fucking dogs but ddlg is like fucking children world.

[eclaire-went-bam]

tips on how to deal with cluster b rage is useful and all what like what do i do when i'm bored

like

genuine question

i'm not aspd (i say that cus i know chronic boredom's usually big for that one) but i do get painfully bored extremely often. i'll be under no emotional distress and then i'll decide to self-mutilate simply because i'm bored and it's funny & i don't think that's a good thing

[tj-crochets]

Hey how many indoor wasps is a concerning number of indoor wasps, and how do you get rid of them? I am not anti-wasp and am fine with them living in my yard, but this is the second wasp in my house in like two weeks and I am prone to severe allergies. Like, I don't know that I'm allergic to wasps, but I would not be surprised if I was, given my long list of other allergies? Also one of the wasps was a dead wasp on the floor right next to my bed and I found it after almost stepping on it barefoot. I would like to not do that again. I am not concerned about being stung if I know the wasp is there, but I am not always the most observant of people lol

[theloveinc]

plagued by thoughts of bakugo losing his mind if pregnancy makes you food averse for w/e reason