#this show is impossible to color rip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

canihaveacalmtime · 3 months ago

Text

"Liam.. I thought- we- we are friends...?"

"We were friends, (Y/N). I'm just bored of you and you are of no help for me, really."

You and Liam were best friends since primary cause instead of ignoring him for his stuttering, you actually held out a hand and help him get over it bit by bit.

When Liam finally got rid of his stuttering in the first year of highschool, you were so happy for him, even felt proud. He begin having more friends, become more mature and handsome, his popularity even hit the peak after he participant in the school's talent show as a singer.

But as time goes by, you took noticed of his behaviors and actions towards you. From a gentle guy you once know, he became more harsh and occasionally lash out at you when you try to ask him to have a conversation.

It seems like the Liam you once known was not your Liam anymore, he's everybody's Liam except for you.

But you were there, you were there for him everytime he make a progress, reach a milestone and succeed a goal he wanted to achieve. You were there, on the stadium, in the crowd, by the guests lane, always watching and look out for your once to be best friend.

All of that for a sentence that would haunt you for the rest of your life, rip apart your most painful old wound that no amount of comfort can heal. That day, at the park you two would always hang out when you were little, Liam, out of all people was the one who cut the string that tied the two of you for over 10 years.

"Maybe I should've listened to the others when they said you were fucking useless. And now that I can confirm it myself, yeah, you're fucking worthless, (Y/N)."

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

Yandere ex best friend, after graduated from college, succeed in the economic field and become a very famous CEO, a man of every women's dream and the man that all the other men fighting to be one day. He's hardworking, a true gentleman and a man of words, he make impressions not create disappointments. To colleagues, he's the boss that every office workers wished to have, to business partners, he shines like a true leader that leads all the cooperations to succeed.

Yandere ex best friend despite in all of his glory, hides his dark and painful past with his savior, the person he suppose to return the favor to, not to hurt them or be a bastard to. But he did, he hurt you and over all became a rude jerk to you just because he's so greedy for all the glory attention he got back then that he wanted to get rid of a dirty stain like you. He's wrong, he knew now but when he tried to turn around, you were no longer there and for the past 3 years, finding you seems like an impossible task, like you just vanish, completely vanished without a trace to track.

Yandere ex best friend suddenly got news from the workers whispers that one of his company's small agency recently hired a new secretary that boosted that agency value up so much that even the workers needed to talk about it so after dismissed all the fuss going on, Liam decided to just check it out himself.

Yandere ex best friend were just shocked and baffled by the fact that you were that secretary everyone was fussing over about, while you have a really warm look for everyone in the agency, the moment he stepped inside the place, it seems like you just put on a completely new face to greet him. Its not a annoyed face or a furious face, your expression was juts cold to say at best and even a hint of uncomfortable, fear at worst. He understands why you have those expressions directly towards him but he couldn't not notice how his heart stings whenever you look at him with those lifeless (eye color) orbs.

Yandere ex best friend immediately order the agency's director to let him have you as his personal secretary and become his right hand. Of course, when the news got out, all the workers there were just shock but it's a negative shock, they were finally have another hidden gem as their colleague just for the highest tier to came and take them away again.

--------

"Sir Liam Rigus, we understand that we are holding a hidden gem but you can not take them away out of thin air...!"

Your boss argue, his face is showing various kinds of emotions right now, you might seems normal but inside, you are just another disaster, all the negative thoughts and emotions together making you want to break down but don't dare to. You can not show your weakness to your enemy, the CEO of your company, the hand holding your agency on a hair string.

"Unfortunately director Ron, my words will go as planned, no argue."

And just like that, you were taken away from your new home without your consent and begin forced to work somewhere else, a new environment where you not even sure if anyone there gonna take a good impression of you or not. You can only pray.

--------

Yandere ex best friend ordered his personal guards to escort you and bring your belongings into his penthouse as this is where you're gonna be working from now on. With your new room next to his, work in his private office and have to share every meals with him, to you, this is a living nightmare no more no less.

Yandere ex best friend loves how your hand feels whenever you hand him the daily paperworks and random documents, he feels so content just by staring at you while you're working, the best thing for him is, you're just too focus on your work to even notice a pair of love sick yellow eyes looking at you.

Yandere ex best friend always bring you to your room whenever you passed out on your work table or accidentally fall asleep when you're talking to him about work stuffs. After tucking you in your bed, he would always leave a few kisses here and there, even check your body if you're eating well lately or not, sometimes he would just sits by your bed and stares into your cute sleeping face or some rare occasions, he'd even climb onto the bed to sleep with you. He doesn't worry about getting caught because he knows well you're a real deep sleeper, he has been watching you much and long enough to know everything, once you're asleep, you won't even know an earthquake is happening so how'd you know if he has done something more than just stare or touch?

Yandere ex best friend was having a super terrible day and you took noticed of that so you tried to not bother him at all with the paperworks despite struggling with it so bad. A maid happened to bake some sweets, you also remember that he always consume sweet food whenever he stressed out, so you give in and decided to bring him a plate of cookies but you didn't expect it to turn out so badly.

--------

"CAN YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!? AREN'T YOU USELESS ENOUGH ALREADY!?"

Was all that you heard before the plate of cookies on your hands fell to the ground, shattered into pieces as the sound echos through the quiet office room. You felt as if all of your abusive memories came rushing back into your very soul as your hearing turns into loud voices speaking negatives into your head one by one more and more. You don't know, you don't feel anything, you don't event know when did you ran back into your room, lock the door tight or how panicked the maids were when you ran down the hallway with blood all over your bare legs or how horrified Liam was when he snap into his senses as he tried to catch you stop running but all he can do and is doing now is banging on the door, try to break in and stop you from hurting yourself even more.

"(Y/N)!!! Please open the door!!! Please, I'm sorry!!! (Y/N)!!!!!"

Everything turns into a blurred out vision.

The next time you opened your eyes, you found yourself on the hospital bed with your legs unable to move. Your doctor told you that due to the amount of blood lost from your legs and how damaged it was from the accident, you're completely lost your walking forever and now even have to rely on someone to take care of you. For the first time in so long, you thought about finding 'freedom' again but before you can even grab any sharp objects, Liam walks in, his eyes completely lock in on you.

"Are you happy?"

You ask him, giving him a hopeless smile with your lifeless eyes as tears begin falling down your face continuously.

"You must be so hapoy to see me like this- I bet you couldn't wait for this day to come- surely y-"

you can only laugh lightly

"(Y/N)."

He crouched down onto the hospital floor as he hold your face tenderly in his hands, wiping away any tear falling down and look straight in your eyes.

"I swear that from now on, I'll be responsible for you and for what I've done, you can just rely on me only from now on and I'm sorry."

As he awaits for your answer as you can only laugh lightly in a dying tone as if mocking him that what he's trying to do is so stupid and time wasting.

But he never go back on his words as for the next days, weeks, months then years, he really do as he said, taking care of you from A to Z without even complaining one bit but there's one thing he forbid you to do is work, he has enough to take care of you and he doesn't want you to overwork yourself anymore, he only needs you to relax and do whatever you want, of course, with a maid or a guard nearby to watch you 24/7.

After 2 years, you begin open up to him again, you begin talking to him again and slowly, you and him just turn into the pair of best friends like how you two were back in the days but some times, in the back of your head, a voice would scream out to you, telling you that you need to escape, run away from him but how far can you even go with this condition anyway so you dismissed that voice even though that voice is yours itself.

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

Liam hugs you close to him as you let out soft snoring, deep asleep. He gives you a love smile and he plays with your hair.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for a night like this to come, darling."

He traces his finger across your closed eyes then your nose and your lips. They all so delicate to him as if he's holding a flower in his arms.

"You know... when we found you unconscious in your bedroom after the broke down that door, it was a perfect opportunity for me to finally tied you here with me forever even though I felt like I should just kill myself when I realized I hurt you."

Liam put his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your comfort smell while kissing your bare shoulder.

"Your injuries weren't that servere to be honest, I knew you can recover with that amount of injuries but then you will have the chance to escape, to get away from me, leave me and abandon me again. I can't let that happen..! You know."

He then reach up to give you a deep kiss in the lips, as he parts away, he can see your cheeks turn pink from the lack of oxygen but you still deep asleep despite that.

"So I may have interfered with making you... lost your ability to walk. I didn't mean to hurt you with that- it just! Just... I wanted to keep you here but now you're here, 'you' are back also, so I can not be happier."

He laughs out a rather happy but maniac laughter as he watch his darling like admiring a gorgeous painting.

"I love you, (Y/N) and I'll make sure you know that, sooner or later."

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

#calmwrites #yandere #yandere drabble #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere best friend #yandere tendencies #angst

627 notes · View notes

novulen · 11 months ago

Text

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ : the jjk men n the ‘gifts’ they’d give u for valentines 💌!

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : 18+ (mdni), smut, oral (male receiving), cum!!, throat fucking, somewhat rough sex, toys, overstimulating, slight BDSM (Geto), (doll, baby, good girl) used to address reader, overall filthy☺️

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ : Toji, Nanami, Gojo, n Geto

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓. ೋ

On the day of valentines, Toji gifts you roses, and perhaps whatever you’ve been talking about–believe it or not, he does listen when you ramble on and on about the little mini skirts you want, but for a sole purpose.

“Take it all–mhm, give me a lil’ show too, yeah?” Toji mumbles, watching as you take most, if not all, of his girthy cock down your little throat. A big hand of his slides down to your ass, admiring the little patterns and the light pink color of your mini skirt, especially eyeing the way the material covers little to nothing, revealing the thong kept underneath. “Fuck,” he groans, taking a handfull of your ass in his hands, feeling himself get impossibly harder simply by how soft all of you feels.

“T-Tojhi..” you murmur, mouth too full of cock to speak, and your pathetic little sounds come out muffled. Yet, amused, Toji grins. “No need for speaking, doll, jus’ keep sucking,”

And you do. but, when he cums down your throat, with such a huge load of hot seed in your mouth, you can’t help but cry out as your mouth’s filled with warmth.

“‘S too m–,” you sob, pleading for a chance of relieving your lungs from breathlessness though Toji is ruthless, still thrusting up into your mouth even as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his muscular thighs.

“Mm-hm, but y’r gonna swallow it all, aren’t ya?” he hums, a noise of deep satisfaction booming from his own throat as you nod obediently, not wasting a second in swallowing all of his cum, as impossible as you deemed it from the moment he came.

And after such a satisfactory session, Toji can’t help but pull you close to him, skin to skin in the moment. “I should buy you more mini skirts, eh, what’d ya say?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊. ೋ

Wholeheartedly will go all out. Gets you things you’d talked about ages ago–so much so that you yourself sometimes forget you’d spoken of such–dresses, purses, skirts, lingerie.

“Kento,” you mewl, unable to bear through the incessant shocks of ecstasy rocking through your body with each of his thrusts. You reach out for him, hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders, and hold on for dear life.

The beautiful set of red lingerie he’d bought for you is almost no more, ripped to shreds the moment you’d walked out the bathroom. It’s as if something that isn’t your husband has taken you, given the way he’s somewhat mercilessly fucking into your cunt, groaning deliciously vulgar words in your ear.

“So–hah–so fucking beautiful,” Nanami grunts, planting his forehead, sticky with perspiration, to yours lovingly. You moan as the feeling of him takes over your whole body, his scent, his breath hot against your skin, and his deep groans all prove to be too much–too much at the same time, at the very least.

He’s soon spilling himself inside you, moaning praises and everlasting statements of love into your ear, and you’re not far behind him. “Oh–god,” you whimper, womb filling to the hilt with your husband’s cum, and you can't think of a better way to end such a day.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒. ೋ

Like Nanami, although he’s much more of the reckless type when buying gifts. Sometimes even gets you things you don’t want, but you find it cute nonetheless. Although, you were surprised to see a little pink vibrator at the bottom of the bag he’d given you.

The more he presses down on your clit, the more the pleasure seems to burn. And Satoru might chuckle from your reaction, but his body’s tensing, his hands are losing their patience, and his cock is hardening in his pants.

“‘Toru, t-take it away, I can’t–,” you attempt to plead, closing your legs around the hand that’s keeping the toy flush to your pussy, but he refuses, shaking his head with a sly grin. Satoru only hushes you, and for trying to clamp down on his arm, he ups the power of the vibrator.

“C’mon, baby. ‘S just a lil’ stimulation, yeah? I’ll put my cock in ya soon.” he breaths, breath hot against your pulse point as he leans in to place kisses. Your back arches up from the sheets, sensitive nipples rubbing against the black fabric of his compression shirt, the added stimulation causing your third orgasm of the day to crash over you.

“See? Good girl.” he praises, finally gracing you the relief you’ve been begging of him, removing the toy from your clit, slick and other fluids dribbling from you. “Now you get to have me.”

But, even when he says those words as if it's some blessing, you, on the other hand, can’t find it in you to give him another. Knowing Satoru, and his inhuman sex drive, you’ll perhaps be here until night.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒. ೋ

Knows what you want but will try to ask you (at least somewhat sneakily) days beforehand. Always gets you the perfect amount of things–though this time, he’s given you more than you bargained for.

“Hm–you wanna touch me?” Suguru grins, greedy eyes raking over your body, soft and malleable in his hold. You’re on your fours, head pushed into the pillows, and as if that’s not enough, Suguru thought to tie your hands behind your back.

It’s almost malicious the way he chuckles–he can’t admit seeing this desperate side of his bratty girlfriend has brought out something in him.

“Please.” you mumble against the mountain of pillows he's pushed your face into, saliva dribbling down your cheeks onto the satin sheets. But, your pleas fall on deaf ears, given that Suguru’s in his own world.

Each of his pounding thrusts sends you jolting forwards, the only thing keeping you down being the strong hands planted firmly to your hips. He leans down, exhales fanning by your ear, as his hands simultaneously slide up to take a handful of your hair, pulling your head back just enough for you to wince in stinging pain.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, baby? Don’t tell me you’re backing down now.” he mumbles into your skin, tongue darting out to lick a line up to your ears. Once he figures that he’s shut you up, he hums in approval.

“Good. Lay there and take all of me.”

2K notes · View notes

vampiefemme · 10 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! ** 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: modern au; ellie moves to a big city to escape the past. she goes to her first lesbian bar, where she meets you.

cw: porn with…a whisper of plot; alcohol use, fingering (e!receiving), strap-on sex, bottom!ellie, slightly sub!ellie, she’s whiny here

Ellie’s never been to a lesbian bar.

It’s surreal - banners of colorful pride flags are strung across the room, some of which she can’t even identify. Distressed and faded posters are plastered on the stone walls, advertising drag shows and queer punk bands with names like The Cranky Dykes and T-Girl Social. Nearly every patron is tatted or pierced, and there’s more platform boots and fishnet clothing than Ellie’s ever seen in one place before. Before she’d moved to the city, Ellie had lit up with excitement at the thought of visiting a lesbian bar. But now, in her worn Harley Davidson tee and a pair of jeans with unintentional rips at the knees, she feels very much out of her depth.

Steeling her nerves, she internally reminds herself that this is exactly why she’d moved in the first place - she needed new experiences. She needed unfamiliarity. What she’d left back in Texas was her normal, and she planned to build a new normal here. One that was the antithesis of everything she’d known before.

The bar isn’t completely packed, but she does need to push past dancing, sweaty bodies, girls sucking on each other’s faces, and chatting cliques to get to the edge of the bar, where more clusters of people are calling out drink orders and thrusting wads of cash tips at the bartenders. By some miracle, an empty barstool presents itself after a drunken patron with a mohawk stumbles out of it, and Ellie swoops in to snatch it before someone else does. She sits there for a good few minutes, trying to capture a bartender’s attention, until someone shuffles up beside her and sticks a hand out to wave one over. And, of course, they notice immediately, heading over with a towel slung over their shoulder. Ellie sinks lower into her seat, cheeks burning.

“I’ll have a spicy marg,” the woman beside Ellie says, voice projecting loud enough to hear over the clamor of music and chatter. The bartender nods, then goes to step away, but the woman next to Ellie stops her, speaking with that attention-commanding voice.

“What are you having?”

The bartender’s gaze shifts to Ellie, still hunched over and beet-red in the face. She flushes impossibly redder when she looks up at the woman who’d just ordered, realizing that the question had been directed at her.

“Oh,” she blurts, posture straightening. She glances at the woman, anxiety flaring, then back at the bartender. “Um, an old fashioned. Please. Thanks.”

Just as quickly as they’d come, the bartender disappears again, off to pour precisely-measured shots and mix cocktails in shiny silver shakers. Ellie’s hands are in her lap, fiddling restlessly, when she finally forces herself to look up at the woman who’d practically had to order for her.

You smile at her when she meets your gaze. Though she’s trying to be subtle about it, you can feel the way Ellie drinks in your every feature, eyes flickering over your face, then your body. It’s obvious that she likes what she sees, because she has a hard time looking you in the eye again.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been trying to order for a while.”

“So I saw,” you respond, but not unkindly. You take a moment to look her over, although you’d already done plenty of that before you’d even approached her - you had seen her from across the bar, looking forlorn, her leg bouncing beneath the edge of the bar as she tried (and failed) to order herself a drink. Her lack of confidence is what piqued your interest; it was hard to believe that someone that gorgeous wasn’t oozing arrogance and self-importance. She’s all lean muscles and shaggy hair, her forearm decorated with a sprawling fern tattoo. You could already imagine yourself running your hands through that hair, kissing the length of her sharp jawline, pulling those narrow hips up against your own.

At a lesbian bar, a hot girl who couldn’t carry herself with confidence usually meant one of two things: she’s fresh out of a breakup, or she’d never been somewhere like this. You’re determined to find out which of the two applies to her.

“What’s your name? I haven’t seen you here before.” You angle your body to face Ellie, popping your hip out as subtly as you can.

Ellie, determined to keep her eyes on your face and not the curve of your hip or the delicious sliver of cleavage peeking out of your square-neck top, peers up at you from behind her bangs. “Uh, yeah, I’ve never been. I just moved here. I’m Ellie - what’s your name?”

You tell her your name and she repeats it slowly, like she’s tasting every syllable. “Pretty.”

Your drinks arrive before you can fumble for a response.

“Spicy marg, old fashioned,” the bartender lists as they slide your drinks over the smooth wood of the bar. Ellie murmurs her thanks and you nod at the bartender before they disappear, your hand curling around the glass.

“Cheers?” You tip your drink towards Ellie. She clinks her own glass against yours and the two of you take your first sips, the bitterness of the alcohol burning its way down your throat. You feel it settle in your stomach, warm and satisfying.

“So,” you begin, licking jalapeño and lime-tinged tequila from your lips. Ellie’s eyes follow the movement for a moment before she catches herself and looks away. “Where’d you move from?”

Ellie smiles shyly. You watch her index finger trace the rim of her glass. “Texas.”

“Oh?” One of your brows lifts. “And what made you want to move here, Texas?”

“For one, I’m gay.”

“Thank you for stating the obvious.”

She lets out a little laugh, and the sound makes you want to grin - you take a sip of your margarita instead.

“I just… Couldn’t be there anymore,” she elaborates. “It wasn’t right for me. I needed to start fresh.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, letting Ellie’s words sink in. Clearly, something severe enough had happened to make her want to shed her life in Texas like an old skin. And this lesbian bar, filled with every unique kind of queer this city had to offer, was part of this new version of Ellie - the version she’d chosen to build from the ground up. You’re struck by how brave Ellie must be for that. And yeah, maybe she’d struggled to order a drink for herself, but that didn’t take away from her bravery - not when she’d willfully chosen to uproot her life, a decision most people could never follow through with.

“I’m impressed,” you say honestly. “And I hope the city gives you what you’re looking for.”

The corners of Ellie’s lips twitch, and that pretty blush fights its way onto her cheeks again. You’re about to say something when you hear the first notes of one of your favorite songs thumping through the speakers, a few other bargoers cheering to express their own excitement.

“Dance with me,” you say to Ellie, reaching forward with your free hand to grab her forearm. She looks up at you like a deer in headlights.

“I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter, just follow my lead. C’mon.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Didn’t you come here to try new things?” You curl your fingers around Ellie’s wrist, and she lets you pull her to her feet. You’ve made a good point, and she doesn’t argue again - just follows you to the dancefloor, where dozens of others are already moving to the beat of the music, hips rolling, heads nodding. The lights pulsate in the vibrant colors of the rainbow, the crowd painted shades of sunset orange, hot pink, deep indigo. You sip your drink and start to dance, turning to face Ellie; she’s gaping at you, unmoving.

“Come here,” you say, having to shout over the music. Ellie steps closer to you as you move to the rhythm, hips swishing. You’re wearing a pair of flared pants that makes your ass look incredible, and after Ellie finally starts to dance along with you, you turn around to bring your backside closer to her. As if by instinct, Ellie’s arm loops around your waist - she presses her palm into the front of your pelvis, rolls her hips against your ass. You grin, wide and self-satisfied, as you lift your drink to your lips again - only to realize it’s almost gone. You make a mental note to head back to the bar after this song, but for now, you enjoy the last few drops of your margarita, revelling in the feeling of Ellie’s hand, strong on your hip, as she presses ever-closer into you from behind.

Ellie’s in awe of you.

The way you’d strolled up beside her at the bar, posture proud, buying Ellie a drink and flirting with her like it was easy, natural. The way you’d let your eyes wander over her figure, not shy at all about the lust in your gaze. The way you’d dragged her to the dancefloor and ground your ass back against her, smelling like lime and tequila and something headier, something distinctly you.

Now, after two strong drinks and several songs-worth of dancing with you, Ellie’s so turned on she feels like a live wire, sparks erupting from her every nerve.

On the dancefloor, Ellie had looped her arm around your hips, leaning in so close she could smell the liquor on your breath. You’d needed to fight down every urge to kiss her first - you weren’t even sure if she’d ever kissed another woman before, and you’d already done enough to pull her out of her shell for the night. But Ellie had leaned her forehead against yours, noses brushing, eyes fluttering shut… And your mouths had crashed together in the sort of kiss you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting.

After making out in the crowd like that for god knows how long, you’d invited Ellie back to your apartment. Which brings you to your current predicament: Ellie’s backed up against the front door, your hand under her shirt, fingers dancing over every inch of her deliciously solid abdomen. If Ellie’s inexperienced, she’s doing a fabulous job of pretending she isn’t. But you’re not sure just how innocent she is now, as she moans unabashedly into your mouth, your hand squeezing her tits over her sports bra.

“Hey,” you breathe, pulling back from the heated kiss you’d been sharing.

“Mm?” Ellie blinks at you, dazed. You want to ruin her.

“Is this okay?” You peck at her lips, then her cheek. “We don’t have to… Do anything. Not if you don’t want to.”

Ellie’s bangs are gorgeously tousled, and she looks at you like a kicked puppy - all round eyes and furrowed brows, worried you’re taking something from her. “But I… I want to.”

“You sure?”

Ellie nods.

“Have you ever been with another woman before?” Your stomach twists at the directness of your own question, but you really want to know. Need to know. A bar hookup might not be the best way for her to pop her cherry - or, at least, her gay cherry.

Then again, it’s not exactly unheard of in the community.

“Yeah. I have,” Ellie says, her hand reaching out to grab your hip.

You find yourself wanting to pry, dig deeper for more information, but there’s no real reason for it. She’s not entirely new to this. She wants you. That’s all that really matters, right?

So you take her to your bedroom, let her undress you with shaky, calloused hands, kiss her slow and sweet while she unbuttons her jeans and kicks them aside. You help each other undress until you’re both naked, and then you’re stumbling into bed, your legs straddling Ellie’s hips as you kiss down her neck, stopping to suck pretty purple bruises into the sensitive skin. Ellie makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, sending another white-hot jolt of arousal through you. Your cunt is spread over her pelvis, and you grind down against her like that, letting out a pleased sound of your own.

“God, you’re so hot,” Ellie mutters, watching you roll your hips as you kiss down to her chest. She reaches for your tits, squeezes them in her palms.

“Yeah?” You smile, sharp and wolfish, down at Ellie. She looks at you like she can’t believe this is happening - like she can’t believe you’re real. “Gonna let me fuck you, Ellie?”

She moans at the obscenity of the question, nodding quickly. “Yes, god, please fuck me.”

“Mm,” you hum, “need to get you ready first, baby.”

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her hips lifting, seeking friction. You climb down her body until you’re settled between her legs, pulling her knees apart to give yourself access to her center. She’s fucking soaked - you bite your lip at the sight of her, clit swollen and puffy, labia shining with arousal.

You start with one finger, dipping into the wetness pooled at her entrance and spreading it up to her clit, drawing sharp breaths and staggering moans from Ellie’s kiss-bitten lips. Every sound she makes has you yearning to hear more, more. You slide your middle finger into her clenching hole and groan when you feel her walls open up smoothly around the digit. She pulses around you, hot and slick. When you begin pumping your finger in and out of that tight heat, Ellie’s noises become even more drawn-out, even more frantic - you look up at her and find her eyes already on you, dark with lust, a desperate, pleading expression etched onto her face.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby,” you coo at her, revelling in the way her pussy tightens at your words.

“I–nngh, fuck–I need…” She trails off, jaw clenching.

You fake-pout at her, puff out your lower lip in faux sympathy. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Need more,” Ellie pants out.

“I can give you more, sweetheart,” you reassure her, “all you had to do was ask.”

So, you give her more. You slip another finger inside of her, press the heel of your hand against the sensitive nub of her clit; your fingers curl upwards in the warmth of her cunt, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that’ll make her see stars. She whines - actually fucking whines, high-pitched and desperate, as if to say yes, right there.

“Shit, oh my god…” Ellie’s hands are clutching the sheets, knuckles blanched. “‘M so close.”

You don’t let up, and it only takes a few more moments of your careful ministrations before Ellie’s falling apart, a mess of jolting hips, strangled gasps, and a rush of wetness. You watch her come undone, wishing you could committ the sight to memory. After, you lick your fingers clean.

While Ellie’s spent and recovering from the height of her orgasm, you shuffle to the side of the bed to reach for your nightstand. You roll open the drawer, rummage around, and return to Ellie’s side with a tiny bottle of lube and your strap, the harness made of powder pink fabric. The brunette sighs contentedly when you lean over to kiss her, swiping her sweat-damp bangs away from her forehead.

“You taste so good, did you know that?” You press another kiss to the corner of Ellie’s lips, feeling the way they twitch into a smile.

“I really doubt it,” Ellie says.

You scoff. “Don’t doubt my taste.”

“Mm, okay. Fine. I believe you.”

Fighting your own smile, you move back to sit on your heels, cheeks heating when you notice Ellie’s eyes roaming over your naked body.

“Need something?”

Ellie nods, then sits up and pulls you in for another kiss, her hand on the back of your neck. “I want you to really fuck me now.”

“Oh yeah?” You grin at her, your hands making their way to her tits and smoothing over her pebbled nipples. “Think you should learn some manners, Ellie. How about please?”

Her expression goes soft - eyes rounding, mouth pursing.

“Please,” she says, and her voice is so sweet, it might rot your teeth. “Please fuck me.”

And who are you to deny her what she needs?

As it turns out, Ellie’s pussy was made to take strap. She’s leaned over, face down in one of your pillows, her ass propped up perfectly to give you access to her cunt. Still soaked from her last orgasm, she hardly needs any lube, the strap pushing into her all the way to the hilt without any resistance; she keens when you’re fully seated inside of her, a sound that makes your own pussy throb with need. Every noise she makes is pure heaven - you wish you could record them all, listen to them when you’re in bed at night with your hand between your thighs.

“Fuuuuck,” Ellie cries out when you hit that sweet spot with the tip of the strap, her head shifting to lean on one side, allowing you to see the look on her face - the roll of her eyes, the way her lips part to let out each of her gasps and moans.

“How’s that feel, princess?” You ask as you pound into her from behind; you admire the way her back arches deeper, like she’s encouraging you to fuck into her further and further.

“S-so good,” Ellie stutters weakly.

“Yeah? Doing so good for me, baby,” you pant. Every slam of your hips against Ellie’s ass makes her grunt, a pleased little sound, short and needy.

That tiny grunt turns into an impatient whine when you pull out of her entirely, a lewd, wet noise accompanying the motion.

“Why’d you stop?” Ellie asks, voice small. She cranes her neck to look back at you and the expression on her face is absolutely pathetic.

You give her ass a playful smack, admiring the way it recoils from the contact of your palm. “Want you to flip over. I need to see you come again, you looked so pretty the first time.”

She does as instructed - she’s already so good at following directions, you’ve learned. When Ellie’s on her back, her face, neck, and chest tinged red with equal parts arousal and exertion, you lean in and whisper praises to her, lining the strap up to her entrance and pushing into her again.

“Hold your legs up, sweetheart,” you instruct, pushing her thighs up until they’re folded against her body. She nods, panting, and lifts her hands up to hold her legs in place. You slip deeper into her like this; Ellie goes cross-eyed, lips pursed into a pretty “o” shape as you fuck her senseless. It doesn’t take much longer for her to get close again, and when her legs begin to shake with the effort of holding them up for you, you tell her to relax.

“Play with your clit, hm? I want you to come.”

Ellie nods. “Y-yeah, I can do that. For you.”

“Just for me?” You grin.

“Mm, just for you.”

Her hand shakes as she brings it between her legs, drawing sloppy circles over her clit with her fingers. You keep fucking her, hips snapping restlessly, every lewd squelch of her cunt making you gush wetter and wetter. But as desperate as you are to come, you’re more focused on Ellie - the way she bites her lip, her entire body tense with her impending orgasm. She warns you before she finally tips over the edge: an endless chant of right there, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come, oh my god…

You’re not sure how long you lie there on top of Ellie, still buried inside her, before her breathing finally rights itself again. You spend that time kissing all over her face and running your hands through her auburn hair, untangling a few knotted locks in the process. You’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat, bodies glistening, but neither of you seems to mind. Content to lie there together, you rest until Ellie pulls you in for a kiss - one that turns needy and sloppy not long after.

“Can I taste you?” Ellie asks between kisses, her lips shiny with saliva. She says it with such hope, like she’s not sure what you’ll say. But you’re still drenched between your legs, inner thighs sticky with it.

“There’s nothing I want more right now,” you confess.

So Ellie finds a place between your legs, mouth latching to your clit like it’s muscle memory. You curl a fist into her hair and guide her every move, murmuring instructions, which she follows like the good girl she is. The night continues that way - all whispered pleas and tremoring orgasms, tangled limbs and slick-coated fingers, until the two of you finally doze off, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

And Ellie thinks she’s made a good decision, moving here. Trying something new.

1K notes · View notes

monster-fluffery · 5 months ago

Text

Body Exploration with Merfolk(18+)

We’re so similar, yet so different. There’s so much to explore.

GN! Merperson x GN! Reader

NSFW WARNING!! MINORS DNI!!

(Sensual touching and sexual situations! Praise/Worship)

Some Backstory..

The first time you saw your partner, you were almost certain they would swallow you whole. They had dark eyes, sharp claws, and even sharper teeth. Their find were strong and they were muscular from swimming against the tides in the ocean. You, as a human, knew merfolk as dangerous and ruthless creatures who would rip sailors off their ships and drown them out of malice. Though, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration as you saw the monster. This monster was strangely beautiful to you.

The two of you were fascinated by one another.. and fascination became infatuation.

The Now

Yourself and your partner were tucked away safely in a secluded cave. You were propped up on a boulder that had been wedged into the ground against the tide. Your partner waded in front of you in the icy ocean waters. You couldn’t help but notice the way they eyed your legs, aimlessly tracing their fingers up and down the soft skin of your limb.

“You’re so soft,” they whispered.

Your hand reached out, fingers grazing one of the fins on the side of their head. Immediately it flared outward, appearing bigger as if to show off the color. This reaction confused and amused you. It almost reminded you of a peacock trying to show off for its mate. A smile graced your lips as you raised an eyebrow at the sea creature in front of you.

“And you’re.. responsive,” you couldn’t help but tease them.

Their fins retracted, now appearing smaller rather than bigger. Hey folded together and drooped downward. This expressed their embarrassment as you pointed out just how much they responded to your touch. They knew very well how much they loved you, how much their body loved you. It was impossible to hide their feelings when their own fins and heart would betray them.

“Fins are sensitive, dearest.” They responded.

“In what way?”

They were quiet after you asked that. You swore the spines on their back even drooped down from their usual strong position. They sank down into the water, which now covered them up to their chin. It was obvious that they were nervous to tell you what that sensation meant to someone of their kind… though that was enough of a hint to you. You knew their body language very well.

“Oh.. it felt really good, didn’t it?”

“It’s impossible to hide things from you.”

“Consider it a good thing… Come here.”

After a small moment of hesitation, they rose up from the water. Droplets slid down their paled grayish flesh as they revealed themselves to you. Your hands reached out, fingertips grazing the edges of their gills. The rising and falling of their breathing stopped, as if your touch startled them. But, they reached out themselves. Their hands found your hips, enveloping them in their palms. Their thumbs brushed against the dips of your hips, causing a warm puff of air to leave your lips.

Both of you knew where this was going. That was more than exhilarating.

You shifted closer to the water, submerging your legs up to your knees as your arms wrapped around your partner’s neck. Their grip on your hips became tighter, pulling you closer against themselves. Though, their hands wandered up your sides, over your ribs, and up your chest. They felt every dip and curve as if wanting to memorize every single detail of your body. They relished in your breathy gasps and sighs. You were eager, your scent grew heavy with arousal. The more their hands explored, the warmer your skin became.

This didn’t stop your exploration, however. If anything, this only fueled your desire to learn what made your partner tick. Your hands ran down the length of their sides, moving from the gills on their neck to the ones on their ribs. Your fingers traced the indentations, feeling the breaths pull in then breathe out. A chill ran up your spine as their back arched into your touch. Their tightening grip told you all you needed to know. It was a silent plea.

Don’t stop. It begged.

You wouldn’t stop. Neither of you would stop. Before you knew it, you were waist down in the water. Your legs had wrapped around the sea creature’s waist. Their scales pressed against you as they used the boulder to press your back against. Their head dipped down, lips meeting your neck. They inhaled deeply, taking in your scent. They could smell just how excited you were to be in this predicament. It excited them more than they thought they could ever be. Kisses reigned down on your neck, particularly your pulse point. I hey could feel your heart raising against your skin. It amazed them how quick your heart could beat.

Your head tilted back, your hands running along their back now. Up and down. The line up and down their spine was covered in sharp talons. Spines that were sharp and dangerous, a natural defense, your hands only grazed them gently. You could feel how sharp they were from only a moment’s touch. A hiss escaped their throat and their hand suddenly gripped your wrists.

“You’ll cut yourself.. Your kind is fragile, my heart.”

A whine bubbled up in your throat, but you refused to release it. Their hands continued to move, now sliding down your wrist and along the inside of your arm. Your partner seemed fascinated by the curve of your arms and how goosebumps rose on your soft skin. Their clawed finger tips trailed up and down, traveling along the skin that made you shiver. Then, they pulled your wrist to their lips, kisses descending down your arm. This caused your breath to hitch and your cheeks to flare. Such a simple touch sent your heart racing. You swore you could pass out at any moment.

Once their head made it to the shoulder, their chin tucked into the crevice between said shoulder and your neck. Their hand revealed the length of your arm until their massive hand swallowed yours in their palm. Their fingers squeezed the indents between each digit, appreciating the lack of webbing that they never understood about your anatomy. They were amazed by you; just like you were amazed by them.

“I always thought human’s fragile bodies were weak… yet I can’t help but find yours beautiful.” They spoke.

They moved forwards, pressing their weight down against you. You back pressed harder into the rock behind you, causing you to gasp slightly. You knew what they wanted. Their lips met your heart beat, traveling down your chest. They left a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly, where they kissed your navel as their fingers counted your ribs, tracing over each one in a tantalizing slow way. They worshipped your body were ease and care. Every kiss and caress solidified their love for you.

“Most of you feels familiar… but, here is where we differ,”

Their lips hovered over the spot between your thighs, causing heat to spread all throughout your body, yet it pooled in your belly. Your body was shaking, fingers digging into the boulder behind you. Their tongue slid out from their mouth, leaving a slow and experimental lick to those ‘oh so different’ parts of you. Ecstasy clouded your mind and all you could think of is how you wanted more of them. You wanted, no, needed them touch to you. You were theirs and they were yours.

“Please..”

“I know, my heart. This is something we must explore.. hang tight for me, won’t you?”

There was a brief moment of pause, tension rising as your patience wore thin.

“It’s only just begun..”

664 notes · View notes

monstersholygrail · 4 months ago

Note

Hello!

God, I love the idea of werebirds/the bird colony!

What if the dance instructor did end up making a nest with all the nesting material they gave them (however/where ever they’d do that)? What would the colony think?

What if the colony got together and used their dance knowledge to create some sort of mating dance for the instructor? Teasing the instructor with their ruffling, colorful feathers in a mesmerizing display.

I need more of them lmao

Hope you have a great day/night💜💜

When word got around the all male Bird Hybrid Colony that you had made a nest in your office out of the materials they had gotten for you, loud fierce chirps rang throughout the studio. The bird hybrids wings flapping erratically at your acceptance of them.

Your building a nest they provided you in such a private place had to mean that you were finally agreeing to their mating offers. Their feathers ruffled and they all preened at the thought of claiming you as a mate should by fucking into you with abandon and filling you to the brim with cum till you’re growing their eggs inside of you.

But they knew they had to do something special, something really over the top in order to make sure you were ready for them to breed you till you were so fucked out you couldn’t see straight. What better way to do that than a mating dance?

They’d all show you just how much they had learned under your seductive and arousing teachings. Together they created the most powerful mating dance for you that anyone had ever seen.

It was an offer that was impossible to refuse and their minds couldn’t help but imagine the way your thick thighs would spread for them. Your pussy glistening with arousal. They can practically taste how good your fat cunt will be when they finally get their wings and hands on you.

Their eagerness to please you both in dance and by filling all your holes till you can’t take it anymore is clear in their burning gaze. The next week at dance class is filled with a crackling tension. Their feathers successfully hiding their hard cocks, tips red, angry, and dribbling pre cum with their mate so close.

When you heard your class had a surprise for you, you were immediately intrigued. The fact that they’re wanted to dance for you already turning you on as your panties flood with arousal. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the bird hybrids as your scent perfumed the air.

It only spurned them on and made them more desperate to dance for you and sink themselves inside your wet heat. Their feathers ruffled out, showcasing them all so that you can see just how lovely of mates they’ll be as the dance starts.

The colony begins dancing as one large machine, their colorful feathers spinning and mixing to create a truly brilliant show. You’re in awe as you watch it, a mix of moves you’ve taught them combined of more traditional mating dances. Their biology combining with what they’ve learned. Almost like you’re a part of them now. You squirm in place, thighs rubbing together, needy for some type of friction.

By now as you watch them you’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties, your skin unbearably hot with need. It’s not even the dance itself that’s getting you so hot and bothered but the fact that even with their attraction to you they still pay attention to the actual work. Their passion for you mingling with their passion for dance. And it has you wanting to take them all here and now.

As if being able to read your thoughts, the bird hybrids descend onto you. A part of the routine as they pull you into the middle of them. Hands touching every part of your body. You gasp as claws tease at your skin while others rip your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked before them.

A moment later they bring you down in the nest you lovingly made for them that they got from your office. Beautiful cocks of all shapes and sizes nudge at the openings of each of your holes. With your mind hazy with lust you let yourself give in, opening wide for them to push inside you. You moan lowly at the delicious stretch of your mouth, hands, cunt, and bottom. Every inch of you filled with them.

The music from their dance stops at one point but your bird hybrids are nowhere near done with you. Furiously fucking into you as if they’ve gone completely savage. Only knowing for certain that you need their cum.

Your moans and their chirps of pleasure echo against the walls as they slam themselves inside of you. Your body on fire as every inch of you is being stimulated with more pleasure than you’ve ever known.

They pass you around from hybrid to hybrid and you quickly lose track. Their forms becoming a blur of color and ecstasy as they fill with you cock after cock, the colony seemingly endless. You’re feeling so much of everything all at once and it’s overwhelming but in the past way possible as you try and meet all of their thrusts at once.

You cum countless times, your body shaking with the sensations overtaking you. You swear you black out for a moment only to wake up coming again, a strangled cry falling past your lips as a fresh wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your bird hybrids eventually get their fill of you, knowing their plump human needs a break. They slip out of you only once you’re fucked full of cum and limp on the floor, too tired to move let alone lift a limb.

So they take care of your every need, cleaning you up, whispering words of love and affection for you their mate, and cuddling up to you after. You nuzzle into their furry bodies, finding so much comfort in their embrace that you fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

496 notes · View notes

silent-stories · 7 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: lying in bed with jj, you see the bruises on his stomach.

"You know that you snore?" You ask the boy lying in your bed, next to you, one arm under the pillow and the other thrown lazily around your waist.

That morning, it's hot in your room, but it's not the unbearable hot of the days that makes you want to rip off your skin and find a place with free air conditioning, but the heat that makes you want to stay in bed late before having a cold coffee and go for a walk by the sea with your favorite person.

The sun's rays filter through the open window and in the distance you can hear the ocean waves crashing against the reef.

A soft chuckle escapes JJ's parted lips as a pair of ocean-colored eyes meet yours. "Good morning to you too." His voice is husky but his tone is clearly amused, his hair messy.

It is indeed, a good day, when you wake up in your bed with him next to you but that would be too cheesy to say so early in the morning.

You can't help but smile and before you know it he has you pushed against him and his lips are on yours.

He always tastes like weed, alcohol and the sea.

As he wrap his arm around your waist, the sheet slides off his body, revealing his bare chest and your gaze falls on the bruises on his rib cage, like it did the night before. This time, however, you can't help but observe the dark blue and purple marks on his skin for more than a few seconds.

He looks at you for a moment after breaking the kiss, noticing what caught your attention and with a huff, he drops onto the bed next to you. The matress springs make a slight creak.

"Don't." He says.

"What?"

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine." His eyes are fixed on the ceiling.

You slowly reach out, your fingertips grazing his stomach, delicately tracing the soft outlines of the bruises there.

"I fell, I-"

"Yeah. I know" You want to be mad because he persists in not opening up to you but the look into his eyes lost in the void stops you every time.

You both know you're lying and you both know the other is doing the same.

"You know you can stay here right? Whenever you want."

Your tone is soft as you ask that, turning towards him, resting your elbow on the mattress and settling your head on your hand, looking at his profile: the shape of his lips, the blue of his eyes in the sunlight streaming through the window, a few strands of blonde hair falling on his forehead.

"If... you have any kind of problem, you're welcome here. Any time of the day or night, Jay. You know that, right?"

You only realize you're still tracing imaginary patterns on his skin when you feel his fingers meet yours, his hand on his stomach to find yours and lace your fingers together.

When he finally turns his head towards you, there's a slight smile on his lips and it's not his usual sarcastic smirk or the grin he shows to John B when he is talking about Sarah or when he manages to escape from a cop. It's softer, more sincere.

"I know."

You stare into his clear eyes for a moment and decide to believe him.

You sigh, “okay.”

You don't know how much your offer means to him, you don't know that every other girl he's laid in bed with in the past never cared about a busted lip or a scratch on an arm unless it was ruining his pretty face.

You don't know that if he had been any other girl that morning he wouldn't have stayed in your bed but would have left before the sun even rose.

With you it was different. You cared. And for the first time, he cared too.

Your room wasn't like his house or even like the chateau. It was becoming his favorite place so quickly that it almost amazed him.

And you were becoming his favorite person, but that didn't surprise him that much.

It was getting impossible not to love the sound of your laughter and the way you could reassure him with a simple touch.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You smile and reach out to brush the blonde hair out of his eyes.

His hand was still holding yours.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction

897 notes · View notes

joocomics · 3 months ago

Text

be nice to your favorite ghostface

day 20 — mask kink w/ gaon ⌞⌗ kinktober ⌝

𓂃⠀𓈒 ghostface!jiseok x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 4.3k

summary: the roommate of your best friend's boyfriend hears you gushing over Billy Loomis so he decides to turn one of your dirtiest fantasies into reality

contains: sub!reader, hard dom!jiseok, roleplay, mask kink, (consensual) unprotected sex, knife play, voice kink (jiseok uses voice changer device in the beginning), light fear play, degradation kink, begging, oral sex (m/f), face fucking, name calling (slut/whore), pet names, breath play, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation (f!rec), spit kink

[ kinktober masterlist | general masterlist ]

You shut the front door of your apartment complex and head towards the stairs. You just had dinner with friends, a much needed girls night, and now you're eager to get cosy in your bed with a binge worthy show.

This year you want to celebrate Halloween away from crowds, and the idea of entering your quiet home with all the snacks you bought on your way here has never excited you more.

You make out chatter coming from the upper floor. A group of kids are trick-or-treating and you hurry to hide the plastic bag with the goodies, but you quickly realise you only have the pockets of your jacket which are already holding your wallet, your cellphone and a lip balm.

Unfortunately, you'll have to part with some of the candy bars and you just have to accept it.

To your surprise though, the children just run past you without even acknowledging your existence. They almost push you down the stairs, too excited and overwhelmed to comprehend their surroundings or watch where they're going in their colorful costumes. Their earsplitting hollering fades away as they reach the exit and you - the front door of your home. The building turns completly silent again except the sounds of your footsteps.

“Look who’s finally back.” A disturbing voice calls out behind you. “I was waiting for you.”

“Shit!” You yelp, bumping into the wall. “Who the—“

Your startled eyes meet a dark figure in a full Ghostface costume.

He's standing still as he places a finger in front of his hidden face and you obey - you don't utter another word. Instead, you silently observe the slow motions of his one hand holding a small white device.

He’s wearing black gloves just like the real Ghostface, and he changes his voice with the help of that small white device... just like the real Ghostface.

As real as that character can get.

“You’re supposed to scream later on when I rip your chest open, baby.”

The distorted voice sends more chills across your body and you feel yourself shivering in your dress despite the jacket on your shoulders.

“Who… who are you?” You focus your gaze upon the black and white mask in front of you.

Ghostface tilts his head to one side; you can’t tell if he’s picking his next words or if he’s offended that you don’t recognise his true identity.

With no rush in his actions he lifts the device again, asking:

“Who do you want me to be?”

His twisted tone comes out calm, arousing your curiosity with each question.

“Jooyeon, if this is one of your pranks again, I…”

“Jooyeon is not here.” The fearsome figure cuts you off. This time his words echo louder with slight frustration.

His black boots take a step forward, and you make a step back.

“You’re not gonna run away from me, are you Y/N?”

Hearing your name attached to his question brings a certain sense of relief. It’s somebody you know.

Not that it’s impossible for this to be a complete stranger who’s been stalking you for months and has finally decided to play his sick tricks on you. With social media nowadays…

He continues to get closer with the same slow pace and it seems that the fact you stopped moving at all pleases him.

“That’s right, you wouldn’t dare.” At once he stops, keeping the white device close to his face. “Hot and smart, I like it.”

He notices you’re concentrating on his silhouette. Your back is pressed against the wall, your eyes - focused and captivating, keep analysing every one of his moves.

He’s never seen you pay such close attention to anything before. When he heard you thirsting over Billy Loomis during your movie night two weekends ago he thought you were talking mainly about the actor, but looks like his friend Jooyeon was right when he said that more and more girls fantasise about being fucked by Ghostface.

You thought you were being very discreet with the way you were leaning towards your best friend in order to describe how badly you needed the killer, but he didn't miss out on even one perky smile of yours. He caught every word that came out of your lips while his eyes, too busy to stare at your streched bare legs that were softly illuminated from the screen, ignored half of the movie.

The more hours you spent at the apartment, the more parts of his mind you began to occupy - the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you sit on his chair and cross your legs... This dirty little fantasy is just one of the many things that comes from you, and now lives permanently in his head - partly becoming a secret of his own too.

He knew he was damned the day he got introduced to you by his roommate.

“What’s that look on your pretty face?” He leans in a bit. “Want to feel my knife?”

While staying still, you let the sharp blade poke the corner of your mouth.

“Actually…” you speak up as the edge lightly traces your jaw. The thrill that shoots through your chest slows down your train of thought and the change in your voice makes you sound like you’re getting dizzy. “Can I feel your mask?”

Of course that's what has your attention.

He stills remembers the moment you said you'd let Skeet Ulrich fuck you with that freakin' mask on. “Didn't expect you to be that freaky,” he told you quietly, letting you know that he heard your confession. It seemed like you didn't really mind it that out of everyone there he was the one who caught you though.

Instead of blushing, or denying it, you just shifted to sit even closer to him.

“I know who you are.” Your lips turn up for a quick second as you get a little glimpse of his real dark brown eyes; your fingertips feel the outlines of the mask. “Jiseok.”

“Surprise, Y/N.” Jiseok exclaims with the classic Ghostface intonation.

The familiar smug laughter you’ve heard so many times slips through the mask, echoing in the hallway as you stare at him.

The adrenaline rush elevates in your veins now that you know it's him behind the costume. You haven't seen each other in a while and you try to compose yourself from the excitment you feel over the fact this is the first time you find yourself alone with him.

“Why did you sneak behind my back like that?”

“Oh, don’t tell me I scared you, pretty girl?” He coos, this time in his own deep voice that you've gotten very familiar with, but for some reason still gives you butterflies.

The knife appears in the air again, but this time it's guided towards your neck. The sudden movement makes you wince and Jiseok giggles, because he simply wants to flip your hair over your shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna invite your favorite Ghostface for a drink?” He gestures passionately with knife in hand. “I came all the way here to pray on you.”

“You must be the most chatty Ghostface out there.” You grin as you unlock the door to your apartment. “Come in.”

Without taking off the mask, Jiseok observes around. He’s intrigued, but he’s going to ask for a tour another time.

“Who were you all dolled up in this pretty little dress for?” He asks, looking at your backless dress that’s hugging your ass perfectly. The view causes the excited tilt in his tone to slowly disappear, making his voice sound lower.

“My girlfriends,” you turn around, pleased to hear him being interested in that, “we had dinner together.”

“Where’s your costume? It's Halloween.”

“I’m not really into dressing up.” You reply as you put away your jacket. “Also, it was just a simple dinner to catch up. No partying this year for us.”

“Bummer, I thought you’re gonna be my Sidney tonight.” He gets closer and your ass bumps into the counter. As his eyes eat up the sight of your slightly exposed cleavage, the cold blade in his hand slides up your inner thigh. “Are you a virgin, Y/N?”

“No.”

He taps your skin with the knife a few times before speaking up next.

“Good.” He grins behind the hooded mask. “We can have fun together unless you want me to leave.”

You shake your head not taking your eyes off of him even for a second.

“No,” you say and your heartbeat quickens, “I think I enjoy your company, Mr. Ghostface.”

Your lips open wider when you feel three taps between your legs - each comes with a pause before the next. Right onto your panties beneath which you feel a warm sensation spreading as you breathe in deeply.

“You think? He repeats the word you chose with a certain suspicion in his tone. “I can help you make up your mind. You like being scared?”

“Why would I be scared of you?”

And as to prove that you want him your legs spread apart some more. As a result you sense the knife between them changing its direction; now it grazes the warm skin of your thigh again, gently, but sending strong shockwaves through your body.

“You don’t really know me, baby.”

He’s somewhat right about that.

You’ve never been left alone with him until now. You’ve also never maintained longer conversation than just few messages because one of you shared a relatable meme on your stories or because his roommate shared a funny group picture. But neither of you can deny it - there's something in the air every time you're in the same room. There's a heady presence of passion and it was just a matter of time for both of you to give yourselves wholly to it.

“Let me get to know you then.” You grab a handful of the black fabric of his costume.

It’s almost as if that's a sign Jiseok has been waiting for.

Before you have time to realise what he could be up to, you hear a ripping noise from below.

“No, Jiseok, no!” You protest. “Don't!” But it’s too late.

The blade cuts through your dress and you watch Jiseok’s hands ripping it off all the way to your stomach.

You loved that dress, but damn was this hot…

“You’re crying over this little dress? You’re practically walking around naked, baby.” He says condescendingly as his palm squeezes your butt cheek before going back to your clothed folds. “You’re lucky that wasn’t your skin.”

“You’re really committed to the role, Jiseok.”

He doesn’t respond to that right away.

Remaining silent, he removes one of his black gloves and tosses it on the counter behind you where he left the knife earlier.

You’re already buzzing with delight before he’s even pulled your panties to the side. When his middle finger slips into your entrance with ease your face heats up - from how nice it feels to be touched by him and from the realisation of how wet you are already.

Just from flirting with him, and you can’t even see his face.

“Seems like you’re pretty into it,” he replies at once, inviting his finger deeper; rubbing against your gummy walls and getting familiar with how tight they are. The way you accept his touch so easily floods his veins with satisfaction. “How does a good girl like you end up fantasising about freaky shit like this?”

You shrug shoulders before a small moan slips from your tongue as adrenaline rush swirls inside you in the rhythm of his bare hand.

“It turns me on.”

Before you know it, Jiseok cuts open the rest of your dress, revealing your boobs in a lace bra which he immediately gets the urge to remove next. After spinning you around, he gets rid of your underwear with one swift cut too.

He slaps your ass firmly as his other hand yanks your head back by gripping the roots of your hair. You whimper from the sudden rough touch and the sound shoots pleasure straight into his core.

“You want me all over you like this?” Jiseok hisses at your ear. His hips press against your naked behind, wanting you to feel the effects you have on him.

“Yeah, I do,” you bite your lip as his spare hand, the one still covered by a black glove, gropes one of your breasts. “I want you a lot…” You mewl, trying to imagine the way his eyes shut from the way you rub your ass against him as an invitation.

“You better be nice to your favorite Ghostface, doll,” he threatens and you can hear the twisted grin in his erotic voice, “you know what happens to girls who don’t behave as they should.”

He smacks your ass one more time and tells you to run to the bedroom.

You’re waiting on your bed when he walks in.

The black robe is gone, but the Ghostface mask is still in tact. He’s in a pair of black jeans with no shirt on and you eat up the sight of his abs on display.

One hand is bare while the other - not. The one hidden by the black glove goes around your throat as you stick out your pink tongue to wet two of his naked fingers.

“Fuck, you’ll look so hot with my dick in your mouth.” He groans as you suck all the way to his knuckles. He loves how you’re constantly staring at him as if you worship him; even after he empties your mouth and slides his hand down your figure. “I’m gonna fuck you the way you deserve it, you know that, right, doll?”

You gasp when the same two fingers that you kissed so softly enter you at the same time. Quickly and smoothly, they speed up the pace, causing your head to threaten to fall back, but Jiseok's grip doesn't allow that.

“That means Ghostface is gonna fuck you like a whore.”

Both of you start to notice squelching noises as Jiseok's fingertips continue thrusting as he keeps them deep and curled up at a nice angle. Only until they pull out and lightly slap your thigh.

The sensation arised so quickly and intense that you weren’t aware that you still haven't given an answer. The realisation hits you once the clothed fingers around your neck squeeze for the first time since they got a hold of you.

“Ah, y-yes—“ Your mouth stays open as his grip doesn’t loosen up. “Yes, fuck me however you want,” the corners of your lips curl as you breathe through your mouth, “I'd love to be Ghostface's slut.”

Jiseok chuckles with his usual boyish laughter that always sounds so erotic even behind this mask.

He fills you up again without needing to look down at the way you arch your back, greedy to have him all the way in. He feels you wetting his palm more and more as you start to clench harder around his moving knuckles.

“Desperate, aren’t we?” He smirks as your whines rise higher. In response his fingers aim deeper, - if that's even possible, - rougher to the point your thighs begin to shake soon enough. “Gonna beg for it? Will you fuckin’ beg for my cock?”

Your one hand clasps around his arm, not fighting back any of this, just having the need to hold onto something, as the coming climax makes your mind spiral.

“Yes, yes, y-yes, please, give it to me—” you chant, feeling the rush finally overflow while also stealing your ability to say anything more.

Your breathing wasn’t as restricted as it could have been, but in addition to the sudden explosion of pleasure, it still made you feel a bit woozy.

You fall on your back, but Jiseok speaks out:

“Let me see you then.” He stands up and takes off his jeans in the meantime.

“Please,” kneeling at the centre of the bed you don't waste any time to obey his wish, “please, give me your cock, I want it so bad.”

Jiseok tilts his head; clearly not approving of that attempt. But he likes the way you move closer though, like you're chasing him.

“Please, Mr. Ghostface.” You stop at once and level your face with his crotch. “I don’t want to get punished,” you blink up innocently, making a pause, “or die.”

Your hand crawls up his thigh. His boner is tempting you, it’s so vivid and appealing. Twitching ever so slightly against your palm once you touch it for the first time. Wanting more, you lower your hand and run your tongue against it, really slowly so he can feel the thrill sneaking through the cotton fabric.

“Maybe I'll spare your life if you take it down your throat.” He groans as his hand pushes your face further into his boner. The way you humm softly as his length grinds against your features makes him almost want to throw away the mask so he can kiss you, but he resists. “How does that sound to you?” He lifts your chin up and feels an instant satisfaction once you open your mouth before he’s even asked.

He tugs down the waistband of his underwear and holds the base of his cock as you attach your tongue under his leaking tip. Not only the thrill from feeling you salivating for him spreads warmth underneath his skin, but also your hazed eyes that won't stop gazing up at his masked face.

“Feels nice, baby,” he utters as you suck half of his length slowly with hollowed cheeks and lips sliding steadily. “But you won't save your life if you keep licking like a kitten.”

You breathe in deeply before pushing yourself further, but Jiseok is already placing hands on the sides of your head to help out both of you.

“There you go”, he chuckles before groaning loudly, glancing down to see you motionless and slobbering around him. “This look fits you better.”

His cock glides back before it invades your tight throat again, then again, causing it to produce muffled mewls which vibrate against him delightfully.

Although his moaning can't be heard exactly the way you want, because of the hooded mask and the way his fingers press onto your ears to keep you steady, you can still tell his deep voice sounds very captivating in such intimate state.

The longer he fucks your mouth, the higher his moans elevate until they turn into one drawned out fuck as he pulls out, leaving you gasping for air.

You sit down while coughing when you notice the swinging string of spit still connecting you to his cock. Jiseok breaks it off by laying on top of you, slowly stroking his slick length to maintain control over the rush.

If it was any other other day, he would probably have you doggy style. But it's not, so he slips into you in a missionary position, but far from a romantic one.

“Fuck, Jiseok—” you whine through hitched breaths. You don't know how every time you moan his name like that his insides swirl from pride and excitement. “God, I'm gonna cum—”

You feel like you're having a fever; like something inside you is about to explode in million pieces. Your thighs are sweating as his strong arms stay locked around your legs that are hanging over his shoulders.

Every time the head of his dick hits the desired spot as you try to keep blinking up at his mask you tense harder; more eagerly as you lose control over your voice that begins to quiver.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Jiseok mumbles under his breath. He does his best to not slow down the merciless pace of his hips so he can hear you crumble below him all over again. “Where's the magic word, huh? Can't even speak properly anymore, is that it...”

“Shit—“ you squeeze eyes, regaining composure as the knot in your tummy is seconds away from bursting. “Please,” your hands wrap around the sheets in desperation as you whisper, “please, let me cum, n-need it...”

“Gonna cum for Ghostface again, huh slut?”

He laughs after he hears your disjointed answer, but just a moment later his own groans mix pleasantly with your overwhelmed cries.

He keeps your shaking legs as still as they can be while his eyes don't want to miss a single flinch of your uncontrollable squirming.

It's such a challenge not to cum too as you hold onto him so strongly, but he endures the bittersweet pain from wanting to have his fun with you for longer. You've gotten so sensitive and by the way you smile at him like you're getting high on all of this he's positive you want to continue too.

“Told you to keep your mouth open for me, doll,” he reminds you with his voice turning more hoarse, more impatient too as he can't wait to fill it up with his arousal.

You part your lips while sensing every second of the way his restless thrusting creates that familiar knot of buzzing pleasure from the start, but way more luxurious and powerful than the previous.

“Let me see that cute tongue.” His hand moves to hug your neck the same moment your wobbly legs drop around his lower body. He wants to apply some force to hear your whimpers break as you cum around him one more time. “Yea, told you to do as I say, baby, didn't I? What if I grab my knife and fuck you with the handle instead? Would you like that?!”

“No,” you manage to respond as your dazed eyes, half-shut, roam around the close view of the unsettling mask, “your dick, p-please—” you were going to say something more than that, but the hand in black restricts more of your oxygen as you reach yet another unbelievable peak.

The moment Jiseok sees your eyes roll back, he lets go of your throat to let you take a needed breath while clenching around him like never before. His hips push into you almost leisurely now with the little amount of force he has left as you come down from the new high.

You’re both panting together; you from several intense orgasms, he - from all the energy he released on you, and from how little he needs in order to cum.

You're still processing it all when out of the blue Jiseok takes off the Ghostface mask and throws it on the floor.

For the first time tonight you see his face and your excited heart skips a beat.

You see his skin glistening from sweat, his black hair falling messily and sticking to his wet forehead. He quickly runs fingers through it to push his bangs away as he settles between your open legs.

Once he locks eyes with you, he doesn’t let go of that contact and neither do you.

His flat tongue licks up your folds slowly, earning a taste of the mixture you created from your own fluids, and you don’t know what was the last straw for your mind to shut off completely - his sparkling gaze lingering on your face or his mouth burying itself further into you. The tip of his tongue sneaks into your stretched entrance that’s still pulsing for him, eager to taste more of your sweet juices.

You moan softly at the gentle motions that toy with your sensitivity seconds before his lips detach.

“Fuck, this pussy just can’t get enough,” he murmurs against your warm flesh before sucking sensually on your swollen clit.

And oh how good his plump lips feel as he tugs on it while humming blissfully from your taste.

Your fingers go into his soft hair and pull harshly than expected which causes Jiseok to groan as he’s guiding his tongue through your slickness; slurping what he can before spitting it out onto your clit.

“Damn, baby girl, you look like you're out of your mind.” His husky whisper shoots a warm thrill through your core before he moves on his knees, watching in awe how you arch your spine at the sudden presence of his fingers.

He listens to the wet noises filling the room, blending with your heavy panting that's turning quicker as he pumps harder. He noticed which angle makes you louder, and he's fully focused on remaining there.

“I am! Fuck—” your body can't help but squrim out of your control as the burning knot starts to pulse dangerously. Jiseok's spare hand presses down your tummy while the one busy with your g-spot maintains its sharp movements. “Jiseok—”

His name follows by a silent gasp and Jiseok glances up, distracted for a second by a light pain - your hand seized his arm, causing your nails to mark his skin with a reddish line from the sudden quick gesture.

The way you cry out at the ceiling makes him instantly get a hold of his twitching cock. His fist twists around it gently as he massages your vulnerable walls until the rush inside you fades down slightly.

Once your eyes meet, Jiseok quickens the hand around his length and crawls on top of you till he reaches your chest.

“I'm so thirsty,” you blink up at his hovering figure while your hands slide up his hips. The sounds of his fist are intense and lewd above you meanwhile your voice comes out delicate and tired. “For your cum, I wanna taste it so bad.”

The innocent ring in your tone is Jiseok's final breaking point.

“Give it to me.”

And as he gazes down at the way you stick out your tongue in anticipation, and at the way you tilt your chin up so his cum can freely go down your throat, he feels like he's out of his mind too.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #— writing: xdinary heroes #ghostface!gaon #ghostface au #xdinary heroes smut #kwak jiseok smut #gaon smut #jiseok x reader #jiseok hard thoughts #gaon hard thoughts #gaon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh x reader #xdh smut

177 notes · View notes

clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

Both Ways at Once Part 5

WC: 1766, Masterpost CW: discussions of death, vague mentions of child trafficking and rape

Danny leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He breathed in slowly through his nose, counting. He couldn’t let loose. They didn’t know. John said they didn’t know and Danny trusted John. Not with everything, he knew too much to trust John with everything, but he trusted John with this. The other wouldn’t have done this if he had known.

The gloved hand on his shoulder shifted, sliding to wrap around the back of Danny’s neck and give a little squeeze. It should have felt suffocating. It was grounding. Danny could already feel himself settling and responding to resonate back with Red Hood.

That was dangerous to have that resonance.

“Pomp,” John said. His shoes squeaked as he leaned forward. “Talk to me, Pomp, what did I miss?”

That right there was one of the reasons Danny trusted John, he would step up when he fucked up.

Danny sighed and opened his eyes. “He’s— he was a halfa, John.”

John paled. The color drained out of his face and left him a splotchy grey. His voice was strangled as he insisted, “Halfas are just a myth.”

“Rare, very rare, but not a myth. Think about it John. You said that the Red Hood from before was alive, but you know I’m right, the one here is a protector spirit. He died, John.”

“Red Hood is still alive, he has a heart beat,” Superman insisted.

“I’m still not talking to you,” Danny hissed, not taking his eyes off John. “Constantine. He was a halfa. I don’t know what they are anymore. This one is more ghost than human. I assume that the other one is more human than ghost. But put them back together and they would be perfectly balanced and you’ve been keeping them apart.”

John slumped back, rubbing at his face. “Bloody fucking hell…”

“The other half has been unwell, hasn’t he? Maybe just fatigued, but I bet he’s in pain too. His focus keeps wandering maybe. He’s listless.” Danny finally glanced away from John and over to the trio. Batman was, as always, almost impossible to read, but Danny felt sure Batman was tense. He might even be worried.

He wasn’t even looking at Danny but instead at Red Hood, who Danny was sure was avoiding Batman’s gaze. Even still, Red Hood’s fingers were trembling against the back Danny’s neck.

Danny reached up and took the gloved hand, hooking their fingers together.

“Constantine,” Batman growled, but the word sounded broken, under the bite.

John glanced from Batman to Danny and back again. “If Nightingale says that Red Hood is, was, a halfa, then he was. Nightingale’s the psychopomp, the dead is his realm more than any living I’ve ever met and, hell, more than most people who are dead.”

“And what is a halfa?” Wonder Woman asked, still the calm voice of reason.

“Rare,” Danny bit back, showing his teeth. He made himself take a breath and regulate his tone. “Someone who is half living, half ghost. They are a balance between life and death. If no one knew that Red Hood was part ghost, there’s a chance he wasn’t fully formed before, but I can assure you he’s a protector spirit now, no matter if he’s still alive. It’s also likely why the spell did this. There were already two halves to split. The human who was the living and the ghost who was the death.”

Wonder leaned forward in her seat. “You seem certain that the other half is sick.”

“They have to be— it’s a part of themselves that was ripped out and that leaves a wound. I suspect that because the other one must have more of the human side, he’s suffering more of the human affects of the separation while Red Hood is suffering more of the ghostly affects.”

“And your recommendation?” Wonder Woman asked.

“They need to be together. They need to be together and the place where they’re together needs to be Red Hood’s haunt.”

“His haunt?”

“Likely where he resided before. Or it would be where he patrolled if those are different areas. It would be somewhere emotionally important to him no mater what. As I’ve said, he’s a protector spirit so it should be obvious where his haunt is considering his role as a vigilante.”

“Crime Alley,” Red Hood rasped from behind Danny. his fingers squeezed tighter around Danny’s for a moment.

Danny’s arm was getting sore holding itself up like that, but he wasn’t going to take the comfort away from Red Hood or even deprive himself of that grounding point. It would be too easy for him to lose his temper here and really give the Justice League something to be afraid of.

“Crime Alley then,” he said. He had no reason to doubt what Red Hood was said. A ghost knew their own haunt. “We have to get him back to Crime Alley and they need to be together. I assume you have a place there?”

“No,” Batman said, though he didn’t shift. Wonder Woman placed her hand on his arm again.

“We’re concerned about there being a reaction of some sort should they meet,” she explained. “Constantine said that it might be possible.”

Constantine grumbled under his breath and ducked his head with a little shrug.

“If we didn’t know what was going on, sure, that’s a fair enough worry, but we do and I’m telling you that they need to be together until either they’re back together as one or until they fully settle into two separate people.”

“No.” It was Superman who protested this time.

“You don’t have a choice if you don’t want to torture and kill one or both of them,” Danny said, resisting the urge to bare his fangs at the boy scout again. “They need to go to Crime Alley.”

“He’s dangerous. If he is just the Red Hood half of the personality, which you’ve basically confirmed—“

“I have not. I’ve explained how they were physically split. It has affected how their split in motivation only because motivation is what a ghost is, but I would have to speak with both of them to learn how they are mentally and emotionally split.”

Superman just frowned in a disappointed uncle sort of way, as Danny talked and then continued on like Danny hadn’t even said anything. “Then he’s even more dangerous. We cannot simply let someone like Red Hood go. We have to think about everyone’s safety in this matter, especially civilians.”

“I thought you weren’t killers?” Danny threw back at them, saccharine sweet in his delivery.

It made Superman’s frown deepen, though Wonder Woman actually looked a bit amused.

“We aren’t,” the Big Blue said.

“If you try and keep him here you are. I’m telling you right here and right now that if you do not let him go back to Crime Alley then you are signing his death warrant. You might try to claim that he died in jail, but you’ll still be the cause of it. But that’s how you kill, isn’t it?”

“Nightingale,” John warned under his breath, twitching like he wanted to reach out and touch Danny, maybe to hold him back.

“No, really, it is, isn’t it? You want to to pretend that you don’t kill, that you’re better than whatever Red Hood has done, but are you really? At least he’s Honest about it. Red,” Danny said, tugging at the other’s hand so that he had to move up to stand more beside him. Danny looked up at the mask, looked through it. “You’ve killed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t stop. They never stopped. Now that they’re dead, they’ve stopped.”

“Who?”

“Poisoning drug dealers. Rapists. Abusers. Child traffickers. People who threatened my….” Red Hood reared back slightly as if surprised by what his cut off words were going to be.

“Your haunt. Your people. Those under your watch and protection,” Danny said. “See, he’s honest about it. Were all of those deaths in the right? I don’t know. But I’m not sad a rapist is dead. I’m not sad children didn’t get trafficked. Those are the sort of people we’re supposed to be against, isn’t it? Well, us small heroes. You fight bigger names these days, don’t you, Superman?”

“Alright then,” John said, standing suddenly. Red Hood twisted to put himself further between the occult detective and Danny.

Danny patted Red Hood’s arm gently. “It’s okay, John’s trying to protect me. He thinks I’m putting my foot in my mouth and making enemies. And maybe I am. But I’m not going to sit by and watch this hypocrisy. You don’t kill. That’s a damn lie.”

“We don’t.”

“You’ve checked up on ever criminal then?”

“What?” Superman asked, thrown by the sudden question.

“Every criminal you’ve fought, every mugger and back robber and goon, you’ve followed up to see how they’re doing the next day, month, year?”

Superman had that lemon sucking twist to his face again. “No?”

“So you don’t really know, do you, how many criminals walked away from you only to die of brain hemorrhaging later because you punched them into a wall. Or how many died from a complication to their lungs or spine or heart because Black Canary ruptured something with her wail or Flash fucked from contact with the Speedforce. It’s not that you haven’t killed, it’s just that you don’t know how many you’ve killed. It’s impossible to act on the scale that you do and not have killed,” Danny said with certainty.

“Nightingale, I believe you’ve made your point,” Wonder Woman said, still calm, still patient. She was different from the others. She has killed, Danny knew that; she was an Amazon. He remembered his stories from Pandora.

“Have I?” Danny asked. He let go of Red Hood as he stood to lean over onto the table. Danny could feel that snarl building up in his throat again now. The other reached out to touch him again right away. The snarl calmed a little, only a little. “Because what about when Superman has used a building as a barrier to smack an enemy into? No one was ever hurt there? No grannie ever slipped and fell as the building shook and never got up again? At least that would be an accident then, unlike punching someone to death, but don’t pretend your hands aren’t red. Don’t pretend—”

The hiss of the door opening cut Danny off.

The room feel silent.

Danny could see all the heroes tense.

From behind him a voice spoke up, “Well, aren’t you all dramatic.”

--- AN: The mysterious stranger is right! They are all dramatic. Danny was about ready to go for Superman's throat-- literally and just not figuratively. Hope you enjoyed how this all played out! I know people were waiting for Danny to let loose some. Fatigue is hitting me hard right now, so glad to have gotten this out!

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #dead on main #dead on main street #both ways at once

1K notes · View notes

threepandas · 5 months ago

Text

Bad End: The Nunnery

The Queen's portrait was a magnificent thing. A masterpiece of light and color, detail and delicate symbolism. She was immortalized. Forever in the prime in her life. The height of her beauty. Regal and magnificent as the day the King first saw her.

She was gazing to the left, face cool, and too those who might not know her? She might even seem cold. But, according to her? She had been a WRECK. Terribly nervous that she would trip or embarrass herself. She had been, after all, new to this country. Still uncertain. Standing before a VERY important figure in both the social and political circles of her new home.

So she defaulted to her "princess mask" as she called it.

Focused on her maid.

It? Was one of many such stories the Queen has told me. Over tea. On walks in her garden. Practicing etiquette or dancing. At meals. The King often joining in fondly. Reminiscing about those earnest and awkward early days in their marriage. Assuring me that my own will be just as warm and lovely.

But...

I know it will not.

Otome games. Oh, otome games. Why did I ever love you? What could I have done to anger you so? That you would cast me in to a role such as this? The woman to be scorned. Who must dedicate her life, work and work and WORK... only to have it all ripped away. Have everything she's ever known stolen by some upstart. One with no training, no support, no IDEA of what she's doing.

Who will lead everyone and everything to disaster, RUIN, with her careless tounge and unthinking ways.

Too Rule is not a GAME.

It is a SACRIFICE.

The crown not some trinket you wear just to match your DRESS! The crown prince some man you marry for mere LOVE! If love comes, you are blessed. Lucky. But the reality is? You sit on a chair that bleeds you dry. Beneath a crown of suffering. Asked to make impossible choices. Blamed for things beyond your control. Expected to live, bleed, then die there.

With some gods damned DIGNITY.

Can she do that? CAN SHE? Your pretty, flower brained, indecisive child of a lover? The one who is so "different" and so "carefree"? Who's lives has she held in her hands? What futures? Does she even KNOW who our current trade partners are? What the tax on sheep's wool is?

For that matter...

Where were YOU?

No. My husband to be? Will never marry me. I know there will be no happy ending here. And... and it hurts. Because dispite KNOWING my "role"? My destiny? Time moves slowly. Day by day. And I have a schedule to keep. A part I must play.

Unlike my Cannon counterpart, I am not haughty. Nor am I cruel. I behave as best I can, for a young lady of my station. Dignity, compassion, but with leadership. I am being trained, after all, to be the future Queen.

I play with my young brother-in-laws. Rolling balls in the flower garden. Clapping games. Listening to them practicing their reading. And as they grow, practicing their swords. I attend my lessons. Attend the rare party. Barely see my birth parents, who were only too happy to all but sell me off for power.

And my fiance?

Can barely tolerate me.

Cruel "jokes" and mud. Only getting angrier when I do not shriek and howl like the upset child he expected I would be. The more he gets punished for trying to torment me, the worse a witch I apparently am. Clearly, having planned it all. His poor mother is distraught. His father furious with his tutors. Who is allowing this behavior, they wonder? It is certainly not them.

But they can not be everywhere. So instead, I am brought where they can supervise. I do not mind. Find quite joy in how the Queen plays with my hair instead of her fan. How the King will pick me up, when I was small enough, to place me on his lap and show me his work. Then sets aside a chair, so we may "work together" as though my lesson's work could ever rival his own in importance.

They had wanted a daughter.

Love their sons.

But...and here they always trail off. The weight of something heavy and unsaid passing between them. The King hand usually warm, cradling, on my head. They do not want to say it. Worry me so young. Or worse, traumatize me.

After all... the King's family has a nasty paternal lineage trait, in which boys tend to try and kill the competition. Be it their siblings, parent's, or sons. They don't... share well. It had been flavor text in the game. For the "only kind to me" type prince.

Daughters however? Generally normal. Tend to take after their mothers.

The King had widely been known to want twenty and maybe a prince... if he HAD too.

They got several prince's instead. Worse, it had nearly killed her Grace to give birth to them. After that? The King refused to try again. Turned his hopes to his future daughters-in-law instead. It... it was beyond what I could have ever dreamed.

It was WARM. Dream like.

Gentle.

They radiated the sort of strength and dignity that made you WANT to listen. To lean into them and be protected. Sitting with the Queen in her parlor, side by side, as I leaned against her? Cradled against soft fabric and rich dyes. Her unique perfume delicately filling the air like tendrils of mist in a dream, the scent of tea and the melodic hum of her voice as she talked. It was like a beautiful trance sometimes.

Or when the King took me riding on his massive beast of a warhorse, just because he knew I loved the scared up old menace. I had to sit practically in his lap, side saddle, because the old grouch was a gremlin who wouldn't behave otherwise. But WOULD let me pet them with enough bribes.

I... I tried to be a good child.

A daughter they could think fondly off.

And... and I knew it would HURT. It would HURT so, so fucking bad. Not to lose my ASS of a fiance. No, he was a fool. But... but to lose the closest thing I had to parents in this world. I... I didn't want to go...

But.

BUT!

If I must? Then I would be well trained. Have a spotless reputation and dignity befit a royal. His Majesty could no doubt help me find a new engagement befitting my station. And I doubted her Grace would just toss me aside. I... I hoped.

When the Protagonist came? It was every nightmare I'd ever had. Endless scandal and horrifying indignity. Even my political rivals, my social foes, were grimacing. Were taking me aside to "freshen my make up" so I wouldn't have to see my intended behaving so... unforgivably.

Just fornicate in public, why don't you?

Can't be any LESS subtle.

I held the fiancee of the heir to Minister of Defense, a lovely girl I had known but not well, as she wept. The son of the prime minister's fiancee stared, grim faced, into the distance. She had come from several nations away as part of an alliance. I offered her my guest rooms. Whatever she should need.

Things spiraled.

They played out their happly little love story. Acting as fluttering children as their actions caused chaos and destruction all around them. She refused to choose. Somehow her father allowed this. I kept myself in the public eye, knowing better then to hide, for all that I desperately wished too. It payed off.

Someone tried to frame me. Spread terrible rumors about henious acts. To bad that everyone had SEEN me suffering with dignity and grace, in public where they could watch me.

It seems I was not the only one to reincarnate.

Why could not just be happy? Fall "in love" and steal one live from one soul? Was your greed so great? Did it really anger you that much? That I would not play along?

It certainly angered His Majesty, the rumors. They were unforgivable, according to Her Grace. But... BUT, sadly, the girl was pregnant. And the idiot was their son. The other idiots their allies foolish, foolish offspring. What could be done?

Simple.

Send them to His Majesty's brother.

It was, after all, tradition to spread out after coming of age. What with the whole "I want you dead" tendency that ran in their family. All the better so as to not step on metaphorical toes, as it were. And the King? Had one surviving (for now) brother. The high priest of the High Northern Temple. Good and remote.

Perfect for banishment and a life of reflection.

That, however, left me I reminded them. I was met with matching smiles. Adopted or marry the next youngest prince! Obviously. Ah. I see. But wouldn't that be-?

The queen takes me arm, tucking it in hers, and tells me not to worry about it. Leads me towards the gardens. Have I seen the new flowers they've just ordered? They are quite lovely. I had not. I let myself be distracted. Lean my head against the Queens shoulder as we walk. And finally... relax.

I'm safe.

The Queen smiles. We are joined by the King, his expression warm. I feel at peace. Protected. Treasured. I love them so much. A warm and perfect family. I'm glad I don't have to leave. I say as much and they laugh, hugging me.

"Oh, of COURSE Darling! We would NEVER let you go!"

"That's right, my dearest. You're here forever."

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yanblr #yandere otome isekai #yandere otome #yanderecore #platonic yandere #yandere parents #royal yandere #bad end the nunnery #bad end the nunnery au #ask related story #unaware reader #yanderes good at what they do

238 notes · View notes

wonryllis · 11 months ago

Text

AGENT HEESEUNG ★ LITTLE BIT DANGEROUS BABY, THAT'S HOW I WANT IT.

惹き付ける 𓈃 ﹙where,﹚ agent red gets distracted on a mission.

001 ꗃ. agent heeseung headcanons 640 words! warning MDNI NSFW; mentions of fingering crdt! of edit @hypenwons on tiktok LIB?

"stop staring at her," jay's voice rings in heeseung's earpiece.

"what?" he's too lost in thoughts like? dude you got a national level mission to do where's your mind at?

less than two hours ago he was in prehaps THE MOST secret facility in the country going over plans of an undercover search that he was SPECIFICALLY CHOSEN for

and here he is now leaning against the countertop of the bar with a fancy drink in hand

surely it wasn't alcoholic, he can't afford to be intoxicated in the slightest bit, right?

"olive green knit crop and black pants, you're staring," the venom and warning in jay's voice bites back from the control room

heeseung takes a sip of his mocktail and sighs there's no way literally no way, jay's gotta be kidding

"i'm not staring," this has to be a joke because why is jay not kidding, it's been fifteen minutes and his eyes just keep following you and your every move

from the way your mouth shapes as you laugh amidst the crowd of your friends(he assumes) to the way your lips touch the glass of vodka to the way your hips sway as you scurry to the dance floor

"you are, agent red," how your body moves to the music and the little peaks of skin that show and how it just seems to glisten under the disco lights.

"shut it, you have a mission to focus on," with the high tech glasses on, he can see the remnants of the liquid shining on your lips each time you drink a glass.

he can not help but be drawn to those beautiful colored lips

in fact your whole existence is quite literally making him go crazy, his thoughts running to such places that he absolutely should not be thinking about on a mission for fucks sake

if he were to just walk over and kiss you right now he wonders what you'd taste like, vodka? tequila? flavored cocktails? sweet and addicting? BINGO!

"yeah whatever," heeseung chugs in his drink and puts the glass back on the counter, zeroing in on you one last time.

"what? what did you just say heeseung-" rip jay. we'll miss you dearly

BEFORE HE TAKES OUT HIS EARPIECE AND GLASSES TURNING THEM OFF AND SHOVING INTO HIS SUIT POCKETS KSJHKKS

in the blink of an eye he's right behind you, slyly putting his hands on your waist as he joins you on the crowded dance floor standing impossibly close kshjsjd

and like an incubus bends to whisper in your ear, voice husky and tempting. he knows how to charm his way * - *

"you wanna dance together, pretty?" (died.)

the entire time his hands roam everywhere and anywhere caressing your curves shamelessly (if that's not heeseung)

it doesn't take long though for him to initiate a kiss, isn't that what he dropped his mission for?

but god forbid how wrecked he was about to be,, for the moment his lips touched yours, lee heeseung knew

HE WAS DAMN SURE INTOXICATED (can you hear me screaming?)

sucking and biting on your lips wasn't enough for him he just wanted more, so much more 👀

"does it feel good baby?" he can not stop staring at your face as his hand moves between your legs. fingers inside you with the thumb circling against your clit and the other hand around your neck holding you in a light choke

the way you suck in a breath, bite on your lips whinning to hold in a loud moan, the sounds going straight down against his tight pants and how your hooded eyes keep looking at him in a sultry daze.

WAY TOO INTOXICATED to realize you're the one he was supposed to find info on, and you have him exactly how you planned to, wrapped around your finger.

so, enemies to ?

TAGLIST. ( open ) @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue

#enhypen imagines #k-labels #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen heeseung imagines #enhypen headcanons #enhypen hyung line #enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen scenarios

510 notes · View notes

syneilesis · 1 year ago

Text

[fic] if only for a moment

if only for a moment

Love and Deepspace | Rafayel (Qi Yu) x Main-Character!Reader | T | 3.6k words | ao3 link (with correct formatting)

Rafayel waits. And waits. And waits.

A/N: Another LaD fic!! This time it's Rafayel. Several elements of this fic are inspired by and loosely based on his story anecdotes and bond story, plus that Deep Sea card line backdrop. So more spoilers in this one, I'm afraid. I think you need to be aware of them in order to follow the flow of the fic. But if not, here's what you need to know: basically Rafayel accepts a visiting professorship at the University of Linkon to reunite with the MC/you. And the prose poetry interspersed are loosely situated in the Deep Sea card lineup setting (you can search in YouTube for the scenes. This one is a brief glimpse of the scene). That princess/knight(??) dynamic is yum yum.

If possible, please read the version on AO3. I formatted the prose poems there as if they're really prose poetry, so I'd appreciate it if you check that out. (Though there isn't too much difference between the formatting here and there, I did make the effort of coding a little 🥺)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, and I am sO STOKED FOR THE OFFICIAL RELEASE. rip my wallet 💸😭

JUST LOOK AT THIS MAN AND BELIEVE

There’s a type of berry in a distant land that produces a rare shade of ink that matches the color of your eyes. It takes a hundred of them to create the right hue and volume for the art that he wants to make. It comes to him in a dream: endless desert, then fireworks of verdant sparks that coalesce into stem, leaf, and, finally, fruit. Rafayel remembers that land, so much different from the iridescent blue of ocean underwater, and the acrid gold of the barren desert. His mouth filled with the succulent sweetness of the dream, the lingering sandpaper roughness of the berries on his fingers. He already knows the name of the artwork even before he’s begun—Waiting, Missing. The ache in his bones gaining form, an intangible thing taking flesh.

Under the ocean surface, time is muted, a deafening thickness that surrounds you with its ambiguity. On land, however, it is linear, and fast, and in a matter of blinks, Rafayel’s visiting professorship nearly wraps up.

He’s only glimpsed you once or twice. Thrice at most. The university is big, but not big enough to warrant a dearth of fateful encounters. The first time he saw you it was at a coffee shop: walking along with your friends outside, your voice mellifluous and festive wafting through the trellis of the café entrance. You were talking about him—well, about Lemuria to be specific, but these days any talk of Lemuria inevitably draws in his name.

He’s committed your schedule to memory, and yet it just seems impossible to capture a moment with you. Even just a brush of shoulders, or of sleeves—an asymptote of contact. Just navigating around your orbit, but never truly meeting.

What would it be like—finally talking to you? You in front of him, face to face? Rafayel imagines the ache of waiting fading into the background until it’s completely gone. He yearns for that feeling, the release of it. A conclusion—or maybe even a beginning.

i. take my hand, he told you under the glow of the lustrous moon, the only source of light that contoured the secretive valleys of his face. i want to show your highness something. there was a country, he said, beyond the undulating monochrome of the desert, blanketed by lush trees and shrubberies and flowers that buildings were made in betwixt and around them—a nation of trailing and winding architecture, a marriage of the natural and the manmade. you wanted to ask why he’d planned on taking you there, and the only answer you got was a curt turn of his head and the profile of a masked man layered by shadows and distance. it would have been nice, you thought, if the moon poured light upon his hooded gaze.

Eventually he begins to frequent the café. Twice a week at first—he doesn’t want to come off strong right away, of course—and then making his way up until he’s hanging out there more than his own studio. He schedules his visits around your classes, always during the ones when the probability of you dropping by the café is high and he can ‘coincidentally’ be around the same area. It’s gotten to a point that Thomas calls him out on it, and nags at him to focus more on his painting. The next exhibit is immediately after his visiting professorship after all.

“From where I’m standing,” Thomas says, “you’re not painting at all.”

Rafayel ignores him.

Five minutes later, he says, “Not painting is part of the painting process.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he leaves him to it.

At the café, Rafayel attracts curious looks. A few attempt to approach him, but he pretends not to see them. They linger around the periphery, like moths to flame.

And then something happens: the entrance door chimes, and you swan into the coffee shop, earphones and denim overall skirt, the kind of rosy-cheeked image Rafayel finds on teen magazines, wide-eyed and earnest. You fall in line and order when it’s your turn, and your eyes sweep across the packed café searching for a vacant seat until they finally land on him.

Rafayel’s heart stumbles.

Up close, the baby fat on your cheeks still gives you the appearance of being younger than you actually look. You turn a polite smile his way, and his heart stutters again—but this time it is taken as a warning.

“Hi,” you say, tentative. Any hint of recognition absent. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

ii. you're counting the steps of your inevitable parting. you're at the edge of the desert, far away from your home and its familiar scents, oriented towards a direction that promised a future sad memory, the gentle warmth of his hand, the downward denial of his gaze. this longing that grew out of your bones, aching during cold, aching during heat, aching when he looked at you with such tenderness he had to hide it through the sharp tug of your joined hands, the long strides that opened up a lonely distance. intimacy was dangerous, knowing was dangerous, the bowels of his heart like a solitary flower on a high peak. what would you do to such loneliness?

Memory isn't always an infallible thing. The human brain cannot hang on to every moment of your life, though Rafayel wishes it were so. But still—to think that you would forget him, and it hasn’t even been a century. You were like a phantom thief stealing his heart in the night—no recourse, no resolution.

To wait is to be in agony, the burn of yearning locked within the heart. Rafayel has been waiting for a long time, and the only memory scorched in his heart is fire, the blaze and its blinding, all-consuming want.

What would you do to such want?

You have a blurry childhood, Rafayel discovers. After the first Wanderer descended on Earth, the incident strummed your memories like a stringed instrument that tired of the same chord, over and over. It had bothered you at first—not being in control of your own memories—but eventually you had learned to live with it.

“Grandma and Caleb—my childhood friend—helped me through the process,” you tell him, stirring your iced mocha with its straw. “I owe them a lot.”

Eyes cast down, but still the melancholy shadows remain in your expression. Rafayel folds his arms on the table, and leans closer.

Around them only a few people occupy the coffee shop at this time. How fortunate for Rafayel to catch you during your break while every other student is trapped in class lectures.

“There’s no use in dwelling upon what's already happened. Even sharks have to give up when their prey escapes. When you remember, it will be all the more joyous, no?”

The smile you give him is crooked, disbelieving.

“If I remember.”

“You’ll remember.” Because there’s no other choice, for you and for him. Rafayel cannot bear being shelved in the history of your smile and happiness. Waiting can only be endurable if there’s an endpoint.

In his studio, Rafayel begins his next painting.

iii. the berries tasted sweet, with an edge of sourness that clung to the bottom of the tongue. it had the exact shade of your eyes, a detail that rafayel brought up the moment he plucked it from the shrub. raising it to align with your eyes, comparing them with his artist's meticulous gaze. maybe when this is all over, i'll go back here again to extract ink from these berries, and paint a portrait of your highness using these to color your eyes. he never showed you any of his paintings, merely mentioned them in passing, and you constructed a dream of him from the throwaway words that left his covered lips. i'm not used to sitting for so long, you reminded him, and he glanced at you, then at the berry between his fingers. my memory is enough, then handed you the fruit.

In the few weeks of meeting with you Rafayel forgets that his visiting professorship is ending soon and he has to give out his last lecture. Thomas had asked him what his topic would be. At that point Rafayel had no answer. But now he has.

“I’ve been hearing you talk about Lemuria every now and then with your friends.” He props his cheek on his hand, tilting his head slightly and giving you a charming smile. “Interested?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I happened to hear your friends chat about my lecture. Your points were almost accurate, I’m in awe.”

“The visiting professor—that’s you?!”

Rafayel pauses, the slosh of his drink nearly spilling on his frozen hand.

“You didn’t know?”

Sheepish, you say, “Honestly, I didn’t make the connection. Is that why plenty of people have been glaring at me as of late?”

He releases a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling heavenward.

“In any case, my final lecture is on Friday next week. It’s titled “Memory and Meaning in Lemurian Art”. Why don’t you drop by and listen, and you can tell me what you think afterwards.”

You retrieve your bullet journal to check your schedule. It’s colorful, filled with stickers and doodles that Rafayel finds endearing. Then the excited moue on your face drops into a frown, and Rafayel can foresee the next words that will come out of your downturned lips.

“I’m sorry,” you say guiltily, “but I have a major test that day, and I need to get a high score in order to pass the course.”

Rafayel exhales, long and weary, but ultimately shrugs off the apology. “What a shame, but I forgive you. Just don’t fail your exam or else my magnanimity would be all for nothing.”

He calls Thomas that night.

“I’ll disappear for a while once the professorship is over.”

“Hey, wait, what do you me—”

“You’ll be happy to know that this is for my next painting.”

A beat. “Okay … but for how long?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Then he hangs up.

He’s trying, he really does. The lecture ends to a resounding applause, and it’s mechanical how he answers the questions posed by the audience. But he’s trying, he’s trying. There’s no specter of you in the sea of faces in the auditorium. You’re at the other end of the university compound, sweating your way through your exam. He genuinely hopes you’d pass, for your sake.

Thomas had booked his flight to another country, where he’ll traverse to a land that he’d visited many times in his dreams and had woken up with a filmy, sweet-sour tang at the roof of his mouth. He’ll leave the morning after the closing dinner party the faculty has prepared for him. There isn’t time to pack much, and no time to tell you goodbye.

Rafayel guesses that it’s only fair: how would you feel waiting for him at that café, the chair across you empty, only the sunlight pooling from the window as your companion?

iv. parting, somebody once said, is such a sweet sorrow. much like those berries in that ever-green nation, a lingering sourness remained underneath, the sting of it reminding you every now and then. he was already mourned for even before he left. tell me what it's like—the ocean. he was elusive, untouchable in his grief. you'd heard through whispers, the story of his migration, the drowning before the drying, the unwanted journey. grief brought him to you and grief would steal him away from you, you knew, down to the cells of your body and the hopelessness in your blood. —and yet. and yet you wanted to have a taste of it, anyway.

The ever-green land is no longer green, or lush, or alive. Time corroded it into memory, sepia-faded, wizened. Past. The berries he’s searching for don’t grow here anymore. Everything here is empty, barren, helplessly so.

Rafayel hasn’t accounted for such development, but he should have known. Disappointment stings at his chest, and bitterly he turns away and stays at the next town over. At a family-run restaurant situated near the outskirts, he looks over the wide windows, across the highway road, beyond the jagged horizon. The painting won’t be finished, then. Another tragedy, pressed flat next to the forgetting, to the waiting, and his home.

The chef personally serves him his order and, after a shuffle of hesitation, brings up a question.

“Young man, you came from the direction of the old country, yeah?”

Rafayel meets his inquisitive gaze. “Yes, why?”

“It’s been a while since we had someone visiting that place. There’s nothing in there anymore, it’s been that way for years. Why did you go there?”

Rafayel is reluctant to say, but at the guileless set of the older man’s face, he concedes.

“I was looking for berries. The ones native there. They produce a shade that I need for my painting.”

At the mention of the fruit, the chef’s expression lights up. “Oh! I see, I see. You’re in luck, son. We grow them here at the farm. Plenty of those for everyone. How about I give you some? It’s rare meeting someone who still remembers the old country, it’s almost fate. How many did you say you need?”

Fate. Just like the time of your first meeting, as if the universe had gifted you to him. Just like the time of your parting, of your forgetting, of his waiting. Fate as a connection from you to him, red and burning brightly.

He doesn’t want to seem eager, but he knows he’s failed from the way the chef toothily grins at him.

“A hundred or so.”

The chef falters at that, jerking slightly back. But he accepts it with a nod, an avuncular smile making its way across his kind, powdery features.

“That sure is a huge number, but I think we can work something out.”

His painting takes a month to complete, inclusive of the time spent making the ink from the acquired berries. Sometimes, Thomas watches him paint, quiet in the background. His stays usually don’t last—a quick flash that Rafayel nearly misses, or deliberately ignores. But during the final stages of the painting process, Thomas hands him the exhibit details.

“I’m just thankful you’re on time for this one.” He sighs, relieved, then leaves.

Alone, Rafayel creates. Brushstroke after careful brushstroke, each varying by pressure and angle. He lets each layer of paint dry before moving onto the next. The berry ink—the color of your eyes—the solely different element of this painting. Center, central. The focal point. The beating heart. The years and years of waiting and longing. The form and the flesh. Alive.

This, too, is an endpoint.

v. can i see your face, just this once? your hands grazed his mask like a ghost wanting to touch. rafayel stayed still beneath your desirous fingers, observing, waiting, his own fingers twitching towards his dagger. even in the parting he could not let go of this distance. hopeless, hopeless. your highness would get nothing out of seeing my face. he's wrong, his eyes never left your face, and he's wrong. he didn't stop you from your grasping of his mask, and him—finally—bare and beautiful yet a little sad. you're wrong, you said, tracing his slightly parted lips with a trembling finger, you're wrong. it is everything to me.

The gallery is packed. No surprise there. It’s almost boring, in a way. Waiting, Missing hangs at the farthest hall in the floor, special and intimate as it should be. Thomas knows him well; otherwise, Rafayel would have whined at him to hell and back just so he could be granted this demand that is in reality a mandate.

He’s hiding from the throngs of journalists and art critics alike and sequesters himself in a corner that has a clear view of the painting. Loosening his collar and tie, Rafayel breathes and closes his eyes, leans tiredly against the wall. A few more minutes, and he’ll slink out of the building, reputation be damned.

He melts into the shadows whenever somebody passes by. He has neither time nor energy interacting with people today. Watching them through half-mast eyes, Rafayel stays in his secret place and studies with weightless detachment the people looking at the painting.

He’s made a bet with himself about the opinions of his followers and admirers. Who thinks what and why. It makes for great entertainment. The last time, a fresh-faced critic praised Rafayel’s technique as “innovative and a soul-rending reflection of the prodigy’s character.” He had laughed and laughed for hours until he couldn’t breathe any longer.

Another walks by, and before Rafayel retreats further into the corner, he glimpses a familiar gait and a familiar face.

His heartbeat races. He’s never told you that he’s holding an exhibit today. After the professorship Rafayel failed to maintain communication with you, convincing himself that it’s for the best that he protect you from afar that day onwards. It didn’t help that he had to leave as well. At the same time, you never made an effort of reaching out, and Rafayel thought that it was back to square one again, that waiting, that yearning.

But here you are right now, elegantly dressed, like someone gliding out of a dream. Rafayel swallows, his hands shake. You do not have someone else with you, and your eyes are brightly focused on Waiting, Missing, and for a fleeting moment your expression flickers into longing, strange and old and battered and sad, that it compels Rafayel to take a step forward—to you.

“Hey.”

The curious look vanishes; left no traces in your delighted face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. “Rafayel!” you exclaim. “Long time no see! Congratulations on the exhibit; these are all beautiful.”

Outwardly he smirks, belying the torrential emotions he’s currently going through. He cants his head a little, works his charm on you. “Impressed? No need to hold back your compliments.”

Laughter, prismatic and crystalline. “Yes, yes. Especially this one—Waiting, Missing. What an interesting title. At the center, what paint did you use?”

Ah. Rafayel inhales before answering. “It’s actually ink. I had to make it from a hundred berries. It was a tedious process, but I wouldn’t use anything else. It has to be this, you see.”

“Whoa, no wonder you’d been radio silent all this time. You were creating this masterpiece.”

He hums, afraid that, if he speaks, he’d reveal too much.

“Well …” You throw a playful glance at him. “Shouldn’t we celebrate your success?”

His breath catches. “I—”

Before he manages to finish the sentence, a journalist calls out to him and that summons plenty more, swarming him with no chance of escape. It pushes you out of his peripheral vision, and Rafayel wants to shout your name, but you smile and gesture at him to entertain them first. You mouth, I’ll be back, and wander around other paintings some more.

When he finally succeeds in shaking the journalists off, he seeks you out and stumbles upon you near the exit, where there’s fewer people to pile on him.

“Excellent,” he says, sidling up beside you. You turn to him and smile, and there’s that lightning-flash of something again. For one unbelievably surreal instant, Rafayel thinks that despite your hazy memories, maybe you’d been waiting for him all this time, too.

And that thought emboldens him, moving closer and closer until your bodies almost touch. An asymptote of contact. But this time, he has mustered the courage to close that unbridgeable gap.

Rafayel offers you his hand. “Let’s get out of here?”

You stare at his hand then at his face, his eyes, and a meaningful moment stretches between you and him. But even before the idea of retracting enters his mind, you grab his hand joyfully, grinning ear to ear. His heart warms, full with everything.

You squeeze his hand, ready to go. “Lead the way, then!”

vi. a kiss is a greeting and a goodbye, and rafayel tasted of ferocious tides even if you'd seen them only in dreams. his eyes closed, as though savoring his last moments with you, guarded till the bitter end. would that i could ask you to stay—with me. but he shook his head—a final rejection. maybe in another life. there was nobody to watch you cry, in the after.

Rafayel is working on a new painting—a portrait this time. The model squirms on his couch, obvious about the discomfort of posing for too long. He huffs a laugh to himself, hidden by the canvas strategically placed between them.

“I heard that,” you grumble.

“Shush, you’re breaking my concentration.”

“If that already breaks your focus then I pity the rest of the art community.” A beat, then: “Is it done?”

“Patience, my dear muse. You need endure it a little more.”

“Hmph, fine. But after this you’re treating me to an all-you-can-eat buffet.”

“All right, all right.” He shakes his head, fond. “My muse, so demanding.”

Something sweet touches the edge of his tongue, succulent with a hint of tartness. Like longing. Except now, it’s layered with something new and exciting. Something like a new beginning.

In the far distance, the sea murmurs, lit fire by the setting sun.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lad rafayel #lad qi yu #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace qi yu #fic #my fic #rafayel x reader #qi yu x reader #lad rafayel x reader #lad qi yu x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace spoilers #it's near midnight again i shall now sleep

453 notes · View notes

lilmajorshawty · 4 months ago

Note

which venus placements make someone have a good taste in fashion art movies etc.???

Venus in Aries or the 1st house:

They tend to be very stylish and might where clothes that have a more street look. This could be trench coats and or sports ware or they can even wear ripped jeans and a sort of masculine look. The men and women can tend to be into anything that involves the body as art, so sports or movies that have action and or confrontation may be more their aesthetic. If We are talking romance this would also include movies like the notebook where their involves a open and more confrontational expression of feelings for one another.

Venus in Taurus or the 2nd house:

They can also be very stylish but they tend to wear clothes that are more comfy and skin tight. They like the touch of fabrics and can be super picky with what they wear and how they wear it. Very rarely will they “dress up” unless they have Saturn aspecting or 10th house energy as they tend to seek comfort over looking “cute.” Ironically because they have very nice bodies they tend to have extremely sensual looks in their sports or casual wear because of how well it fits their bodies. Art wise they tend to be painters and drawers. They can also adore exotic dancing or make up but this is lesser as compared to painting. Movies wise they tend to be traditional and like the oldies. But I would say even some shows like the OA, stranger things, Dark, or some of the older shows like F.r.i.e.n.d.s or seinfield fit them as they love security and sensuality

Venus in Gemini or the 3rd house:

These guys and gals tend to be very spontaneous when it comes to style but as a rule most with this placement love their dark colors maybe even more than Scorpio’s. They tend to wear a lot of crop tops or ripped jean looks. They love form fitting looks but also anything that has a sort of flowy and eccentric twist to it. Movie wise I’d say movies such as mr. and mrs. Smith, pulp fiction, kill bill, or even noir films, pesky blinders, anything science fiction related like “life” or Prometheus suit them as they tend to be into the darker themes of life but also like a light duality if serious vs joyous. They are advant dancers and can be very into tarot readings or astrology as an expression of themselves. Many tend to enjoy all forms of art but might be more in the observant end then actually doing it.

Venus in cancer or Venus in the 4th house:

They can have a moody way of dressing. This can sometimes be dressing indie or goth depending on their emotional state. They tend to have this e-boy, E-girl look to them at times but most of them tend to dress very soft and gentle almost in a way that makes them look tiny and fragile. They have a natural sad girl and sad boy aesthetic that can make their outfits seem unknowingly grunge without really trying. They also have a very strong ability to project themselves so many are into YouTube, or having vlogs because they naturally see outsiders and people around them in a mothering light. Art, for them can include drawing, creating clothing or literal branding. Movies for them I would say anything that is rom com! Anything that reminds you of home.

Venus in Leo or Venus in the 5th house :

They have a bright way of dressing! Similar to Aquarius Venus, they like their bright colors and tend to really place a focus on their lower back so you can see those curves. and if it’s a man typically the outfit somehow manages to center to their face so you can see that smile. They typically enjoy very high class material and can be sticklers for an old homage to a brand! So don’t be surprised to see them rocking classic ware. Movies wise? They tend not to watch very many and if they do they have to be emotionally significant or make an impact on them. A lot of their movie choices have to do with impossible choices or moments of passion. Mission impossible or friends with benefits with Mika kunis and Justin Timberlake come to mind. As far as art? They tend to be very good at dancing! Naturally too, some of their other talents include performing and acting and I also mean this literally, they make amazing actors.

#mine #send in the asks

104 notes · View notes

crivalsduo · 20 days ago

Text

creature, creature

a day late but this is something i wrote for @alterdnbweek

i just wanted to explore my idea of a more inhuman c!dream

People had told Techno that Dream was a monster, that he wasn’t human. It had seemed like the sort of rumors that would’ve been directed at him if things had gone differently. He knew, at least partially, what Dream had done and had chalked it up to that which was none of his business. The fact that Dream had never betrayed him, that he owed Dream for helping to save his life and return Carl to him was what mattered to Techno and he kept that carefully separated from all the rest.

Techno was a little surprised, then, when the platform stopped at the cell with a thud and he saw Dream without the mask and carefully constructed outfit that showed nothing for the first time.

He wasn’t human.

It was hard to tell what he was. Techno was aware of a humanoid shape pressed into the corner of cell, tucked beneath the lectern as much as possible. But it felt off. The stained and ripped orange jumpsuit didn’t quite fit.

“Dream?”

The cell swallowed the name. Techno took a couple steps forward. He could smell sweat and too much blood in the air. He knew what the stains were.

“You—You shouldn’t have come.” Dream’s voice muffled and strained. “It’s a trap.”

“I know, Dream, I know,” said Techno, crouching down close enough he could reach out and touch Dream if he wanted to. The smell of blood was stronger now. “C’mon, it’s alright. Lemme see you.”

Dream let out a shaky breath then unfurled himself from the corner.

Green, tangled hair that was more like a mane fell down in front of Dream’s face. Two white, rabbit-like ears stuck out from the top of his head, a green tuft of fur on the tip of the one that hadn’t been torn raggedly. His eyes were round and so dark Techno couldn’t determine the color though when the light from the glowstone hit them, they shone green. His nose was also rabbit-like with a little bit of green fur set above a mouth that was entirely too wide, curved upwards. The flat, round shape of his face reminded Techno of a barn owl. A long white tail, also tipped with green, was wrapped around Dream’s legs. Sitting, it was hard to judge proportions but the lankiness Dream had always possessed now made more sense. He was all arms and legs, the paw shaped hands ending in claws, and Techno was certain the fluff on his rabbit shaped feet hid similar claws. Where there wasn’t green fur, his skin was an almost iridescent white and his back seemed oddly hunched. Dream blinked and two sets of eyelids slid across his eyes.

“I know,” he started, bitterly, “I’m—”

Techno cut him off.

“Bruh, what the heck happened to you?”

The question caught Dream off-guard and he tilted his head as he fell silent. He pulled his arms to his chest. The sleeves of the jumpsuit weren’t long enough, exposing his forearms and all the cuts and scars and bruises. Dream swallowed.

“I—They’ve been torturing me.”

Techno winced slightly at the confirmation of what was obvious from merely looking at Dream. He hadn’t wanted to believe it but the bloody jumpsuit and the torn ear and all the bruises and cuts were impossible to miss. The abuse was written all over him and it was horrific. Techno didn’t know what to do or say, not with Dream’s strange face staring at him like he was expecting something bad.

“Dang,” he said, throat tight. “That sucks, man.”

A rough, annoyed laugh was pulled from Dream and he smiled, too-wide mouth full of sharp teeth, before he could stop himself.

“It’s not—I mean, yeah, it—it does suck.”

Dream’s shoulders dropped. His collarbone stuck out sharply and Techno realized he had to be terribly underweight. He started to dig into his pockets but Sam had turned them out thoroughly. Instead, he untucked his shirt, stuck his thumb into the last button hole, and tore a strip of fabric off.

“L, couldn’t be me.” The words were soft and teasing and Techno moved a little closer to Dream. “You said ‘they’, I’m guessin’ you mean Sam and Quackity.”

At the names, Dream tensed, large eyes flicking upwards, looking beyond Techno to the wall of lava as if he thought they would be summoned by mere mention. He was trembling, shifting uncomfortably where he sat.

“Y-yeah. It was—It was him. Quackity,” said Dream after a long moment. “He tried to make me write you a note but I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t, Techno.”

It was the most emotion he had shown this entire time, face twisting in desperation. His hands had twitched, starting to reach out to Techno before pulling back. Techno reached out instead and touched the side of Dream’s head. The hair beneath his palm was soft despite the matting.

“It’s okay, Dream, I believe you, alright? I believe you, man. Just let me take a look at you. You’re a mess,” he said.

Instead of responding, Dream pushed himself further out of the corner and closer to Techno. The blood on his skin was dried and crusty but Techno did his best to clean it off. The first time Techno’s fingers touched Dream’s skin, he almost recoiled; it had a strange texture, almost like a slime block but dry and warm. He thought Dream noticed the almost, saw the way he lowered his gaze, and to make up for it, Techno pressed his palm against Dream’s cheek. There were scars on his face and around his neck and long, thin scars curling around his shoulder and down his back. On his back, two oddly shaped lumps were raised against the fabric of his jumpsuit and for some reason, Techno thought of Phil. He started to pull the jumpsuit back but Dream jerked away.

“Don’t—Just, don’t, please,” he said.

Techno frowned. He wanted to know what had happened because he had an idea and he didn’t like the idea, not even a little. He knew why he had thought of Phil. Discarding the scrap of fabric, Techno tugged off his cloak.

“Alright, alright.” He wrapped the cloak around Dream’s shoulders, careful with what part of his back he rubbed his hand against. Then he pulled Dream against his side. “I’ve got ya, Dream.”

#i don't even want to tag this i'm not exactly happy with it #i've been struggle BUT i love creature c!dream and wanted to describe him #dnbxmas24 #dreblr #c!dream #dreamnoblade #kinda but like. not really.

82 notes · View notes

saintzweig · 3 months ago

Note

are we gonna be getting pro-tennis player patrick zweig x younger socialite girlfriend headcanons

-bambi

ask and you shall receive my favorite oomf girliism 🫶 this is more on fluff n just some background :)

ꢾ꣒ the two of you met through your father, once a professional tennis player who now spends his time doing charities and building foundations.

ꢾ꣒ you usually help your father handle the affairs, co-directing charities events, galas and dinners.

ꢾ꣒ patrick was reluctant to go the first time he was invited but tashi and art convinced him it would be good for his image, to save his career from reputation as a manwhore and his sloppy techniques.

ꢾ꣒ got bored not even five minutes in and tried to flirt with you to get you to come with him to the bathroom.

ꢾ꣒ you only smiled as you introduced him to your father, who he realized was the man he idolized when he was a kid.

ꢾ꣒ attended every event he got invited to in hopes of seeing you again.

ꢾ꣒ and when he does see you, he's following you around the venue like a lost puppy. he only shrugs and says you're the only person he knows

ꢾ꣒ you finally had enough and drag him to a janitor's closet far away from the room.

ꢾ꣒ i'd say two years since then, you move in together almost immediately, in an apartment gifted by your father.

ꢾ꣒ very secure couple, you know how attractive the other one is so it doesn't really bother you when people try to flirt, if anything it only inflates your ego.

ꢾ꣒ not when they cross the line obviously. even though he trusts you, he still gets protective every now and then. when he sees you looking uncomfortable, he doesn't waste a second and immediately comes to take you away. not without showing off to the person trying to flirt with you of course.

ꢾ꣒ hands you his credit card whenever you say you need new clothes or accessories, even though you can afford it.

ꢾ꣒ his personal driver is also yours, he makes sure to make them sign non-disclosure agreements because some wild shit happens in the backseat.

ꢾ꣒ you have his initials embroidered on your clothes because he once mentioned that he likes the idea of marking you

ꢾ꣒ lets you drag him to countless galas and dinners, even though it's not really his thing

ꢾ꣒ to make up for it, you let him drag you to his morning trainings and sometimes lunches with tashi and art

ꢾ꣒ he's also a fan favorite in your friend group, you brought him to a girl brunch once and everyone loved him. i think he'd be so good at spilling and receiving tea

ꢾ꣒ always on the front row during his games, wearing his favorite colors

ꢾ꣒ it's impossible for him to lose now that he has you, you bring him so much confidence but also he just really wants to prove himself to you.

ꢾ꣒ talks about you a lot during interviews even when the question has nothing to do with you or your relationship. also his lock screen is always a photo of you, a selfie or a professional photo taken during fashion week.

ꢾ꣒ makes a game out of guessing the color of your underwear

ꢾ꣒ he'd be the type to rip them and assure you he'd buy you new ones. so that's where his money is going

ꢾ꣒ inappropriate touches under the table is definitely one of his hobbies, as well as sneaking into bathrooms during events

ꢾ꣒ also car sex ... very often ... he loves seeing you all disheveled as you lay on the seat beneath him. all sweaty with your mascara and lipstick smudged on your face. your lace panties hanging off your foot.

ꢾ꣒ when he retires, that's when you two finally settle down completely. moving out of your apartment into a proper house, with the goal of filling it with kids.

ꢾ꣒ the two of you build a tennis academy where he teaches and mentors younger aspiring tennis players

ꢾ꣒ also the wedding was big, i'm talking the best venues and decorations. over a hundred guests due to your connections and standing, it was all over the internet too. most fashionable new york socialite and grand slam winner ties the knot.

ꢾ꣒ three kids, two boys and one girl. his favorite one is definitely his little girl.

ꢾ꣒ he's definitely come a long way and he has you to thank for that.

#challengers #patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers headcanons #patrick zweig x reader #saintzweig writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#saintzweig yaps ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

78 notes · View notes

five-and-dimes · 1 year ago

Text

Mountain Sound

Hob and Dream are a rare werewolf/vampire couple. Some people take offense to that. Luckily, some people are idiots.

AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hob would be more embarrassed by his capture if he wasn’t so used to his own clumsiness.

There’s also the worry-induced rage taking up most of his emotional space, so there’s not a lot of room for embarrassment.

“If you let me go, I might consider showing some mercy,” he growled lowly.

What had started as a peaceful evening with his husband had turned into a coordinated attack against the both of them. Dream had been relaxed for once in his life, his pale, bony body draped over Hob’s lap, one hand idly playing with the thick hair on Hob’s arms, occasionally reaching up to the bit of hair peeking over the neckline of Hob’s shirt. In return Hob rubbed one of his thumbs in soothing circles against the sharp jut of Dream’s hip, smiling when Dream lovingly pressed his own fingers against Hob’s softer, more abundant body.

They had been so blissfully content that neither of them were prepared when the door to their small home had been shattered. They lived deep, deep in the forest, occasionally traveling to the closest town, which was close enough for a vampire and werewolf to get to comfortably, mostly for Hob to socialize and keep up with news of the surrounding kingdoms, but distant and inconvenient for any humans to get to them in return. As such, they had, apparently, made the mistake of letting their guard down.

Because as they both leapt up, what they were faced with was not human hunters, but rather a pack of werewolves. Using the element of surprise fully to their advantage, Hob barely had a chance to react before he was grabbed and dragged outside by three pairs of clawed, furry hands.

If that had been all, they probably would have been okay. But Hob and Dream were not exactly known for their good luck. Dream had immediately followed outside, snarling, and as soon as he was past the threshold of their home, the vampires had pounced.

It didn’t make sense, the two groups seemingly working together. Hob and Dream had been infamous for their coupling, whispers and rumors among humans and supernatural alike about the werewolf and the vampire who ran away together. It was why they kept to themselves, traveling far from their homelands and settling in this remote mountain forest.

Hob had opened his mouth to scream- in shock, in fear, in pure burning rage- but before he could make a sound, he was dragged in front of a young woman, a long trench coat and belt filled with an assortment of artifacts and supernatural protections. She crushed something in her hand, and suddenly Hob’s eyes grew heavy and his body slumped.

The last thing he saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Dream collapsing from a similar spell.

Which brought him to this moment. Standing in the center of a large cage in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by close to a dozen werewolves.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making threats,” the leader smirked. They are tall, imposing, standing with obvious authority. Short, curly blonde hair frames a sharp face that betrays nothing but absolute control. Hob would think nothing of them, assume they were just a random werewolf who saw a target and went for it, if it weren’t for their apparel. The leather outfit is dark and iridescent like an oil slick, and strapped across their back, dried and hardened and the same colors as their armor, was a single black wing. Even as isolated as they were, it was impossible not to hear the tales of the werewolf who ripped the very wings off a mighty dragon, turning one into their armor and the other into a shield, worn as a blatant symbol of power.

Everyone knew the tale of Lucifer.

“Those bars are pure silver,” they continued, “courtesy of our hired associate here,” They gestured to the woman who had knocked Hob out, who he now recognized as human.

Hob blinked at the words, glancing at the cage around him slowly.

(A little ways away, Johanna Constanine watches with equal curiosity.)

He kept his face carefully blank as he asked, “What do you want, Lucifer? You don’t seem the type to work with vampires.”

“I do find it distasteful,” they drawled, “but it is a necessary means if the end is to rid the world of something far more grotesque.”

“What are you talking about?” Hob furrowed his brow.

“They’re talking about you and that bloodsucker!” another woman snarled, stepping up from behind Lucifer.

Lucifer raised a hand. “Stand down, Mazikeen. Perhaps he can be reasoned with.”

(Johanna looks between the restless pack of werewolves and the man in the cage, frowning in confusion.)

The rage had taken a back seat to Hob’s pure confusion. “I repeat- what the Hell are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows about you and that corpse you keep in your bed,” Lucifer sneered. “How you abandoned your pack in order to lay with your natural enemy. Disgusting and unnatural,” They stepped forward, looking down their nose and circling Hob’s cage like the predator they are. “It is tempting to kill you just to rid the world of your deviancy. Even now you reek of vampire, your own scent just a whisper.” They curled their lips in blatant disgust. “But,” they smoothed their expression deliberately, “I’ve decided to give you the chance to see the error of your ways.”

Hob followed them with his gaze, lips pursed together when they stopped in front of him.

“Join us,” they declared. “Be part of a pack once more, run beneath the moon with your true family.”

Lucifer is clearly trying to look welcoming and generous. But there is no hiding the hunger in their eyes, the way their claws extend as they spread their arms in invitation, snow white fur growing on their hands and the sides of their face.

Hob stays silent, clenching his jaw.

At his silence, Lucifer’s face drops into a scowl. “Your so-called lover is being offered a similar deal,” they spit out. “Do you truly believe he will not betray you? Sell you out like the soulless husk he is? How often does he drain you in the night?” They screech, stepping closer in their rage and disgust. “He is an abomination. An empty shell that should have been sent to Hell ages ago. You are a fool, a disgrace to all werewolves for letting him taint you!”

By the end they are yelling, snarling, their face sharpening and limbs lengthening as their rage and revulsion pulsed through them.

There is a beat of silence. And then, Hob simply can’t keep his jaw clenched any longer.

And he bursts out laughing.

~~~~

Meanwhile….

~~~~

Dream awoke in a dark, frigid room. Deep gray stones surrounded him, a few wall torches flickering throughout the room. There is one large window behind him, covered by a thick black sheet, preventing even the slightest outside light from entering. Despite its barrenness, Dream knows this is not just any room. He is clearly in a castle dungeon.

His suspicion is confirmed when he looks up and sees the group of vampires surrounding him. Most are in dark, flowing robes, but there is a man in the back, striking for his pure white suit amongst the shadows, arms crossed and leaning against the wall looking amused, but not trying to call attention to himself. The vampire in front, however, is clearly trying to make an impression. He is dressed in his finest, tailored suit, ruffled silk shirt, and a red velvet single-shoulder cape to ensure that no one mistakes him for anything other than the leader. He grips an ornate cane in his hand, and he looks down at Dream with contempt.

It’s the cane that lets him know he has been taken by Roderick Burgess and his coven.

“I see the spell has worn off,” he drawls. “So good to finally meet you.”

Dream goes to stand but stops suddenly when he realizes he is naked. He crouches, and his head whips up to glare at the head vampire.

“Ah, yes,” he waves a hand dismissively, “afraid we had to burn your clothing. They reeked of that monstrosity.” He sneers. “I can still smell it on you now. To lay with a dog so long it buries your own scent.” He shook his head as his lips curled. “Disgusting.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dream’s muscles coiled as he prepared to leap, but he freezes when Burgess laughs coldly.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He flicks his cane to gesture to the circle around Dream. He sees he is in the center of a ring of flowers, long green stems with orbs of tiny lavender-colored flowers at the end, a few roots and bulbs ripped up among them. Beyond the first circle is a mote dug into the floor, the water flowing sluggishly and unnaturally.

Dream tilted his head in confusion.

“Garlic flowers,” Burgess grins maliciously, “and a moat of holy water. My familiar isn’t completely useless,” he mutters, glancing at a figure behind him, his hood down so he can’t hide the way he ducks his head in shame. The man in white snorted with cruel laughter.

Everyone knew of Roderick’s youngest son, whom he refused to turn into a vampire until he could “prove himself”.

Not many people pitied vampires. Most people pitied Alex Burgess.

Dream is not most people.

“You’re not going anywhere unless we allow it,” Burgess continues.

In front of him, Dream remains silent, crouched and waiting with a blank face.

“What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?” Burgess sneers. “To lay with a beast, a mere animal. I should turn you to dust just to teach everyone else a lesson,” he hisses.

He steps forward. “But I know you could be great. There is power in you, I can feel it! You belong with your own kind, to be a part of a coven as is intended. No vampire should sink as low as you have,” he looks down his nose, pure judgment in his eyes, “but perhaps you can be saved. By us.” He spreads his arms out wide as he grinned maliciously. “Here, in the darkness.”

Dream is silent still, and it does not take long to break Roderick’s patience.

He lowered his arms, scowling. “You have nothing to say? No gratitude for my offer?” He stalked forward, getting as close to the circle as he dared and slamming his cane against the ground, “Speak to me!”

The man in white steps forward lazily, eyes roaming over Dream, “Maybe he can’t. Maybe all he can do is howl now,” he taunted.

“You are a disgrace! A waste of our gift of life after death!” Burgess ignored the other vampire, raging at the silent figure. “Do you think he will do the same for you? Do you think that stupid animal won’t betray you for his own kind? Just to roll in the dirt with the other dogs? You are a fool, and I should leave you here with the window open so you burn with the sunrise!”

His words echo in the chamber, his face twisted in righteous fury, panting and with hands shaking so hard at his side that his cane rattles against the stone floor.

And then Dream smiles.

~~~~

Lucifer looks torn between confusion and indignity as Hob laughs himself hoarse in front of them. Hob wipes nonexistent tears from his face, mostly doing the motion to piss Lucifer off even more.

Johanna takes a step back.

“Oh, dear,” Hob says cheerfully, “I’ve heard this speech before, but never received it myself. How charming. To know that even the great Lucifer, morningstar, dragon slayer, is prone to the dangers of gossip.”

He steps forward casually, closer to the walls of the cage.

And then Hob wraps both hands around the silver bars, and nothing happens.

~~~~

Still smiling, still looking straight into Burgess’ eyes, Dream reaches out and takes a flower into the palm of his hand.

~~~

Johanna bolts out the door as the cave suddenly fills with terrified and confused growls, the pack behind Lucifer retreating as far as they can away from Hob. Even Mazikeen takes a step back. Lucifer is not so much still as they are frozen in place by shock.

“You see, the thing about rumors is…” Hob leans forward, pressing his face against the bars as if sharing a secret. And when a smile stretches across his face, Lucifer sees his teeth lengthen.

Not all his teeth, though.

Just two.

“…sometimes the details get mixed up.”

~~~~

The cloaked vampires gasp in shock, and the man in white looks far less cocky as Dream crushed the flower in his hand.

His clawed hand.

Burgess stares in wide eyed horror as Dream stands slowly, pitch black fur sprouts along his spine, his forearms, his legs. His face turns sharp and angular, bones cracking and reshaping even as he steps forward to walk through the moat.

~~~~

Before any of the pack could break through their shock, Hob pulled at the bars in his hands, easily ripping them off and tossing them to the side as he stepped through the gap.

Then he lunges.

~~~~

Dream steps out of the more in his full werewolf form. Long and still bony, his muscles strong but slim and compact, his messy fur the deepest black. He is not a wolf of brute strength, as they are known for. Dream is made for speed.

So Burgess doesn’t have time to react before Dream is sinking his teeth in his neck.

~~~~

Hob has never understood why no one else, vampire or werewolf, seems to see the poetry in their being able to hurt one another. Humans need tricks and magic to do anything to them, but vampires and werewolves only need their own teeth.

Dream has never hurt Hob, and Hob has never hurt Dream. It’s trust, and respect, and love.

They’ve both been far more hurt by their own kind.

~~~~

It is no trouble for Dream to bite through the bone of Burgess’ neck. It only takes one more bite to have his head rolling on the floor.

Dream kicks it into the mote of holy water, and it sizzles behind him as he turns his attention to the rest of the coven.

~~~~

It is only Mazikeen’s devotion that saves Lucifer.

She tackles Hob mid-lunge, throwing him off course but not knocking him down. They both scramble, Mazikeen half transformed and Hob holding her at arms length to keep her gnashing teeth away. He cannot get his own teeth into her without risking her getting a hold on him as well, and the rest of the pack won’t be just standing in shock for long.

It is a quick maneuver to get behind her, one hand twisting her arm behind her back while the other clutches a fistful of the fur at the back of her neck. Then he shoved her forward to press her face against the bars of the silver cage they had made for him.

Mazikeen does not howl, she screams as Hob holds her against the silver, one side of her face burning and smoking.

Hob hears movement behind him and releases Mazikeen as he leaps out of the way, narrowly avoiding an attack from Lucifer. The rest of the coven seems hesitant to join the fray so close to the mass of silver.

Lucifer is strong- they earned their titles fairly, and Hob thinks on a different day the outcome may not have been so favorable. But the fact is, all these werewolves came here prepared to kill another werewolf. They are not prepared for a vampire. And them being caught off guard gives Hob the same upper hand it gave them earlier.

When Hob pins Lucifer to the floor by their neck, face inches away from the floor of the silver cage, Hob snarls. Whatever amusement he may have had at the beginning has been lost to the rage of an old wound reopened.

“You’re all the same,” he hissed, letting venom drip down his fangs to drip threateningly onto Lucifer’s armor. “You’re all the same, and you don’t even realize it. Always spewing the same prejudice and hatred based on absolutely nothing. Your pack is exactly the same as my old coven.”

Here he leans down, tightening his grip as he lowers his voice. “I want you to remember that. Remember that you acted just like a vampire. Remember that no matter how highly you think of yourself, you are just like them.”

He stands then, rising smoothly to his feet as Lucifer coughs to get their breath back. Turning, he moves to leave. He has no interest in a slaughter right now. He just wants to find Dream.

The rest of the pack give him space, staring in awe and horror, too taken aback to do anything more than watch him walk away.

“One day…”

Lucifer’s voice makes him pause. He looks over his shoulder to see they have moved Mazikeen to lay her head in their lap, hand carefully cupping the unburned side of her face.

“One day,” they promise coldly, “we will destroy you.”

Hob just smirked and nodded.

“Until that day, Lightbringer.”

And with that, he disappeared from the cave, sprinting through the forest to find his lover.

~~~~

The coven panics at the sight of their dead leader, the one who turned them. And now they find themselves locked in a room with a werewolf, with weapons nearby that will hurt them but not Dream.

The man in white curses, but pulls himself together to sprint for the window. He tears the sheet down, revealing a still dark night sky, and then punches through the glass.

Dream is right behind him, faster than most werewolves but still slower than a vampire, but catching up as the glass is broken. The man in white sneers, frustrated, and immediately bursts into a swarm of bats.

Most werewolves fear a vampire’s swarm. Too many teeth to keep track of.

But Dream is not most werewolves, and as the swarm begins to pour out of the window, he leaps into the mass of screeching wings and brings his jaws down around whatever he can reach.

There are only two bats in his mouth, but all of them are screaming, pain making the swarm clumsier as they fly out into the night, uncoordinated and staggering.

(When the vampire known only as The Corinthian reforms himself later, it will be without his eyes. He will cry tears of blood and the closest town will wake to the sounds of him screaming in the dead of a night he can no longer see.)

The rest of the coven, when Dream comes for them, follow their comrade’s lead and scatter into bats, keeping high and flying desperately through the open window. Dream snarls, whipping his head around to the only figure remaining.

“P-please,” Alex Burgess stutters, “I didn’t want to help him. I would have let you out if I could!”

Dream stalked forward. “Coward,” he backed Alex into a corner, “What would you have done to me, if you were promised the power your father held?”

“I-… you don’t understand,” he swallowed.

“Perhaps,” Dream rumbled, “but if I cannot understand why you would do the things you have. I will take comfort in it. I will take comfort in not being like you.”

He turned to leave, and Alex crumpled to the ground, knowing intrinsically that he had not been worth the trouble of being turned by his father and now he wasn’t worth being turned by this werewolf. He wasn’t even worth the trouble to kill.

Alex will have nightmares of this night for the rest of his life. Dream doesn’t care.

He gallops through the forest to find Hob.

~~~~

Hob and Dream were both already alone when they met.

When Hob let himself be turned, all he thought about was Eleanor. Of being able to live forever by her side, the mark of her teeth forever on his neck because she chose him, fell in love with him as much as he with her, enough to give him immortality.

He didn’t consider her family- her coven- and their disapproval.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they had disapproved of his relationship with Eleanor, if it had been born of protectiveness of some kind. But no. They just didn’t like Hob.

Didn’t like his thick, hair covered body that did not fit in their antique porcelain aesthetic. Didn’t like how easily he laughed, how casually he dressed, how much he enjoyed his undead life, how his only complaint was missing the sunshine.

To be fair, Hob didn’t like them much either. He hated their dank, cold castle and their insistence on constant formality. He dreamed of building a cabin near a lake, where he and Eleanor could be free to live as they wanted, without constantly having to keep their posture perfect.

Then Eleanor died, killed by hunters on one of her nightly trips into the town to search for orphans.

(“I wouldn’t turn them until they were an adult,” she promised Hob, her eyes wide and pleading for him to understand, “I won’t turn them at all if they don’t want to be! But… but a child of our own, to raise…” She took Hob’s hand and leaned her forehead against his, her words infinitely quiet with no chance of being overheard, “Not a coven. A family.”)

Without her, there was no reason for him to stay.

Hob learned very quickly that Eleanor’s family was not unique in their views. Every vampire he came across curled their lips at his rugged appearance, his extroverted nature, everything about his personality and looks seemed to offend them personally.

“Whoever turned you was cruel to do so while you look like this,” one vampire had told him, oblivious to their own cruelty. “You could shave the hair at least. It won’t grow back.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hob had excused himself quickly from the interaction. They were just strangers who met on the road, he had no obligation to stay and be talked down to and insulted like that.

Eleanor had liked the way he looked.

Hob liked the way he looked.

(In the privacy of his own mind, he was grateful for his lack of reflection.)

Then he ran into Dream. Literally.

Neither were paying attention, just sprinting through the woods trying to outrun their own demons, they didn't notice each other’s presence until they were crashing together, tumbling across the forest floor and felling several trees in the process.

When they untangled and got their bearings, they both spent a long moment simply staring.

Hob thought he’d run into another vampire at first, because the stranger looked like every vampire’s ideal he’d had pressed on him for centuries now. Slim and as pale as snow, pitch black hair artfully wild, wearing black head to toe, including a long black coat that he held wrapped around himself. His clothes were a little beat up and worn, but it didn’t make him look any less poised and elegant, and his eyes were a stunning icy blue as they stared back at Hob. He was gorgeous, and if this was what a vampire was supposed to look like, Hob understood he had no hope of ever measuring up.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a vampire.

Dream had been wandering for a long time before he met Hob. He’d been alone even longer.

Even coming from a large, familial pack, Dream had always been isolated. He was the runt and they all knew it. Even his youngest sister, still a pup, was growing stronger than Dream ever had. Not brawny and strong like a werewolf was supposed to be, he was skinny, frail, weak, as much of his family liked to remind him. He wasn’t loud or rowdy, had no desire to wrestle and play fight with his siblings. He preferred to extend his claws and carve pictures and stories into the dirt of stones. Sometimes his older sister would indulge him and sit while he told her elaborate tales to go with his engravings. But inevitably she would be pulled away.

It was one night, when the pack was cuddled together in their den and Desire kicked him out of the pile again (literally, kicking at his ribs and back until he retreated from his family’s warmth) claiming as always that Dream was too bony and cold to sleep beside, that he decided to leave.

He spent much of the night just watching them. He curled up against the wall and took in the sight of his pack piled together, safe and warm and not missing him at all. It did not matter that Dream was cold. It did not matter that he was lonely, and hurt, and unloved. None of it mattered.

So it certainly wouldn’t matter if he left.

He ran as far and as fast and as long as he could. From night, through the morning and the high peak of the sun, only collapsing in a heap of sweat soaked fur once the sun had fallen once more.

At first, he traveled often in his full werewolf form, both for speed and as a precaution as he moved along the edges of the territories of different packs. Each time, a wolf would come to meet him, to ensure he was just passing by, and each time he was met with disdain.

“Are you sure you’re not a wererat?” a bulking werewolf had laughed at him, “You look like you belong down in the sewers.”

Dream began taking longer paths to avoid other werewolves. He began to only shift at night, and then only when he was forced to on the full moon. It did not matter that it slowed his travel. It did not matter that he felt vulnerable, and exposed, and that some nights his heart ached to curl up as a wolf and tuck his nose beneath his tail and pretend he was warm. It didn’t matter that he felt equally hideous in his human form.

None of it mattered.

So he was running on two legs when he collided with Hob.

They were staring at each other, and the man in front of him must have been the most gorgeous werewolf he’d ever seen. Even unshifted he was covered in a glorious pelt of body hair that Dream wanted desperately to run his fingers through. He was broad, heavyset, clearly strong but with a layer of padding that made him look soft and welcoming, especially coupled with wide brown eyes. He was everything a werewolf was supposed to be and everything that Dream would never, ever be.

Then he inhaled.

And he realized that the stranger was not a werewolf.

“Uh, hi,” Hob spoke first, his voice breathless with something like wonder. “Um, shit, sorry for bowling you over like that, here,” he scrambled to his feet and held a hand out, “I’m Hob.”

At first, all Dream could do was move his gaze from his hand to his face and back again. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and allowed the stranger to help him to his feet.

(Dream had always been shunned for the coldness of his body. But holding this undead hand now, there was none of the jarring heat, none of the pulling away and complaining about his temperature.)

(Hob did not mind, because Hob was cold too.)

(They both kept their hands together for a little longer than needed.)

“I. Am Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a moment when they finally dropped their hands that they each remembered that werewolves and vampires were meant to be enemies.

Both of them looked at each other, and quietly acknowledged to themselves that they had been hurt far worse by their own kind than the other’s.

They ended up talking through the night. Carefully casual at first, before slowly opening up their wounds to each other, to see the ways they matched. When sunrise approached and Hob needed to find shelter, Dream shyly invited him back to the cave he had been staying in.

“Where are you going?” Hob asked softly, facing Dream where they were laying next to each other on a pile of deer pelts.

“Away,” Dream whispered, on his back and staring at the ceiling with a painfully blank gaze. “Far away. Away from everyone and everything. Where no one will have to look at me again.”

Hob swallowed thickly. It’s been less than one day, and his heart shatters in fear of losing this man. The first person who understands him. Who sees him. Hob thinks he is seeing his reflection for the first time in centuries.

So he summoned his courage and placed his hand over Dream’s, “Maybe I’ll come with you.” Dream turned to look at him, wary and disbelieving, and Hob smiled. “I like looking at you.”

In the morning, they picked a direction and started running. And they did it again the next day, and the next. Dream was skittish, and Hob was loud. Dream narrowed his eyes in suspicion whenever Hob showed him an ounce of kindness, and Hob laughed and waved away any of Dream’s attempts to show him kindness in return. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

“Who would want an eternity of this?”

Dream said it softly, mostly to himself, but Hob couldn’t not hear it. Couldn’t not hear the weight of the exhaustion in his voice. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire Dream had built, the cave sheltering them from the worst of the heavy rainfall. The weather might have saved them, though. No matter how heated their individual run-ins with others of their kind might have been before, it was nothing compared to being seen together. Something about it seemed to make werewolves and vampires alike fly into some sort of confused, offended rage.

But they always got away, and today the cover of rain washed away their tracks and scents, and in the morning they would take the harder mountain trail to avoid any more incidents. They sat in front of the fire, and as they always did after a chase, Dream sat in silence, lost in his own head, while Hob desperately distracted himself by rambling stories from his life, before, during, and after Eleanor.

This was the first time Dream had ever interrupted him.

And Hob… didn’t have an answer. He supposed he could say ‘me’ but they both knew that wasn’t what Dream was looking for right now. It isn’t what Dream is looking for every day that he wakes up and starts running. Werewolves can live for close to a millennia, and Dream was barely older than Hob. He was so young. He has so much time.

They both do.

So Hob did the same thing he did on the day they met. He reached out, and he took Dream’s hand.

“You could find out?”

Dream turned to look at him, not with suspicion, or distrust, but a disbelief that came from awe. And Hob thought maybe this was enough. Even if they never stopped running, at least they’d run together.

The seasons passed. Once a month Dream disappeared in the night, as close to begging as he could get for Hob not to look for him, promising he’d be back in the morning. Hob hated it, hated thinking of him out there all alone, with a howl that sounded like crying. But when he came back, worn down and shaky, he allowed Hob to hold him. After some time, he allowed him to kiss him, too.

“I want to see,” Hob whispered against his mouth. They had found a place. A clearing at the base of a mountain, far from cities and towns, no known vampires or werewolf territories, and Hob and Dream have been chopping wood all day.

They are going to build a home together.

Everything they’ve shared, all the past wounds pulled apart for the other to see, but here Dream hesitated. “I do not… look like other werewolves,” he whispered.

“Neither of us look how we’re ‘supposed to’,” Hob reminded him, “And we don’t care, remember?”

But Dream shook his head, glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes that did nothing to conceal his fear. “I am ugly,” he admitted, ashamed.

Hob kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, pulling him into his arms, “I don’t care. It’s you, and I love you. I want to love all of you.”

They waited until the next sundown, leaving their shelter and standing before each other. Hob held Dream’s hands as long as he could, until Dream pulled away, taking a few steps back as he allowed himself to shift. Hob watched his lover transform under the night sky, limbs contorting and elongating, black fur covering him, long in some places and shorter in others, wild like a hyena, eyes with a white shine to them, clawed fingers digging into the ground as he crouched down onto all fours.

When Dream raised his head, he still looked scared, his tail curling under his legs as he braced himself for whatever Hob’s reaction could possibly be. So Hob approached slowly, and hoped his face shone with at least half the love he felt right now. Kneeling in front of him, Hob raised both hands carefully and cupped Dream’s muzzle in his palms, letting his fingers run through the soft fur at the sides of his face.

“My Dream,” he breathed out, leaning forward to kiss between his eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

Dream’s lips curled, not quite a snarl. A disagreement.

“You are,” Hob insisted, kissing all over his face now, reaching down to take those long claws into his hands and press kisses to the sharp, furred knuckles, “You’re stunning. You’re perfect,” Hob rested their foreheads together, “I love every part of you.”

He pushed Dream gently onto his back on the grass and his form shifted under Hob’s hands. His more human face showed blatant terror, disbelief, defiance, his form constantly shifting between different ratios of wolf and man, as though he would eventually find the form that Hob did not love. Hob kissed every shuddering stretch of skin, every cracking bone, pet over him steadily even when his skin went from smooth to furred and back again. He took Dream in hand and kissed his neck and rut against him desperately and finally, finally, Dream settled. A bit wolf, a bit human, but all Dream, and he reached for Hob just as desperately, both of them pressing together as though they could become one. They were both wanted, and loved, and it was more than enough.

And it is more than enough now, years and years later, when the rumors have spread and the home they built has been attacked, and Hob and Dream burst through the forest and crash into each other's arms with as much force as they day they met, rolling through the dirt and holding each other close as they tumble.

“Dream, Dream, are you alright, are you hurt?”

He is still in his full wolf form, so he shakes his head where it is pressed against Hob’s shoulder. He lifts his eyes just enough to send a look that Hob understands effortlessly, “I’m fine, I’m fine, Love,” he reassures, feeling himself melt into the ground in relief that they are both safe and together again.

Eventually, Hob stands, and he offers Dream a hand. Dream takes it, and rises unsteadily to his feet, leaning against Hob for balance. His voice is gravelly as he speaks without shifting, “No… clothes…”

Hob feels a flare of fury, but tucks it away for later. Instead, he shrugs out of his outer shirt, which is just long enough on Dream for him to feel at least a little less vulnerable. He feels even better when, as soon as he is in his human form, Hob sweeps him into a bridal carry, grinning and kissing him one last time before speeding back to their home, making it back just before sunrise. It is bittersweet to see the place they built with the door kicked down and the living room in disarray from the scuffle, but it’s still their home. At least for tonight.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved deeper into the mountains. Maybe settle at a higher elevation,” Hob suggests that night, when they are barricaded in their room, Dream wrapped in a robe and buried beneath their blankets as Hob holds him close.

Dream frowned, pulling back just enough to look up at him, “But you like being close to the town.”

Hob shrugged, winding his arms over Dream’s shoulders. “Maybe, but I like you much more,” he grinned when Dream blushed, “And it’s not like it’d be too much trouble for me to travel down every now and then. I’ll just take longer visits farther apart. I’ll go on days when you need some solitude.”

Dream blinked at him slowly, and Hob found it so sweet and so heartbreaking how, even after all these years, Dream still had to hold back tears when Hob was kind to him.

“You truly are perfect,” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Hob’s, “and I love you so.”

“I think you’re the perfect one,” Hob smiled, “and I love you too.”

Tomorrow they will begin their move, and build a new home more prepared for the people who won’t accept them. And they’ll do it together.

And that’s more than enough.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #werewolf/vampire au #planning on drawing some of these guys soon :3

226 notes · View notes